Auctor & Actor

- - -

_ _ _ AUCTOR
&ACTOR
A Narratological Reading of
Apuleius's Golden Ass

by John J. Winkler

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

Berkeley · Los Angdcs · London
University of California Press
lkrkdcy and Los Angeles. California

University of California Press, Ltd.

London, England

© 1985 by
The Regents of the University of California

Printed in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Ljbrary ofCongreu Cataloging in Publlcation Data

Winkler. John J.
Author and actor.

Bibliography: p.
Includes index.
1. Apulcius. Metamorphoses. 2. Apuleius-T~hnique. 3. Narration
(Rhetoric) 4. First person narrative. 5. Isis (Egyptian deity) in literature.
6. Detective and mystery stories-History and criticism.
I. Title.
PA6217. W5 1985 873' .01 84-00182
ISBN 0..520-05240-4

Fnmlispitu: Lef[, figure of Egyptian priest, Hellenistic bronze, counesy

of The Walters An Gallery, Baltimore; right. bald comic tc:rracoua.
Myr 324, photographed by Chuzcvillc, courtesy of tbc Louvre, Paris.
Contents

Pre faa• VII

List ofAbbrcviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xm

1. The Question of Reading . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

The Question of Genre . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Mithras's Interpretation of
Tlte Golden A H 8
Ht•rnu-ncutk Entcrtajo nwnt 11
Historical Context 14
Overview 19

Pan One: Til UTH

2. The Interpretation ofTa1es
Introduction ?5
Aristomcncs' TaJc ofSocratcs (1.2-20) . . . . . . 27
Lucius's Account of Lucius (1.26) . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Milo's TaJc ofDiophancs (2.11-15) . . . . . . . . . . 39
The Ass Reporter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Two Womcnts Stories 50
3. The Scrupulous Reader.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Detection 60
Sc•nsationl 93
4, The Contract . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
Playing Fair ............................. 100
Malice Aforethought ..................... 104
ImpJication ............................. 110
The Marketplace of Desire ................ 119
5. Interlude: Socrates in Mot1ev ................. 123

v
VI CONTENTS

Part Two: CONSEQUENCES

6. The Duplicities of Auctor IActor ...•.•......... 135
The Narrator (Auctor) as Character (Actor) and
the Character of the Narrator . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Suppression of the Auctor-Narrator ......... 140
From Auctor-Narrator to Auctor-Novelist.
and Back Again ....................... 153
7. The Prologue as Conundrum ................. 180
The Origin of the Book ................... 183
Egyptian Sharpness ...................... 186
Mutual Nexus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
The Rude Speaker's Identity ............... 194
A Model for the Speaker's Identity .......... 200
8. The Text Questions, the Reader Answers ....... 204
Three Difficulties 204
The lsiac Interpretation ofLucius·s Life ...... 209
Surprises at Rome:
Money and More Initiations ............. 215
The Final I mage ......................... 223
How Else Could This Book Be Read? , , . , . , . 227

Part Three: CONJECTURES

9. Parody Lost and Regained .........•......... 251
Three Tales ofthc Ass . . . • . . . . . . • . 252
The Restless Quest for Wisdom ............ 257
Apulcius's Adaptation of the Parody ......... 273
10. Isis and Aesop ............................. 276
Why Isis? ............................... 276
The Lift of Aesop ........•................ 279
The Grotesque Perspective ................ 286
11. The Gilding of the Ass ...................... 292
The External Case for Asinm Auwus .. , , , .. , 293
The Meaning of the Title .................. 298

Select Bibliography .............................. 323

Index LocoruJn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ...... 327
Index
Preface

This book is written for three quite different audiences-those

whose inrerests are, respectively) in modem literature, in Greco-
Roman culture, and in religious history. To set the scene for the per-
formance of this book. you must imagine yourself in an audience
composed of people with diverse interests and backgrounds, hoping
to ]cant something not only new but multidisciplinary.
My first aim is that readers whose focus of interest is modern
fiction and its theory will find that self-consciousness in narrative (a
mode that often seems distinctively modern), so far from beginning
with Cervantes, is an ancient achievement. The Esc her-like interplay
of fiction and reality. the joking awareness ofwhat a subtle and foolish
game it is for any "I" to write anything-these arc the specialties of
The Golden Ass. Borges and Nabokov have nothing on Apuleius.
CJassicists. it is my second and fonder hope, will find that narratol-
ogy, though the word and the theories it names are recent, is a good
language for giving voice to the interpretive problems of Apuleius's
novel. The method is untraditional, but then The Golden Ass is and
always was a d&lasse dassic. The risk of anachronism seems to me
worth taking for the reward of bridge building between ancient and
modern literature, not to mention of solving an as yet unsolved liter-
ary puzz1e. As I invite modernists to inspect a novel that ought to
interest them, so I invite classicists to sample a method that has much
to offer them. For the traditionalist in us alii would recall Frank Kcr-
modc's words: "what we arc leaming about narrative may be, in a
sense, new, but narrative was always potentially what we have now
learned to think it, in so far as our thinking is right." 1

1. Not'P.·I and NanuliJ't', W. P. Kcr Mcntoria] Lecture 24 (GJa..,gow, 1971): 6.

vn
Vlll PREFACE

Third, religious historians, particularly those focusing on early

christianity and related cults, know that no text is more frequently
cited in discussions of Greco-Roman piety than the concluding book
of this nove!. Lucius's unexpected devotion to the goddess who saved
him from 3sininity, his prayer and fasting. his apostolic self-publicity
and self-rejection give us one of the first (it seems) first-person ac-
counts of an experience that from then on would have a central place
in the conflict of Western religious and political idcoiogics-convcr-
sion. The jack-in-the-box appearance of that born-again narrator is
what first irked me to look very closely at the narratology of Apu-
Jcius'scxceedingly clever performance. The reinterpretations reached
here should significantly alter our understanding of what it could
mean to have a new religious commitment in the second century C. E.;
they thus ought to be of interest to Western social historians gener-
ally, who arc sometimes misled by periodizations (especially of the
exciting Foucauldian variety) to dismiss the beforc-X as radically ir-
relevant to X.
From each of these audiences I anticipate a different skepticism, a
different initial reluctance. From modem literati I cxpc:ct modern-
ism-the belief or premise that medieval and ancient cultures are be-
yond the horizon of our conremporary perspective: one can get there,
but only by abandoning all the familiar social and historical realities
that have shaped Europe and America since the Renaissance. There is
some truth to that. I hope this book will build a bridge. From classi-
cists I expect an initial disdain of current fads and a feeling of disorien-
tation at the untraditional arrangement of materials. Classical philol-
ogy is a venerable discipline ofgreat comprehensiveness and stability,
and its best practitioners arc rightly suspicious of the ephemeral. But
important new 3pproaches to literature have flourished in recent dec-
ades: they can complement and build on the achievements of tradi-
tional philology. Certainly this book has relied on the labors of sev-
eral generations of classicists and would not have been possible
without them. Again I hope to build a bridge. From religious histo-
rians I expect a reluctance to deal seriously with the whole of The
Golden Assratherthanjust its magnificent lsiac conclusion. The lusty
ta]es at the beginning obviously have so 1itt1c to do with the Great
Lady at the- end that their suspicions. I admit, are not without founda-
 PREFACE IX

tion. But if you approach the subject with an open mind and a little
curiosity I promise that you will see a marvelous bridge being built.
l would hazard a guess that the general reader, whom l have in
mind as much as the specialists, is likely to care more about the claim
that there was a "modem" ancient novel or about the issues involved
in rdigious individualism than about Latin liter:ature as such. Sinct' (it
goes without saying) Latin literature is terra incog~Jita, how should we
conduct our trek over this strange terrain? The problem concerns
more than just the general n:ader. Since the argument of this book
draws on three kinds of expertise. even the three kinds of expert will
probably find themselves sooner or later in alien lcrritory. My chal-
lenge as a writer has been to speak. as it were:. not only everyday
English but also the special vocabularies ofl3arthes, Pauly-Wissowa,
and Nock to an audience of persons who may not know those lan-
guages or who may know one very well and the others not at all.
l think at this point of a display speech that Apulcius once delivered
to a sophisticated and critical crowd iu two different languages: ••1 ha\·e
not forgotten my original promise to the opposing factions of this audi-
ence-that neither the Greek-speakers nor the Latin-speakers among
you would leave at the end with less than full measure of my mcssagc." 2
My aim here has been to conduct the analysis at a level that will satisfy
not only the sman general reader but also those knowledgeable in each
discipline without contusing or alienating the rest. In practice this
means that I try, wherever possiblt:', to usc narratologkal techniques for
their implicit intelligibility and to avoid Members Only discussions of
shop. particularly in pans One and Two. The footnotes cite some key
theoretical discussions behind the techniques I employ, but I have Jim-
ited references to secondary literature to what 1 hope is a helpful mini-
mum rather than given an t.•xhausrivt.• maximum (a point on which
Quintilian is wise). 3 The cultural specificity of Part Three demands a
good deal of documentation but even here the text is meant to be re-ad-

2. 114m t1 i11 prin(ipio ,,_,his diu,·rs.1 tendemibus iM lllt'miru pvllicm, 111 tll'fllra pcHS UI"S·
tnmt, nee qui Gram• lite qui l.aliN•' prldbdti~ JiaaC<~fi~ lmius t'XIIC'Ift'~ tlbirrti~. (Dr· plriiMLIJllri.a
libr~ cd. [~ Thomas I Leipzig. 19081: 5 = Op11swlrs plrilosophiqu~s tt fra~mrnts, cd. J.
lkaujeu l?..lris, 1973]: 168.)
J. •·To search out what c,·crybod.y, duwu to the most wnrcmptiblc of men. hJs
said on a subject i!O l'itht"n·xcruri:uingly painful or d1e \\.'ork ofempty vanity: ir sruit~ns
x PREFACE

able by specialist and non-specialist alike. I have translated most of the

Greek and Latin, and in most cases the original text is printed in the
footnotes for ease of reference.
As regards competing systems of narratology, what is extraordi-
nary for me about The Colden Ass is not what it contributes to a gen-
eral theory of narrative but the fact that it is, simply on the face of it,
such a modem-seeming narrative about narratives. This wants explo-
ration in the contemporary narratological style but not necessarily
according to the rules of a single system. The bricks in my building
have been scavenged from several sites: I only took what I could use
for this project. Some of the best examples of narratology arc focused
on single te-xts (Barthes's S IZ, Genette's Figures III) rather than on
the universal theory of narrative as such; this is the format I admire
and find most congenial. I also regard critical totalitarianism as a real
danger. In guarding against that, especiaUy at the beginning in Part
One, I knowingly take the risk of seeming eclectic to the point of
being scatterbrained. In favor of Part One's playful non-commitment,
I'd argue that it would be a shame to write a tedious book about a
comic novel; other reasons wi11 e-merge in due course. The following
eleven chapters contain much that is facetious. They are meant to be
thoughtful, variegated, and fun to read, an appropriate combination
for Apuleius, whose attitude 1 would ultimately describe as one of
salutary insouciance.
In a11 seriousness, however, I owe thanks to several friends and
readers who have helped this book along: to james Tatum, john Hen-
derson, Stanley Fish. Peter Brown, Froma Zeitlin, Herbert Linden-
berger, Susan Stephenst Jeffrey Henderson. William Levitan. Lud-
wig Koenen, T. G. Rosen meyer, john Heath. Michael Wigodsky, and
a Press referee for reading the whole; to Car] Schlam, David Jordan.
David Braaten, Mark Singer, Robert Schwartz, Cathy Winkler,
M. C. Winkler, Anne Winkler. Christopher jones, R. Th. van dcr

:md destroys; one·s mental energies, which :are bener spenr elsewhere. The person who
scrutinizes everything that is written. c\lcn those: pages that don't dcsen-c to ~ read,
might as well tum his ancntion to old wi\·cs' tales' (perstqui quidem quid 411is amaquam11tl
tonrtltlplissimorum l1orninum dixtrit, am nimillt misl:'riat aut ittar1is iactanti~u· tsl tt drtintt
atqw: obmit it~grtJi4 mdiru "liir llacawm. nam qui omnc:s t:ti4'lm inJixnas lrctionc: scidas c:xmrit,
anilib11s q•wqut'fabulis at:commiJdart Opt'rdm porrst, [,lSI. 1.8.18-19~
 PREFACE XI

Paardt, Bob Da\vkins, Arthur Hansc..·n, Gerald Sandy. Mkhacljamc-

son. Richard Pierce, Mark Edwards, Ronald Mellor, and Sabine Mc-
Cormack for reading parts; to the nu~mbers of an Apuldus seminar at
Ohio State University and another at Stanford and to audiences at
Stanford and at the Philological Association of the t•acitlc Coast for
listening to parts. Erica Zweig heroicially typed and retyped andre-
typed chapters 1 to 4. Comments from all these co\vorkcrs were
grateful1y received and incorporated. The Classics Department ar the
University of Southern California, administering a Mellon felJow-
ship in 1978, and the Stanford Humanities Center in 1982 provided
the stimulating leisure needed to work on this book. I hope Nietz-
sche is right that we rdiw cvc:ry cxpt.·ricncc ad it!/itlitum, for all of
these were good ones.
List of Abbreviations

AA Asinus A1m•us (Tiu· Goldm Ass)

EPRO Etudes preliminaires des religions oricmalcs dans I'L·mpirc
rom am
FVS Dit• Fragmmtt' dt·r Hmokratikt·r, cd. H. Dids and W. Kranz,
6th ed. (Berlin, 1951-52)
1-/TR 1-/an'tlrd Tlu~c,Jogicl11 Rer,iew
)RS }t.mmal of Rotllatl Studies
RE Rt·ai-Encydopi:idie der klassiscllcn AltcrtumswissetJSclu~ft,
L"d. A. Pauly, G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll (Swugarr, 1894-)
TAPA Transactions oftire Amt>ricau PIJUological As$ociatiou
ZAS Zl'itschrifl fiir ii,R)'ptische Spmclle

The text of Apuleius is cited from Rudolph Helm. cd., Apt41du.~

Metamorplloseou Libri XI (Leipzig. 1931) by hook and chapter thus:
1.1 means Book One, chapter 1.
The abbreviations for names of classical authors and their works
generally follow those of the Oxford Classical Dictitmary.

XJ11
 1

The Question of Reading

Oh, whar a tangled web we weave

believe
When first we practice lO ~

When Lucius as an ass hears the bellaJabdla narrated at great

length (4.28-6.24) by the robbers· cook, he laments at its conclusion
that he did not have handbook and stylus to set it down for posterity
(6.25). When Lucius as an ex-ass is admitted to the worship oflsis. he
is shown the sacred writings kept in the innermost shrine. but he sees
they arc hieroglyphs intcrtwin~d in a caUigraphy so compJicated and
circular that they arc illegible, at least to the profane (11.22). The hero
of this nove] has problems with writing and reading, and perhaps we
can regard these as apt tokens for the problem that mos[ readers have
with the text of Tlte Goldeu Ass (Asitms Aurrus, abbreviated AA) it-
sci£ The novel is clearly a difficult one to read. The testimony of
ancient and modern readers alike is severely discordant about what
they take the basic meaning and structure of the book to be. For in-
stance. in a climate ofbclicf more favorab]e to magic and demonology
than ours, Augustine wavered between describing the AA as an auto-
biography or a novel. that is. as truth or fiction. 1 The work was in

I . .. Yt:"t their minds did m1 t he c.: om c those of he a sts but n:nui ned rat ion.1l ;md
human, just .as Apulcius said hap~ ned lO him!iclf. \'iz .. that when he took the dru~ he
bec... mc :an ass but hi!> soul remained human, in the book ht• entitled GclldtPJ :t~s­
w hct her he told what rca lly ha ppcncd or just made 1t up" (nrc 1am~ 11 i11 ri5 Pnt·nl~m .tirri
bestio1lmr, ud nllicrnalrm humanamqu'' Sf'm11i, simi :4.J'IIlt"ius i111ibrij quo.~ .1sini Aurf'i tit11lo
in$crip.sil sibi ip~i llUidiJ~c·, ur.l(ffJ''" l'rllCIIO lrum~o~no .mimo prrmallt'lllr asimu}ittt•t, 42111 indi-
Cill'il .mt_tinxil) (dr ci1•. drllR 18).

1
2 AUCTOR & ACTOR

ancient times both aJlegorized as an exalted treatise on the soul's true

progress2 and scomed as old wives, tales. 3 Th~ sam~ variety of inter-
pretations can be found in modern timcs. 4

THE QUESTION OF GENRE

The problem has usually been posed as a qut.>stion of genre-
what kind ofbook is Apuleius's Goldm Ass? Considering the question
of genre, discussions of the AA reach answers such as novd, comic
romance, folk-talc collection, aretalogy, philosophical or religious al-
Jcgory. fictionalized autobiography, sophistic showpiece, or various
combinations of the above. It is imponant that we keep in our sights
from the very start the formulation of our question. For some ques-
tions arc unanswerable on their own terms-When did you stop
beating your donkcy?-and others are set up to elicit multiple an-
swers, such as the famous riddle oft he seven blind sages investigating
an elephant. In such cases we must not answer the question but qut's-
tion it and expose the premises of the asking. This is our situation
with the.: AA, for we..- have to deal not only with the problems of what
it means and what kind of book it is but with the problem that the
question of its genre has received so many confident and contradic-
tory answers.
As an aid to the memory of rhosc who have not recently read Tl1e
Goldetl Ass, the following summary ofits main episodes is offered. (It

2. At l!!'ast in part-fulgcntius's interprerauon 1pplit.'S only to the Psycl'lc and

Cupid ~lory. which he considers as a separable part of the cntin: AA: t\p1,fcoiu5 ill libriJ
mt·famor:fvsct.l'n ha,cfabula"' pl.missimc duigth•uir (Myth. 3.6). Fulgcntius is of course fa-
miliu with the compk-tc text oftht: AA, echoing its phraseology to heighten his own
style: e.g .. ~Oit rirn warum .111rium srdes It pido quolibtt sus11m:t pt: nt1ulcearn ( Mytl1. 1. pre f. J)
= aun~qut' '''"~ bf,.;.,(llalltpid(l summ1 P'rmuluar11 (AA I . I~
The :separation ofl'sychc and Cupid from the rc~t of the tc"l had evidently been the
method also of Aris.tophontcs of Athens. who wrote voluminously (immni l't"rhon•m
cirmilll, Fulgcntius .Uyll•. 3.6) on it in a work called Dy!att'$tia (.. Pml•i•~l! Critidm1 by a
HarJ-ro-fJie.ut Cn.tic"?) at some unkno\...n d::~tc before Fulgcntius.
3. Hisuwi.l :\u"c•uta, CIC'dius :tlbit~ll$ 12.12.
4. C. C. Schlam. "The Sc:hobrship on Apulcius since 193~... C/a.s$i(al n'l,rld 64
(1970-71 ): 2R.:;-309. For carli.:r litcr:nure, M. Molt, "Ad Apulci M<td;JUrc:nsis M~a­
morphO!>COil librum pritnum conunemarius cxegcticus." (di:!..<i. Groningen. ICJJH): x-
xxiv. for the problem of Lruius, ,,, tluo A~~ there is. a bibliography co\'Cring the years
1450-1975 compiled by H.J. Mas,on of the lkp.utment of Classics in the Uni\-cn;ity of
Toronro.
 THE QUESTION OF READING 3

is cast, like the A At in the first person; summaries of the plot that shift
the narrative to the third person quite alter the effect.)

I once traveled to Thcssa]y on business and stayed in the city ofHy-

pata at the house of Milo. a very wealthy but miserly man to whom I
had a letter ofintroduction from one of my friends in Corinth. When I
was sen led in I began searching the dry for the real object of my jour-
ney, one of the famous witches of Thcssaly. J wandered the streets
fruidcssly until in the Marketplace ofDcsirc a wealthy woman saw me
and greeted me as a kinsman; she was my aunr Byrrhcna \vhom I had
not sc.-cn in years. When I told her I was staying with Milo, she wamcd
me that his wife was a notorious witch who might well lust after a
handsome young man like mysclt: ln spite oft he danger I rushed home
and there began to win the confidence of the serving maid, Photis. We
became lovers and spent many passionate nights together. I was the
victim at one point of an April Fools' joke perpetrat~d by the entire city
to celebrate their Feast of laughter, but though the triple-murder trial
they stagl·d was intensely humiliating to me, it led to Photis's revela-
tion that she was privy to her mistress's secrets of magic. She agreed to
help me attain my desire and one night woke me to come watch her
mistress transform hcrsdfinto an owl to fly away to her lover. I wasn't
satisfied with merely seeing it but had to experience it myself: with
Photis's help I undr~ssed and applied the magic ointment to my body.
But as l stood there flapping my arms and waiting for feathers to
sprout, I gradually became not a bird but an ass. Phmis was horrified at
her mistake and assured me that when dawn came she would go out of
the house to iind roses, which were the antidote. The rest of that night I
would have to spend in the stable. However. late that same night a band
of robbers broke into Milo's house, took all his gold, and loaded part of
it on my back and drove me away with them. lfl had nibbled at a rose
while in their possession, they would have killed me for a magician. So
1 c.•ndured my indignity through m:any trials. Fina11y. the fiance of a
kidnaped maidc.•n int11tratcd the robber band and brought about their
destruction and my liberation along with hers. But the rose season was
past by then, aml I continued to endure numerous humiliations at the
hands of various masters-a cruel boy who gathered wood, a band of
Syrian priests, a baker, a truck farmer, a Roman soldier. two cooks, and
their master. who was returning to Corinth. This last discovered that I
4 AUCTOR & ACTOR

was (for an ass) a quick study and could be taught tricks. He also
learned that one of the fine ladies of Corinth had bribed my keeper to
let her have sex with me. So he arranged to put me on djsplay in the
public theater at Corinth. where I was to have sex with a woman con-
demned to die. Just before this was to happen I broke my halter and ran
away toward the seacoast. That night under the full moon I fell asleep
by the water and saw Isis in my dreams. She promised that I would see a
procession of her worshipers. with shaven heads and linen clothes and
carrying noisemakers, coming down to the ocean the next day to cele-
brate the launching of the first ship of springtime and that the priest
would be carrying a garland of roses. which I was to approach and cat.
So it happened. The priest had also seen Isis in his dreams. and when I
regained my human shape he congratulated me for being saved by the
goddess from the persecution ofblind Fortuna, due to my own lubri-
cious pursuits. and invited me to join them in worship. I went with the
other devotees back to the temple and stayed there in a rented room; I
paid daily devotion to the goddess and eventually, at her express invita-
tion. underwent the ritual of initiation into the special secrets of her
religion-which I am not 2l1owed to divulge to you. curious reader.
Ever more enthusiastic in my spiritual intimacy with her, I traveled to
Rome. There I learned. somewhat to my surprise, that I needed another
initiation. The anxiety caused by my poverty and by the expense of my
second initiation was, however. assuaged by the spiritual blessing of
being close to her every day in her temple on the Campus Manius and
also thereafter by my material success as a practicing advocate, thanks
to her. Praised be Isis! I could hardly believe it when a third initiation
was required, this time to the secrets of Osiris 1 but the god himself
assured me that this was a great privilege and that I would be singled
out for speci:al honor as one of his five-year deacons. So 1 was happy to
be seen by one and all as I was walking the streets ofRomc with my
shaven head gleaming.

The methodological difficulty of interpreting the AA may be

brought out by comparing five major critical readings of it that arc
now current. What interests me is not the distinguishing particulars
of each approach but the structure of metl1od common to them all. A
brief statement of each reading runs as follows:
 THE QUESTION OF READlNG 5
(i) We: can match certain incidents and concerns of Apuleius·s hfe
with portions of the AA, so the work is in some sense an autobiogra-
phy, an apologia, perhaps a meditation on some important themes of
his own life. 5
(ii) The final book documents a spiritual conversion as well as a
physical metamorphosis., so the work as a whole is unified by its direct-
edness toward Isis. This can be discerned in the most secular parts of
the A.4, which are a preparatit> evanRflica Isiaca. It is a religious book.6
(iii) Apuleius was known as Platonicus, a name based on his pam-
phlets expounding a Platonic philosophy, on his (lost) translations of
Plato's works into Latin, 7 and on his self-presentation as a philoso-
pher in his Apolo.~ia. There are many themes and names and situa-
tions in the AA that can plausibly be read as references ro Platonic
dialogues and devdopments of Academic principles. The AA is a
philosophic novel. B
Reading (iii) is distinguished from its near neighbor (ii) by its em-
phasis on the universal forms of experience and on cpistcmo]ogy
rather than on the particular myth oflsis-Osiris: that is, the religious
approach is concerned with the many-named Isis in various manifes-
tations of female power and allure fleetingly discerned by a male
viewer; the phiJosophic approach is concerned with the structure of
that hierarchy (Me roc- Venus-Isis) and with its implications for the
nature of soul as related to body and to ideas. 9

5. The case is wdlmadc by M. Hiner, ··r Autuhil~grap}ue dans l'Am: d'Or J' A-
pulee," L'Antiquitr Classiq11c' 13 (1944): 95-111, 14 (1945): 6l-6t!. ·'Lcs nombrcux taits
autohiographiqul-s unanimL"mcnt admis p.ar IL"scririques,l':allusion ridicule au mariage
in villt~, lcs episodes enticrs de l'atTairc des Poissons, du prod:s des oum:s, lc theme des
:ICCUSations injustes, prouvcnt :lSSC'Z, nons sc-mblc-t-il, l'intiiUC COnfusion rhysique,
morale. intcllcctudll.' qui cxistc.· entre ApuiC:e ct son 11CnJS Lucius. ou, 1."11 tout cas. b
presence continuellc de l'auteur d;ms son oeuvre ... cettc intimitc c:nt~c lc pcrsonnagc
historiquc: et son heros unc: fob. prom·«. lc problcmc du c~r.Jcthr: dl." I'Ant' d'Orchangc
J' ~speer" (L'.4tJiiquili Cla$siquC' 14{19451; 65f.~
6. E.g., 1'. Scazzoso. Lf Mttamo~/clSi di .4pull'it!: ~trrdirJ (riti{o sui si,~lli/itllto dtl ro·
t1r.a11,;;o (Milan. 1951); R. Mc.rkdb,l.dl, R<rtrr~tl 1111d Afystl'rium i•••la Amikt• (Mlmkhl .lkr-
lin, l%2).
7. Plato's /)lrarJ,,, knm\'n lU Sidonius 1\pollinaris (F.pist. 2.9.4) .1nd quot~:d hy
l'riscian (lO.li.J and :21i}.
8. E.g., C. Moreschini, ··t:. Demonologia ntt"dio-platonica l' ll" .\tt'""''"~fosi di
Apulcio," ,\J~ia 17 (1965): 30-46. R Thibau. "Lcs ,\ti'tdtthlrplr"m J' Apulcc ct la thcoric
pbtonicicnnl" de l' Eros," Swdia /)It i losel plrica C.mdens ia 3 ( 1965): XCJ-144.
IJ. The metaphor of hidden religious knowlcd~oc can be applied tu philo!>ophy
6 AUCTOR & ACTOR
(iv) A puleius in his Florida claims to be a polymath and performer,
a master of all know ledge and stagecraft, worthy of public applause
and memodalization, in short-a sophist of the second century C. E.
The AA is the work of such a sophist, an exploitation of many con-
temporary themes from folk tales and religious myths combined into
an impressive and novel melange, a showcase of every style, that
serves as a testimony to Apulcius's powers of verba] display. The AA
is an epideictic book.lO
(v) The AA is in part a free translation of a Greek work that was
entitled Jl..letamorpllosrs, of which only an abridgement {entitled Lll-
cius, or th~ Ass) survives. It is found in the works of lucian, though its
amhorship has been questioned. Comp;uison of Apuleius's text with
that abridgement allows some good guesses to be made about Apu-
lcius's reformulations and additions, and so also about his proper pur-
poses in composition. The AA is a problem in liter::ary history. 11
Here then are five classes of readings, all of which are interesting
and plausible. They give different answers to the question of genre,
but they are not mutually incompatible and are in fact often found in
combination. 11 They share however a common procedure. a method

(as to many other thin~s): e.g., Seneca l:'pist. mor.IJ5.64 distinguishes philosophy's deep
analyses from its pr~ctical condusions: "Its tc:nc:ts arc publi<·, but its ration;al"-s an: hid-
den in the depths oi wisdom; just as only the initiates know the holier rites, so in
philosophy its .uc;mc: teachings uc: displ;~yc:d to those: who na\'C: bt"t."ll ;;admitrc:d and
received into the holy of holies: but the tenets and so forth arc known to the profane as
well'' ( [praecepM I a~rta sum, dtcn!lll llt'ToJ sapientiat> in abdita siwt !iiJn(lior.J $<lCrcmuPI t•mlllm
i"ilillli .sciulll, ita iu plliiMoJ•Iti~ arc•.uw ill1l adnriHi$ reuptisque in s.rcr.1 rHtflldunru.-; ar
pratupra t'l ali.r ~ill$m.:tdi profanis quoqm~ nota s11tlt~
W. E.g., S. Hammer, .. L'Erat .acrucl dc-s recherches sur !'oeuvre d' Apul~c," E11S '19
(1926): 233-45: "M.ais lc: but d' Apul.Cc n'ctait pas unc prop.agandc rdigiculioC. L'ccrivain-
:utisrc ne s'arrogc pas lt.• n'lle du pmphetc ou bien d'un en\.'oyc des dicux-an comraire,
i) prcnd 50UVCitt b. pose J'un i'IC.:tC:ur: il !>Olit bien que lc!t lcctcUr!t cnli5ant Cc rccil, a pres
;l\'oir g~"mt~ l~o'S $COtimcnt!> Jlllri.'OU:Ot IC'rTt"StrCS, puis.:s dans Jes livrcs precC:dcnrs,
suivmnr \'Oionticrs, au rnoins pour un moment court !'auteur dans lc nnu,·c:~u domainc
ClnOtiOI11lcl de l't.•X[3SC rdigicust.•, de l'311C3.1ltiSSl'tll('tl[ dc\·.:mt l:1 di\·initC-Il:UllfClJL·-
Illt"l1r, 11011 pour ~c dirig~.·r sericuscmcnt n~rs UTI chan~·mc:nt itucril.'ur subl~o• cr Ia rc.•-
naissance de J'amc'" (242).
11 . E. g .. P. Junghanns, Dit• Er zi:iltlunJ(SII'dmik 1\ltl A Jmll.'im' ,\1t'MIIIL''1'1111SI'S 11t1cl iltrer
1-·ilr/~~r, l'hilologus Supplcmentband no. 2411 (Leipzig, 1932~ A. Lcsky. "Apulcius von
Mad aura und Lukios "'un P:atr;u:," Umm·s 76 ( IIJ41 ): 43-74 = C.ri'~mrrwltt· S.hri(ir·rl (Mu-
nich. 1CX>6): 541.J-7!'1. H. \'an Thiel Drr Esclsrom.JII, \ul. l, L'ulmud~rm.~" (Munich. 1971 );
\ul. 2, Sytroptuclrl.' A11s~bt> (Munich. IIJ72) - Zctc:m:ua, nus. 5-1/1. 3-1/2.
12. A typical p.attcn1 of combination is to make some mention of Apulciuss lite
(i) and Lurius, "' 1lrc• A~s (\'~ then mo\·e [0 either (iii iii) or (i\·~ Proponents of {ii) regu-
 THE QUESTION OF READING 7

of imerpreution. that needs to be noted and questioned. Each of

these readings is based on the synoptic comparison of Tl~e Goldetr As5
with a master tC'xt, a document or writing that is given privileged
status in the decoding of the AA. The decoding text may be part of
the AA or a different text altogether. bur in each case the assumption
is that we need a Rosetta Stone:. a master signifier that will allow us to
make sense of an ambiguous message. The i\A is placed in one
column as cxplanandum and one or another text in a parallel column as
explauam. The philosophic reading gives privileged explanatory sta-
tus to the name Platonicus, which may indeed have been foWld in the
inscription of the work in its original form. The FIMida and Apology
serve to justify the autobiographic and sophistic readings: they arc
reasonably clear and authoritative cases of Apu]cian autobiography
and sophistry. and they arc used to support the claim that the ambig-
uous AA should be clarified by reading it autobiographicaHy or
sophistically. The Lucianic reading and the religious reading are com-
plementary: the former takes the frame ta1c of the AA as an extra-
text. an independent work found both outside the Latin AA (the
Greek. L~tciHs, or the Ass) and inside it as a skeleton. The latter takes the
concluding book of the AA, the part that is in strongest contrast to
the Lucianic frame, and gives it a privi1cged status in rereading the
once comic, now religious ass-talc.
The poim to be stressed is that every one of these approaches, each
in its own way, makes this same assumption about the incompleteness
of Apulcius's narrative. They read it as a dclightfu) but problematic
story who st.> meaning is more than (or O[hcr than) at first appears. In-
terpreters arc sometimes explicit on this point: for instance. ~']n short,
The Goltlrn Ass is a coded arcta1ogy, a laud oflsiac deity."U "Pernmlcere
can translate the Greek E1TatBEw ... and like the charm of which Soc-
rates speaks in the J>llatdo (n£~ [the storks) can comfort the chi1d
within us." 14 "The reader is invited to compare the stories of Psyche and

larly show some interest in (i), since their notion of llook 11 .a!> serious includes its being
based on his own experiences.. The introduction to ;my translation of Apuleius will
illmtratc this formJI pattern.
13. G. C. Drake.:, .. The- Ghust Story in TIH· Glldrll .1.ss by Apulcius.'' lbpcrs orr
Lm~uage and Liumtlm·13 (1977): .3-15~ 1:111ote front p. 4.
14. C. C. Sc:hbm, "Pt.tonic:a iutlw Mrt,mt~l'J'ItMc's of Apulcius." ·nuH 101 (1970):
477-~7; quote from p. ~~.
8 AUCTOR & ACTOR
Lucius ... and it is in the comparison that the real significance of'Cu-
pid and Psyche' becomes apparent."15 With such formulas for finding
and declaring the meaning of the text, it is no wonder that the AA
seems to be an ambiguous riddle with many proposed solutions. The
commentators' method assumes as much, and the conflict of inter-
preters can only become a quarrd over whose Rosetta Stone is the au-
thentic one. Does the text invite this assumption of incompleteness or
translatability? Or rather. since no text actively "invites" its readers to
do anything other than read, we should ask, When does a reader decide
to regard the AA as a problem, possibly decodable?

MITHRAS'S INTERPRETATION OF
THE GOLDEN ASS
For myself. and for many readers of the AA~ the moment can
be quite precisely located. Though the first ten books contain many
odd and delightfulJy contrary tendencies, no overarching hypothesis
that this book is a problem for interpretation suggests itself untiJ a
character in the story announces at 11.15 that all the previous plot had
a higher mcanjng than at first appeared. Thjs character is a priest of
Isis named Mithras. In what is vjrtually a breach of contract between
narrator and audience, Mithras summarizes Lucius's history in new
terms and throws in doubt the meaning of the ear Her books as we had
read them. I paraphrase: Driven this way and that by the storms of
Fortuna. at last you have sailed into the Port of Peace. Lucius. Your
fine family and education did not prevent you from slipping down
into servile pleasures and enduring the punishment for curiosity. But
let blind Fortuna now find someone dsc to play witht for you have
come into the protective custody of the goddess whose light illumi-
nates all the other gods. Pay her worship. Let the irreligious sec the
error of their ways. And to be even safer, Lucius, join our group and
put on the voluntary yoke oflsis's ministry. For when you start serv-
ing the goddess, then you will know what freedom rt>aUy is.
The fundamental characteristic of the five classes of reading out-
lined above is not only that they uanslate or "solve" the AA by appeal

15. J. L. Pen will, "Slavish Ple:uurc:s ;;~nd Profidcss Curiosily: F;~1\;~nd Redemplion
in Apuldus" Metamorphoses," Ramus4 (1975): 49-82, quote from p. 51.
 THE QUE~IlON Of READING 9
to a privileged master text, but that th~y have been stung into doing
so by the felt discontinuity of the priest's speech at 11. 15. The critical
completions are various ways of coping with th~ curious blend of
rightness and wrongness about Mithras's rereading. Compared to
anything we were in an explicit or natura] way led to expect, Book 11
is something of a surprise, depicting as it does a leap of faith that the
narrator (who turns out to be a shaven-headed deacon of lsis) had
cenainly kept concealed. The only genre I can think of that has a
comparable form is the shaggy dog story-a long and engrossing
tale. often of fantastic adventures or of a quest, that ends abruptly
with an awful pun. The two parts-a long talc and a pun-both
make sense, each in its own way, but to unit~ them in one structure as
if one led up to and was completed by the other is a dislocation or
rclocation of the rules of meaning. And this is what we are de: aling
with in the case of the ll.A: the basic rules of meaning arc changed
near the end of the game. Since Book 11 is not a short, story-stopping
pun bm an extended narrative, a more benign view of the disjuncture
might compare it to a long narrative dream (1-10) with a waking
coda (11). This too involves a surprise and a change of the rules of
meaning. Even on this view the puzzle of the secret still remains.
because the narrator never says it was all like a dream. never supplies
the rule of interpretation that will coordinate the mismatching of
1-JOwith H.
Since Mithras's interpretation of Tllr Golde" Ass, Books 1-10,
provokes all readers to face the question of meaning, it clearly has a
privileged place among the readings of the AA. Yet notice that it is a
reading only of Books 1-10. or to put it slightly differcontly, Book 11
is an interpretation of Books 1-10. The entire AA concludes with
what might app~ar to be an authoritative answc:r. Dut an answer to
what? The problem did not exist until the answer was given by
Mithras. Book 11 posing as an answer makes Books 1-10 a qucs-
tion.16 Lucius's adventures become retroactively a problem ar the mo-
ment when the last book claims to be not only a conclusion to them

lb. Tht' c;,,Jdt'll As$ IS exactly the opposit~: of that modern type ofnowl stud1ed by
S. Kellman, "'the scit:.ocgt:tting novd," in whkh tht" n;urawr tdls d1c story nih is mea-
t ion to be tht• nm·•.:list who will write the hook you arc now reading. Luciu!i's \'ot:ation
in Book 11 makes him precisely such :l person as could not haw n:matcd the pre,cding
ten boob ( Tlu· .~·U~&-gr-11i11g 1\:o,\·IIN('w York. 19XOJ).
10 AUCTOR & ACTOR
but a solution of them. This refor·mulation is dearly a surprise to all
first-readers of the AA, and it is just this induced self-recrimination
('·Have I been misreading this text all along?") that is the fillip for
rereading the novel and for trying to construe it by one or more oft he
methods outlined above. All these critics of the AA are in principle
second-readers who lost their innocence at the moment when they
reached the priest oflsis (11.13£) and, like Lucius as he ate the roses.
realized that they were naked. This is an inevitable fall. No reader can
really be expected to see what is coming the first time through. There
were, one later recalls or rereads, premonitions. The witch Mcroc
had tumcd s~veral impudent fellows into animals. Lucius had heard
his aunt Byrrhena's wamings about witchcraft and thought he under-
stood them even as he rushed to his doom (2.5f.~ And so any first-
reader wil1 certainly scurry along, little thinking that Isis might be
waiting at the end. It is only a second-time reader, a rcrcader, who
will be fully alert to the ambiguities and traps that might conceivably
(ir has been claimed) point toward Book 11.
The common feature then of the several current readings of the
AA is th<lt they :1rc second rc3dings. They first assume that the AA
has been read through from beginning to end, and then they engage
in comparison and translation from a vantage point that includes the
entire text of the AA and often other texts as well-Milesian, Pia-
tonk, Apuleian. That is to say, such methods arc synchronic and syn-
optic. It seems a methodological hysteron proterou to discuss the syn-
chronic meaning of the whole without first analyzing the curious
discovery thar rhere might be a meaningful design. The method f
propose is diachronic and heuristic. Of course, I too am a second-
reader {that is, one who knows that Isis, the proMem of Isis, will pop
up in Book 11). But insofar as the critical fiction is possible, I will
direct your attention to certain curious features of Books 1-10 as they
might appear both to a first-reader and in the light of Isis. The
method is therefore diachronic, because it tries to follow the mean-
dering paths of readerly intelligence as they were once first blazed
through the dense text, though it might even better be called meta-
chronic since the crucial point is the comparison of how the narrative
can be read by first- and by second-readers. Barthcs allud~s briefly in
S I Z to the temporal premises of two opposed methods of reading:
"re-reading [is J a procedure at odds with the commercial habits and
 THE QUESTION OF READING 11
ideologies ofour society which enjoin us to c;1st asidl· the story once it
has been consumed ("devoured"). so that we can go on to another
story. buy another book. and it is only tolerated in the case of certain
marginal categories of readers (children. old peoplet professors).... "
Ifthe first style bans a11 reading that is not linear and forward looking,
the second is the professor's synchronous style, described as "the pre-
tension which would havc us bdieve that the first reading [premiere
lftwrel is a primitive reading [lecture premierel. naive and superficial,
which will only have to be explicated later. jmellectualized.'' 17 The
Goldeu Ass, superficially at least, seems to invite both these styles of
reading in succession. Books 1-10 contain stories to be consumed
one after another; Book 11 is a condemnation of that method of read-
ing, one that demands jnstead that the naive reader, or tirst-reader
submit to explication and imellectua]ization. But neither styJe of
reading wil1 explajn why the secret was kept so long, so wcllt and so
elusively. Instead I propose a method that examines and compares the
independent impressions of first- and second-readers without privi-
leging one over the other.
The method I have employed js heuristic in that I shaH write as if l
did not know in the first four chapters what du.• remaining chapters of
this book would have you believe. This too is. of course, a critical
fiction, and some readers may be tempted to skip to Chapter 5 for
The Answer, and then read the earlier chapters only if they like the
answer. This procedure would. I think, distort the nature of the nov-
el's signjficancc, making it a thing given (by the author) rather than a
thing won (by the reader). For this novel, more than most. continu-
ously involves the reader in games of outwitting. a modus (lpemtldi that
I wiU call hcrm~ncutk entertainment.

HERMENEUTIC ENTERTAINMENT
The intcrprctarion offered by Mithras is not the f1rst such case
of revision in the AA. There are several dozen important scenes and
passages in Books 1-10 rhat arc abom the process of interpretation. I have

17. R llarthcs, SI.Z (Paris, 1970): 22-B; pp. 15-16 ofthc English transbtion by
R. Miller (New York, 1974).
12 AUCTOR & ACTOR

mentioned already the hcrots problems with reading and writing. The
first scene of the novel presents us with three travelers on the road to
Thcssaly who not only while away the time with a macabre talc oft he
living dead but enter a heated and complex debate, both before and
after the talc (framing it~ about the truth value of strange stories. For
the first-reader this is amusing, as are the numerous passages on related
hermeneutic issues throughout the book-always so comic and so var-
ied that no suspicion need arise that we are in the presence ofa theme or
message. But the comedy of audience comment, of characters assum-
ing a pretentious attitude toward or displaying their ignorance about
the significance of a tale, turns out to be a trap for the reader of the AA.
The innocent pleasure of laughing at them as they find themselves
puzzled by a story or leap to a wrong conclusion about its significance
turns against us when Book 11 makes Books 1-10 a problem for inter-
pretation. We are revealed to ourselves then as audience members who
have (unavoidably. in our good faith) been made to misread the tale
before us. It is a most uncomfortable feeling-like the passage from the
safe anonymity of belonging to a crowd that laughs at successive butts
of humor to being oneself made a butt. This is just what happens to
Thdyphron when the corpse turns from the general audience and
poims to him-··and the poor fellow is standing here now!'" (2.30). I
can remember from years ago a late-night story session around a Boy
Scout campfire when the counselor was telling a tale of horror-a
corpse walking, coming nearer and nearer, untH the narrator (speaking
in the sepulchral voice of the corpse) said to a character in the story, "I
got you!" and at that moment grabbed the boy who sat nearest to him (I
think it was me~ The AA contains many jokes, structural ironies, and
explicit discussions concerning stories that take on new meanings at
the end, particularly those that require a category shift or radical revi-
sion of sense ("This was not just a ghost story but was all the while a
practica]jokc masquerading as a ghost story").
Clearly most readers oft he first ten books of the AA find it satisfy-
ing as entertainment, and make sense of it in that category, without
recourse to the radical rccatcgorization that occurs at 11.15. I propose
to examine the relation between that final reinterpretation offered by
Mithras and the pervasive attention in Books 1-10 to the ironies of
meaning. especially the rrue and false meanings of tales. Apuleius 's
AA is not only at the end a problem of meaning and of multiple inter-
 THE QUESTION OF READING 13
pret:ltions but is constructed throughout of h~:rmeneutic entertain-
ment. In particular that entertainment focuses on the two related is-
sues of how one version of evt."nts is a.lll10rized over others and what
authority to give to any character who narrates his or her own experi-
ences rather than hearsay. These two themes-the authorizarion of a
text's meaning and the credibility Qf ego-narrative-arc alluded to in
the Apuleian phrase (3.11) that I have chosen for my title, Auctor &
Acto~ "Author and Actor IAgent."
Let me emphasize that [ do not equate a first-reader with a naive
reader. Indeed, some active and clever readers may entertain a variety
of suspicions about what Apulcius has up his sleeve, where the story
is going. what kind of writing it is. But among all such possible suspi-
cions, none has any grounds for priority over the others. And, inci-
dentally, it seems unlikely in the extreme that any first-reader could
harbor Isis as one of his or her suspicions.
The first stage of my analysis of The Goldm Ass will be to explore
the scenes where characters find or miss a meaning. where truth is
rejected or a lie embraced. h might turn out that the relations of
meaning between narrators and their audiences will point to a privi-
leged text, and that a master signifier will come to seem relevant even
before Mithras offers his. But that question must be left open, and the
text must be allowed to speak for itsdf about \Vhat texts can mean.
In a sense, of course, I have already chosen my master text. I give a
position of privilege to those portions of The Goldeu Ass that arc
models (whether serious or ironic) for the process of reading, ofinter-
preting a scene or tak. There is an inevitable arbitrariness about any
such choice; I can only point to its merits and hope that others wi11
agree ro folJow the experiment with me.
Indeed what we must watch is the proct."ss of various integrating
hypotheses becoming relevant. The process of discovering meanings
is my subject. and it may serve ro enhance tht: value and significance
of other interpretations rather than compete with them. The subtler
and truer way of framing these intcrprc:tations woulJ then run as fol-
lows: it is not that (for insranc~) Apu1cius's AA is to be interprc:tcd as a
kind of autobiography, but that the discourse of Apulcius imperson-
ating Lucius is discovered to havt• been both a fictitious life-history
and a true life-history. Preceding all such integrating hypotheses is
the original performance of the AA to any reader who is uninformed.
14 AUCTOR & ACTOR
who has neither the special knowledge to evaluate competitive read-
ings nor the impulse to do so. They h:we not become relevant yet.
The ideal tirst-reader is defined as an ordinary Latin-speaking citi-
zen ofthe second century C. E. who may or may not know Luci11~ or the
Ass, who is acquainted with the folk culture of his or her time, who
may know that Apuleius is a celebrated rhetor, philosopher, and
polymath, but who does not know that The Goldm Ass concludes
with an lsiac rcdemption. 18 Even a contemporary who knew all there
was to know about Apuleius would have to judge from the book
alone what its character was. Compare the modern case of Robert
Graves, author of light verse, emertaining novels, and works ex-
pounding his serious belief in the ancient Great Mother. Must we read
I, Claudius strictly in terms of the Great Mother?
It is one of my contentions that the AA is not simply a problem of
interpretation from our point of view in the twentieth century, a van-
tage from which we can notice readers through the ages disagreeing
about the mc;ming of the work, but that in itself and for any reader it
raises problems, actively post=s problems, whether the reader is of the
second or the twentieth century, and of whatever background and edu-
cation the reader may happen to be. This raises an important issue.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT
Since most of the approaches recommended tor interpreting
Tile Coldetl Ass are historical, it may seem as ifin postponing them to
a methodologically later stage of analysis I have tried to enter an a his-
torical world that excludes what would have been the second-century
reader's ordinary and actual knowledge. Apu]eius's audience may not
be presumed to know anything in particular. but neither can they be
presumed to know nothing. Some ancmion must be paid here co the
difference between an uninformed first-reader of our century and an
uninformed first-reader contemporary with Apulcius.
Every act of language docs presume some structures of cxpccta-

I R. Thett '"in fact no known association of Apuleius willt lsi~ outside the AA
itself. though there ;arc definite connections of the: author to Dionysi~n initiation {t'\po-
loxia 55). to Asklcpios (Apoloxia 55: Flon'rfa US), to the civic prirsthood of Carth;age
(FI1•rida 16). and to sun~try initiations (.-ipolt1gia 55}.
 THE QUESTION OF READING 15

tion and foreknowledge. Second-century n.•aders brought knowledge

to the AA that we must work hard ro rL"covcr. We must always think
oft he AA as a work wriuen in (and on) the second century c. E., and of
course its contemporary audiences could be presumed to know their
own language and culture. But not only wi11l exclude reference to
special knowledge-the religion of[sis. the philosophy of Plato. Lu-
cius, or the Ass, the end of the story, Apulcius's carc:er-1 will also
minimize the importance of ordinary cultural knowledge that the av-
erage contemporary reader might have brought to the reading of
Apulcius. My analysis is designed to bring out what I take to bees-
sential qualities of the AA, and in a precise sense location in a particu-
lar culture is twt a prerequisite- for those qualities.
When I say that even a knowledge of ordinary languag~ and cul-
ture that the typical contemporary of Apuldus \vould have possessed
is not a prerequisite for reading the .4A I mean two rhings:
(i) In the first place, though a general knowledge oflitcraturc's pos-
sibilities and the forms oflanguagc and culture must be available (as
the extensive but finite system on whose clements the :\A may draw),
an equa1ly strong and necessary ignorance of this partimlar work is
and was a requisite of its performance. For narrative in general, but
for tales in particular, the process of unfolding a plor through time is a
calculated play of ignorance against knowledge. and generic expecta-
tions exist as formal possibilities, like tht· rules of chess, within which
an author plays out for the reader a pmtimlar game. Our expectations
nu1sl be finmded on and manipulated by clut·s or information-bits
provided in the story. not outside it. As an audience, we arc waiting to
be told what is happening, who an~ the characters, and what arc the
operable limits oftheir actions. so that the game of surprise. suspense,
and no\"cl combination may be played. The author may do \\'hat he
wants, whatever his imagination may devise. He is not telling us
about a life-that we already have-he is telling us a story-that is
what we come to hear. The rules arc his, the moves are his; if success-
ful, the applau:;c i::. hb..
The boxed set of adultery tales in Book 9 is a gooJ illustration of
this: substantially the same cast of characters acts out variations on a
theme. The successful Young Adulterer who cuckolds llarbarus in
9.16-21 is the: caught Young Adultc:rcr of9.26-28, \\/hl'Tl' rhc Hus-
band signa]s the variation of tone and outcome in their playlet by
16 AUCJ'OR & ACTOR
saying." Non sum barbanu." One might say that a basic knowledge of
relevant cultural norms concerning marriage and adultery in the
Mediterranean area is a requirement for reading this story. And, to be
sure. there might be readers from a quite different culture who would
not fed the excitement, the advantagct the risk of these affairs. But
notice that the vigilance of husbands over their wives, the desire of
wives and young unmarried men to commit adultery, and the clever-
ness of wife or adulterer or husband (or ass) in coping with these risks
arc explicitly defined in the stories, not assumed without comment
from outside. Indeed. the variety of personal attitudes to marriage
and fidelity in actual life is another case of the same contrast between
strucmral norms and particular reaJizations of those possibilities: we
must discover from each individual or couple just how they feel about
those issues. Each husband, in life or in storyt may be jealous or not,
observant or not. successfully cucko]ded or not. This set of tales con-
tains a Husband (Barbarus) who is strict but tricked, a Husband (the
fuller) who is strict but not tricked, and a Husband (the miller) who
shows a very cunning blend of strictness and sophisticated laisscz-
faire. We are in effect provided with a rule set and then shown the
clements in a variety of combinations whose point is the unpredict-
ability or novdty of the situation. and the final surprise is the deli-
cious and intriguing anitude of the miller, who is a most untypical
Husband. a complex blend of the simple quaHties (or their opposites)
found in the others. His triumph is an overcoming not jusr of his
wife's plot but of his own role.
In sum then, narrative art requires ignorance rarhcr than knowl-
edge at two points: first. when we approach a talc it is the author who
defint:s for us a set of roles, motives, and personal qualitiL"s to be used
in that talc; second, the author·s combination of those clements regu-
Jarly works some surprise as well as delights us by its general con-
formity to the contracted terms of the narrative agreement.
(ii) Thert" is a sense too in which Apulcius's language raises a simi-
lar issue of forcknow]cdgc and ignorance. Docs a specific form of
language mark the AA as availab1c to the reader only on certain con-
ditions (sophistic training, legal education, a knowledge of Plautus
and archaic Latin classics)? Or is it rcdtablc at large to a heterogc-
n~ous crowd of literati and groundlings alike, none of whom is sub-
stantially at a loss to follow the trend and tone oft he narrative?
The closest rexrua) study of this immensely difficult problem is
 THE QUESTlON OF READING 17
Louis Callcbat's, 19 and we arc tortunatc to have his work as a basis for
the following theses about the language oft he AA:
Apuleius creates an impression of familiar realism by his use of the
vocabulary of daily life and the Rralittl of middle- and lower-class ex-
istence. This language was not acceptable in the higher and more re-
spectable genres of Jiterature. Its presence. in a literary milieu very
conscious of genre and class, amounts to an initial abrogation of vatic
or privileged authorship meant for an audience only of aristocrats and
scholars. The expressiveness, variety, and immediacy ofhis language
is not characteristic of the elevated and respected genres (epic. cJcgy.
history) but seems ro belong to that koinr of all social classes, the
living language of daily communication.
But at the same time there is an almost continuous distancing from
the strmo cotidicmus (which like life tends to the banal and trivial) by
means of a surprising preciosity, toucht!s ofliterary parody, and even
recognizable set pieces of sophistic composition. Lucius's servant
prevents him from eating roses in the stable in words rhat prL•sent a
cartoon of Cicero rebuking CatiJinc: iudignatus exurgit et "quo usque
taudem," inq1~it, •~catrthrrium pariemur istum ... ?" (3.27). The tone (in-
dignatus), pose (exrtt;f.!it), and run of words (including the play on
Catiliuafcantherium) are an unmistakable caricature of that republi-
can political crisis more than two centuries earlier. The AA, consid-
ered as a narrative or story line, docs not depend on recognizing such
references. But the tone of the narrator does demand to be recognized
as multilayered and shifting, often within the same sentence. Calle bat
analyzes the disparities and interferenCL"S that make Apulcius's lan-
guage u]timatcly an artist's construct rather than a natural language.
but makes clear that it is contri,·ed as a partial masquerade of sponta-
neous street jive (the ]ower reaches of sfntiO cotidianus~ This brings us
to the third thesis.
In many instances it is impossible to determine whether a word in
Apulcius belongs to the current language of familiar intercourse or is
an archaic \Vord found in the ancient Latin authors, particularly
P]autus. 2° For many passa~s. the reader will be uncertain whether and

liJ. Sermll CMidi(IIIIIS Jan~ Its Mft.tmt'rp11Mrs d'Apulr1' (C3en, 196R~

20. E.g.. Apulcius uses three words for .. buy" in the A:\: ct~mpar.zrr {10 times),
rppu•rr (3 times). pmt$lirtarr (tO times). C4lmpc~ro;~rr is colloquial and is gradu;ally repbcing
t lllt'rt'; pmejlitld rt is archaic, a fa\"oritc word u f Plat~~ us.
18 AUCTOR & ACTOR
in what proportions the tone of word choice and phrasing has the color
of contemporary low life or archaic low life. There are certainly ele-
ments of both, and dements that arc common to both, but without a
contemporary scholarly study, such as Fronto could have undertaken,
the reader must be content to follow the story listening to a narrator
and characters who speak an atemporal (or multitemporal) language, an
educated argot of vivid living vocabulary and vivid dead vocabulary. 21
Even a contemporary second-century reader who knew Plautus,
Lucilius, and Varro in a fuller way than we can ever do must have been
often in doubt as to the assignment of tone to certain words and
phrases. Thus. a sentence like the following-"at u," inquit, ..uequi.ssimum
et peril4nlrtl capllt ... nmcta cael; tmmiua quae deierando tenrere deuocasti,
prssimmn pcssime pcrduint" (9.21)-is Wlmistakably Plautine.22 Oppido
is very frequent in Apuleius. Plautus, and Terence: Quintilian tells us
that it had gone out of the living language in his lifetime (ltut. 8.3.25).
But is dicacule (1. 9; 8.25) a neologism based on P1autinc dicawiJlS
(Asirz. 511~ or did it occur in another comic text not available to us,
and was ir current in the markets of Apulcius·s day? It is in the main a
Plautine mirage. and Callebat's sensitive reading shows that it must
have been felt as such.
What arc we to make of such a tone. ambiguously slangy aud re-
cherche, mixing Gadzooks! and Goddamits!? How docs this style af-
fect our reception of the narrative? The tone is an important reinforce-
ment of what I perceive to be basic narrative qualities of the AA as an
exuberant but always ironic tale.
Brutal d~nsson expression, apparc:mment spontane par des mots ct
des lllUrnures qui St!mb)ent refieter Ja langue quotidiennc: )a mo)ns c}a-
bort~e. Apulce prend soin cepcndant d'aftirmt•r sa presence lm:idc: ad-
vcrbcs. ncgaEions ancnuativcs, parentheses, ironic surtout. imposcnt
inccssammc:nt au lcctcur-par deli ]a pcinturc ct lcs propos des heros
mis en sccnc-lc sour ire complicc du narrateur.l3

21. Of course Pl:mtus's langu.ab'C too is an artful version of daily speech: cf. H.
J•fftc:r, C.ttt·m,clnm~n zur altlatt•i~tisdlt'll Didllcrspntlltc• (Berlin, 1934}; H. Happ. "Die
latc:inischc Umgangssprache und die Kunstsprache des Plautus," GICitta 45 (1967): 60-
104 .
.,., Callcbat. Srnnc C."otid~nus (note 19): 500.
23. Ibid.: 550.
 THE QUESTION OF READING 1'>
This book may be viewed as complementary to C.JIIebat's. for I discern
in the author as plotter the same sourin: complier du IJcliTatt'llrthat CalJc-
bat finds in the texture of the language.
These then arc two qualifications (i, ii) that must be added to tlu.~
truism that a lirerary performance assumes a knowledge of the lan-
guage and culture in which it is written. Within these limits my ap-
proach in parts One and Two wilJ be decidedly a historical, avoiding the
conventional information about second-century religion, satire, and so
on. that is usua1ly invoked to make sense of the AA; but then, in Part
Three. I will delve rather deeper than usual into some byways and cor-
ners of Apulcius's cultural context to set the novc:l firmly in history
agam.

OVERVIEW
The literal effectiveness of the AA for a first-reader will tum
out in my analysis to depend on certain forms of semantic and interpre-
tive problems. These arc adumbrations of what the entire text has hl·-
come and was intended to become-a problem ofi.nterprctation. ln the
uninitiated tirst-rcadcr's understanding of the narrative there already
occurs a provocative entertainment that raises playfully and in Lmprob-
lcmatic terms what we can now sec to be serious questions of truth and
the possible limits of interpretation. Se\o't"ral dozen scenes of the A . 1
establish connections between the ordinary techniques of narrative in a
popular vein and the deeper issues of how a text comes to have mt·an-
ing-any kind of meaning. including religious enlightenment.
Therefore, instead of asking rht· question of genre-What kind of
book is Tlu· Goldm Ass? - I will ask the question of reading, which
has two parts:
What arc the: cases of reading and interpreting that arc: displayed in
the AA itself. and
What signiticance can these have as models for our reading and in-
terpretation of the who1c book?
The tlrst part of this question is explored in my Pan Onc-''Truth." I
will maintain that the author shows a very high consciousness in the
AA itsdfofthc problems of meaning. of reading and interpreting, and
20 AUCTOR & ACTOR
I will examine the many significant and dclibcratdy posed enig-
mas of interpretation and misinterpretation.2 4 The initial survey
(Chapter 2: .. The Interpretation of Tales") raises the major themes
and charts the dimensions of the problem, showing that ambiguities
and revisions of meaning are a pervasive concern. their presentation
being both hilarious and philosophically sophisticated. But since, on
first inspection, the interpretation scenes go off in so many different
directions and yield no consistent hermeneutic rule about how we
should make sense of a story. I turn in the next chapter (3: ~·The Scru-
pulous Reader") to a set ofissues common to Apuleius's AA and the
modern detective story. a genre obsessed with hermeneutic entcr-
uinment. In Chapter 4 ( ••The Contract") I focus on a particular Apu-
lcian trick-the sudden reassignment of guilt or responsibility to an
unexpected person. When a tale turns out to have a different meaning
not because its words arc ambiguous but simply in virtue ofassigning
it to a different speaker, we are obviously dose to the central problem
of the A A-Who is the narratort after all?
Part One tries to be open-minded about whether the AA is a hodge-
podge of uncoordinated material or a work with some panly or fully
realized design. This stage ofopcn-mindedncss. of taking seriously the
possibility that rhc AA may be only frivolous. is necessary in order to
justify further scrutiny. P:lrt One is therefore like the proceedings of a
grand jury, convened to determine not guilt or innocence. but merely
whether there is a case to be made. It aims to show not that the AA
means this or that, but only to examine whether the question is well
put and therefore not to be: ruled out ofcourt. The method there will be
heuristic, skeptical ofeasy answers, and patient in the accumulation of
suspended possibilities... to inquire rather than to decide." as the Skep-
tic Fa\o"Orinus recomrnended. 25 This is of course something of a mas-
querade. for I know perfectly well where the analysis is leading: I now

24. This is now one of the most familiar moves in modem criticism: "Gcncttc
and Todoruv h~vc repeatedly focused their am:nrion on metalinguistic commentary
incorporated in the: texts themselves...• Now from the notion that fiction is self-con-
scious :and rdlt'Cts upon its own representation of speech acts. to the notion-which
seems to be gaining ground today-that novds also represent ~nd rdicc:t upon inter-
pretation as performance. there is not such a vc:ry far way to go .. (N. Schor, "Fiction as
rnrerpreration/Jnrerpreration as Fiction,.. inS. R. Su1einun and J. Cmsman. cds., Tht
Reddtr i11 tl~ "/'txt !Princeton, 19801: 167).
25. lnquiTI'n' potiusq1u1m duf!mtrr (Aulus Gdlius Nocr. llll. 20.1.9}.
 THE QUESTION OF READING 21
believe that the AA's attention to issut.·s of interpretation is too continu-
OUS, and its Shandyesque self-referentiality too clever, to be accidental.
But the method ofexamination must be convincingly aporctic, even to
the reader who already entertains views about what Tl1e Golden .iss
means. Part One therefore notes in tum the more striking pieces of
conflicting testimony to the foolishness and to the sophistication of the
novel, holding in check all the temptations to speculate too hastily. Ifit
is any consolation to the impatient read<:r, I might remark that the
method of Part One-developing various and sometimes contradic-
tory lines of thought that might apply to Book 11 but without pressing
the argument for any one of them-anticipates the conclusions actu-
ally reached in Part T\vo. So although this book, cspccia11y at the begin-
ning, seems to consist of more questions than answers and ofcontinual
postponements. the reader who can accept the terms of the discussion
will already be anticipating the general sense of the conclusion.
As a fulcrum bct\\o-ccn Parts One and Two. I hav~ placed a chapter (5:
"Interlude: Socrates in Motley") that comments on the suspended
judgment of Pan One and sketches the theory developed in Pan Two.
Part Two ( .. Consequences") turns from the smaller scenes of narrating
contained in Books 1-10 to the frame talc in its three parts: the pro-
logue rl: •·The Prologue as Conundrum·'), the narration by Lucius of
his own adventures (6: "The Duplicities of Auctor1Actor"1 and the
Jsiac conclusion in Hook 11 (8: "The Text Qucstionst the Reader An-
swers"). To my mind, the convincing force of Part Two is very dosely
tied to Part One, though the argument is not direct. Only ifl can suc-
ceed in show;ng that Books 1-10 contain a steady series ofbrilliant and
complex scenes turning on issues of interpretation will the reader be
prepared to apply the acumen required for, and dcvdopcd by. Books
1-10 to rhc reading ofBook 11.
Having determined rhat Apuldus is extraordinarily scnsitivl" to dis-
tinctions of faith from fact and truth from conjecture, I then go on in
Part Thrcl" ("Conjectures") to oflcr a merely likely reading of the AA
against £he rdigious and literary backgrounds oft he second century c. E.
Many scholars of religious and cultural history have zeroed in on Book
ll as a precious document of lsiac experience, giving scant attention to
Books 1-10. One of the principal results of my analysis is to demon-
strate that Hook 11 is tainted evidence and cannot be used in any
straightforward fashion as lsiac, or pt.•rsonal rdigious, d~tta. Yet the
22 .-\UCTOR & ACTOR
book did appear in a time of lively religious maneuvering and cannot
be h~rmetically sealed off from the messy real world of Mediterranean
devotees, messiahs, and pamphleteers. 1 deal with this background in
three chapters focused on the relation of the AA to the Greek Lucit4S, or
the Ass (Chapter 9) and to the Lift of Aesop (Chapter 10) and on the title
of Apulcius's novcl-Go/dru Ass? or Metamorphoses? (Chapter 11~
What I claim for my ''Conjectures"' is not that they arc true but that, as
likely stories go, they arc novel and plausible and will enhance our sense
of Apuleius's brilliance as a writer and thinker. I believe his profundity
as a philosopher of religion has nm hitherto been fully felt. My hope is
that the analysis in this book recovers some ofhis brilliance on subjects
still ofintcrcst to us (such as fiction, conviction, and deception) :md lets
his wit speak for itscl£
 I

TRUTH
Vergil:.. Bur listen. fll tell you this one. it's
not too b•d J hopl".
It's the truth, let me tell you that. It's
thl" truth."
Dewey: .. If he says that, it means he's ]yin'."

-recorded during a liars' cmrtest by

Brunhilde Bicbuyck-Goctz
 2

The Interpretation of Tales

... if the characters in a story can be readers or

spectators, then Wl", their rc.-;;~ders or spectators,
can be fictitious.
-J- L. Borges, .. l)artial Enchantments of
the Quixote".

INTRODUCTION
The fifteen interpolated tales of The Golden As.s arc among
the most marvelous creations in the history of narrative legerdemain
and arc often singled out for admiration. The opening sentence of the
prologue directs our attention to them as if they were the novel's real
substance and raisou d'erre: .. But just for you I wil1 thread together
various tales in this Milcsian style and sooth, I say, your receptive cars
with an enchanting whisper...... This is perhaps the most mislead-
ing sentence in the entire novel, implying that the separate, excerpt-
ible tales are to be the focus of our attention, and the manner of their
introduction is an irrelevance, a mere device. But it becomes dear at
least in Book 11, when the narrator confesses his personal devotion to
Isis. that the novel invites reading-or rereading-with much greater
attention to the idcmtity of the t!RIJ in that first sentence and to the
tricks of his performance in stringing together this cat•s cradle of
tales. But .. narrator" is a term of such treacherous flexibility in criti-
cism and the ego who writes The Goldm Ass is so shifty that we will do
better to postpone the question of his identity and look instead at the
other characters who narrate.
Their tales have often been studied not only in relation to possible
sources but for their use in the AA to illustrate aspects of the narra-

25
26 TRUTH
tor's worJd-as warnings of what lies ahead of him, as exempla of the
moral world he inhabits, or as riddles ofhis own salvation. 1 But my
concern in this chapter wiJI not be with re1ations of content-c. g.,
comparing the witches in the early tales with the witch encountered
by Lucius and the inversion or redefinition of witchlikc characteris-
tics in the fina] epiphany of the great and wise mother Isis-but
rather with the scenes where narrating is an event.
The interesting fact is that in the course of their adventures the
characters of the novel do engage in acts of narrating, as well as acts of
walking, fighting. eating, asking directions, earning money. and
making love. The fact that listening to and evaluating fiction is a fre-
quent event in the lives of the characters in the AA provides a primal
pleasure for the first-reader and becomes, for the second-reader.
something of an enigma.
The scenes in the AA where narrating is an event arc fifteen in nurn-
bcr2:

1.2-20 Aristomencs' talc ofSocratcs

1.26 Lucius's account ofhimself
2. Jl-15 Milo's ta]c ofDiophanc<;:
2.21-30 Thdyphron's tale ofThelyphron
4.9-21 robbers' taJc~
4.26-27 young woman·s account ofhcr kidnaping
4.28-6 ..24 old woman's fairy talc
7.5-R new recruit's talc of himself
8.1-14 scrvam·s ta1c ofCharitc
8.22 a memorable crime
9.5-7 a delightful talc of a poor person's :adultery
9.14-31 a surp.1ssingly good talc
9.35-38 servant's talc of rich man·s three sons
10.2-12 a wicked maneuver, a wanton misdeed
10.23-28 a tale of punishment

These fifteen scenes, which display for our observation the activity
of narrators and audiences, comprise about sixty percent of the entire

1. j. Tatum, "The TaJes in Apulcius' Mttamorplt"JtS," ·rAI'A 100(\969): 4!'17-527;

G. N. Sandy, "Foresh:uiowin~ and Suspense in Apulcius' iHt:tam"rplros~s," Classical )our-
ruzl f>R (1972-73): 232-35.
2. The titles in this list arc t:tkcn, whcrc••cr possible, from phr01.scs in th~· text
i[sel( The reckoning would be different if one numbercti talts: some ofthc.-sc n:m:~ting
scenes cont.1in SC\'eral tales (#5, # 12), one has none (#2).
 THE INTERPilETATION OF TALES 27

text. Together they determine a field of themes and motifs that is

arguably the single most coherent subject of the novel, namely, the
semantics and hermeneutics of thl" act of narrating. More than the
themes of lust, witchcraft, criminality, curiosity. or the nature and
destiny of the soul (psycllt')t misunderstanding a story is Apulcius's
favorite comic subject and its varieties the most significant set ofjokes
in the novel. The first three narrative settings arc: the most elaborate
and significant, dep1oying at the very beginning of the novd some of
its most tdling hermeneutic tricks. so more than half of Chapter 2
wiJl be devoted to them alone.

ARISTOMENES' TALE OF SOCRATES (1.2-20)

Com.'l'rsions ofmeam'ug
The: narrator begins to describe his journey to Thcssaly-
thc hiJis and valleys. the difficult roads. the scenery. Suddenly the
calm is interrupted by a loud laugh and a command. "I was just add-
ing myself as a third party to two travelers \vho \Verc a httle ahead of
me on the road. just as I turned my ears to tht: subjt:ct of their discus-
sion, one of them, with a jolt ofloud laughter said, •stop! This is all
impossible. outrageous·lics!'" 3 The first action in the: novel is to calla
halt to a story for a discussion of the truth of stories. This giv«!s 3
certain facetious prominence to the theory of tales over the tales
themselves, as we find our narrator postponing the first of his Mile-
sian tales for a discussion oft he possible truth of fictions.
The Iaugher who begins the novel by stopping a story is never
identified beyond what we learn here about his cynical attitudc. 4 His
function is to ridicule and reject outlandish narrative. Surely what this
travder's laughter means is not that he found some particular incident
in Aristomcncs' talc insupportable, an incident that we could con-

3. duo bus comiturn, q11i .f"rrr paululum prt~t'tS5t'nmr, lt'rtialm me ./;JCio. 11c dum auscullo,
qaliJ srrrn(lttiJ. d.~il.lTf'tlt, alrcr I'XrtM (<1(1tirlllcl: ''poll(!'," i"olllil, "ill llt'r/1,1 is/11 lr.u·c lomr ,!ltsurd,s
"''"'l"c imm.mid lllt'latimdo" (1.2).
4. I usc: "rynir:al" hen: utht·r th:m "skeptical" with :1 nod in the direction uf
;mcicnt plulosophy. where Cynicism is the- uncumprmlli!Sing n·jc..·l·~iun ot' J'rc:tcntious
claims, Skepticism th4..· thoughtful withholding of both :~ssl·nt .'lnd dissc..·nt.
28 TRUTH

cdvably identify, but that his type of reaction will be avaiJablc to us as

a possible attitude for the story as a whole and for almost any part of
it. That cynic is not so much a character as he is an em blcm ofone way
of perceiving the tale.
His sentence contains an imperative verb. but it is not really a com-
mand or a request. For we could hardly imagine A ristomenes and our
narrator agreeing with him: "You're right-it was all outrageous lies
and wc'IJ have none of it-let's talk about something else." The cynic's
command to stop the story is the author's way of inviting our atten-
tion to it. The same sentence thus has two meanings. both of which
we immediately understand together: in relation to the character (ac-
tor) who speaks it, it is an injunction to stop; in relation to the author
(auctor) of the novel it is an invitation to continue and a promise of
excitement. Oddly enough, this is a case where "stop" is clearly un-
derstood to mean "go .. -cvcn "go with interest and attention." The
cynic's injunction does not prevent the beginning of the storyt it un-
derlines it. and we sec in this initial moment of the first narrating
scene the co-presence of auctor and actor.
"When I heard this. given that I w.as :11 thirster for novc]ry, I s.aid. 'On
the contrary, share your talk with me-not that I'm one to pry [cu-
riosus ], but I arn one who would like to know maybe everything or at
least most things. At the same time the delightful joy of telling tales
wiJl certainly smooth the rugg~dness of the: rocky road we're currently
climbing."' 5 Our narrator immediately places himself in opposition to
the cynic as a different kind of person; he is an anti-cynic. The emblem-
izing quality of the narrator's uncynical thirst for novelty is signaled by
alioquiu, ••given that [or, ''since of course"] I was a thirster for novelty."
Lucius·s thirst for novelty is later called-and it becomes a key word of
the novel-curiositas. So when Lucius here says uon sum curiosus, the
second-reader. who knows now that Lucius was fundamentally a m-
riosu.s, might try to read the sentence as some kind of revealing lie,
perhaps the author's way of introducing Lucius's curiositas through the
back door. Even more interesting. however, is the ellipsis in tht: self-

5. istoJ a((c•pt(l sitil.w t~lit1quilr IILliiJialis: •• immo urrtl," i~Jiuam, "lmJit'rlitr rrrmonis non
qui.lrm writ~.mm, .s~d filii lldinr nin: ut'l Wlltta uti (t•l'tr plurima; Jimlll iugi quc'ld iiiSurgitmlJ
asprituditu·m_tabulan•m ltpida i11rundiras lrHigabit" (l.2~
 THE INTERPRETATION OF TALES 29
identifying phrase "I am one who \VouJd lik(.· to know maybe every-
thing or at least most things." This is a case where between the first and
second readings there is a relation of transparencc. 6 A phrase whose
original context determines a limited and specific meaning for the
first-reader may on rereading be liberated from those confines and be-
come a tr:msparcm image of a later stage ofLucius's progress and con-
sciousness. The ellipsis here of tuat• folml,zt or tui sennouis ('~I would like
to know maybe all of your tale or certainly the major portion of it")
makes it possible for the second-reader to sec in it a daim to un-
bounded ambition in ferreting out all unknown things. Dut on first
reading, the sentence contains only a very low-key allusion to the com-
mon interest in avoiding boredom rather than to that thematic curios-
ity that is later feared. deprecaled, and punished.
One reason for this is that we too are subtly encouraged to adopt
the attitude of the narrator. which we could hardly do ifhis curiosity
were depicted as foolish or dangerous. In his debate with the cynic we
arc certainly meant to regard him as gi\'ing the better counsel-for
two reasons. First, his advocacy of giving the talc a hearing will result
in our hearing the t.ale. Since we have opened the book to give it a
chance, our operational premise coincides with that of the interested
Lucius. In the: debate between .. stop.. and •'go," we as readers must
side with ..go."
Second. the arguments voiced by the narrator arc longer and more
varied; they have a subtlety and logical development missing from the
cynic's simple rejection of the story. The cynic has a single argument
to support his command th.at the tale should not be (re)told: it is not
true. The narrator's argument for listening to the traveler's ralc is that
no a priori limit may be placed on what could or could not be true. The
requirements for acquiring new knowledge, the narrator says, arc
suspended judgment, an open mind, and an acknowledgment of the
limitations ofindividu.al experience. He recommends careful scrutiny
of remote possibilities, a small price: to pay for the delights, soon il-
lustrated. of such inquiry.

6. M. Albrecht, .\lt·ister rJ,niul1~r !'rosa at~1 Care• bis Al'ultius (Heidelberg, 1971 ):
201-4.
30 TRUTH
The example he offers in proof of his thesis is superficially face-
tious. but contains a sort ofbutToonish wisdom. The structure of the
argument is in two stagcst each a scene from common life.
(i) The narrator reports a recent incident from his own experi-
ence. He nearly choked to death on a largish piece of glutinous cheese
pudding: .. [ came doser than close to death." 7 The episode is offered
as the ordinary-experience basis for a working hypothesis about what
human throats arc capable of-not much more than a medium-sized
chunk of polenta-and the implicit warning that those who bite off
more than they can chew wiiJ surely regret it.
(ii) And yet, recently at Athens he saw with his own two eyes a
street entertainer take into his throat a sharp cavalry sword and then a
hunting lance point-first aH the way down to his viscera. after which a
pretty little boy, his assistant in the act, slithered up the long handld
The argument for suspended judgment is based on the narrator·s two
experiences: his own throat's limitations contrasted with the incredi-
ble but personally attested throat capacities of the sword swallower. If
I relied on my own limited experience and capacities, argues thenar-
rator, I would have disbelieved an account of that perform.ancc in
Athens in front of the Stoic Porch. But I would have been wrong.
The argument, then. is serious and carefully laid out, though by a
certain artful indirection the connection is not made explicit. as it
would be ifthe narrator said what Ijust said in paraphrasing the struc-
ture of the argument.
The contrast of sublime and ridiculous is greater than I have yet
reported. For the narrator's vision, resting on the little boy shinnying
bondcssly up the lance, sees in his final pose an icon: "You would have
said a noble s~rpent was clinging with slippery coils to the knotty.
twig-lopped staff carried by the physician god.'' 8 In the imagination of
Lucius the boy and lance lx.-come the serpent-twined knotty club of
AskJepios~ god and doctor. The juxtaposition of popular cntcrtain-
.ment and therapeutic vision, of sword swallowing and immortality,
of a healing deity emerging from a street show, may strike us as not
unlike the structure of the AA, which also moves from popular enter-
tainment to a religious vision.
7. mininw mim1s imrrii (1.4).
H. Jiun·s Jei rm~dici bat:ul(l, quod nmmlis srmiamJiufafiJ ll(ldMIIIPJ gen't, supmll!m
gcncrosum lubritis amp{l'xibus inlrar.Tt'rc ( 1.4 ~
 THE INTERPRETATION OF TALES 31

This is nor to say that the conjunction of sublime and ridiculous is

solved in fa\'Or of the sublime, nor that a saving religion lurks in the
corners of daily life if only we could sec it. The passage from one to
the other is much more complex. For instance, as a forewarning not
to take the mention of things religious as an e11dom•mcm of them. this
particular vision of Asklepios as a S\Vord swallower could just as plau-
sibly be read in an antireHgious way~as if to say, the gullible and
credulous will see salvation under every rock, a god in every serpen-
tine shape. The sophistication of Apuleius can only be appreciated if
we reaUy learn the lesson that the narrator has just recommended: to
bracket and suspend every prejudgment wc might bring to the tcxr.
One of the most seductive of these is that the sublime is higher than
the ridiculous.
Deeper still, the icon of Asklepios is placed so that its full meaning
dcpcnds on its context in a comparison of two experiences. The first
ends with a scene of dying as the narrator all but chokes on his gluti-
nous food~ the second ends with the image of the god who traditionally
has the power to bring the dead to life. This goes some way H> explain-
ing the oddly abrupt and incomplete phrasing of the former scene. We
would expect him to say that when he was gagging ro death on his food
someone thumped him on the back or he grabbed a cup of water, bm
instead the scene t•nds with the words "[ <.·.arne closer than dose to
death .. (1.4~ The recuperation is missing. His ncar-asphyxiation was a
vital mcdical problem. unsolved as he tells it. for which the vision of
Asklepios's emblem is a transcendent (and postponed) solution. The
narrator (actor)or the designing author (auctor) has not only contrasted
the two throats in question but has laid a deep correlation bet\'\reen the
two experiences-ncar-death and an entertainer's sublimation into
Asklcpios. The: connection is evanescent, never explicit, and not only is
the narrator unaware of(or unclear about) the point, there arc even false
clues, such as the mollities, the softness ofboth the cheese: food and the
boy's body.9 The peculiar elusiveness of the paragraph is that it can
seem on closer and closer inspection alnwst to mcm something. but
never to make tinal contact. This asymptotic style is Apulcius's most
characteristic curvaturt' of the narrative line.

9. Thi~ :!ltylistk phenomenon is analyzed on pp. 33-37 be: low ("Asymmetric

sy l)'lt ie s").
32 TRUTH

Neither the cynical traveler nor the credulous narrator alone repre-
sents a model of the ideal reader, but together in a sense they do. For
the standard claim about many short narratives is that the tale is
straugr bm true. This same combination-the strange and the truc-
has occurred in the sword-swallowing scene. where the narrator re-
ports that all were amazed but he actually saw it with his own two
eyes, both of them. Aristomcnes makes this claim explicitly for his
tale (1.5). This standard claim is wholly conventional, and if we know
the conventions oftaletelling we also know how to translate it. When
the narrator stoutly affirms that his story is incredible (to be sure) but
true (nonetheless), we do not deprecate the implausible and applaud
the truth. On the contrary, each half oft he narrator's claim is conven-
tionally and automatically translated or converted into the opposite
sense: we surely hope that the tale will be astounding, incredible, and
marvelous and we just as surely assume that it is in fact untrue. Which
is to say that both Lucius and the cynic were right, or half-right. Each
side correctly represented half of the complete and appropriate atti-
tude of an audience to a strange talc.
Thus thL" dl'hatl· about whctht.·r tht.• tall' should be: heard or not, and
whether it was true, credible. and acceptable or not, displays to the
reader the unstated premises and conventions of taletelling. These
conventions, inherent in the kind of discourse that novellas represent,
include both a form of bdief and a form of disbelief. Narrator and
audience arc joined by a contract ofbdief offered for belief strained.
Without the fietion of the strange-but-true, the mutually satisfying
exchange of audience and narrator could not take place. This is to say
that the question ofbclicfand disbcliefis necessarily present in telling
popular tales. bur that it is present not as a problem, nor as a premoni-
tion of some ultimate surge of supernatural belief, but as a well-
known and often-practiced convention of ordinary discourse (illus-
trated in the epigraph of Part One). What we have here is simply the
immune co-presence of fictional belief and fictional disbdicfthat the
unspoken assumption of the narrative situation elicits in regard to
supernatural power and knowlcdgt·.
ln thl" vicinity of the first talc, then. we find at last three instances
of conversion of meaning-passages that the first-reader, trained in
the normal conventions of narrative, understands to mean something
other than what they say and that the second-reader, prompted by the
 THE INTERPRETATJON OF TALES 33
conversion of the narrator in Book 11. now finds to be significant in
yet another way. (i) The cynic"s "Stop!" means "Go!"" Its dramatic
position makes it noticeable:, and even a first-reader can appreciate
the author's irony in beginning a narrative with a command to end.
The second-reader, alert to the problem of lying and perhaps impa-
tient with a narrative that both demands and refuses to be taken seri-
ously, can now agrcc-"Stop this incredible lying!" (ii) The narrator's
self-characterization as thirsty for unlimited knowledge but not curi-
ous: the point tor the first-reader is that ir is read not as a delineation
of characrer but as a device for prompting tales. The second-reader is
caught by the key word curiosus. notices that it is negated (uon mm
curiMus), and is compelled to entertain the possibility that it was after
all a significant (perhaps ironic) assertion about the person of thenar-
rator. (iii) The debate about whether and how to Hstcn to outlandish
tales makes explicit for the first-reader that the tale of Aristomenes is
a norma) example of the strange-but-true. Every first-reader can
sense that rhe predicate "strange but true·· as applied specifically to a
talc (Jabula) is not literally a truth-claim in the way it would be if
applied to collections of natura) wonders (paradoxography~ and that
the attitudes of the narrator and the cynic together define a type of
fiction and an appropriate frame of mind for enjoying it. For the first-
reader, ''This talc is strange but true'' means .. You are hereby granted
liberty to indulge in an incredible fiction for its own sake: your nor-
mal duty to evaluate and criticize accounts is temporarily suspended!'
The second-reader. howL·ver, is in a position to conven their parody-
arguments back into a real debate that now appJies to the credibility
of the whole novel.

Asymmttric syzygies
No conclusion can yet be dra\\.'n from these conversions of
meaning except that the text is not entirely frivolous. Rather it seems to
be meticulously constructed of sentences whose weight shifts like a
seesaw from serious to fri\'o]ous and back again-in contrary senses for
the first- and second-readers. These three conversions arc explicit sur-
face structures; there are a)so more subtle and dt·vious features of the
first narrating scene, which to the first-reader must seem merely capri-
cious-an entertaining obliquiiJ~ of style-but which lo the second-
34 TRUTH
reader can take on an aura of c1usivc significance, as if there ought now
to be a pattern in the carpet, a be3utiful. hidden design that "govcms
every line ... chooses every word." (.. You cal1 it a little trick?'' ..That's
only my little modesty. It's really an exquisite scheme.") 10
The style of the AA includes certain kinds of controlled awkward-
nt•ss whose playfulness is disarming: uaftcr we emerged from the
steep slopes of the mounts and the slippery slops of the vales and the
muddy planes of turf and the dodd y meadows of the plain .... , 11
The accumulation of rhyming isorhythmic phrases sets a limit on the
vu]ncra biJity of the tc:-xt to se-nsible reproach. If the author 1vill be so
childish with his words, how can we ever put any serious questions to
his text? The data we would usc is profoundly imbued with fatuous-
ness. for at any moment the author may display a king's-X. suspcnd-
ing the rules of relevance for the sake of a jingle or a kenning. The
horse's munching of grass is a ier.taculum amlmlatorium, "ambulatory
brunch" (1.2), that he has taken from the .. pastures he past" (the echo
in English represents the ncar-anagram ofprata q11ae praeterit, in which
pmer- com hines prar- and quae~
Many fcaturc.-s of the scenes sketched by this sty]e seem on first
reading to carry a wrong emphasis. Details are highlighted that
ought to be subordinate. like the work of an amateur photographer
who miscakulatcs lighting and focus. Yet the awkward poses, the
imbalance of design, and the displaced centers can seem on rereading
to be intentional. Consider the unnatural passivity of the tale's narra-
tor. Aristomencs, who is strangely isolated from the two audience
members. They are energetic in their debate; he is unrouchcd by their
opinions. Neither ofthcm discusses his concerns with Aristomencs,
onJy with the other. This narrator is as uninvolved with his audience
and their discussion of his talc as the physical book is in a reader's
hands. The active role often assigned to a tale narrator (setting up the
audience to be ancntivc and well disposed) is instead taken on by Lu-
cius. He lectures them both: •• Hut you now. who began. come on-an
it please you-retread your tale. I wiJl replace this fellow, an audience
of one, and \'l:il1 take what you say on faith. At the first hostelry we

10. H. James. "The hgur(' in the Carpct.p in '/'Ire ,"••.lor'('ls dlltl Talrs '?t' Hr•my Jamr•s
(Nc.•w York, 1909}. 15: 233. 2.31.
)\, ptlSioJilalll cJrdll4l IIINIIium ('( /ubriia lldlfittltl t'l P\lSdJa (ilC"Spilum ff _(/dJtl~ fill1lpt'f111H
t•rm·rsunm ... (I . 2~
 THE JNTEHPI~ETATION OF TALES 35
come to [ will treat you to dinner: this is the stake I make to pay
you."l2 Lucius dictates the terms of the contract-you narrate. I lis-
ten, 1 pay. Thus our minimal narra[Or (who has told us little more
than that he is making a journey) at once makes himself a narratee.
His inaugural act in the plot oft he AA is to disappear and let another
tell a talc. This trick neatly conceals the basic problem of rereading the
AA, for the deacon of Isis. as he must be, directs our attention every
which way but at himself. The possible significance of the polariza-
tion between active narratec and passive narrator can only emerge on
second reading. To the first-reader it seems. if it makes any impres-
sion at all, simply part of the system of imbalauces that is the guiding
style of the text. Mismatcht·d pairs and asymmetric syzygies arc
found everywhere in the AA, the fundamcnlal structural example be-
ing the relation of 1-10 with 11.
Lucius·s argument for listening to the tale actually consists of an
imbalann.·d pair of st•rious and frivolous concerns placed chiastically
before and after the tale. Before: (a) "The roughness of the ridge wc·rc
climbing will be smoothed out by the delectable fun of talcs.'' 13 (b)
The argument for suspended judgment (om: lined above pp. 29-30).
After: (b') suspended judgment again: "I for my part consider noth-
ing to be impossible, and howsoever tht• fates have decreed, so all
things turn out for mortals: for me, for you. for all people many mar-
velous and practically undoabl~ things have come to pass-things
that \vhen told to a stranger become incredible.'' 14 (a') "But 1 believe
this man, by heaven, and I thank him tor diverting us with the tcstivc
spirit of his delicious tale-at any rate I have gotten over a rough and
lengthy road without roil or tedium: a favor that this carrier of mine
too, I believe, enjoys-that I have: reached the very gate of the city
with no exhaustion on his part. carried along not by his back but by
my t•ars." t!i

12. $1'" iam ,·nl., tu Srlt/1'$, •lUi (LI!'flt'rtl.l, l~lllll•llll rrmc·tirr. c',\'1' tibi Sci(US ha~·( P"' rJ/LI tn:-dolm
1!1, q:n1d in~rt'HIIi primrmr Ji~t:•ril st<Jbulum, J•r<~u.lu, Jltlrt•dt'-llm. lraa lihi lll('rco dt'J'Clsila t•st
(1.4).
13. sinwl iug' •llh~l itrsur,f!imru a~pritruli"l'm)alwl.uum lqti.la iruundilds lt"u i}l11bir (I . 2}.
1-'· f/!:1' rrc·r,>, ii"''IUllll, m'lril imJioniblt• arl,itrw·, st·J utnml•tur .fdlJ dan·ur:rint, ita e~mcta
ru1.1rralibus l"''lltllire: 11am ,., rnil1i t'l ti/Ji c·r crmais hmni11il11u multoJ 1uu m·r~irc.> mira r·t J,.lt"tlr
ir!fi·, Iii, •JUat•I.Jmc·nrgu<~r•• rrlllttJ.fi•lcm p~·rJaut (1.20).
15. sccl C:~tltuit ,•t m·do hc•mllts t'l ~T.Jia~ .~ratias 11u·miur, qm,Jit·pidar.filbulaf')rstillitulf'
riM ar••'uwit, .:lSJ~C'ram Jnri,JUI' df ,,,,lixc~m 11i11m sitlt' lllbc•tc· lli lat·Jh• wasi. quc,J I'C'II1:1icinm
36 TRUTH
That last sentence demands to be read in contrary ways. On the
one hand, it is a classical rounding-offofthe tale, repeating in inverse
order the arguments that preceded it and recaHing key words (rough
road versus delightful tale~ It joins end to beginning-for the trav-
elers reach the end of their journey and their talc simultaneously:
"That was rhc conclusion of our conversation and our journey both..
(1.21)-at the gates of the city that was the site of the talc and that the
narrator had mentioned in his first words (1.15). We should not think
it an uncanny coincidence that Aristomenes' tale exactly fills the time
]eft on their journey toward Hypata: that is one of the regular pcrqs.
of fictional life. The uncanny element rather is the undertow of irra-
tionality amidst the semblance of order. For that last sentence is not
only a superb example of logical bathos (a fall-almost a pratfall-
from the serious point about audience beliefs1 but couches the argu-
ment of audience enjoyment jn terms of Lucius's horse's enjoyment
of the tale.
The fillip ofBook 11 forces us to wonder about the design of the
whole and the latencies we may have missed before: and so we gin-
gerly ask, Is there a pattern lurking behind the siUy irruptions of un-
reason? Why this orderly pairing of rational and irrational-of seri-
ous and facetious arguments. of Lucius·s enjoyment and his horse's?
Just as gingerly and suspiciously we try out an answer. The horse was
aU along an unnoticed audience member. Like Lucius and the cynic
and ourselves he heard the tale. Like Lucius and ourselves he enjoyed
it. but with a different ordcrofimelligence. The horse enjoyed the fact
that the burdensome trip was lightened by the tale. What for Lucius
and ourselves could be a metaphor (narrative lightens labors) was al-
most literally true for the horse. since listening to the talc kept Lucius
off his back. The horse, we might almost say, took the story literally,
as immediate, gratifying relief. The horse's reading is a zero case. but
alongside rhc cynic's a priori rejection and Lucius's credo it is a facet of
the author's hermeneutic entertainment, playing with the fact that
there arc many ways ofintcrprcting a text.
In certain respects the horse is like us-a silent witness to thenar-
rative, an audience member led passively through the talc. without an

f"tiam ilium uN/I),.tnlnftltm a·td(llatrari, MIU'fatigaticmt .t1~i mt usq11t a(l islam tillitaris por1am
ncm dono illi111, l~J trlt."isauribu.J prout'cto (1.20~
 THE INTERPHETATION Of TALES 37
active set of convictions such as Lucius and the cynic bring forward,
and (presumably like us) enjoying. At least, this is the role offered to
us in the prologue (lm:taberis-.. you will enjoy") and aftirmcd of the
horse (laet.:~ri-"hc enjoys," 1.20~ It is available to us to reflect that as
first-readers we could be passively led through the talc. but as re-
readcrs we have what is virtually a higher order of consciousness
about what this narrative means, so that the chattering of these two-
legged animals is now a significant language.
At the same time the horse is like Lucius, who (we now know) will
often listen to stories as an unobserved animal. In fact he will be
paired with his horse as a pack anima] and be forced to undergo iden-
tical experiences but with an invisible appreciation ofevents and tales
around him. Characters will speak about Lucius the ass as Lucius here
speaks about his horse. Those hermeneutic jokes (reported to us by
their butt, the animal who understood them) arc inaugurated here by
Lucius himself. The unbalanced yoking of reason and unreason
serves not to balk the reader but to open up receding vistas ofinvcr-
sion, mirroring, and transformation.

LUCJUS'S ACCOUNT OF LUCIUS (1.26)

As Book 1 began with a long cxcmplum of narration-in-
frame so it ends with what is evidently an ironic prc-sentarion of a
narrative situation at its least satisfying. The discussion of Milo and
Ludus lacks every element of a good setting for a talc (and, hence, is
usually not counted as one) but it docs so in a provocatively explicit
way. Stories in the Al\ arc often presented as mealtime or after-
dinner activities. The fullness of good food and good wine and good
stories arc often associated, as if to say that the ideally satisfied audi-
ence arc stuffed with tasty words. 16 Lucius accepts the hospitality of a
notorious miser, Milo, to whom he has a letter of introduction. When
ht." is shown into the hous<.·, Milo points to an empty tahlc-••rr IJ<>spi-
tium, "behold our hospitality" (1.22). Deprived ofhis dinner by a baf-
fling misadventure in the market (1.25). Lucius wants only to go to
sleep. But Milo insists on a friendly conversation and drags Lucius

16. At 1 . 7 Aris.tomc:n~!>, h;wing found Socrates a \\":llking t:urp~e. brings him

ho\Ck to life with food, Jrink, .\nJ ulcs lfoJIJu/i~~
38 TRUTH

reluctantly from his bed in order to interrogate him about their com-
mon friend Demeas, about Demeas's wife, children, and slaves, about
Lucius's business and travel. about public officials in Corinth, and so
on. The answers to these questions arc not reported, and we readers
certainly cannot supply the answers from what we know of Lucius,
for even his name was given only late and indirectly in Book 1. In fact.
these questions may simply remind us how little we have been told by
Lucius about himsel£ The opening description of his journey ("I was
making my way to Thcssaly .. .'')is very circumstantial and detailed,
especially in his description of his horse, but he does not formally
introduce himself to the reader by name and city of origin. (On the
prologue, with its significant question q14is ille? ["Who is that
speaking? " I, sec Chapter 7.)
If the text of Lucius's answers to Milo were given it would be just
the autobiographical information about the narrator that has been
withheld from us at the beginning of the book. Apuleius teases the
reader by reminding us that we still do not know any concrete or
certain details about the life ofour narrator.
The phrase used for this session is urit:sjabullmuu, a scri'-"s of tales.
(Fabula can be used of any gossip or common ta1k, though it is most
often used of stories. anecdotes. novellas.) Considered as a narrative
situation. this scene is dcpressl"d in every way. The narrator is
dragged to his postt the convivia]ity is missing, the table is empry of
food. Lucius was genuinely refreshed by listening to Aristomcncs·
tale; the etTect of this series fabularum is to exhaust hi rn to such a de-
gree that he cannot speak straight but begins slurring his speech.
leaving some words incomplete as his head nods with drowsiness.
When finally Milo allows Lucius to go back to his room and go to
sleep. their session is referred to as "a talkative, hunger-ridden ban-
quct."17 Lucius goes to sleep "having dined on tales alonl'." 18
This final scene of Book 1 is an empty frame-for us. that is. be-
cause we arc not given the contents of their talk. It is a parody of the
ful1 and usual narrative situation in which tall's wonderfully come
alive. We can imagine that Apuleius could have made Lucius's history.
in answer to MiJo's questions. very interesting indeed. bm he has

17. loquax ~·tf.tmdiwm tmuiuirmr (1.26).

1R. wsarussolis {11buUs (I. 26~
 THE INTERPH.ETATION OF TALES 39

chosen instead to contrive an l"xhausting, sdf-abnc:gating ordeal for

our narrator, the absent text of which is the story of Lucius's real life.

MILO'S TALE OF DIOPHANES (2.11-15)

Tile setttral ar~dietw•s of Diopllancs' awobic,gmplly

The next audience scene also features Milo and Lucius, this
time not around an empty tab]C' but over an .. articulate" (coucirmati-
dam, 2.11) spread of food, and not a zero-narrath·e but an immensely
clever articu1ation ofboxcd audiences watching audiences, each rein-
terpreting the centra] tale.
In the center of the boxes is a narrator. a Cha1daean astrologer
named Diophanes. While working the marketplace one day, he is
greeted unexpectedly by an old friend. to whom he tells his immediate
life history. It is a sad talc of shipwreck, bandits, his brother's murder-
a string of disasters he has barely survived. The joke is that there is a
second audience listening to this account: Ccrdo the merchant, whose
business fortunl!s Diophan~s is even now calculating. That second, un-
noticed audience interprets the story in quite a different sense-not as a
sympathetic narrative of persona] tragedy but as proof of Diophanes'
incompetence in astrology. Ccrdo (whose name means" Profit .. or "Sly
Fox") sweeps up his money from the table and runs off.
At this point we realize that Ccrdo. in addition to being an audi-
ence for rhc talc ofDiophancs, has become an actor in a drama, and the
crowd ofbystanders in the marketplace are the {third) audience. They
laugh uncontrollably because from their point of view the actions of
Diophanes and Cerdo form a comic skit. The presence of that crowd
had been carefully noted both in the opening dc:scription-''for on a
certain day when Diophanes. hedged around by a circle of thronging
folk. was giving out fates to the ring of bystandcrs .. 19 -and in the
loudly laughing crowd dc:scriht•d at rhe t.•ml: "a 11 of us stamiin~ ;around
him" (2. 14}. The transition from this encircling crowd (th~ third au-
dience for Diophanes' story) to the next audience occurs in the word
11os, ''us," for Milo, \Vho is telling th(" tal~. was one of that crowd and is

1~. uam •It•· 1/Har/tJm ~·wn .tf•'•JUt'tllis J.ljlpuli cimi/tl wrUl"J•Im "•'r'm•tt" dmonsr.mrimll_l=.trll
dtJnan·l (2.13~
40 TRUTH

repeating now for Lucius what he then witnessed.

Diophanes' rale then. with no change of words, has utterly differ-
ent meanings and effects on three audiences: {i) tragedy, (ii) proof of
trickery. (iii) farce. Both (i) and (ii) arc about Diophanes; he is trage-
dian and charlatan at once, speaking the same text to two audiences.
(iii) is the combinatjon of(i) and (ii). a tragicomedy that the crowd can
appreciate in a way that goes beyond what was available to merely
audience (i} or audience (ii).

Tlu? use oftlris tale as a prooftext

From the point of view of Lucius and Milo, the tale has yet
another meaning or use: as a proof of supernatural chicanery in an
argument about the possibility of reading the future in the stars. At
dinner, Lucius and Milo repeat the disagreement: that opened Book 1.
They debate the existence of higher powers, taking the same two
roles-a cynic and one prone (a favorite A pule ian word) to belief. Milo
rejects the possibj}jty of extra-normal powers and divine intervention.
Lucius counters him by telling of a Cha1daean at Corinth who had
Jately foretold the outcome of this very journey-namely. glorious
fame for Ludus as a literary talc.10 The point of the anecdote is to
support the thesis that the future can be read in the stars, just as Lucius
had earlier argued for suspended judgment by his example of throats.
Of course, he is not supposed to know that the prediction has come
true. since at the pretended moment of utterance and at the moment of
writing the book, Lucius is not yet the subject of a famous book. But
we are aware that his words refer to this very book in our hands.
Milo retorts with the talc of Diophanes, proving that the very ex-
perience that Lucius relied on for his belief was a sham. Strictly speak-
ing, the question is not of the existence of powers above us, but of the
accessibility of those powers. What Milo maintains is nor that there is
no providenc~ but that we cannot know what a provident pow~r has
decreed. Technically this form of denial should be ca1lcd not cynical
but skeptical: Cynics strongly denied that there were any metaphysi-
cal entities; Skeptics suspended belief, denying only that one could
securely and certainly know or prove anything about metaphysics.
Considered as a prob]em of our knowledge of a higher order of

20. llist~m·am magnam rt infrrd!md13m.fubulam rr libros {2.12~

 THE lNTERPRETATlON OF TALES 41
things, as an issue of epistemology rather than of theology, Milo·s
skeptical position seems to carry the day.
There is a wonderful paradox built into this scene: Milo's position
is proved by his tale; his tale is an excellent story; therefore an excd-
Jent story in the AA has been used to prove that Lucius's adventures
(= AA) will not be the excellent story that was prophesied.
If we arc prone to drawing consistent conclusions, we might
struggle with this paradox for a while, but that is clearly not the ap-
propriate response on our part; hence Milo, with a noncommittal
irony that often doses Apulcius's scenes of semantic entertainment,
says, uBut surely in your case alone, master Lucius, that Chaldaean
shall have spoken the truth-may you be happy and proceed on a
prosperous joumey."' 11 This is nicely put: for even if the soothsayer
has no insight into the divine mind or the stars· will, yet what he says
is not necessarily incorrect. A statement invalidly arrived at may still
be true. So the force of Milo's doubts is authentically skeptical, since
they arc aimed at the assertions ofcertainty about providence and hap-
piness to come, which is far different from a pessimistic view of a
cruel, unhappy~ or improvident universe. There may indeed be happi-
ness in Lucius's future-Milo sincerely wishes him well-but a
soothsayer's declaration is no guarantee of that. This point is very
important for the ultimate question of religious belief in the AA, for
the alternative m Isis is not disbelief, but an optimistic suspension of
wtvcrificd belief.

Sire tvho overllcars

The presence of the audience for a tale is an essential part of
its meaning; indeed, the same talc may change meaning for different
audiences. Jn this case there is still another audience, which we may
have over1ooked, still another framing point of view. Lucius has been
trying to avoid her glance. but it was her remark about the great
storm tomorrow that promptt>d Milo's original skepticism :.'lnd hence
theenlire discussion we have just analyzed. Pamphile, Milo·s wife and
(as we and the entire town know, though Milo apparently doesn"t) 22 a

21. srd libi plar1~, Lu(i do mint', soli on~t~ium ClraldMus ilff' urra Jixm·t, sisqut' ftlix rl it"
tkxUnlm pomi.~ (2. 14 ).
22. q11c>d ~lioq11in pub/i(itus malt:,fimr disciplinae ~rinfo~mes .sumus (3.16).
42 TRUTH
famous witch, had read her weather prediction in the lamp. Milo's
facetious reply that the Sibyl in the ]amp must be scanning the sun
from her watchtower on the candelabra or on the lampstand is in fact
an interpretation of Pamphile's divination as a kind of astrology. 23
And so it is that Lucius gives a pseudo-scientific justification oflamp
reading in terms of the material sympathy of flamelet and celestial
fires. Here too, ~s in his previous argument (1.4), he does not make
the connections perfectly cxplidtt but they arc there. Divination by
lamp flame is a kind of astrology, depending on the universal connec-
tions of material fire on earth with intelligent fire in the heavens. The
soothsaying ofDiophanes (Chaldatus) is also astrological.
Pamphile has perhaps been forgotten by the time the astrological
debate and the talc of Diophanes are concluded. But if we remember
her, we also remember that her power is a premise of the ongoing
story. That means that fictional belief (in her as a witch) and fictional
disbelic:f(in Dioph:mes' astrology) are co-present in the same narrative
situation. The dominant impression of the scene is that of a charlatan
exposed :md a light-hearted justification ofcynicism. But more funda-
mental than that fictional framework is the one we must return to-
that Pamphilc's knowledge and power are real, and hence that some-
thing like or equivalent to the claims of Diophanes' knowledge are true.
The special pleasure of the AA is the way that asscnions and deni-
als of the strange-but-true are co-present, and every time the force of
laughter or surprise compels us to acknowledge a hidden truth there
is something lurking close by that can remind us that our assent is
itself a fictional response. Here we may enjoy siding with the cynic, 3
reverse of the opening scene, but the spark that started this debate was
Pamphilc's presumably valid usc of the very astrological divination
that is rejected.
The silent presence ofPamphilc seems cspcciaJJy powerful in retro-
spect: we have been warned that she is always on the lookout for hand-
some young men such as Lucius (2.5). We may well wonder, Is she
thinking and planning something even now? Aristomcncs had been
frightened that Meroe might be listening to his conversation; Pamphile
is actual1y present at this one. Notice too the complete obliviousness of
Mi]o to this whole other dimension, which is unrealistic of course, but

23. R. A. P.1ck, .. Th~ Sibyl in~ lamp,'' 'fA/'A M7 (1956): IIJ0-91.

 TI-lE INTERPRETATION OF TALES 43
dramatically effective. There may be for first-readers a thrill of danger
when they first hear Mi1o scoff at his wife's prediction, for he is violat-
ing a warning that was laid down carHer as l"ffective ("Quiet, quid,
... don't encroach on a divine woman, Jest you suffer for your un-
modc:rarcd tongue"). 24 His implausibly perfl·ct ignorance of the divine
power in his own house tells us that this is a surreal stage whose
conventions include quite irrational combinations of character-here
the marriage ofa terrifying Witch and a comic Miser whose stories set
up irreconcilable force-fields ofbeHcf and disbelief.

Desire· to c:•scape the tale

But there is yet ;mot her audience or point of view on this talc:,
namely, the impatient Lucius, who wants nothing more than to get
.away from this narrative situ.;nion15 in order to begin his sexual adven-
tures with Photis. The dinner and session of tales arc locarcd between
his preparations for a night oflovc and the night itscl( Thus, Lucius has
a double identity in this scene: defender of faith against Mi1o and ]usty
pursuer ofPhotis. His mind is focused on his mistress-to-be, and while
he seems to be engaging fully in the conversation with Milo his innl"r
self (we later leam) is anxiously watching all this and yearning impa-
tiently to escape.
The analytic reader may enjoy dissecting the themes in this narra-
tive situation, as I have done in the: preceding paragraphs, but Lucius
is the type who would not be interested in the analysis. There arc,
indeed, important issues about truth and meaning hc:rl·. but Lucius
would rather rush ofr to an affair with the maid. The audience reac-
tion he: n:presl·nts is impatient of prolongcd or subtle thought. which,
inde.:d, seems to be quite beyond his ken, much as was the case with
the horse's enjoyment of Aristomencs' talc. Thl· AA seems to catt.•r
both to the sophisticated philosophical reader and to the hedonist
who wants immediate: gratification in food, drink, sex, and fiction.

The tirst three tales in the AA apparently have no common de-

nominator from which we might begin to extrapolate: a theory of

24. "tacr, rait', ... tt(Jrfl'," wqtut, "i11_fmriuam diuiuo11u, 111'•/uam tibi li•{r:u•lllltcmra•l•lll'
llllXIIIIIit•lllr.liiiiS"' ( l. K).
25. 1l'rit• llltlf'<tlrtUU.tniPit.f".JbuldTUIII (2.15 ).
44 TRUTH
interpretation, though they arc built in manifold ways about issues of
interpretation. Aristomenes' and Milo's tales are framed by explicit
debates on the existence or accessibility of higher powers; the two
tales themselves tend in contrary directions (Aristomenes' pro, Milo's
tomm1 and together they form a di.ssos logos, two equal and opposite
arguments, showing that tales can be used to prove opposite points of
view. If the second-reader is trying to formulate a coherent theory of
narrative and belief, these two tales form an initial obstacle that can-
not easily be surmounted. Between them, Lucius·s :account ofhimself
is prcscmcd as a zero-degree narrative, as if to underline the notion
that the narrator's autobiography, which would be the real answer to
the question q11is ille? ("Who is that speaking?") in the prologue, is
the undesirable opposite of a good story.
It would be possible to look at each of the succeeding talc settings in
as dose detail as the first three, but though each is different and contri~
utes something to the delineation of the range of fiction-making activ-
ity, there would inevitably be a cenain mechanical quality in showing
that each in some fashion involves hermeneutic entertainment and that
still no coherent theory emerges. So I will conclude this chapter by
examining just one complex scene-the great central tableau in the
robbers' cave, in which many issues of narrative duplicity are drama-
tized in the relations of the ass, Charitc, the old woman, and Tlcpolc-
mus, and in the old woman's fairy tale.

THE ASS REPORTER

In the robbers' cave the narrator tcJls us that he was in three
ways inadequate: as a scribe, as an objective witness, and as an inter-
preter of what he saw.

Scribe
"Standing not far otT I was sad, by god, that I did not have
handbooks and stylus that might record so affable a fable." 26 It is ironi-
cally disparaging for our narrator to refer to himse)f as a mere scribe.

26. st'd astans ''f.i' nt.ln pr,,cul dt~lt'IMitt mt'ht'rwlt's, quod pu~illo1res et stilum non lr.Jbtbam,
4JIIi tam bt/l.mrfo~brllam l'rarrtolatrm (ft.25).
 THE INTERPRETATION OF TALES 45

inverting the responsibility for the text so that its daborate excellence is
auributcd entirely to the old woman and in no respect to himself as a
rclayer. But more than that he calls himself a.faile~l scribe. We must do a
triple-take to comprehend the somersaults in this sentence. Since the
long and complex talc has just now been successfully completed in its
retelling by lucius to us, the regretful remark cannot be integrated
with the fact that we have just read the talc. For the force of the ass's
n:gret must be that without writing materials, and trusting only to his
memory, the story (in all its vividness) will be lost; but how can the
narrator complain that the story he just told was lost? The particular
word for writing-tablets is a second irony-pugWares, related to pugnus,
"tist," through the diminutive pugiliHs, "little tist,'' which I have trans-
lated as "handbooks." Even granting the countcrfactual complaint, the
reader is invitt:d to notice that if the ass had had stylus and handbooks,
he couldn't have used them. lacking hands. This thought leads inevita-
bly to a third level of irony. If we have just laughed at the thought that
the ass made a stupid comment because he couldn't have used hand-
books even if he had had them, the next laugh is on us, because that
reaction depended on our taking the narrator really to have been an ass!
But that of course is the fundamental lie. Like a triple tier of trap doors,
that simple self-disparagement leads to three semantic drops. There is
still no dear hint that this fun house of surprises about meaning wilJ
lead to a meaningful conclusion. With ever-refined \'Jriations, how-
ever, we are being trained in the craftiness of artful narrators. one of
whose delightful tricks is self-disparagement.

Objccti!JC' wimcss
The ass deviates from the role of objective reporter in the
sense that he becomes sentimentally involved with the: drama as it
takes place before him. The pathetic advcmures ofCharitc arc inter-
twined with the comedy of the sentimental ass, who develops a silly
infatuation for her.
The entry ofCharite is staged as a parody of the love-at-first-sight
motif. She is distinguished and noble in appearance, a young lady of
dass, ·~a girl (by god) desirable even to such an ass as mysdC' 27 It is
46 TRUTH
not only her station and beauty that the ass finds attractive; he is
moved by her desperate plight: "But the girl was unable to be dis-
tracted from her tears, once begun, by anything the o]d woman said;
she moaned deeply, her stomach heaved with continuous sobbing,
she forced tears to my eyes too." 2 8 When the new recruit appears and
tries to make love to Charite, the: ass is not merely shocked that she
responds warmly. he plays the jilted ]over: "She was eagerly accepting
the tidbits he offered her and when he tried now and again to kiss her
she warmed up to him with ready lips. This situation definitely dis-
pleased mc." 29
Apulcius so stagc:s the: talc ofCharitc:, partly told by her to the: old
woman and partly acted out before the ass's eyes, that we watch a
romantic audience member responding emotionalJy to the story as if
it were real life. A good deal of the humor lies in the implication that
we, the reading audience, understand Charite's plight not as real life
but as a melodrama, and because we understand the conventions of
such a plot we do not make the mistakes that Lucius the ass does. It is
because we are responding as a proper audience, enjoying the maid-
en's plight with a compassion that knows its own untruth, that we
smile at the tictional audience's error.

ltllcrpretc•r
That ermr is specified toward the end of tht" imrigut" as not
merely an ovcr-romantk sympathy for a heroine of another species
but an intdlc:ctual mistake. The ass misintcrprc.·ts the events (and text}
before him and reaches a mistaken judgment. When his love turns to
hate because (as he thinks) the Virgin has become the Whore, he vitu-
perates all \\'omen (7.10~ .and the narrator distances himself slightly
from the judgment: .. And at that moment indeed the whole class of
woml·n and their morality hung in the balance of an ass's opinion." 30
This could be a simple allusion to the same Romantic Ass (and is
probably so taken by the first-reader), but turns out shortly to be
much more specific.

2/'l. tlt"4' ramnl pul'll4f qllimr IIIIis ·111ic'llfdl' S•'nll<llfibllS 42ft illirltris_firflbus olllllfdri, St'J o1ltius
riufml5 jc:Jr 1'1 o1$Si,flii$ si.rgultilru!> i/i,t IJrlcJliou mihi rtiam /Q(rim~s t'X(u~sil (4.24).
29. at ilia sumdmt adrt'lmtcrt"r "'"' mmqu~m /J41;iart· r111kllli pttmlptit .~uit,lis ddlubt•sc('·
l1at. •JIItll' Pi.'$ ••ppid,,milti disp/i,·.·/J,rr (7.11 }.
311. t"l t1mc ,,.,;,/l'm tc•tatum muli1'tulll Sl'ltd llhlt'I'S•l"~' •it 115i11i JWIId.·l~amwdi<i<l (7.10~
 THE INTERPRETATION OF TALES 47
For the ass has misinterpreted the new recruir's story .:md com-
pounds that mistake by misjudging Charite, who has herself cor-
reedy understood the talc. (ln effect Charite and the ass disagree
about the truth value of the new recruit's tale-a disagreement that
classes her with the original cynic and Milo as one who debates with
Lucius a bout the significance of a tale.} The disagreement stems from
their different identificcltious of the narrator (quis ille? ), for Tlcpolc-
mus's talc-without a single word changed-means two quite differ-
ent things depending upon whether we think of him as Haemus, the
Thracian bandir. or as TJcpolcmus. the bridegroom ofCharitc.
The ass's misinterpretation is described with an exactness that is
exemplary for what any analysis of Apuleius's novel should strive for.
Thi! ass compares [he new recruit's words with Charitc's reaction-
performing what is now called reader-response criticism:
As soon as sh~ had seen the young man and had heard mention of
the brothel and the pimp, she began to smile with heartfelt joy, so thar l
felt a righteous contempt for the entire sex. when l saw a maiden who
had only pretended to love her young suitor and pretended to desire a
chaste m:1rriagc now showing instant delight at the word .. bmthel''-
dirty, disgusting place.l1
Charite's smile is prompted (the ass observes} by the word "brotheL"
The picture sketched for us is triangular: a line connects the new re-
cruit speaking the uouu'tJ 1'/upauclr" {the word "brothdu) and Charite.
who is smiJing; both of them arc connected by schematic lines to the
ass. who observes them. The ass interprets her smile as a reaction
precisely to the word '•brothel": he concludes that her earlier account
of her chastjty was a lie. He js shocked not only at bejngjiltcd but at
the startling contrast between her bubblingjoy ;md his own revul-
sion, both of which arc provoked by the same word, ~·brothel."
If the first-reader shares this shock, lu.- or she must then undergo
the chagrin of reinterpretation on learning that Charitc's response to
the new rL•cruit's text was correct. unfeigned, and spontaneous, while:
the ass had misinterpreted what was being said. For it was almost

31. qwJ•·qrudnu 5imuluidrml ilium iuunroll_lomic'i$1}111' t'f if·,h111i~ c~udic•rat IPI4'rllh1tt4'111,

a1rpit risu l~clissimo .~tJlirr:, 111 mil1i mrr1l1l srrbirrr uittlfKroJtio tolim st.·xus, emu uidl.'rrm put'l·
lo1m, l'n'fi itll't'llis amorl.' tiiiJJiiammiJU•· (t!Stc~mm d<$irkrio $itnuldto, lupmtaris Sflllrd Jordioliqut"
sul1i1o drlrcrari ,.,,millt' (7 .10).
48 TRUTH
exactly correct that Charite smiled at the mention of the single word,
but it was not so much the word .. brothel" (lupanaris nomint•)-th~t
was a small misdirection on Apu]eius's part-but the word "pimp,"
which had been included in the earlier, more general phrase "when
she heard mention of the brothel and the pimp."
•· A girlie like this ca.n be retailed for no slim price. 1 myself have
long acquaintance with certain pimps, one of whom will, 1 believe, be
able to p;ry whole talents for this maid. as her birth deserves, so she will
enter 1he brothel and not run away as she did before and even, when she
is doing service in the whorehouse. pay back some measure of \'C.."'l-
geance to you." 32
The maiden is bt,.'ing held, according to the banditst origjnal p1an, for a
high ransom from her parents. The new bandit's suggestion that she be
sold to a pimp is so phrased as to refer to her father-" one of the pimps
whom I have known for a long time''-who can pay a large sum "as her
birth deserves,., and keep her in a house from which she will not try to
run away. The "measure of vengeance" she will pay refers not to her life
as a prostitute but to the actions of her father against the bandits once
his daughter is safe at home. It is. by the way. literally true that he has
known the "pimp•• for a long time, since TJepo]emus and Charitc arc
first cousins and have grown up together. The absurdity and outra-
geous boJdness ofTlepolemus,s allegory, calling her father a pimp and
her home a brothel, make Charite smi]c. 33
The difference between Charite~s reaction and the ass's reaction
dramatizes precisely the difference between the first-reader of this epi-
sode and the second-reader. When the first-reader becomes a second-
reader, he or she identifies no longer with the ass's point of vi~w but
with Charite's. But as second-readers we have not on]y her knowledge
ofTlepolcmus's idcntjty but a]so the memory of our former puzzJe-
ment. The gap between these two experiences makes the second-

32. ttl'( mim lrui Jlrt"tio dis,ralli pcJltritliJiis atl.ztula. n11m et ips~ quosd11m lenottes prid~m
cognilos ll~tiN:O.quoJrum polt•tit UP111S m.tglliS. tquidtm ta/tntis, Ill dmitTqr, pr~dl12111 Ut.Znl praes•
finarf fondignt> rurralibus mis fomicrnr prorcSSIIMnl ntr in similtm jifgdtll Jiscursumr11, non ttillil
l'li&~m, cutnlupan41ri $cmit•rit, ,,jr~Jidllt uc1bis dcpemurum (7-9}.
33. She sees his double meaning in a W'ay similar to the reader's apprel."iation of the
robber's tales (4. 9-21 ~Those arc told in praise of heroic robbers defeated by \·il1ainous
householdcT"S, but the reader sees rlu.r they .are realty Apulcius's tales of clc\•cr house-
holders: heroes arul villains arc reversed.
 THE INTEI{PRETATION OF TALES 49
reader smile at the same moment Charite does. for now we see the
cleverness of Tlcpolcmus 's deception and the second cleverness of
Apulcius's deception.
In similar fashion, the entire narr:nivc of the new recruit when re-
read with a knowledge of his true identity takes on new meanings.
Tlepolemus had actually begun his talc with an explicit waming that he
was not what he appeared to be; "Do not rhink me poor and worthless,
nor judge my courage from my ragg~d costurne." 34 The: second-reader
can appreciate the irony, knowing that the sentence makes perfect
sense both to the: unknowing audience and to the knowing audience.
The reason it works so smoothly is that it is a standard opening move of
narrators-·· [seem now to be X but I was once the exotic and g) amor-
ous Y, and the talc of my cart.-er is an enthralling one." The new recruit
adopts the familiar moves of a taleteller, getting ahead of his story in
order to rouse initial interest (.. but I am running ahead of mysdf •J l srd
rei "osccndae carpo orditJcmJ 7.6; literally. "but I am snatching at the or-
der in which things art! to be known"]) and emphasizing an important
point by a show of reluctance ("for the truth must be toJd," 7. 7~ Be-
cause we fundamentally understand his words as those of a taleteJier
(a tutor) we inevitably miss the meaning they have as spoken by a char-
acter in disguise (actor).
When Tlepolemus's identity is revealed, the first-reader realizes
that the talc is not only Apulcius's lie as novelist but also Tlcpolcmus's
as savior of Charitc. which in effect means that the rcadcr·s deepest
conviction about the truth value of the account was truer than he
thought. because it turns out to have been literally true of the charac-
ter as well as true of the author behind the character. The possibility
emerges of a tentative transference of qualities from aatelor to actor and
vice versa. If the character Tlepolemus was using a sham autobiogra-
phy for a deadly serious purpose, could the author of the entire novel
be doing the same?
Finally, Tlepolemus's story is a lie whose terms arc significant. His
talc is not just a random interposition of any narrative in place of the
truth, as if another novella from the AA could have been used in its
place; rather the dements of his tale capture and rearrange the ele-

J4. P14'C lilt' JUIIttiS f."j!("IUUII ud abit'(IIIIU U!'ll!' dt• pam111Jis istis lllHIIIC'S lllf."aS a('Stimf."•
tis (7.5).
50 TRUTH

ments of his real-life situation. To mention only one. the tale indudcs
the destruction of a notorious band of robbers through the bravery of
a wife for a husband. TJcpolemus's disguise (of which his story is an
&:ssential part) will result in the destruction of the present band of
robbers who are his audience and is an act ofbravery by a husband for
a wife. The moment of discovery. then, is complex-the new recruit's
story was a lie, but as TJepolemus he was telling a kind of truth. Paral-
lel to the analogies drawn at the end of the last paragraph, we may
here ask whether the narrator of the entire novel is speaking a true
story misunderstood by its immediate audience but decodable for a
more remote audience who sec the end as well as the beginning. If the
AA turns out to be Lucius~s lie, will it also turn out to be a version of
Apulcius's truth?

TWO WOMEN'S STORIES

The temptation to disengage the uariat• jalmlat• from their
narrating context (a temptation already entenained. at least venially,
when the tales arc ca1Jed ••interpolated") is perhaps greatest in the case
of du: talc of the robbers • cook. lt is designed to fascinate the reader,
to stand away from its narrating situation, and (as the old narratrix
says) to distract its audience (auocabo, 4.27). Our attention as rc-
readers, noticing everything more acutely and cart>fully suspending
judgment, should be directed instead at the old woman, at her com-
ments on her talc. her motive for telling it, her audience (the young
woman), and at the young woman's own tale.
The t1rst item to notice is that there arc two stories told. The young
woman whom the robbers bring back to the cave explains who she is
to the old housekeeper, and the housekeeper in tum tcJis the young
\\.'oman a fairy talc. These two narratives. different as they arf'- and
they set:m to be purposely as different as possible-form an asym-
metric pair. The old woman's talc should not be iso1atcd as the center
of the ..4A; rather it is one half of a balanced (or bettt.>r, unbalanced)
diptych whose two members are placed side by side to highlight a set
of contrasts. Considered as a narrative situation, 4.26-6.24 is a mu-
tual exchange of tales in which the roles of narrator and audience are
held in turn by the young woman and the old woman.
 TI-lE INTEHPH.ETATION OF TALES 51

The two narrators trade tales fro111 opposite perspectives on life:

young/old, on the thrcshhold of marriagcfon the thrcshhold of
death, wealthy I poor, high class /low class, real-life account I fairy tall-.
This last is most important, for the young woman's account comes the
closest of any such narrative so far in the AA to escaping the category
of story and being taken as a real-life episode. But we should look
closely at this apparent contrast. So far in the AA we have been enter-
tained by what arc obviously diverting narratives that mark a pause in
the progress of Lucius's plot-tales whose occasion (at a banquet or
on a journey) and whose content mark them as anecdotes with a
tictional rather than historical cast. Is the young woman's account so
different? Like other tales, c. g., tl1osl· of Aristomcnes, Thelyphron,
or the robbers, it is autobiographical, relating an important event
from the narrator's own experience. Those narrators arc suffering
still from the effects of the dramatic incidents they describe, and so is
the young woman. Like them she speaks somewhat reluctantly,
forced as it were to recount something from her past in order to
counter the opposition ofhcr audience. Her intention in speaking at
last is to convert the old woman from anger to pity: "For compassion,
I think, has not entirely dried up in your rnawre o]d age and holy
white hair-consider therl·fore the tableau of my misfortune" (4.26).
And like earlier taletellers the young woman identifies herself by her
account. We have watched her entry into the cave, her grief, sleep,
despair, the robbers' counsel about her with the old woman-all this
while we are wondering who she is.
So the young woman's account of herself is in all these respects a
narrated talc. The tale itsd( not only the narrator, stands in sharp
contrast to the talc with which it is paired. The young woman·s story
is very brief; the: old woman's talc is very long. The tirst comes very
clos<.• to masquerading as life, the second is avowedly a fairy rak·
whose unn:ality is repeatedly emphasized. It is as if this pair of narra-
tives were: joined to show opposite ends of a spectrum, so that what-
ever common denominators emerge bt.•t\\o't."l"Il tht.·st.· two specimens
would serve to define all tlction. In f.1ct. howc\·er, these two stories
are remarkably and fundaml'nlally different from aJl that has gone on
before. Both arc told by "vomen and arc about women and arc shared
only between women-except for the reading audience and our si1cnt
representative on the scene, the ass.
52 TRUTH
Another contrast between the diptych's members is that the old
woman's tale is a single story that is long and complete, while the
young woman's talc is not only brief and incomplete but is double.
When she is finally induced by threats to speak to the old woman it is
just after she has awakened from a nightmare. Her dream has re-
peated the awful experience she just lived through, adding the detaiJ
that the bridegroom was killed while pursuing the bandits. The
young woman tells both experiences-her kidnaping and her dream
of the kidnaping: "But lo, in a most cruel dream my misfonune is
even now renewed, nay rather heightened" (4.17). The structure of
her narrative then is double, containing the same story twice. The
two versions, her real life and her dream, differ only in the ending,
much as the AA repeats Lflrills, or tile Ass but with a different cndjng.
The question of this new ending-Is it rcal?-is what frightens
the young woman, and this is the point the old woman addresses in a
very significant comment on the reality of dreams:
.. Be of good hean, my lady, and don't be frightened by the \"3in
fictions of dre2.ms. For besides the f:act that false images appeu in our
daytim~ naps. the visions of night sometimes foretell contrary out-
comes. For instance~ to weep. to be whipped. and sometimes to be
strangled announce a profitable and prosperous outcome, whereas to
smile and to stuff one's tummy with sweet treats or to couple with
someone for sexual pleasure wilJ prediCt that your w.~y will lead to
sadness of spirit. physical languor, and other losses. But I will distract
you here and now with a ddightfu1 story, an old wives' talc."lS

The dream's additional terrifying feature for the young woman is

the death of her lover. The old woman's interpretive principle, that
dreams sometimes signify the contrary of what they portray. would
mean that her lover will not die at the hands of the robbers. And as it
turns out he overcomes them, so the reader is led at one point to think
that the old woman's suggcstion was corrcct after :all. Bm later on, the
lover is wickedly killed, romance turns to tragedy, and the heroinc·s

35. "-'"'" .m imc• rsto, 1r1 i t'T il is, 11rc mm is s'"'"' itlflllll_tiJmrnt is lt'nt'llrr. wur1 pnu: tc-r 'I II,,J
diunult' quini.s i111agim•s faiSdr perlribtrrwr, twu rtiam t1C1lltm1ar uisiC~t~t·s ,·cmrl'l.lrillS rurmus
t''
IIOIIIIIImquam prorumlialll. drniqHt"firrt" 1111pui.JJ'l: rt ""'"'''mquam iHg11lc1ri /u(ttiSUttJ pnlSpt·
nunqul? pnmc•trrummmrianr, fontm ndrn•t"t mtlliti.s Juld~.,lis lit"lltn'm sa.(innn.•s•d in '"'luptaltm
uwcriarn (ltrwrnin· tristililu a11imi, laug•hlri t'C'rporis Jo~mnisqac• e&'trris ui.mt ddtwrt iri prr.zr·dic.z·
bum. sed t'.!."' It lf.ZmJtionibru lt"pidis alrilibus•JIIt'fabulis protirws auo•abo (4.27).
 THE 1NTERPRETATlON OF TALES 53

premonition of disaster turns out to have been true. (Possibly we can

even at that point rescue the validity of the old woman's principle, for
in a sense the dream foretold contrary outcomes-two outcomes that
were contrary to each other, both of which c.:.rnt= truL·; for the lover
both survived the predicted death and yet died.)
The old woman's intcrprcrive principle is centrally located so as to
be the hinge between the desperate plight of the young woman and
the distracting words of the old woman. It is enunciated at the mo-
ment when they shift roles-narrator becomes audience, audience
becomes narrator. The old woman moves directly from the interpre-
tive principle to the beginning of her tale: "But I will distract you here
and now with a delightful story, an old wives· tale." 36 Her introduc-
tory words to her narrative arc \'irrually those oft he prologue spt."akcr
to the entire Asiuus Atm.·us: "But just for you I will thread together
various tales in this Mih:sian style and sooth, I say, your receptive cars
with an enchanting whispcr." 37 Whether the similarities are due to
formula or to conscious design, rhcy are very striking: (i) the opening
words, sed ego te Iat ego tibi-''but," "I," "you.. ; (ii) the category of
fiction is clearly 1abc1cd-fabulislfabulas; (iii) the fiction is of a less
than respectable variety-mrililms/l\.filrsio sem1otu; (iv) the fiction is
recommended as entertaining-lrpidis/lepido; (v) the fiction is noted
in advance as scductive~!luoca/Jo/prn"ulcearrr; (vi) the tiction is an-
nounced as p1ural-tMrmtio,ilms ... .fabulislutJrias Jab11las. We have
good reason therefore in the run of the words themselves to associate
the pro]ogue narrator with the old woman. The prologue speaker (I
am avoiding here the question of his identity or her identity) begins
the who1e set of tales. introducing the frame tale as a ]ow but enter-
taining and persuasivefabula; the old woman begins the centra] talc.
introducing it in just the same fashion as d(c/asst but nonetheless de-
lightful and seductive.
The old woman characterizes her n~uration as an old woman's tak·.
or as we usual1y say, an o]d wives' tale. The association between thl"
prologue narrator and the old woman is oddly confirmed by dtl" His-
Mria Augustd in thl· life ofClodius Albinus. The.: following quotation

.16. Sl·d c.~' rr 11i2rt.Uio11ibm lt·pidis amlibusquc"J~bulis prvlmus .zuM~JbiJ (·L27).

37. at ego tibi um1011e isf" lt..fiksicosMrillsJ!Itulas wmmmr aurt·>qw•IH.JS ,,..,iiiLtlas h·J'i,/.,
HUIIrTI' ,~mwla·am (1. 1).
54 TRUTH

seems to be: a direct literary aJlusion to the old woman narrator:"[ am

even more upset that some of you would praise Clod ius as a man of
letters when he busies himself with old wives' tales and grows senile
amidst his countryman Apulcius's Punic Milcsian tales and other lit-
crary trivia.'' 38 This quote is from a letter to the Roman senate pur-
portedly written by the emperor Severus, but the exactness of the
literary allusion suggests that it is a document not from the late sec-
ond century. shordy after Apu]eius's death, but from the late fourth
century (as most scholars think concerning the whole work). At least
there is some evidence that Apulcius's fame by then had become even
greater and that the old woman's tale in particular had been singled
out for special attention (sec Chap. 1, note 3).
But \Vhatever the date of the description ofClodius's literary activ-
ities the point is not only that the entire AA can quite naturally be
referred to as old wives' tales, verifying our conjectural association of
the old woman and the prologue narrator as similar figures, but that
this characterization is a disparagement. In the judgment of the
quoted letter-writer the category of Carthaginian Milesi:m tale is not
an objective classification but a scomful dismissal. The AA is trash.
junk literature, old wives· ta1c:s. 39
That central. disparaged narratrix, who parodies the opening of
the AA and who is the extreme opposite of the wealthy young man
narrating the novel. has a ghostly alter ego. She is also described as the
one .. to whom alone the salvation and protection of so large a band of
young men apparently was l·ntrusted ." 40 The narrative context deter-
mines for us that this means she. fixed their meals and swcpr the floors
ofthdr hiJeout, but in themselves the words quoted might be used of
a protecting goddess. Thl" robbers she saves and protects insult her:
"'you cadaver on the edge of death. life's prime obscenity, unique re-
ject of Hd1." 41 The superlatives in this sentence (extremum, primum,

JK m.licYr_titil J,,h,r, quL'IIi illrtm pro lillt'miLI l. :uu/a,dmPI plrri.lHt' duxistis, mm illf' m·r~iis
qui/ou.,dam .milil•us Nmf'!ltru inla .\1ilr$ioJs / 1rmicas :lf'ul.·i mi t'l JuJia11littc·mritl •••IISI'Pit'$cart
(Hisltlri~ l'\u,~;"ml••· Clt>di••s Allrinus 12.12}.
]'J. As so oftl·n in rc.·;uling du: ..o\:1, we: must :.caml pn:carillU!ily bc:t\Wcn cwu
nu:anm!;t-<o. unablt: to opt tor either with certainty and com·iction. Literally. she: is an old
wom.:m (l:uin dPIII>') ant.i thcrcli:m: auynJ.Tr:ttiuns ot hc:r:s .lrt" anilibuJ_Iabr~lis, :m uld wom-
an·~ tJkli.
40. wi S,l/i s.tlus arqm·tutt'loJ tLll mmrt:rt' irlllt'llllm commiJsa uidrbatur (4. 7).
-11 . hwli (dJaurr t'.\'lrrmum t'l uilolc' d.·decus Jlrimum rl OrciJutiJimll -~~,Jum (4. 7).
 THE INTERPRETATlON OF TALES 55
solum) arc tr.ansfcrab1c epithets rhat might bc applicd. say, to Isis,
.. first offspring of the ages, highest of divinities, queen of the dead,
first of the heavenly powers.'' 42 The robbers address their house-
keeper in a litany of abuse. The hymnic phrasing means nothing at
this point in the story to a first-reader and in fact must be entertained
briefly only to be rejected. The first-reader does not know the house-
keeper's character but knows only that she is an old woman weighed
down with age uto whom alone the salvation and protection of so
large a band of young men apparently was entrusted." As so often in
the AA an extravagant tone has been introduced to convey what turns
out to be a mundane meaning. The period of suspended judgment
that precedes each such deflation is a time when the reader must work
hard to determine the degree of distortion in each phrase. measuring
the angle between the pretentious overstatement and the plain facts.
In resolving such sentences the reader must often reject, as here, what
seems to be religious language-a kind of exaltation and s:mctifica-
tion that the material of the plot docs not in itself admit. It is curious
that Apu1eius should thus give us practice in rejecting over-tones of
reverence, not merely by presenting us with irreverent tales, but by
saucing them occasionally with the language of holiness. so that we
ourselves must make an effort and decide to repudiate it.
The peripheral forces that draw us to elevate the old woman's tale
and concentrate on her as a paradigm of narrative oppositions are
themselves balanced by one of the sordid brutalities that arc also prom-
inent throughout the AA. Notice first that the matched pair of women's
tales exemplify the interpretive prindple that occurs between them:
they arc opposite ways of developing the same thing. The central mo-
ment of the old woman's story is Psyche's nadir of despair when she
loses her lover and contemplates suicide. This situation closely corres-
ponds to that of the maiden to whom and for whom the tale is being
told. By claboration backward and forward from this kernel, the old
woman presents a fairy tale that inverts the young woman's account of
hcrsdf. Both Charitc and Psyche arc wd] born, bqth arc happy in love
with soul mates who apparently die. both endure trials. The naive con-
clusion is that the young woman's story may have as happy an omcome

42. sarml••mm pr..,gl'llic.s iuitialis, SUIIIIHd ttwninwn, rrgit~a m.mil~m. prillld t"atlilum
(11.5).
56 TRUTH
as Psyche's. But for her audience the most important point about the
meaning of the o]d woman's taJe is that it js a ]je.
The robbers had instructed her to console their captive. We have
no reason to sentimentalize the old woman. whose interests are en-
tirely those of the bandit gang, or to read her story of Psyche as any-
thing but a cruel deception intended simply to keep the gir] quiet for a
good long time. Of course there is a correspondence between the
young woman's situation and Psyche's: the narrator is Charite's enemy
and her tale is specifically designed to lull her fears by using a mirror
image to tum her away from reality. ApuJeius thus engages us to react
with contradictory feelings. not in alternation but simultaneously.
for the more delightful and distracting the tale is in itself the more
horrible is the treacherous fact that it is being told. In this case the
narrator's motive, which provides a perfect explanation for the tale's
length and its seductive beauty and the kernel of its content, has been
revealed to us ahead of time, so that as first-readers we can both smile
and wince. In the case ofthe entire AA it is only as second-readers that
vvc can experience this same continuous betrayal-the more scabrous
its stories, the more scandalous the fact of its chaste conclusion. and
the more crafty the narrators, the more puzzling the fact that the
whole enrity does not compute. And if her auocabo ('.I shall distract
you,'' 4.28) is perfidious, what are we to make of his pennulceam ("I
shall seduce you." 1.1)?"3

43. S. fc)man. "Turning the Screw of Interpretation," Ycdt Frrnth Srudits 55/56
(1977): 94-207, esp. 124 (the content of the story is its own rt!ading) and 131 (seduction.
authority, and belief).
 3

The Scrupulous Reader

•• ... I've read that people never haa't' tigurcd out

'Hamlet.' so ir isn't likely Shakc:sJXare would
have madl' 'Macbeth· as simple as it seems." I
thought this over while I tilled my pipe. ''Who
do you suspect? .. I asked, suddenly. •• Macduff.''
she said, promptly. "Good God!" I whispered,
softly.
-James ThuTbcr, "The Macbeth
Murder Mystery''

What we have so far surveyed suggests an authorial intcl1i-

gencc of high I.Q. with a surreptitious bent. No single feature
stands out in a way that would authorize a rule of interpretation for
the whole, but at least we can rule out the radical position that Apu-
leius ''took few pains and had no purpose." 1 The next stage in the
analysis is to expand the data base and refine the method of inquiry.
The narratological themes raist:d explicitly and facetiously around the
telling of tales arc also found within some of the tales and in other
episodes of the novel. They wilJ be reviewed in this chapter and the
next. The fictional act of narrating was our point of entry; now we
will look for Apulcius's narratology in all parts of the text, except the
prologue, the narrating of Lucius himsdf, <md Book 11.
At the same time that we expand the field. it will be useful to con-
tract the method. To pursue the investigation more vigorously and

1. The opinion is B. E. Perry's; th~: phrase is C. C. Schlam's. reviewing 1\-rr)' and

others: Cl~tssical
World64(1970-7l): 293.

57
SK TRUTH

single-mindedly. however, runs an enormous risk: a ruthless third-

degree can force a witness to agree to almost anything. We must be
scrupulously aware of how our conduct of the inquiry, as it isolates
certain features of the text and brings cxtcmal forces to bear. may
affect the nature of the outcome. The problem is that reading must
always break into a text: "the inaugural act of reading is a certain
destruction of the text's apparem order." 1 The reader must make de-
cisions sentence by sentence as to what wi11 be emphasized, italicized.
The text can contain clues. hints. and nudges but ultimately cannot
read itsel( The most important question, in my view, is placed in the
first paragraph: qt4is illr?-.. Who is that speaking?'' llut to focus on
this question, though it is offered in a place of honor, is already "a
certain destruction of the text"s apparent order;• for the question is
presented as incidental, an afterthought from another speaker. not a
center ofattention for reader or rereader.
We need to find a kit of specific tools that will enable us to break into
the text without shattering it irreparably. I take my cue at this point
from those modern readers who have seen in T/rr Goldm Ass a solvable
al1cgory.3 The.· critical assumption behind such re;-adings is that the
novel is rather like what we nowadays can a detective story. In the clas-
sic detection novel there is a solution given at the end that reitrterprtts the
earlier events as having a significance quite different from what super-
ficially appeared. Since the last chapter has displayed how high a pro-
portion ofherml'11curic entertainment the AA contains. it makes a cer-
tain sense to compare the AA to that single form ofliterature that has in
the last century engaged so many authors and readers in the very spe-
cialized pursuit of puzzle narratives with a solution.
Perhaps the chief advantage of this method, however. is that there is
not the slightest danger that we will instal1 it as mandatory or inevita-
ble. Readers who come to the AA with a set of questions derived from
ancient religion. philosophy. or rhetoric have difficulty distancing
themselves from what they a]ready know. and difficulty therefore in

2. T. Todorov, "How to Read?" in "l'lzr 1\JctilS 4 Prosr, tnns. R Howard {Ox-

ford. JCJ77; Frcndtorig. )971):241.
.3. According to this mechod fsiac figun·s ;m: concealed in 011l the episodes: the
widow in Thdyphron"s talc is rcaJiy lsi!; mourning fiu Osiris (G. C. Drakl.•, "The Ghost
Story in Tlr~ c;.,IJ~n A.H by Apuleius,.. l'aptr$ Cll Lan.eua~· auJ Litt•rtJtlm.•1311977j: 12-
14); the clc\.'l'r doctor in the fourtc:c:nth tak is rc.aJiy Hc:rmcs/Thoth Jcting as ad\'OCJtc
for Horos when Typhon put him on trial for illegttimacy (R. Merkdb1eh. Roma" unJ
.\1ystrrium in drr :\rrtikt' (Munich I Berlin, 1962): 79-86.
 THE SCI~UPULOUS READER 59

seeing how their preconceptions may alternately erase and italicize

portions of the text. Information about religious and literary culture in
Apulcius·s day is very important: my researches in that field will be
presented in chapters 9-11. But what I will anachronistically bring to
bear on the AA in this chapter is information drawn from nineteenth-
and twentieth-century reading habits. ranging from Poe to the present.
For the moment, as a necessary. facetious praeludium, I will treat Tile
Goldeu Ass as an unsolved crime that may be unraveled by a somewhat
unorthodox procedure in order to Jearn quis illt:? ("'Whodunit? .. ).
As a sort of grand jury report, I would cite the tollowing tivC' con-
siderations that indicate that there' is a prima facie case for the similar-
ity ofthe AA to modem detection stories:
(i) The AA wasjudgcd by some in its day to be a high-class rhl"t-
orkian·s descent to despised popular culture. 4 If Apulcius really did
descend to a popular format in a way that made respectable readers
blanch. we should not cover up the scandal. Rather we should view it
in a way that now fl"ds slightly scandalous.
(ii) The AA 'sending is a surprise and yet in some sense seems to
have been lurking there all the time. If Apulcius seems not to have
played fair with the readers, is he any worse in this respect than cde-
bratcd modcn1 mystery novcJs that have deceived readers by violat-
ing their own unwritten conventions (e.g., Tilt Bi~ Bow Mystery, Tl1e
.Wurdcr of Ro,Rer Ackroyd, The Seccmd Shot, Before rhr 1-acr)? It might
seem if anything characteristic of the genre to be most daring in the
subversion of its own rules.
(iii) The ratiocinative clements in the AA and the modem detec-
tive story can be readily blended with sensational clements-horrible
deaths, violent confrontations with physica] danger. easy sex, a
bruta1 odyssey through a1ien terrain. Hermeneutic entertainment is a
central but by no means exclusive clement of both the AA and the
detcctiw story.
(iv) The detection story has been especially fostered by academ-
ics and intellectuals-both as readers and as writers. To mention only
thccmincnt:J.I. M. St~wart ("Michael Jnncs"~ C. Day Lewis ("Nich-
olas Blake.. ), and Dorothy Sayers ("Dorothy Sayers.. ). Even mort• per-
tinent is the post-modem usc of the detective story as a framework
for sophistic;~ted meta-literary works: Robbc-Grillct (Les Gommrs~
60 TRUTH

Nabokov (Pale Fire~ Borges and Bioy-Casarcs (Six Cmwersations with

Don Isidro Parodr), Butor (Passitr~ Time). The puzzle n:irrarive is a nat-
ural locus for the seriocomic posing of fundamental issues about liter-
a[Ure itself.
(v) Readers have spoken of detection stories' special qualities in
regard to time and memory: they are a concentrated exercise in im-
mediate recall (of alibis and evidence~ yet somehow very forgettable
as a whole, and beyond all other forms of popular diversion they arc
unrercadable. •• I forget the story as soon as I have finished it, :md have
no wish to read it again. If, as sometimes happens, I start reading one
and find after a few pages that 1 have read it before, I cannot go on." 5
This is an uncanny mirror image of the reading of the AA, a work that
makes no obvious demands on immediate recall, is episodically for-
gettable but leaves a lasting impression as a whole. and demands to be
reread. Perhaps there is a pharmacological relation between the AA
and detective stories, whereby opposite effects (pharn•akon as poison
and medidnc) 6 are due to the same ingredient-in this casct a
readerly role as weigher ofevidence that is either rigorously employed
(detcctjvc stories) or mercJy toyed with (AA).

DETECTION
"But perhaps, scrupulous reader, you wiJl raise an objection
to my account, arguing as follows: 'But how could you have known.
you sly ass, confined within the boundaries of the mill, what those
women did (as you claim) in secret?' .. ' A good question, and one that

5. W. H. Audcn. "The Guihy Vicarage,.. in Tht Dytr~ Hatrd a11J Otlltr EsSdys
(New York, 1963): 146. (Originally published in Harprr's .\laga::ittt', May 1948.) ''And
even more dearly dun other n.ur;;uivc gt"nrcs, the dctccti\"C' nmrcl is created to feed an
appetite in such :a w;ry that by the time it is read to the end nothing of the original novel
remain!> except the paper it is written on and the memory of pleasure or disappoint-
ment. Detective novels :are the most bb.unt examples of throwaw~y litcnturc. They
are books to lea\o-e behind in trains or \oacalion homes because in mos1 cases 1hdr only
'meaning' is in thefi r.sl rrading of them." IJ. Jlortcr. The Pursuit ofCrimr: Art a11d ldtoloK)'
in Dttectilor Fictioo (New H:~o\•en/London, 1981): 7 (emphasis added).
6. J. lXrrida, "Plato's Pharmacy," in Disuminaticm, runs. B. Johnson. {Chingo.
1981 ; French orig. 1972~
7. st'dJorsita 11 lt'llt1r SfruJ'llfc,SIIS rr l'"'l1rndrns narratrm• 1111'11111 sic argumrmaiJI'ris: "u 11dt
iJUifm 111, ~stutule asint, i11~n1 tt'nllitws pistrini c<tnlttriiU, '111id Si'Crt'tl), ut lld/irmtJs, mulicrrs
,gesurim, sdrr pt.lWisti.'" (9.30~
 THE SCRUPULOUS READER 61
would not occur spontaneously to most readers of Tile Goldt•n Ass.
The kind of reading invoked-scrupulous-seems to be in Latin a
metaphor drawn from careful weighing with a balance. A S(ripulum is
the smallest measurable unit of weight or land-1/288 of an acre or of
a pound, 1/24 of an ounce-and is used of tiny fractions of gold or
silver (or any valuable thing whose weight is taken, e.g., Martial
10.55.3) and then as a general term for the minima] unit ofobservable
difference (Pliny Ncu. l1ist. 2.48). The spelling S(riptulum indicates that
some feJt the word to be connected with minimal lines (diminutive of
scriptum). a jot or tittle, but more likely it is a by-form ofscrupus (sharp
stone) and scruplllus (worry). Scrupulos11s can refer to feeling a small
sharp pain or worrying about a tiny difference of measured weight. In
most dassical instances of the word, the latter, intel1ectual sense pre-
dominates, though Cicero several times makes an etymological play
with sm4pus (e.g., pro Rose. Amer. 6; ad Att. 1. 18.2~ as docs Apu]eius
(AA 1.11 ).
A scrupulous reader, according to the role that Apulcius has
scripted, is one who dosdy observes details and will object to incon-
sistencies. Note that the scrupulous reader docs not cal1 upon his own
suppositions or deductions about what must have happened but sim-
ply uses the narrator's own words-"as you say," ut adfirmas. Scrupu-
losity in reading requires therefore no imagination, no positive con-
tribution to the text, but only an acute scrutiny of what is already
there. We might even call it scholarly.
Yet every reading comprehends "what is thl·rc" by invoking supple-
ments, and this sentence will illustrate the point. A reader uneducated
in the conventions of fiction (which arc unspoken and not "there")
might misunderstand this address to the reader either as a statement of
fact or as a command. But it is not a fact that every reader is scrupulous
or that scrupulous readers are at this point feeling an objection. No
more is every reader of Do11 Quixott' an idler (JcsocHpado lector) or of
Baudelaire a hypocrite (IJypocrilt' lecteur) or of Sterne a lady ( -But
pray, Sir, what was your father doing all Decem I~ -:January, and Febm-
ary?-Why. Madam,-he was all that time afflicted with a Sciatica).
Nor, on the other hand, is rhe address equiva]ent to a commcmd-..Thou
shalt read scrupu]ously"-any more than a Plautinc address to the au-
dience is a genuine imperative: .. Have you understood everything so
far? Good. Oh dear, that gentleman in the back row says he doesn't: let
him come up closer. If you can't find a place to sit in front, sir-why
62 TRUTH

dontt you just take a walk!'" (Capt. 10-12). Neither a true indicative nor
a true imperative. the address to the reader as "scrupulous" outlines a
role. Like other character roles, the readerts role has been written by the
author and is part of the unfolding corned y. The lector scrupulosus, as one
of the cast of characters, is no more to be identified with any actual
reader (as refcrenc of either a statement or a command) than William
Gladstone is to be identified with a politician of that name who is a
character in an English novel of the 1890s. 8
A scrupulous reading is a possible attitude toward the AA; it is the
characteristic performant·e of an imaginary person sitting beside us
who conforms to the narrator's description, Hke the Plautine heckler
in the audit:nce. The actual audience may be perfectly docile and co-
operative. but the actor addresses a back-talker because Plaut us wants
to portray his prologue speaker as sassy and the audience as red hot.
To sum up the current paradox: the address to the scrupulous
reader mentions the possibility of applying strict criteria of internal
consistency to the narrati\'e without adding to or subtracting from
the tcxtt but to understand this sentence we must perform several
ordinary acts of rcaderly interpretation that do add something to the
text (e.g .• denial ofindicative and imperative modes for the utterance,
locating the lector as a comic role). Scrupulous reading therefore is a
fictional attitude subsumed within the more complex performance of
actually reading. But what kind of plot requires such a role, and what
exacdy is the scrupulous reader scrupling about? Here the modem
development of detective readers can help us.
The ideally scrupulous reader is, in fact, the reader of detection
stories-a body ofliterature identified not so much by its subject as
by the style of reading that notices clues and expects minute but ulti-
mately significant incongruitks. Scrupulous reading by the general
public is a relatively modem rcality9 -ncw, at least, in the conccn-

H. "The introduction of Mr. Gladstone into a fictitious s.ccne is defended on the

ground th.:u he is brgdy mythical" (l. Z.:angwill. The B(~ Boll' Mysury [Chic:;~gofNew
York. 1H95J: :author's introductory note~
9, A. Conan Doyle records how the new stylcoflitcrary :~dmiration to which he
was subjected took the form of detailed qu1.""Stinns from rcadcn about th~ accur.tcy of
his r.ales: '"Thc:n.· an: some questions concerned with p3rticubr storie!i which tum up
pcrimlkally from e\'t'"ry quarter of the globe. In 'Thc Ad\"cntuTC" of the Priory Sc:hooJ'
Holmes n:marks m his oflband wa)• that by looking at a bicycle track on a damp moor
one can say which way it was heading. I had sn many remonstr.mc('s upon this point,
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ~

trated form it takes. It has always been possible to quibble at a text,

but only detection stories set out deliberately to provoke that single-
minded activity from readers. Obviously, a certain attentiveness and
care is required for any reading. since we must always discriminate
the significant from the superfluous. In the detection story... we arc
always sorting out the hermeneutically relevant from all the other in-
formation. and doing so much more pcrsistcnt1y than we have to in
other kinds of noveL For although aU have hermeneutic content. on]y
the detection story makes it pre-eminent:' 10
The invention of this style of reading can be located with unusual
precision in a document that is little studied but has much to say
about the act of reading. lt is the work of Edgar Allan Poe. not as
writer (of "The Murders in the Rue Morgue": Graham~ Magazine,
April 1H41) but as reader. When the serial installments of Bamaby
Rudg~· had just begun to appear (.Ma.sta Humplm·y's Clc)cl.!, Feb. 13,
1841), Poe wrote a notice of the work ( Sawrday Et't:niflg f>ost, May 1,
1841) in which he solved the murder that had been described in chap-
ter 1 and was meant to remain a puzzle throughout the long course of
the novel. Poe's critical essay on the whole work ( Gralwm lwagazine, s
Feb. 1842, which quotes his earlier notice) brilliantly analyzes the
confusion Dickens caused by simultaneously developing clc\·er enig-
mas to mislead the reader and broad melodramatic effects to portray
the behavior of those who know the Awful Secret. Thus, in chapter 1
of Bamal1y Rudgt. Dickens poses an enigma:
The: steward and gardener were both missing and both suspt!Cled for a
long time, but they were never found, though hunted far and wide.

varying from pity to anger, dut I took out my bicycle and tric-d. I had imaginl"d that the
obsl..•r v-.n ions of the wa~· in which t ht.• t r.ac k of the hind wheel over1a id the track of the
front one when the machine was not running dead straight would show the direction. I
found that my currcspnutlcnts were right ami I w;~s wrung. 1\)r this wouM be the s.tmc
whichever way the cycle was. mm·ing. On the other hand the real solution was much
simpler, for on illl unduJ.ning moor the whec:ls make il much dttpcr impression uphill
and a more shallow one downhill. so Holmes was justified of his wisdom afrer aU"
(Mtmllrirs tm.l Adl'~''lhlrts (London, 1924 ): 107). Scrupulous readers-a fiction in Apu-
lcius-hild ;U bst become a general reality. The public's resistance to detectives in the
earlier part of the nincteemh century w:~s due to the perception of them as bounty
hunters: ~·c I. Ousby, BIO<ldlt,ttmds c'lf Ht>a1~11; Tlu! fk·talh'l! in Er~glislt Fictiotl from
Gildwin IC' DCiylr (Cambridge. Mass .• 1976): chaps. 1-3.
10. F. Kcrmodl", NtlL'!'I.wJ ·"·lltrativr (Glasgow, 1972): 11.
64 TRUTH
And far enough they might have looked for poot Mr. Rudge the stew-
ard. whose body-scarcely to be recognised by his clothes and the
watch and ring he wore-was found, months afterwards, at the bot-
[Om of a piece of warer in rhe grounds, with a deep gash in the breast
where he h:ad been stabbed with a knife.

This is the report of a witness, not the author's own description.

Modern readers, trained in the exercise of detection, wi11 probably see
the answer at once. The ingenuity of the story, however, is betrayed
by the melodramatic portrayal of Mrs. Rudge, whose face. when we
meet her twenty-two years later (in chapter 5~ is still marked by what
she saw on that awfu] night:
It was the faintest, palest sh~dow of some look, to which an instant of
intense and most unuttcrab]c horror only cou]d have given birth; ...
They who knew the Maypole story, and could remember wh:u the
widow was, before her husband's and his master's murder, understood
it wdl. They recollected how the change had comet and could ca11 to
mind that when her son was born. upon the very day lhc deed was
known. he bore upon his wrist wh.at seemed .a smear of blood but half
washed out.
Dickens's mdodrama continually trembles on the brink of giving
away the Awful Secret. Note the fol1owing: Mrs. Rudge is vjsited by a
mysterious stranger whom she conceals and protects; the same stran-
ger had just been present at the inn when the murder story was told;
that chapter closed with a prediction that the real murderer would be
discovered some March 19th, the anniversary of the murder and the
day on which the story is being to1d; and after this prediction the
stranger rushes out into the how ling night. In light of all this we may
agree with Poe that Dickens was not playing fair when he referred to
Mrs. Rudge as Hthe widow." Poe saw that Dickens had only toyed
with the idea of a. plot "based upon curiosityt rin which 1every point
is so arranged as to perplex the reader, and whet his desire for elucida-
tion." We seem to have in Poe's review the curious case of a style of
reading that preceded its proper text.
Poe's analysis of the narrative in terms of the essential relations
between reader :md writer pinpoints the difference between detective
text and melodramatic text as. metaphorically, a difference of gram-
matical voice: "The author, ... cognizant of his plot, writes with this
cognizance. continually operating upon him and thus writes to ltimself
 THE SCRUPULOUS READER 65
in spite ofhimscl( ... "Bamaby Rr4dge is mainly written, like almost
all traditional narrative, in the middle voice. It was Poe's brilliance to
develop a consistent mode of writing in the active voice, in which the
author writes for the reader in a transitive. almost adversary, relation-
ship. In a loose sense, all writing is for readers, but Poe's analysis
shows that a traditional narrator has his eye on the rc.-adcr's reactions
because his aim is to share various emotions and ideas. Such a narrator
imagines an ideal reader being pleased and moved and informed by
his writing, and in this sense that work may be rightly called writing
for oneself (and one's admirers). In the detection story, on the other
hand, the reader is imagined to be thinking very carefully about the
precise meanings. both the obvious ones and the apparently irreJc-
vant ones, of eVt:ry word, and for that reason the detection writer
must think about and against what the reader is thinking. Detection
writing can only take place for a reader who in principle resists adopt-
ing the narrator's view, who fundamentally distrusts the adequacy of
the information and emotions relayed. The scrupulous reader is an
enemy. challenged to break through the author's maze ofdefenses and
reach the secret truth hidden in the fina1 pages.
Yet, even the modern detecting reader is a scripted role rather than
a real person. The dosely reasoning reader (lector scn•pulosus) is a
fictional poim of reftrmce for the composition. 11 present at every mo-
ment of writing. not necessarily at every moment of reading. So
when we speak of the scrupulous reader we actual1y have in mind
certain facets of the text itself rather than a contingent fact about its
actua] readers. What that reader can be seen thinking. as written into
Apuleius's text. are four rdated mental operations: the exalllination
of testimony for inconsistencies, the detection of lies, the adjudica-

11. Here is the testimony of one:: '"judging from hi~ e11:J.lu:ations and comments on
individu:.1 works ill The CtJttJicgu~ ofCn'me, detection and reasoning are of the highest
priority for Jacques Duzun. In my own c;asc. hDWl"V1:r. I pul much lc!~s .ncntal energy
into llu: chain of deductions im'Olvcd in a detection plot and am generally :s.atidied if
lhey haw the air of complicated but correct reasoning ;lOOUt them" (J. G. C:t'ol."elti,
Ad~'t'tllurt, ,,.,.lysttry, t:Jnd Rt'lnalltr: F.mrw/4 Storits as An and Popular Cul111rt [Chicago/
London, 1~7() }: 107~ Doyle realized that the scrupulous re;~dcr should not be dciticd:
"However, I have never been nervous about details, and one must be nustcrfill some-
rimes. When an alarmed Editor wrote: to me once: 'There is no second line of rails at
th:at point; I answered, 'l make one"' (Mrmorirs !note 9): lOH~
66 TRUTH

tion of conflicting versions of the same event, and reinterpreting

data. or looking at the case the right way up.

"How could you have kuc>WtJ that?" (undc scire potuisti? 9.30)
-auormtability fi>r evidence
The justification for taking this Apuleian question seriously,
at least ad experimemum, is that countless other incidents related by
the ass or others arc carcfulJy supported by three kinds of evidential
accountability:
• A narrator affirms that-and describes cxacdy how-he or she
was an eyewitness. The witches plunged a sword into Socrates'
throat: .. [ saw this with my own eyes" (9.30). The perspective from
which a scene was witnessed is described! "Standing on an elevated
rock I surveyed everything with my curious eyes·· (2.29). (Examples
could be extended indefinitely: 1.4; 3.16; 4.18, 20; 6.25, 29, etc.)
• A narrator refuses to ·vouch for events outside his or her own
perception. "What happened on the following day to my master, the
gardener, 1 do not know" (10.1 ). Several accounts are supplemented
by information th.tt the: narrator did not observe at the time but ••af~
tcrwards found out" (4.6. 2.2, 7.1, 9.41, etc.}.
• A narrator cautiously discriminates between strict data and
conjecture. This is the most extensive ;md significant kind of eviden-
tial responsibility in the AA. An epistemologically naive narrator
could say. u ln a certain viJiagc we broke our journey by resting in the
house of some old men known to the robbers." But Lucius says, '"In a
certain vil1agc we broke our journey by resting in the house of some
old tnl·n known to the: robbers-for this was made clt!ar to my per-
ception even as an ass by the way they first entered and by their ex-
tended conversation and exchange of kisses" (4.1 ); or, in the same
scene: 11 A woman, evideutly his wife, ... leaped forward to bring me
immediate death, acting out of sympathy. obviously, for her hus-
band."12 The ass relates hearsay: .. Suddenly the robbers returned
from some battle or other, loaded with booty. several of them, the
more valiant fighters in fact, wounded; these were to be left at home

12. mulit"r qu11rpimn, ux~Jr t'i1u 5ciliw, ... 1mHilit 111 sui r•id••lu•·• misrmli11t11' mil1i
pr.tesr11s crcarrr txitimn (4.3). The most common signals of this discrimination are stilk(f
(K. Dowden," Apu1cius ;~no llu· Art of Narr.;nion," Clas.~i{a/ Quart•·rly 3211982}: 422-
25) and similar advcrbs-saur, p/.Jt~C', pr..,ctd dtrbi(l, uid1•1icc·l-and the particle q~ta.si. These
arc u!ied to inuic.:uc: easily inferable causes, motiws, states ofminti, obvious intentions,
:md highJy probable past or future cwms.
 THE SCRUPULOUS READER 67
to care for thdr wounds, while the r~st set out for rh~ remaining
goods, which were concealed in a certain cave. as tlu:y said" (6.25;
similarly, 6.26; 7 .4. 26; 9.4). Within the alternate. and equa11y accept-
able, conventions of a naive narration we would have fc1t no objection
to a statement that the robbers returned with booty, some wounded
were left behind. and the rest went out again to get the remaining
booty. lloth "a cave, and "as they said" arc additions that show the
narrator weighing out his words with the care of a witness on trial
The entire Goldetr Ass has a continuous texture of precautionary
qualifications, down to the smallest detail, alerting us to the truth
value of each fact. motive, explanation, and obscrvation. 13 The care
to render each moment of the narrative with a witness's accountabil-
ity for the exact epistemological status of his information means that
the question "How could you have known that?" (9.30) is shimmcr-
ingly present throughout. 14
The rationale for the prominence of the distinction between
"'What happened?" and .. How do you know what happened? .. is illu-
minated by a consideration of detection stories, where the distinction
is fundamentaL 15 It occurs in two forms: in the careful reading of
individual testimony by persons suspected of the crime and in the
detective's final exposition of how he or she analyzed that data to
reach the solution.
To consider the end first, aficionados agree that the virtue of a
well-wrought detection puzzle is that the solution is in principle de-
ducible though in fact few readers succeed in finding it. The story is
unsuccessful if the solution is reached by sheer guesswork or by acci-
dent. The telosofthe narrative is not simply to know whodunit but to
know 1Jo1v it may be knoum that X rather than Y did it.
A further requirement is that the detection narrative will reach a
solution that is not obvious. Todorov has analyzed the significance of
this rule by contrasting it with the realistic novd of verisimilitude,

13. A very subtle case occurs at 4.2. where the a5s sees not roses but .. the color of
rose-s" on a dbtilnl pbm that turns out to b~ a poisonous lookalikc.
14. A fair number of such qualifications arc focused on the (;act that the narrator
Wa5 actually ;m :ass. I will postpone c:onsidning them until Chaptc.-r 6 since.- they peru in
directly to the ddicatc question of the narrator's multiple identity.
15. ..In the detective story nmhing should happen: the crime lu." ;already been
com mittcd, and the l'C)t oft he talc com;ists of the collect ion. sclcct ion ;md combination
of evidence. In :a mystery talc the reader is led from fresh adwnture to fresh ad\"Cnture.
In practice. ofcourse, rnosr ,lcr..-rti\oe stories contain a fc.:w C\'Cnts, but these arc subordi-
nate, .md the interest lies in the investigation" (T. S. Eliot. Crilf.'rion 5119271: 360~
68 TRUTH
which feels obliged to prefer the plausiblc. 16 If there is a murder, the
police survey the crime, motives, and suspects, and choose the most
likely suspect. The local authorities in Barnaby Rudge act thus when
they conclude that the unrecognizable body wearing Mr. Rudge's
clothes, watch, and ring must be Mr. Rudge. In a detection novel
there is a higher rule, which the fictional police never realize, requir-
ing an unobvious murderer or method. The detection consciousness,
were it present in Barnaby Rudgt1 would know at once that the unrec-
ognizable body is probably not that of Mr. Rudge. This clearly cannot
be a rule of practical operation for real-life police but is the unspoken
law for detection narratives.
The two rules, then, governing the end of a detection story arc that
the unJike1y wi11 be found and that the unlikely will be provable by
evidence. The analogy might strike us that Apuleius's Book 11 is gov-
erned by the law of the least likely ending-rather as in Dorothy Say-
ers' The Nine Tailors, in which it turns out that ••God is the ]east likely
person.. 17-but that the text prior to that ending is governed by the
law of provability, and that there is a notable failure of coordination
between the two.
The law of evidential accountability also applies to the testimony
ofeach suspect or witness presented to the detective and reader. Here
the difference between Apuleius and detection stories is clear. The
norm for detection stories is that all the witnesses except one will give
truthful but inadequate information. One witness, the Guilty Party,
will lie. There may also be witting or unwitting accomplices. The
detective and reader must sort out these accomplices' lies from the
guilty party's lies, distinguishing between the imps who fib and the
Father oflies who bears ultimate responsibility for the existence of
the conundrum. The evident difference is that in A pule ius we arc not
to1d to search out some one character whose scrutinized testimony
will bear subtle signs of falsehood that, when detected. will absolve
all the others from the suspicion of guilt.
The real art of planting clues is sometimes to put them in the most
obvious places. 18 The prologue posed the question "Who is speak-

16. "An Introduction to Verisimilitude,.. in Tl•t A'trics Pj Prost. trans. R. Howud

(Oxford, 1977; French orig. 1971 ): Hll-HH.
17. Cawdti, Adwnt11rr(notc 11): 107.
Ul. As Poe expbins in .. The: Purloined Letter." the shrewd player of the g;ame of
 Tl·fE SCH.UPULOUS READER 69
ing?"-quis illt:? The one answer that first-readers cannot possibly
guess and that second-readers cannot forget is "a deacon oflsis." The
identity of the narrator himself turns out to be the great secret of the
book. and the read~r·s attention was persistcndy directed to asking
hard questions about every other kind of report. 19
There: is a real similarity between the final revelation of the AA•s
unexpected narrator and the local situation that promoted the scru-
pulous question ·'How could you possibly have known what those
women did (as you claim) in secret, since you were locked up in the
boundaries of the mill?" That question about the bakcr·s death tums
out to have an answer exemplifying the Jaw of ]cast likely ending in
terms of a surprise narrator.

Dead men~
tales. The baker's death is a locked-room mys-
tery. A dark stranger goes into the baker's room with him and closes
the door. When the workmen later call to their master there is no
reply; they eventually break down the door, "which had been most
diligently barred,'• and find the baker dead, hung by the neck from a
rafter. No one else is in the room. But whereas the touches of super-
natura] awe arc carefully explained away in modern locked-room
mysteries, such as John Dickson Carr's Tile Three Coffins, the oppo-
site is true of the baker's murder. The mysterious stranger was the
shade of a woman who had died a violent death and had been sum-
moned to do the deed by a witch at the request of the bakcr·s wife.
How can the ass know this? Because the next day the baker's daughter

guessing a name on a map is the: one who picks the name in largest lc:ttcr:r., crossing
from one end of the chart lO the other, radter th:m the most minutely lettered n:~mc.
19. The dl•tc:ctive novd that is most like rhis is A. Chri<>tie's Tilt Murdt'r iJf R(l~r
Adlro)'d (London, 1926~ in which the n.arrator, a Or. W.mon fi~turc, turns out to be the
guilty parry. his nne ofth~ uhim:ar~ trick~ rh;3r" ~nn• src..•ci:~li:r.in~ in rrick!o wu hound
to come up with sooner or bter. As Dorothy S:ayers puts it, ··Arguing from t be pa rticu-
lar to the general, we may lx- st·~luccd into conduding that, hcc.ause the origin01l Dr.
Watwn was a good man, alJ Watsons arc: good in virtue of their Watsonity. Hut this is
false reasoning, for moral worth and Wat~oniry ;are by no means inseJurable.... Nor,
when the W<Jtson in llogrr Ackroyd turns out to be the murderer, h~s the: rc;~dcr any right
to fcclaggril'\'t.-d against tht• author-for she has vouched only for the man's W:~tsonity
and not fi.n his moral wurth" \' Ari~tntlc on Detective- Fiction." in Dt'f('(lil't' Ficti1111; A
Cc,JiraitttJ '!(Cririfal l:JS<Jys, ed. R. Winks I Englewood Clitl~. N.J., 19!IDJ: 32-33).
70 TRUTH
comes from a nearby village, mourning and weeping for her father's
death even though no one from the household had gone to her with
the news. For in the middle of the night her father's ghost had ap-
peared to her, his neck still in a noose, ~·and he revealed the stepmoth-
er's entire crime, her adultery, her sorcery, and how he had gone to the
undcrwor1d as a cursed spirit." 2 0
The n:arratoes challenge to the scrupulous reader has directed our
attention to the story of the baker as a dead mans tale, which is sup-
posed to guarantee the truth of the account. We may be struck by the
calculated ob1iquity of the "answer": the narrator does not reappear
in triumph to say, uso tl1at, scrupulous reader, is how l was able to tell
you what those women were doing in secret!" It is as if he were em..
barrasscd at the paradox of using the implausible to authenticate the
unknown.
Many readers might not even make the connection, so easy is it to
relax and enjoy the various excitements of the tales. But at some point
it may dawn on the truly scrupulous reader that there arc at least four
other places in the AA where we are similarly given a dead man's tale,
each time in a way that communicates secret knowledge and author-
izes the talc to be told as a true account.
(i) At the end of Thelyphron's tale an old man stops the funeral
procession carrying the corpse, which Thclyphron has guarded all
night, to the graveyard. He accuses the widow of having murdered
her husband (his nephew) with poison. In order to prove his charges
he brings forward an Egyptian prophet whom he has hired to sum-
mon the soul ofthe recently deceased man back to his body for a short
time. The reluctant corpse sits up
slowly and denounces his wife as an
adulteress and a poisoner. She tries to argue him down. The crowd is
divided about whom to believe: can the testimony of a cadaver be
trusted? The corpse interrupts the debate with a piece of information
that will demonstrate that he can and docs tell the unbiased truth, a
fact that no one else could possibly know. The fact he oficrs is the
witches • use of a spell to make the corpse rise and walk to the door,
where through a crack they could gnaw off its cars and nose. But since
the corpse and che sleeping guard had the same name, it was the guard

20. dqm· '"'"m noa'l."rcar sffla~ apcn•it dr adalltrri"' dr m<llrficio f't qurm .1d ml>dau11 lara1o1A
llfJ .,J i ..ifrros d••meassc•l (9. 31 ).
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER n
who responded first to the spell and walked ]ike a lifeless ghost to his
mutilation. Thelyphron in horror confirms the fact by touching his
cars and nose and finding that they are wax and that they come off.
The entire talc therefore reaches its c1imax in the true testimony
offered by a dead man. His second piece ofinformation, which is the
real tdosofthe talc, is brought forth in response to a challenge about
his veracity.
(ii) Other tales containing a secret scene are vouched for as true
and knowable by the testimony of a person who has been murdered
but is not quite dead yc:t. One of the robbers is tricked by :m old
woman into looking out of the window of her garret. and she pushes
him to his death on the rocky ground below. ·~vomiting streams of
blood from deep within, and having narrated to us what happened.
after not a long agony he departed this life." 21 The only point of the
slight delay in his death-no" diu: it is not a long talc-is to furnish
evidential validity to the robber who retells it.
(iii) Both dead and dying tell the tale of Tlepolemus. The trurh
about his unwitnessed death is revealed to his widow, Charitc, by his
ghost (8. 8), and after she has executed her rf'venge on his murderer
she grabs her husband's sword and rushes in a frenzy to the graveyard,
followed by a crowd: And having narrated in their order all the
•j

events her husband had communicated to her in a dream and how she
had trappc:d Thrasyllus by a clever trick," she kills hersclf. 22
(iv) The talc of the condemned woman contains two such dying
narrators. The doctor, poisoned wirh his own tUedicine, dies "barely
having narrated everything to his wifc." 2 l She roo is later poisoned
and staggers to the governor's house demanding an audience. A
crowd gathers." And no sooner had she carefully expounded from the
very beginning all the atrocities of the savage woman, when suddenly
she was seized in a delirium of mental confusion, her half-open lips
puckered together, and with a clacking of teeth and a prolonged death
routle she co1lapscd dead at rhc governor's fcct." 24

21. riuos .1iltl~uinis utttrlt'rJs imirus, tllur.tri.squt" tJobi.s qullr gt·sra sunr, 111111 diu (rudatru
uiram t'Udsir ( 4.12).
22. t'l marmlis cmlmr singulis, •111ae srbi pt•r sMnnium nrmliullt"mt mariws quoqur aslu
Tlml5)'llum induamn Jl(fiSS(I • •• (H.14~
23. uixqllt' rn.:u-mti~ (lttlCiis ad uxcm•m (10.26).
24. itJmqut• rJb ipsCJ rxordi" cruddiJsimat' rrtulit."ris nmais tJtn•citatibJu diligt"rttrrexpt~siris,
72 TRUTH
These narrators testify from their location at the boundary of Jife
and death. In each of these tales, as in the baker's. the fiual moment of
validation is made to stand out as a response to a challenge (baker,
Thclyphron), or a pause in the violent action (robber. Charitc~ or a
grotesquely exaggerated death scene (the doctor's wife~ To the above
ftve tales we may tentatively add a sixth. Socrates in the first talc of the
novel must be regarded from the moment of his waking up in the
morning after the witches have removed his bean as one of the living
dead. He has been missing so Jong that he has been officially declared
dead; lie has the appearance of a ghost-unnaturally white and ema-
ciated. It wou]d not be implausible therefore to reg.ud his account of
himself as another of our dead men's tales. If Socrates is a sixth such
Jiminal narrator. could Lucius himself, who in hjs initation has
.. crossed the threshold ofProsperina" (11.23~ be a seventh?
The significance of evidential accountability for narrative can be
brought out by a closer look at Charite's servant's tale (8.1-14). From
the beginning, the narrator is clearly located as both an insider-one
who has detailed knowledge of each character·s intimate psychologi-
cal states-and as an outsider-a lowly servant who has no privy
position from which to acquire such confidences. Each stage of the
story is carefully portrayed as a secret scene from which the narrator
was absent but whose innermost reality is now his to expound. This
narrative stance presents no difficulty for an audience Jistcning to
fiction: it is an intelligible convention in its own right. familiar from
countless tales by omniscient authors. The very conventions require
that the account be understood as fiction. The ultimate tableau of
Charitc poised to plunge the sword into her breast and at that mo-
ment reciting the entire rale transfers the very substance of the tale
frorn one framework of intelligibility to another. The readers have
operation any been led to think of the narrative as fiction until its last
moment, when suddenly we arc forced to reevaluate the nature of the
narrative. It now becomes possible to reread the talc and think of each

rr~1ttc •nmris 1111bilo wrbir~r l~rrrpta mnilli11ntts adhut (Omprrssit labias rt, arrritu tlmti•11n
Iongo strido~ rcddit(l, 121llf' ipsM pmt'5itlis fX'dts rx.mimu com1it (10.28~ In the widely I'C'ad
Altximdtr R1•manu (chap. 14) Ncktancbos. as he lies dying, tells Alexander his whole
story. &cause thC' ploy is naive and familiar from popular fiction, Apulc:ius's repeated
use ofit raises no suspicions oflarger hermet1eutic design for the first-re.:~der.
 THE SCRUPULOUS READER 73
scene as an event communicated by one of its participants to another,
who survived, so that the present audience is linked to the original
events by a chain of communicating narrators.
The larger theoretical issue raised, therefore, by dead men's tales in
relation to the end of Tire Golden Ass is concerned with what an older
narratology called .. first-person narratives,. and .. third-person narra-
tives.'' An important advance in modem narra[O)ogy is Gerard Gen-
ette's criticism of this .. purely grammatical and rhetorical choice.'' 25
Every narrative is, in a sense, in the first person: the Iliad and Odyssty
are third-person accounts, but their narrator, Homer. can say "1." 26
"The presence of first-person verbs in a narrative text can therefore
refer to two very different situations which grammar renders identi-
cal but which narrative analysis must distinguish:' What the older
analysis was trying to distinguish is the novelist's choice "not between
two grammatical forms, but between two narrative postures ... : to
have the story told by one of its 'characters,' or to have it told by a
narrator outside the story." Gcnctte's terms for these two narrative
postures are heterodiegetic (the narrator is not a character in the story)
and lromoJiegetic (the narrator is present as a character in the story he
or she tells).
What docs it mean for a narrator to be ..outside the story"? This
might be construed in a strong or a weak sense. The strong sense,
which I will usc here in adapting Gcncttc's system, is that a hetero-
diegetic narrator purveys fictions: h~ or she is a storyteller, not are-
poncr of what happened. Such a narrator could not have been •• in'' the
story because it is only a story. A homodiegetic narrator may or may
not have been at the scene for every part of the narrative but belongs
in principle to the same world as the other characters. In this sense
such a narrator is "inside" the story. The weaker sense of .. inside/
outside'' refers to whether the narrator took prominent or peripheral

2.5. G. CJCnt'tf(". NtJrrQti•,.- Dist.,uru: All EHtJY it~ .\lt"lltl...l. tuns. j. E. Lewin (lth;ac.a.
N.Y., 1980; French orig. 1972): 244. The subsequent quotations are all from pages 244-
245 unless otlK·rwisc: nntC'd.
26. "TcU mt' of the: man" (Odyssl"y 1.1 ); "'I could not tell or name that multitude,
not n·cn if I had ten tongue$" (Iliad 2.48Hf.). Similarly, ;an .ancit•m Greek novelist who
displays the impersonal omniscience of .a c3mcra on his scenes can also slip discretely
into the first person (HdioJoros .'\illtiopilttJ I. 8.1 }. Cp. M. E. Br;~ddon, lAdy AuJlrys
&art (1HH7; rcprinr: Nl-w York, 1974): 90.
74 TRUTH
part in the events. A bystander or one who heard of the events through
intennediaries might not figure jn the action but still be telling what
happened in his own world.
The stronger sense fits best with Genettc's analysis of the degrees of
insidencss to a story. The distinction (homodicgcsis /hctcrodicgcsis)
is asymmetric, for "absence is absolute, but presence has degrees." A
character may be present in a story as its subject and center (as Odys-
st•us is to his narrative of the Cyclops, and as Lucius is to his narrative
of transformation into an ass) or on the periphery (as Odysseus is in
his account of the Laistrygonians, and Lucius in his narrative about
the old man who turns into a serpent. 8.19-22).
The terms ~·inside /outside" arc also used by Gcncttc to describe
the phenomena of narration within narration. 27 A narrator whos.~ ac-
count contains characters who narrate is outside their narrating.
The tirst narrator, in relation to a charaCler who narrates, is called
extradiegctic. Genette deals only with m3cro-instanccs, where thenar-
rative that is passed on. to (and then by) the cxtradicgetic narrator
consists in a tale or anecdote (Renoncourt is extradiegctic to des
Grienx in Atfmum Lesram~ It will tum out to be useful for our pur-
post:s, however. to press the distinction a little harder and say that a
tl.rst narrator is extradiegetic to auy i~fonntJtion, regardless of its anec-
dotal or storyhkc qualities, that is rdaycd to him by a character and
dtt~u by him ro us. So understood, cxtradicgcsis becomes a very pow-
erful tool tor capturing important narrative operations, panicularly
\Vhen a narrator develops any consciousness about truth, witness,
tlction making, and the reader's belief in tales.
Narrators who play any part in the action of the story, c:vcn as by-
standers, must regularly specify whether they know an event or fact
by direct observation or only have it on the authority of others. ln
Great Expectatiotts, which is almost entird;· restricted to the immedi-
ate knowledge ofits narrator, what is known of the attack on Mrs.Joe
Gargcry is given by Pip from other people's testimony (chap. 16}.
How a narrator came to know what he recounts can, of course, be an
issue only in homodicgetic narratives, because narrators who arc just
telling madc-u p stories have no need ro specify the lines of communi-
cation, narrator to narrator. that brought the information to the

27. Geneue. SrJmlilt' Oim~uru (nut\: 25): 227-31.

 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ~

present narrator. A hcterodicgctic narrator can be present like a ghost

or time traveler at any scene, in any place in the universe, and even
inside anyone's thoughts, without needing to justify his knowledge.
Dut ifa narrator claims to have moved in the same world of space and
time as (other) characters, then some attention to the question •'How
did you learn such and such event that took plac~ outside your imme-
diate perception. or before your coming onto the scene?" becomes
inevitable.

Figun·t

llMitc)d ie"grs is lu•/trQd ifg,·sis

(.. 1 will tell (.. I will tell you
you what happened.") a story.")

/'\
t·xrradit",~·sis
('"I kno\\' this
from others
who were there.")
(i11tnr )f/it•gesi.<
("I know this
dirccdy. because I
was there at the events.")

My adaptation of Gcnette's systt.•m is displayed in Figun: 1. So

defined, the m~tin narrator is cxtradicgctic to any sing]c sentence stat-
ing facts reported to him by another. But the most interesting in-
stan<.·cs wil1 of course: be: stories-episodes, scenes, whole novels
(Mrs. Dean in Wutheriu.~ Hc(~/rts)-rcportcd to him as true. 28
Gi'.-·cn this understanding of fiction and its narrators' tokens of
truth, we may now say that Tlu· G<Jlde11 Ass tries to get a combined
maximum efl"ect out of both heterodiegesis (sheer storytelling) :md
the several forms of homodicgcsis (accountable narration of what
happened). All of the varied tales arc captivating jusL as stories, and
this is almost inevitably the manner in which they will be received-

:!H. The is!;Ul~ of the truth uf such !!.lib-narrative!> ~olllc!l up almo~l alHOm;.uic.llly
~nd often takes lhe form of :m cxtudiegelic cnnunem: '"I find it hard to believe the
priests' account uf thl' nu:thod C'mploycd by the ph.•r.aoh 10 <.:;Udl the clever thict: but
hl"n: it is'' (Hl"rodotm 2.121 ).
76 TRUTH

as sheer heterodiegesis. This is so not on)y because the prologue

promises as much but because their internal economy is that of tales
(fobulat~ not of events (quae gesta sunt). Every event that is worth the
telling may have a certain storied qua1ity to it, but the tales of the AA
move so quickly to the criminal, the incredible, the exotic. and the
erotic that it is difficult to read them as reports ofevents (quae gcsta s1mt).
Yet that is exactly what the author often forces on our attention.
The precise form of the dead men's tales paradoxically unites the in-
terrogation of accounts for their value as truth with one of the most
powerful weapons in the arsenal of the sheer fabulator-the ghost
story. Or, as we may now put it, l10modiegetic qr1estions arc giveu hetero-
diegetic arrszvt'rs. The entire narrative keeps gravitating toward the ex-
plicitly heterodiegetic. tale after t:11le, yet always reaffirms and renews
its playfulJy strict commitment to homodicgcsis by explaining ''how
I knew th:u." 29 Ultimately, the truthful manners of this novel and the
identification of the narrator whose story or testimony it "really is''
will be transformed into serious issues. Is Book 11, then, simply the
extreme case of a narrative game played throughout 1-10?

Detutiotl of lies
A systematic comparison of events and how they were
known occurs in Apulcius's fourteenth talc. which falls very neatly
into two halves-a crime story and a dctl"ction story. The fulcrum
that makes the story swing from tragedy ro comedy, from trium-
phant criminal to triumphant detective, is the intervention of a scru-
pulous reader. First, the crimes of a murderous stepmother are set out
in some detail from her point of view: her secret lust for her stepson;
her shame and anger at being rejected by him; how she sent a faithful
slave of hers to buy poison; the accidental drinking of the poisoned
wine by her own small son; her accusation that the stepson, out of
frustrated lust, had threatened her with violent death and now had
killed her son. The stepson is brought to trial; the crucial testimony is

29. Only once or perhaps twice does the .-\A :tdmit :a pure example of hetero-
dicgcsis into itscconmny-thc talc of the robbers' cook, possibly the t~]e oft he: tub. rn
:~11 other c:ases we find that every time our thrill-hungry minds an: quite prepared to
m~ke a leal' of fictional faith lhe narrator providc:"S a fac&:-tious exerrik' in discerning
q11.1t J:(Sta sunt-what really happened; for the narr;;uive stance that s:ays "1 could ha\"C
known"' implies that the events could h;~ve happen~d.
 THE SCRUPULOUS READEI~ 77
that of thc.- wicked slave, who s"vears that the stepson had torccd him
by threats of death ;and promi~s of reward to assist him in the crime
and had given him the poison to administer but, fearing that the sla\·c
might reserve a portion of it for possible vindication, ultimately ad-
ministered it with his own hand to his stepbrother. 44 Thc trial came to
an end with that scoundrel's ourragcous testimony, feigned ftlr the
precise semblance of truth and delivered with dissembling fcar.'' 30
By this point, the judges have all written a verdict of guilty on their
tablets and are about to drop them into the bronze urn-after which
the sentence may not be commuted-when a senior physician of great
reputation and authority puts his hand over the mouth of the urn and
declares that his conscience wi11 not allow an innocent man to be con-
demned. He then unravds the truth. recounting how he had detected
the slave's lies. It was he to whom the slave had come to buy the poison.
offering a hundred gold pieces on behalf of an incurably skk person
who wished to die. "'But I perceived that this wicked scoundrel in his
chattering had added certain details that did not fit." 31
Suspecting a criminal intent and wishing to prove it, the physician
had put the gold pieces in a bag and asked the slave to secure the
pouch with his own seal. When the physician saw that same slave at
the trial he had se-nt someone to fetch the unopened purse and now
presents it to the court as an exhibit ... For how can the brother be hdd
responsible for the poison that this slave procured?'' (10.9). The slave
turns white as a ghost and displays such signs of visible insecurity-
sweating, shuffling his feet, touching parts ofhis head. mumbling-
that he arouses general suspicion. But he regains his composure and
attacks the physician as a liar. Comparison ofhis ring with the seal on
the pouch indicates that he must be hiding some truth, but aU the usual
tonures fail to make him alter his story.
The narrative has reached an impasse very like that toward the end
ofThclyphron's talc, in which the crowd is not sun.· whom to believe,
the corpse or the widow, and once more Apuleius reso]ves the ra-
tional cri5i5 by a :;tunning revelation. The physician again intervenes:

.\0. luuc •·ximic· "' uimiJ .ulunitdris illl•l_r(illl"lll uaiJt·r,mr rile• simui,JI•l film lrc"JJiJatic•lll"
pn•ft"rt:lrlt")illilllm t•st i11.licium (10. 7).
31. ••t 1'~, prrspicitns malum iswm urrbt-rcJttl'm blatmmff:"W dlqu( itwmcitmr f.JIIs{linm-
ttm ... (10.9~
78 TRUTH
"']will not al1ow,• he said. 'by heaven. I will not allow you to impose
punishment on that innocent young man contrary to what is right.
nor will I allow this scoundrel to play games with our system ofjudg-
mcnt and dude the penalty for his criminal mischief ... I shall now
give a manifest proofoft he guilt before us'" (10.11). Knowing that the
slave if refused would only get his poison elsewhere, the physician
gave him a drug, but it was mandragora, which causes a coma closely
resembling death. ,.. It is no wonder if this desperate har (~asily en-
dured his tortures :.s lighter than the ultimate ancestral penalty that
he was sure to pay. But if that young boy truly consumed the potion
that my hands prepared, he is aHve, he is resting quietly. he sleeps. and
soon when the numbing stupor has worn otT he will return to the
clear light of day. But if he is dead and his life has been cut short, you
must look for other causes of his death'" (10.11 ).
The entire courtroom adjourns hastily to the cemetery, the tomb is
opened, the corpse unwrapped, and the boy at that moment wakes up
to his father's embrace. Still in his gravcclothes he is carried back to
the courtroom. The plain truth (tmda ueritas) is revealed at last. The
criminals are punished and the physician is allowed to keep the hun-
dred gold pieces, .. as a reward for that timely sleep'' (10.12). The fa-
ther has regained two sons whom he thought he had lost-"an end-
ing worthy of divine providence, suddenly transforming him into a
father again ... , all in a brief moment, nay rather in a minuscule
point oftime."32
That crucial IIHmu·utmu, pivotal point (recalling the mcraphor of
careful weighing in smtl'ulosus~ is where the story changL·s from trag-
edy to comedy. What makes it happen is the physician's scrupulous
obscrv.ltions of the sbvc's words for telltale signs of lying. The: form of
the story, divided into two balanced halves consisting of crime (from
the criminal's point of view) and detection, is fC.mnd in modern times in
the .. inverted" stories of R. Austin Freeman, whose detective, Dr.
Thorndyke, is also a physician. 33 Thorndyke's shrewd powers ofoh-

32. prc,ui.instidt' Jiuindt' tomJJ:~tmm ... cxitum, qui mc>mt'llltl m,..Jiw, immo pmrcto t".¥·
(I!U•I . . . ]'1211' r fl'J'If'lltt' j;u IIU c•JI (1 0. 12).
33. Thormlyk.~'s char;1crcr wa!> inspired by a real-lite ex pen in forensic medicine.
Or. Alfr~o:d SW;Iifh." Taylor.jusr as n ..,ylo: inv~.·set·d Hulna·s with the n·al-lifc: ;tCUiry of Or.
Joseph lldl; 5cr Doyle. .\lmt,,rfc·s (note 1J): 20-21. On medical s.cmiotics and detection,
S('e T. A. Scbcok. "'"You Know My Method': AJuxt:aposition of Charles S. Peirce :and
Shcr1od• Holmes," in his. Tfu· P/.1y c~f .\fmC'mc·m (Dinomingtnn, Ind .. 19RI ): 17-52.
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ~

servation. like those of Dupin and Holmt's, seem at first uncanny and
even suspicious. The proper name for such observation is serendipity,
whose defining case was the observation by the three princes of
Sl·n·ndippo that a ]ost camel, which tht"y protess not to have seen, was
blind in one eye, had a tooth missing. and was lame. They deduce
these tacts from the traces they had noticed: the camel had grazed on
only one side of the road, where the grass was less good; its tracks
showed that om.• foot was dragging, and it occasiona1ly dropped by
the road part1y chewed dumps of grass just the size of a camel's
tooth. 34 Apulcius's physician displays his remarkable powers of ob-
servation specifically in his attention to words, an operation we
might ca1lscrcndipity of the text.
But rhc physician's extraordinary acuity, which divides rhc story
into two halves and coordinates its parts, is introduced by a statement
from the narrator that subtly but definitively cancels his own acuity.
Just before the physician stands up to speak at the trial (the momt·u-
tum). the narrator r~:minds us of his own scrupulous reporting: "I
learned how the tria1 was being conducted from various people who
were discussing it with each other. But as for what fiery words the
prosecutor used. what facts the accused put forth to weaken the
charge, and indeed the speeches and cross-examinations~! myself,
away at my manger~ could not know; therefore I could not be telling
you what happened outside my ken, but what 1 plainly learned I shall
set forth in these 1cttcrs." 35
This gratuitous remark is the narrator's reminder of his own ac-
conntabihty for a text that is true, or at least truthful in appearance,
because it is internally consistent. In f.1ct, however, the narrator·s dis-
claimer of the right to quote the speeches verbatim is violated-pre-

34. An ancient Gl5C ofserendipity: when llippokr.atcs once came to visit Dcmokri-
los, the philosopher ordered some milk 10 be served to his guest. As it was brought out he
took a Jook at it and rcmarkc~i that it was from a black goat who had lxnnc nne kiJ.
Hippokr01tcs was astounded b~· the acui1y nf hi~~; ,1b!;Cn:ation. But more \\':IS m come:
there was a youn~ womann1 Hippokratcs' rctmuc. whom Ue,nokritus :addressed on the
tirst day with the words "Good day. m:aiden," and on the following day with th(' words
.. Good day, ma'am." She 1ud in fact lost her \"irginity that ve-ry night. This is told b)'
Athcnodoros lhc Bald in the eighth book of his l"tn);utoi (Di.og. Laen. CJ.42}
35. lrcJI't 111/ immr lllllllumJ:t>sla amtpfuribus mlllrw urmodn.nuibus wgnoui. qw'bus I.JHrtm
llc·rbis .umsuror ursrril, quibus rcb1u Jilut'rit rtus Q( ptorsus cTdliU~u·s altrr(atiorlt"Tqur m·qur ipJt'
dbsrm ap11d l'rat'jt•pium uirt' 11rque Qd liM, t]U<lf igt~.lrotu~ pos.~'"'' c•mmtiart', srd quat plane
wmpc•ri, otd istQSiillr'raJ pr.!]i.•rum (10.7~
80 TRUTH
ciscly at the momentum when the physician stands up to stop the trial.
For the turning point of the story is also the moment when the ass-
narrator begins to quote exactly what the physician said in all its rhe-
torical detail. "At that moment a mcm her of the jury arose, a physi-
cian ofsomewhat advanced years whose integrity and authority were
known and respected by all. He held his hand over the mouth of the
voting urn to prevent the casting of ballots and began to speak as
follows: •tt is a source of deep gratification to me that my integrity is
well established by the long years of my life among you. I will not
now stand by and watch what is nothing less than murder be commit-
ted against this defendant, assaulted as he is by false accusations. nor
will I allow you, who have sworn to judge fairly, to be trapped by a
sJave's lies to violate that oath... .' '' 36 1t is as if the criterion ofeviden-
tial accountability had slipped to a different level-violated in the
ass's own narrating, it reappears as the key feature of that which the
ass narrates, the physician's detection oflies. 37 Like the wicked slave,
the narrator seems to be "playing games with our system of judg-
ment."38 So analyzed, the physician-detective•s ta]e is a triumph of
subde self-contradiction. Exactly insofar as the reader tries to take the
text seriously. it ceases to be able to make sense.
The next section of this chapter may be taken as pointing toward
the same sort of solution, viz., toward a superior order of explanation
for what can only be, on an inferior order, an urgently unsolvable
dilemma.

The adjudication ofconflicting t.rersions

"From the reader's standpoint, a hermeneutic talc has to be
an investigation story, but the narrated process does not need a
fictional investigator in order to function as an investigative se-
quence." So Robert Champigny, arguing that detection stories. so
"far from being a marginal or outlandish species" (as they would be if

36. u1Jus ~ a~ria sl.'nior pnu ceteris lolnptrtM fidi ~Jtqut (Jutloritatii pratcipmJt mtditiU
orificium ·~mat "'"',., CcJPtft'gc"f'rS, 111.' quis ,illrnl tdltulum ttmt", hlltc oJ•I .,.,J;Ilrm ptrtulit:
"quod tJt/tJtis sum, uobis tJdprolulfum mt' 11ixiJse gc~udco, ntc palitJr.falsis aiminibus ~lito fl'o
llumift'stum lwmiciJiJlm ~rrw1mri nee rlos, IfNi irl" iumndo adsrricli ir~ditmis. inductos semuli
mt"~tdacio [Kitnm:" (10.8~
37. Deteclion of lies is also a key momenl in Psyche's ul..-. She describes hl•r hus-
band in two different ways (5.8, 15~ rrappcd by her sisters into inconsistcntlyjng.
38. luJificato nostro iudicio (10.11 ~
 THE SCRUPULOUS I~EADER 81
defined solely in terms of that odd, mod(.'m professional, the detec-
tive), "provide revealing tests of narrative logic and art:' 39 It is conve-
nient, but it is not necessary. to organize a story of detection around
the figure of an investigating agent. A detection story may have a
half-dozen investigators ( 'fllt PcJisoned Clwcolates Cast·) or none at all.
as in the parody texts of Joel Townsley RobY('rS- Tlu? Red Ri)!ht Hatrd
and The Stopped Clock. 40
Several of Apuleius's narratives are. like Rogers' work, puzzle sto-
ries without an investigator. We may almost say. without an ;,vcstiga-
tiotr, insofar as the reader and usually one character are merely allorl't'tf
to discover the solution simply by following the interplay of conflict-
ing versions of the truth and the eventual endorsement of one as cor-
rect. ln modem mystery novels, even when there is a detective, the
principle that governs the construction of the text is not the detective
figure but th~ und~rsunding ofthl" reader. Tht.> function of the detec-
tive is that of an ideal reader. present in the text as a representative of
the readt>r to review fi1cts, draw panial conclusions, and pose the
challenge of understanding the whole. Th~ function is necessary. the
character is not.
A genre of detecting story that often lacks a detective is the "fan-
tastic." so finely analyzed by Todorov. 41 In a fantastic narrative the
rcadl!r, and sometimes a character as well, hesitate between two dif-
ferent orders of explanation for an event: either the event is a miracle,
to be explained by some powers beyond the ordinary set of natural

39. IYhllr Will H11w H<~pJ~ttlt'd?-A Plu'lt~$\'l'lrif.JI m1d Tc·clmit.ll E$.<dr on .\lyit('ry StcJ-
rits (Bloomington. Ind. (London. l'Jn): 14-15.
40. In the Iauer (N..-w York. 1958~ a gbmoroui'i ~ctn·~:r; ~~~dying in her J.u'kcncd
living room, waiting for her murderer to n:tum and tinis.h the job, while the TV shows
a rerun of her last silcnr movie, Tht Stc•pp1•d C/clfk, a tilm in which 5hc :slowly dies while-
the clock runs down. The narrative then ~dopts the shifting ~rspc.-ctivcs of her \"arious
husb:mds and neighbors to recount her 1ifc:- :md to present clues.. The stories. inters.ect
on many levels d1.at the investig;uing reader can c.h~tect, such as the my:stl"rious bruises
that appear on hl.'r knl.'e just hcforl.' tlue(' of hl.'r ex-husband!' arri\.,_. ~imnham·m1i'ily :a
her front door; her fi>urth cx-husb.;mJ was .111 administutor in India, and ilS hi1> wife she
wu known as the ranee (.. r;1w knee"). T/u• Red Right Jl.mJ (New York., 11H5)-il f.u
better lxlok-i~ soh-cd 1•i.1 a siniskr Latin pun discovE:rcd b)' Dr. Riddle, who is hirnsdf
a mirror image of the criminal md .1 5-t.:md-in tor the victim.
41. T. Todorov, Tilt' Fatlf12Jiic: ..-\ Smwural ,-\l'lm'o~d1 ''l 11 Liumry Gt"nrr, tuns. R.
Howard (Cle-veland, 1973~ fre-nch urig. 1970~ Some popular stories in this genre arc
surve~d by F. D. McSherry. Jr.• "'The Janus Resolution,'" in Tl1r Mystery Writrrs ,"\rt,
cd. F. M. Nevins (Dowling Grcen, Ohio, 1970): 263-71.
82 TRUTH
Jaws, or the event is. though uncanny and starding, explicable by the
familiar laws of the natural world;42 Like the detection story. the fan-
tastic story is a major development of nineteenth-century narrative
(Hoffmann, Poe, James~ though its clements have long existed. The
point of the fantastic narrative is the process of adjudication between
conRicting versions of the truth. The reader feels suspended between
two solutions whose implications for the nature of reality arc radi-
cally different.
Apulcius"s first story, told by Aristomcnes, belongs to the genre of
the fanustic, and I wiJl consider it here as an example of that wider
narrative strategy-the process of dc1ibcration between competing
explanations of a provocative event.
The frame ofthe tale explicitly poses the problem of the fantastic.
the cynic rejecting Aristomenes' story as an absurd and monstrous lie
like tales of witchcraft and rhe magical control of nature, Lucius ac-
cepting the story as a crcdib]e testimony to the existence of higher
powers. The: spccitlc question of the talc is what has happened to Soc-
rates, and its successive answers are catalogued mainly through the
mind of Aristomcncs. He accidentally meets his old mate Socrates in
a marketplace far from home. Socrates was thought to be dead; his
children have been assigned guardians by the state, and his wife has
been compe1led by her parents to remarry. The strain between ac-
cepted belief (Socrates is dead) and reality (Socrates is alive) is ex-
pressed in his appearance: he looks like one of the: Jiving dead (lan,tJie
simulammt, 1.6). transformed into what in modern Greece is called a
vrikolax, one of the bloodless, dehydrated undead.
The first fact to be explained is Socrates' dt>sertion of his family
and his sorry transformation. Aristomcnes approaches this appari-
tion dubic' melltt', "in a puzzled frame of mind." Socrates' stor)' seems
at first to be a simple one of wife desertion: after being attacked by
bandits he was cared for by a woman who kept a pub1ic house, and
from a single act ofintercourse he has contracted her as his wife. Aris-
[Omcnes at first understands Socrates to be describing mere erotic
dissipation and says he deserves his present extremity tor preferring a
prostitute to his wife and famiJy. Socrates then corrects the account:

42. Lucius's adv~nturC" with the wineskins may similady be analy:reJ ;u. a f:mtastic
Story with Se\'CII diffcrcrlt C'XflJan;UK1nli ~If What rcaJ1y h;~flpCTICJ.
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ID
Mcroc is a witch. one who exacts terrible v~ngcancc from her unfaith-
ful lovers and any others who cross her will. Aristomcncs tries to help
Socrates escape from Meroe's power, knowing that it is a dangerous
thing to do, for she might at this very moment be listening to their
conversation (1.11 ). Their preparations tor the night arc carefully de-
scribed to prepare the reader for an experience of the fantastic: they
have drunk too much, they arc deeply faligucd. Aristomcnes p]accs
his rickety bed to block the door, already locked and barred, of the
inn room where they will spend the night. Aristomcncs tries to keep
watch bur eventually dozes off.
The second event in the story to receive alternate explanations
runs as follows: the doors burst open, overturning the bed so that
Aristomcnes is caught under it. looking ridiculously like a tortoise
(1.12). Two old women t"ntt:·r, one carrying a lamp, the other a sponge
and an unsheathed sword. They stand over the sleeping Socrates and
the: onl" with the sword explains to ht:r sister, Panthia, that he is the
lover who has run away from her and that he was aided by that very
Aristomt"nt"s who is now watching them from under the bed. [>...mthia
offers to castrate Aristomcncs, but Mcroc wants him to live "to bury
the: body of this poor wretch under a link· earth" (1. 13), and \Vith that
she thrusts her sword into the side of Socrates' neck. reaches into the
wound and pul1s out his heart. catching all the blood in a sack. l'anthia
puts the sponge inside the gaping hole, saying, "0 sponge, born in the
sea, take care when you cross a stream." Before leaving, they squat on
Aristomem:s· face and soak him in their urine: he is already covered
with sweat and lying in dungy earth. As they cross the threshold the
doors and hingt·s and bolts all spring back into place as if nothing had
happened.
A ristoml·m·s' ti rst thought is that the experience is incredible: "lfl
tell the truth. who could think my story had any verisimilitude?"·13
He resolves. thcref(lrc:. to <."scape bt.·tore da\\'ll comes. He finds the
doors to his room arc solidly locked and quite hard to mow. but he
eventually manages to get our to the stable. Th<.•re the drO\vsy stable-
keeper behind the door refllscs to open for him, sine(.· no travt.·lcr go1.·s
onto the bandit-infested roads before daybre~1k unless .. conscious of
St>llll' crime, you desire to die .... How do I know that you didn't
84 TRUTH
throttle your fellow traveler, who lodged with you last night, and now
you're seeking safety in flight?" (1.15~ Confronted with the acciden-
tal enunciation of his own worst fears that he might be thought a
murderer, Aristomenes returns to his room and resolves to anticipate
the inevitable by killing himself. But as he kicks the bed away to hang
himsdf. the rope breaks and he falls on rop of Socrates' body. The
corpse and the would-be suicide tumble together to the ground, just
as the doorkeeper breaks into the room shouting for the man who
interrupted his sleep last night. ''At this point, I don't know whether
because of our fall or his hoarse shouting. Socrates woke and rose up
before I did, saying, •No wonder lodgers hate all you innkeepers; this
curious person, so loudly bursting in-1 think he wanted to rob us-
anyway his enormous clamor shocked me out of a profoundly lethar-
gic sleep."' 44
The moment is brilliantly confusing: Aristomcncs comes dose to
death himself, rolls around with a corpse, and when the janitor-
prosecutor rushes in to accuse him, the corpse rises up and argues back!
Aristomenes declares in a burst of joy, ···sec, you Vfry dependable
doorkeeper-here he is, my comrade. my father, my brother! And
you in your drunken delirium accused me ofkilling him in the night,'
and so saying I embraced Socrates and started kissing him •• (1.17). At
the mention ofebrius (drunken) the reader may suspect that it was all a
bad dream induced by alcohol, as Aristomcncs himsclflatcr suggests.
But Apuleius does not allow the teetering balance of our opinion to
swing decisively in that direction, for Socrates thrusts Aristomcncs
away, repulsed by the overpowering latrine smell ~'that those Lamiae
had fouled me with'' (1.17). It might be barely possible to reinterpret
lhis evidence too, say, as Arismmcnes' own bed-wetting; but he at
least stiH thinks of it as the witches' urine and remains in suspense
about what really happened.
The first uncertainty in this fantastic talc-Is Socrates alive or dead
or both?-has now been given two contrary and equally undoubtable
answers: Socrates is dead (from the time the witches sliced his throat.
1.13-16) and Socrates is alive (from the moment of his feisty awaken-

44. !ld hat< m•1ci., an ca5u 11ostro 1111 illi11s obscno clamtltr rxpfftrmu S!)(rafc•s r."':surgil
prior c:t "Plott,'" itJquit, "inmtrito si.Jbulari.,s {Jos otmH·s hospilr:s drleslallllfr. nam isrc '1m"r:mu
dum inportunr im1111pir---m'!Jo studio nlpirnJi .rliquiJ-damMr 14r111c.J mardrlum alh>quin me•
allisJ imo :so11mo rxnusit" (1.17).
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ~

ing. 1.17-18). These contradictor)' answers generate the second un-

certainty-What happened during the night? The inquiry about this
uncertainty must be postponed whHe a third party is present, so Aris-
tomcncs turns aside Socrates' questions with .. a silly joke invented on
the spur of the momcnt" 45 and they ]cave the inn together.
On the road Aristomenes carefully (curiose) studies Socrates' neck
and since there is no mark decides privately that it must have been a
nightmare "rising from the grave of my drunkenness.'' 46 He therefore
begins a conversation on the subject. and his reference to the opinions
of trustworthy physicians on the connection bct\vcen overindulgence
and bad dreams edges the reader more authoritativcJy toward the hy-
pothesis that the witches' intrusion was imaginary. But the sigh of re-
lief is immediately choked off when Socrates says that he too had an
awful nightmare about having his throat cut and his heart plucked out,
"and even now I'm feeling faint of breath, my knees are unsteady. my
steps arc faltering. and I nt·ed some: nourishment to refresh my
spirit." 47 Since ancient lore was familiar with simultaneous dreams,
even this information docs not yet decide the question of the witches'
reality.
As they begin to cat a meal of bread and cheese. Aristomcncs
watches a comradiction before his very eyes: Socrates eats avidly but
instead of regaining his strength and color he becomes even more
withered and dead-white. that sickly hue that Latin paradoxically
calls uitalis color (1.19). Filled now with bread and cheese. Socrates
wants something to drink and turns to the river ncar which they had
spread out their food. The description of its waters is ]ong, giving
every reader time to realize with a shudder of recognition that this is
the srream that the sponge was conjurt•d nor to cross. As he kncds
over the bank and his lips eagerly touch the water, the wound in his
neck opens \vide and the sponge rolls out. Aristomcnes catches the
body just as it is falling into the water ~md buries it quickly in the
sandy bank.
The css~nce of the lantastic is intellectual hesitation. In Aristo-
mcncs' talc it is. as so often, a stage on the way to a definition of

45. a4ticro ,•.~ ltmporr absurdtl j,lco ( 1.17~

4(•. l'•'•·uli~
etuitro• j•·rmltuJ (I. tR).
47. rt c:tidlll Jpirilr• Jc:fid(lt d
tUfll( ~C'Illft1 qualio,)r (I .erudu titub,l e·l ali.quiJ dbatus n··
f.mm~/,l !'piritll dtsitlot• ( l.lM~
86 TRUTH

rcaHty. The fantastic suspension between two modes of reality van-

ishes when the narrative concludes in favor of the supernatural. The
reality Aristomencs experienced seemed dreamlike because it was de-
termined all along by higher-than-natural Jaws. The incredible
events that he really experienced arc not simply reported to us, they
are continual1y being weighed, doubted, reinterpreted in a narrative
process whose focal point is the prolongation of radical uncertainty
and whose resolution is an affirmation of the incrcdiblc. 48
Detective stories and fantastic tales both take the reader through a
process of hesitation between several competing accounts, but the
conclusions reached have no impact outside their fiction a] world. De-
ciding which version is true docs not permit any conclusions to be
reached, say, as to what happened in Hypata on a certain night during
what we now cal1 the second century c.E. A fantastic tale that con-
cludes by endorsing a supernatural explanation is not an argument
for belie fin witchcraft. Lucius indicates that Aristomenes' ta1e might
be so regarded, but he js within the same tictjonal world: Aristo-
mcnes to him is a person giving testimony, not a character telling a
storied talc. If I met a person who told me that he had gone through
what Aristomcncs did, I might consider his account to be evidence
rhat there really were witches. And sjmilarly if The Gt1ldrn Ass were
narrated not by Lucius but by Apuleius ...
This linl· of thought brings us to the next mental operation culti-
vated by detection stories and by the AA.

Reidenr!tim1iou
"This man who. tour years ago, introduced
himsdfto the Stircte. and bccanu: cdebratcd as
Fr~deric Larsan, Monsieur President. is
Uallmcyn!"

-Ut .. Ncc~ssity .and wonder of the solution. The first establishes that the my!itcry
should be J dclcrmined mystery, tir for only one s.olmion, The sccoud n:-qui~s th;at the
rcOkkr manr.:l 0\·cr th.a.t solutiun, wit hum n:sorting co the supcmatural, of course, whose
hanJi,.,.urk m this gt:nrc of fiction is a weakness and a felony. Also prohibited arc hypno-
tit-m, tdt·po~thic halludnations, portents. ~.·lixirs with unknown ciTccts, inb~·nious
pscudoscicntitic tricks, and lucky ch.:trms. Chesterton always performs. the tour de iorcc
of proposing .1 supcnutural explanation and thcn rcpi.Jcing it, losing nothing, wirh an-
oth.:r onl' from chis world" (J. L. Borges, .. Chesterton and the Labyrimlt.. of the Dctcc-
uvc Story," in lJorgt"S.' A Rt·Jdt>r, ed. E. R. Moneg:tl and A. Reid I~"·w York. ICJISll: 72-73).
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ~

.. DaJlmcycr~" cried the President.

··aallmeycr!" exclaimed Robert Darz.1c,
springing to his fl·ct ....
BaUmeyerf Ballmeyer! No other word could
be heard in the courtroom. The President
adjourned the hcarinH·
-Gaston Lcmux.
Tire Mystery t!{tlrr Yellow Rollm

The detection story often fails to observe the Jaws of steady narra-
tive momentum, makjng a 18fr change of direction on a single word.
Afrcr prolonged intellectual bafflement, one key word can sometimes
make the whole puzzle fall into place with an almost elastic snap of
understanding: "Rosebud." In .Uurder at thr Flea ClubJ the victim's
dying word, Gutzeit, turns out to refer not to the suspect Freddy
Fairweather but to the Alsatian victim's own former name. Bon-
temps.49 The sentences recorded and continuously replayed by the
surveillance expert in The Ccmversatiou take on a different meaning
with just a slight change ofintonation, converting victims into mur-
d~rcrs.so It is not the word itself (Ballmcycr, Rosebud, Grdzrit) that
solves the puzzle, but an identification of the person or object for
whom the word stands. often a rcidentification that alters the mean-
ing of a set of actions by switching the character of their subject. The
actions of the Siirctc detective Frederic Larsan at the scene of the crime
have quite a different meaning when thought of as the actions of the
crimiual Ball meyer. The characteristic progress of a detection story is
a rotating, tentative reidentification of each character: What if gentle
Miss Birdfeather were really a vicious criminal? What would her
words mean then?
After the tale of the robbers' cook, Apuleius indulges a bravura
piece of multiple rcidentifications. The robber left behind in Hypata
to watch the reactions of the townspeople returns with a new recruit
for rhe band. This young man assumes seven different identities or
characterizations, the last of which reveals that 'the first three were
outright lies and the rest were tricks calculated to destroy the band
and rescue the maiden. (i) The first lying identity is that of a humble

4CJ. M. Hc.:~d, Murdcrartllt-Pit+ll Clul,(Ncw York, 1955~

50. Directed by F. F. Coppol:l (~umount Pictures, 1974).
88 TRUTH
peasant. The robber proposes that the band's numbers be replenished
by inviting and dragooning poor young men, the sort who would be
ready to abandon the unprofitable life of legitimate 1abor for daring
action. His candidate appears in torn clothing, evidently confirming
that impression. (ii) But in saluting the rest of the band. the young
man reidentifies himself: "Do not think me poor or abject, and do not
judge my qualities by these rags'' (7.5). He proclaims himself already
a famous robber from Thracc named Hacmus (Bloody). son of an
equally famous robber, Theron (Wild Man), whose band was de-
stroyed by Caesar's soldiers in response to the appeal of a valiant
wom;m, Platina. (iii) In escaping from their dragnet, he assumed an-
other identity, that of a mulier asinaria, a young woman riding on an
ass with a load ofbar1ey. The disguise of a flowered dress, rather full
in aU dimensions, with a shawl and dainty white slippers was success-
ful because, though Haem us is considerably taller and better-muscled
than all the present company, his boyish cheeks could still pass for a
girl's. (iv) The first stage of his maneuvers is to propose that they elect
him leader of their band-dux ltJtronum-which they do, seating him
at the place of honor in new clothes that transform him.Sl (v) Enter-
ing the debate about how best to dispose of the captive maiden and
the ass who abetted her, he persuades the group to sell her to a brothel
rather than kill her outright. To Lucius listening. Hacmus now ap-
pears ''the outstanding savior of the virgin and the ass" (7.10).
(vi) The last stage of his plan to rescue the maiden requires Haemus to
become •'not only the leader of your expeditions and depredations
but of your pleasures"-not only dux latrormm, but dux uolrlpltJtum
(7 .11 )-in which character Haem us now sweeps the cave, sets up the
couches, cooks the food, slices the sausage, serves it up nicely, and
pours drinks all around. Having once appeared as a farm girl to pass
through Roman Jines. he now assumes the ro1e of the robbers· cook.
(Their cook had killed herself at 6.30.) (vii) But it finally dawns on
the ass that this is the maiden's bridegroom come to rescue her. His
re3l name is Tlepolemus, hers Charite. The point of his lies had sim-
ply been to inveigle himself into a position of confidence with the
robbers. and in that position (iv) he first stopped their plans to mur-
der her (v) and then supervised their drinking until they passed out

51 . sit rrform~lus (7. 9).

 THE SCI~UPULOUS READER 89
(vi). The entire sequence of statements and actions has to be reevalu-
ated at the end: as Haem us. his actions made one kind of sense, but
considered as the actions of Tlepolemus the same statements and
deeds take on a different meaning. We might even be able to recall
that Charite had not only mentioned her bridegroom in g1owing
terms to the old woman but had described a dream in which he set out
after the robbers but had been killed by one of them with a rock
(4.26-27). Identities (ii) through (vi) arc minor readjustments, but
the very fact that the character keeps shifting ground in sma11 surpris-
ing ways is in line with the major rcidcntifications: farm boy-
famous bandit-bridegroom.
Rcidentification may be an important element in the episode of
Tlcpolcmus, but the story is not presented to the reader as a quest for
an identity. There is however one celebrated portion of the AA that is
spccifical1y constructed as a quest for identity and is therefore on the
surface rather like a detective story. By way of preface, I must Jodgc a
protest. The usc of the unauthorized title "'Cupid and Psyche," both
planted on the page in translations and in our own reference system, is
fundamentally abusive to the narrative technique of the talc. To be
faithful to the story as it unfolds and to the Vf.)ltr-jafe effect of reidenti-
fication, we should not give away that the invisible bridegroom's
name is Cupid, nor even that the beautiful princess's name is Psyche.
For the identity of her lover is a real mystery, and most of Book 5 is
devoted to following two trails of detection (the sisters' and Psyche's)
in solving it, so we should not announce the solution :at the begin-
ning. Qack Lindsay's "Tale of the Old Woman" is properly circum-
spect.) I recommend that we abandon the tide "'Cupid and Psyche" to
show our regard for the real narrative operation of the talc. After a11,
we would not refer to certain notorious detective novds as Tile Narra-
tor Did It, The Detutivt Did It, Tl1c Prosuutors Did It, All tile Suspects
Did It. AJso, the princess's jdcntity is at first established simply as a
fairy-tale heroine, not as a religious or philosophical allegorization of
the Greek psyche. The mention of her name comes as an afterthought,
a minor piece of information added when the story is well under
way. 5 1 Now it is hardly conceivable that the choice of this name for
her is only of parenthetical significance: all the more reason then that

52. h"c enim mmzi11r pudld IIUII(Up.:lbatur(4 ..30).

90 TRUTH
we should not falsify the delicate effect of suppressing her name for a
while. (See also 5.29.)
Each of the various answers to the question "Who is Psyche's hus-
band?" is a tentative solution to a mystery that the first-reader may
folJow as a detection thriller. The hypotheses arc tested in succession.
and the evjdcnce swings first one way, then another. The full effect of
the accumulating clues would be felt best by the reader who does not
come to the story spoiled with the knowledge that the mysterious
lover is Cupid. But even if, say, the tale was widely kuown and (as
some argue) the very mention of Psyche brings Cupid to mind. the
narrative structure of the story is still that of rotating hypotheses
about the identity of Psychc·s husband. Psyche at least doesn't know it,
and the talc is told (mainly) from her point of view. Even the reader
who comes to the talc knowing the outcome must bracket that knowl-
edge as he watches characters who do not know the outcome grapple
with the problem_ Even a knowledge::able reader goes through the mo-
tions of discovery, as much as docs an audience of Oedipus Rt'x. For the
attentive reader who does not know the answer to the central ques-
tion-Who is Psyche's husb:and?-thc story is a genuine and exciting
mystery. Apuleius has written it with such a reader in mind, exploiting
multiple hypotheses about the ]over's identity, as the following analysis
will show.
One might expect from the .. Once upon a time" beginning that
the beautiful princess will be courted by a handsome prince. but
Psyche is worshiped rather than wooed. Her incredible beauty brings
admirers from distant lands, but oddly not a sentence even hints than
any of them might be a suitor rather than a pilgrim. A suitor is inevi-
table in such a story, but before a Prince Charming can present him-
sdf. Vc:nus's curse dictates that Psyche "will be held by the burning
lov~ of an extreme tnan"53_a mildly ambiguous phrase that could
refer either to Psychc·s dishonorable passion for someone of low es-
tate or to her entrapment in his for her. (ExtremuJ is immediately
glossed as ..one whom Fortune has deprived of dignity, patrimony, and
even health itsdf, and one so low Ior, ''debilitated .. I that in the entire
world one may not find his like for sheer miscry.") 54
53. oiiiitlrt'.fm.~ldJitU$imo lt"rlcarur lum1i11is rXIrrmi (4.31 ).
54. qutm rt d•).miratis tl p<11rim(lflii simul rt ill(!'/mr~itatis ip.~iiH Fortun11 J,unn.lllit, tarn·
qut> it~ti[r Jmi, ut pa 1t1lmn ~~rl~m r1011 imm1ia1 miscrim! .<uar Utmpoltrrn (4.31 ~
 THE SCRUPULOUS READER 91
But this command is not carried out (a judgment that the reader
endorses in a different sense at 5.24~ for instead oft he princess falling
in love with a leprous pauper (or being successfully wooed by same~
she has no suitors at all. The narrative' enters her point of view for the
ti.rst time to present this observation: .. Meanwhile Psyche, with all her
self-evident Jovdincss, perceived no fruition of her beauty" {4.32~
An oracle directs the king to array Psyche as a Bride of Death, like
Andromeda on the rocks waiting for a terrib]e, immortal serpent. not
a human son-in-law ("And do not hope for a son-in-law generated
from a mortal stock," 4.33). Psyche takes this fate on herself ( ••1 has-
ten to see this honorable husband of minl"," 4.34) and she sees the
hand of Venus in it (.. Now I realize, now I sec that I have been doomed
to die tor being caJled 'Venus."' 4.34)-which has the effect of guar-
anteeing that we cannot evade the contrast between what Venus or-
dained (the cxtremus hmt1o) and what Apo1lo declared. For instead of
an utterly weak, despised human being, Psyche will be joined to the
opposite horror-an aU-powerful. terrifying being not of the human
race: supremus, not exrremus; deus, not homo.
That contradiction is swiftly delivered; a second one congeals
gradually. From the moment Zephyros is called a "gentle wind"
(4.35), one can only begin to feel-with Psyche-a prolonged won-
der that the blow has not fallen. What actually happens to Psyche is in
accord neither with Venus's command nor with the oracle. The post-
ponement of her fatal encounter with the demon serpent (itsc1f a
problematic intrusion imo the initial story) and the tender luxuries of
her life in the magic valley lead the reader inevitably to entertain new
hypotheses. The husband is Joving, evidently superhuman, and his
identity is withheld from her. Could he have an unbearable appear-
ance, a loving heart imprisoned in a snaky body, from which he
might be delivered by the love of a good woman? If we emphasize t.o
ourselves that shl· can fed him when thc.·y make: love (his long hair, his
soft feminine cheeks. his strangely warm breast [4.13]-though
even these might be serpent tcaturcs misinterpreted as human), \Ve
may think instead of an anthropomorphic god condemned ro a snaky
appearance only by day. There is a mystery about his appearance and
his identity. This mystery rakes its place in the sequence: Every Man,
No Man. ]deal Husband, Worst HusbandJ Terrifying D~mon Sa-
pent. Loving God. Two avowedly false images arc added to this sc-
92 TRUTH

rics-Psyche·s lies about a handsome young hunter and a middle-

aged businessman (5.8 and 5. 15).
Those lies prompt another lie about his identity. The very wicked
sisters plot to trap Psyche: ••Let us weave some deceits whose color
will closely match th~ beginning of this story." 55 These villains are at
least attentive to the patchiness of the story they inhabit. (lt has been
noted that Apo1Jo seems to show a similar awareness of the sort of
text he is in: ··Although Greek and Ionian, for the sake of Ithis? I Mile-
sian's author, he responded in a Latin orade as follows.") 56 The bit
of fiction they weave (and add for us to the list of the lover's identities)
is consistent not only with what they know of Psyche's destiny (the
oracle) but also with what Psyche and we know of her intimate rela-
tions and pillow talk. For they claim that a huge serpent has been seen
by many neighbors slithering home to her in the evening mul that he
plans to cat her when she is big with child (5.17-18).
Because this is a lie and wickedly motivated, most readers (I think)
miss its intellectual power as a hypothesis. In fact the sisters' conjecture
makes more sense of this story than anything else offered so far. It
:.ccounts not on1y for the ora.c1e and the lover's rule of invisibility but
also for his insistence on h~r cooperation and obedience, which he him-
self had tied to her child's importance and destiny (5.11 ~ It is important
to stress that Psyche's persuasion to their version is norjusr curiosity or
foolishness but is rather a rea) temptation and intcJlcctually justified.
The narratrix. to be sure, caBs Psyche weak-spirited and frightened
(5. 18); the same narratrix also endorses the utter wickedness ofthe two
sisters as something furious and viperous. These attitudes allow (but
do not constrain) the reader not to notice the reasonableness of their
theory of the child-and-bride-eating dragon. For one thing, it unites
the opposed possibilities that Psyche is the bride and victim of the ce-
lestial dragon ("funereal wedding," .. deadly wedding," 4.33). The
dragon wants both a consort and a mea], and for that he needs Psyche's
limited cooperation~ after nine months he can stop telling lover's lies.
The final solution to the question of Psyche's suitor is provided by
the crimina] himself. who returns to the scene for that purpose and no
other (5.24). Now it appears that her husband is the ideal lover. Love

55. tX1!rdio stmumis huiu$ qrfam tciHtc.)lt~rrsfallatia$ atlltX<l•"ru (5.16)

56. qrua•rqua~n Gme(us et /oni(lu, propttr Miltsitu• (4mditcmrt sit La.ti1ut sorre trSJX"ulil
(4.32).
 THESCRUPULOUSREADER ~

himself; that the t'.Wrm1us h<,flh)ofVcnus•s command never entcr~d the

story in any sense, since Cupid decided to ignore that directive: that
the orade was correct but had to be read in the light of tlu.· tradition
that placed Eros before the Olympian and Stygian deities (the funeral
imagery was misleading); and that the sisters' lies were just that. It also
explains the discontinuity felt at 4.32 when Venus's command is not
immcdiatdy carried out by Cupid and at 4.33 when an alternative
doom is pronounced. [n hindsight we can notic~ both that Cupid
figured in the cast of characters and that he disappeared precisc1y at the
moment when Psyche was told to marry a flying, wicked god. The
truth was lurking even in their figures of speech: Psyche ]ovcs her hus-
band so much that she would not compare him to Cupid himself (5.6~
and the sisters declare that if her baby turns out to be as beautiful as its
parents it wlll be a little Cupid (5.14). I repeat. even if the tirst-reader
knows or can guess the solution. the Old Woman's Talc is cotutruclt'cl as a
mystery about the identity of Psyche's lover. and the talc itself offers us
a series of possible ansv.rers to its own guiding question. (After 5.24.
[he talc becomes something else.)

We have progressed. then, from accurate reporting to the detec-

tion ofinaccuracics to the cva]uation of competing orders of explana-
tion to the reidentjfication of a centra] character. Each of these detec-
tion strategies occurs in the AA as an entertaining feature of tales.
The first-reader has no reason to see in them anything more than
that. especially since they an: often presented facetiously and in an
offi1and manner. r have tried to show that the casual contradictions
arc amusing in a very thoughtful and well-planned way, for it is their
accumulation that justifies my regarding the AA as a cannily con-
structed whole. At the moment they suggest that quis illc?, oftband as
it is. might be considered a serious question about a sdf-conscious
and self-questioning narr~ltor. Bcfon.· continuing th:.t investigation,
let us digress for a moment to consider why a novel with so much
detecting in it has passed unrcmarkcd as such.

SENSATION!
Modern dctccth·c fiction contains a strong dement of adven-
ture. which we have so far lt!ft entirely to one side. A look at the hard-
94 TRUTH

boiJcd side of 'tee thrillers will not only add perspective to our one-
sidt>d cartoon of The Go/Jm Ass as a story with ot derectable solution,
it will also answer the serious question that may be raised about why
the detection clements surveyed in this chapter have gone unnoticed.
Whyt for instance, R. Helm contrasts the AA specifically with a
tightly plotted criminal novel,5 7 andJ. L. Borges saw in the AA .. mere
sequential variety:' 58 The answer is that the AA also contains large
doses of what we now sec as the systematic opposite of the ratiocina-
tive tal~. viz., the talc of pure sensation.
The opposition between the two major strains of the modern dc-
tt·ction genre-the intellectual and the scnsational59-is crystallized
by Raymond Chandler, speaking of Dashiell Hammett: •• Hammett
gave murder back to the kind of people that commit it for reasons, not
just to provide a corpse; and with the means at hand, not with hand-
wrought duelling pistols, curare, and tropical fi.sh." 60 If few academ-
ics write about detective novds (in inverse proportion to the number
\vho read them}. even fewer write about (or would admit to reading)
the racist, sexist, reactionary. and gutsy narrations of Mike H·ammcr.
But because Spmanc's novels arc a distmation of the hard-boiled type
as much as the purely ratiocinative story is a distillation of the intel-
]cctual type, they are exceeding]y useful for darifying the issue of
pure sensationalism in a narrative.
Spillanl· has only two modes-understated sensationalism and
overstated sensationalism. Understated:
1 said. "Doc ..... and he looked at me. No, not me, the gun. The
big hole in thcenc.l of the gun.

57. "Einlcitung" to t\pulcir1s, Mturmorph~:tjell; (1(/{"r, Drr g..tldmr Esrl, Lateiuisd1 rmd
Dt·Hr$(h (Berlin, 1'161 }: 19.
5K "The adwnturc story ... must h.l\'4..' a rigid p1nt rf it is not to !';LICcurnb to the
nH:tc.· s~t]Lil'llli.d variety of The Gulden As!i, the Sewn Voy.1gcs of Sin bad. or thl· Qui-
xote.. ("Prolo~ue to the Jn\"cntion of Morel," in B,,r,~s: A R~Qdcr, cd. Monc~.:JI and RC"id
[note ..J8): 123).
59. D. S.:1ycrs, "Jntroduction" to Tire Omnibru of Crime (New York. 1929): l'J-22.
(Reprinted in Tlr~ Arr oftire Mystrry SI~Jry, cd. H. Haycraft [New York, 1946 !: 8J-&'1).
()0. ''The Simple Art of Murder: An Essay," in Til•· Simplt: .'\rt '!f.\f1mlcr (New
York, 1972): 16. The h:nd-boilcd detectives ofCh;mdlcr, Hunrnc:u, ami Spillane are
usuaiJy analyzed as a simple reaction to the cbssicaJ detection novd as an intcUcctual
puzzle, but to understand the co-implication of these rwo strains \vt.> should notice that
thc dett•ction-puzzll• ntw~o.·l of the 1920s was itself a spcci.1l devdopmc:nt out of the: ad-
\·cnwrc thriller with mystery clements. Cf. L. Panek, mmca11s Slu~plu·rds: Tlu· Dttttlil'c
,•,;,,u•l ill Britain 1914-19-10 (Dowling Gn:1..·n, Ohio, I'J7Y).
 THE SCRUPULOUS READER 95

And while he 1.vaslooking I let him sec what came out of the gun.
Doctor Soberin only had one eye lcfc.61

Overstated:
••you'n: going to die now ... but tirst you can do it. Deadly ... deadly
... kiss me." The smlJc never left her mouth and before it was on me J
thumbed the Jightcr and in the moment of time before the scrl.·am blos-
soms imo the wild cry of tc.-rror she was a mass of flame tumbling on
the Aonr with the hlue Aames of alcohol turning the white of her hair
into black char and her body convulsing under the.· agony ofit. 62
Apuleius often pitcht:s his narrative in the mode of pure sensationalism:
She untied her belt and looped it around each one of my legs and
pulled them eight together to keep me helpless while she worked me
over with the two-by-four that k!;!pt the stable doors locked. She final1y
swppcd pounding mt.· from shcc:r exhaustion when tht.• beam slippt·d
from her tired hands. She cursed her weak muscles and r:m to the
lu~arth and grabbed one end of a burning brand and stuck it bet \VCen
my rear legs until, counting on my last resource, I fartcd a tight jet of
gummy diarrhea right into her tace and hit her between the cycs. 63

This is an extreme moment in T/u· Goldrrt Ass, as Hammer is an ex-

treme case of tough-guy detective. The next sentence in Apulcius veers
back away from pure sensationalism with a Jitcrary reference to Mc-
lcagcr and the burning brand of Althaea-doser to the sensibility of
Chandler, who names his mysterious lady Mrs. Graylc and shows us
the enormous Moose MaUoy on a quest for her (Fan>wdl, My Loz'ely).
The characteristics oftht• hard-boiled detective, as outlined by Ca-
welti, 64 arc a profile that fits one side of the AA: recurrent physical
assaults on the hero, a quest \vith ever-changing matrices, a view of
the cntirl· society as corrupt on every lcvd, with especial venom di-
rected at women and the wealthy, a strict division of the characters
into those for and those against the hero, a portrayal of sex as the great

(11. Kiss Me• Dc•i2dly(Ncw York. 1%2): 2-47.

62. Ibid.: 250.
63. rx.wl•1it su.zm sibif.udam I"'•lt:S(JIIt' mtol sitlgllllltim itllig.11JS inJidt'ttl uttmringir artis-
litllt", scilia·t IU' qiH'J uinJicltJt" lllectt' supncssrl prut-s~lium, ~~ pcrtice~, qua ste~b1di fon·s offirmari
.$Oieb.mr, aJ"pta '""'' prius rtlt> dt'siit ,,btutrdtrr.', quam uictis fesJisqut> 11iribus moper po11dm• de-
gnmatus m.miJms c•ius .Ji•stis t'SSc>t C'IIIJ'Sus. tuttc dr bmclricmm1 numm1 cit.z jlt{~titme mt~q~~e~sla
prowtrit .td fowm ardoltt·mqllt lilic~tlt'11J J..~rrns mtdiis in_euinib•u obtntdit 11s~ut, do" cc sclo, q•wd
rrsMbdt, ttiSIIS pmrsMic' liqrli.ld _time• striaim fgtstaf~~t'it•m at~1tt ,,mJ!'j tiu.s Ulfljc!td~tssnn (7 .2R~
64. Cawclti. Adl~t'lllllrt {note 11): 239-56.
96 TRUTH
temptation and trap. The presence of all these in the AA does not
make it a sensational detective story any more than the uncoordinated
ratiocinative elements make it a puzzle story. For instance, the recur-
rent physical assaults on the hero arc not prompted by his coming too
close to violent criminals whose conspiracy he might uncover; he is
on a quest of sorts but has not been hired for it and develops no com-
mitment to it of the sort that makes Marlowe and Spade seem valiant
knights in the midst of prevalent urban evil.
If I were trying to write an adequate account of the AA, sensation-
alism is one of many Jines that would have to be developed. But since
this is, on the contrary, a general argument about how to undertake
the interpretation of the book and is in effect a prolegomenon to other
interpretations. it is enough to note the sheerly sensational as the co-
present opposite of the ratiocinative investigation. It is the combina-
rjon that js provocative. Together they define. by opposition, two
poles of all narrative.
"It is significant that in [ratiocinative) tales the body is usually
discovered in the library, for their authors tend to be opprcssivcJy
bookish."6S The charge leveled by red-blooded tough guys against
ratiocinative stories is that they are deadly to action, that they kill real
plot, that they dissect stories rather than Hvc them. The intellectual
detective novel is not a real story. rather it is a parasitic narrative-the
story of a decipherment of a story. Its plot is the determination of
what already happened; and insofar as its painstaking accuracy in
sifting through traces ofwhat really happened is indulged, it provides
us with what Barthes called l'atJcantissmtmt de /'anecdote. That is why
most mysteries are unrereadable. They are not stories at all, but epis-
temological exercises in correctly identifying the roles played in a
story. The exercise is occasioned by an
act of vjolence that brings an
end to whatever story there might have been.

65. M. Holquist, .. Whodunit and Other Questions: Mct.i!physic.a.l Detective Stories

in Posr-War Fiction," Nt!w Lilt'nlf}' Hist"'}' 3(1971-72): 65. George Grella Ius tried to
interpret the plot of such detection stories as social comedies with the criminal as "block-
ing figure"; seC' '"The formal Dcttctivl- Nmtd" in IRtmivr: Fictioo, cd. Winks (note 19):
84-102. In spite oft he merit of dtisanalysis. we must obsc rvc that the concealment of the
identity of the blocking figure does make a radiC3l difference. Could we imagine a tradi-
tional comedy. say Mcnanuer's Grouth, in which the play was spent discovering by careful
investigation which of the chuactcn h.ild a mis.mthropic temperament?
 THESCRUPULOUSREAOER ~

Dut paradoxically the ratiocinative story in contrast to th~ hard-

boiled sensationa] story is a much more natural emmciati.,n. Watson &
Co. have a plausible reason (its roots arc in crime journalism) for
writing up thdr accounts for an interested public and a fictional
stance that suits the printed page. Mike Hammer's confidences might
be uttered in a bar late at night-\vith all their intimacy, maudlin
asides. and sentimental violence-but could hardly be written down.
The utterance conceals its own mode of existence as a printed page.
helping along the illusions of readers who feel that only sissies read.
The root of these contrasting attitudcs is the complexity of even
th~ simplest narrativL" statement: "1 ran;· uttered by a person who is
not running. Already in such an atomic unit of narrative there is a
polarization of the I who did and rhe I who tell, of past and present, of
experience and telling of experience. of action versus book. Two
worlds must be posited side by side, one filled with people and things
and events (and l'Vcn narratives) tllen, the other equally tilled \\'ith
people narrating and listening uow. If this inherent and inevitable
complexity of narrating itself is allowed to develop, we may find nar-
rators subtly affirming the reality of past events at the e-xpense of
present telling. especially when we come to a book for its telling of
past events that we assume arc fictional. The double I of any narrating
easily becomes the duplicitous 1.66
The two strains of modern detective stories thus show a polar con-
trast that is already implicit in any narrating. The anesthl"tized in-
spection of a violent murder is a parable of reading. heightening the
built-in opposition between present telling and past experiencing.
between the mind's appreh~nsion of what happened and the unmedi-
atcd impact of a slug in the belly. Both represent real aspects of any
narrative, the one emphasizing (in Gcnette's terms) the story (=what

flli. The only w~1y m avoid rhis a:~~:is of ltlt'diarion and (mis)rc:p~nt:nion is. to
suppress the I altogether: .. Contrary to what might be expected. a novel in the first
person rarcl)· su((ttds in convcying rhc iJlusion of prescnrncss and inuncdiaq•. hr
from facilitatin~ the hero-reader idcmific.ation, it rends to :1ppcar remote in time. The
essence of suc-h a nm:cl is that it is rc:uusp<cti,.c:, and that there is ,;m a\'Ov..-cd tcnlporal
distance between the fictional time-that of the events as they happcned-:md the
narr~tor's :~ctualtimc:-his time of recording those events" (A. A. Mcndilow, 7'imr aud
tl1r Nowl (New York. 1952): 106; quoted by Gcncnc, .\'.Jrr.Jtil~£ Di.scouru [note 251: 168
n. 10).
9B TRUTH

happened) and ob1iterating the narrative (=the organization of what

happened into a plot) and the narrating (=the fact and circumstances
of the narrator rdating the narrative), the other emphasizing thenar-
rating and 1hc distance between the story and the narrative.
Apuleius's cultivation of antithetical narrative stances, the dctcc-
tional and the sensational, arc thus one more vehicle for his implied
narratology. His method is to exaggerate some feature of the telling
of a good story in such a \vay that we can be both emhraJled (by the
good slOry) and piqued by surreptitious allusions to the fact that we
arc reading a story!

The four mental operations of detection discussed in this duptc:r

deal with signs and secrets. In the structure of a narrative, the story's
ending gives all the story's facts their final significance. In a puzzle
narrative, the secret at the end exposes the hidden facets of significa-
tion that had been obscurely prcscm all along. The presence of so
much detecting by characters in TIJe Golden Ass makes clear that the
novelist is fascinated by problems of rcsignification. of revealing new
meanings at the end that were in a sense already there. So put, the
surprise of Book 11 begins to make sense as an extreme case of what
has gone before.
This may sr.art fruitful lines of thought about resignification as
both a nan-atological and a theological process. For instance: rc1igious
autobiography is a kind of story; alJ stories hide their ending; there-
fore Lucius's reJigious life-history had to lead up to the sort of conclu-
sion that would seem surprising beforehand but detectable in rctro-
specr. Bur though the detection elements in the A. A may be taken as a
fact. such an iutcrpretatiou of them is still prcmatur~ for it deals only
with the location of certain picct•s of information and not with the f!JO,
the narrator as such. How we arc led to think of the authorlnarrator is
the key to determining the authorized sense of this heterogeneous,
pJayful, intellectual, and sensational novel. We must progress from
the relations between story and narrative (what happened and the ar-
rang~mcnt of what happened into a plot) to the phenomena of narr~u­
ing (the narrator·s presence as the one who relates rhe narrative).
Again. we will not look directly (yet!) at lucius but rather at the rep-
resentation of narrators in relation to their tales and their audiences.
 4

The Contract
Within a minute there had come to me out of
my very pity the appal1ing alarm of his being
perhaps innoc~nr. lr was forth~ insunr
conti:lUlll..iing and bottomless, for if he lf)rrt'
innocent, what then on earth was 1?
-Henry James,
''The Turn of the Screw"

The plot hatched in this chapter starts from one metaphor. that
of detective fiction. and moves to another, the commercial contract.
Both arc taken to be instances of two-party shrewdness whose partici-
pants are careful to deal honest1y most of the time but where sharpers
have also been known to take in the unwary (tauschenlt.1usrlteu~
The previous chapter dealt with the hermenemics of detection in
terms of the administration ofknowlcdgc and the controlled flow of
information. Thc:sc wc:rc largely a matter of the relations between
what happened (quae RCSta .mm: sujct) and the story of what happened
Ualmlt~). The rearrangements of what happened into a story typically
affect the tcmporal order of facts, as for example by postponing
pieces of information to produce a cHmactic recognition. The present
chapter begins rather with the question ofguilt, of assigning responsi-
bility (authorship) first for the crime and then for the criminal fiction.
This will involve looking not just at the story as a recasting of what
happt>ned but specifically at the narrator. whocv.:r he is (quis ille?). It
will appear that the responsibility of all authors/narrators (a distinc-
tion we will look at in Chapter 6) for the text they produce has already
100 TRUTH
a certain criminal cast, and that even the most magisterial author of
any narrative finally becomes answerable to a charge of complicity in
the plot, often of outright masterminding. I shall try to make clear
not only that narratives work this way but that the narrated narrative
situations in The Golden Ass provide a series of X-ray pictures from
ditTcrcnr angles that show up this usually invisible guilt and show it,
too, dispersed over members of the audience.
The implication of the audience as secret sharers of the guilt of the
tale leads us to an analogous metaphor (or a simi1ar analogy), that of
the narration as a contract. Merchant and customer strike up a deal to
make a mutual exchange, a givc-•md-take wherein both give and both
take. "Give me a copper coin and I will give you a golden tale." 1 Both
panics arc allowed to hope that the terms of the exchange will tun1
out in their favor, and both must be wary of misunderstanding the
letter of their law. It is a sort of secret guilt. at which we all smile, to
think that we have gotten the better of a bargain. and it is accompa-
nied by an all the more sour surprise when we learn that we have been
taken. The transformation of guilty delight to chagrin. arguably the
p.atten1 of the AA for the first-reader, seems to be .accompanied by
some mysterious voice from a higher point of view commenting on
our entrapment in a bad bargain: .. Fool! He exchanged with Diomedes
gold armor for copper, a hundred hides' worth for nine" (IUad
6.235-36).
Having sketched the nexus of seller and buyer as it is persistently
represented in the AA. we will have brought out the major forms of
interpretation ponrayed in the novel that are relevant to the interpre-
tation of the novel and so bring to a close Part One. The original
question will by then have been replaced by a more specific one, viz.,
the identity. characterization, and performance of the auctor/actor. To
these inextricably linked functions of the text (author and narrator)
we may applf the full force of ambiguity packed into the term "con-
fidence man" as one whose role is to promote both faith and wariness.

PLAYING FAIR
All narrators of tales know the ending when they begin.
Hence, a talc may begin with and be prompted by a gJimpse of the

1. ass~m p11r{J ~~ 11cdJW 11141Tolllt fobul11m (Pliny Ep i1l. 2. 20. 1~

 THECONTRACT 101

ending, as ''Sarrasine" is the tale of the mysterious old man in evening

clothes, or as Apuleius's fifteenth talc concerns a woman who has
already been condemned to die. Or the beginning may offer a tanta-
lizing piece of information from any part of the talc:
"I quite agree-in regard to Griffin's ghost, or whatc\'er it was-
that its appearing ti.rst to the little boy. at so tender .an .age, adds a par-
ticular touch. But it's not the first occurrence ofits ch::mning kind that I
know to have involved a child. If the child gives the effect another tum
ofthe screw, what do you say to twochildn:n-? ..1

In any case the narrator can sre the whole plot as a single finished
entity: "He took no notice ofher; he looked at me. but as if. instead of
me, he saw what he spoke o£'' 3 This encompassing view entitles the
narrator to make ominous pronouncements about the outcome:
.. It's beyond everything. Nothing at all that 1 know touches it."
.. For sheer terror?" I remember asking.
He seemed to say it was not so simple as thar~ to be really at a Joss
how to qualify ir.
He passed his h3nd over his eyes. made a little wincing grimace .
.. For dreadful-dreadfulness! ..
.. Oh. how delicious!'' cried one of the womcn. 4
Such preliminary glimpses can never nffcr us more than a cloudy
knowledge of the end. The narrator, as one who imparts to us the
secret of the talc, must begin with an act of concealment-otherwise
the talc would be already over.
Exploiting this dimension of all stories. the detection story ex-
hibits a very exact and carefully wcigh~d formula of allowab]e fore-
knowledge and necessary ignorance. lt is, on the one hand, a death-
and-taxes certainty that by the end of a detection story the reader wiU
know the Who?. How?. and Why? of a baffling crime. This is a more
exact prediction than is possible for almost any other form of story.
Insofar as the reader knows that a solution wiJl occur, postponements
of that solution arc- a form of suspense. Virtu<lHy everything that oc-
curs betwcc:n the crime and the pcripcty-cvery question asked or
footprint photographed-serves in some fashion to gcncrJtc sus-
pense. But it is equally demanded that the reader be kept in unfath-

2. ''The Turn of the Screw," in T/1t' C...omplett' Talts L!f Horry }1!111N, cd. L. Edd
(London, 1964) 10: 15.
3. Ibid.: 16.
·l. Ibid.
102 TRUTH
omablc ignorance about the nature of the solution until Jt JS an-
nounced, that it should in fact be as surprising as possible. The
detection story is. therefore. characterized by a maximization ofboth
suspense and surprise according to a specific rule of reading.
So strictly is the narrator held accountable to this formula-as a
certain way of concealing the truth at the end-that readers regard a
slip in the consistency of a story as virtually criminal negligence on
his or her part. The narratoes retelling of events is held up to judg-
ment as a kind of just or unjust performance, commonly referred to as
.. playing fair with the reader." From Poe onward, the detection story
has been pecuHarly sensed as rule-bound by a code ofhonor-the eth-
ics of a certain kind of lie-and its authors have formulated deca-
Jogues (Knox). pentalogues (Borges. T. S. EJiot), eikosilogues (Van
Dine), oaths (the Detection Club~ and lectures on the limits of the
form (Carr). Poe sums up the essence of the matter: ~'The de~ign of
mystery ... being once determined upon by an author, it becomes
imperative.-. first. that no undue or inartistical means be employed to
conceal the secret of the plot; andt secondly, that the secret be well
kept." These two commandments state the unforgivable sins against
the very spirit of the genre. 5 That the author will employ means of
concealment has usually seemed so obvious-after Poe~that it is
seldom mentioned. It is the positive injunction Thou Shalt Lie that
underlies all the restrictions on the fair conduct oft he lie.
The fundamental concealment demanded of the aurhor is the solu-
tion. "The stcret [must J be wdl kept." This is an intensification of the
requirement on aU narrative involving any degree of surprise or sus-
pense. It begins to appear, then, that detection stories arc a refined
form of one of the essential dimensions of fiction itself, viz .• thenar-
rator"s initial knowledge of the end, which. in being fairly withheld
from the reader, is the principle governing the flow of information
leading to that end. The end is a secret. the narrator is an initiator who
guides the reader toward that hidden goal. _
If all storytellers are characterized by a certain withholding of in-
formation, the detective story expresses that aspect of fiction for-

5. Next to them other jurists' rules an: sc:cn to com;~ in a pc3t de~ I th;~t is phari-
s:~ic ("Not more th:~.n one secret room or pass3gc is :dlowablc.. [Knox, in H. H:~~r<~ff,
cd .• Tlu- Art oft~ .\fystrry Story (Nev~o· York, 1946): 195 I) or patently personal (-There
must be no lovt: intcrc!>t" I V;~n Dine. ibid.~ lR9)~
 THE CONTRACT 103
t:nally by mimetic doubling. The narrator's story is a double one-
first that of the crime, then that of the detective who deciphers the
crime-both clements of which arc based on concealment: the crimi-
nal conceals his identity and often the very nature of the criminal
event, the detective withholds the same secret from his associates
while he is in the process of discovering it. The narrator, faithful to
the course ofevents, conspires with both criminal and detective when
he keeps lheir secret from the reader umil the end.
From the point of view of the designing author, the detective is a
double of the criminal, not only in acting the same way (keeping the
secret) but, often enough, in reenacting the very crime.6 ln restaging
or rcte11ing the crime the detective purs on tht• mind of the criminal
and sees the evidence from the guilty point of view. The rcidentifica-
tion of the detective with the criminal both exposes the criminal's
idemity (anagnorisis) and re\·erses the direction of the criminal's at-
tack on the rest of society (pcripcty). As Butor argues in Passiug Timr,
the explanation itself is a kind of second murder. By telling what re-
ally happened the detective not only brings about a recognition (an-
agnorisis), he causes the murderer to be caught. condemned. sen-
tenced, and executed (pcripety}. 7
The peripety in fact is a moment in a great narrative square dance
when several roles change. The detective becomes the crimina), the
criminal becomes the detective's victim (vindicating one victim [the
corpse] and Jibe rating another [the most likely suspect]). At the same
moment the characters alJ become the detective (seeing what the de-
tective saw) and the reader becomes the author (insofar as he could
now retell the story and can never innocently read it again). The end
of the tal~. a point ofcoherence from which all the narrator's informa-
tion is dispensed to the audience, is that point at which the audience's

6. "To the best of my ability llm going to r("(.'nact whlt happened y~sterday
hctWl"'L"II fiv.: fiuty-thrce and
!IL"\'CI\ minutL"!\ JWit "ix. whel\ W.1ltcr tdephnnl"',t to Mis,.
Garten .... (Hagstrom] is going to l'nact my conception ofwh:n oc:curn-d in this room
ycstcrJay. I'm guint; m play your part .... The pcrfi>rm . mcc i!'.lu be in pantumimc. ar1J
occasionally J'll step out of your role to gi\'C directions :md possibly :ask some ques-
tions" (Ellery Queen, Tht·l\o~;i-aCrirr•c [Nl"W York. 1942]: 175).
7. Sometimes this htcrally happens; in 'flu· H}'C' ".f Osiris (New York. 1911 ~ Dr.
Thorndyke dt"duccs that the corpse has been :secreted inside a mummy GI:SC. Th"· guilty
party confesses, describing his amateur embalming in some detail, and then falls down
dl'ad frnm a l·yanide tablt·t that he: had hiddt>n 1n a cigarette.
104 TRUTH
knowledge ofthe tale and the narrator's become identical. The narra-
tee could now become narrator to another, for the narratee has be-
come identical with the narrator in respect to the narrative.
Just as interpretation is both a problem at the end of Th~ Golden
Ass and is represented within the novel, so concea1ment of the end
and unsuspected traps arc often portrayed in the novel, often in such a
way that we see the act of concealment from the concealer•s point of
view. The adultery and crime tales work this way. Perhaps by exam-
ining how characters (some of them narrators) cover their tracks we
can explicate the guilt of the author. Has Apuleius written ••not a
story of detection. I 0 f crime :md punishment, but of sin and cxpia-
tion"?8 Certainly he has written a story in which criminal guilt and its
congeners are repeatedly located in odd places and viewed from un-
expected perspectives. The sharper our sense that the determination
of (guilty) responsibility is a precarious and subtle operation. the
more easily will we see that the detective hermeneutics of the pre-
vious chapter are a mind-sharpening necessity, a game with a point.

MALICE AFORETHOUGHT
First, let us notice some of the ironies of guilt itself: the
wrong person caught as a criminal or accused itJ absctJtia (though
present~ the criminal as cause celebre, and the hypocritical confession.

Thr wrong rmm

The wicked boy who mistreats the ass in Book 7 commits a
crime: he selJs the wood he has gathered to another farmhouse but
blames the ass, accusing rum of tossing the load off in order to knock
a woman down and mount her. He elaborates a lie about the ass's
history oflustful attempts on pretty women, marriageable maidens,
and tender boys.
The other shepherds, taking this lie for true and knowing that they
would be subject to capital punishment for their animal's crimes [7.4),
decide to kill the ass and cover his death with a Jie to their master: .. It
will be easy for us to lie and say he was killed by a wolC'' But while

8. T. S. Eliot, Tl1t Family Rt"1mi0r1 (London, JIJ39): 101.

9. f'iu.squt! morttm dt' lupo JQ(ilt nat'ntitmur (7.22).
 THE CONTRACT 105
the boy and the ass arc gathering wood again. an enormous bear ap-
pears, and the ass breaks his tether and runs away. The boy. guilty of a
lie (that the ass almost killed a woman) that produced another lie (that
a wolfkilled the ass), is killed in a manner that mirrors those two lies
(tom apart by the bear). Both lies were devised to cover human
crimes by blaming an animal; the boy's miserable death, though due
to an animal, is falsely regarded as a human crime. For a wayfarer
who finds the ass is apprehended by the farm hands-the disco~ry of
the boy·s dismembered body creates a circumstantial case ofhomi-
cidc against the wayfarer. The only witness is a silent one: ••tfonly the
ass himself ... could speak with a human voice and could bear wit-
ness to my innocencc."to
The ass is then portrayed as a guilty bystander in a forensic speech
by the boy's mother. She rcca1ls his ferocity in kicking at enemies and
accuses him of guilty comp1icity in the boy's death, citing the principle
that people who refuse to help those in peril of death are liable to pun-
ishment.11 She comes to avenge her son not by taking out her grief on
an innocent animal, but by administering just punishment to a well-
defined type of criminal behavior. Even if the murder had been com-
mitted by the wayfarer and not by the bear, her legal case would be
comic. And yet her analysis, inapplicable to the facts as we know them,
catches a facet of the truth. The ass, she says, has a bad conscience. u and
it is true that the ass gave silent thanks for the boy·s death (7 .26) and
rejoiced that the funeral postponed his own fate for a day (7.27).
A similarly circumstantial case is built up against lucius himself at
the beginning of Book 7. and again there is a trace of real guilt a midst
the general structure of innocence and lies reflecting lies. The robber
lookout returns to the cave from Hypata with an account of the citi-
zens' verdict reached "not by doubtful arguments but by probable
reasoning." 13 We watch the ensuing case against Lucius from three
points of view-the citizens.. the robbers'. and Lucius's. Item: his
letters of introduction were phony (presumably untrue and derived

1U. o~tqut utinam ips~ t.1sinus . .. uocrm qui ret Jumtarunt~ dt~rt m~aeque testimotlium imJo-
mlliat pt•rhibm pcwrt(7.25).
11 . F. Norden. Apuleius I'Otr .Madaura und das ronJisclu~ l'rin:rtrrcltl (Leipzig, Hc:rlin.
1912): 67-69.
12. uo.xi.Jm comcitnli4m (7.27).
1J. rt4.'( ..Jrgummtis Jubiis srd rariouibus prr)l!rlbiliblu (7. I).
106 TRUTH
from the other indices of his guilt; the robbers must think it true);
item: he pretended to love Photis (rrue) in order to get into secret
parts of the house with her help (true; but to sec Pamphilc's magic,
not Milo·s treasure: we may imagine that Photis decided to hide the
full truth from the investigators): item: Lucius disappeared on the
night of the robbery (to the citizens a coincidence that strongly sug-
gests his guilt; to the robbers a mere coincidence; to Lucius and our-
scJvcs it is the coincidence ofhis transformation and their break-in on
the same night); jtem: he took his horse, of course. to get as far away
as fast as possible (the robbers know this one is a lie because they have
the white horse). The assignment of guilt for the robbery to "some-
one or other named Lucius" (7.1) is a condemnation in abserztia but
reported in the hearing of the ass who is Lucius. He faJls. like the boy's
mother, into a juridical mode: "But (was not being a1lowed to defend
my cause or even at least to deny it in a single word. Finally. lest 1seem
by my present silt!ncc out of bad conscience to give consent to so
. kcd a cnmc
w1c . .... ''l4
Lucius turns the appearance of exaggerated guilt into a proof of
cxaggcratc:>d innocc:>ncc by a reflection on Fortuna. the h!ind assigne-r
of wealth and reputation: .. And worse than all. she attributes to us
various-or rather, contrary-reputations, so that both the bad man
glories in the good man's fame and. au colllmirc, the most innocent
man is entangled in hateful rumor." 15
The passage is crudal in retrospect (i.e., to rereaders) because it is
the tirst introduction of blind (or malevolent) Fortuna and the first
striking of a moral pose by the ass-narrator. Together these two fea-
tures of the narrative in Books 7-10 lead some readers to discern an
educational process, a growth of consciousness on Lucius,s part, as he
refl~cts ever more frequently on the moral repulsiveness of this wicked
world and r:hc blind cosmic power who harries him. The k·vcl of sheer
sordidness and the varieties of sadistic pain seem to increase. as if to
prepare Lucius for making a radical break with the secular world and
its controHing force. This is ofcourse a retrospective view. Its key terms
(increase, preparation, break) can be applied only from the vantage of a

14. r~a rHilli tamtu l•ctbar c.ZIIMIII mrmn d~fendere ud 1111ico uerbo s.1ltem dmt:_edrc. tleni·
que 11e mala tmJStienria 111111 sulrsw ltimirri prursrm uid1·rrr silruti(l ,·ortsmtirt . .. (7 .3).
15. qu<>clqur nmais tsl t•.wrrmiuJ, 11arias t~pilliclJI('S, immo amlraritJs llc•bis amiimat, 111 rt
nMI.t$ borti uiri fatrM glorirtur eI ir111oce-nt issimus lOll tl'll m.1.t:io Tlllllt'IR' plutalrlr (7. 2).
 THE CONTRACT 107

reader who has finished the whole and decides to describe its overall
shape and direction. or rather who only then feels the need to reassess
rhe book as a whole and looks for a shape and a direction.
It is a simple reading-a neat. clean shape and an easily mapped
direction. [ts adequacy will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 6
(pp. 147-49}. Here we must simply note that the two traits (Fortuna's
dominance and Lucius's moral indignation) arc co-dependent. Nei-
ther should be given a separate forcet as if Lucius's comic prissiness
were unrelated to his equally comic fatalism. The temptation of the
simple reading I have described is to connect the dots {using perhaps
the Judex Apuleianus, s. v. Fortuna) and sec in the AA a theory of For-
tuna and, separately. a psychology of world-disgust, which then, in
isolation from the situations that genera led them as a twin pair, can be
put into relation with the good Fortuna (Isis) and the chaste. world-
denying initiate of Book 11. In the interests of such a connection, the
interpreter must also suppress the comedy of Fortuna's unrelenting
insidiousness in ever devising m·w pt"rils and the comedy ofth~ phi-
losophizing ass's shocked innocence.
The co-implication of oppressive Fortuna and victimized Lucius
should be (first) seen :IS the first-reader sees them. viz., as interdepen-
dent clements in Lucius's defense. They arc generated together in a
forensic context and an: (at least initia11y) a reaction to an accusation
of guilt. That charge of guilt is so framed as to make us aware of the
hermenemic l1amart•'a r·just missing the mark") of the Hyparan inves-
tigators. The robber rcpons their reading of the availab]e evidence:
like rcrcaders ofthe AA, they have a problem to solve. Their data are a
mixture of circumstantial fac[s and personal testimony that leads to
an obvious conclusion. Lucius and we: alone arc privy to the most
interior judgment possible, that his peccadillo has been misconstrued
as a mortal sin. The motive and nature ofhis false pretenses have been
conn· a led from everyone: on thl· scl."nc, which both justifies the inves-
tigators in their simple. satisfying reading of events and explains rhc
peculiar pangs of affront expressed by Lucius.
Furthl·r, rhe twin demt:nts of the pose have a specific relation to
narrating. Obviously. one use for Fortuna is to keep up the momen-
tum of episodic adventures. especially at the gaps where one might
expect a rest or intermission: "crud Fortuna handed me over, already
broken by such sutTcrings, to new tortures'' (7.16); ··but Fortuna, in-
satiab]e for my sutTerings. once more marshaled another opponent
108 TRUTH
against me" (7 .17). At a deeper level Fortuna stands in for the ultimate
director of the action, whose taste in drama is for the maximum of
fast-paced thrills and an unrelenting sense of crisis. But most impor-
tant of all, Fortuna is the figure who is assigned respotrsibility for the
amazing concatenation of events, making Lucius a correspondingly
passive pawn. Analogous to the ass's radical innocence (viewing be-
havior in which it it unthinkable that he, modest and chaste, could
have any part) is his radical passivity in the face of Fortuna. The co-
dependence should again be clear: with an enemy like that no wonder
Lucius was helpless. Now it is not necessary that qua narrator Lucius
should reproduce the helplessness of Lucius who experienced the
events. In addition to the original overpowering of the agent/actor
Lucius by the force of circumstances {Fortuna~ there is the question
of the narrator's responsibility for telling the story. On this level, be-
yond the almost inevitable concealment of the end to be reached,
there is an almost total dereliction of responsibi1ity for integrating
the story as a measured progress toward that end. The story remains.
in its narrating, enslaved to Fortuna. The narrative itself thereby con-
veys the understanding that in the future course ofevents no subst:m-
tive change occurred in the metaphysical relation oft he all-dominant
Fortuna to her helpless victim. The responsibility for the events and
for the telling of the events is not only lopsided between Fortuna and
Lucius but between the author and ourselves. Before we can analyze
that relation (pp. 119-22~ let us look at two other narratives about find-
ing a guiJty party and then at some instances of specifically narrative
guilt.

TIJe crimirral ct'lebmted

The two cooks noricc that portions of their best food arc
disappearing and make a careful investigation for the guilty party. 16
They finally break out into mutual recriminations, each thinking the
other has sold some of their common goods for private profit. When
they notice that their ass is growing daily fatter and glossier, and chat
his fodder is untouched, their suspicions tum to him-incredulously,
since it is a well-known fact that asses do not eat hunun food (for
those readers who do not know. it is mentioned in 10.15). They lay a

16. SluJiMt: Uf'Siig.tbmlt Yf'IIIH (10.14); lalrlltltiPf (10.15).

 THE CONTnACT 109

trap. Pretending to go off to the baths at the usual hour they tiptoe
back and through a smallish knothole scrutinize the ass. ,..,.ho is de-
vouring their banquet with gusto. The sight is not only a joke (they
split with laughter) but the criminal. after being detected, becomes a
taus;: d:lebre, feted and pampered at the mastcrJs table, bridled with
gold and silver, and a spectacle whom many desire to sec (10.19). In
fact, when the master, Thiasus, and the ass return to Corinth, which
is the native city of them both, the crowd assembles more to see the
famous ass than to honor one of its first citizens. The conversion of
detected guilt to glory may recall the pattern of events leading up to
Lucius's first transformation-crime, investigation, exposure of
guilt, laughter, reverence (the city magistrates announced that a
bronze statue of him was to be erected, 3.1 1).

Hypcuritical wt~{ession
The priests of the Syrian goddess arc mendicants whose reli-
gious showmanship, ecstatic dancing, and sdt:.ftagellation earn them
offerings of money and food. The narrator calls their collections
"robbery" . 17 Their prophecies are made-up lies. 18 Their chastity is a
sham (exposed by the saindy ass whose ..eyes could not long tolerate
such a spectacle," 8.29) and they rob temples (caught with the goods
at 9. 9-10). Paradoxically. these arc the very persons who practice a
liturgy of confession:
IAmidst the twirling ofhcads and cutting ofbare arms] onr: ofthem
..vas even more wildly ecstaric. Heaving frequent gasps from deep in
his chest like one tilled with the divine breath ofa god, he simulated the
torments of madness, as if the presence of gods did not make humans
better than thcmsel\'es but made them weak and debilitated. Consider
the blessing this man won from heJvenly providence. He began to re-
proach and accuse himsdfin a loud-shouted prophecy. a made-up lie.
as if he had committed s01nt· dl·~d against th~ propriety of holy reli-
gion, and morco\"cr he demanded that he himself impose the just pt>n-
ancc tor his noxious misdeed on h imsd f with his own hilnds.l9

17. dt•prardab.3t11Ur (M.29).

18. fictac llaticirMtit'ltlis mrtrdfJcio (H.29).
19. ·ima l1ac•t 1111115 c'X illis l~<ucllatHr c..lfiuills ac Jr imis pr.rc•fordii.~ attlrditus m·lm•.s rr-
.ft·m•s uelut rrumitris diui11c1 spiriru rt'plrtrrs simnlabat saud.ml uccordit:WI, promu quasi dcum
pnusolli.J ScJ/coam llc•mint·s 111.1n mi .fic·ri mdit>n"J, s~·J Jd,iJrs rj"/ici lUI <~rgrMi. SJ'c'<ta Jc•rriqlll',
qualr cadt•sti pNuMt•rlfia meritum n.·p~rtam·n"r. ir!fit IUilicirurrionf' clamosa cor~ticto ntt'lldaiicl
110 TRUTH

The priests arc, by the standards of pain and violence in the AA

itself, rclativdy harmless. The only blood they shed is their own. Yet,
they engage in more kinds of criminal (or at least hypocritical) activi-
ties than anyone else. Odd that they should be the very ones to enact
self-revelation ofinncrmost guilt, a single person acting the roles of
criminal, prosecutor, and executioner. The plainest feature of this
passage is the emphasis on lying and dissimulation (m~lut, tOI!ficto mtn-
dacio, quasi ... dissiguasset).
Though it is too soon for us to assess its meaning, the Syrian
priest's self-accusation docs at least confirm that assuming responsi-
bility for and making a public statement about one's own religious
guilt is some sort of issue. Whether Apuleius has in any sense done
that in thl" A.i is pardy a question of how implicated hl" is in the
statements ofL ucius.

IMPLICATION
What would a narrative look like in which the narrator con-
..:calcJ hb own, hi:s very own, reality? Three stories in the .t'lA show
us narrators who arc rcvl·a]cd at the end to be not just storytellers \\'ho
can stand wholly outside the talc and tell another as well, but narra-
tors who are deeply involved in a way that was hiddcn at the bt>gin-
ning. We realize at the end with a shock that the story was all along
abom the narrator.

Thclyphrou
The stunning case is that ofThelyphron, who tells his ta]e at
Byrrhcna's splendid banquet, where .. whatever cannot be is therc." 20
Thl· conversation turns to cemeteries, funerals, witchl·s, dismember-
ment ofcorpses, and then, with a turn of the screw. focuses on one of
the: living who suffered such a fate. Thc victim is not named. just
''someone," and at that moment the entire company turns to stare at
one man sitting alone in a comer and breaks into licentious laughter.

-----------------------------
smrt'l ipmm irut·ssn"l' asquc• (Timi,rart, qruHi cWIIto.l fJs ~auaac• rdigitllris rli~S(I!IUJJSI'laliquicl, t'f
ill.'lll'<'r ius/as pvt'llllJ noxii_fo1ci11Ciri! ipn· dt· st• jlliJ "'""ilruJ ~XJh.lSCt:rt: (H.27-2H~
20. qui£oJUr.IJit·ri ll<lll prllt'Sf ibi l'Jt (.:!.'I}~
 THECONTRACT 111

Is this a pr:mk? Under wh:lt circumstances docs a report of grave-

robbing and witches' ambushes provoke hc:lpless laughter? Appar-
ently when, as Byrrhena immediately defines the situation. it is afab-
ula: "With your usual urbanity, repace that tale of yours so that my son
Lucius here too may enjoy the affability of your neat confabula-
tion."21 There is a comparable oddness in the attitude of the narrator
Thclyphron toward telling his talc: he seems both out of it and in it.
At ftrst he wants out-embarrassed by the attention and ready to
leave-but then he gets into it, plumping up the pillows and carefully
arranging himself into the proper position, down to an exact confor-
mation of fingers into an orator's prescribed gesture (2.21).
After these prdiminary dislocations, the talc unfolds dearly
enough as the story of a corpse guarded from witches during a wake,
punctuated with continual gaffes by thl' witness and guard Thc-
lyphron. His narrativl' pt'rsona is established as that of a displaced per-
son (orphan, wandering, unconnected with any business or project or
class) who repeatedly and humorously mistakes where he is ("Don't
you know you're in Thcssaly?" 2.21; .. Don't you realize you're in a
house: of mouming?" 2.24; and when offert~·d a place in the lady's
household, he misconstrues that place as precisely that of a watchman
for the corpses of all her future husbands, 2.26). In soml' part his obvi-
ous and comic incongruity is the result of trying to play the role he
thinks is expected-e.g., claiming to be the super-perfect watchman
('·more perspicacious than Lynccus or Argus,'' 2.23) and talking
down a house cat (2.25).
The fatuousness of the narrator allows us temporarily to recuperate
the problems of the introduction: his reluctance and the audicncc•s
laughter were caused by the embarrassing role he played as a fool in
those events. And the talc itself seems until the very end to be split
between a terror-filled subject (the corpse who might be mangled) and
a comic observer of that subject. The buffoon character, now narrator.
is ipso facto distinct from the grisly sul~cct of his narrative, an unmis-
t;lkably different ;md wdl-dtar~u.:tcri:u·d pt:n;~ctivc on thos.: events.
Retrospectively, Thclyphron is not an optional addition to the
story (thl' story. as it Sl'Cml'd to b~. of an aduhcrer, a murder, a detcc-

21. 11111rr Will' ur1Mnitalisji11•ulam iflm1111111111 umeli", ute•t.filiur mtus istt' l.ucius leJ•Mi
unrwui.s llli pt:rfrlliJIHr wmiMlt' (2.20~
112 TRUTH
tion of the wife's crime) but the very subject of the story. It was, all
along, the story ofThdyphron's own experiences as self and as body
rather than a story that he merely, and with his own characteristic
foolishness, observed. The misprisions of the observer Thelyphron
were not just distracting or entertaining accidents of the narrative,
they were its substance. The analogies with Book 11 as a refocusing
on a narrator character who was or could have been there all along
entit1es us and even commissions us to ask what is going on with this
in-and-out-of-it storyteller.
Details of the tale appear on rereading to be artfully aimed at the
final secret: "A profound sleep suddenly plunged me into a deep pit,
so that not even the Delphic god himself could have easily discerned
which of the two of us lying there was the more dcad." 21 Conversely.
he fails to inform us of essential but end-revealing information such
as the name of the corpse. Comments and failures to inform arc one
thing, but what do we make of events in the story whose storied and
riddling qualities seem too good to be true? The contract origina11y
struck contained a clause that we know onJy from a bystander, and
that as an afterthought, to the effect that the guard must fortcit those
parts of his face that arc taken from the corpse. This premonition of
the actual ending is said to have been uttered ofThand and anony-
mously (" Oh. yes. and I almost ]eft out one thing: "). 13 EquaUy in-
credible is Thelyphron's misunderstanding of the original need for a
guard ("What"s this I hear? Do the dead around here get up and run
away?").l 4 At the end we learn from the corpse that his indistinguish-
able twin did rise from a deep pit of sleep (''dead asleep .. )15 and
walked over to the door. Can it ever be that siJly, quotidian evenrs
parody ahead of time some important truth?
What kind of narrator can efface the end of the tale that literally
marked him for life, so that he not only recounts events as they
seemed to him before the awful revelation but in no way avoids the
almost unbearable irony ofthat time between his mutilation and its
discovery? He says that when he discovered that the corpse had not

22. mr $clnltiU$ prC?fsmJus i11 inutm IMrdthnun IYJWIIU d~m~rgit, ul trf' deus q11id~m
Dtlfim.s ip.sc_{C~tilc disrtmmt d11obus nobi$ iauntibus, qutJ csstr magis momm$ (2.25).
23. rhtm, rt, q11od p.1mt pnuttritmm {2.22).
24. "quid hoc," i"'{llam, ..con1perior? hicint '""rtui solt:nr tm}i1gerr?" (2.21).
25. $(JJXlft' fH()rttiiiS (2.30).
 THE CONTUACT 1l3

been mutilated and he was paid and tipped, he was •4 bcsidc himsdf
with joy at this unhoped-for gain." 26 Can a nosclcss and ear1ess man
tell the talc of his loss with such witty distance and indifference? Can a
retrospective narrator who knows the end describe his being pom-
mc1ed by servants as a kind of mythological dismcmbcrmcnt27 with
no inkling of regret for what happened the night before? For the sec-
ond-reader Thclyphron's talc constantly raises the question .. How
docs onc spt·ak ofthc unspeakable?"
Without a trace of available irony Thelyphron confesses that he
even fdt guilty for his foolish words to the lady:" I agree that [ rea1ly
dt>serve-d even more beating than I got." 28 He says this came at a mo-
ment of rtjlcction on the past: "I realized all too late that my words had
been unlucky and not thought out." 29 Thelyphron's lack of reflective
irony qua narrator is asmnishing. The fault of his words to the lady is
partly that they could have been construed to mean that she is the sort
of woman Hkely to lose many husbands, which is true of her as a
murderess, but Thdyphron appropriates the guilt all to himsdf.
The strangeness ofthe human heart might even encompass such
an act of autos ad ism as Thclyphron's talc. But the high caliber of con-
cealed intelligence in the narrative surely points beyond psychology
to something like an intersection of impersonal taleteller and narrat-
ing perstmcz. Elc111cnts normally construable as bdonging simply to
one or the other voice-the persona or the impersonator-an: so
placed that we alternately construe them as one and then the other.
The audience experiences a continuous rethinking of the accumulated
information, a rethinking that is at once the most deft entertainment
(on first and st:cond readings) and a curious parable of narratology.
To justify that claim. consider the loss of consciousness at the cen-
ter of the story. The missing cVl·nrs cannot be supplied by The-
lyphron the observer; they are supplied instead by Thelyphron the
dead husband. The corpse who seemed to be the passive subject of the-
narrator's tale becomes the narrator of that missjng action and te11s us
that what might have happened to himself really happened to the
narrator. In terms of their narrative function. Thclyphron the corpse

26. itupt·nth, luHl'•llfliuus ;, .~1111/imrr (2.2(•).

27. l.u,•r.JIIIS arqut .liscrrpw; (2.26~
28. ilignmnqn~ m~ plun·bus rtiamuerht•ribusji1isse rnrriw ccmst·llfic> (2. 27).
29. ;,!limsri ~tqut iuprcmilli smuo,•is ''ld sm• mnini1wl·(2.27}
114 TRUTH
and Thclyphron the guard switch roles. (As he said, .. So, soulJcss and
needing another to guard me, I was practically not there at all.") 30
The reversal of narrator /narrated (Thclyphron for Thclyphron) al-
lows the story to be told of the substitution of one for the other, and
this was possible because of their identity in name... Because he is
ca1led by the same name as I am, he unwittingly rose up in response to
his own name and walked in the manner of a soulless shade.... "31
The narrative in its events and in its narrating plays with the con-
frontation of two Thclyphrons. one who is named at the beginning
and one who is named only at the end. If we call this the tale ofThe-
lyphron, we arc naming both its teller (noseless Thelyphron) and its
apparent subject (corpse Thelyphron), both its real subject (noscless
Thelyphron) and its crucial teller (corps~ Thelyphron). What seemed
to be a goofy-scary fabula told by Thclyphron about "someone" turns
out to be an incomputably clcvcr and unimaginably grisly autobiog-
raphy. The confrontation of teller and told is worked out in the lan-
guage and imagery so minutely as to justify even so hyperbolic a de-
scription as "parable ofnarratology." By ''language" I mean the usc of
ct.·rtain reflexive <.•xprcssions and by uimagery" I mean the gaze of
Thclyphron on Thdyphron.
Th~ image: of the gaze occurs when the narrator wak~s up from his
sleep-like-death and rushes in terror over to the cadaver to scrutinize
its face: "I ran to the corpse; moving the lamp close and revealing his
face I was scrutinizing the pans individually. which were all in place'
(2.26). Thdyphron's eye studic:s Thdyphron's face and therefore does
not see that it is Thelyphron, not Thelyphron, who has a false nose
and cars. The narrator can sec: and report everything except himself
This is, in my reading, the point of the false trail of clues from dte
beginning of the story that suggested that the eyes would be removed
from the corpse's face-. 32 The empty and anriclimactic scene ofThe-
lyphron's scrutinizing gaze on the integral face of Thelyphron is an
image of the narrator who, before: he became a narrator, looked at
Thelyphron's face to see whether he had suffered dismemberment

30. sic ina11 im is ~t ;,Jd {flt"IIS alio wstodr partre ibi tron t'ram (2 . .25 ).
31 . tJIICid t{ldmr m('(um uottJbul., mmwpat11r, ad .nu1rn tlllmftl ignams ,·xm~t:it t'l in rx·
.mimis umbra~ ml.ldwu ... ,(!ntclicm (2.30). The s.:unc gimmick occ.:un in Augustine's u.lc
ofrhc man who was taken to hell by mistake b<caose the demon!> wc:rc scnl to fetch
anorhct man with the same name (dr mru J''O mort. 15).
32. iu(oniuis om lis (2. 22); owlo1 S{llis (2.22); oJCuleum ltlll/111 (2.23); ptrfri(tis owlis
(2.25); ;, tJftmrum Cl)tarlitiJ owU1 (2..2R); (llriMis ''"'lis (2.29~
 THE CONTRACT 115

(which would mean rhar he would have to suffer a reciprocal dismem-

berment to replace what was missing)-and saw nothing. Instead,
rcvc:rsing the terms of the: comract, the corpse: supp1ics what was
missing to the narrator: not parts ofhis face, but the part ofhis story
about the parts of his face. The confrontation. face to face, of The-
lyphron looking at Thclyphron is a highly charged emblem of not
quite comprehending what is already crucial1y there.
The reflection otJ self that is absent is represented in some turns of
language that can be shown to be equally parabolic. Thclyphron tells
his story with no integration of the present narrator with the past
character. The split, which is necessary to the first te1ling of the story
hut unendurab1e to subsequent tel1ings. is mirrored in thc multip1ic-
ity of Thclyphrons-the embarrassed man in the corner and the
posc:d orator (2.20-21 ). the bold guard and the dumsy fool-and in
the uniquely reflexive language of this story. Thelyphron treats his
own animus as a separate entity: "I was assuaging my auimus,'' 33
"nursing my auimus" 34 -cxpressions that, though unique in the Ai\
to this talc. might be accidental \verc it not for the phrase ... I masculin-
ize my auimus.'" 35 Thelyphron means, "I assumed an attitude of
manly courage.'' but the words arc also a play on his own name.
which in Greek mc:ans ~·female aJ1i11ms." (We will not discuss whether
"female animus" suggests psyclre, or Psyche. who also takes on a "mas-
culine auimus,1' 6.5.) Also determined by the narr:nological aware-
ness behind this talc arc the words inattimis (Thelyphron's self-
description at his loss of consciousness. 2.25) and exanimis (the
corpse's description of Thelyphron while unconscious, 2.30). The
very terms for Thclyphron's comic posing and self-attention arc a
parable of the narratologica] game being played, viz .• rc:ftection (or its
significant absence) on the narrator qua narrator as a persor~a radically
implicated in. bm also radically alien to, his own tall'.

Lame old man

A second story that shows a narrator implicated in his talc
occurs when the farm hands set out after Charitc's death to settle in a
new territory. While resting on a grassy clearing in a gro\'c of ancient

33. 1111 imum ltltlllll permula•b.ml (2. 25 ).

34. n:{.lllftU dtrirmmr {2.27).
35. atrimum mwm co•muuculo (2.23).
116 TRUTH

trees, they arc warned by a passing shepherd that the place is danger-
ous: .. He replied. shaking his head as he spoke, 'You think now of
food or drink or any manner of eating? Do none of you know this
place where you sit?"' (8.19). While they arc wondering what to dot
"another old man, very large and weighed down by his years, so that
he leaned with his whole weight on his staff and dragged his tired feet
along," approaches them (8.19). He weeps profusely and, touching
the cheeks of one and another young man in the group, asks help in
rescuing his Hrtlc gr;~~ndson, who has been trapped in a pit while try-
ing to catch a sparrow. A strong youth goes with him, and some time
later, when they arc ready to leave, a scout is sent to call him back.
The scout re[Ums trembling and pallid: he saw the young man lying
on his back, his body now half-eaten by an enormous serpent resting
over him, and the poor old man was nowhere to be seen.
In this scene a real-life suffering (the plight of the boy) turns out to
be a fiction. The appeal for help was after all just a story. and speci-
fically one designed to trap. The old man is reidentified as a narrator
and a serpent who tells his story to get his supper. 36 This time. in
contrast to Thelyphron, -the hidden victim is the narratee. and the
narrator is the guilty pany.

Aristomenes
A third talc whose narrator is profoundly implicated in the
telling is that of Aristomenes, discussed as a fantastic tale in the pre-
vious chapter {pp. 82-86~ He begins as an innocent traveler, then be-
comes imulvcd with a dangerous adventure, helping his friend Socrates
to escape from a witch. The witch and her sister reserve a special pun-
ishment for Aristomencs, since he is the one responsible (mutor) for
Socrates' escape :utempt: "But this good counselor, Aristomencs, who
was the author of this man·s flight and now is ncar to death, already
prostrate on the ground and lying hidden under the bed, and who is
observing all we do, thinks he will put me to shame with impunity. I
shall sec that later-no, right away-no indeed. at this very moment

36. The talc type is found a.ls.o in Adian .''.lat. lltu'm. 7.22: the korokotlll calls out to
dogs and humans with a decepti\'·ely human \'Oke; but it is a wicked beast and when it
has lured its viccirn aw;ay, it kills .and C;lts him.
 THE CONTRACT 117
now-that he will regret his past mockery and his present curiosity." 37
The: punishment she proposes is oddly understated: ··Instead let him
survive, to bury the body of this wretch with a little canh" (1.13~
Since the death has bcc:n accomplished by supernatural agents in a
locked room, Aristomcncs knows that he will be judged guilty of the
crime. He even impersonates a prosccutor and ddivers a convincing
speech against himsc1f (1.14). The stablekeeper refuses to open for
him because the road at night is plagued with desperados: .. You may
be conscious of some crime and want to die, but I'm not such a
pumpkinhcad as to die for you." 38 And ••Hov..· do I know that you
havcn~t cut the rhroat of your fellow tuvda. with whom you took a
room so late, and now want to make a safe escape? .. (1.15). The plan of
Meroe now becomes apparem. She has, as we say, framed him for
murder (l .15). He tries suicide with the only means at hand, a rope
from the bed, which he addresses as ·~the only witness of my irmo-
cence 1 can cite in this trial." 39 A resurgence of imagined guilt occurs
later, on the road, when Socrates looks deathly pale: "Who could be-
lieve that of two travelers om.· died wirhout the other's injury?'. 40 Af-
ter burying Socrates. he flees uas if guilty of a murder." 41
Like Thclyphron, Aristomcncs is changed for life, abandoning his
city and family and taking up new residence and a new wife in Aetolia.
His relocation and new life arl· caused by repeated accusations of re-
sponsibility for an unbelievable crime. (From the reverse point of vicw
he really is responsible [auctt,r] for a crime against the witches.)"2 This
first tale in the AA is programmatic not only for the hermeneutic game
of "What is true?" but also for the game of .. Who is responsible for the
en me Ia11ctor crimi,is }?"-a question whose narratological answer is

37. ·• cU hiL· b(JIIIIS." inqu it, "tl)tl5iliafllr .4riswmmt'.S, •111i Ju.flolt' Jmius. lliiCltlT fuit ,., nrmc
•norti proximus iamlm111i prostr.JlllS ~lllbattulo mf,wb.rtu ioJ((f r1lt.ra 4mlrli<J corupicit, imprmt·
$t }.:Jturwn mras (LirlllmrrU<Js pr11a1. f.zxo finn uro, imm•• statim, immo urr•• illm mm(, ut tr
praucdrnriJ dkafitatiJ t't itlsfalttis curi"sitatis f'iJrtlitrat'' (1 .12).
3H. "thlm t'lsi 111 alimiui.tddnons tibi co11scius $d/ict>t mori cupi;, nos tuwrbiJac· ,·aput 111111
habt•r1ws, Ul pn' '" ml.lriamur" (1.15).
39. quem $0/um ill Jtu'O rt'dfuleslwl imrolmtioJr citdrr ptJ$HIIPI (1.16).
40. quiJ tuim Jc dr1obw lc<>milum I•IIIC'rum siiiC' o::~ltrriuj Uo.J.W [Kn'mptum atJI'trt? (1.1')).
-'1. qJitJsi amscilli milti c11t'dii lmmauar {l.JCJ).
42. Mcroi.' had forgiven the citizens in brcnc:ral bm singled out the: aua1.1r fiu pun-
i~hmc:nt ( 1.10).
118 TRUTH

always "the criminal author himself [ tmctor crimifralis )." Aristomenes·

role in the story. as actor. is to be constantly accused of having designed
and perpetrated a crime. In terms of the story this is untrue from every
human point of view, but it is true from the extra-human point of view
of the witch, thl· ftmirta diu ina (1. 8~ His function outside the story. as
narrator (auctor), displays the same intersection of two incompatible
perspectives: he gives his companions an account that has all the quali-
ties of a good fiction (some of which are mentioned by the characters
who listen to it) and yet ends as an account of his irreversible. real-life
exile: and alienation.
The springe of Aristomenes' talc not only entraps the tclJer, it im-
plicates Lucius as well, which brings us to the subject of the audience's
guilt. Remember Lucius·s account of choking to death on cheese pic
and watching a sword swallower (1.4, analyzed in Chap. 2, pp. 30-
32). That all too disconnected discourse strangely corresponds to the
events of the story itsdf-Socratcs gets a sword in the throat and
apparently does not die, Aristomenes (the cheese merchant) chokes
on a chunk of bread (.. Although it was rather small it stuck in the
Cl"nler of my throat and could neither descend downward nor reas-
cend upward"). 4 3 Exactly as with Lucius's crisis of choking, no out-
come at all is reported. Two incredible deadly thrusts of a sword in the
throat that do not kill, two chokings on food caught in the throat that
have no outcome-the narrator as actor in hjs tale and the listener
who wants to believe it mirror each other. Both watch similar major
crises and suffer the same minor one.
What we must assess about this correspondence is its combination
of accuracy and irrelevance: too exact to be accidental, too extraneous
to be significant. The natural home of all such point]ess precision is in
a game. The mutua] reflection of frame and talc celebrates the secret,
hidden in plain view. that reading the AA is a gamelike procedure
whose two players arc Apulcius and the reader. Games arc precisely
the kind of activity that we can take more seriously than life. The
concentration and invo]vemcnt of chess p]ayers or football players far
surpasses that of agents in non-game activities. This is possible be-
cause in a game the rules and boundaries arc we11 defined. The itA.
however, nor on)y has boundaries (those announced in the prologue)

43. qw11nuis ad~tw.lum modicum t11t'1Jiis jo~ucil111s inlldrrrR"t d( 11rqur dt(lrsum .l~rnrare rtc•·
qau ru-rmnr rr• mt>a rr f"JSif't (I . 19~
 THE CONTRACT 119

but cominuously creates interior bounded siwations that represent its

own activity (characters narrating to each other) and then playfully
violates aJl such boundaries. "Playfully" here means .. as a recogniz-
able prank," ··as an infraction of the rules so humorous and so uncon-
cealed that it cannot be penalized ... The throats pierced and blocked
arc significant bcca11Sc they arc irrelevant. They are thereby a token of
the text as game (ludus) as illusionary and ludicrous in every self-
1

mirroring facet.
The entire project of detecting corrcspondcnccs-bctwcen Lucius
and Socrates. between Charite and Psyche, between Psyche and Lu-
cius, ru. <Jd i,rj:, must take place, if at all. only against the background
ofboundary-vio]atingjokes that a1Jude to the real nature of the text
itself as a game. When docs a playful infraction of the game's rules
become a serious (penaHzable, guilty) offense?
The answer is~ When the player stands to gain something from the
crime. If there is nothing at stake. no self-advancement in the game at
another's expense, then an obvious rule violation is either mere clum-
siness or a joke. In either case the player is not held accountable for it
as a fault. Indeed, a wiuy and open infringement of rules is a perfectly
acceptable feature of game playing. Mentally. everyone marks it as
time out because pranks do not gain points. Gain at another's expense
is the feature that transforms a fcl1ow p]aycr's caprices into felonious
capers. Let us tum, then, to thl· subject of well-gotten gains.

THE MARKETPLACE OF DESIRE

We may miss some of the intensity of involvement between
narrator and listener if we regard the stories in the AA as examples
only of the ironies of interpretation and the delights of detection.
They are also represented as an exdtange. A story docs not float about
freely bm is offered to someone for remuneration. whether that be
money, a meal, or simp1y the listcn~r·s attention.
Now there are two interesting features about the stories in the .4A
considered as objects of value or items of exchange. The first is that
many tales arc about closely watched cash transactions: Thclyphron·s
contract and reward ("g1eaming gold,.. 2.26)~ Diophancs and th~
businessman. Mr. Profit; Myrmcx and the adulterer's gold (with its
magical power to entrance him and break doors, 9 .18-19); the pric~
120 TRUTH
of the poor man's tub; the robbers' tales. The point is not that money
occurs in these tales but rather that its transference is the focus of a
shrewd attention both by the actors and by the narrator/narratce. The
money staked in a transaction is an index to a feature of the: tales
that would be apparent even if the recurrent thing were not cash bur
dothcs or honor or tickets to the circus-namdy, that the tales have
their sharpest point of interest and value for us in their mercantile
cunning, a quality of the tales themselves that is often, naturally
enough, represented in the tales by a cache of money at stake. The
exact tone of shrewdness in these narratives is that of a merchant or
customer watching for tricks.
The second, and contrasting, feature is that the judgments passed
by characters on the value of the tales arc palpably wide of the mark.
An exception to this rule is the just verdict, .. We learned a delightfu]
talc of a certain poor person's adultery'' (9.4). Compared to the ade-
quacy of this remark. all other judgments (expressed or implied) are
fatuous (1.20, 26; 2.15, 31; 4. 27~ inflated (8.1, 22), or deliberately
misleading (9.14).
Together these two features form an asymmetric syzygy-intense
shrt-wdncss within the talc, attributable to the narrator and watched
by the audience; a notable absence ofshrewdness outside the tale, as if
the audience had missed the point. This may be associated with an-
other asymmetry of value in the AA. The prices of goods and services
reported in the novel arc preposterously inflated-with one excep-
tion. The ass himsdfis sold at way bdow market value. 44 The field of
values constructed in the AA is a crazy market in which the forces of
inflation and collapse, of intense watching and stony indifference. al-
ternate unpredictably. An apt name for this Exchange is Fomm Cupi-
dinis, "The Marketplace of Desire'' (as of Cupid~ where luxuries and
goodies can be purchased (and the place where Lucius meets Pythias
and Byrrhena, 1.24; 2.2~
One of the culturally specific frameworks within which this asym-
metry makes some sense is that of popular narrative as a much-

44. R. Duncan-Jones, Tht Econot~~y of tht Roman Empire: Quamitaliltt Srudits

(Cambridgt'. England, 1974): 248-51. Some oft he prices an: for forbidden sen·ires on
which no realistic cost~stima.tcs survh..-c, but they arc alw:;ays set .... gucly high: necro-
mancy (grundij• pratrnio, 2.28~ love spell!l (multi$ mutJtribus, 9.29), fortune telling (wumr1
dtnarium, 2.13; 11on pamas IWCUtti~Js, 9.8~ provision of poison (cr11tur" aiHl'llS solidos, 10. 9;
qui~Jolrlagint~J sestmia, 10.25~ instruction in witchcraft (amp/a Cllm llltm•dl', 2.6).
 TI-lE CONTRACT 121

culth·atcd but pot.:ntialJy embarrassing art forrn. let nte tell a story
that illustrates this. (If your interest perks up at that prospect. the
point has already been made.) ..They say that Dcmosthencs the orator
was defending a man on trial and noticed that the jurors were not
paying attention. "Listen. gentlemen. to a delightful story: a young
man once hired an ass to go from Athens to Megara. When it was
high noon he untied its load and crept under the ass's shadow. When
the ass driver kicked him out he began to argue vjolently, saying he
had hired the ass's shadow too. The ass driver objected and said he had
only hired the ass. So the two of them went m court to settle the
matter.' Dcrnosthenes then stcpp~d down from the platform. The
jurors, however, demanded to know the end of the case, so Dcmos-
thenes remounted the platform and said, 'So you \Vant to hear, gcm1e-
mcn, about an ass's shadow! But when a man is on trial tor his lite. you
can't bear to listen to my voice?'" (Zenobios 6. 28). 45
The point I take from this is the opposite of Dcmosthenes': of
course it is more interesting to listen to a story than to a courtroom
speech. They stand in a rdation to each other of business to pleasure.
Apuleius 's audience may be quite willing to be seduced by dte plea-
sures of narrative, but reading the AA is peru tinged with gui1t.
If for Apu]cius's audience listening to tales always implies some fcd-
ings ofguilt, ofcomplicity in the illicit, ofbad cultural conscience, then
we can give a narro\\>-cr characterization of the narrator. The name for a
manipulator of non-innoCL"tlt vicrhns is the con man: .. his idcnrifying
ploy is to cheat only those who arc themselves ready to cheat. He is the
swindler raised to the second power, re~rving his blandishments for
would-be swindlers. An ordinary swindler falsifies legitimate money-
making schemes: stocks or bonds, warehouse n·rtiticatcs for vegetable
oil. a biography of Howard Hughes, or whatever. The victim falls
when he naively accepts the legitimacy of the bogus scheme. A con
man, on the other hand. offers his victim partnership jn an illegal
scheme. the more sure because it is illicit. The victim must agree in
advance to panicipatc in rrickery." 46 The mistakes of fic1ional audi-

45. T. K:uJd:agli, Fal!i'l rmd .-'\it10s, Bcitrage zur ldassischc.-n Philologi~:. no. 135
(Konigstein. 198l): 50-5.2. Jsokratcs tc:stifies to the same split: "When I was younger I
decided dut m)' compositions would not be among those that are mydtlikc: an~J full of
a111azing and mad~.-·-up things. the !LOrt that lwi i"'ll"i far prefer to those that conce-rn
their own s:th•ation" (~,.~, hmaiktts I ).
46. J. G. Bbir, Tlr~ Cm~fi•lt'PUt' .\.fat1 ill ,\l,t~lm• Fifli''" (LoJH.Inn, 1979): 12.
122 TRUTH
cnces about the nature and value of the tales they listen to and the pres-
ence of cash are two reflections of the fact th~t the narratology of these
tales exhibits the sensibility of a con man. Something of value is staked
(cash and our attention~ a contract is set up (the plot with its expected
end~ :md the author then cleverly reverses our expectations. In return
for our time and attention we arc allowed to participate in a shady
transaction. To what authority can we ]egitimatdy complain when it
turns out in the last book that we have been fleeced?
For the larger investigation ] draw out three lines of thought. First.
the first-reader on some level of awareness knew all along. simply
from reading the tales and episodes for their characteristic narrative
strategy, that th.: text had qualities of a confidence game. This ought
to be relevant to a reading of Book 11 as a surprising development
that catches us off guard. But, second, there is an important differ-
ence between the clever escapades of Books 1-10 and the final caper
in 11. That book was not only unpredictable before the event (like any
good gimmick~ it remains an uninteUigible, apparently unmotivated
surprise. A con man's motives we can understand: he cams a living by
his tricks. But wh;at does our ::mthor or narr;ator gain from springing
Book ll on us? What else can we give him besides our attention and
thl" price of du: book?
Third, we must note the sense in which Book 11 is MOt a con man·s
shrewd trick. The superior cunning of 1-10 is no longer in evidence.
There is liturgical rhapsody, cami\'alesque variety, dreams-come-true,
but nothing like the brilJiam sheJI games of the preceding book. "' 1 It
makc-s one miss the friendly, familiar con man of the earlicr books,
whose narrative intelligence could always be relied on to manipulate a
clever conclusion. Now the question is not just ··who is that speak-
ing?" (quis ilk~) but "Where has he gone to?" We knew at least the kind
of truth he was purveying (clever multiple lies in narrative form); in
Book 11 no such certainties are possible. More, we are acutely aware of
what the narratology of Book 11 lacks because Books 1-10 have dem-
onstrated the highest degree of narrative sophistication ...
This, I think. is the answer.

47. The two episodes in 1-10 rh~t. like Book. 11, :arc rather pointless (olm~ Allot·
Erkbr1isj uc P)·thi01s's fish-tr.-.rnpling (1.24-25) and the diatribe on judici.-1 bribes
(10.33). Both concern money (a tis.h-pricc about twenty times higher th.ln normal; see
Dunnn-Joncs, Enmomy (note: 441: 249-50) ;md unrdi;:&blejudgments by uffid;als, bnth
.:arc at the c:nd of narrative units. both pro111pt a desire simply to escape-
 5

Interlude: Socrates in Motley

Any fool can tell a lie, and any fool can belie\·e
it; but the right method is to tell the truth in
such a way that the imelligem reader is seduced
into telling the lie for himself.
-Dorothy Sayers

The principal reason for following an a pore tic method in the

last three chapters was that the very difficulty of keeping an open
mind, of aU owing alternate hypotheses their full weight, is what has
led most readers over the years to simplify the Asimts Aureus. Yet the
difficulty of keeping an open mind is, for this book in a very deep
sense, its own reward. Let me explain.
At this fulcrum, where we shift from th~ reported tales and re-
ported acts ofintcrprcting tales to interpreting the reporter himself, I
will also shift methods. Instead of continuing with a heuristic and
cautiously inconclusive survey of suspicious parts. I will first sketch
the goal to which the next three chapters arc leading. The characteris-
tics of Apu]eius's narrative that I take to be most significant for the
question we ar~ asking arc su(;h features as these: (i) the surreal con-
joining (which I haw called imbalanced pairs or ~symml·tric syzy-
gies) of hermeneutic aJternatives; these have responded to thoughtful
analysis in such a way that they seem to be designed rather than fortu-
itous~ (ii) the two unresolved debates (between the cynic and Lucius
and between Lucius and Milo) about the truth of strange tales and
about the ability to prove claims to higher knowledge~ (iii) Lucius's
recommendation of an open mind and his argument for suspended

123
124 TRUTH
judgment; (iv) the comedy of irreconcilable interpretations, each of
which seems vaJid to the individual holding it and must be taken as
true by the reader for the sake of the story; (v) the exaggeration and
ridicule that may be directed in turn at each element or participant in
an epistemic structure (narrating is the chief example); (vi) the con-
trasrjng intelligibility of the entire novel to first- and second-readers,
which gives to each scene a stereoscopic quality of unresolved differ-
ences in perspective on the same item; (vii) the focus on the question
of the author's missing point of view (quis ille?) as the perspective
that, if only it could be located, would authorize one interpretation
over another.
On the basis of these features and all the readings in the last three
and next three chapters. my ultimate assessment of Tl•e Golden Ass is
that it is a philosophical comedy about religious knowledge. The ef-
fect of its hermeneutic playfulness, including the final book, is to
raise the question whether there is a higher order that can integrate
conflicting individual judgments. I further argue that the effect of the
novel and the intent of Apuleius is to put that question but not to
suggest an answer. Such a posing of the question without giving an
answer (a posing that includes Lucius's curiously unendorsed finding
of an answer) amounts to a limited skepticism. The implicit argu-
ment of the novel is that belief in Isis or in any integrating cosmic
hypothesis is a radicalJy individual act that cannot be shared. We can
watch Lucius make a leap of faith but we cannot find the grounds to
stand on (in the novel) that would enable us to leap with him.
The briJliance, and the point, oft he AA is that it never states such a
thesis outright but makes each reader undergo the experience of hav-
ing to make up his or her mind about what Lucius's experience and
Lucius's narrative mean. 1 The shift from a clever. comic narrative
with marked hermeneutic interests to a relatively serious and com-
mitted religious discourse in Book 11 makes the reader ask a new set
of questions that had been latent all along: q11is illr?-Who is Lucius
anyway? How docs his entire narrative cohere? Is there an authorita-
tive endorsement oflsis?

l.'"IApulcius'sl message, what we must call his philosophic vision. is all the
srrong~r ~cause t~re is no sraremenr uf message: because ir is the re<Jdf'r <~nd not the
writer who sparks the gap and makes lhe Yo'Ork complete" (H. Ebcl. ~{ter Dionysus
{Ru•herford, N.J., 1972): 46~
 INTERLUDE: SOCRATES IN MOTLEY 125

The answers to these and similar questions, which will occupy rhc
following three chapters. show the AA to be a philosophically sensi-
tive comedy about rdigious corl\'icdons that enacts in its own reading
the thesis that guides its writing. That thesis, in a phrase, is that all
answers to cosmic questions arc non-authorized. The AA insistently
raises and evades the question of its own authoritative me:ming as a
way of illustrating and acrually reproducing that state of aporia to-
ward the cosmos that can only be resolved by a radical1y individual
and unsharablc leap of faith. Apulcius docs not recommend that leap,
he does not discourage that leap, he only signifies thar it is there for
some to make. 2
The paraphrase of Hcraklcitos in the last sentcncl' may suggest
that my hidden master text is the history of philosophy and that the
intcrtcxtual grid I usc in screening the novd is constructed from the
classics of Skepticism-Sextus Empiricus, Cicero's Academics, and
Timon's poetry on Pyrrho. 3 I suspect that there arc lines of research
that would connect the novel of Apulcius Plmouicus philosophus with
the history of Skepticism, both Academic and popular, 4 and above all
with its elusive founding author, Plato/Socrates.

2. "The lord whose ondc is at Delphi docs not concnl. nor do('S he rcw;~l; he
gi\"CS a sign" (l-lcuklcitos FVS 228931""' Plutarch 1lr Pyr/1. orne. 404D 1).
3. A. A. Long, "Timon of Phlius: Pyrrhonist and Satirist," PrMeedingJ of rlu.·
Camhritl~ Plzilolo.~ical S(lcit·ty,n.s., 24(197R): 6R-91,
4. Some places to look: (i) the Academic str;ain in Plutarch, directed princip:.lly
:~.t religions issues, and tht.· subjecr of tluct• excellt•tlt hooks: 0. Ihbut, Plutilrqllt' rr lr
Stoicismt· (Puis, l'J61}~ c::sp. 27<J-IH ~nd chaplcr 4; f. E. Brenk, /11 Misr Appllrrllf."J: RC"Ii-
gii.111S Tlrcmt'S in Plutdrclr's ''MtJmlia" and ''Lil't'S," Mnt.'mosyne Suppl~o.·ments, no. 4K
(Leid~·n. 19n); :mdj. Gluckc:r, Ami41llmf 411111 tht• l.iJII' A,·t~Jm•r. Hypomncm.ata. no. 56
(Gottin~n. 197a), esp. chapters 4C ilnd 6A; (ii) the likcptic;al effect ofthe compendia of
philosophers' OJ,inions. such as those of A'-"tius and Cdsus; (iii) the "wdl known m~:ck
scepticism"' of Galen (R. Walzer." A Diatribe of Galen." HTR 471 PJ54l: 2~3-54, con-
cerning a story about a sculptor :md a god s.imil;u to that in Apulcius Ap,,/,,gia 61-fiS):
(h·) the Cynic cpistlc-5 (A.J. Malhcrbc, 'Flu· Cyrair J:l'iszh·s: ."\ StuJ)' BJiticm. Society tiu
Uihlicallitcratmc. Sources ibr Biblical Study, no. 12 rMiss.uub. Munu.na, 1977 1): the
lJiogcncs letters often catch the s.une tone as some of Apulc:ius's stories, ~:.g., the tot-
lowing tin.t-pc:rson anecdotes, which ;m.•lctters only in virtue- of an opening s:~.lutation:
2, 6. H, 30, 31, 33, 35-38; th~o.· last concerns Diogcncs .:~s a '"people watcher" ( Jll.i-
lorllramcrtr) in a marketplace crowded with huckst~rs, rhapsodcs. philosophers, and
proJ'hc.•ts, all pcriorming at once; (v) Luci:m, ofwhmn Photios uid. "Bm he- dnl"s not
rcll us whal he himsclfholds iu rc\·cn:ncc, unless one were to s.1y that his bclict\\13S to
have no beliefs" (Bib/., cod. l2H); cf. K. l'raechter, "Skeptischcs bci luki;m,'" P/liJ,,I,,gzu
51 (1H'J2): 2H..t-'J3; (\'i) Oinmn.;~os. ofG.;~d.ua, who tcU:s the !>tory ofbcing given :1.11 oracle
by Clarian Apollo just like that used as a fr:~.ud by Apulcius's Syrian pricsts (Eust·bius
l'mt·p. t'l.o\1"~· 5.22).
126 TRUTH

Among the greatest insights given us by P1ato's account ofSocratcs

is that, contrary to the general opinion. it is more difficult to ask ques-
tions than to ans·wcr them .... In order to be able to ask. one must
want to know, which involves knowing that one does not know. In the
comic confusion between question and ;mswcr, knowledge and igno-
rance that Plato describes, there is the profound recognition of the pri-
ority of the question in all knowledge and discourse that really reveals
something of an object. 5

lnsofar as TIJ~ GoldetJ Ass makes us ask hard questions and docs not
supply amhoritativc answers, it may be called Platonic /Socratic. But
the Apulcian performance displays a sharp tum of the screw in first
generating its own state of common opinion or do."Ca in Books 1-10
and then forcing the reader to question those appearances. As an em-
blem for this elusive phi]osophical gambit-a Platonic dialogue be-
tween author and reader rather than among characters in the script-
1select the hero of the first talc. as he first appears: Socrates dressed in
a cemunwlus, a rag garment stitched together from odd scraps (1.6),
the motley costume of mime.
Bur the construction ofa story about the family antecedents of this
book is not my immediate projeC£ (see Part Three}. In formulating
the religious epistemology of the AA [mean in the first place merely
to describe the effect oft he book in a way that is as faithful as possible
to all its parts. Some background in works analogous to the AA will
be offered in chapters 9-10, but it would be a fundamental mistake to
offer any historical characterization of Apulcius's novel that reduced
its hermeneutic entertainment to a thesis, as if the book contained an
objective message that could be transmitted along a]ternate channels
of communication and examined jn abstraction. This would betray
the primary fact about the AA, which is that even the reaUzatitm that
it is a dcJibcratcly unauthorized, self-questioning performance is a
supplement by the reader. My aim ther~for~ is not y~t w Insert The
Goldct1 Ass into a larger narrative of the histories of comedy and phi-
losophy, 6 but rather to describe the concrete and unique (in)coher-
ence of an imentionally sophomoric text and to do so in terms that,
though they undoubtedly have a different weight for us than they

S. H.-G. G:adamcr. Tmrlr ~nd Mt'tl1od (N~"W York, 1975): 326.

6. Mosr ;an·ount't ufSk~·pticis•n in histories of philosophy similarly betray it by
<."'n,·crting it into ;1 dogma: sec A. Nacss, Sc~pticism (London/New York, 19hR~
 INTERLUDE: SOCnATES IN MOTLEY 127
would have for Apuleius (such terms as "individual," "religious,"
''conversion," "biography"), would be recognizable to the author as a
reading that matched his mind.

This is an unorthodox reading of a tricky book. Let me spell out

here what it means in more detail by discussing the balance point
(mometltum) that joins Dooks 1-10 with Book 11.
All the AA 's genial humor, surveyed in Part One, about the wis-
dom and fo1ly of reaching a narrative's meaning could hL· compatible
with simpler readings of Lucius's tale either as a pro-Isiac message
(e.g., '•Her tmspcakablc wisdom transcends human language") or as
an anti-Isiac message: (e.g., "The final state ofLucius as a bald eccen-
tric in Rome, impoverished by grccdy priests, is the ultimate folly"}.
The crucial clemenr that distinguishes those two simpler readings
from each other and that in tum requires the more complex, skeptical
readjng is the function of the ego in the narration. On an assumption
of consistency (itself to be questioned in Chapter 6~ if the lis Lucius
throughout, he has concealed his lsiac perspective while narrating ten
books of comic adventures and at no time in Hook 11 does he refer to,
much less explain. the concealment. Lucius never says, "The reason I
didn't announce from the beginning that my life would culminate in
my conversion to Isis was ... ,"nor docs he even say to us ... At last I
realized that the underlying pattern of my aspirations and my experi-
ences had been pointing all along, though I did not sec it then. to the
need for Isis." The priest of Isis, Mithras, says some-thing like this at
11.15. but a closer look at that entire scene (11.7-17, in Chapter 8
below) will show that it too brings into play a set ofjarring evalua-
tions that collide exactly at the issue of IVhost truth is tilt truth. Lucius
does aUude to his refusal to divulge exactly what happened during his
(first) initiation ceremony (11.23~ but that is not the same question. 7

7. FurthcT, it ac:tu;~lly sct5 up nc.-w unccrui:nti~."s. L,•c1us both n:fmcs to uy wh:u

happened and says what happened-to whkh the Hcraklcitcan tag perfectly applies.
This breakthrough. which creates more stress th:an it resolves, is formally a tempta-
tion, !iln('e every re.;~~der knows th;n it is forbidden to inquiK about the det.;~~ils of 3
mystery-initiation. Noomcnios, after writing about the philosophkalsignificance of
the Elcusinian rilc:s, dreamed that the tv.-o goddes.ses appeared to him dressed as
whores in front of a public brothel and accused him of shaming them by exposure to
common inspection (fug. 55 des Pbccs). The !K:cand and third initiations, abour which
Lucius says he had deep religious anxieties. rccci\'c no cxplan.ttion or comment at all,
though lhey pumivel~· reach a sun higher le\'el ofintegrauon.
128 TRUTH
Further, there is the famous allusion by the god to the narrator of
the story as Madaurtnsem sed admodum pauperem, '4 a man from Ma-
daura and a total pauper" (11.27}, when instructing another priest that
the narrator (much to his surprise) must undergo a second initiation.
Lucius is certainly portrayed as a native of Corinth (though never in
so many words~ and Apuleius is the only famous Madauran in sight.
Bur the hypothesis that Lucius is a simple hand puppet and that his ego
is really Apuleius's is difficult to maintain. The greatest difficulty Hes
simp]y in making sense of such a composition, or (to put it another
way~ What is meant by "rea1ly'' in the preceding sentence? 8
Readers who. starring from the single word MadauretJstm, try to
refer the ego throughout the novel to Apuleius face the same problem
as readers who try to run with the word Ac.~yptiam in the prologue:
these two words tell us nothing we do not already know. And since
the actual ad ventures of Lucius on cenain days and times are not what
anyone wants to claim for Apuleius, one reaches at best some vague
statement such as "I was very lustful and I investigated magic before
my salvation by Isis:· This is a ridiculrlS mus to emerge from the exten-
sive elaboration of narrative paradoxes in Books 1-10. One must ad-
mit that the itch to find more Apuleius in Lucius is a very real and
important response to qualities of the text, but with only the single
word MadtJurtnstm as our key to uncode the life ofLucius as the life of
Apuldus the project cannot progress beyond the vaguest catego-
ries-spiritual odyssey, unredeemed humanity, quasi-bestial life,
servile lust-the predictable rhetoric of moralists everywhere. 9
The prob]cm of identifying the ego in the AA only arises because of
the shift that occurs at Book 11. In 1-10 the reader had been following
Ludus·s serial adventures as told by Lucius. a medley of episodes
with certain recurrent motifs but a generally unpredictable course.
The reader has only one firm expectation-that Lucius will be re-
transformcd into human shape when he cats roses. probably at or

H. Some explain .Uaddll"lutm by conjecturing an ~onymous public:uion oft he

novel in 1\puleius's youth. with MtJJdtlrtnmn as ~ clu~ to let his friends know his real
identity. This is not only ad hoc but {;~Lis so far below the st.andud of sophistic.ation
about narr.~tive identity deKribed in P:ut One as not to merit serious discussion-
though the fact that the AA has proroked even such conjectures is significant.
CJ. W. E. Stephenson, ••The Comedy of Ev-il in 1\puleius," Ari011 3(1%4): 87-93;
L.A. MacKay, "The Sin of the Golden A~s." AriCJ114(1965): 474-80.
 INTEHLUDE: SOCRATES IN MOTLEY 129

ncar the end of the novel. Before that a wild variety of unrelated
things happens with no expectation that they will fit together or be-
come significant in hindsight. All this changes in 11 when the reader.
instead of listening to Lucius recount the serial episodes of his life,
hears Ludus recount a spcdal episode that caps, integrates, and gives
meaning to his entire prior life. The reader finds that Lucius has sud-
denly become unfamiliar, a new person with a different understand-
ing of the world. The new rdation of Lucius to his own past life puts
the reader in a new relation to Lucius. The contrast could be dia-
gramed as in Figure 2.

Figure 2

UEADER} Lucms-llucius's liti-1

& -Lucius's lite ... ...,L..,"'
lucius READER

The realignment of the three dements is caused by 3 changt." in the

meaning of two of them. ''Lucius'' and ••Lucius's Hfc" name different
entities in Book 11 than they do in 1-10.
(i) LlldHs's l~{t·. Lucius's life in Books 1-10 is an open-ended an-
thology of episodes, scrial1y strung together by the single common
denominator of the protagonist's name. Lucius shares cach t•pisodc
with the reader as a separate atOm of narrative, not as a further stage in
the construction of a nH.·aningfu] whoJc. As Lucius says, comparing
the insight (pn1demia) achieved by Odysseus as a result of his ad\·en-
turcs. "J contess myself gratefully grateful to my ass for rendering
mc, whilc hidden under its hide and vexed by various fortunes, wdl,
Jess astute, [ admit, but widely informed." 10 In Book 11 Lucius sud-

10. uam t'l ipse g~tds .~mtiaJ a~itrLJ ,,.q mt'lllifli, quQd mc SilL' eel"'""' trgmir~r uariiJqur
JC,rtm1is t'Xt'rtitalrmt, t'Ui mimft pmdt'IIII'IPI, m11lri.uium rcddidil (I.J.IJ). There an: .:tmbiguitics
in this !r>Cnlc:ncc that might admit of a different rc.Jding. It will be the business of the
m."Xt thn.'C chapters to show that the first-reader resolves such ambiguities jn f:avor of
Lucius's randomness and absurdity, that the secoml-readcr tries to ~ad lucius'sjokc:s
and ambiguities .as tokens of a higher seriousness, and that the second-reader. although
he nr she can find sc-anercd Jl'IS5oibilitit·s, can locate no amhorilation for tht·ir asSt·mbly
into an integral whole.
130 TRUTH

dcnly seems to be looking back on his ad ventures as a dosed set of

items organized by a rule (signified in the diagram by the square
brackets). This new view of the very Jife he himself has just narrated
docs nor result from his drc:am of Isis (11.3-6) or from the sermon of
her priest Mithras (11.15), but rather is implied in the radical change of
Lucius's own consciousness that is mentioned-but not explained~
at 11.1. At that moment Lucius becomes a different Lucius.
(ii) Ludus. ln the first sentence of Book 11. Lucius says he awoke:
suddenly on the beach and saw the full moon low against the sea's
horizon: •• Being now in the silent solitudes of the shadowy night,
certain too that the preeminent goddess was powerful in her special
majesty and aU human affairs were indeed ruled by her providence.
that not only beasts tame and wild but even creatures inanimah.· wcrc
quickened by the divine directives of her radiance and her godhead,
that even physical dements on the earth, in the sky, and in the sea
took increase by accre[ions pursuant to her will and suffered loss by
depletions compliant with her comnund. that tate (one might as-
sume) was now satiated with my abundance of terrible disasters and
was now offering a hope, though late in coming, of rescue, I decided
to pray to the noble symbol of the goddess before rne.J'U
The word in this sentence that makes this Lucius a different person
from the Lucius of 1-10 is crrtus, .. certain:· This Lucius is convinced
that the cosmos is governed by a power that can save him from his
excruciating condition. The emergence of this conviction is a crucial
event in the narrating, and certus is precisely the fulcrum (mmm·utum)
between Books 1-10 and Book 11. It is news of some moment to the
rl·ader that Lucius has this certainty-not that he tenrativdy began to
entertain such a possibility but that he now securely possesses this
very relevant view of the human condition. It is momentous news too
that his adventures arc disasters of the sort that might need a
goddess's rescue rather than mere roses. The narrator had been pre-
senting his disasters as an amusjng act; now we Jearn (as it were) that

11. IIIWtJu.sqm· ~Jpatar: 1111ttis silnlliM4 sttrt•la, talus t'tiam smmnarrm .lt',llll pmaipua
maitstalt pollrrc rrsqut prorsus fwmartas ips ius rt_(i prouidtlltioJ, nee tantmn pecui11a et jl"rilf4,
111'111111 illomima t'ti11111 di11ir1~, tillS lwuirliS rllmlilli.lqu,· nutu utgtfari, iJ'Stl etjmrl wrl'''~'~~ ttrra,
catlo mariqut nwu illtl'tiPitllliJ co,utqllwtcr au~tri, IIIIIIC dtlrimtnlis obstqurnltr irnminui,jiuo
scilicrt iam mf'is tottalllis']llt' dadibus satia1L1 et sFm salutis, liut to~rJ•m•. SJlbmiuislriltUr, augus-
111111 SJt<"dmc·t• dtac· ptUc'Jrlltis $latr1i d(·prt'(cJri ( 11 .1).
 INTERLUDE: SOCHATES IN MOTLEY 131
the clown had been breaking bones each time he did a pratfall for us.
Together the new definition of lucius and the new defining of his
life as a rule-governed set place the reader in a new position in regard
to the text. This new position comprises three elements. (i) The
reader understands Lucius now to be viewing his life as a progress
toward Isis (represented in Figure 2 by the horizontal arrow for Lu-
cius's understanding and a vertical arrow for the reader's perception
of the fact that Lucius has such an understanding). Lucius in effect
offers the reader an interpretation (which amounts therefore to a rein-
terpretation) of the point of his experiences and, by implication, of
the point of his having narrated them to us. (ii) The reader, remember-
ing certain oddities and curious patterns of Books 1-10, can (cmjec-
wre what it is in that past life, or in the narrating of it, that could have
seemed to point ahead to such a condusion (represented in the dia-
gram by the broken arrows). Lucius might, for instance, be thinking
that his drive toward female secrets and female power (sex and magic}
were a misdirected instinct whose uue object should have been Isis.
(iii) But Lucius at no point addresses the reader about the prCiblrm of
the shift, and h~ gives no authorization to any of the conjecturablc
integrations.
We arc left then with a high-tension interpretive dilemma that the
text itself docs not resolve. In the act of rereading we endeavor to
convert the playful narrative, as experienced by the tirst-readcr. into a
serious narrative, but that too faHs decisively short of the narrator's
certitude announced at 11.1. In the absence of clear and final authori-
zation from the auaor (whether narracor or author) we might imitate
the action of Lucius: u I decided" to invoke the goddess (statui, 11.1 ).
The suggestive and very careful non-coinc1dl'ncc between the first
and second readings lays the text open to a variety of possible integra-
tions tor the reader who decides to find one. That integration. how-
ever, is not a discovery of the one ultimalc pancm rhat the author has
placed there. but a decision on the rcader·s part to supply a missing
rule that authorizes attention to some features of the text and dis-
missal of others.
At this point I claim that the novel means what it says-or rather
means what it docs. Apulcius inveigles the reader into a peculiar state
ofknowledge about his IIOJ·d as an illustration of the structure of reli-
gious knowledge in general. The book is made to become, like life. a
132 TRUTH

thing that can only be unified by the reader's decision to sec it a cer-
tain way and in so doing to imitate what some characters in the novel
have been doing all along.
The program of Part Two is to work out in detaiJ the evaluation
that I have just sketched. I will analyze the narrath•e of Lucius in three
chapters, observing what seem to be major shifts in the identification
of the ego narrating: the prologue (Chapter 7), the conversion to Isis
(Chapter 8), and everything in between (Chapter 6). Chapter 8 is ob-
viously the crucial one toward which everything else convergt:s. Its
reading of Book 11 would not be possible without the propaedeutic of
Chapters 1-7, any more than Book 11 itse]fwould make sense with-
out Books 1-10.
 II

CONSEQUENCES
What is the question? What is the qu~st10n?
lfthl•rc is no question, there isnu answer.

-Gt."rtrude- Stein's last \~w·ords.

 6

The Duplicities of
Auctor/Actor

1 found myself very ordinary. more boring

than the great Corneillc. and my individuality
as a subject had no other interest for me than to
prepare tor the moment that would change me
into an object. Was r thcn:forc more modest?
No, but more crafty.... I secretly harked back
to that life, which 1found tedious, of which I
had been able to make only the instrumem of
•ny death; 1 did that in order to redeem it. [
looked at it through future eyes and it appeared
to me as a touching and wonderful story that 1
had lived for all mankind. a story that, thanks
to me, nobody need relive and that had only to
be rdated. I was in an actual state of frenzy: I
chose as my future the past of a great immonal
and l tried to live back wards. I bc:canu:
completely posthumous.
-J.-P. Sartrc. "1'11t Jl"'rds

THE NARRATOR (AUCTOR) AS

CHARACTER (.:\CTOR) AND
THE CHARACTER OF THE NARRATOR
Let us begin with a simple, common-sense notion of Tltr
Golden Ass as an utterance by a narrator named Lucius about his past
life and sec just where that notion becomes inadequate.

135
136 CONSEQUENCES
The I who tells us he was heading tor Thcssaly at 1. 2 is not com-'cn-
tionaUy idemjfied by personal name or city of origin but, following a
technique familiar from the dialogues of Plato and Lucian, 1 the reader
is gradually and indirectly given a great deal of information about
him. The conveyance of this information is made to seem merely an
unavoidable consequence of reporting what was actua11y said and
done by others. Thus, the narrator of the AA never says in so many
words to the reader, ··My name is Lucius," but we learn the name late
in Book 1 when his friend Pythias addresses him as Lucius. From
similar situations we Jearn that Lucius has been in Athens, has studied
there along with Pythias under a teacher named Adytius. 2 that he is
upper-class, handsome, modest in manner, and still young. His par-
ents' names are Theseus and Salvia, and his mother's illustrious mar-
riage, judged by the comparatively humble one ofhcr wealthy relative
Byrrhena. imp]ies that Lucius's family. in wealth and eminence, must
be Ia treme de Ia treme. 3 The magistrates ofHypata are evidently not
exaggerating when they say, "The nobi1ity of your famous family
does honor to our entire province'' (3.11 ).
Lucius the narrator also informs us about the significant psycho-
logical characteristics he then displayed, chief among them curiosity
and a certain impetuousness. Lucius, rhen, as an agent and role player
in events had a specific social identity and personal character that Lu-
cius as narrator gradually reveals to his readers. Whether Lucius as
narrator still has those same traits of character is an open question,
but obviously he still has the same social identity. In that sense he is
the same fictional character, though he m:.1y have a different moral
character. Qua narrator he has a different perspective on himself then

1. A. R. Bc:llingt.·r. "Ludan's Dranwic Technique," \alt Classico~l SIUdfes 1 (1928):

3-40.
2. "Ad)·tius" i!i my suggestion. Th~ s:mcruary associarions oft be name Pythias
(w1th Pythi.:m Apollo at Delphi) make" Adytius .. a more interesting cmcnd.uion than
"Ciytius.'" .-lJyt.,,. is lhc Greek for ''uncntc:nblc room," ''innc:nnoJ>t !>~ere:-,{ room." a
dylitl is an emendation proposed by Scyffcrt and Jcccptcd by all modcn1 editors for F's
iJ~fiid (For y represented by fin Greek names. cf. 1.12: Endjmit~~t; 2.32 and 3.19: Gtr·
_{Cin.) Earlier c,limrs variously read rx dStu, .:.1 urJstio, ur a ur11it1. o1 dytitl is rco~ched by the
similarity of d to d in Longobardic script. 11 < b rJ > Jytio posits the omission of two
lc:uc.-rs by haploguphy inscead ofrhe misreadingoftwo letters .as one.
3. "Lucius," 1.24; Athcru. 1.2; Adytius. 1.24; class, 1.23, empb:asi2cd .at 3.11 and
3. 15; appearance, 1.23, 2.2; manners, 1.23; yourh. implic.-d in the d~ription tJfhis ap-
pc.ar.am:c aml~..-rnpha!iized at 2.5.J":raclllltPJI; parents. 1.23. 2.2~ llyrrhcna's marriage, 2.3.
 THE DUPLlCITrES OF Al)CTOR I ACTOR 137

than he did then, a perspective that entides him ro stand outside him-
self (that is. his then self) and present the self he was as a character
along with others. His access to the knowledge and feelings of that
character in the srory is of course privileged, but though he can know
that character better than all the others (Mi)o, Photis. Charitc~ Lu-
cius is nonetheless presented as a character acting in a story.
But at the very beginning (for tirst-readers, whose experiences at
this point ar~ very hard for us second-readers to pin down1 Tire
Golden Ass is not at all a story about Lucius. Most critical second-
readers seem to forget that the ego of this narrative is only gradually
discovered to be the central character in a plot. The erasure of this ex-
perience of discovery is the result of exclusively synchronic analysis
that ignores the actual process of reading as a mental act that occupies
a space of time. Thus what is arguably the most important rcidcnti-
fication of a character in Books 1-10 (narrator becoming the central
actor) is overlooked. Parallel to the naturalistic method of introduc-
ing information about the ego as having a wdl-dtaractc:rittd identity
is the much more important discovery that the ego is not only a story-
teller but a tclll•r of stories about himself. Let us examine this initial
period of getting the focus right-from blurry to sharp-as the read-
er's sense of who is speaking and from what perspective gradually
becomes clear.
The I of the prologue says, "l will thread together tor you various
tales," a phrase that ought to mean that he is an anthologist, selecting
separate short narratives. This is also the obvious implication of his
reference to "figures and fortunes of persons converted to other im-
ages." If he is introducing not a novel but a story collectio,, the tenta-
tive sense of the phrase '4 We begin a Greeklikc talc" is not "I am start-
ing a novel (or even a frame tale) set in Greece," but r2ther "the first
story of my anthology is set in Greece:· Perhaps the subsequent sto-
ries will have different locales-Egyptian, Milc:sian, whatever. As far
as the first-reader knows. the storyteller may. after completing the
Greeklike talc with which he begins. jump around from country to
country and perhaps from time to cimc, the only connecting thread
being the storyteller himself.
The next few paragraphs of the AA set the scene for the narrator's
meeting with a storyteller, Aristomenes. The content of those para-
graphs is essentially an daboration of ..Once on the road to Thcssaly I
138 CONSEQUENCES
heard the following story." This extended introduction does not de-
mand to be read as the beginning of a story about Lucius. As far as the
first-reader is given to knowy the narrator will skip, after Aristomencs'
tale is finished, to another point in his life when he heard another good
story. This would be fuUy in accord with the expectations set up in the
prologue. When we learn at the dose of Aristomencs' tale that thenar-
rator means to continue an account ofhisjoumey to Hypata, we make
a small adjustment to our earlier expectations: the narrator is either
going to hear more tales in Hypata or he is going to confirm there the
ta]c of Aristomencs, which was dear]y said to be set in that city and
verifiable by all its inhabitants. When he subsequently (2.1} refers to
Hypata as the city where Aristomenes encountered the witch Meroe,
either of these possibilities may seem to be confirmed. The introduc-
tion of further tales in Book 2, however, gradually changes the reader's
sense of the storyteller's anthological method. Apparently he (whose
name we now know to be Lucius) will give an account day by day of the
various taletellers he met. The string stitching the tales together wjl] be
not just himself as a storyre1ler but 2 continuous account ofhis life as a
witness of tales.
It is a further modification of this to Jearn, at the beginning of
Book 3, that Lucius himself is the subject of ta1es. By this time the
two series reinforce each other: (i) the gradual characterization of Lu-
cius as an agent, and (ii) the gradual spccit"ication of the narrative as
not a serial anthology but a life, and then not a life as witness but a life
as hero. Most efforts to interpret the AA forget the original experi-
ence of the first-reader groping to understand the form of the narra-
tive as it slowly reveals itsdf. It is important to remember that the
original storyteller beramt a characterized agent and that the various
tales became an autobiographical narrative. The prologue speaker does
not say that he wil1 telJ a long. contjnuous story about himself; if
anything he creates the opposite impression. The slow approach to
the correct awareness of the form in which he is writing allows the
author to play with the reader's undefined sense of what might be
appropriate in this text. If we were told in the t1rst sentence that "This
is the story of my life and the experiences I underwent,"' we: would pay
a different attention (lector intende) to what the narrator says about
himself from the beginning. As it is, we arc given first a strong sense
of disconnected, discrete .fictions and then an autobiographic account
that continually and playfully asserts that it is true.
 THE DUPLICITIES Of AUCTOR /ACTOR 139
Consider Lucius as a ch::aracterized actor in the plot. We are given
the elements of his specific identity (name, city of origin, dass, etc.)
and we are told something ofhis personal traits (curiosity, impetuos-
ity). These characteristics belong to Lucius no matter who tells the
story of his journey to Thcssaly and his transformation. lt would be
incorrect therefore to use the term "'characterized narrator," meaning
that the narrator qauJ narrator is wealthy or curious or impetuous. But
the narrator qua narr:uor docs have characteristics: he has, for in-
stance, a tendency to postpone information for the sake of surprise or
suspense, a marvelous narrative skill, and a mastery of many literary
qualities pertaining to style. description, dialogue, and innuendo.
These characteristics have nothing to do with Lucius the agent or
actor. They are the qualities of the ego who offered in the prologue to
whisper ddightful stories and whose presence is established by the
performance of the text long before the separate characterization of
Lucius as central actor in the narrative. There is a kind of deception
induced here: the reader might well come to think that Lucius is sim-
ply telling what happened to him and that it was very interesting
indeed. This is what I referred to above as "a simple. common-sense
notion of the AA as an utterance by a narrator named Lucius about
his past Jife.~' This notionfi,rgt'ts that th~ character of the narrator as a
gifted, clever teller of tales had been earlier established and is not re-
placed but only overlaid by another form of discourse, the connected
autobiography.
As the reader progresses through the text two sets of characteris-
tics are gradually perceived and assembled-those oflucius then and
those of the narrator now (actor and auctor). Though the narrator now
claims to be the same person as Luc:ius then, the AA contains many
obvious tokens for the innocent first-reader that the narrator is a teller
offictional stories rather than true stories. First, the prologue speaker
had announced "various tales" "to amaze you" and "to enjoy.'' Then
there is the sustained incrcdibHity of the events, not only their magi-
cal content but their obvious dramatic quality. Everyone's life may
contain a few good scenes and a few startling events worth telling just
as they happened, bm the unremittingly dramatic and storied quality
of Lucius's life is itself a strong indicator that it is a thing not only
reshaped by an autobiographical narrator who has learned to make
the most of what really happened to him but that it is fundamentally a
fiction made up for amazement and enjoyment. To say this is, in a
140 CONSEQUENCES
sense. to beg the question of the entire text, which repeatedly plays
with the issue of the truth of tales and converts that play into a serious
issue in Book 11. But it should be obvious at ]cast that the "simple,
common-sense notion" with which we began-that ofludus telling
us what happened to him-is not adequate to account for what hap-
pens in the text.

We have to speak instead of two dupHcitics and a playful slippage

between them. The first duplicity is that of the writer pretending to
be a certain Lucius who tells us his story. This relation of auctor
(whom we may call Apulcius, though his name is irrelevant ro the
analysis) to aaor (Lucius) accounts for the high level of narrative de-
light, the incredible coincidences, exciting characters, and in general
the storied quality of the book. Insofar as such a narrative is a game of
Let's Pretend, this duplicity carries a connotation of confessed deceit.
The second duplicity is the relation of auctor (Lucius as narrator) to
actor (Lucius as actor~ This duplicity is a mere doubleness between
past and present selves, with no implication of deceit. Nothing in the
AA le-ads us to think that Lucius, considered as a concrete person. is
altering his real past or deceiving his audience in any fashion. 4
Both of the mutorlactor relationships are complex. Both exhibit un-
resolvably different meanings for first- and second-readers. First I
wilJ analyze the rdation of Lucius as present narrator to lucius as
past actor, then some oft he points where the text slips into a different
framework of reference, that of Apulcius the novelist in relation to
Lucius the fictional character.

SUPPRESSION OF THE AVCTOR-NARRATOR

Consider tirst the relation of auctor Lucius to actor Lucius
(present narrator to his past self). The remarkable feature about this
pair is the constanr and steady suppression of the auctor Lucius's
present reality. 5 The speaker of the AA conceals the conversion to

4. This i!i the point ill which anotl)·scs of Lucius as an "'untru.'itworthy narrator"
go astr;~y. C. S. Wright, "'No Art at All': A Note on rhe Procmium of Apuleius' Aftla-
mclrpllom, .. Classical PM"h'.~Y 6H(IlJ73): 217-19.
5. J. T. Svendsen, "Apulcius.' Tlrt.Coldm .4.ss: The Demands on the: Rc:adc:r." /)g.
c{ficC1.1oJsl Pl.ilpf~,gr 13(197B): 101-7.
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR IAC1'0R 141
which the narrative (evidently) leads; he makes not even the broadest
gucssablc allusion to some special evem that will cap the narrative
(such as "Little did I know that my misery as an ass was a path to
special glory," vel sim.). Each event of the past is told for immediate
effect, wjth virtually no intrusion of the present speaker judging,
condemning. commenting on the action. 6 The few comments he
do(·s make arc not intrusions in the character of an Isiac deacon on his
misguided past but those of a mere survivor who lived to tell the talc.
We wil1 see below (pp. 147-49) that all intrusions of the present
speaker's judgment arc strictly designed to heighten the vividness of
the story and the re.ader's control of the units of action. They provide
the first-reader with no sense that the story will reach a serious telos
when jt catches up with the narrator's present.
From at least one angle Augustine's Gmftssiom, ifhdd up to Apu-
lcius's Asim~s Aureus, presents an interesting reversal or mirror image.
Both narratives might be described (w1th serious foreshortening. of
course) as sequences of spicy and dramatic episodes. (An ad hoc case for
their relatedness might include the fact that Augustine began his les-
sons in literature in Apulcius's city of Madauros: Corif. 2.3.) But in
writing his autobiographical conversion story, Augustine refuses to
relive those events except in the buming spotlight of his present con-
sciousness ofhis god. Each past episode is drawn into thl" present rela-
tionship of Augustine to his god and examined for what it now means,
with some regretful comments on what it used to mean to the past
Augustine. The present narrator invades his past as an enemy territory,
using his god as a powerful ally to destroy the lingering vestiges of the
pleasure he originally felt. Apuleius's narrator, though he is a deacon of
Isis, describes in luscious detail his seduction dialogue, his foreplay. and
each sexual position he assumc:d with Photis; Augus[inc, the: priest of
Jesus, gives virtually no details of his love life, withholding even the
name of his devoted mistress and quite obscuring his strong attraction
to men (Cot~{. 3.1; 4.4-6). Not what nowadays we would call a confes-
sion. The title C.Ot-~Ji:ssitms names rhc present speaker's act, as the.: Ass in

6. ..I The I cOi:ct [of mctamorphosi~ I on m. is cnh;mccd by the mr.rrator's Sl.."cming

inability (or tht' amhor·s own puckish rc:fus:~l} to prm•idc the n:adcr in advanCl· with
precise roadsigns" (W. S. Smirh.jr.. "The Narrative Voice in Apukius' MftJIIWrplwsr1,"
TAP:\ 10Jil972J: 523). The terms in which Smith puts the rroblem :~re exactly right:
the narrator wrsus author, incompctc:ncc or pm:kishm:ss.
142 CONSEQUENCES
Apu]eius's title names the past self of the speaker. The ditfcrcncc in
titles aptly sums up the opposite weights given to the I now tcUing and
the I then acting in the two works.
What arc we to make of the suppression in the AA of the I now
narrating in relation to the I then acting. a suppression that becomes
problematic not merely in comparison with a differently structured
text such as Augustine's but in the light ofits own conclusion-Book
11? Three areas can be examined where the absence of the auctor is
significant: the information he provides about the future direction of
events (.. Suspense and surprise"~ his past and present thoughts com-
menting on the significance of those events ("The thoughts of the
actor. the thoughts of the narrator") and his references to himself
("'The ass I was,' 'the Lucius I was'").
My thesis in these three sections will be that what Apuleius tells us
about the narrating I in the AA is exactly gauged to maximize the
immediate, dramatic effectiveness of each episode for the first-reader
attd to be an uncanny torment about the end for the second-reader.
The thrt=-e areas of interaction between present aHilor and past actor
form a complex but quite intclligib]e system for the first-reader, a
system that the second-reader will later reexamine with some sense of
shock, disbe1ief, amazement, or irritation. In the second part of this
chapter I will examine the interaction of the two auctorcs-Apuleius
the nove1ist and Lucius the narrator-for a similar structur~ of twice-
read intelligibility. In both relations. Lucius now/Lucius then and
Apulcius author/Lucius fictional narrator, the search for a single per-
spective on the dua] structure is endless: a reader may decide to stop at
some point in the cycle of shifting points of view, but the authorita-
tive voice of the text makes no declaration about what the reader
should choose. Apulcius neither affirms nor denies any of the per-
spectives-he merely signifies that they are there.

Suspmsc aud surprist.'

Narrative suspense requires knowing ahead of time that a
particular event is meant to occur (the secret agents intend to assassi-
n:ue a visiting dignitary when the cymbals clash during a symphony
concert: Hitchcock's The A1a~J Who Kru:w Too A1uch) and watching
the progress toward that well-defined but maybe-avertablc event. A
large number of narratives employ what we might more accuratc1y
 THE DUPLIC ITJES OF AUCTOR I ACTOR 143
call a pretense of suspense. It is quite certain that Pauline tied to the
railroad tracks will be rescued before the train comes. Some such
guarant~e is auromatk in t"go-narrativ~s wht"re the narrator recounts
what happened to himself or herself. We know at least that the narra-
tor survived the experience and kno\vs \\'hat finaJly happened.
Because the survival and retransformation oflucius are evident to
the tirst-rcadcr at all times. the frequent imminence of the narrator·s
death-by beating (4.3; 7.19~ decapitation (6.31: 7.26), burning
(7.27), butchering for stew meat (8.31)-is pretended suspense. The
intensity of a beating graphically rendered: .. It was not only the high
mountain's steep path that exhausted me. and the rocky spikes that
gouged my hoovt.•s as I walked, but on top of all that I was being
desperately whittled away by the constant thwacks of the boy's cud-
gel. ThL• pain of the blows throbbed right through my very marrow
and never wem away. Continually whacking away at my right hip and
always striking the exact same spot. he made the hide there wear away
and created a wide hole of a wound, or rather a trench-practicaUy a
window! And even then he never stopped beating again and again on
that wound slopping in blood.'• 7 If this were the description of the
beating of an ass who was not the narrator. it could for all we know be
leading to his death.
The comic scnsationa1ism of such scenes (with aHitcrative mcta-
phors:fommir~r ... jo14ra ... fem·stra) is made possible as a form of pre-
tended suspense by the twin conditions that the ego-narrator is there
to anchor the talc in the present, but makes no referetK·e to the nature
of his present reality. To the first-reader this is the point of suppress-
ing the narrator's present reality; it makes immediate sense as a tech-
nique of presenting (making present) the past as a forum of entertain-
ing torment.
Surprise in a narrative is possible in direct proportion to how little
we arc told about its future stages. Much of the immediate delight of
the AA depends on the rurrator's withholding crucial intorm.ation.
We wuuld certainly not expect Thclyphron to preface his story by

1. nrc mr ltWIIIi:> t'XCt'hi t.mtum arrJumn fi11(1,P(l~ll iugum, 11ec s.1xras 11111t11m mdl'S iPZmr·
Joflult• Ltmlril~"' ungula$. JlrWm }imium q"-'IJ Ut' m.·bris i(t ibu$ pt'rtJ it(' dnlol1th.Jr, m mtJ ur pla-
garum mihi meJrtllaris imiJt'rrl dt~lor; COX<lt'que drxlt'rur $WI/'('t ictus inmtirus ··r 1111mn fi·rinrdo
lot 11m Jis$ip11t<> wri1• rr •~frrriJ /ariHimi faa<> Jorami,r, imnw fi•ura ud l'lillrtr fo•rstra, rmllru
tamt'll drsi•ltbar iJwtidnu uulttm satJ~uill(' Jdiblllmn obumdm.· (7. 17~
144 CONSEQUENCES
showing us that his cars and nose arc missing. Lucius·s passion for
Photis. though we may suspect that it is tainted by his secret motives,
is reported with glowing intimacy and no sense that he will later re-
vile her. Before his transformat;on he speaks to her lovingly and ten-
derly (3.19-20). swearing that he prefers her to any other woman
(3.23). and that he could never believe she would mean him any harm,
no matter how much she insisted (3.14). After his transformation it is
a complete surprise that he wants to trample and bite her to death as a
"most wicked and most criminal femalet' (3.26~ a sentiment he re-
peats in strong terms (7.14; 9.15; 11.20).
The important feature ofthe reporting of these before-and-after
attitudes is that no tr:Jcc of the one contaminates the other. The lust
for Photis before the transformation is not recaJJed with any regret,
the hatred for her afterward is not tinged with affectionate memory.
One might easily enough read the outbreak of lucius's terrible hatred
immediately after his transformation as a comic sign of the hypocrisy
of his earlier protestations of love. But even this is not given by the
narrator. Rather the two passions stand in paratactic purity, the rever-
sal from one to the other being an unpremeditated surprise.
The first-reader requires no explanation for the many kinds of nov-
dty~ reversal, and unprepared shock in the AA. Tht:y arc an immedi-
ately gratifying cognitive pleasure. But for the second-readert each
withholding of information, in addition to still making s~:nsc as a nar-
rator's strategy for the contrivance of surprise, becomes also a nagging
reminder that the narrator is silent about one colossal fact that demands
explanation if the text is to be integrated as the utterance of a single-
minded speaker. So we tum now to the mind and thoughts of that
speaker, which must again be considered in a double aspect: what the
narrator tells us of his current thinking and what he [elJs us of his past
states of mind as a human and an ass.

Tire rhou._r[hls oftil~ actor, tht tlumglrts ofthe ttarmtor

Lucius (as the narrator te11s us) conducted a very busy life of
the mind: he envisioned possible futures (8.27). made plans (3.29~
h~cdcd warnings (2.1 1), had second thoughts (J.15), evaluated the
people around him (7 .12), drew conclusions from evidence (7 .26~ and
most significantly he tentatively considered the tales as having a bear-
ing on his own life (2.1; 3.1 ). Of course, since Lucius the actor did not
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR /ACTOR 145
know that Isis would form the: final chapter in the book of his life. a]l
of his reported mental connecting is restricted to the immediate envi-
ronment of his plot. But beyond that, even a first-reader might note
that Lucius the actor's acts of thinking things through are nothing
spontaneous but rather dtl'ised strictly in the service of maximizing
the drama for an audience.
For instance. Lucius wakes up after killing what he as narrator now
knows to have been enchanted wineskins. He thinks back to the
crime itself on the previous night: "turmoil invaded my soul at the
recollection oflast night's crime" (3.1 ). He thinks ahead to what may
happen: "already imagining the forum and trial. now the sentence.
finally the executioner hjmsdf" (3. 1). And then he thinks further
back to an event in Corinth, recalled at dinner with Milo in the pre-
vious book (2.12). Diophanes the astrologer had read in the stars a
fabulous outcome for the travels that Ludus has undertaken: "Was
this going to be that glorious journey that Diophancs the Chaldaean
was so insistently predicting?'' (3.1).
Each of these reported mental acts, purporting to integrate the
plot by gathering together the past and fmurc in the present. is mis-
leading, and that for obvious dramatic reasons. TI1e narrator knows
that last night's event was no crime, that no execution wm occur, and
that the journey did ultimately turn out glorious. Lucius's cogitations
arc in effect a soliloquy designed for the immediate audience's benefit,
heightening the thriU of the past as present. within the secure but
nearly invisible control of the present narrator.
Yet the second-reader finds the very perfection of that text's first
~rformance to be now also an allusion to the new dimension of
meaning into which Book 11 has slipped. For the more Lucius the
narrator reports that Lucius the character thought about his past and
his future, trying to pull the pieces together, the more the second-
reader becomes aware that a dramatic stage-soliloquy is a teasing rep-
lica of the more serious and problematic pulling-together that rhis
text now demands. All lucius·s What \\-'ill happen next?'s and Could
this mean ... ? 's have now a curiously reticent significance as what
we might call stereoscopic expressions-convergences of an inde-
pendent comic structure (right eye) and the silhouette of a phi]osophi-
cal perspective (left eye) so that the text for the second-reader leaps
alarmingly off the page like an illusion in a 3-D movie.
146 CONSEQUENCES
A shift now to the mode of rebuttal. A prominent and not entirely
uninvited misinterpretation of the AA is that in it one can trace Lu-
cius's growing world-disillusionment, preparing him for a real con-
version to an extra-worldly renunciation of the whole damned thing.
The sort of actor's thoughts cited in this regard is, for instance:
··plighted to be joined in public wedlock with such a woman, and
quite agog in magnificent anguish, I awaited the day of the perform-
ance, often savoring a wishful thought to inflict death on myself be-
fore being dirtied by any conract wirh that criminal woman or
shamed by the infamy of that pub1ic spectacle:•s
Such sentiments of the actor can be quoted to justify the develop-
ment in him of a new mora] rectitude and his readiness at Jast to re-
ceive a revelation of Isis. The reader who fancies this as a sensible
view of things can find other texts to support it.9 But it runs counter
to Lucius the actor's detailed enjoyment of the rich matron: ·•she
made me lie down easily enough, considering that it was nothing
new or difficult that I seemed to be meant to do, especially after so
long a timl·, to enter the embraces of so beautiful and ardent a
wom:m;' etc. ;10 counter even more to Lucius the narrator's gendy 1as-
civious description of the Venus ballet: " ... Venus, as Venus was
when yet a virgin. announcing the paradigm of perfect beauty by dis-
playing her body) nude and uncovered, except that she o)ershadowed
her genitals, so lovely to look at, with a fine silken sash. That sash the
somewhat curious wind, right lovingly ftirtatious. now blew aside ro
show behind it the blossoming flower of her tender years, and then
voluptuously blew on, to make the sash adhere with such a pressing
that it limned the last derail ofrhc pleasure in her limbs... 11

8. ralil mulien'J publicituJ 1111Urimoniwn cot!farrrarurus itl,(tlltiqw.- o~nxort oppido $USJKII·

sus rxprct11bdm Jirm tmmrris, satpi•u quidrm mortrm mihimtt 11oltPJS amscisurt, priu~•(am
J(t/troSM mulicris (otttagi" ma.:ulan:r ud it!forttia p11bliti sptcramli Jrpudmt•rt•m (J0.29~
11. Lucim's indign:uion at the slut Ch.uitc (7.11-ignoring that it is a joke
against Lucius) or the condemnation of adulterous wives (9.5, 9.23-by adulterous
wives, one charmingly successful, the other ~uilty ofevery possible crime~
10. rrclittat focilr, quiJ'JW cwn nil 111mi niltilcJ14t d!flin'lr jd!turus mihi uiJtn.,, pr:.rtsc•rtim
post ltllllumttmporis l.1m.fcmuons.:rt mulitris "'pie1llis amph•xus oloituru1. (10.21 ~
11. Jfnrrrm, qr4tJii.sfuir f'ttiiiS, cumficilllirgc\ nudo rt i"'r<tC) corport Ft'rkctamjonttMsi-
takm projtsflJ, 11isi quod ltllui p.dlio bombyci11o ina11nbrabal sprtro~biltrn pubtnr, qJcam q11idtn
lacitliam cun'crsrdus 14tttlus st~tiJ &Jmanltrnuru laJciuirns ~rjlab11t, ul dimota tMtertl flM aetatufae,
nunc lu.xuritJtlS aspinJbal, ut adhlltrtru prt.ssult mtmbrorum uc•luptllll.'m glll}itc• liciuitJrrt
(10.31~
 THE DUilLJC IT[ES OF:\( JCTOR I ACTOR 147

Reading Lucius's determination to die rather than have sex with

the condemned woman as a sign of a new moral conscience in him is
simply wrong. Lucius objects not to sexual contact as such but to the
woman's status as a criminal, to the publicity of the act. and (a little
later, at 10.34) to the danger of the wild beasts (stupid animals!~ who
might attack him as well as her. Even the reasons he offers must be
perceived as ironic, because as uarrc1tor he has continuously delighted
in bringing criminal doings to our attention. making us participants
in the narrative of crime, touching us with rhc public shame and con-
tagion of the talc. Too, the immediate reference to springtime and a
hope for roses must signal the end of the talc, and at such a time it is
dramatically appropriate for the hero to feel especially beleaguered
and impatient for the release that the author has decided now to grant.
His repugnance is a convenient l"Xprcssion, in this context. of a desire
for the end of the talc.
Bm the drawing of conclusions and generation of inte:rpretation s
is perhaps less the expected business of Lucius as actor then than of
Lucius as narrator now. The uarraf(lr's main group of end-looking
thoughts, as it appears in hindsight, arc those having ro do \Vith his
persecution by Fortuna. E.g., "But Fortuna, insatiable to have me
suffer, again drew up another torment for me; for I was delcg~tcd to
carry wood from the mountain and the boy placed in charge of me
was the meanest boy in the: whole wide world." 12 The narrator here
speaks from a point in time ahead of the action. forecasting the com-
ing episode as "torment," and a torment arranged by Fortuna. The
look ahead is short-range, to be sure, but docs not Mithras's sermon
on persecuting Fortuna {11.15) justify sccond-rcadas taking it as a
signal of the narrator's fully enlightened (though for the moment un-
revca1ed) lsiac consciousness? 13

12. utmm H•rtw111 mt"i$ (TIIriatifms imatioJ/JiliJ <Jii.JIII miiJi Jmuc• })('St('m instruxit. JC'I(~"
cnitn l•:~w llltlflll." druthn~rdo, purr.1m· milri pmt:ff'rtm imp.milllr r.'( t'lllnibus illr qm"drm purr
,/aa,.ipmu (7. 17).
l3. What DorOlhy Sayt>rs callr. "rhe imrll~mr re;~der seduced into telling the lie for
himself"' (sec cpigrotph to Cluptcr 5) is J:Xrfccdy illustratcJ by the reading ofJ.l.
Penwill in his ar1iclc, "Sla\•ish (J)casurcs J.nd Profitless Curiosity: Fall and ll.c-dt.>mption
in Apukiu!>· Me[.:unorphos~s:· R1mws 4(1975): 49-82. Comllll'nting on d-.c- sc:nh.·nn•
'"blinJ Formna has brought y'Oll to s.J.fcty ... ," Pcnwill intcrpn.·ts •·!Fortuna's I treat~
ment of him was roo b:ad ... 1hat he was impelled to break out ofhcr clurdu:s" (p. 74},
and in a note on that r.cnrcncc, "Thi!i must be what the Priest means. Kenny ... cannot
148 CONSEQUENCES

No. For the authority of Mithras's pontification about Lucius's life

has the effect of directing the rereader's attention to Fonuna-state-
mcnts in a way that falsifies (rather than completes) what they origi-
nally meant. There are two falsifications: (i) that the narrator's For-
tuna-commems, because they arc forward-looking. aJludc to a
consummation of the narrative, the goal being his freedom from her
dominance. and (ii) that Fortuna is a wicked force. The trick is that,
while the narrator is literaUy saying these things, any first-reader un-
derstands such remarks as a playwrighfs or novelist's technique for
heightening the vividness of the story and defining the units of action.
(i) The narrator's Fortuna-comments form part of a larger dass of
statements. Compare: "'But my agile and splendid efiort was unable to
anticipate the perversity of my fortune, for ... '' 14 with: ··so it came
about that my destruction was deferred to another day.... However.
not even the tiniest space was granted for my rejoicing or rest, for
•••• " 15 These two sentences have the same function. viz .. to connect
episodes, w mark the narrator's control of his units by reminding us
of his presence at the points of transition. Neither is read as a reflec-
tive or contemplative intrusion, since each is a neon arrow catching
our attention at the close of an episode and immediately pointing us
to the next: note that each is followed by nam or enim. The connecting
function of such statements does not require Fortuna, in fact they
often occur without her: connectors mentioning Fortuna: 4.2; 7.16,
17. 20, 25; H.24: 9.1; 10.16; connectors with no agent mentioned:
7.19, 20, 27: 8.16, 31; 9.11, 39; 10.13.
(ii) Still, a determined second-reader who has been gripped by the
inAuence of Book 11 may want to insist that in the guise of providing
conventional narrati'o<·c markers Lucius has subtly revealed his liberated
perspective on wicked Fortuna. Such a view must ignore thl" fact that
the narrative connectors. though they usually mark dowmums in the

be right in maint.1ining that 'he (u. the Priest) ;~scribes his (sc. lucius') s.alv.nion not to
any human wisdom or even di,·me pJan but to sheer luck' .. {p. ~2 n. n~ To supple-
mt"nt the t~xt ;u:-\ording to what ir"must" mc;m is c.-xacdy the rntwc of which \Ve s1u)IJ1d
be suspidou:;. Within thr: limits ofits pl'l:misc:s, l>cnwill's article is cx~:;d1cnr-ca.'oily the
most intdligc:nt oft he!' moralizing and unifying readings of the novel.
,et,.
14. se.illJ~iliJ atqur pnu·clarus illr nmalru _(cmunar mrar sra~llilalt'm .mtf'il'l' P"lwit.
idm t'll im . . . (4. 2~
15. ~ic cffi·aum '"~'• m ;, c1ltf'n1111 Iii"" claJrs JijJrrn'tllr nu•iJ.... tsa tamm tamillum
!<Ill Iem .'!ntllllllliem i mrat· 411itrim• Spdlium J,zrum; 11.:1111 ••• (7. 2 7).
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR JACTOR 149

actor's happiness, sometimes mark uptums. The ass is caught eating

leftover delicacies in the cooks' chambers, and is for once rewarded
with happy laughter, attributable to Fortuna: "For I finally beheld tht:
face of Fortuna shining somewhat more mildly on me...... 16 Note
that two uptuming connectors involving Fortuna occur in Book 10 (13
and 16)-a small index of the inaccuracy of the view that holds that
books 8-10 depict a world of unrcHcvcd gloom and sadism, represent-
ing the human condition from which Lucius is glad to escape. The
narrator's alleged consciousness of Fortuna as a wicked prison keeper is
so suppressed that he can even speak of her friendliness in helping him
out of a scrapc. 17 Even these references might be compatible with a
"Little did I know then" perspective, concealing but not entirely falsi-
fying the truth of Book 11, but Lucius's most extended reference to
Fonuna actually goes so far as to identify her with "the fatal disposition
of divine providcnce.. 18 in a way that entirely subvens Mithras's con-
trast ofimprovidcnt, malicious Fortuna with the provident Isis. For the
first-reader, then, the narrator's comments on Fortuna do not gene rat~
any sense that his comic catastrophes require a savior; and the second-
reader can only force thL" text into the mold of Mithras's theology by
snipping otT, like Cinderella's stepsisters. parts of what should fit in
there.

n Tile QS$ I was," urllr Lucius [!11QS"

The central joke of Tlte Goldru Ass is the assertion that the
ego-narrator had been an ass. That statement is not simply made. it is
surrounded by an array of supporting evidence as if the narrator were
to be hdd accountable for it. The ever-present sense of evidenti;:~l ac-
countability has been discussed in Chapter 3 (pp. 66-70). Here I refer
to some examples dtat specifically refer to the asininity of the narra-
tor: •• For as the conversation progressed a little more clearly, despis-
ing my presence as ifl were truly dead, he said ... "(7.12); "Making
little of my presence. all did and said freely what they wished" (9. 13).
The characters assign little value to the ass's presence (9 .13) or they

lli. tram t'l ''i." M~ukm &'.'( .-r/iqua p<Jrtt rru,flius mifti rtrtidc•tuis J~lrliiiiM ,·"mt>mJnaltu J.l·
drnr (10.16).
17. (7 .20~ The fri\\llousncs~ ofcwn the Jownruru ing ("malevolent Fortuna .. ) con-
nectors is shown by the case with which they introduce humorous scenes: 7 .16. t:l.24.
18. diuitlolt' P'''"idemiae.faJ!ilis dispMiti(1 (CJ.l ~
150 CONSEQUENCES
despise his presence as that of a genuine corpse (7.12). In either case,
humble or dead, the actor is a no-account. a negligible presence. The
present narrator's assertion of his presence at the past scene consists in
a statement that he was virtually absent. I should imagine that most
first-readers understand these remarks as intentional, sophomoric al-
lusions to the fictional nature of the narrative.
The most outrageous and also the most accurately contrived refer-
ence to the ass's real presence occurs when he is blinkered in the mill.
He is intensely curious .about the miller's wife's lover but unable to see
who he is: .. But although I was extremely angry at the error of Photis,
who, while turning me into a bird, made an ass of me, yet at least I was
recreated and restored by the unique solace of my miserable deform-
ity-the fact that endowed now with enormous ears I very easily heard
everything even at quite a distance. For instance, one day the following
conversation of that timid old woman reached my ears." 19 The verifica-
tion of the narrator's situation is postponed (c£ 10.7); when the timid
old woman's talc is told, the miller's wife complains that other adulter-
ous women arc better off than she: "Poor me, J have to put up with the
sound of the mill :md aloyer who is frightened by the face of-see!-
that scabby ass!" 20 If the miller's wife can hear the sound of the mill,
presumably the ass can hear her voice. That is the point of her remark. 21
The narrator's own term for what l have called the sophomoric na-
ture of the text might perhaps be "philosophizing ass" (pllilosophau-
tem asitmm, 10.33~ "Phi1osophizing" refers in the first pJace to the
scrmonctte just (at 10.33) uttered by the narrator ;,. the preserJt time,
not by the actor in the past: since he is not supposed to be an ass any
longer. asitws inconspicuously acquires a transferred sense as "fool."
as it docs explicitly at 10. 13.

If the narrator's references to himself as realJy having been an ass

seem sophomoric and in various ways inauthentic, the narrator's lan-

19. Jt t•gt~, qmmq11am gra11itt'r Sltsumms t"ori Fotidis, qul2t' mt', dum .wtm fobriral, J't'rfi·-
cit asimm1, islo tamtn 11rl unico solatio acn•mr~abilu dt;{onr~ilati.s mrar rrcn-o:~bo::~r. f/IIM iluribus
.~rllnd issimis pmt.liwr mncttJ lougult rriam disJ iltJ focillimt mllitiM "'· drn iq 114' d ir qu.zdam 1im i-
dat illius .:~nicuJaf senPJo talis mras a4f(rturauris (9.15-16~
20. at t~ misrlla mCII.u t'liarn son 11m et t'CU illi11s scabiosi •Hini focirm timmttm fami-
lian:m inddi (9.22).
21. One might also note thJ.r rhe women are specifinUy said to be r:alking in loud,
drunken voices: "wrangling," ut'lirar~t (9.15~
 THE DUPLJCITIES OFAVCTOR !ACTOR 151

guage about his identity as Lucius is a1so strange. The folk metaphysics
of transformation tales requires that the person before and the animal
after have a common core ofidcntity. The same thinking ego is trans-
ferred to a new body, there to discover new physical sensations (enjoying
a dust bath, 4.5; a capacity to cat three whole bushcl-baskets of bread,
4.22) but with memory. language. values, and personality intact. The
speaker of the AA makes this explicit just after he has reported his first
transformation: "But J, though a perfect ass and a beast now in place of
Lucius, nevertheless retained my human consciousncss." 21 The name
Lucius no longer applies to the speaker. ht" is now an ''ass instead of
Lucius" (pro Lucio iumentwn). From the viewpoint of the ass, Lucius is
a status and a look that he wants to regain. Rather insistently, Lucius is
used as the name not of the I whose thinking persisted, but as the name
of the visible human body that the ego has lost:
"You will return into my Lucius."23 "On the following day with some
rosy help I was going to be Lucius again." 24 "Before. when I was
Lucius ... '' 25 " ••. roses. which would restore me to my old Lu-
cius•'16 (also at 3.23, 29; 7.2; 9.13; 11.2).
Each ofthese phrases implies "I was not Lucius;' which for the second-
reader becomes a teasing reference to the ultimate1y unfixed and un]o-
catable authority of the text itself. The second-reader might also be
sensitive to a profoundcr feeling of a1icnation in these phrascs. 27
But if the speaker enjoys saying that he is not Lucius, he takes equal
care not to identify himself with the ass. He finds himself '•in the ap-
pearance of an ass'';28 Fortuna has brought him ''into a beast" ;19 "I

22. t'J!r.' ut•ro quamqu~m pt~{tctus asinus l'lJ'rO Lucio rwnrntum smrmn tamL'fl rctincboJm
lmrtl.mrmt (:\.26).
23. i11 tncmn Luciam1 postlilni11io rcdibis (3.25).
24. in alrrrum ~u~m .-Juxi/i,, rMari(l Ludus Jrnw' ji11ums (3.27).
25. prim, n•m t'SSt'm Lu.dm (4.22~
26. "ua.·. qwu IHl' rriolri ,,,.., Lrui,l rrJJnrut (Hl.2CJ)-
27. Cf. Aristomcncs: .. But I, just as I wn, C\'CD now lymg on the ground, soulless.
naked and cold and drcndwd murine, as if ren•mly ~nu:rg"•d frnm my morher's womh.
n.;~y rilthcr iiS if h.;~lf-dcOLd, but e\·c:n so sun·iving mysdf. pm;thumous to me.... " (ut
c*', 111 t•ram, 1.'tia111111rnc l111mi l'roicctus, iuanirrtis, uudm t•tfrigtdus ctltltio JICTiutus, quasi r{'{efls
lttuo mdlfis !'Jit1u, i1111111.1 1ttr1l Sl'lllillh'rllfll1, uc·mm ~tio~m ipn· miJri SIIJII:miuuu t'l [1Mlrmwr,
1.14~
2R. ;, .zsi~rifoNimr (3.2Y).
2tJ. q•u~m . . . in bestiam . . . deJuxcrar (7. 2 ).
152 CONSEQUENCES
confess myselfgratefully grateful to my ass that, while hidden under its
hide.... " 30 It is possible to hear phrases like "the old Lucius" and "the
ass I was" as having what we might call an Augustinian ring. I suspect
that something of this order is meant. The narrator certainly is capable
ofdeploying other phrases that have a striking religious sound, though
he on]y docs so at times when the context of action so alienates them
that they cannot be taken at face value. A group ofexamples follows:
•• And I did not emerge from the underworld until . . . '' 31 -of Lu-
cius's shock at discovering that the corpses arc wineskins. Photis
closes the doors of his room, embraces him, and whispers, ~·what­
ever I thus entrust to the sanctuary of this rdigious breast of yours,
you must ever preserve locked within its barricade."' 32 Lucius drinks
from a pail of water to prove that he is not rabid: "I lapped up those
truly saving w~tcrs"; 33 that water test had been suggested by a by-
stander, whom the narrator describes as "obvious)y a savior sent
down to me from hcavcn." 34 The young adulterer, caught by the
miller, is let go the next morning after only a beating and a sexual
humiliation (he might legitimately have been killed): uhaving gained
an unexpected salvation.'' 35 Most striking of all, the ass pretends to be
too stupid to walk in the circle that will move the millstone, but the
miller blinkers him and a circle of helpers at a signal begin to shout
and strike him; the ass, against all his firmest plans, is startled into
moving: "But at this sudden alteration of my sect. I moved the whole
company to laughter."l6

30. r1arr1 t'l ipsr .~NtaJ grari.zs aJitto lllti' mcmini, qr4od tnt" suo cd.twm tl.",.~rnilll." (9.13}
Oth'-·njokc about him in the same way: "There could llc hidden inside this ass either
the person of some nun or the presence ofsome god." (potc$1 i1J a$i~Jo mto l~ltiT aliqui ,.tf
mdtu> hominis lltlfacirs Jron41n, 6.29)... You st.ooc before' you~ wether, nor.;m ~!>s, submi~
!ii\'c ro .all uses., nor .1. biter. ccrtJinly not J kicker, but rather such a gentle ass that you
would belie-ve a modes1 human being is inhabiting his hide." ("l4tnlt'ftm," i11quit, "ncm
olSitrmn uidrs, o~d Juus omm·s quictum, "'"' mordaum, m.·c calc:ilroru~rn quidrm, serlprow~J ul ill
asini coritJ modrstmnlwPllintm inllabitan: cmlal, .. ~.25).
31. lit'( Jlriu$ t1b itiftris tmmi .. . (3.10~
32. quan:Um.JilC ifdqur comPlliuro l111ius rd(~ios1' ptctCITis tui pt'IU'lralilm.s, scmpt.T hoJt'C
imr.t (Pil.wpmm dau1a t u~todioJJ (.'\. 15~
33. 54/ut.Jre.s lltTr rq uidem illll$ aquas ~.auriebam (9 .3 ~
34. .It co~t'lo rcilictt missus milri sospitawr (9 .3~
35. ittSptmta p.,titus .wl1ttr ('J.28~
36. nt subiM Jfllar (OIIUrtutalicmt' risurr• toto iclflll C{111111fOilffllm (9.12).
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR /ACTOR 153
Subita s,•aae (()mmuMtitl is about as close as this text ever comes to
describing what happens in Book 11-a sudden reallegiancc of be-
liefs, a surprising abandonment of old commitments in favor ofa new
sect. But the context is debased. the content of the convt:rsion is ridic-
ulous, and the audience quite appropriately guffaws. Each of these
religious phrases is inserted into a secular scene that contains no pos-
sibility of literally applying the religious meanings of ··underworld,"
••religious sanctuary," "saving waters,'' "savior scm down from
heaven," or (most tantalizing and relevant) "sudden alteration of
sect:' If this class of ex pression is the correct subset in which to place
Lucius's references to himself, then their unsolvable ambiguity is an-
other hint at the fundamental theme of the AA-non-authorization,
particularly of religious notions.

FROM AUCTOR-NARRATOR TO AUCTOR-

NOVELIST, AND BACK AGAIN
The complexity of self in the AA cannot be accounted for
simply in terms of two fixed locations for Lucius as present narrator
and past actor. It also requires that the auctor be thought of sometimes
as Apuleius the novelist and sometimes as Lucius the narrator. The
slippage between one auctor(Apulcius the novelist) and the other auc-
tor (Lucius the narrator) takes place along what I will call three axes
where the text shifts its meaning in such a way that the: reader must
sense a fiction writer behind the character of Lucius narrating. Now
this is of course a quite ordinary feat of impersonation, ana]yzable
into author {scriptwriter) behind actor (person who reads the lines)
behind character (role p]ayed), as in any stage comedy. But what is
extraordinary about Apuleius's script is that the three axes, or types of
oscilJation in reference frame of the narrative, set up two different
effects simultaneously: they determine for the first-reader an intelli-
gible sy.stem of interplay, characterizing the book itself as a sopho-
moric text. while for the second-reader the same facetious, boundary-
violating play becomes an ongoing allusion to the problem of Book
11. (The reader will understand now why the analysis of the narrating
ego could not be tack]cd at the beginning of this book.) Along what I
154 CONSEQUENCES

call the three axes, the AA plays almost every imaginable game of
self-conscious and self-referential duplicity.
The first axis is that of class-the AA slides back and forth be-
tween the opposite extremes of high seriousness and ]ow comedy.
The second axis is that of unity-the AA fluctuates between seeming
to be a whole whose parts have an integral relation to each other and
seeming to be a disjointed, episodic work. The third axis is that of
authority-the AA variously indicates either that it contains a mes-
sage or story that the author endorses and takes responsiblility for or
that it has no center of authority. Since a sudden change along one
axis does not entail a change along the other two, I tend to visualize
this image of three axes not as a set ofintersecting coordinates but as
three parallel lines that cover the same territory. On them may be
diagramed three acts of the mind performed by the reader of the AA
as he or she asks the ordinary questions we bring to anything we read
or watch in performance: What is the decorum of this text-high or
low or varying? What is the progressive buildup or coherence of its
parts-tightly or loosely organized, or fluctuating? And what is the
character of the author who has put out this text-one hidden behind
the jnhcrited authority of other texts, masked in a persona, or seriously
present in his own person? Insofar as these three axes represent the
typical coordinates along which we locate works ofliteraturc (not by
genre but by rhythm, style, and I. Q. ~ the complex and quite particu-
lar performance of The Golden Ass sketches a comprehensive model
of narrating identity.
One may observe that these three oscillations have affiniries, but
they do not entai1 each other. On one side of the cognitive field they
depict a text that is (a) ideally noble, (b) unified, and (c) makes a re-
sponsible utterance; on the other side, a text that is (a') vulgar, (b')
disorganized, and (c') inconsistent for no reason. Some types of text
vary on one axis but not on the others: parodic and seriocomic texts
may shift class by introducing unexpected patches of vulgarity or
sublimity while maintaining a unity of plot or argument and a co-
herence of purpose. Anthological or episodic texts may have parts
that are quite unrelated to each other, omissible at wil1, but without
varying in tone or overall intention. It is harder to iJlustrate the third
axis with any other ancient work than the AA (or possibly the Sa-
tyrika of Petroni us), for the degree of responsibility or fixity of pur-
 THE DUPLJCJTIES OF AUCTOR /ACTOR 155
pose is the most fundamental unity in any \\'ork that has a single au-
thor. 37 The degree of responsibility for different texts may be high or
low-low forth~ author who collects without endorsing, high for the
author who assembles and actively integrates and argues for the value
of his or her perspective-but that degree of authority is almost al-
ways inv:1riablc within the bounds of a single text.

Tire axis ofclass: book and b•!JToon

To keep these sections reasonably brief and subordinate to
the larger argument. I propose merely to indicate a few telling exam-
ples rather than inventory their fuJl talc. I shaU isolate a single image
that represents each end ofeach of these axes and illustrate the pinball
flippancy of the text in bouncing from high to low, one to many, au-
thoritative to helpless. The result will be only a suggestive sketch of
these three basic principlesofits composition. Thus, in the case ofthc
variable class, [will not detail Lucius's alternate em bodimcnt of pres-
tige as an upper-class gent and degradation as the lowest laboring
drudge, but wiJI focus on the particular prestige assigned to learning
and book-knowledge and the particular degradation of the mimic
fooL In Greco-Roman culture there was a nexus of book and buf-
foon-the sciJolasticus-that the AA consciously exploits.
The occasionaUy archaic language of the AA defines for the reader a
learned perspective on the often vulgar action. A display of recondite
diction was a mark of high excellence in certain currents of second-
century literary culture, so that the very use of obsolete vocabulary
constituted a m~ssagc of upper-class writing. As the AA on the level of
implied literary class sporadically looks down on its own vulgar con-
rem, so the unlearned characters from time to time allude to a higher
class of speaking and writing than their own. Both (together) must be
ironic, considered not in isolation but as parts of a single-authored
composition. (Notice that in speaking of any one axis we must refer to
the others: here:, .. p.uts" of the umc: whole and ··authored" by somt.·
one writer.) Thus, Charitc promises the ass a reward of fame, as well as

37. In s~aking of imention and authuri;al purpose I do not man tlut t'itht:'r au-
thor or reader can necessarily isolate and state the intention of a text. but rather that, in
writing and reading, th" notion of a governing perspective or a rc-·rsonal poin1 of view
from which all dements in the text make sense is regularly employed.
156 CONSEQUENCES
food, for being her savior: ''For I shaJI signify the memory of my
present fortune and divine providence by a perpetual witncss-1 shall
dedicate in the atrium of my house a picture of my present flight
painted on a tablet. It will be seen, it will be heard in tales, this rude
history wil1 be perpetuated by the stylus-pens of leamed men: Royal
Virgin on Carrier Ass Fleeing Captivity." 38 She mentions the multiple,
future existence of her plot as a painting, a tale, and a high-stylized
Jiterary composition. The fleeting image of textual glory, someday to
be the mode ofexistence of this event for readers, alludes in soml' fash-
ion to the book in hand; but the description of the event as a display of
divine providence and the hope of a learned book to celebrate it arc
immediately frustrated by her capture and return to captivity. After
this false finale, the actual end of Charitc's talc is similarly offered to us
as matter for future literary exaltation by someone or other besides the
speaker (8.1 ~
Both as narrator and as actor, Lucius sometimes voices the conde-
scension of the polished and learned: "These trees, elaborately foli-
ated after the fashion of laurels, produce gently blushing bud1cts.
proffered by way of an odorous flower-which blossoms in point of
fact the uneducated masses refer to by the conspicuously uncoun-
trified name ·rose laurels,' which are a lethal food for any beast." 39 His
approach to Hypata. just after the close of Aristomenes' tale (an im-
portant passage of the narrator's redefinition as a character; see above
pp. 137-38), is the occasion of a little dialogue that shows the speaker
as dignified in addressing his inferiors: "I approached the first public
house I saw and inquired of an old woman who kept the inn, 'Is this
the city of Hypau?' She nodded. ·And do you know a certain Milo,
one ofits first citizens? • She grinned at me and said, 'Yea. of course;
Milo is one ofour first citizens: he lives right our side the city walls and
he is one ofthe first citizens you come to.' 'Dispense with the joking,
good mother.' I said, 'and simply tell me, ] pray. his whereabouts and

38. rMrH mtmoriam pr.JN~PIIiJ jMtrma~ mtoJ~ Jiui1111~qur prouiJrmim~ ~rl!t'fll<~ trsldliMif
.s ~ftlilbo ~' Jcp icr.mt in 1o1b ul.1)u.~ac pN~.st'ntu ima.~i nt'm lllt:o1.: Jo PilUS otl ri., ckdit<Jbo. uisetu r er i11
filhl41ij audittur J.,aonmtquc· stilis rudi~ p••rpc'UMhitllr histc1ria: AS/.'\1"0 FEC TORE
VIRGO Rl!GJA. FUGJENS C.4.P1"1Vri:·rfE\-1{6.29~
39. llllf llrilorts ill ltmri fatitm pr~Jii:ll' foli4tat p.ln'um in ttt(tl/um floris (llf!>Ti p(lm'ctos
(.z/icuiM '"''dicr ptmitalllf."S, quos cqnidt·m fiuglotnlis mini111t rnrtslri UMtlbulo 1111/gw illdO(fllPII
m$Js laumu otppe"llant qtutmmql'l' 'w·m• ~(ori (i#ms lttalis c-11 ( 4.2).
 THE DUPLICITIES OJ• AUCTOR /ACTOR 157
his place ofresidence."' 40 Qua narrator (4.2) and que~ actor (1.21 ~ Lu-
cius can adopt the high tone of an aristocrat and scholar, reporting
and evaluating the linguistic and social behavior of the lower classes.
In some cases, such as the interchange with the old innkeeper, this
alJows the text to incorporate an obviously silly joke without taking
responsibility for it. In other cases, such as the naming of rose laurels,
the contrast between the bucolic picture (an ass browsing in the
meadows hestitates to eat a certain flower) and the ]earned apparatus
of its presentation again manages to bilocate the text at opposite ends
of a spectrum.
Lucius's learning in mythology serves a similar function: "] ap-
plauded Photis's witty remark and answered her \Vith an equal sophis-
try: •Then I can count this already as my tirst heroic achievement,
after the example of one of Hcraklcs" dozen labors, by equating the
threefold body of Geryon or the triplex form of Cerberus with the
precise number of wineskins I killcd."' 41 HSo I had read in a history
about the Thracian king who used to let his poor guests be minced up
and devoured by his ferocious horses; that all-powerful tyrant was so
stingy with his stores of grain that he assuaged the hunger of his
ravenous animals by servings of human bodies." 42 The usc of mytho-
logical exempta for sordid events would in itself remind the reader of
the gap between high culture and low, but the narrator makes it ex-
plicit by calling it a joke (cauillatus) or by interpreting the king's be-
havior as that of a stingy farmer ( sk pare us lzordei).
"I had read•• (in the last example) implies .. books,'' the physical
objects that contain high learning and whose possession and use are a
prerogative of class. The AA sometimes imitates an oral performance

40. rgo rur••. quod prim1m1 itr_Rrrssl4i staiJulum Ct'ttupilatus sum, autssi 1"l dr f114adc~m a11u
callpotl<l ilito J'('(OPittJr: "r.SIIIt",'• illflll#m, "Hy~la haa ciltil•u?" adm•it. '"llo5tinr: J\filonr:m
qunldilm f.' primorihus?" 4drisir r:t: ''r11."rr," inquit, "primus istit rrrltibtwr .\lilo, q11i extra pome-
rium tt ••rbcm tollllft lolir." "rrmoto," itlflUilm, "iL1CO, plll'frt.S optima, die oro et cuialis sit tl q11ibus
drurrutltr aed ibm·' " ( 1.21 ).
41. at t'!:J plausi lcpido smnone Folidis et in uicem (ar~illatus: "rrgo igitur iam tt ipsr
possum," inqrwm, ''mihi primam isMm uirtlllis adoriam ad ~.wrnplum duodrni laboris Htr{lllti
ttumrnur wd trigt"mirao (orpori G1'l}'OIIis utlttiplid format" Ct"rbai lolidrm pt"rrmplos ut~J
coarqu.mdo'• (3.19~
42. sic o1pud ltiswriam lit' rtgc 'I'l!ra(io ll'.~~mm, qui miuros lr.ospit~s jrri11is rquis sub
lact'mndos dtuonmJosque pcmgcbar; adco ille praepC~ttns tyramuu sic pdf'(US IJ~Jrdei fuit. ut
rcla(i '"" ilfmt'ttt''""" fawll'm (orpt~nmr /1 um.womm largitionr udilrt't (7. 16~
158 CONSEQUENCES

(lepido sus11rro, 1.1; ad auris ur.stm~ 9.14) and at other times alludes to its
own existence as a book: "After several days in that place, I recall,
there was wicked maneuver, a wanton mjsdeed; but that you too may
read it, I am setting it forth in my book." 43 A little later in the same
talc: .. in this text I shall bring forward only what I plainly lcarncd.'. 44
Istas littems ("this text/' "these letters") points to the material existence
of the signs on the page held at uthis .. moment in the reader·s two
hands. Even a person listening to another read is made to think at that
moment of the actual conditions of performance. rather than of the
shared illusion of an imagined live narrator named Lucius.
The most significant and well-contrived slide along the axis of
class that involves literary pretensions and books occurs when Milo
rebukes his wife for predicting the weather from the flame of a table
lamp. Lucius defends the sciences of prediction by tl'l1ing his experi-
ence with an astrologer: •·when I asked him about the outcome of this
very journey. the answer he gave was a lengthy one and in sooth
amazing and rather complex; for he predicted a flowering of my
glory, and that my history would be great, my tale would be incredi-
ble, and I would be a book!'' 45 A rather amazing exercise in ironic
sdf-rt>ferentiality. On one level. the prophecy must serve: as an ad ver-
tisemcnt for this very book that is the outcome of Lucius's journey.
The sHdc occurs when MHo's tale about that astrologer proves him to
be a charlatan: interrupted in the act of prophesying, Diophancs inad-
vcrtcnt1y tells his own true autobiography. The serious aspirations to
literary fame encouraged by the astrologer turn out to be for Lucius
untrustworthy and for the reader a joke.
The intensity of this sentence's irony cannot be put into Eng] ish,
for we have no way to put the scorpion sting of me.fi~turum at the end
of a sentence: ··a great history and an incredible story and books [
wouJd bt." The surprise of me futurum is that it is an unexpected locu-
tion that the first-reader accommodates (translates) as .. I would be the
subject of books," hut that later reverts to a more nearly literal sense.

.f3. pc$1 Jirs plus(uloJ ibiflr'111 dissigll.tll4m scrlnt1u" ac rtrforiltm facirii4S mrmi11i, srd ut
uos ttianr legatis, ad libmm l"l'!ftro (10.2~
.f4. quae 1'/ant' cortrpt'ri, ad islas litrerus pr'!frmm ( 10. 7).
45. mil1i dmiqut" pr11uw1um lmiu.s peTl'grittaliiJtlis hzquirrllli multa rrspcm.lit rr opJ1ido
mira t'l satis ~taria; 111111c enim gloriam StJtis florid.un, 111111c historiam magnam et inc"d11ndam
.tal•ulam l't librM rnr futurum (2.12~
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUC'l'OR IAC.fOR 159
Lucius. in becoming an ass who is the- subje-ct of this novd. becomes
The Ass.
But even this reading is nor literal enough. Within the analysis de-
veloped in this chapter we can now say that the self in the narrative has
exactly the intelligibility of a narrative. He: is not just a character about
whom books may be written, he is in essence a multiple.- c.-go whose
parts arc writer, narrator, and actor. Each is unthinkable apart from the
others, for Lucius is at every moment the subject of a talc told by his
later self; in that word "talc'' is packed the sense that this course of
events is a fiction, written by a novelist. Lucius has a book like sdf: the
episodes of his incredible history define not a life (in a sense that could
apply to Caesar or oursclves) but a book. 46 Lucius is never simply a
person, he is always specifical1y a writer behind a narrator behind an
actor. Diophancs' words, tlu~n? an~ not so much a prediction as a sim-
ple, all too literal statement of fact. Without Book 11 the prophecy
would be ironically sdf-rcfncntial and nothing more; with Hook 11
in place as the goa] toward which the second-reader knows the narra-
tive is leading, the prophecy becomes a problem. For the second-
reader is quitl' srriously tempted to make of rhc book-self a living
person, an apostle with a mcssagct as if one of the many self-mirror-
ing imagc:s could turn out robe a transp~tn•nt window on n.•ality.
At the other end of the axis, counterbalancing the aUusions to up-
per-class literacy that I have symbolized in the image of the book, is
the buffoon, symbolizing the intentionally moronic qualities of the

46. The book like intelligibility ofthl• :-\A's t',~ is ne;ttly expressed in its own hi~­
tury of mi!>Copying. In the c.l~C' ;H h.md, mr fimmmr hJs hl'Cil rewritten in the primary
manuscript F ;n. "'" factunmr: "l would m,1kr boo h.'" Ancien I l.uthon; ·were inc\•it;.lbly
scnsiti~ ro the problem~ of accuracy in tl1~ text!> they produrcd: mi~opying wa~ a
profcssionalluurd. Yet the ncar anagr.ml!; of Apulciuss text seem :almost to invite
hlplography. s.implitk.uion, supplemenwion ;and other editori:~lizing: .fZAHIH >[rtJiiM
(9.13); e·l"i"f<' ('J. 14; the contc:Kt scrt>;JIII!io tor ui"''·"'• c.· f. Aulu!l Gdliu~ J\,'IJtt. Art.
6.12.5); h•111i111•.; rtiJ<Jbittrdo (1.20); scorlmn gonmm ( 1.~); Idt·tmoJ dcriuo (1. 17). (Ex:nnples.
in M. Hcrnlunl. D.•r Stil ,/,._,. At•ule•iw nm M<1ol.111m, 2ti ~d. I Am .. lcnbm. 1965J: 221J;
H. E. Buder ;and A. S. Owc.'tl, c:ds., Apuld i\polrJXid llY14; reprint: J liltic:sheim., 1%7J:
61.) The writer's hdplcssnc:o;s at the h.mtls of his scrilx."S .md editor~ is wryly dc.-scrilx:J
by D. H.1mmc1t: •• A detective :a~ncy ofticial in S:m Francisco once 'Substitute-d "truth-
ful' for' vor;u:ious' in oru~ of my rcpuns un the ground that the: client miglu not under-
stand the latter. A fe-w days ll.tc:r in another report "simul.uc· became 'quicken· for the
same re:~ son.. {'"From the Memoirs of :1 Pri..-;He Dcrc:cth."l.·." in Tile· .·\rt flj rlu.- A!y~fc'l)'
Swry, cd. 1-1. 1-l.lycr.1ft I Nc\-.,. York. 11J46 I: 411J).
160 CONSEQUENCES
AA. On the popular stage he could be referred to as stupidus, the
callms mimicus, or the cpaX.aKpOr; p.'ip.o~-the bald buffoon. What I
will sketch here is a set of characteristics loosely defming a type of
entertainer roughly analogous to modem types such as the circus
clown. This figure is, I argue, a recognizable type whose sophomoric
sayings and behavior can be seen in the AA.Ifthc audience recognizes
certain routines of Lucius as familiar from contemporary mime and
joking. our notion of the first-reader's understanding of the novel be-
comes much more sp~cific and the second-reader's that much more :1
problem. The enterprise is not an easy one. because the surviving
evidence about popular humor is very scanty and often unfriendly.
But with that difficulty in mind, and remembering that the point is to
outline an area ofJow culture toward which the AA sometimes slides,
I will now present to you a second-century buffoon.
He is the principal character in a joke book. the Plrilogelos, whose
extant recension is fourth- or fifth-century, but whose material goes
back at least as far as the first century (sec p. 164~ 47 Several char-
acter types occur in the 265 jokes of the Philogelos-the miser, the
cow;:~rd. the man with bad breath. the Abderite. the drunk. the
grouch, the wit. But by far the greatest number (about two-thirds)
feature a learned fool called ux:oAaO"TtKo~. sciJolastiws, "Professor":
"Once the professor was sick, and when he became hungry but the
dinner wasn't being announced. he distrusted his attendants and told
them to bring the sundial into his bedroom so he could see for him-
self" (75). This blend of intellectual rigor (skepticism. insistence on
autopsy) with less-than-childish naivete is characteristic of scltolasti-
cus: "One night the professor climbed into bed with his grand-
mother. When his father discovered him and began to beat him, he
said. 'But you've been mounting my mother for a long time and I
never tried to punish you! Now you're angry with me after finding
me in bed with your mother only once!'" (45). The essence of the
scholasricusjokes is to strike a perfect balance between acuity and fatu-
ousness: "The professor heard some people say, ·vour beard is coming
in'-so he went to the city gates to wait for it. Another professor
asked him what he was doing there and when he heard the: reason

+7. A. Thk·rfchtc:r, cd .• Pl1il.•geiM Jt'f lAdift'l.'tmJ, """ Hierc•k/(s urrJ Pltil~J.~rio!o (Mu-
nich, 196S); A. Uapp. "A Greek ·Joe Miller,"' Classital}oumal46(l95l ): 286-tX). 318.
 THE DUPLICITJES OF AUCTOR 1.-\CTOR 161
said, 'No wonder people think we arc fools! How do you know it's not
coming in by another gate? ... (43). 48 The scholasticus holds various
professions-doctor: "A man went to Dr. Scholasticus and said,
'Doctor, when I wake up in the morning rm
dizzy for half an hour
and then my head clears." The doctor said, 'Get up half an hour later·"
(3); rhetor: "Scholasticus wrote a letter to his father from Athens;
priding himsdf on his education, he added: 'I hope you arc brought to
trial on a capital charge! so I can show you what a good rhetor I am!'"
{54). His cleverness is self-defeating: "The professor wanted to teach
his ass not to eat, so he stopped giving it food; when the ass starved to
death, he said. 'What a pity! Just as he was learning his lesson, he
died"' (9). "A friend travding abroad wrote to the professor asking
him to buy some books for him. The professor didn't bother and
when he saw the friend on his return. he said, 'I didn't get your letter
about the books''' (17).
Some of the jokes play with questions of identity in a way that
resembles the identity crises of the AA (Is Socrates alive or dead? Who
is the real Thclyphron? Is Lucius speaking or Apulcius? ): "The pro-
fessor met a friend and said, 'I heard that you were dead.' The friend
replied, 'Well, you sec that [am alive.' The professor answered, ·nut
the person who told me js much more trustworthy than you"' (22).
··one of two twin brothers died. One day the professor ran into the
living one and said. ·was it you who died or your brother?'" (29). "A
professor and a bald man and a barber were travelling together and
they stopped in a deserted area where they agreed to take turns keep-
ing watch over their belongings for four-hour stretches. The barber
took the first watch and as a joke he shaved otT all the professor's hair.
When his watch was over he woke the professor. The professor drow-
sily scratched his head and finding that he had no hair exclaimed,
'That stupid barber! He woke the bald man instead of me!"' (56). 49
[n addition to the identity jokes. the AA contains a num her of other

48. The s{holasticus in [he-st.• jokt.·s seems to be rather young. but in others he has
his own children: "The professor's son was playing with a baiJ. h fell into 0\ wdl and be
looked in: seeing his own reflection. he asked for his b:dl back. Then he compl:tined ro
his father that rhc orhcr boy wouldn't gi\'t: his ball back. The professor looked in d1e
"'-ell and saw his own retlection: ·sir; he said. 'tell your son to give my son his baJl
back ..' {33).
49. Cf. (33} in the previous note.
162 CONSEQUENCES
routines that are reasonably close to items in the Pllilogclos; given the
paucity of our evidence for :mcient verbal buffoonery. these are all the
more noteworthy. Thelyphron·s remark to the widow that she should
call on him the next time she has a dead husband to watch (2.26) has an
analogue in the Philogelos: ..The professor took part in a wedding feast,
and as he was )caving said, 'I wish you many happy returns"' (72~ 50
There are foolish prophets and astrologers in the collection. not unlike
Diophanes (201-5): "A foolish astrologer cast the horoscope ofa child.
•He will be a rhctor, then a prefect, then a governor.' When the boy
died. his mother accosted the astrologer: 'The child you said would be a
rhetor and prefect and governor died.' He answered, 'I swear by his
memory-if he had lived he would have been all these things'" (202~51
The name of Lucius's Corinthian sponsor is also the only personal
name given to scholastimsin the Philogelos: "Someone said to the profes-
sor, 'Dcmcas, two days ago I saw you in my dreams.' He replied, 'You
lie-two days ago I was in the country'" (102~
Dcmcas. of course, is one of the most common names used in
comedy. Other elements besides the name Demcas in the two works
point to ]ow stage comedy as their common background52_hiding-
p1acc revealed: .. There were two cowardly professors. One hid in a
well, one in a thicket of reeds. When the soldiers took off their hel-
mets and went to the well to draw water, the one professor thought
the soldier was going to climb down, so he begged for mercy and was
arrested. When the soldiers said that they would have passed him by if
only he had kept quiet, the professor behind the reeds said, 'Well then
pass on by, for I'm not saying a word"' (96). In Book 9, surprised

50. Similar perhaps to Thclypluon's inquiry about corpses (2.21) is the following:
.. A f3mous nun in Kyme died :md w2s being taken out to burial Some one c~mc up
and asked rhe members ofrhe procession. 'Who dietJ?' One Kymaian turned around
a.nd pointed to the bier, 'That man lying there'" (154~
51. Cf. Lucian Alt':x.tndrr 33. With Aristomcnes' suicide attempt (1.16) comp3re:
"An Abderite wanted to hang himself but the rope broke ~nd he hurt his head. So he
went to the doctor for a medicated b:andage and put it on the wound, :md then went
back and hanged himsclr' (112~ With the ass's appetite for bushels of bread (4.22)
comp.ue; ·• A glutton '-''ent to 3 bre1d seller 1nd g.:ave him ~·wo denarii for all the bread he
could cal. The bread ~llcr rcckoucd that one loaf would be enough so he took the
denarii and the glutton began to eat. He began with the basket on the floor in front of
him ;and Olte halfofitjust standing there. The bread sdlcrwas ama7.ed and said, 'Hmph!
You misht as wdl sit down while you're eating.' He answered. ' [ W3nt to cat the loaves
in the ba~ket standing, I'Jl sit down for those on the shelf'" (225).
52. H. Reich. Dtr ,\-fim•u (Berlin. 19tH): 589-96.
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR !ACTOR 163
wives hide their lovers in a tub (9.5), under a wooden trough (9.23~
and under a clothes rack (9.27). The point of a culprit hiding in the
immediate vicinity rather than running into the next room or jump-
ing out a window is that the scene is designed for the stage, with an
audience in mind who wiJI sec the discovery. Another type of humor
common ro both that seems more apt for the stage than tor narrating
is the pompous foolishness of an authoritarian character: •• A professor
bought some very old paintings in Corinth and on boarding a ship ht.>
said to the captain, 'If you lose these. I will make you replace them
with new ones!'" (78). The absurdity ofa stern command with a fool-
ish content is just the note struck by Pythias, reprimanding the flsh
seller by trampling on Lucius·s fish (1.25~ and it is a stag<.· absurdity
rather than a story absurdity. Other clements in the AA point in the
same direction. The clearest occurs when Aristomenes reprimands
Socrates for deserting his wife and children. Socrates bemoans his
fate "and so saying. he pulled up his patched motley to cover his tace,
which was already blushing with shame. and in so doing he exposed
himsdf from his navel on down ...53 The comic business is s~t up by
the word tclltuttwlus. "motley," a skimpy rag garment that Apulcius
elsewhere mentions as the characteristic costume of the mime actor
(Apologia 13).

To takc tht.• scho/astiws jokes as an emblem of one characteristic ma-

neuver in the AA, the slide from high to low culture, raises several
problems about the relations among (i) the AA, (ii) the Pltilo)ldM, (iii)
mime, and (iv) the sciJOlastims type. The associations both of the AA
and oft he PhilogtfM with mime are s~cure enough. 54 but how old is the
scllo/astiws material? Was the sclrolastims performing in the second ccn-

SJ. et wm JiaoJ swili n.•nt1m.-ulo jaciem sun"' i11m duJwu prmi{(llltl'm pnu pudon· obtexil
ila ut ab ur~tbilif" pul,.. trmti irlrrd Cll1JhlriS 1'1'11Udart't (1.6).
54. The major critical lapse in Hans Reich's Drr Mimus (note 52~ analyzed by A.
Knrtt•, i!; tht• identi.ic;niun ofPhilistiun. a (~n·c.•'k writt•r in Augu!'Jan Roml•, :1.<: rhe gre;u
creative genius of mime. the Shakespeare of his time. On the solitary evidl·nce of the
Souda, Reich uses the IJiriltl,grlM a5o direct c\·idcnce for Phili~;tion's sugc pr;~ctin·. But
Philistion had become .:a figure of folk culture. like Aesop or Pythagoras or Dcmokri-
tos, and almost aU the information aboUl him is hismrically unreli:ablc (though culmr-
ally rcwaling): E. Wii!>t, .. Philistion,'" RE l9A: 2402-5. A good lkill of the Pllilt>,i't'IM
cries out for staging, especially the sight gags, and some of its types were certainly stage
figures. Dut the: c:viJcm mime-rontcnt of the Plrii~~·IM might simply h;,m." been the
basi5o for the SouJa's conjc~;turc that Philistion, the archetypal mimographer, w;u its
:author.
164 CONSEQUENCES
tury C. E. or is he a post-Apulcian development of popular culture? 55
Some of the jokes in the Pllilogelos arc also found in prc-Apuldan
authors. 56 The type we arc especially interested in features an irrec-
oncilable conflict between thoughtfulness and folly, such as Vdldus
Patercu)us 1.13.4: "Mummius was so ignorant (mdis) that when Cor-
inth was captured he designated certain pictures and statues made by
the greatest artists to be conveyed to Italy and told the transporters
that if they lost them they would have to rcp1ace them with new
ones." Mummius becomes a;xoAaUTtKo~ in Philogelos 78 (quoted
above p. 163). The tradition of sophomoric humor has, in fact, a long
history. Thalcs was perhaps the first uxoAO:O'TUCO~: he was so intent
on studying the stars that he fell into a well (Plato Tileaet. 174£). The
1argcst collection of sophomoric routines occurs in Aristophancs'
Clouds, esp. 206-17, 636-93, 747-82. Note esp. 780: Strepsiades'
bright idea for avoiding creditors is to hang himsdt: 57 (For more on
this tradition, see Chapter 10.)
The linchpin of the argument that the sophomoronic sclwlasticus is
not a later figure than the AA is the existence of two pre-Apulei:m
tc~timonia to the usc of the designation U)(O~Qc.M"c.KO~ as a term of ridi-
cule. •• At first in Rome Cicero conducted himself circumspectly and
was reluctant to approach magistrates and was generally held in dises-
teem, being known by those epithets so usual and ready to hand
among Romans of the lowest class-'Greck I and 'professorllt ( r pa,KO~
ICth crxoAaCTTtKO~, Plutarch Cicero 5.2). ''You see then that you must
bccoml' a uxo>..aUTtKa~. that creature that everyone laughs at, if you
set yourself to examine your own opinions.. (Arrian Epict. 1.1 1.39). Ga-
len's testimony is perhaps later than the AA, but it is the dearest:

55. The cxum recension oft he PhilogdM is fourth- or tifth-ccntury, but this is no
obs.t;adc to its material's being mud1 older. RL-writing is the: common f;;r.tt: of books in
the class to which Philofrlos belongs-the L!Jr 4 At".s~p. Apc,IIMiM ,~f "fyn-, the Lifr of
Smmdur, the: Srntet~crsojMtrumd(•r tmd Philistic"lll, and pos§ibly Ludm, or tlrt Ass.
56. 193,., Cicero J,. omt. 2.276: I·Ui"" Plutarch Reg. rl imp. ap<>plltll. tnA~ 263 •
=
Plutuch Apcpllth. U(. 235E; 264 Plutarch Rrg. ct imp. 12popl1tll. 17HF; 142 = Aesop
57; possibly 'h•ul 18 =Cicero dcorat. 2.274; 21 = Sut:lonius mpi. /311.aO"IpTU.&UiJv7 (p. 59
Taillar.bt; but the text is supplied from E.ustathios Com•nmt<lrii ad H~mt·ri Odyssram
1669.55 and could bc late-r rhan Sut'({ltlius). At least onc is still being told: 201 = A.
Dund~.·s. lult'rpn·ti••g Folklt~rr (llloomington, Ind. /London, 19MO): 1~.
57. Reich's :lltnosr rmal :l\/Oid:a.nce of Aristoph:mes deprives; his arrount of much
valuable: comparati'lo'C t"\iidc.u;c, ill this Case for the key proposition th,lt UXOAaO""rU('~
was a stage tigurc.
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AL.CTOR JliCTOR 165

.. Those who say that the hot and the cold are not the vocabulary of
doctors but of bathhouse attendants arc obviously just pulling our leg
with ridiculous stories about fools or Phrygians or uxoXcrOTucov~·· (de
methodo "'cd.:ndi2.5 = 10.111 Kuhn).
All of which suggests that when Ph otis warns Lucius that he may
be sorry for making a pass at her, saying, "Look out, sclrolasticus"
(2.10~ the contemporary reader might have heard an allusion to the
stage buffoon and subject ofjokes whom I have chosen as an emblem
for the low end of the AA 'saxis of class.

The axis cifrmity: Odyssrr1s arrd Actaeon

The Golden Ass is obviously episodic, but at the end it imi-
tates a text thar reaches a coherent conclusion, and seems to impose a
retroactive unity of purpose on the tale. Most modern. synchronic
criticism has been centrally concerned with establishing or denying
the unity and coherence of the whole. As a symbol of the AA's mobil-
ity and failure to achieve any tight-knit organization I propose the
wandering Odysseus (9.13~ and as an emblem of its unity of design,
the statue of Actaeon (2.4).
The original Odysseus not only had advemurc:s, he told them as a
means of winning his way home. Diophanes, the astrologer, has .. a
terrible, nay rather an Odyssean journey,"58 but precisely his act of
narrating those events causes him loss, not gain. As a narrator (we arc
told) he lacks the appropriate self-possession and many-mindedness:
'"bereft of mind and not yet himself." 59 Diophanes' mind was. as we
say, wandering. But the mind and sdf of the narrator need to be in
control of all parts of the narrative, even a narrative of wAnderings.
Other aspects of the Odysscan model might be relevant to Lucius,
such as the goddess's protcc[ion (Athena /Isis) or his transformation
into a humiliating form (beggar /ass: Od. 13.429-38~ but the one sin-
gled out for comparison and comment is Odysseus's attainment ofwjs-
dom (pn"ler~tia). This is presented as a cumulative process, the result of
converting many painful experiences into virtues: "Nor was there any
solace at all for my excrucia[ing life, except for a certain recreation due
to my inborn curiosity, since everyone freely did and said what they

5H. dirum, i""''" m·ro I'lixram pt"n'grillafi<lll€"111 (2 .14 ~

59. IIW1tr uiJuus nadum suus (2.14~
166 CONSEQUENCES
wanted, overlooking my presence. Not without reason did the divine
author of pristine poetry among the Greeks, wishing to display a man
ofsupreme discrimination, sing of how he acquired the highest virtues
by his wandering through many cities and his knowledge of various
peoples. For I confess myself gratefully grateful to my ass for rendering
me, while hidden under its hide and vexed by various fortunes, well,
less astute, I admit. but widely informed:' 60
There arc three stages in this comparison. (i) The rule of conver-
sion: the ass's painful Hfe has one consolation that refreshes and re-
stores him~ free access to a variety of people whose secret lives are
open to him. (ii) The legendary exemplar for the exchange of suffC.'r-
ing for storied information was Homer·s Odysseus, who refused to
bypass the islands of the Cyclopes and oft he Sirens because he wanted
knowledge. Obitu (wandering} and coguitu (learning about) speci-
fically allude to the opening lines of the Odyssey: •• He saw the cities
and learned the minds of many peop1es; he suffered many pains in his
heart across the seas, winning his own psyche and a homecoming for
his companions." Lucius is apparently alJuding to a popu1ar reading,
perhaps Stoic in origin, of the Odyssey as a talc offi1rtitudc displayed
and wisdom won through a long talc of sufferings. (iii) "For I too"
(nam et iJJSe) must introduce some comparison ofLucius's odyssey to
Odysseus's, but the telos is described in an oddly apologetic phrase, as
if the logic of his own train of thought had been derailed. For unlike
Odysseus, who was one of the highest astuteness (smrrmae pmdrntiae~
the narrator confesses that he is now less astute (mitms prudmtem) but
has at least learned many things (multiscius). The thought of a culmi-
J13ting unity is brought briefly into view and then at once denied.
This is a judgment uttered from the perspective of the end. It is the
present narrator who thanks his ass for giving him access to tales,
implying that he is no long~r concealed under that covering (celatmn
tegmiue) and is in a position to judge the outcome of the whole. This

60. llct nllum wpiam cmciabilis uitat solalimn aJ~r111, ni.si quvd i11.~mit<l mil1i mriositare
R"mabar. dum prorstntimn meam 1"2"'ifacielllrs l•bert, qw2e IIC'Iunt, omncs ct tJgunt n loquun·
wr. tit( inmrrito priscdt p11tticae' diuimlS dUCICir tJpud Gmios sr11nmar l"udttrriar uimm '""''"
stmrt> rupiem muftanrm tiuitarinm obitu ct uariorum pop14/orw" tognitu SWfHIIdS adtplmn r4irtrl·
Irs ucinit. "'"'" rt itut· gratas gmtias 1Uill(.l mro mt·mini, quod "u· su<1 ulatum trgmirlt' uariisqut·
fortunis t:artirdtmn, tlsi minus pmdtnttm, mu/ristillm rrddidit (9.l3).
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AVCTOR !ACTOR 167

sentence thcrcforl· invokes the authority of the narrator. not of the

actor. to support a view of the shape of the whole noveL
The second-reader may inventively search for a supplement to pull
the sentence in line with what he or she supposes the novel IJas to mean,
say, .. tor rcndcring me < at tluu time > Jess discriminating but more
know]cdgcab]e." Dtn this is a misreading: it ignores the tenor of the
whole sentence as an expression of thanks and gratitude, and that to an
ass {the Isiac incarnation of the devil); it ignores the sad-sack humor of
etsi minus and the untutored enthusiasm ofgratas gratias; it ignores the
prominence of .Hllacium and rccrcaluar as dct1ning: the point of the com-
ment; and in place of these three ignorings it puts an addition whose
only virtue is that "it has to be right" in order to make the narrator's
narrating here cohere with a certain interpretation of Book 11 .
What then is the effect of proposing a moral reading of the Odyssey
as a poem culminating in wisdom and virtut" and then denying that
any such improvement-if anything, a deterioration, etsi minus pm-
drutem-is to be won from the text in hand? Like other such asser-
tions implied in the narrator's performance, this is neither true nor
false. Nor is it just playful1y ironic. as if the concea1ed (cclatus) narra-
tor simply meant the opposite of what he says. Rather it is one de-
ment in a larger system of playful allusions to the A A's unity I disu-
nity. The characteristic ro be l'rnphasizcd is the elusiveness of the
thought. which seems to go in two directions at once, tO slip back and
forth along an axis of possibilities, only temporarily locating itself at
any one spot. Note here the rising grandeur of the comparison to
ancient Greek epic {priscae poeticae tliltitws auctor ... sum mae pnulmtiae
... smt1mas adepwm uirtmes cecinit). the application to sclf(tJam rr ipse).
and the odd conclusion-not a clear switch to the opposite but a very
ambiguous diffusion (mim1s . .. multisdum). Neither the first- nor the
second-readers. as long as they arc looking for tire meaning. can fmd
this wholly satisfying, because it refuses to be univocal. If Lucius the-
actor is imprudem and Lucius the narrator has gained at least enough
prudence to be able to commcnr on his own imprudence. the text
before us is a third thing-not the sing1c voice: of either nor a clear
combination of the two but a score that unpredictably changes
tempo. key, and clef. The reading of such an indecisive sentence as
that about Odysseus does not render one more knowledgeable about
168 CONSEQUENCES
the unity/disunity of the A.4 but only at best more conscious of the
r:mgc of possibilities and perhaps more alert to the issue. 61
The opposite to a story that wanders all over the place is the story
that is fixed in place. The statuary in Byrrhena's atrium tells the story of
Actaeon, freezing it at a moment that implies all that precedes or fol-
lows. The entire story of Actaeon can be read from that single mo-
ment. It will serve for us as an emblem of the ideal unity to which the
AA might aspire:. For the: myth Sl.-cms to be introduced as a calculated
premonition of what will actually happen to Lucius; it is an objective
correlative to Byrrhcna's verbal warning. Lucius like Actaeon is curi-
ous, spies on a powerful woman, and is transformed into an animal.
The statuary presents an elaborate vision of the mythic narrative,
which is both an archetype for the relatively crude experiences of Lu-
cius with witches and hounds, and in its noble figure of Diana pre-
figures the divine woman who will appear at the end. Byrrhcna re-
marks, "All this is yours," 61 a lovely ambiguity, read as hospitable by
the tirst-readcr, as ominous by the second-reader. In being a digression
that turns out to have key significance for the shape of the whole noveL
thC' Act:acon description at 2.4 represents an ideal of ~urprising cohc;or-
cnce, discovered as it were by accident amidst the randomness of Lu-
cius's various tales. That frozen tale is one of the best candidates to
serve as a paradigm that will integrate: the Brownian movt:mcnt of the
ass under a single sdt=ntific formula-curiosity penalized by bestiality.
Aptly enough this very soHd model of stability, of narrative that
docs not move, is described as appearing volatile: ir is a triumph of
unity, we might say. to emerge against the centrifugal forces of dis-
unity. The contrasts of stability and motion arc worked out in some
detail. The standing columns support statues (root sta· : sramibus. sta·
tr~as)
of winged N ike, whose sole touches a spinning globe, seeming
not to be supported by it: "adhering as if they would not remain, they
even seem really to be flying." 6 3 The dogs too seem to be running in
dcf1ance of gravity's law for stonework. As the viewer's eye descends

61. l uy "perhaps" because the whole pa:ss.a~ mighc also seem oflittiL' import-
perhaps no more lhan an uncontrolled expansion of two narrati\'C: tormulas: "My as.s-
sha pc allov.~d me: to witness r he following St.·crct stOr)'." and ··My se ri("S of ad vcntltrcs
was rcillly cxtraordinuy, a writable tXiysscy, .1ml (or thilt rc01son quite worth hearing."
62. tua Slltll {1111Cia 1 IJUdt' uidt'S (2.5).
63. rtl'( 111 "talk'tmr inh.tc·rrmrs rlidm uolarr m·drmrur (2. 4).
 THE. DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR /ACTOR 169
from column top c:o ground )~vel, th~ contras£ of rest /mOlion is
picked up by £hat of rock /water. The grape clusters seem real enough
to ripen and be picked come autumn, and if you noticed their reflec-
tion in the rippling water at Diana's feet, "you would think them, Jike
hanging clusters in the countryside. not to lack-among other signs
of truth-even a certain tremor of agitation.'' 64
Diana is enormous and occupies the center of attention; Actaeon is
off center, reversing the relations oflucius-lsis in the novel (though in
Book 11 she suddenly looms enormous~ He too is a rock in motion and
his movement is double: he presses forward toward the goddess (in
deam proiectm) and ahead in time ("already bcstia], becoming a stag,"
iam irr cenmmfrrinus~ The text here reads in deti tu'" proiutus {that is, ;,
deam tum proiectus, corrected by the same hand adding sum over tum~
Among the interestmg corrections of the correction sum, there arc
suam C'his goddess." Armini}. uersmtl ("toward," Oudendorp~ deorsmta
("down toward," Rossbach. Heath~ andsusum ("up toward;' Winkler~
If we consider the fairly cxtt.'11sivc collection of pictorial representations
ofDian2 seen by Actaeon, in which Actaeon is usually above and be-
hind the goddess, often on top of a cave. dtorsum and susum become the
most eligible corrections. Both deorsum and suswn (the latter belonging
either to the popular6 5 or to the Plautinc patina of the £ext) would easily
be miscopied. The suspension ofjudgmcnt between these two supple-
ments is a perfect reflection of the scene's own double-dircctcdness.
The motion of the observer's (narrator's) eyes is from top to bottom,
then back up to the cave behind the goddess, but the long and search-
ing description of its foliage docs not yet discover the watcher hidden
there. [nstead the viewer's attention is drawn back to the water and the
reflection of foliage in itt and then at last Actaeon is seen, or rather a
stone simulacrum of Actaeon with his curious gaze directed at the god-
dess. 66 If we think of the stone Actaeon on top of the cave. his gaze is

(1-J. (fn/t•s iliLIJ IH P"Uff Jlt"tiJt•fll,;j roUt'ltWS illlt'P' o"r'll"ro.l llt"rlt~IIS W'f llglffllltlniS l~lfi.:io
(2.4 ).
CllTt:rl!
65. &nc-ca F.J'ist. mm: 91.19, quoting .m dcgant vulg.uity by l)cm~o'trios the Cynic.
66. A mosaic in the Villa of Trajan n Tim gad (late fourth- or early fifth-century)
shows Actaeon both on top of thc cave and rc:Aectcd in the water: S. Geran;~in, I-ts
Mm.iiqut5 dt Tim~·l (Paris, 1~(•9): #17~ H. Etienne, •·La Mosiiquc du 'Dain des Nym-
phes' 3 Volubilis (Maroc~" in I. Con,r;:reso drquco/,l~ico del Marn1rcos rspt~iiol (Te-ru:m,
1954): 345-57.
170 CONSEQUENCES
downward (deorsurn); if we think of the reflection in the water, where it
seems he is first seen (uisitur), susum seems right. But the quest for the
goddess watcher ends with an ambiguous bilocation for Actaeon: ct in
saxo simul et infontt, "both in rock and in water,"' Actaeon is seen watch-
ing Diana about to bathe. 67
Actaeon then is frozen in the midst of a double change (moving
toward the goddess and into a stag); the origin of his looking is dou-
bled (from above and from below); and he is seen twice by the viewer
(.. both in the rock and in the water"). At this moment of the story he
is poised between seeing and being seen (by Diana), and in this work
of art he is seen watching (opperiens uisitur~ But who is the agent here
who views Actaeon's gaze? Someone who was mentioned several
times earlier in the same passage-you: .. You will think .. (putabis),
"you would think" (plllts1 and at the climax of the watcher's pro-
longed scrutiny for Actaeon, "if you bent forward and looked into the
fountain, you would believe.. (si Jontem ... pronus aspexeris, credes~
That the second person is normal in such descriptions does not pre-
vent its being used with playful attention to its significance. Since my
estimate of Apulcius's controlled gamesmanship is high and since I
believe him to be maneuvering the reader into a dilemma to choose
among interpretations. 1 think that pronus aspexeris should be fully
visualized. If you did lean forward to look into the water you would
sec not only a second Actaeon but yourscl(
At key moments Lucius becomes immobile like a statue. When his
desire is finally realized to sec a witch's transformation, he is fixed in
place: .. But. enchanted by no spell, merely fixed in place by my own
stupefaction at the event, I seemed to be anything else rarher than
Lucius: thus outcast from my own soul. thunderstruck into mindless-
ness, I continued to watch what was happening. as it were, in my
sleep.''68 The stupefying discovery that he is not a half-guilty mur-
derer but rhc butt of a festival joke freezes him: "I stood there in a
chil1, solidified like a stone, as if I had become one of the statues or

67. Tht' AA seems to be thl• kind of composition in which even mistakes make
sense; for the problematic equation of Actaeon wirh Lucius with Apulcius makes the
echo -swm proirctus (which would mean "I was projected") an intriguing, even teasing,
riddle for the second-reader.
68. at t!e:' tJullo dt>tallttJtus tarmint, prat;entis ldnfllm _f(J(ti stuport dtfixus tl'~id111's ali11J
magis uiJtbdr csst quam Lucius; sic txttnnitlallfs flrlim{, auonitus jn ammtiarn ~tigildns wm·
11ial-"lr (3.22~
 THE DUPLICITIES OF .-'\L'C'fOR IAC'fOR 171
columns in the theater. Nor did I reemerge from the underworld un-
til ... '' 69 The combination of extreme mental states and motion-
lessness is fairly regular: "thus astonished, or I should say stupefied
by my excruciating dcsire"; 70 "thunderstruck by the stupefaction of
this sudden sight and forgetting the present business he was engaged
in .... n 71 Before his "conversion of sect" in the mill, the ass was
''fixed in place, pretending stupefaction." 72
The most extended depiction of the frozen, immobile self is 3.10-
12. The grief Lucius feels at being the scapegoat of the Laughter festi-
val anesthetizes his external body. while: his interior is throbbing with
unspeakable pain. The indignation .. had struck deep in my chcst." 73
The magistrates bid him "dismiss aU this present sadness from your
breast, drive out the anguish of your soul. ... This god will be gra-
cious to his agent and author [auctMrttl et < ac > torrm }, and will lov-
ingly accompany you everywhere; nor will he ever allow your grief to
be hcartfcltt but will continuously make your face shine with the hap-
piness of serene plcasurc." 74 To cap the psychological immobi1ity in
which Lucius is caught, he is offered immortalization as a public
statue. which will declare for all time his humiliation in Hypata; "For
the city has inscribed you as its patron and decreed that your image
stand in bronzc." 75 Lucius declines with as much poJir.:ness as he can
muster, .. with a momentary cheerful look on my face. trying to force
a little joy-as much as I was capable oC' 76 Milo drags him out to the
baths-.. but was it really 1who bathed, I who scraped my flesh clean, I
who returned home again? Such was my scale of cmbarrassmcm that I
hardly remember: as the object of all eyes. of evcryonc·s nods and
pointing hands. I was perfectly stupe tied and om of my o\vn mind." 77

6CJ. .fixuJ ir~lapidm1 stctigdiduulillil Jt'WJ q11ollll 1ma de Ct'tt·ris tllt'o21ri jlrJiuis ~te'i lolum-
rzis. nee pri145 ab iuft.>ris emc-rii quam •.. (3.10~
70. sic CJIINI i11u, i Pllllltl Ill' r,, cnu iabili rlt·s idt·r;,, 51UJ'iolw> (2. 2).
71. altoniws rcpcnti1to2c uisionis stupore et pr.mc~lllis llt~tii, qnodA,'t'rr:boat, oblittiS (2.l3).
72. !IIIJ>•>rr mt'PIIil<• lll:(ixiU (9. 11).
73. inhaese-rat alti11s mt'o pt>crari (3.10).
74. tlltlllt'ltl itaqut· tit' tuo pectLll't' 1m1rsnr1em tristiwdi,c·m rniltr t'l tlll-0'11'111 m1i11u' dt'J!!'l-
fto. ... istc• dtlU o111(trm... ,., rl < ol( > ltlrtlll 111nm pt(lpitilt$ 11biq••t' CL'Itlitclbitnr a~tumtt"r m·c um-
qllo1tli pariet•lr ut ~x anim!l tllJitas, st·dfrcmlrm tuam srmra m·mwatc· lac•tabit acl$itlllt' (3.11 ).
75. 1111m tl p.ttrommz scribsil t:l m irs acre slt'f ima~ wa dt:e~uit (3.11 ~
76. pmdispt:r hilarouultu rmiJem quantcmtque pott.>roJm lartiorcm me n:fitr~•u (3.12).
n. Itt'{ 'llli J,mtrim, qui IC'YJrrim, qui Jomtlm rur.mm Tf'III'Ttrrim, prtlr rul4llt' PUrmirli; Jit
Otnlltlllll OfllfiS, llldibus 0( tlt'niqut lllo2tlibm titii(Jio2tliS inpl)$ tlllimi StiiJ"~:MIII (J.J2).
172 CONSEQUENCES
The depiction of Lucius's anesthesia and alienation, capped by the
offer of a portrait in bronze so that the citizens may continue for m:my
generations to stare and point at him, is more than a realistic account of
some personal emotion. Lucius's resistance to this religion. to this
community laughter, and to this memorialization spoils the reader's
easy enjoyment of the Risus festival as a carefulJy designed scenario
whose revelation of the corpses and the truth is meant to be the com-
monly shared climax and pcripcty of the plot. The ltisus festival is on
the one hand a well-shaped anecdote that reaches a ceremonious con-
clusion in the magistrates' offer of a civic statue, a statue about which
that same story will continually be told to explain its meaning for Hy-
pata and that represents the unity and completeness ofthose events. On
the other hand, Lucius~s frigid, statueJike presence at those events, an
experience that begins at the moment that for all the others is the cli-
max and the end, dissipates and alienates for us that moment ofccJebra-
tion. of unity, of shared laughter at things faUing into place.
There is a small paradox in speaking of convention-breaking shifts
as regular. as the pn:dictablc or characteristic behavior of the AA. but
I think it is necessary in order to overcome the inadequacy of explana-
tions in terms of two persons named Lucius. It is not only the character
of the text to swing back and forth between coherence and inconse-
quence but also to employ a set of images to capture that contradiction.
The statue represents a fixed narrative unity (Actacon•s story. the Ri-
sus-festiV:l] story) and the breakup ofor resistance to that unity. Lucius
resists the attempt to unify and finish him by setting up a statue; Actae-
on'S statue tells the story of his own dismem berm em and loss of self.
The contrast of dismemberment and bodily integrity may be re-
garded as another symbolic reflection of the AA's fluctuating unity/
disunity or stability/mobility. If my aim were to trace out such
themes, I would now consider the usc by witches of body parts (Pam-
phile's workshop, 3.17) to make other bodies move according to their
will. the fascination with hair and lack of hair, the threats of castra-
tion and the wicked boy's dismemberment (7.26~ the repetition of
integer and cognates, the heroic robber's salute to his severed arm
(4.11~ I would further trace the imagery ofknots and tying things
[Ogc:thcr, binding parmcrs into yoked pairs and dissolving 31liances,
unknotting riddJes (4.33~ and connecting parts of a plot by a "mutual
 THE DUPUCJTlES OF AUCTOR J.4CTOR 173

nexus., (t .I). But a11 of rhis belongs to later stages of analysis. The
present book attempts only to formulate the issues as a prolego-
menon to more detailed development. The mention ofbodily integ-
rity docs, however. bring us to the third axis and its symbols.
Tile axis tif mulloriry: pJwllos cmtf domi,hllrix
The most elusive shift that regularly occurs in the AA is that
of responsibility or authority. Who controls and determines the course
of events and their presentation in the text? At one end the various tales
arc assembled by the storyteller. a rhapsode stitching together scraps
of humble narrative, at the other end events themselves seem to have
bel·n providentially guidl·d by the liberating goddess. Now it makes
sense to violate the convention of class to achieve bathos, humor. and
surprise; and one can ted the intellectual power of an author who gen-
erates ctJ rourt• playful mirages of incoherence {How and will all this tl.t
tog<.·thcr?). But the alternating assertions and renunciations of respon-
sibility for the substance of the text itself arc a fi.mdamental chall~nge to
any notion of authorship. To name some points on the scale: a writer
can present himself or herself as a faithful reporter of actual events. an
editor of other texts, an anthologist who imposes some criterion tor
indusion and a sequence on the material. a free translator and adapter.
an apologist who selects telling examples originated by others to sup-
port his thesis, or an inventor of stories from her own imagination.
though probably with reference to some real events or story patterns
already in existence. It is sometimes ditlicult to tell which of these de-
grees of authority is being assumed for the material an author presents.
and authors in one mode 111ay pretend to be oper<uing in another. But
what is astonishing about the AA is the shifts of pretense.
The principal component of this shift has been analyzed above un-
der the ht.·ading "account~lbility for evidence" (Chap. 3, pp. 66-70).
Here I will illustrate how the paradoxes of responsibility arc reflected
in a set of images and actions. The contrast between an authorirativc
n.:uutor who controls his text and a passiv(.' narrator who is deter-
mined by his source is acted out in the scenes that portray sexual activ-
ity. The phallos, the erect penis, is a conventional symbol of patriar-
chal authority in male-dominant. or male-prominent. societies. As a
symbol it already embodies certain paradoxes. Though flaunted at
174 CONSEQUENCES

festivals. enlarged on comic costumes. carved at doorways and on

herms, and placed around the necks of children to protect them, the
phaUos is concealed by those who actually exercise its authority. It is
an embarrassment at thc same time that it is an object of envy (Aris-
tophanes Clo11ds 961-1104. with K.J. Dover's commentary; Petroni us
Satyrika 92.7-11).
One of the deepest jokes in the AA is the spectacle of the ass. a
preeminently phallic animal, 78 being abused and humiliated. The
text focuses on the penis of the ass (which 1 have noticed on the real
animal is in fact enormous, and not unnaturaJly attracts such jokes) as
a sign ofirs nature and characteristic activities. When the wrong oint-
ment is applied to him, his whole body undergoes something like an
erection of all its parts: I;ucius's hair begins to bristle, his skin
hardens, his fingers join into a hoof, a long tail emerges from the base
of his spine; his mouth ;md lips lengthen, his ears stand up-" Nor did
I see any consolation for this awful reformation except that my natura
had now become so large that not even Photis could take it in." 79
Natura and cpvcnr; in the language of folk medicine are regular terms
for male or female genitals. Apuleius uses the word tratum rather than
another of the many words for the same thing in order to underline
the point that in becoming an ass, Lucius has become the phallic ani-
mal par extelleuu. His new penis is the last detail, unique among the
rest as a consolation, and it also expresses his essential nature. Other
characters assume that asses arc naturally characterized by aggressive
phallic activity: the wickt>d boy (7.21-22}. the Syrian priests (maritmt•
ilium, 8.26), and their stud (dominis placcas et meis defrctis iam lateribus
c'msulas, 8.26). Their assumption is incorrect. The joke of the AA is
that the phallic animal actually gets no satisfaction, and further that
his soul and mind (when it suits the occasion) are wholly averse to
pleasure (8.29).

78. Pha~drus 1 .29; A. Scobi~. Apult'ius Mt'lollnorp'•Mrs 1: A Comme111o1ry, Dcitr:agc

zur klassi:.chcn Philologie. no. 54 {Meisc:nheim :am Gb.n. 1975): 31 n. 18; P.llrunc.·.1u.
"Illustrations :mtiqueo; du Cr:tq et de l'A.nr de Lucit-n," Rullttitl dt CC~rn-spr:mddncf.' Helle-
triquc 89(11J65): 349-57:]. G. Pre aux. "Deus Christianorum Onococtcs." in Homm4.~ts a
Lt>c.'IPt Httmtmn, Collc.-ction L:uomus, no. 44 (Brussels. 1960): 639-54.
7lJ. llt:e ullum mistmt" riformaliOtais 11idto .solacium, nisi quod rnihi iam ltt't.jJitUrlli lt'llrrt·
Ntidc•m uarum crtS(tbal (3.24)~ altcmarely. the text m:ay mc:m, "'my uatura incrc:ucd,
though I was no longer [st. a:- :m ;~nimal] :ahl~ to usc it to have -sex with Photis."
 THE DUPLICITIES OF ,-\UCTOR 1.1CTOR 175

The frustrated phal1os is dominated by one master after another.

Even as a human being. Lucius was always dominated in his sexual
acts. Though he is using Photis to get Pamphilc, she controls their
intercourse: as a dominatrix directs an S/M scene. She gives military
orders. commanding his every mo\'C, and is described as sitting on
top of him. ("Top" and ubottom" are modern S/M tl·rms for the
giver and receiver of commands, respectively.) The language is
oblique but clearly refers to Lucius's erections: .. Fixed in place by that
sight [of Photis). I was stupefied and I stood in amazement: that part
of me that had been lying down stood up to attention too." 80 (There
are strong connections between Lucius as statue and Ludus as phal-
los: erection is experienced as alienation, and vice versa. until the
Great Mother is reached in Book 11.) .. Mutual desire made our spirits
rise. made the relevant parts of our bodies rise too." 81 In this passage
Photis guides Lucius into anal intercourse: .. Since I had grown very
tired, Photis of her own generosity offered me the boy's gift." 82
There is no reluctance in the AA to exploit all the available tropes of
sexuality, so it is the more remarkable that Lucius and the ass arc
exp1 icitly phallic but never aggrc:ssive. In the first depiction of inter-
course Lucius plays the role of a wounded' victim. He points to his
erection as a sign of his intentness on the coming battle and. mixing
metaphors, says, "You see where I have n:ceived cruel Cupid's first
arrow: it hit me in the groin; I haw stretched my own bow tautly. and
in sooth I fear my string \\'ill snap. it's stretched so tight."HJ He is at
once armed yet vulnerable; his weapon of attack (the taut bow) is also
a weapon attacking him (an enemy arrow). He asks for her help as a
suppliant to a savior: '•Have mercy on me and come quickly to my
aid." 84 When invited to spend an C\'cniug with his amu. Lucius must
ask Photis's permission as he would ask a captain for a pass ('"She
granted me a furlough ..)ss and her amhority is again spoken of as

tiD. isto aspc(tu d~Jixus ,,bstupui 1'l mirabunJus stt'ti, sutmmt ct moulm• qwJr i.ucbulll
4211lc• (2. 7).
tH. libido 11111/Urt rt.mimos simul rt membra mscitat (3.20).
fl2. mi/1i iamfat•gatoJ dr proiJrl!l libt·mlitatr FMis IIHI'rilt: obwlit t"lll"l•llarium (3 ..20).
tO. 11bi primlllll S4!lirttJrll So1Wi CupiJiuis in ima prtJm•rdi.d mr.d tldaps.Im cxccpi, .mum
IIU'Iml rr ipu ui)liJrafc' tl'lcndi t'l oppid" fimt~i•lo trr m•nms ri,R"tis nill'lirtatl· rrmrp.1tm·(2.1(,).
84. miJt·rc•rr 1."1 sul,u,·r•i maturius (2.U,).
MS. nmmu."afum in.lulsit (2.1~).
176 CONSEQUENCES
divine: "Therefore I had to approach Photis and ask for her advice and
consent as iff were seeking an augury."86
The themes ofS/M domination and responsibility for events inter-
sect when Photis enters Lucius's room after the Risus festival and of-
fers him a whip to beat her with. She contesses that, as an agent of
Pamphilc's commands. she was responsible for his ordeal, and she is
prepared to endure the injury that had accidently fallen on him. He is
to be totally freed of all anxiety (tatltillum scrupulum, 3.13~ absolved as
an innocent bystander who just happened to be in the wrong place at
the wrong time. Her submission is followed by Lucius's angry threat
to rip apart ••that bold and wicked whip.'. 87 and then some cooing
love-talk. Beating and submission are peripheral issues in this scene;
the primary focus of attention is the explanation of what really hap-
pened. It now appears that Lucius was a double scapegoat. Goatskins
substituted for the Boeotian youth whom Pamphilc drew to her
house. and Lucius was the victim both of the Hypatans· deception
and the maid's mistake. This is perhaps the strongest portrayal ofLu-
cius's passivity: he is caught at the intersection of two tricks. This
eJicits from us a simultaneous appreciation ofthe actor's helplessness
and the author·s control, for not only has Lucius the narrator divulged
the two secrets in the most illuminating order (the: death of the wine-
skins. then the enchantment of the wineskins~ but events themselves
have conspired to bring Lucius to the very secret he was hoping to
uncovcr-Pamphilc's chamber. Photis is now in his dcbr and agrees
to bring him to watch her mistress's transformation (3. 21 ). To impel
the story forward in just the right direction by the convergence of so
many responsibilities, none of them Lucius's, is obviously perceived
as the work of a masterful ticrion-writcr. one who also knows how to
reflect the paradox of a helpless hero in the imagery and action of the
talc. Scxuahty in the AA symbolically rcAccts the text's own contra-
dictory assertions that someone is in control and that everythingjust
flows through the passive channel of the author. 88

M6. l."~ft' igirur 1-lltis rmt aJr1mda dtqm: tmW ci11S comilium 11dur auspici11m pttm.lum
(2.1H).
87. llt'quissimus auJaciJsirmuqur lonu istr (3.14).
H8.
G;til Cooper has a nice observ;uion on the ·•feminization'" of the very virile
H.1emus. who offer.; the rob he~ a dowry tor accepting him .and performs table service
at th~ir meal: ''Sexual and Ethical ll.cvcrs:tl in Apuleius: The A-fctarn()rpiiOStS 35 Anti-
Epic.'' in Studirs in l.oJiill Litrruturr .mJ RornoJH Hi.(fory, cd. C. Ikroux (Collection Llto-
mus, no. l68IBrusscls, 19801), 2:450.
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AUCTOR IAc·roR 177
The dominant woman is the object both of the male agent's desire
and of his hate. Photis is first loved with all possible expression often-
dcmcss and eternal commitment, then reviled as a wicked thing to be
punished (seep. 144 above). Similar juxtapositions of desire and con-
tempt occur in Book 10. The ass has intercourse with a wealthy and
powerful matron, who again controls the scene. The ass finds her en-
dearing. sentimental, and in no way like the usual picture of a lewd
woman (10.20-22). Her doublet is the condemned woman. whose
story is immediately told (10.23-28~ The story recounts that woman's
total depravity, which is the reason why she can substitute for the dig-
nified matron. On the day of the spectacle itself. the ass gives us both a
sensuous description of a naked and dcsirablc Venus and then an out-
burst of anger at venal corruption, all descended from Venus's bribe of
Paris. The displacement of fury at the power exercised by desirable
women onto surrogates and the idealized tenderness of the actor's de-
sire arc coupled in a way that says something not only about the illu-
sions of sex but about the illusions of authorial responsibility. Lucius as
actor is not in control of his life. as a man is not in control (so goes the
cultural myth) of his desire in general or of his penis in parricular (Pe-
troni us Satyrika 132.6-14~ It lives and dies with a Jifc ofits own. as ifits
master had no responsibility for its behavior. Apuleius might have ex-
ploited the language of sexual paradox for its own interest, but since
the novel is governed by, or subservient to, a larger game about human
desire and personal control of one's life, the episodes ofexchanging sex
with a dominatrix arc colored by that message.
Lucius's self is that of a curious actor-narrator whose one consola-
tion is access to stories (9.13) and that of a phallic animal whose one
consolation for his transformation is his increased ~1atura (3.25). Since
his phallos is humorously his essence, castration is the ultimate
threat: ••Thus set aside for the extreme penalty. l mourned. and wept
for the death of my entire self in the perishing of that most singular
part of my body." 89 Such a silly concentration on the welfare of a
dependent member rcvc.-als itself as a meaningful joke not only be-
cause the narrator obviously lived intact to telJ the talc but because the
author's own depcnd~nt member, Lucius himself. survived the
threat. Lucius's very life is a tale of desire and frustration, a phallic

Hli. ex1re111ae f'<'t!n.:tr rtsf'rul.llus mt.Jt"rrham tt ;, twuissima P"''t wrpt•tiJ totum mr ~ri­
turum drflrbam (7 .24).
178 CONSEQUENCES
career. and he bears, as an agent of the auctor, the same specious hfe of
his own that characterizes his most singular part.
At the moment when Lucius enters into the innermost shrine for
his first initiation, the images of phallos, statue, dominant woman,
and curious gazing all converge, and at that point in the narrative a
cha1lcngc is addressed to the reader. The dominant woman of course
is Isis, who has forced Lucius to wait day after day until she gave
permission for him to be initiated and exact instructions on how
much to spend (11.22). When the ceremony is over, he stands on a
platform in front of the statue oflsis and the curtain is pulled back to
reveal him to the crowd ~'like a statue" (in 11kem sinmlacri, 11 .24). The
description ofLucius as a statue unveiled after his mystery initiation
might call to mind the phallos that is unveiled in Dionysiac mys-
teries,9o for the reader witnessing this scene has just been addressed as
one taut with anxious curiosity, and the phallos is arguably present
whenever curiosity is mentioned. The aversion of curiosity, which
the narrator has just performed against the reader's evil eye. was often
represented by a phallic emblem or gcsturc. 91 [f the phallos is the
expected protector against envious eyes and prying curiosity, then
Lucius as a warner and a statue standing guard in front of the
goddess's chamber is himself a sort of phallic ta1isman.

High literature, low trash; a single talc, a hctcrogeneou~ coUcction;

a responsible narrator, a man who can't help himself: the AA is char-
acterized by its obsessive shifts along the axes of class, unity. and au-
thority. For the first-reader Tlte Goldet1 Ass cmertains by shifling its
frames of reference. That makes the novel inconsistent. but inconsis-
tent in a funny way and within a system. For the second-n:adcr the
system itself is a problem. Because of the leap to Book 11. the cxis-

90. M. Nilsson, "The Bacchic Mysteries m rhe Roman Age;· HTR 46{1953):
175-202: P. Boyance, ··oionysia.ca," Rtl'Ut dts Elt4dt•s Atldtm•t~ 68{1966): 33-(iJ, csp.
42ff.: "Quant a l'ostension du phallus, dle semble, d'aprcs les monuments figures,
avoir plutdt panie de ces ritt-s un pe'll dfrayarus ou eprouvams qui precedent t•acccs aIa
presence du dicu" (p. 44). For Apulcius's initiation into the mystcri~'S ofDionysos. sec
Ap11lttgia 55.
91. curhue, quit at It', C/L XIV.3956 = Dcssau 6226: wrios"s pcdic~J, imtidc c11cas, ].
Marcillct-Jaubert, "Un Proprietaire ombrageux,.. lipigraphica .37(1975): 153-58~
K. M. C. Dunbabin and M. W. Dickie, ''lnvida rumpantur pectora. The Iconography
of Phthonos/lnvidia in Graeco-Rom:m Art," )o1hrbuth fiir Antikr rmJ Clrrislt'tJIIlrn 26
(1983): 7-37.
 THE DUPLICITIES OF AL'CTOR I ACTOR 17l'J

tcncc of the three dimensions of volatility seems now to be some bow

or other significant. Significant of what? I should say: of the impossi-
bility of authorizing an answer to the question of the meaning of the
whole, any whole. The text can raise the question, play with a variety
of answers, but cannot successfully endorse and hand over a solution
to Sll(h a question.
Obviously this is a distinct thesis in and about the field of religious
knowledge, a skeptical or aporetic position. There arc alternatives
that assert, tor instance, that all claims to hjghcr knowledge arc
phony (the cynic at 1.3, Milo at 2. 11) or that a single deity is the:
correct one because ir is alone true (the miller's wife, 9.14) or more
true than others (the syncretism of 11.2 and 5). In this senst: the AA
takes up a particular, endorsed position in opposition to those alter-
natives, or rather it causes the reader tentatively to adopt those otht•r
positions, Jabulae graria, one after another, but gives no grounds to
conclude that one is correct. Jnstcad it presents a valuc-fr~e descrip-
tion of what a conversion with cosmic, life-reorienting consequences
would be like. "Value-free'' corresponds to what I have b<."t:n calling
non-endorsement and non-authorizalion, and here I would endorse
the remark ofNinian Smart: .. This should not blind us to the fact that
such [value-free J descriptions also must be in a certain way value-
rich, for they need to be evocative rather than flat, though the evoca-
tions themselves are of course bracketcd." 92 The Gtl/tletl Ass is an evo-
cation of a religious experience bracketed in such a way that the reader
must, but cannot. decide the question of its truth.

92. N. Smarr. Tlu· Scit'llir '!{ Rdt~i!lll aurJ llrr' s,ldjl/c~~)' C!/ Ktwwi ..Jgc• {Princctnn.
1973): 21; " ... the Si,;'OSC of the numinous is a tiu:t but ... the object it is supposed m
rc:vc:oal is not nl."ccssarily a fact" (p. 63).
 7

The Prologue as Conundrun1

''You may find it interesting," he said, "to
give Bun's hair a good washing with soap and
water-and then sec if Manod Garcia
n.•cogniscs him!''
.. Why? .. asked the Superintendent.
"Because I don't think his name is james
Burt at aU. I fancy it is jasper Beech," replied
Wcsterham dr11y.
"The Dickens!" exclaimed the
Superintendent. ••that would explain a lot."
"It exphins everything,'' retorted
Wcstcrham.
-Rev. Victor L Whitcchurch,
Tlu• Crimr .u Diana's p.,.,,

The prologu~ of the AA is usually print~d as one continuous

paragraph, a layout that conceals the rhythm of its performance.
There are really two prologues, one announcing the intention of the
author to seduce or hypnotize the reader and a second one elicited by
the reader. The first is (in Latin) a single long sentence followed by
the word exordior, ''Here I go." At this point the author's prologue is
otT.cially finished and the- talc is about to begin. But at the: very mo-
ment of dosure and beginning. the speaker's performance is inter-
rupted by a question: quis illd ~ ··who is that? .. This forces the pro-
logue speaker to supplement his prologue with an addendum. The

180
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 181
answer given, he repeats his pcrformativc announcement, .. Now to
begin" (incipi11ms in place of exordior).
But just for you •.. 1shall thread together various tales in this Milesian
style and sooth, I say, your receptive ears with an enchanting whis-
per-if only you do not turn up your nose at inspecting this Egyptian
papyrus inscribed with a sharply pointed stylus, a reed from the river
Nile. Behold now the figures and fortunes of people converted to other
images and then refixed and renewed by a mutual nexus into them-
se-lves once again: you will wonder! Now to begin.
··who is that? •·
Wdl, br1cAy: the Attic Mt. Hyrncttos and the Ephyrean Isthmus
and the Spartan Tacnaros, those felicitous soils eternally enshrined in
even more felicitous books, arc my famlliar kith and ken. There in the
first campaigns ofboyhood I conquered r:hc Attic tongue. Soon after, a
stranger in the L:uin city, I attacked and refined the native language of
Roman st\ldies, with truly woeful labor and no master leading the way.
So you see. [ must first beg your pardon if I happen to hit on any exotic
or ... bazaar language, he-horrible speaker that I am. In fact, this very
mutation of voice a]n:ad}· answers to rhc equestrian acrobatic science [
here essay. We begin a Grccklikc tale. Pay careful attention reader. You
u•ill crl.joy.
at t'gO tibi sc.·m•m1r isro Milrsio uan'asjabulas consrmm aurrsqu~ tuas ~"iuoltJS
lepidcJ SlfSUml pt•mrulcctJm-mt,dt, si pdpymm A~gyptiam argmia Nilotici cala-
mi insm'ptam 11011 spR.'urris i,spia.·re-f .figuras jommasque lwminmn it! alitJs
imaginr.s nmut•rsas rt inn· rursum mututl nrxu r~(ectas ut mirrris. exordior.
quis illt?
pauds auipr. Hymtllos Artica rt Isthmos Ephyrea tl Tamaros SJh2Tti4ltJ, glt-
bat• ftlict·s aetemum libris ftlifiorib•u ccmditae, mea J4tWs prosapia rst. ibi liu-
gt~tJm Artidem primis p11eriti.zt stipmcliis mmci, mox ;,, 11rl't' I.alia ad11tt1a stu-
diornm Quirilium illdigct~am scrmouem llaumnabili lalwn:, mcllo magislro
pm('ewur, aggressus c:xcol11i. c:t1 tcce praifamur uruiam1 sit.~l4id exotici «}oremi.s
S''rmot~is mdis locutor~ffwdero. iam haec rquidcm ip!ill uoris immmario dcsulto-
riar scimtiar stilo q11em acussir~ws rrspondtt. folmlam graecanicam iriCipimus.
lector imruJr. laetabcris.

Commenting on this prologue demands great discretion, for it is (I

think designedly) replete with innuendos of c.::ontr;uy tendency. The
two demcntary temptations are to read ir as a simple, saucy come-
hither or as veiled lsiac irony, temptations that must obviously occur to
most first- and second-readers respectively. From the perspective of my
analysis, I would say that materials for both readings have been placed
in the prologue but that nejther has been endorsed in such a way as to
182 CONSEQUENCES

exclude the other, and that the prologue's irreducibility is uniquely

meaningful. It is open to quite different readings, each of which would
normally require closing one·s mind to the others. 1 That openness. or
rather resistance to final closure, is centered on two subjects-the
book itself and the author's identity. The special prominence given to
the question of the author's identity in the prologue-as an interruption
from another voice-highlights the fact that from the very beginning
the AA manifests a playful self-consciousness, and that Apuleius's
elusiveness is not an accident bu: rather a conundrum: (kis min'
dnim), n. [Origin unknown.] A kind of riddle based upon some fan-
ciful or fantastic resemblance between things quite unJike, forming a
puzzling question, of which the answer is a pun or involves a pun.
Even when the conundrum is exposed (below, pp. 194-200), we
are left with a text delightful to read for its shi[[tness from saucy to
mysterious. The same axes of composition noted in the last chapter
can be seen to structure the prologue, which bilocates itself on the
issues of class, unity. and authority. u Milesian,' 2 and .. if you do not
turn up your nose at ..... suggest that the writer is speaking from a
position of low esteem. But the artful syntax of the long fint sentence
and the rare vocabulary of the self-identification (Hymettos, glebae, pro-
sapia, aemmnabilr) indicate a learned writer. at home with the supra-
mundane world of books (aetemum libris felicioribJlS cot•ditae). J-.1zriaJ and
comeram are clear tokens of a low degree of unity, echoed by the three
cities from which the speaker came (Athens, Corinth, Sparta~ but he
promises that the figures and fortunes will return to their first state,
coming full circle to reconnect with their original identity. The novel,
that is, will have at least the unity of an end that reestablishes the situa-
tion from which it beg::m. The authority of the speaker is both vaguely
specified-as a rhapsodc or stitcher of tales and an entertainer who
humbly requests an audience-and, when his vagueness i-. pointed out
(''Who is that? •• ~ becomes ever more unhelpful.

I. As Apulcius points om in another context, the :.ttcntion w~ bring to :.1n otT-

hand pcrf(mnancc is quite different from th;at we bring tu a ~.:arcfully composed set
piece: .. f-or the text is not the same when read carefully as it is when rushed through
c:.su:ally.'' (nulla mim rrs pcltt:SI rssr eadt'm fr#i11oJla .sim11l tt r:ramitMtd, .. Preface'' to dt- dro
&mtis IAtml~e, 0 puswlcs plr ilo.si.lpl1iqur.s r:t fragnu:rll.s, cd. J. Beaujc u ( i'uis, 1973): 166 1-)
2. Referring to thl." Mi/t'sian Talrs of Arisrc:idcs, transbtc:d imo Larin by the fa-
mous stylist Siscnna and a wr:ll-known nation31 scand;ll: Plutan;h CraJSilJ 32.
 THE Pl~OLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 183
But it is equally clear that our anention to these three dimensions of
shifting uncertainty is a product of later thought, not a formulation
that would leap to mind for a typical first-reader. At best it might serve,
ex postfoao, as an accurate dcscriptiorr ofthe first-reader's real experience
of interest, puzzlement, and tentative integration. If this is correct. we
may say of the prologue too that it fits into the theory sketched in
Chapter 5, and it remains now to make some more detailed observa-
tions on irs unique fe;uures.

THE ORIGIN OF THE BOOK

The opening sentence is a complete prologue. The final word
exordior, .. I begin,'' ought to be followed by .. l was heading toward
Thcssaly on business" (1.2). The unit thus marked off shows enough
correspondences with Photios Bibl., cod. 129 (his report ofLucius of
Patrai"s A-fetamorphoscs and Lucian ofSamosata's Lucius, or tlzr Ass) to
justify tentatively accepting the hypothesis that it is a reworking of
the preface of the Greek l\1etamorplwses. The correspondences can be
set out as fo1lows:3
uarias_(llbulas = IJ.E'TaiJ.o~6xrEwv Aoyoc.
Sr.QfPopm
C<JtiS('(iliPI = tTVVixpCUlJEV
figuras.ftmunasque J.,lm inum
it1 alias imllgitJr.s cor~uasas - ni~ ~ d:v{}pwrrwv d4i' &A.A.ilA.oV'IO
11.E1'a#J.opcpwuur; rit~ TE i.~ &:.\oywv Elr;
&.viJ pwrr:o~
in SC mmmr n•f(ctas = Kai ava1raA.w
11t n~in•ris = 8~wKEI. ;i]v tv roir; tu.TfYiJIJ.a(T' TEpaniav.

But at the same time as we accept that Apulcius's first prologue is

probably a frt.•e adaptation of the prologue to the Grct.·k AJt.'famorpl1oses,
v.,-c should stress that it docs not declare itself to be a translation. The

3. Ad.\ptro from A. Scobit<, l\pulrilb M~lomlorplzo)·rs-1: .-'\ Gmulll:'llt.l')', lkitr:i~ zur

kh1s~i!;chr:n l}hilologie. no. 54 (M:i:senhcim .un Gl:m, 1'J75): 65. The hypothc~is is pro-
posed by It Hdm, "Preface" to Ap111i·i Plat.Jnici M.ulmm.,Hi! HMid•t (lcipzi~. 1910): VI-
VII. ilcccptcd by P. Viillcnc, Apulet', l.~s MifoJIIIc.lrt•l~t,~s(P.ui.<>.1940~ 1: xvii; H. v;m Thic:l,
IJcr lisriJo-riJmm•, Zetcmau. no. 54 II (Munich, 197l~ 1: 6 n. 13 and p. 44; Scobie, .4pult:i
J\-/t'IIJrlhltpllcJ~f'S 1: 64f.; it is denietl h~· ll. E. F\.-rry. Cfa~si.·.tl Pl•if•lltl.~Y ·B (194M): 199.
184 CONSEQUENCES
Greek Metamorphosr.swiU later tum out to be quite important in analyz-
ing the point of Apuleius's composition, but at this moment we must
be very careful in assessing what Apuleius makes available to the first-
and second-readers. The more interesting fact is that in the very pro-
cess of talking about Greek as his original language and his difficult
leap to Latin he docs not say that he is a translator. His voice (language)
has changed, a biographical fact that is said to have a certain appropri-
ateness to the subject of the tales (changes of form and fortune~ but he
does not say that the following tale is translated from Greek. Graecani-
cam in the phrase fobulam Graecauicam incipimus ("We begin a Greek like
tale.. ) means "having Greek characters and setting but presented to a
Latin audience," like the plays ofPiautus. The testimony on this point is
fairly clear. The principal witness is Varro, who, in a discussion of the
declension ofGreek nouns in Latin, distinguishes three possibilities: (i)
keeping the Greek word unchanged, as ..EKTopa-Hectora (accusative
singular); (ii) using the Latin declensional endings on Greek stems,
.. EKTOpa-Hcctorem (accusative singular); (iii) changing the Greek
word to sound like similar latin words, -EKTopa-Hectorem, on the
ana]ogy of prattorcm, quatsto"'"• ctc. 4 He calls the first two types Gra~ta
and Gmecanica (nomind) respectively~ that is, Greek words proper and
Greek words adapted to a Latin system. The prologue speaker applies
Graecanicam to his fabula (not to his nomina). The talc itself is
"Greek! ike" because its Latin words represent to us a Greek landscape,
setting, and characters, not because it translates a specific Greek text
(though it may do that too-the possibility is not excluded).
Though the prologue speaker docs not present himself as a trans-
lator, he does manage to diminish his own responsibility in other,
analogous ways. A verbatim prescript in another language is simply
the most obvious kind of absent authority. standing behind the
present writer as the source of what is valuable and authentic in the
text he is producing. This speaker refers in several less distinct ways
to a mjssing origin(al). His activity is assembly ("I wil1 thread to-
gether") rather than production of the material. The jtcms assembled
("tales") arc the kind of cultural product that circulates anony-
mously. Further, the speaker, chaJlenged as to his identity ("Who is
that?"), describes his origin in Greece, but so obscurely that it still

4. Varro dt•lingu4 Latina 10.69-70.

 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 185
seems missing. We cannot confidently say anything more definite
than that he is a Greek.
The temptation to read his words as saying that the AA is a transla-
tion oft he Greek ,\letamorpiJoses is based on the true but irrelevant fact
rhat it is a tr~ms]ation of the Greek Metamorphoses.
Some readers might wclJ know the Greek Metamorphoses, but (so
far as we can tell) the first prologue docs not contain any words so
distinctive that the Greek text would inevitably be cal1ed to mind.
And obviously not every Latin reader would know that particular
Greek book. I do not assert that specialized information has no bear-
ing on the full appreciation of the text: it might be studded with pri-
vate jokes that only the author and a few friends could appreciate. But
it is also written as a public document for a general audience, and it is
this set of readers whose understanding is at the center of our inquiry.
That general audience contains, of course. some very clever cookies
as well as some dough-brained dolts; but the shrewder the readers the
less likely they arc to foreclose its ambiguities. ln shortt we must look
at exactly what the text says, and incidentally keep a critical, second-
reader's eye on what it docs not say. The AA does not begin by resign-
ing its authority to a preexisting text. The tirst prologue and the en-
lire AA may indeed be an expanded translationt but the rea.der is not
given to know that fact.
The reason for the speaker's procedure, which we may designate as
pointing at the truth but missing the point. is, in my view. that Apu-
leius means at every opportunity to block the usual closures of a text,
so that its authority, integrity, and class are left as open questions.
They arc ofcourse not pressing questions for the first-reader, yet it has
been engineered that they become so for the second-reader. Hence
the enthusiastic welcome given by most critics (all of them second-
readers) to other texts such as the Greek .Metamorphoses or Apuleius's
Apologia or his dt Platoue as ways of authorizing an interpretation of
the enigmatic AA. But the salient and curious reality about the pro-
logue speaker is, as Holmes remarked of the dog in the night. what he
docs uot say. Even in alluding to his non-originality he docs not say
that this text has an origin so simple, so locatable, so unproblematic as
another text. That would be to answer the central questions "Who is
that?, (quis ille?) and "What does he mean?". but the guiding principle
of the AA is rather that the text questions, the reader answers.
186 CONSEQUENCES
EGYPTIAN SHARPNESS
Much knocking of heads has occurred over the word Acgyp·
tiam: "if only you do not tum up your nose at inspecting this Egyp-
tian papyrus inscribed with a sharply pointed stylus, a reed from the
river Nile'" (modosi papyrum Aegyptiam arg11tia Nilotici calami it~scriptam
twtr spre11rris inspiure ). It has been summoned as a key witness in the
case for an allegorica1 reading of the AAas an initiation text or an Isiac
code or some other version of the same, and it has been contemptu-
ously dismissed as an irre1evant flourish. Both sides speak from a true
perception, but it requires a third observation to coordinate their par-
tiality into a whole.
It is certainly true that Aegyptiam can mean nothing definite to a
first-rcadert except perhaps to indicate that the composer is not em-
barrassed to state the obvious. It is equally true that the second-reader
must find Aegyptiam a start1ing word that cries out to be connected
with the appearance of the: great Egyptian goddess as the ass's savior
and lifc]ong patron at the end. I take this to be another instance of
poinring at the meaning but missing the point, a hermeneutic trick
that only a second-reader can fully appreciate.
To confirm that interpretation I would point to a punning effect that
the spel1ing obscures. Aegyptiam is immediately followed by argutia.
The eye may judge them quire distinct, but notice that the nasalized
final m would elide btforc the fo1lowing vowel; if you hear the similar-
ity between gy and gu, between ae and ar, the only firm distinction left
between the two words is the little labial p: Aegyptialargutia.5 The
accuracy of this echo between two words whose juxtaposition is not
required by syntax argues for a very deliberate act of composition. It
allows us to maintain that both the suggestiveness of Aegyptiam to rhe
second-reader and its failure to be the clue that will decode the AA are
designed. The author·s game, to write two words that might be vari-
ants of each other, has been imitated by the scribes and editors. In F,
egyptia is written above the line (by the same scribe1 his eye perhaps
at first deceived by their similarity (or it might be a reading found in
the second manuscript he looked at but not in the first}. It is amusing
to think of the suprascription as a little concrete poem:

5. Choirobuskos in Hephaistion (p. 199.12 Consbruch) notes the weakness of

the conson.:mt cluster -pr-. citing Od. 4.229. (fhe p3ss2-ge is cited :1s the context of
Hipponax frag. 20 by M. L. West, lambi rt Eltji Gratd (Oxford, 1971). 1: 115.)
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM Hf7
aegy p tia
ar..'!" ti~1

This liberates the lexical possibilities of both. like two revolving wheels
of fortune: •·clcvc:r, subtl~, witty; bright, dear, lively; babbling, rattly,
verbose: cunning. sly. crafty .. spinning around on one wheel; ··devious,
mercantile, swarthy, fertile. antique. fantastic, hieratic .. on the other.
Modem critil"S have played the game too: one omits Aegyptiam (BHim-
ner), others write At-gyptitl to agree with argutia.
The point is that the AA was originally written not to be a hcrmct-
icalJy scaled monument, to be admired only from a respectful dis-
tance, but as an open text. one that encourages participation-real
embarrassment, puzzlement, disgust, laughter, tentative closures of
meaning and surprising entrapments, mental rewriting ("'Oh, he
must mean ... "~ and physical rewriting. The AA can invite actual
tampering with itself without fearing to lose its integrity. because it
already contains so extensive and complex a system of alternately ex-
aggerated and diminished integrity. Its calculatt."d chiaroscuro is not
upset by copyists who darken here or enlighten there. They arc part
of the revisionary interplay of shifting meanings that the origin a] text
contains in great abundance on every level. To maintain this is to run
directly counter to the conventional premises of modern historica1
and literary studies, that the reader qua reader is an opaque. characrcr-
lcss, subservient receptor of the author's message and that the scholar
too is a self~ffacing servant of the fetishized text. The AA, ho\\'cvcr,
plays tag with its readers, constantly renouncing its own authority in
order to encourage reader participation. and the ultimate message is
41
YOU do have to make up your own mind."
It is correct then to sec in At-g)•ptidm a sign of the end, but an illegible
sign. It gives no information at all to the first-reader, and only reminds
the second-reader of what he or she alrcad)• knows. The mystical inter-
preters oft he AA should remark that theirs is a theory of anamnesis, of
Platonic recall frorn a previous experience (that of having rL·ad Buuk
11 ~ rather than of empirical learning. The non-informativeness of
Aegyptiam ought to oc an e-ven greater puzzle to the reader who now
knows Book 11 because it is clcar]y not a hint or due that any reader can
take as such, yet it shows that the speaker was itt a position to al/udt' to Isis.
As it is, we must contend with a writer who neither conceals nor re-
veals but tells stork-s that turn out to be a sign. When the Delphic god
188 CONSEQUENCES
gives a sign, he docs not give out an interpretation as well: that respon-
sibility rests with the consu1tant.

MUTUAL NEXUS
As Chapter 4 has indicated, the various narrators and audi-
ences are for the time of their tale linked together as two parties to a
transaction, bound by implicit contracts. which arc themselves a set
of ironic cornparauda for rhc rdation between the author and reader of
the AA.The prologue sets up the terms ofthat contract, an exchange
of enchanting-amazing tales for the readces attention, and offers the
reader a sort of temporary partnership. to be entered voluntarily (si
non spreueris).
Against this background, mmuo nexu is a far more interesting and
significant phrase than Aegyptiam. lndividuaJly, both mutuus and
nt'x•mr have specific eccmomic meanings. It seems plausible to me that,
used side by side, their economic sense could momentarily spring to
mind, and that a first-reader would reject the association as irrelevant
while the second-reader might find them an intriguing impetus to
thought. The difference between this social-economic train of
thought, which I wiJI now develop, and meditations on At:gyptiam is
that the latter arc eminently uninformative-the content of the adjec-
tive '•Egyptian" can only be what the readers bring to it from Book 11
or their own lsiac background-whereas the analysis of mutuo urxrl
will begin with the author's explicit statement about the structures of
his tales as nexus-bound from end to end and wm usc it to highlight
the analogous structure in narrating of two related identities (auctor I
actor), with implications for the two parties of the narrative contract
( autlorllrctor ).
A1J4trumt is the name for money or consumable goods handed over
to the temporary possession of another. Strictly speaking. mutHum
refers not ro any interest on the transaction, which is a separate ar-
rangement, but only to the amount ]ent or borrowed, which must be
exactly restored. 6 "lfl can't just borrow the twenty minas, rn have to

6. f. Norden, Ap11lr·ius 1wr Mad;mra rmd das romisdr'" l'ritutrrdll (lc:ipzigfBcrlin,

1':.112): 17M-fit W. W. Buckland• .4 .\lanu11l (If Roman l'riJ't11e l..a1v. 2d cd. (Cambridge,
Engl:md,l939}: 272-74.
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 189
take out a loan at interest."' It is a fami1iar word of commerce, com-
mon in Plautus, and occurs in the AA in its literal sense when Lucius
first knocks at the miscr·s door: Photis asks him. in one of those Apu-
1cian sentences that is almost a shouting match between the first and
second meanings of its three key terms. "In what species do you desire
to transact a loan? " 8
Nexus (or uexurn) is a handing over of otleselfin s]avcry for debt. an
obsolete social institution by Apuleius's day!' There is some debate about
the legal technicalities ofnexus, whether it was a type ofcontract in which
the debtor staked his own person as colJateral to be forfeited in case of
non-payment, or was rather a defaulting debtor's extra-contraL"tllal way
of a\uiding a legal judgment that would have officially declared him a
sla"~· The non-economic sense of nexus, "a tying together," is a poetic
usc that also found its way into post-Augustan prose.
In the pro1ogue. "by a mutual nexus'' is a baroque curlicue that at
first glance adds nothing at aJl to the sense. It strikes me that this very
irrelevance of the phrase to its environment, combined with the living
associations of nmtuo in contexts of contracted debt, together resur-
rect the old legal force of uexu as an interesting metaphor for what
happens in some of the stories.
First I will consider bonding and borrowing as events portrayed in
the novel. then as something that happens to the novelist. Magic is the
science of transformations, but in the world of magic some transfor-
mations arc permanent and some allow return or restoration to the
original state. Me roe's victims become animals with no hope of resto-
ration (1 .9), but the magic formula of particular interest in the AA is
that of temporary bondage to an alien power or shape, quite different
from that class of etiological transformations celebrated in Ovid"s
.Wetamorplroses. For instance. the wineskins .. borrow human spirit" in
response to Pamphilc's tying some of their hairs ••into reciprocal
knots." 10 These dt•ad animal skins temporarily move as live human
beings, but give up the ghost when Lucius attacks them. This tempo-

7. rJjJIPI si •twUtas '''"f Jhllt'rr.,, cmum t•st swnam }t'lll)fl" (Plaut us As itt. 241i: ct: Non ius
5, p. 706 Lindsay).
R. sub qua SJit"tit• nmlllari mpis? (1.22~
lJ. Buckland, Roman Law (note 6): 259-60.
I0. in trrlllllv.s nexus . .. spiril11m mtlllltlntur lnm1olrtrltll (3.1 R~
190 CONSEQUENCES

rary reassignment to a different class of being is the formula an-

nounced by mut11o nexu for the various fables of the AA.
Apuleius repeatedly points out temporary conjunctions of the ass
with dissimilar p3rmers. The ass and the gardener share exactly the
same food, as if there were no distinction between slave and master. 11
His rich Corinthian master eats with the ass at tab]e and rides on his
back. not knowing that the ass himself is also a rich Corinthian: "He
had in me simultaneously a table companion and a carrier.'' 11 The ass is
driven from Milo's house in company with his own white horse, thus
reduced by Fortuna to be "a fellow slave and yokcmatc with my own
servant and carrier:' 13 Each conjunction displays the secret status of
Lucius as a master and rider who temporarily looks like a slave and a
carrier. The gardener, the rich Corinthian, and the white horse: arc set
next to the ass as a simultaneous display of his present (Y) and his past
and future (X), bound in a relation of temporary servitude. These
asymmetric syzygies are passing reminders ofthe scheme. X -E-+ Y or X
_.. Y -t> X, announced in the prologue as the law of mutual nexus.
The word conia4gem at 7.3 is startling because, though it literaHy
me-ans "yokernate" and can be used therefore of lucius and his horse,
it almost always means a spouse, usually a wife. This reminds us of
the ass's erotic parmers as another class of asymmetric syzygy. He is
an adulterer to a herd of mares (7.16~ a "public husband .. to a passing
maiden (a Lie, 7.21 ), to the priest Philcbus ("not a servant but a hus-
band"),14 to a Corinthian lady of quality (10.19-22), and to a con-
demned woman (10.33). Lucius's temporary relocation in the scheme
of things seems to say something about the polarization of male and
female, as if he were trapped in a grotesque enlargement of his ordi-
nary human mascuhnity. ••Reciprocity" is a conventional word in
contexts of sexual desire, 15 but the relation of Photis and Lucius is
something much stronger. like the bondage of m:xus. His punish-
ments are to be visited on her (3.13); she declares her desire in terms
of free surrender to his owt~ership; 16 and he reciprocally declares him-
sdf to .. belong•• to her. 17

II. er miJri c! ipsi dtllllitt" cct~a par ac similis (9.32).

12. habtrrt itt mt' siltwl tLIPIIlil4.mt tt uc·c·tc~rrm (10.18).
1]. cum mc•ttfamulo lll('l'qllC urctM't illc1 tqu(J.fiutum umsrrrwm arqr1t (etrtirr~rm (7 .3)-
14. t1c1n SI'TWmt sc·,/marilum (R.26)-
15. OfChamc and Tlcpokmus, 4.26; 7.11; ofPhotis .and lucius. 2.17; 3.20.
16. C',.~l rihi mlllua r~c~lunratt' mt~t~cipara sum (2.10).
17. i11 1t•nlilcm m.,Jmn addit:lllm olqur malln'pal11Pillou·a.s .,..,/,·rurm (3.1 1)).
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 191

This acting-out of l"rotic obsession in terms of the economic insti-

tutions of uexus is the textual basis tor Mithras's dcscr1ption of Lu-
cius's pleasures as "servile.'q 8 The mode of his enslavement had been
a surrender of self to Photis not for its own sake but contingent upon
another transfer of goods. though ar tirsr he ket•ps this clause in their
contract a secret. He reveals that clause to her at 3.19 in a renewal of
their contract, binding himsdf over to her as a pledge or security
(addictwn) in return for he-r imparting to him a ~ek at the divine
discipline. When she tests his sincerity about that binding contract.
suggesting that he might fly away from her, he imagines himsclflitcr-
ally bound to her: "I swear by this sweet little knot (nodu/um) of your
hair, by which you have tied my sou], that I prefer no other to my
Photis."l 9 Since he has just pictured himself as a winged Cupid (a
flying phallos) returning to her as to his "little nest, (uidulum). the
binding in question has a distincdy sadistic flavor.
Lucius's nexus with Photis is a dishonest contract. At least that
s.:ems to be the implication of hjs undertaking the affair as a caku-
1atcd route to Pamphile. His words of advice to himself were, "Bend
back from a bondage: of Venus wirh your hostess, pay religious re-
spect to the bridal bed of honest Milo, but just as surely bend alJ your
powers to the pursuit of the majd Photis." 20 The type of complctdy
self-effacing tie that is a lie for Lucius is morl" n~arly the litem/ tnllh
for Socrates, whose bondage to a witch drains his life both economi-
ca1ly and physically. When Aristomencs meets his old umate" (coutll-
benralem, 1.6) Socrates, he has been transformed by such extreme
emaciation and pallor11 that Aristomencs can hardly recognize him.
His designation of Socrates as a larualc simulacrum, "corpsclike image"
(1.6), pktures him as a l'Tikolax, a dead-white specter. Socrates ex-
plains his state as caused by a "contract" (comrallo, 1. 7) with the inn
hostess Me roe, resulting from a single act of int~rcours~ with her. 22

1!o!_ Si'TIIiJt•J JW/upttJUS (11.15).

1'J. tJdiur., pa dulct·m iswm <41J"lli 111i nodulum, •JIW mwmu111."1:ijli spinlurn, mr nullam
aliam meat' F111idi maf/1'(3.23).
20. !1 llt"XIl 'lHilit'm uou:rit• IH'spilis IMI' tnnJl!'nl t•r Jtrclbi Milt•ltis J,'lf'Jli!Jic•m ,,,rum rdi·
gio$m suspict', Ut'TJmr c·nim llfl<l Hllis.foutwla pt'laturt'llixe (2.6).
21. JI{II'IU' .Jiius luttlrt·, tld mi~c·rrJm lllolfit"111 .lt:lim~ulllb {1.6~
22. Uur what did Sonatcs. •·contnct"? The tcxr is g.ublcd :n th:at point. Mcroc
g:avc Socratt."s .:1 mc;aland hrought him to her hcd: ''Then poor tllt', ithUtnly, wh~n I h;u.J
acquic!tecd to her, from that 5in~lc act of intct·coursc l comuct an a~cd, pcstilcntiJI
- - " (rl sr.uim mist•r, ur cum i/1,1 •1Jquit>11i, al1 uniw (•,"R't'Hil w7l111):41P11 a( pr~rilrnttm •.
(c!Pirruhc•) (1. 7~ The only trace of an objcn for co111r.111o is the abhrcvi<~tion c ("" cettz, cum)
192 CONSEQUENCES
According to the terms of that contract he was to tum over to her the
last clothes he.- was wearing and the Httle bit of money he h~d been
ab1c to cam carrying bundles for people. Together this ..good wife
and bad fortune" had brought him to his state ofJife-exhaustion. Like
a vampire's bite in the neck, intercourse with a witch traps her part-
ners into a permanent submission to her control. Meroc's hold on
Socrates is V3mpiric: she both drains him of life while he is in her
control and drains him of blood when he tries to escape with Aristo-
menes. In ancient tales it was the lamia who preyed on her male vic-
tims both sexually and by drinking their blood, and that is what Aris-
tomcncs calls her (1.17).
So far, this discussion of mutuo rrcxu and the recurrence of asym-
metric syzygies and erotic ,exus in the AA has remained on the level
of tracing repeated images or configurations rather than evaluating
their significance. Before addressing the narratological dimension of
their significance, let us take a brieflook at the myopic response thar
has ofrcn been directed against this highly charged material. Com-
mentators on the AA regularly fall into deprecating both the foolish-
ness of Lucius's curiosity and the moral degradation of his eroticism.
The uexus I have just described have been primary fodder for such
critical ruminations. The naivete of that response (elicited, robe sure,
by the entrapping text) is that it for..~cts its own experience of first-
reading. in which it was precisely Lucius's curiosity that provided the
reader with excellent stories and precisely Lucius's lust that occa-
sioned the entertaining bedroom scenes with Photis and the Corin-
thian lady of quality. [f a reader genuinely disapproves of vampire
stories or pornography, why did he or she keep on reading? The only
way to reach Dook 11 is via the unambiguous. centrally important,
and wholly endorsed depictions of witchcraft, sexual hedonism, and
bestiality. Of course most witches are bad characters, but rhat is a

before comrafw, which might be a dittographic error. lfwe ask ourselves what Socrates
"caught" th:u w;~os old, nO)dous and of feminine gender, possitlly beginning with ron,
we might wdl answer conju:~tm, a wife. Doth m.uriagc and dist.·asc arc things tlut one
may, in l.:ltin. indeed in this very tale. come down with: "lest because of your intemper-
ate ton~ue you connact • blight .. (ntquilm ribi fingll4l inltmptrtJ11t1· 11oxam commhds, 1.8);
"having contracted a new marriage" (no11o lOtJiraito matrimoniCJ, 1.19~ What Socrates
.. caught" from • !lingle: copulation with Meroe was both ;1 permanent arrangement of
his life.- {a m.:arri.lge that yokes him to a con·ju,~m) and a physical illness th:u tn.nsfers his
\"itJI power!; to Mcroe's control.
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 193
convention of witch st(>rics, which arc very good. Similarly, there arc
Catonian contexts in real life in which one might feel called on to
disapprove Lucius's affair with Photis or the Corinthian lady's desire
for the ass, but such a perspective does not enter the AA. Lucius now
and his alter ego, Lucius then, enjoy themselves in the doing aud in the
telling. Neither Photis nor the Corinthian lady arc condemned for
their desire or their readiness to share it mutually. Quite the contrary,
Lucius makes rather a point of the r-ich lady's sincerity and tcndcntcss,
her non-whorish kisses, her affectionate language of Jove. When he
describes her beautiful breasts and her skin like milk and honey, he is
not using words of repugnance; his only caution is the fear that his
phallos may be too big, but the description of how concerned he is
slyly serves instead to make vivid the details ofrheir mutual action:
"As often as I moved my haunches backward to spare her, she thrust
forward with a passionate pressure, and grabbing my spine she hdd
herself close with an ever more intimate nexus ... l 3
Readers who recoil from this episode tend to interpret the ass's
own rt!coiling motion in a way wholly unjustified by anything Lucius
says. They supplement the sense of the text to fit an imposed moral
pattern, whose sole authority is Mithras's view of .. scrvile pleasures"
(as if the upper classes did not enjoy doing it), and at the same time
they castrate the text at its most graphic moment. The sentence de-
scribing the ass's erection, omitted in F but recovered in the margin of
cp. has not only been banished by most scholars as non-Apu]ci:m for
inadequate critical reasons, it has even been assigned the insulting
name of spurmm additamcutwu, "the dirty addition." 24
There is another. more Apu1cian, way of seeing significance in the
AA 's syzygies and nexus. The present narrator and his past self are
two poles of a single Jife story. The relation of the narrator to the
Lucius he was is the most important yoking of an odd couple whose
dissimilarity is so great that they can hardly be comprehended under

23. ilia 11rfll qJrotims t"i prlrCI."PIS uatn rculltbdm, acccJtns toticns nisu rabidtl f't spi11am
l'"'hmdf'ns PPlf'olm a~dt•licition· th'Xfl int•.u-rrbar (10.22).
24. A. Man.uino, La .\1ilt:5i41 c Apulrio (Turin, 1950); L Herrmann, "lc Frag·
mt."'lt obsd:nc de 1:4m.• d"or. .. LoHomus 10(1951 ): 329-32; R. Merkelbach, "La Nuov.~ Pa-
gina di Siscnna cd Apulcio." Mo~ioJ 5(1952): 234-41; E. Fraenkd... A Sham Siscnna,"
Em11os 51 (1953): 151-54; S. journoud, "Apulee conteur: quelques. refiexions sur l'epi-
sodc: de l'~nt: c:t de Ia corinthiennc: (MitmPI. X 19,3-22,5~" A(tll Cla~~itd ( Uraivmitotis
Sdt'ntiamm Dtbn:crnirmis) 1{1965): 33-37.
194 CONSEQUENCES
the same category, though they are co-present at every moment of
the n.urating. The Isiac deJcon and the young Corinthian curiosus are
as little alike as Lucius and his horse or other such pairs whose fates
arc linked.
Any self narrating is and is not the self narrated. They are allied by
a connection that is more intimate than erotic IJtXllS and that often
displays some of the same sadism. For between them there usually
occurs an irreversible subordination of the I then to the I now, the
present speaker mastering and controlling the past self by interpret-
ing him. But in the AA the relation is reversed: the present Lucius
places himself in wholesale subordination to his own alien past, re-
nouncing the normal authoritative dominance of a narrator over the
very mtaning of his past self. Augustine's Couftssions are an illuminat-
ing contrast in this regard (see Chap. 6, pp. 141-42). In so manumitting
his own past, the narrator is in one sense utterJy foithfol to the auton-
omy of that scl£ But since ordinary narratives depend upon that con-
vention of bondage, the auctor's liberation of the actor causes all the
interpretive problems of the novel.
That is precisely the point. The authorial strategy is to involve the
reader in interpretive problems, ones that will only be seen as such
when the aJtctor and actor seem on the point of merging. that is, when
the narrating draws the history of Lucius up to the now and the past is
about to catch up with the present. As the narrator comes to the end of
the narrating, in Book 11, the relalion of auctor to actor is revealed not
only as startlingly unconventional bm as a revision of the contract that
had been in force between aurtor and lector. At this momt:nt the very
notion of the reward at stake for us is apparently revalued, as in earlier
contract-revisions the parties had added extra clauses naming new
items of value (a sight of the "divine discipline" for Lucius from Photis,
3.19) or unexpected penalties ("Oh. I almost forgot to mention one
thing-if any part is missing from the face of the corpse the guard has
to replace it in the morning with that part of his own,., 2.22).

THE RUDE SPEAKER'S IDENTITY

Most discussions of the prologue try to give an answer ro the
question ··who is speaking?" The answers that have been given are:
Lucius, Apuleius, both in turn, or neither. What shou]d be noted in
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 195
the boldest oflt:ttt:rs at the head of such inquiries and as more: impor-
tant than the answers they reach is the fact that the question is already
raised in the text: quis illt? The numerous scholars who have discussed
the identity of that speaker should think of their articlc:s as mt:rdy
echoing down the ages a query that Apulcius was the first to raise. To
ask that question is not to intc:rrogatt: the novd bur to rcpcar it. Could
we imagine Shakcspcareans trying to answer the question .. To be or
not to be?"?
The question is raised eccentrically. dialogically, and humorously.
The eccentricity consists in its offl1and appearance: what will tum out
to be the central issue is raised as an afterthought. It is an interruption
not by the speaker bm by another voice, whom we must think of as
any listener or reader: 2 s .. 'Who is that speaking?' I hear you say. Let
me tell you in a few words." (quis illt·? pmuis aaipe.) Tht: fact that a
reader is here imagined as interrupting the author is very significant.
because at some point or other in reading the AA we.- as readers will
indeed ask oursdves, .. Who is this speaking?" It becomes the very
question we wou]d like to put to the speaker. The specious dialogic
form, which reshapes the author's design for the prologue and forces
him to speak autobiographically for a moment. prefigures tor the
sccond-n:adt:r the sort of active intervention thar is ultimately re-
quired ro make sense of the whole novel. This particular question is an
important one. but even more significant is the formal design of
reader participation. The A.A. is an incomplete. dialogic text whose
prologue mirrors the shape ofrhc whole in requiring additional infor-
mation to make sense.
That the fact of questioning is more important than the particular
answer is shown by the humor of the answer. The speaker's rt:p1y is
obviously elusive. Quis illr? asks for a name and cjty of origin. The
speaker gives no name and three cities of origin. Quis ille? is therefore
a question that will apparently remain unanswered, at least in any
conventional s~:nse, for quite a while.
Any reader cou1d apprt»dart» rh~ humor of this obvious avoidance,
but the real humor of the answer is even subtler and more stupid than

25. The intl."rruption that iru itat~·s lively wntan between S(">Cakcr .m~l audicnn· i~
found not only in Plautine comedy (Am,,Jr. 5U-53: Ct~s. 67-7t!) but in diambc (e.g.•
Hor.-.cc Sarin·s 1.3. 1')-20) and in epistulography: Mucus Aurr:lius tn hontn, •Jif.Ufl tlb
rrm, ro.(o'Is? (C:om·sporzd.:uu ~(1-.roPitt't cd. C. R Haincs !London I New York, liJllJ 1. l: I H).
196 CONSEQUENCES
that. Note that the speaker's autobiography is quite specifically a his-
tory of his languages, as jfhe had been asked not, "Who are you? .. bm
"'Why do you speak so strangely? .. It often appears, as Hagendahl re-
marks, that the more an author apologizes for the defect of his style.
the more raffinement one may expect from him. 26 The essence of the
peculiarity in this digression is that the speaker draws special attention
noc to his idcncity but co his speech. The self-identifying phrase in
which the answer culminates is mdis locutor; which is both conventional
(ituondita ac n4di t4ou, Tacitus Agricola 3.3) 27 and in this context very
odd. Odd not only because it is patently false of this well-composed
prologue, 28 but because it is given in response to a question that would
norma11y demand a different sort of answer, such as "Lucius of Cor-
inth.'' The raffitJement of rndis locutor, for the second-reader. is that it
might be heard as a foolishly apt name for the speaker of this novd by
taking mdis as a pun on "rude"I .. braying." (In the translation above,
"he-horrible" tries to capture the effect by incorporating a subdued
"hee-haw.")
One of the ass's most characteristic features, besides its phallos, is
its startling voice. Most of us no Jonger Jive very dose to barnyard
animals, but anyone who has been jarred by the shocking sound of an
ass will get the point of using the ass's bray as a paradigm of literary
crudeness, as Kallimachos docs at Aitia 1.30-32. 29 The uox propria for
an ass's speech in Latin is the root nld-, as Varro and others have re-
corded: gaunirr cum sit proprie cauum, Vclm.J asinos rudere, caues gatmire,

26. Cited by T. Janson, LatitJ Jlr,,se l'ref.Jccs, Studi~ Latina Stockholmensi.a, no. 13
(StlKkholm, 19M): 136.
27. E. Hcrkonuncr. "Uic Topoi in den Proomicn dcr romischcn Gcschichts-
wc:rkc" (Dis.s. Tlibingen. 196H): 51 {'"St•Jhstvl'rklcinerung"~
2H. llcsidcs the artfulness of A~:gyptiam argutia, notice the sounds of itl5trip- ate
spread over inscriptntn 11011 sl"'tllen·s inspi(tn•, the initial ·PI· ""'rying (u initial in· docs in
Latin) bc:twl....::n dirrction and negation [11l.mip. t~lsprt, "lspia·rJ. Asjohn Henderson
poinrs out rome, there is an etymologizing echo lx-tween srrmMc and tonmum: if we
play the: game of connecting this ·sl'r- with SliSIII'W, thl· first sentence is a scrambled
assemblage oithc whisper and the scratch.
29. An index of the degree of shock im'Olvcd in the contrast bc:t'M.~n rude anim.tl
noi!>Cs and fine writing is pro... ided by Quintiliutl1ut. 1.5. 72: std minime ""l•is (Orltt.($1.1 tsl
[onomatoptJiill ); quis t>nim ftrut ~i quid similt illi~ ,ltrit" lm4dllti$ Ai.yt'e {j~ tt O"i(Ev
o.p-IJa)t.p.i>~.fittJ?trr.' ,uuJttmuJ Mill tft' ba/arr q11idt1n alii himlirt.fortilt:r JiCl'IT'tnUS, PliSi illditiO
uelllrt.'ltis nitrrtnlur. At AA H.19 the cl:tmorous ble.uing of go:~ts i!i interpreted as a vir-
tual scntcncc-.. This man hcrlb flocks."
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 197
pullat' pipare dixit. (Non ius p. 722.3-5 Lindsay); mclitus ... proprie t'SI
clamor asinomm (Servius in Aen. 7 .16; 8.248); ruditus: asini clamor
(Corp. Gloss. Lat. IV.280.48 Goct:z:)i blatterat camellru simt equus hinnif,
rudit asirms (Corp. Gloss. Lat. IV.171.53 Goetz). Apuleius later uses
rudo (7.13) and rndit11s (8.29) of Lucius's braying at those memorable
moments when the silent observer tries to interrupt proceedings by
speaking out {0 Caesar, 3.29; tzorr ttou, 7.3; po"o Q14irites, 8.29). What I
suggest is that "'dis locutor is a pun: literally "unpolished speaker"'
(which docs not make very good sense) with an echo of "braying
speaker" (which does). 30
The same pun appears to be intended at 6.29: "This 'rude' story
will be made everlasting by the pens of learned men" (doctorumqut
stilis rudis pcrpctuabitur historia). Just as in the prologue, the context is a
self-referential literary comment. The irony of a fancy memorial to a
mere ass is expressed in the contrast doctomm lrudis. In what sense is
the episode mdis? Helm suggests in his apparatus that n1dis be taken in
the sense of troua. But Apuleius himself emphasizes the ironyt rather
than the mere novelty, of the picture of a virgin riding on an ass by
comparing it with the mythological precedents of Phrixus. Arion.
and Europa. The last js closest to Lucius·s case in that Jupiter, Hkc
Lucius, was only temporarily thcriomorphic, whereas the dolphin
and the golden-fleeced ram were always simply animals. Too, jupiter
was in love with Europa. which is perhaps why Lucius acts rather
romantically toward Charite: "From time to time I would tum my
neck back and kiss the lass's lovdy fcet." 31 The description ofjupiter
is in terms of the animal sounds he makes: "if indeed Jupiter truly
mooed as a steer." 32 Notice too that the ass has just been making a
noise~not his proper bray bur a seductive whinny: "I was trying to
whinny lovely little words to the maiden." 33 This is a rudis lristoria

30. E. Norden, Die antikc- KutaStJ'roSd (leipzig. IK9~~ 2: 590; Norden reters to
what was evidently a popular joke lgainst Apuleius, inwnted by an Italian humanis.r
;~nd n:~;uc:d by Mc:lam:hthun ;~nd Vn·~s.. tl1al hi• L;~.lin wa:s nun'.: lilt.:- the huying uf o111
ass ch.an human(= Ciceronian) spc:-ech: st•d rart· .-\puft>iru, qui cum a.sinum rt'p1Ut'$t'rllartt,
mdert '/1112111 /oqui malkt (Mdanchthon Eloqu~·trtiat Emomimn j1523l. in Philippus Mc-
bnchthon Drclm11ationcs, cd. K. H:mfddcr, latcinischc Littcuturdcnkm:Hcr des XV.
und XVI. Jahrhundcrt..s. vol. -' IBerlin, lH"Jlj: 29~
31. """ nmnq•ta'" obUqutJto ~:mu·n· pcd~r. dt'{oros pudla~ basi.1bam (6.28).
32. quodJi ~tm•IUJJittr nmgiuil i11 btlut• (6.29).
33. 1tirgir1i dcli(atas IIIIWillJ adl1imtin· rc·mptllba•n (6.2R).
198 CONSEQUENCES
because it features an ass, who would normally bray (rud-~ whinny-
ing (adl1innire) in imitation ofjupiter who once mooed (mugiuit).
The Greek Lucius, or the Ass refers to Lucius's braying when he is
first put into the stable by Photis: .. I stood there, away from the man-
ger, and laughed-but my laugh came out as a bray" (15). Apuleius
has not translated this but rather, in what I take to be a gesture of
continuous surpassing of the original, has created a pun that is possi-
ble only in Latin. The stable boy catches Lucius trying to eat the roses
that have been placed before the shrine of Epona and exdaims: quo
usqr1e tandem ... cnntlreritmr paticmur istum? (3.27), modeled on the
famous opening of Cicero's first CatilinariarrJ quo usq11r taudcm almtere,
Catilina, patientia nostm? Cantherium is at just the right phonetic dis-
tance from Catalit~a to make it a truly awful pun. The doub]e deviance
of suppressing a joke (for more significant recyding elsewhere) and
inventing a new one is the mark of a mind never cot!letlt to let anything
just be. Apuleius must always be outwitting the tricks of the original,
like the dentltor (acrobat on horses) who jumps from one prancing
horse to another (prrqr1e uolabit eqJtos, ludens pa terga uolanwmJ Mani-
Jius Astro11. 5. 85).
The ass's bray is connected with its sex. Aelian records the belief
that only male asses can bray (Nat. anim. 3. 7), whence perhaps it is
that a good, ringing voke is a sign to breeders that a donkey will be a
good stud (Hippiatr. 14.4). Since folklore auriburcs an enormous
voice only to the male of the species, which is also endowed with
enormous genitals, there seems to have been a certain analogy felt
between these two obtrusive features of the ass. Interesting then th:u
at [he moment of Lucius's transformation both his penis and his voice
are remarked on. At 3.24 his tJatura increases and he loses his human
voice (uoce priuatus); at 11.14 his utongue is born again," uthe begin-
ning of a new voice" (renata lingr4a; nouae uoris exortlirmt). and "with
my thighs closely pressed together and my hands accurately placed
over them, I protected myself properly with a natura] veil, as much as
a naked man could."l 4
The prologue thus has a structure analogous to that of the entire
novel: both conclude with a surprising reidentification of the speaker.

34. co'"prrssis in artu'"ftminilms ~~ suptrslriais auumlt' mart ibm, quamum nudcl }i(rbal,
url41neruo me naturali probe- muniueram (11.14}.
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 199
The pun at the end of the autobiographica1 digression breaks the iUu-
sion ofconsistency by the laughable claim ••1 was the braying speaker."
The comparable moment in Hook 11 is perhaps the god's reference to
Lucius as" Madauran," which similarly shatters consistency. Both mel is
locutor and .\-laclaull.'tlstm arc significamjokcs about one of the premises
of our reading, viz., the identification of a coherent narrator. The au-
thor Apuleius writes throughout as if he really were Lucius (though
most readers must assume that that is a fiction) and similarly Lucius
speaks as if he rcal1y had been an ass (ditto). Both mdis locutor and A1a-
daurensem could be caUed a sphragis, a stylistic signature guaranteeing
the authenticity of the text, and both arc equally unthinkable. They
balance each other: .Madaurem€'m invites a pro religious view of the au-
thor behind Lucius to whom Lucius's career in some sense really ap-
plies: rudis low tor invites a more cynical appreciation of the author's
distance as one who riddlingly conceals and reveals not his African
identity but his asinine identity.
The autobiographical digression, then. is vague for a purpose. The
peculiar uninformativcncss of its contents (mox, purr) is preparation for
a joke. The silliness ofit is abysmal. not ar all the important statement it
has usually been taken for. Further, the references to Greek becoming
Latin are also given a double meaning: .. In fact this very mutation of
voice [from human to asinine) already answers to the equestrian acro-
batic science I here cssay." 35 The ••already" (illm) now becomes more
pointed: "This very pun that I have just [ iam I made about the transfor-
mation of the narrator's voice from sv..rcct whisper to shocking bray is a
sample oft he knowledge you may expect from my circus...36
The .. knowledge" (sciemia) of an acrobat who leaps from one gal-
loping horse to another or from a moving horse to the ground and
back again is that which enables him to predict and respond to the
animals' independent motion. The Apulcian leaps of the mind arc
therefore slyness to the second degree. The auctor's ingenuity is not an
jndependcnt \'aria hie hut a response calculated in relation tn the clev-
erness of others-of the Greek LucillS, or tlu: Ass, of the .uwr, of the

35. iarH lr.uc tquidmr ips.:.~ U11d!> immuraritll/t'.miMrim• uimtim· stilt' qu••m a.-ct'S:limus n•-
SJ'Lmd(r (1.1 ~
36. "Equestrian acrobatic'" in my translation and "circus'' in my p.uaphra~com~
from dt·sulroriac. D1·su/rl'' is a performer trained to jump off and onto l"Jntcring horsc.·s
and to somcrsaulr from horse to horse.
200 CONSEQUENCES
reader. The first example of a leap over the back of the moving reader
is the echo effect between the horse vocabulary of the prologue and
that of the opening scene: desilio, aures, indigenus, laetari (see Chap. 2,
pp. 36-37). These form not a riddle to be solved, in this roman sans clef;
but are an invitation to participate in the play of signs. The Golden Ass
is a set of games that may be played in myriad ways and in which all
players may zviu-but to whkh there is no right auswtr.

A MODEL FOR THE SPEAKER'S IDENTITY

Is it possible to determine the speaker's identity in any mean-
ingful sense? Basically this is not a very important question, since the
entire AA is a playful game of multiple identities. But insofar as it can
be pinned down at all, there is only one possible reading of the pro-
logue in terms of a consistent identity. The urgency of the issue for
reaching a settled answer to the problem of Book 11 has misled most
readers into attributing the prologue to Apule ius exclusively or to Lu-
cius exdusively. But van dcr Vliet and Vallette correctly argued that the
prologue speaker must be ncithcr. 37 No one could think of i\pulcius
Madaurensis as coming late to the learning of Latin after a boyhood in
Athens /Corinth /Spana. On the other hand. the prologue speaker is a
taleteller, an entertainer, a rhapsode of fables. When such a person says •
.. 1 was heading toward Thcssaly one day when ... ,'; he has entered
the role of actor; he is speaking from inside the world of the tale. The
performarive utterances are dear: "I wm thread together \'arious tales
... I begin." .. We begin a Greeklike talc. Pay careful attention, reader.
You zvill enjoy." These are announcements that the speaker is about to
step into a fic6onal world, in which his own role wi11 be as dramatized
and as fictionalized as everything else.
That transition from introducer ofa talc to actor in the talc is famil-
iar from lhe prologues of Plautus, in which the leader of the troupe
(duxgregis) addresses the audience. often withjokes about identity. in
a lively, dialogic manner. 38 The same introducer then disappears into

37. J. v;m dct V1ier, ·• Die Vorrede der ApulciKhcn Meu.morphosl·n," Hmru:s 32
(I H97): 79-85; P. Vallc:ttc, (d., Ap1d~r, A.p,•lllgrr, 2d ~:d. (Paris, 1960): 23-2~.
38. W. S. Smith, Jr., "The N:unti...c Voice in J\puleius' Mrtamorphosrs," T."\P."\
103 (1972): 513-34.
 THE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 201
the world of the play. reappearing as one of the characters. The P1au-
tinc prologusis distinct both from Plautus, whose lines he speaks and
whose name he mentions (apporto uobis Plauwm. MetJ, J). and he
stands outside the world of the comic characters, mediating between
the dramatic world and the world of the audience. He usually speaks
of himself as an actor, that is, a member of the company who are
about to perform. 39 and when the prologue comes to an end, he may
signal his removal from the audicnce·s world into the realm of the
play. 40 Sometimes the prologus is already dressed for a part and in one
case he refers explicitly to his double function: ''1 have been ordered to
do two things at once-1 must tell you the plot and my own feelings
oflovc." 41 Palacstrio in the Milts and Mercurius in Ampltitmo explain
both the general setting of the play and also their role in it. The
comments they make about themselves arc a prologus's comments em a
character rather than monologues in character. 42
The Plautinc prologus, then. whether presenting himsdf as an actor
who speaks for the company or as an actor already in costume for his
role, has a liminal function: he marks off the contained universe of the
play by speaking from a point of view that is spccificaHy differenti-
ated from the auctorJabulae, the scriptwriter9 and the actoresJabular, the
character roles. Other features of Apuleius's prologue pick up the
Plautine comic introduction too: the appea] for kind attention, 43 sub-
servient humility, 44 a promise of pleasure. 45 The prologi announce
that they will identify themselves46 and are interrupted by speakers
from the crowd. 47 Thcy declare that their spiel. like the Apulcian "au-

39. Atlu·nis mutablJ ita ul h11c t'St prcJscamium i tamisl'c·r J,,, mms(~itrn1s lta,u (omoc·
rliam ( Trul. 9-10; cf. :\sin. 3; Capt. 61-62; f.\len. 4).
40. r.~ ib(.l, tlmabc.lr ... ibo. .zli1u mmc_tim' uolcJ (1\,cn. 122, 12f1).
41. duas rtJ simul tum( agrn• Jrm·tmmt milli: let argmnelllwn t'l 11Uo1 amt,n:s rl£1<luar
(Mm. 1-2).
42. Mcrcurius m:.1kc:s a clever aJlusion to this duplicity when he '"accidentally"
slips out ofhis dt\'int• rolt• into that of the mortal pr"'lt"jtiS (A mph. 53-57).
43. "l bc:t~: th•u )'0~1 lilltcn with kindly ~--rs" (quo~n•' ut b..·•tigr~is o~cdpi<~t•'s <l~tr'ibus,
.\lrn. ..J)~ che audience's ~,•;ars are often nmninncd: Mt•rL 14-15; Trin. II; Asirz. 4.
44. Capt. 6; 'J"ritl. 7; fbctt. 5~; inverted at/\1n1. J-~.
45. "In this comedy is contained :m enchanting game, a thing ridiculous; kindly
~y attl.'nlion" (inc:sr kpc'S ludusqm· ;, hac nmrot·dia, I ridiwla n•s est. d<Jie bc•t•igw: operam
mi11i, Asin. 13-14).
46. 111m( igilllr priHIWH tliUII' t'~l sim t'l IJUrll' il/,zrc Sirl, f/wc <JIIdC abiil itttro, 1/ic<Jm, si
dllimum aJuortitis ( ·rrrn. 6-7~
47. Ctis. 67-6K; C.Jpt. 10-11; c1: Amp/1. 52~ Tn1r. 4-6.
202 CONSEQUENCES
tobiography," wilJ be brief. 48 ln two plays the prologi change the scene
to explain the action in another city :and while ugoing" there ask if
anyone would like to commission them to perform a service in that
city-but if they trust them with their money they're fools! 49 lt may
sound a little odd in the Apuleian prologue to announce that people
wil1 be transformed into other images (itJ alias imagittes), but in Piau-
tine prologues. the parts the actors will play are called imagines that
they will put on: ··He will transform himself into the image of Am-
phitruon."50 Two characters interchange their imagines 51 and one ac-
tress will make her imago appear to be two different women by ap-
pearing from two houses. 52 The message of most Plautinc prologues
can be reduced to fabulam Graecdnicam incipinms. The regular word for
what they are about to present isfabula5 3 ("play·• or "tale,), one that
had a previous existence in Greece and afortiori in Greek. 54 The AA-
prologus's comment on the surprising aptness of his form to his con-
tent sounds like Mercurius's observation on his costume: "Don't
wonder now at this costume, that I make my entrance dressed as a
slave; I'm bringing you an old, antiquated routine dt1fW, so [ must be
tricked out in a new style...ss
The set of similarities between the style of the Plaut inc prologue
and that of the Apuleian prologue reach, on my reading, a critical
mass sufficient to justify both the awful pWl of mdis56 and the separate
identity of the prologue speaker as neither Apuleius nor Lucius. The
prologue speaker of the AA, who is canny and smooth, is one who
then begins to impersonate the inqujsitivc. fooJish. bumbling young
man Lucius. In this sense, he is not Lucius. If he is neither Apuleius

~R. ..L.esr ~ny wonder :n who lam. I shall briefly explain" (nr qui.s rrtirrtur qui sim,
pdUCis c/,lqwtr, Aul. 1; cf. Ce~pt. 53; Mrn. 6~
~9. 1\lrn. 79-82~ Mm. 49-56.
50. in Ampllitnlr»li.rtltrtit seu imaginrm (Amplt. 121; ct: 124. 141 ~
51. lmius illic, lric illius l1oJirftrt imagini'm (Ce~pt. 39~
52. Miles 150-51.
53. Amph. 14; Capt. 52; Trln. 16.
54. Aji11. J0-1l~ Mm. 9-10; Cas. 33-34; Trin. 18-19.
55. nunc nr fume l)nl4flml 11os rnt<111n IJdmirrmini, I q11od ~ luu procrssi sic cum sm1ili
schtlfM: { ut'lt'trln atq~tc antiquam rrm ,wue~m aJ 1ws proftnmt, I J•roptc·rra c1n1alus ill '"morn
in((ssi modum (Amp/1. 116-19).
5f>. Sosi:ll hears Mercur;us :.pproxh in :1 thre:.tr-ning mmner, spc;~king ofhaving
punched out four men, and says to the .:audience: .. l.m very much afraid that 1 wiD ha\·e
ro change my namc:-from Sosia to Quinhls (Fiflhl" (jormido malt I nr ~ hicmmtl!n
meum commutem el Quintus}iam e Sosia, Arnph. 304-5).
 Tt-IE PROLOGUE AS CONUNDRUM 203

nor Lucius, we can only say that he is some itinerant Greek now
working as a storyteller in Rome, with the proviso that that role too
may be as inauthentic, as contrived, as hypocritical as that of Lucius.
So much is clear on analysis. But the question itself, Apuleius vs.
Lucius, is poorly posed, since what is remarkable about the AA is that
it does not allow us to shift all the responsibility for its meaning onto
the person Lucius or the person Apulcius. It insists instead on being.
like the prologue, a nexus of connected identities. an enigma that
offers itself to be resolved, humorously ovcrcodcd as a challenge for
every kind of reader from the naive to the sophisticated to give an
answer to the question quis illr?
 8

The Text Questions, the

Reader Ans\Vers

"Is there any point to which you would wish

to draw my attention?"
"To the curious incident of the dog in rhe
night-time."
"The dog did nothing in the night-time...
.. That was the curious incident," remarked
Sherlock Holmes.
-A. Conan Doyle, ••sil\-"t'r Blaze.,

THREE DIFFICULTIES
There are several new kinds of difllculty at hand in writing
about Book L1 of Tire Golden Ass. For it is a splendidly detailed ac-
count not only of lucius's retransformation into a human being-an
event long expected and capping the tale-but also of the many
months he lived in the precinct of [sis at Kcnchrcai, his dreams and
growing devotion, his eventual initiation, his journey to Rome, his
unexpected second initiation (into the mysteries of Osiris~ his even
more unexpected third initiation, and finally his ckvation to the quin-
quennial board of the college of pastophoroi (deacons of the temple).
The first problem is the very richness of this material that, unlike
the first ten books. is both tangible and exotic in a way that invites ex-
tensive comment. Suddenly all the resources of modern scholarship
about ancient rdigion-Egyptian and Greek inscriptions, stalUary,

204
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE I~ EADER ANSWERS 205
coins, temple remains, and literary accounts-seem potentially rele-
vant to understanding the text, a text that in tum has become one of the
centerpieces of our all too meager information about the various East-
em pieties that blossomed on Greek and Roman soil after Alexander's
conquest of Egypt and the Ncar East. Curiously. the modem inquiring
reader is in a position to kno\v both much more and much less about
the Hellenistic worshipoflsis than an average, inquiring ancient reader.
Much less, because the worshipers and their Jiving knowledge have
long since vanished and because several important accounts to which an
ancient reader might tum have been lost-most of Manetho, Heka-
taios of Abdera, and Chaircmon, Nero's Egyptian tutor. It is no longer
possible to approach a shrine of the Egyptian gods on foreign soil and
join the processions and daily liturgies of its priests as Seneca. Strabo,
and no doubt Apuleius did. On the other hand the industry of mod-
em inquirers has assembled more infonnation about Egypt's religion
abroad than any ancient scholar-traveler cou]d have acquired in a life-
time: T. Hopfner's five volumes of Fontes Historiae ReUgionis Aegyp-
tiiJCat1 L. Vidman·s Sy/h,gr InscriptjotJum Rel{~ionis lsiacae e-t Sampiacat,
the many specialized studies in the Etudes prcliminaires aux religions
orientales dans I'empire romain IE PRO). especially J. Gwyn Grif-
fiths' Apuleius of Madauros, tilt' Isis-Book [EPRO, no. 39f. The last-
named is abJe to draw on a further body of knowledge about the
entire history of Isis and Osiris in Egypt itself that tar exceeds the
resources available to a lector wriosus of TIJe Golde11 Ass in its own day.
Such a one might have turned to Plutarch On Isis and Osiris, to
Diodoros Siku]os perhaps, but he could nm have lean1ed from them
as much about the temple life in Egypt as we can from W. Otto's
Priester rmd Ttmptl im lu•llenistisclretJ Ae~ypten. Or he might have
learned one of the hymns to Isis carved at Andros. Kyme. Salonika,
los, and dsewhere 1 bur would hardly have been able to reach the me-
ticulous assessment of the interaction of Greek and Egyptian theol-
ogies in those hymns that is now possible to the Egyptologist (D.
Mueller, Agypren wul die grit'(hisclletl Isis-Aretalogirn).
This disparity between much more and niuch less knowledge
should lead us to be careful about the precise relevance of our secondary

I. Must rt·u:mly at Maroncia: Y. Gr:.1nJjc:au, L"tr•· N.,rm!llf Ar~~la/pgi( d'lsi~ J

M<~nllll~(, EPll.O. no. 41.J {lcidcn. 11J75). a good introduction to th{' subject.
206 CONSEQUENCES
knowledge. Jt should be aimed at reconstructing the impression Book
l 1 would have made on the average reader of Books 1-10. There are
two separate points in that specification: that the reader is an Any-
person into whose hands the novel might have come and that the reader
has just fmished the first ten books. Anyone in ancient Athens, Cor-
inth. or Rome could hardly avoid seeing Jsiac worshipers and would
therefore have been roughly famil~r with the look of the cult from the
outside. It is this outside appearance at most, certainly no intimate ac-
quaintance with its details, that is assumed in the reader of Book 11.
The narrator is quite specific about this in addressing (and thereby
defining) the "attentive readern (studiose lector) at 11.23: "So I shall re-
late only what can be spoken without sin to the understanding of peo-
ple outside the shrinc." 2 The reader is profimus, outsidt: the shrine, not a
famuiws, a devotee admitted to the temple. The very careful studem of
Book 11 nowadays needs what we might call a defensive knowledge of
Isis worship-enough to guar:mtee that the account in Book 11 would
have seemed roughly authentic to a typical proja1aus and has a factual
rather than a fictional look. This is in fact the case. There are, to be: sure,
items of cult and drcs.s and accoutrements jn Book 11 that arc not at-
tested cJscwherc. but all seem to fall comfortably within the range of
local variations, so much so that scholars of rdigious history have usu-
ally felt justified in treating Book 11 as a piece of primary Isiac data on a
par with the surviving temples. inscriptions, and written accounts. But
this brings up our second point about the ancient reader.
Too often Book 11 is treated as a separate thing. a document in the
history of religions with an integrity of its own separate from the rest
of TJJe GoldctJ Ass. But the reader to whom it is written is not one who
begins the text at 11.1 with Lucius's sudden terror in the light of the full
moon, but the reader who began with an invitation to listen to "various
tales .. in 1.1 and has now completed ten books of what are clearly lalcs.
nothing more and nothing less. It is this fact that largely t'xplains why
the historical reality of Isis worship is suddenly an issue for any reader.
The priests of the Great Mother in Books H-9 have not occasioned
such an enormous quantity of commentary as Isis in Book 11 because
their signiticancc is controlled by the tictional plots in which they
figure-their orgy exposedt their oradt! that means everything, the
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWEI{S 207

stolen cup. Book 11, ro put it most simply, is no longer a.Jabuld: it is

not a story wirh an ingenious plot that would hold an audience, such
as everything prior to it (as promised) had been. The changed condi-
tions of intelligibility, evident to any reader of Books 1-10, leave us
Railing about for a handle on the text, for some way of grasping the
point of its being there. There arc various frameworks that such a
reader might supply~ what I propose is that none of them is uniquely
correct, but rather that the reader's flailing about in dismay is exactly
what Apuleius had in mind. It is one of the most exciting and original
gambits in the history of narrative.
A second problem is that because Hook 11 suddenly raises (as I ar-
gue, tm•arrs to raise) the problem of what the entire novel means, it is
precisely here that the greatest number of interpretations have clus-
tered. I fed some obligation to analyze other modern readings of the
A A to show how they foreclose too quickly the questions designed
into the: text. But it would be both tedious to the gent:'ral reader to be
exhaustive in such a survey and, even more important. unfair to give an
impression of competition between my analysis and most others. It is
not my intention to argue that Platonic, lsiac. satiric, and autobio-
graphical readings of Book 11 arc wrong, merely that they occupy a
position that is logically posterior to the primary effect of the .4A as an
unauthorizrd text. A comparison may help. In the summer of 1970 I
saw a metal-and-mirror object in an exhibit of contemporary French
art at a museum in Chicago. A puzzling piece, it consisted of a silver
column with scvc.."ral round mirrors attached to its front face. each
slightly angled and each revolving about its center, evidently powered
by motors inside the column. As l persisted in my contemplation of
the thing, I began to notice from a little distance that most spectators
found it puzzling and spent some time chauing in front of it. Some
conversations were foo1ish and some were rather sophisticated, but
none seemed anything like conclusive. I then noticed that the spot-
lights on the piece, reflected in the mirrors, crt:'ated on the polished
wood ftoor a spectacular and elaborate fountain of light, exquisitely
beautiful in a traditional way, and that all the spectators were walking
over it, partJy interrupting it as they stood in front of the piece, and
never noticing the possibility that they were, in some sense, looking at
the wrong thing. Their intcrprctivt· assumption was that the thing near
the wall on which the spotlights were trained had to be a work of an
20H CONSEQUENCES
rather than a means of creating a work of art. The comparison is not
exact because in Apuleius's case the hymnic fervor of Book 11 is the
beautiful thing and it has distracted most people's attention from the
deeper question of what it's doing there. But the comparison does at
least express the general evaluation I would assign to most other read-
ings of the AA: some are foolish, some are very sophisticated andre-
markably insightful, but none (I think) has noticed the critical point,
viz., that the very need to supply an interpretation to the text is created
by that text. 3
This is a very peculiar event-that readers should ftt'l so compelled to
mediate between Lucius's ten books of adventures, which he himself
narrated. and Lucius's silence in Book 11 about the relation between
those adventures and his Isiac narrative. In a novel so devoted to herme-
neutic entertainment. it is prima facie astonishing that the narrator
seems not even to notice that storytelling (jabulat) has ceased and
something else begun. What I suggest is that that silence, as Holmes
said of the dog in the night, is the critical center of Book 11. My make-
shift solution to this second problem is that l will select a number of the
more interesting strategies hitheno used on the AA and use them to
clarify some unsettled issues (... How Else Could This Book Be Read?"}
The third problem, more rhetorical perhaps than real, is that the
habit of expecting an answer at the end and the end to be an answer is
here fdt with jrs full oppressive weight as that precise readerly reflex.
against which Tile Golden Ass is written. Some powerful instinct or
habit insists that Book 11 be the answer and that my chapter on Book
11 be the answer. In fact, though this chapter is a long one, it is a com-
mentary on on]y a very small portion of Book 11, and the central argu-
ment is one from {and about) silence. The dose analyses contained in
Part One. which masqueraded then as simply preliminary. are in fact
the main body of my reading of the AA. and might be reread now as an
implicit brief for epoclle (suspension ofjudgment) as the crucial orga-
nizing device of The Goldttl Ass. The thesis of this chapter-that

3. .. [Melville's Tilt• G11•tidmcc Man I presents multi-bycrcd appearances which t"on-

found th~: reader with mulripl~: hints, implic~u1ons, and ground for suspicion. But all the
while the text lli:H'r !Supplies cvidcm:c sutlil"icnt to dctcrmin(' jLUt who is doing wh;at to
whom. If a reader should lc:ap to dctinc a reality behind these cbbor:.tcd appcal'3.nccs. he
does so on dk.' basis ofa rc:rson;~.l t~ith (<.·ontidl·ncc) which h~ itnJ'IORS inw Md\'ilk·s text"
(J. G. Bbir. ·n,~ Col•/id~nu Jla, in ~Uttdcm l:i.d;.,,llondon. llJJtJ 1: 33~
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 209
a111idst the fervor and ecstasy of Dook 11 certain small discordances
about hermeneutic issues arc crucial1y significant-depends for its
force mainly on the cogency and subtlety of narrative performance that
Part One tried to demonstrate.
Against that background Book 11 's eccentricities re interpretation
become significant. They arc, 1 hope to show. slight bur unmistakably
central. lt is their very delicacy that makes the trick work. For if Lu-
cius's narrative contained garish satirical touches, the reader would be
in no doubt about what to think; if the devotion and ardor of Lucius
weren't as near as possible to convincing, the reader would. not be en-
ticed to add his or her own conviction to make up for what just hap ?ens
to be missing from Lucius's recital. The essence of the performance is
(i) to imitate real piety so beautifully and perfectly that only the very
small premise about how it~~ there is not supplied, and yet (ii) to
construct the account in such a way that at several points the issue of
how the experience and the narrative are authorized emerges as a prob-
lem. If the tone of those problems is as shrewd as it is fatuous, I at least
will recognize in them the designing hand of the same Apuleius who
made Books 1-10.

THE IS lAC INTERPRETATION OF LUCIUS'S LIFE

The rehumanized Lucius, at the moment when he is finally
able to speak intelligible speech again, says nothing. In fact Lucius as
narrator spends a fair time tl"lling us that he said nothing: ••nut 1.
fixed on the spot with a profound numbness, kept silent, my mind
not comprehending so sudden and so great a joy. I hesitated, thinking
what word would be best to begin with, what opening lines should I
employ my new voice on, what would be the most happy and auspi-
cious speech for my born-again tongue, what words-and just how
many-should I use to give thanks to so great a goddess? But the
priest.... " 4 Ah yc:s, .. but th~ prjest." Instead of Lucius speaking at

4. al •-g.J stllJlt'rt" nimio dt:lixus tafitus l1arrrbam, al'lillh! mc'tl ram l'fJKnlimun ltJnl'/ltC'
ll'lagPJum lllln capirlltc• g11udium, quid t•Misrinrum praejan'T priman'11m, rmde llt!Uat' uocis t'XOr·
Jiurn 1'4Jif."n·m, cJih' smnmu· mmc t'l'lhJta lingu1J .J(Iicius a•upi£oJrer. quibus qu11r11isqm· llt'rbis
ldlltae Jcac xratias oJgercm. sed s.turdos . .. (11.14; tor the rest of this chapter, references to
pasUg\'S ofllnok 11 wiU consist oft he cha.pt~:r numbt:r ~lone).
210 CONSEQUENCES

that moment (Lucius tells us~ the priest spoke, at some length and
with a good deal of authority.
ln terms of the central question of how the narrative reaches an
authorized meaning, there are two very interesting features of the
high priest's sermon to which I would draw your attention-what
precedes it and what follows it. Clothed as it is with elaborate trap-
pings of authority, the high priest's message has exercised an almost
exclusive control over the attention of puzzled readers. But because
we are readers who have just completed a text (Books 1-10) with so
little of the artless and so much of the faux tlaif, we arc now enabled
(trained and entitled) by that narratology to notice not only the Final
Message itself but the careful design of its presentation. That mag-
nificent enunciation of greatest authority is flanked by two other
competing interpretations, one from the Isiac crowd and one from
the auctor /actor, Lucius {a moment of conspicuous silence). It would br:
too strong to say that these alternative hermeneutic reactions under-
cut Mithras's speech altogether or that they make it seem ironic, but
they do signal most clearly that it is an inttrprttation.
The signs of authority are obvious. (i) The speaker comes at the
end of a long, hierarchically arranged procession of lay folk. initiates,
and priests. 5 This same person is chosen by Isis to be Lucius's initiator
(22) and to appear to him in her dream messages (20). Lucius later
tells us that he was grave in demeanor, well known for the sobriety of
his religious observance, 6 and that his name was Mithras (22, 25). (ii)
What the high priest says in his sermon comes from Isis, who ap-
peared to him at the same time that she: appeared to Lucius the pre-
vious night (6. 13) and summarized for him the entire plot of Books
1-10 (.. Having learned all my misfortunes from the beginning by the
goddess's message"). 7 Isis is the highest authority in Book 11 (at least
until the disturbing interruptions of Osiris-27. 29 [in other

5. He is referred to by Isis and the n:ur:uor as s.1urdos(6, 14~ s.ut•tdc'Hgtcgius (16~

Sltmmus $i'l€trdtu (16. 20~ sacados maxinmf (17). primariuf saurJos (21 ~ and sacrrJos pmr-
cipuus (22~ The: simple title '"pric:st" {san-rdos) seems in fact to have ~n the propc:r
dr:sign.ation for the chief priest of .a Grcco-Egypti.an c:Jcrical community uthcr than
.. high priest" or"chiefpricst" or such: F. Dunand. L- Cldlc d'l.sis dans It> bassin oritlltal dt
la.Uiditnnmh, EPRO, no. 26/3 (Lcidcn, 1973): l45f. The exalting adjcctiVI:s then refer
to his actual status and authority rather than to hu tide.
6. 11 ir 111ioq uin gnmis tl sobn'at rrligion is ob.u~nlatimttfomoms (21 ~
7. diuhw ~noniw cog,iriJ "b origine Wtlclis dadibus mcis (14~
 THE TEXTQUESTlONS. THE HEADEn ANSWERS 21 t

semblance]; 30 [directly]). Mithras's message can have at lhis point in

the book no higher validation than the goddess who is .. the uniform
face of alJ gods and goddesscs." 8 (iii) •• Having delivered this oracular
utterance. the exceptional priest gasped deep breaths of exhaustion
and fell silent." 9 This seems to be a tinal stage direction from the au-
thor td1ing us that Mithras's words are not his own but come from a
higher inspiration.
We must note these tokens of authority not bet·ause we want to
surrender our judgment to the highest bidder but because the com-
bined effect of first and second readings has been to make us avvare that
reaching an interpretation of anything is a serious. complex. and funny
issue in Tire Goldeu Ass. To say that Mithras's Isis lecture has unmistak-
ably been invested with trappings ofauthority is not ipso facto to say th;lt
we must believe it. What Apulcius shows us is the acquicscc:ncc of a
mind (that of "I. Lucius..) to an authoritative interpretation of his life,
an acquiescence that we arc invited to consider for its beauty. its
strangeness, and its unsharability. He: does this by flanking tht.· official
message with two vignettes: that of •• I, Lucius·· at a loss for words and
that of the bystanders reaching a d!fli:n·m iuterprt•talicm.
To take the latter first: .. Having delivered this oracular utterance,
the exceptional priest gasped deep breaths of exhaustion and fdl si-
lent. Then, taking my place amidst the religious column, I walked
alongside the holy shrine, noted and conspicuous to all the citizenry.
the object of pointed fingers and nods in my direction. All the pcoplt:
were chatting about me: 'This man the almighty goddess in her ven-
erable power transtormcd today to rejoin the human race. Happy
man. by Herak]es. and thrice blessed, who obviously by the inno-
cence and faith of his preceding life merited so splendid a patronage
from heaven as to be born again, in a manner of speaking. and in-
stantly vowed to observe the holy lifc.'" 10

~. clr'lll'lrm tlammrquc'Jd' io 1111!/i•rmis (5).

9. c1d islllm ttwdurn uaririntitw saurrios cgrc~ius_tiw"x•JiclS a11lrrlitus rralsms hllltiwit (16).
10. itd i$tum rrlllllumuoJiicillatru sall·rJos l!gr<,fius.~uigal,,s mshc-litus tmhe•m r.mtimit. t'~:in
llt"rmixtm c~~mitti rtli,£1t'S•' pt••tt-dcru c.•mirc~bar SollfroJrium tt'f"t' (illilo~ti nc•lll.s 1ll" fC•tlspiiiiii.S, Ji-
Rilif lhmtillum mllilwsqrlt tlL•Iabilis. •'tiiUI'l ill rn~· P•'tmli.ftlbulabamur: '"lrmu Ollllllf''''ntfiti /r,l(l;,.
drllt' IWII1('11 augusrur11 rt:fi>mrauit ad lwmim·.s.jdix /•,·rcul.·s ,., ta ~·o~W.(, qui rutat• Kili<t'l pnn·-
(l"dl'"'i1 irm,1cr•mia. tidt'•llll' llu·rm•rit Mm proJ••dtJrwr• df· t oJc'/•• JlL11 l'(lrill imn, 111 n·,satus 'I' 11-.dam
,.,,d,•.sttJtim StJCTiJrllltl t"Jbuqui,, dt'$f'''"dorwr" (16}.
212 CONSEQUENCES

It has occasioned a little comment that the surrounding crowd inter-

pret the miracle as an indication that Lucius has led a life of .. innocence
and faith.'' 11 Griffiths puts it exactly: 1• In view of the priest's words in
ch. 15 condemning Lucius for falling into low pleasures and serving an
ill-starred cudosity and in view of what the reader has been told about
his previous lite, this attribution of merit to him is very strangc." 12
Note that the pc..~ple's interpretation is marked as a conjecture by the
now familiar word scilicet (cf. Chap. 3, p. 66~ Why is this response
here? Why has Apuleius chosen to put an unofficial and incorrect inter-
pretation of Books 1-10 next to, and overshadowed by, the ofllcial (and
presumably correct) inrerpretation?
Here are two inadequate answers: (i) it actually happened. One
might allege that the author's honesty to what really happened com-
pelled him not to censor even what is misleading. But in this manner
of thinking many things happened: people sneezed and stumbled in
the parade. but the amhor always controls what to admit into the final
document. (ii) The comment comes from non-lsiac bystanders and
thus illustrates the folly of the uninitiated. This would be an impor-
tant point, but the text docs not say chis. We haVt! been told that the
populace at large is celebrating the general spring holiday in various
costumes (8) and that for those who worship Isis the day celebrates
the lVaui~ium lsidis. the launching of her ship to inaugurate a new
season of fair sailing. The non-lsiacs take some part in the ship cere-
mony: "all tht> people. both the Isiacs and those outside her shrine." 11
When Mithras addresses a comment to hypothetical unbelievers
c·Lct the irreligious sec, Jc:r them see and recognize their error").t-' he

11. Lut:ius walks in a plaCl' of bon or nt<xt to the saaurium, wearing a linen rub.:. as
ir he has jump~:d from lowest to highest r.1nk in the lsiac order. Hence [he crO\...ds
;am;u~mem: they \\'Onder at lucius's quick promotion through the r;anks-from ass to
olx:dicnt plo.:dgc. skippin~ the intcn-cning sugcs.
12. J. G. Gritliths, Apultius of .HoJ.iallros, tlrt Isis-&ok, EJ>RO, no..W (L.·idc:n.
1975): 257. A. Lcsky. "Apukius von Madaura und lukios \'Oil Patrac," Hmnrs
76{1Y41 ): 73. Sl"l'S it asonc: of many contradictions in Apuldus's systematic "Hetcrono-
mil·"'; l-ldm notes it as an astounding contradiction: .. Um so erstaunlichcr ist dc:r Wi-
dcrspruch, wcnn im 11. Buch (16.2) die Menge den J:.mzaubcrtcn prcist, wcil cr oflcn-
b:tr durc:h dir Unsdmld sc:inc.·s fri.ihc.•n·n t~.·bc:ns und sl'im• r~dlkht- Gl•sinnung sich den
Sdmtz des H1mmds crworbcn habc" (lt l-ldm, Apu/6us. .\lctam(lrphlln'tl; odt·r;. Dcr
.~lMmr Eul, Lr.Jit'it~isdl mrd Dr·1mdr !Berlin 19611: 6~
13. nmcti pof'nli trJm n·ligiLlsi •JII•Wif'TI.~J~m· (16~
14. ul.l.•tmt itrrdigiMi, uidram rt rmm•m mum rt'lognMcallt (IS).
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWERS 213
evidently refers to the non-lsiac bystanders. It would have been easy
enough for Apuleius to specify that the second interpretation comes
from the profani. What the text offers us, however, is simply an incor-
rect general opinion. proreligious in content, not specifically attached
to anyone or undercut in any way by the narrator's authority. It is just
therc. 15
Perhaps it is relevant too to remember that Isis had the night before
promised Lucius that no one would uinterpret badly" his transforma-
tion. Her point was that no one would leap to the wrong conclusion
rhat Lucius is a magician (cf. 3.29). But nevertheless her explicit exclu-
sion of wrong interpretations sits oddly with the crowd"s giving a
wrong interpretation, and adds another vecwr to this delicate st•t of
stresses.
Why then docs Apulcius admit or invent a clearly minor and clearly
wrong interpretation of the same subject that Mithras has just inter-
preted? The pair of opinions, Mithras's and the crowd's. arc placed side
by side to display th~ir parity as imtrpretations, in spite of their equally
well-designed imparity of weight. The priest's speech obviously has to
be taken as the orthodox interpretation of Books 1-10. but the crowd"s
speech shows that Mithras·s words must be taken, orthodox or not, as
an interpretation.
As an interpretation of Lucius's adventures. Mithras's speech is
characterized by a certain remoteness, certainly not by rhc neat falling-
into-place that has characterized earlier solutions and explanations. Ht•
does not, for instance, mention magic-though of course one can find
a w.ty to read that imo what he says. This is the crucial discrimination
for readers to watch in themselves-that between what is actually said
by tht• text and what can be supplied by the reader. Another mark of
extraneousness is the role of the roses. lf it is springtime, Lucius does
not need Isis to rcrm:dy his condition. That roses arc now employed
not for their fictional physical properties ofrestoring humanity but as a

15. It i-; no solution to say th.lt the crowd's spc.'Cch is;~ set formula (Griffiths. 'rh.:
Isis-Book lnotc 12]: 257~ The point is that it is an in.1ppropriatc formu);a coming .ilt th~:
cruci:~l momenr in .J novel dc..."Oted to the retined enjoyment of hermeneutic j.!:afics ;md
triumphs. A. D. Nock (Q,n•;•rsiMr [Oxford, 19331: 89-90) illustrates th"· COil\'C!'ntion of
crowd response to a minclc, which is simply a sp«ics of the general type of crowd
response to ;anything theatric;• I in ;mcient fiction: sec Chariton, Chain'llS attd K,,Jiirhot,
p41sim.
214 CONSEQUENCES
sacrament of Isis's salvation shows the same structure of gratuitous ad-
dition. This too can be interpreted: "The goddess cannot annul the
magic, only exploit it bcneficcntly... 16 Add this to the list of clarifica-
tions that Mithras docs not makc. 17
Both Mithras and the crowd see Lucius's transformation as the end
of a story. The one announces from Isis herself the true sense of that
story, the other misguesses the probable sense of the earlier episodes.
Two religious interpretations, both utterly unexpected. In the wonder
and stupor that the first-reader begins to feel at the change of tone in
Book 11, the cognitive dissonance of these two interpretations may not
stand out But the evidence of design is confirmed by the fact that both
interpretations, representing maximum and minimum authority re-
spectively, fall short of the one thing needed, which is an answer to
the question "What does Lucius think of all this?"
Let us therefore turn to the vignette preceding the high priest's
speech (quoted above, p. 209). Mit bras steps in exactly at the moment
when Lucius is trying to decide what to say. The words arc taken out
of his mouth. After Mithras evcntual1y fal1s silent, Lucius tells us
what the crowd thought, how the rest of the rite was conducted, and
that when it was over he stayed in the temple to contemp]atc the
statue of Isis and think about Books 1-10. But something is missing
here. Lucius never announces that he sees the meaning (at last!) of all
that he had been through. Instead we have the triplet: (i) ul was won-
dering what to say ... ,.. (ii) Mithras's sermon interpreting Books 1-
10. (iii) the crowd's .. Happy the man ... "formula, which misinter-
prets Books 1-10. The presence of (i) actively raises the question.
which ought in any case to be unavoidable. "What docs Lucius make
of Books 1-1 0?" Docs he see them as the high priest docs? What was

16. J. A. North,JRS 70(1980): 191.

17. In popular culture Isis had a fairly dose connection with magic-which is r~ot
what Apule-ius presents in Book 1 J. Isis is in\'Okcd in a Greek lovr- ch:1tm oft he Augus-
tan period (W. Brashear, Z~itJcl1rijt fiir lbpyrvl~Jgie und EpiJlNJJIIik 33[ 1979}: 261-7H);
she is mentioned in a very fragmented spell, also of the firs! ce-mury B. c £.,along with
Osiris and Anoubi!l (P. Mon. Gr. Tnv. 216 = #34 in Pdpiri lrtttrt~ri .~Tf.d, cd. Antonio
Carlini et :.hi alucquc: tpis3, 197SJ, frags, 7.4, 9.2, 18.1): sec also &nnfr JahrbucJ.
16H(1968): HJ, linC' 8. ln Coptic spells her n.amc is powerful against stomachaches and
barkingdogs{A. Erman. ZAS33(1M<J5): 4M-51,132-35~ A c:artoon pricstofMemphis
spent t~nty-thr~ years living in subterranean chapels hcing taught to be a magus by
lsis (Lucian Philopsturlts 34). F. Sbordonc: .. bide maga,'' .-\~gyptus 26(1946): 130.....J8.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 215
the point of Iris ua"atiug in a radically different tone from that im-
posed by the Mithraic Authorized Version?
The cxtenr and force of the problem-and this is the feature that
logically justifies my argumetllum ex silentio-is much sharper than
the above formulations indicate, for it is not a question of"Lucius's
view of events" but of •• my view of events." Discussions of Book 11
should not be cast in terms of what happens to .. Lucius'' but what
happens to .. me." The prologue is spoken by .. I," the adventures arc
related by "I" about "me," and the final book concerns not what hap-
pened to Lucius but what happened to .. me." who have been narrat-
ing the ten books whose interpretation is now in question. There
slrot41d be no ne~tlfor any mpplemem.from tile readtrs to explain tire Goldru
Ass. The ego-narrator himself is both the subject and the rclayer of
the events in question. If they have been deeply involved with radical
incongruities of narrative interpretation, how can ''I. Lucius·· have
neglected to notice that his lsiac experience post's the greatest prob-
lem of an, that it is in fact the very incongruity that makes 11s notice
that interpretation of stories is from the beginning the special glory of
the AA? This is an argumemmn ex silem;...,, to be sure, but there is no
fallacy in the argument. If the AA had been narrated by someone else
about Lucius, the tonal dissonance between 1-10 and 1t would stiU be
puzzling. Hut as an ego-narrative about .. what I experienced" the en-
semble is either a mistake or a trick of some kind. The shrewdness
about mistakes in all parts oft he narrative effectively rules out the first
alternative. I propose then that the effect and the intent of Tile c,,Jdm
:\ss is a shrewd kind of trick.

SURPlUSES AT ROME: MONEY

AND MORE INITIATIONS
The obliviousness of"[, Lucius" to the design and cflcct of the
AA creates an untenable split in our perception oft1u.· narrating t"~). On
the one hand a certain Isiac providence beautifully dawns, redeeming
his sufferings, transforming them in hindsight from the jokes that they
were on f1rst reading to the overcome agonies that they now are. The
swc1ling rise of chapters 1 -26 of Book 11 can only be read as a joyful
hymn to tht" saving goddess, with Mithras's speech setting a tone that
216 CONSEQUENCES

overwhelms the tiny dissonance of the crowd's misinterpretation. But

on the other hand. that same Lucius whom we are constrained to view
as a providentially saved man in chapters 1-26 also has the unmistak-
able look of a fool in the last four chapters of the book.
The effect and intent is to make us see Lucius two ways-as a
redeemed lsiac and as a dupe-and to be unable to decide 011 the ar~­
thor's autlrority wbjch is finally correct. The effect would not work
unless the temptation to read Book 11 as a sincere confession was so
designed as to be both irresistible and impossible. It is undeniable that
the Isiac Lucius is genuinely fervent. I hope to show now that in the
last four chapters of the novel, the temptation to view Lucius as a
sucker (of which, as P. T. Barnum would say, thcre·s one born-again
every minutr) becomes equally unavoidable.
After his three days of initiation rituals and a few days of contem-
plative peace. Lucius visits his family briefly and then journeys to
Rome: ''I had no other important ambition from that time on than to
offer daiJy prayers to the highest divinity, Queen Isis, who is wor-
shiped with greatest reverence under the tide 'Campensis.' taken
from the location of her temple. At last I was her const~nt cultist, a
foreigner in thC' shrine itself but a native in her rcligion!' 18
This sounds like the end. Lucius has arrived in Rome. the site of the
prologue. and the last S(.'lllelltill has nor only a neat finality but picks up
theme words from the prologue-ad11rt1a, indigeua. The suggestion
of closun.· makes the next tack all the more abrupt and disturbing.
"But lo. the great sun had now run through the zodiac·s cirde com-
pleting a year, and my quiet was again interrupted by the beneficent
deity's ever-vigilant concern, and again rituals, again holy rites were
the message. J was astonished. wondering what in the world jr was
trying to say. what future event it was foretelling." 1' As we know
from Lucius's earlier dream of Candid us and gifts from Thcssaly (20)
as weB as from Artemidorosts contemporary Orreirokritika, a sig-
nificant image in a dream regularly stands for something else. Lucius

I~. II('( ul/um tam prat,ipumn mi/li u;indr studimn .Ji•it q11am (otidir 51lpplicart! summo
mmtini n-gin,, lsidis, q••ar dt umpU situ sumptpnmllint CamtJenris srunma mm ut>ntratio"r
propitiatur. rNPn mltor Jrni•JIIr adsidUiu,fani q•~idmr .ulurM, rl'ligitmis a!ftrm i11Jig('J4 (26~
19. rcu tnumurso 1iRn!ftTO cirmlo So/ maxnm ""'"''" compltllf"ntl, tl 'lltif'l€'111 Pnf'411f
mrs•lS itttt'rptllal t~umi"is btnt:fici emu prrui_eilis ,., nmus tdC'tilt, rurs11s s.acronm• commr)IUL
mi.ub4r, quid 1l'i ltmptartt, 4uid pr.lnrmtiatl't futunm•; 4uidni, plr"issimt' iam dudmn uidtbM
ittiriarru {26}.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWERS 217
narurally expects therefore that his drt"am of initiations represents
something analogous to initiation. He evidently assumes (as the
reader did) that initiation is a unique and unrepcatab1e act. and he is
very surprised to discover that the dream~s meaning is simply literal,
indeed that there is a whole new side to his religion: •• And while I was
pardy debating my rdigious scruple in my own mind and partly cx-
amiJling it with the counsel of the holy men. I came to a new and
amazing rea1ization: yes, I had been immersed in the goddess's rites
alone but not yet iJluminated by the rites of the great god, rhe highest
parent of the gods, the unconquered Osiris. For although the ration-
ale of that deity and his religion was interconnected with hers, or
rather united, still there was the greatest difference between their cer-
emonies. Accordingly, I ]earned, I was to consider myselfsummoned
to be a servant of the great god as wcll." 10 What follows is a very
delicate comedy of partial apprehensions, in which the reader is in-
duced to regard the narrator with some suspicion, not only because
he looks a bit foolish (which would be true if someone other than
Lucius were the narrator) but because he is the narrator. His talk of
new enlightenment makes all the more paradoxical the suppression
of his narrator's prior awareness that a surprise is in store, and is the
pert'ect reproduction of his original dismay. This is the technique ana-
lyzed above as "Suppression of the Auctor-Narrator"' (Chap. 6, pp.
140-43~ a device that made some sense in a tale with a hidden solution
but seems odd in a post-solution epilogue.
Two issues arc given special prominence in this epilogue, and both
display the open-ended ambiguity that invites and resists the reader's
evaluation. The first is the introduction of a new highest authority to
which Lucius must give himself up. the second is the emphasis on
money and the cost of the rites. Both arc capable of ameliorative pre-
sentation: to mention them is not automatically an embarrassment to
the devotee. Both have been introduced as normal rea1itics of the lsiac
experience in chapters 1-26: Isis clearly and insistently tells Lucius lo
give up aU worries and depend on her will, for she is the supreme

20. lli: dum n:ligioSIIm scrup11lwn P'lrtiw apuJ nu:111n seiJSUm disputo, partitn .WCI'Iltorum
(cmsilii$ txt~mi~tt~, ,..,uum mintmqur pl12ne ((ln1]Wrl(l1': dtt~( qr•idtm ml' tanrum sa<ris imtmwm, at
md_gtti dt'i dt•tmtqur summi J~l'l'tJlis irwioi Osiris tJt'cdmn ~ris inlustralllm; qurmqw11n tt~im
to11cxa, im,lllliMI mlita rati11 nmninis n•lighmisqur t•sstt,larnttt ttlelae Jiscrimm intt•rtsst max-
imum; pnllairrc m1' quW~ut prti m<1gt1e1 rti.zm J,•..,.faumlum srlllirr Jrbr~rm (27).
218 CONSEQUENCES
power of all powers that be, in every conceivable sense or dimension
(5-6); Lucius is given ample money by his family ("for the cult and
expenses");21 he dreams of profit (lucrum, 20), and follows the
goddess's will when she chooses both the initiator and the amount to
be spent on Lucius's individual initiation {21-22). Because they arc
not new. we have all the more reason to note that further principles of
highest authority and earnest economic worries. which were all along
in store, might have been prepared for by the narrator. The baffle-
mentis therefore intentional and our alienation from Lucius (as we
stand viewing him with the narrator) is to some end designed.
The issue of authority here has various sides: ls there a critical mo-
ment when the final truth, though its ultimacy may never be fathomed,
is in some sense definitely imparted? (Ordinarily one would say that
initiation was exactly that.) The new and amazing truth about Osiris
suggests that Lucius knew Isis without Osiris, but can one know Juno
without Jupiter, Lucy without Ricky? There is at least an innuendo (I
claim nothing more and exactly that) that Lucius's ignorance and as-
tonishment are such as to raise the reader"s quizzical eyebrow.
The very convergence of authenticating signs brings rnorc puzzles
of aurhoriry. The- person chosen to initiate him has a game leg (which.
as Griffiths remarks ad loc., is odd in a religion so devoted to bodily
integrity); his name is Asinius Marcc1lus, .. a name the opposite to my
reform:nion" 22-because ofthe ominous echo of 4s1'mu, "'ass"; and he
is a pastophoros. which as Lucius told us in chapter 17 is "the name of
a sacrosanct collcge.., 23 The deacon reports his dream in which the

21. ad (ult11m sumptumquf (1M~

22. rtfonnaticmis mtat' alittmm tiOmfn (27); emended by rnosr editors to .. ,.,, oppo-
site,.. {tlrm } aliamm.
23. Actu31Jy the term is usually found in lsiac tcxu coordinate with "'priests" in a
w~ that indicates that pastophoroi were minor clergy, deacons pc:rh3p!i. dass.cd i!part
from the various gradesofpriestly r:tnk and not covered by the term "priest." Griffiths,
Tllr Isis-BotJk (nmc 12): 265-66; W. Otto. Prinlt:r rmd Tt>mpt'l im II~IImistiscltm t\egyptm
(Leipz-ig/Berlin. 1905), 1; 94-9B: T. Hopfncr... Pastorphoros," RE 18: 2107-9. argues
for the priestliness of~srurphoroi; A. n Nuck, .. The Gild of Zeus Hypsiscos" HTR
:29(1936): 1::13, interprets rhe evidence that "pasrophoroi were allowed to hold "laymen's
positions' which wt·rc not opt·n to tht" priests" as follows: .. Thcrc seems to have been an
almost sharper differentiation between the higher clergy 3nd the: lower clergy th.u1
bctwn-n the lower clt"rgy and the laity."" Ono takes exception 10 the sharpness of this
fnrmulation, but locates the pastophoroi as the principal rcprcscnmivcs ofminordcri-
cal functionaries (&itrii~ zllr Hicrodulie inr l1~llfnistischrn Aegypt('n, Abhandlungcn dtr
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 219
god, unnamed but evidently Osiris in some guise, foretells his meet-
ing with Lucius ... a Madauran and a total pauper." 24
As Apulcius must have cxpectt.>d, more fish have risen to this piece
of bait than to any other of his tricky lures. 25 The point, however, is
not to emend the riddle or solve it as it sunds but to notice th~ para-
doxical structure of authorization that it introduces. The new high
god knows something beyond the fictional framework of the text.
Osiris and .. the Madauran.. (Apuleius) arc equally outside the grand
and (as we thought) final solution of 11.1-26, which was a rdation
between Isis, Queen of the Universe. and her humblc_(anaticus Lucius
of Corinth. It is a dangerous thing to propose a grand dim ax and then
to top it with another, for it inevitably raises the possibility that it too
will be ante-climactic. and so on ad iufiuitum. The problem is not that
"Madauran•· could not be made to make sense bm that we arc forced
to guess what it means precisely at the moment when a new answer-
ing god appears on the scene. There is an ~scalation of provocative
uncertainty rather than a surcease of doubts and a blinding flash of
light at last.
The relation of lucius (wherever he is from) to Asinius the deacon is
specitically described as a mutually profitable conjunction: 26 Lucius
will acquire the glory of studies. As in ius will make a great profit. The
mention of profit is the signal for the following passage of economic
complaint: "Thus betrothed to the rites I \\'as nonetheless sloWl"d down
against my will by the slenderness of my means. For the expenses of
travel had worn away the little strength of my patrimony and the cost of

------- ·--·
Baycrischcn Akadcmic d.:r Wisscnschaftcn, phil.-hi!it. Klass~.-. n. f., 291 Munich, 194CJ J
17-26). H.-B. Schon hom (Dil' Htstt1pl1c•n·11 i1n Kulr d1•r ii.'!)'pti$(hm Giitrt•r, Be it rage zur
klassischcu Philologi~:. no. HOI Mciscnhc:im am Glan, 1976 J) argues that the: pastnpho-
ro• wc:re consid..:r:ably more important in the lsiac '"mission" than they \Wr.: m Egypt
itsdf~ much of his argumcnt is nmjcctUfl' and the c\·idcncc is lar from conclusi\'c.
24. MaJaurtllSl'lri S('d adm!ldUPH pdiiJ)('rt'm (27~
25. R Th. van der P:urdt. "Th~ UnmaskC'd 'I': Apulcius .H1·1. X I 27." Mm•mM)'I1f
34(1lJl'll ): 96-106.
26. Mirhras h;ad lx""Cn rho!St:n for the tirst initiation bccau~c of an astrological con-
junction th.u th~ goddess pcrceiwd bc![wccn him and LuciUS. Thc1r rd:nion LS u..:-
!icribcd as like that of parent to child (21, 25) partly bee :;a usc initiation is L"Oilc{·iw.-d of as
the acquiring of a new birthday anJ a new horoscope: J. Bergman, •· 'I 0\•ercomc Fare.
Fate Hearkens to Me': Snmc ObM:n':;ations on Isis ..1.s a C'roJdc:ss of Fate."' in 1-'aldfistjc
l.klit:Js ir• Rdi~i..,u, p,,lltltm: 1111d Litrnuurr, cd. l I. Hinggrcn, Sui pta lnstitmi Donn~riani
Ab~·nsis, nu. 2 (Stockholm, l%7).
220 CONSEQUENCES
living in Rome far outstripped that ofthe provinces in my past. So hard
poverty stepped in and I was painfully trapped, as the old saying goes,
between the rite and the rock. Yet the deity's insistence kept pressuring
me no less. Finally, after frequent and far from minor stressful insis-
tences and then at Jast outright commands to do so, I sold my clothes-
they weren't much, but I scraped together a little sum that wou]d
suffice. This had been a distinct and specific directive: 'Now look,' it
said, •jf you were engaged in something to bring yourself pleasure, you
would certainly nor spare your clorhes. Now that you are about to ap-
proach great ceremonies. will you hesitate to entrust yourself to a pov-
cny th.:u you wiJI not regret?'" 2 7
The imd]cctual stress of uncertainty and the pragmatic stress of
divine commands that exceed his means arc not what the narrator of
chapters 1-26 led us to expect. Lucius there had worried about the
religious discipline but had attained great peace in accepting it; he had
answered the goddess's requirements for money by purchasing the
required items "on a somewhat more generous scale.. (23). This dou-
ble rhythm of theoretical and practical stresses resolved is repeated in
Rome: he reaches .. full confidence"' (pl~nafiducia, 28) in the nc:'-V rites
''of the principal god" (principalis dci~ 28) that arc revealed to him, and
though he is unable to give more money than is asked, he adds an
extra measure of disciplinc-''moreover I also shaved my head.'' 18
The outcome of this epilogue is peace at last and even marcrial suc-
cess: "This business contributed to my sojourn abroad the highest
consolation and. what's more, tendered me a richer livelihood-yes,
the kindly breezes of Luck favored my forensic income, earned from
legal speeches in the Roman languagc."l9

27. ad is11m1 modmn dc·spLm;uJ saais Jmupturml tc•mut~Jtt l'tlrrlta lhlrlliJl mt•um rc•tarJa-
har. rt•m• c·t uiriml11s f'alrim.mii !'f'rrgri,tJli.mis aJtriurrant irHtl't'HStlt' tl t'TLl~tiOtu•s urbicat•
rri$lilli$ il/i$ l''''uiucialibus allti$tabatJif1lurimrun. c·rgo drtritia pauprrtatis illlrurdrntr, quod
tlil m·rus prtml'rbium, imrr S.t(nmr ,., saxum P'lSitus muiabar, m•c s,•tills ttJmrtr l.ltmidrm
r1umi11is prrnlt'IMr imlalllir.~. i11mquc· sat'J'intlt' Prl'll sint· magt~a wrbati.mc• slimulalus, l'''s-
fn'lllt' iussus, srt·ste· ipsa mc•a qrMPtllliJ JMruuld distract a, sr~{ticit'lltcltl conrasi summularn. et id
'J'$11111 pntt'(C'Jllum.fiu•nJt sprdo~(it~r: ''tJII tu," ,.,,,Jsrit, "si quam rrm ,,.,l,ptali slmrndtJe· moliris,
locitrii1 t11i~ llt'4lllol'l'''1m twrUI'ts: nunc tJntou C•lt'timoni.Js 11ditunu impat>llitmd.Jt' u pd14fK·
ric>i (WUidri1 (t11HIIIittt'r(?" (28).
2K irullpt·r rlic1111 JaUStl (apit,· (2~).
29. quae rc'!i smmnumtwrc·grinatit>ni lnl'dt'tribru·bat .rc1/a(illm nrf ll'limu r'li11m uimun ubt'-
ri .wm submill istnJ lhtr, qu idni, t pirit11 .f(mmris E11rltl t~s quacstilu(,,.hll'l'IIS i 11Utri111 JX'' ,,.,,,1,d11 ia
smn{ltlis RtlPnarri (2H).
 Tf-JE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 221

Again, a sense of ending. The c:piloguc's difficulties overcome and

echoes of the prologue-forr.flsi, scrm<mis Romaui, pere_RrinariotJe. As
promised by Osiris, Asinius made a huge profit (grande compmdiwn,
27), Lucius attained a "glory of studil"s .. (studiorum gloria (27], echo-
ing studiomm of the prologue).
If the rt>ader, when surprised by the epilogue, did a double-take,
what occurs now can only be called a triple-take. •• And lo, after a small-
ish time I was again interrupted by unexpected and in every way won-
der-causing commands of the gods, and I was forced to bear a third
initiation as wdl." 30 There is a limit to the number of repetitions even a
good routine will bear, and a limit to the number of epilogues a com-
pleted solution will tolerate. A certain wearing-thin of patience can be
detected even in Lucius's nominally devout account-the ambiguous
tone of usquequaque, the unconcealed resentment of co.~1r and sustinr.rr
(Helm; su.stitart, codd.; susceptarr, Wowcr).
ln this epicpiloguc (and for all we know as tirst-readcrs there may
be more cpi"s to come), the intellectual stress is given prominence ovl"r
the pragmatic, and it is indeed the profounder and more disturbing
issue. Lucius introduces a passage of radical religious doubt that if
taken seriously could metamorphose the whole of Book 11 into a con
game by venal priests. He begins to suspect that he is being had: .. ,
was bothered by no frivolous concern; but rather in a state of real
mental suspense, I vigorously examined my own thoughts: Where
could this new and unheard-<>f celestial program be leading? What
supplement had been left out of the mystery that had already been
twice handed over to me? Obviously each of the priests had given me
information that was wrong. or at the very least inadequate. And by
Heraklcs, I was now beginning to entertain a bad opinion of their
honesty as wcll."3t
This brooding period of fundamental and heartfelt suspicion-
suspicion of his own fol1y and the clergy's bad fairh-is ended by
another dream lecture from the new principal god. advising him that

30. n aa: I'I.ISif14UWimn lt'ltlplu inopi11atis rtusq•u·quaqm· mirUitis imp•riis dcmn mrms
ifltt·rpdlor t't CclJW trrtiam qut~qut• rrle·tam msrirrc·no (29).
31 . liN lt:lfi mm Si.l/liciiiU, $1'1# CIJipiJo SUSJif'JUUJ dllimi IIJC(IInl i]'St' (t'gilati4lnt'.$ t:arliliUS
agitabdm, tllltlfSJIS llt,JIQ Jaat'{ rt i11•111Ji1a St' c.Jr/(",Siium P•lrri)tt"rfl itlll''ftil'l0 l[lliJ subsiduum,
•JIIdllwis irl"ntMI' imn, tmJiri1ltli n·ma,uiHI't: "r1imirum pc·rpcrum ud minus l'lrnc> wnmlucnmt
itl nu· saunJ,ls utrrqm·"; t"t llt·rwll·s i.Jm dt• tidt· qm'qJrc• I.'Cirum t'Jiilldn Wt'tllabam S1'4mus (29~
222 CONSEQUENCES
"nothing has been left out,"ll that three initiations are better than
one. and that if Lucius wants to look his best in the Isiac processions
he needs a new robe. (The robe from the first initiation had been left
in Greece.) [n paraphrasing this epiphany I have chosen a flippant
tone, but the point is not that the reader must now perceive the god as
the greatest con artist. rather that the author's narratology has in-
vested the reader with the opportunity, the materials, and the neces-
sity for interpretiug Lucius's narrative one way or another. Something
has been left out-in this at least Lucius's fears are correct and the
god's statement to the contrary is wrong.
The standard ofsurprising clarification scr by the inrcllcctual wor-
ries resolved in Aristomcncs' talc, Milo's tale, Thelyphron's talc, the
Risus festival, etc .• is not met here. As those narratives raised doubts
about the nature of what happened and the narrator's interpretation
of his experience, so the epilogues to Book 1l cast doubt on the
events of chapters 1-26. But unlike those paradigms, Lucius's epi-
logues reporting his own post-initiatory astonishment and despera-
tion do not outshine the odd illumination of chapters 1-26. Instead
they raise potentially serious issues of religious criticism, and the nar-
rator (1. Lucius) s'ww.s us Lucius going through the motions of ac-
ceptance, the I remaining strangely removed from the writerly pro-
cess of tempering in hindsight the shocks of the past. What has been
omitted, not from the initiations but from their recounting by ''1,
Lucius," is the narrator's present aurhority as a confirmed lsiac.
Since Lucius is now, by a windfall of luck as a Latin legal orator,
wealthy. he can buy what is required for the third initiation without
strain. Again he docs more than is required: he fasts for more than the
prescribed ten days and purchases the! religious supplies with a lar-
gesse measured not by the rate of his income but by the zeal of his
piety. 33 We may consider his willing contribution to the god's re-
quirements, supplying more than is asked, as an analogue of the read-
er's activity. We find ourselves supplementing the text. making up for
the author's reticence, fulfilling his obvious intentions in the direction
he must be heading. Particularly in the two epilogues we must over-

32. quicquo1m sitr•riHs Mtlis.mm (29).

33. iPutm((um tt'ldat• CLmtp~Jro la~l(illH ex SlluliiJ pit'lo1tis maRi.r •JU•UII mt'PUimJ rrmm col·
I.Jti.s (30).
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWERS 223
come the! monclary and theological scrupll.'s that du.· author has
placed in our (and his own) path. This is our contribution to the wor-
ship of Isis and Osiris, making up for the present narrator's dcticicn-
cics. He might have said, •• 1 must admit that there were surprises still
in store for me in Rome-some temporary anxieties about making a
living and offering sufficient recompense to the temple of Isis, further
enlightenments about the higher reaches of Osiran initiations that
were complcmemary to those of Isis-but none of these could touch
the profound sense of calm and self-possession that I now have
reached." But he doesn't. This is the contribution asked of us.
lt is worth remarking. though it takes us outside the text, that the
accusations of venality and deceptiveness were: familiar cllltural im-
ages conceming the clergy of Isis in Rome. A believer knows as well
as an unbehcver \\.'hat arc the malicious charges brought against his
faith. It is more from christians than from non-christians that we
learn the general suspicions of cannibalism and incest in thc:ir Jove
feasts. 34 To an lsiac, supporting the temp)e \Vith contributions of
money and accepting religious authority arc nm obviously bad
things, but they arc the ricklish side of Egyptian religion in Rome.
Their prominence in such a jolting fashion at the end of this pro-
foundly sophomoronic text is no solution to rhc problems of under-
standing that have been engineered by Book 11 .

THE FINAL lMAGE

The closure of chapters l-26 and of the first epilogue (chap-
ters 26-2H) on themes from the prologue (presence of a stranger in
Rome. language studies. forensic practice) has been noted above. As
the second (and, as it happl·ns, final) epilogue winds down. there oc-
cur some of the same topics, bm with a difference. Osiris encourages
Lucius to keep delivering legal speeches in the: forum anJ to display
uthc hard-won learning ofmy studies."3S Th'-' penultimate sentence
notes a special honor: Lucius is chosen as a member of the goveming

34. E.~ .. 'Icrtullun i-\pol. M. 7; Ort!!:en lo,tlra Cl'lsum6.27. Sec further F.J. lJol~r.
.. S:u;ramentum Jnf:mticidii," Ar11ik1· un.l Chrisft'tlfum4(19.\4}: 1~-22ft
35. sruditltum mn•nmr labrJritJJ.a d.wriuoJ (30). cchomp; the prologue: .swdiLmmr Quiri-
tiwn . .. tll.'rlmmabilll.rbon.· . .. moJ!istm
224 CONSEQUENCES
board of the pastophoroi. It is possible to detect here that peculiar
note of intense dignity associated with the lowest echelons of any
administrative hierarchy: ''lest I be forced to attend his rites mingled
with the rest of the crowd."36
The difference in this third ending is the image that the final sen-
tence impresses on our minds: •'So once again with my head shaved as
close as possible, I was performing the duties of the most ancient
college. founded in the days of SuJla himself; and with my ba]dncss
not o'ershadowed or covered from view but displayed in every direc-
tion. I was joyfully going about."3 7
In the translation I have represented obibam twice, in order to catch
the important effect of an imperfect tense ("I was goiug about") at the
t•nd of the last sentence in the novel. The narr3tor qua narrator is of
course located in the present, contemporary with us in the act of nar-
rating. He bt•gan his enunciation with a promise for tht~ future (.. I will
sew together,'' .. I will charm your cars..). He then began his imper-
sonated narrative with a past imperfect {"1 was heading for Thes-
saly .. ). The full cirde of narrative time would be completed by a sim-
ple past or a past perfect closing the talc :md connecting with the
present: ··so I walked the streets of Rome and here I am today." There
is no escaping the incompleteness of the end ... I was walking:·
The imperfection of that tina] verb leaves the narrative circle un-
closed: The idcmity of the impersonated I is ncvc:r brought into con-
tact with the present narrator of the prologue. The distance between
the llllctor and the actor, defining a flexible space in which the AA had
been continuously playing. is left unbridged. 38 No spark can cross
that gap but what the reader supplies. The incompleteness of the ego-
narrative, three times hinting that it is about to conclude by catching
up with the present but ending on obibam, is in the nature of a taunt.
Behind it I sec (as Callt-bat cal1cd it) le sourire complia· du uarratetlr. 3 9
But more astonishing for its exquisite ambiguity is the picture it-
self. Note its graphic and personal decisiveness, not just baldness but

36. llf s.t(ris sui~ gn·gi <"ffm' pamixtus Jc·suuin·m (30}.

37. mr.ms dt'lliqm· qu11m ms,, rllp;/lc' r11llrgii r~rlllrtissimi rt sub illis Srllar trmporibus
liiPioliti mwli.t, tJOPiclbumlmJ11• urfc,btatP caluitio, st·d rJllclrJUrJUt'rJIIS c1b11it•, gaudnu ,>biboJm (.30~
3H. ln 3 nm·el that docs not so zc;;alously explore the paradoxes of narrating, such
as Achille~ T<~tiu.·>'~ l.r1&ip~ ,mJ Klrilclph~m. the end may be left dangling without pro-
\"Oking any an:oc:ieties about the fundamental ~en~e of the discourse.
39. Quote-d ;It Ch;apu:·r I, po~ge U!.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 225

a pcrf~ctly shaven head, forced on the attention of tht:" Roman popu-

lace on the Campus Martius (where the temples of [sis and Serapis
had public courtyards), and on ourselves reading this book. It is like
what in cinema is called a freeze-frame, used for endings that arc
thought-provoking and ambiguous. Why should the detail of Lu-
cius's shaven head be made to bear the focus of final, insistent inspcc-
tiont as if a strong spotlight rested just on his dean dome and all the
rest of the scene were relatively dim?
To understand why Lucius's joyful baldness has been reserved tor
highlighting at this final moment requires that we go outside the text
to supply a piece ofinformation. But we arc after all at the very end of
our internal analysis and will soon go on in Part Three to investjgate
relations of the AA to its cultural context. Here there arc four points
of general information that together set up a field of meanings around
that picture. (i) The look of lsiac devotees was familiar in Greek and
Roman citi~s. and shaven he"ads were among the most noticeable and
often-remarked features of the cult: .. the bald. linen-wearing
crowd" (Juvenal 6.533); .. Growing a beard and wearing a simple
cloak docs not make one a philosopher, nor does wearing linen and
shaving all one's body hair make one an lsiac" (Plutarch de lsidt
352C); ··when they undertake the holy rites of Isis they shave their
heads and ~yebrows'' (Ambrose PL 16.1 179). 40 (ii) It was also a prac-
tice in non-lsiac contexts to shave one's head in thanks to a god for
saving one from storms or shipwreck. Lucian makes fun of this at
some length {Salarirll Posts 1-2; Hermotimos 86), and a lexicographer
remarks. ''Slaves who gain their freedom shave their heads because
they seem to be escaping the storm of servitude, as do people who
escape shipwreck" (Nonius p. 848 Lindsay). (iii) In addition to being
an extreme religious practice, baldness is simply funny to many: from
the cures recorded at Asklcpios 's temple at Epidauros we learn that
Heraieus of M ytilcnc was laughed at because he was bald. though his
beard was fu1J;41 Eumolpos makes fun of the bald and the branded
(Pctronius Satyrika 109.8-10); "Domitian was so sensitive about his

40. On the cady hisrory ofrhe religious tonsure, sec Ph. Gobillot, .. Sur la tonsure
chrt-ticnnc: et s.cs pri:tcnducs origine5. pa.lCnnes," Revue d'Hirloi~ Ecclfsiasliaql«' 21 (1925):
3'J'J-454 (Ambrose quoted on p. 425 n. 2).
41. R. I h:rzog, Di1' Wlllldrrllc•iilm.l!t'" tvll T:pidaun1s, Philologus Suprlcmcntbami
no. 2213 (lcipz1g, l!J3l). p. 16, col. I, no. 19.
226 CONSEQUENCES
baldness that he took jokes and insults about other men's baldness as a
personal affront to himself'' (Suetonius Domit. 18}. (iv) Next to lsiacs,
there was one extensive and easily recognizable class of persons
whose heads were shaved: mime-comedians (calvus mitni(US, p.:i./U)s
f.PO:AaKpO~. cf. Chap. 6t pp. 160-65). References to the shaven heads of
stupidi arc numerous and there are some physical representations as
well: 41 a jester who enteruins at a dinner party would have a shaved
head (Lucian SymposiotJ 18; Alkiphron 3. 7); Non ius explains the old
world callliWr as "to be deluded-drawn from bald mimes, because
they trick everyone.. (p. 848 Lindsay~
A shaven head by itself, without further comment~ instantly brings
two things to mind for a Greek or Roman of the second century C.E.:
an [siac priest or a popular buffoon. Listen to the great authority for
conventiona] associations in that period: "To shave one's whole head
is a good dream for priests of the Egyptian gods and jesters and those
whose habit it is to do so; for all others it is a bad dream" (Artcmi-
dores Oneirokritjka 1.22, p. 29.1-3 Pack~
What energizes this ambiguity in the last sentence of the AA is the
suspicion. recently voiced by Lucius himself, that !>omeone may be
making a fool of him. The author's narratology in its own unspoken
way reinforces that possibility. The two worries so comically and a)-
most pathetically developed in the epilogues are just such as would be
pounced on by the severest critics of non-Roman and non-Hellenic
religions. If the notion is atloat that Lucius is a gu1lible dunce. the last
sentence of the AA must beg, and refuse, to be read as a witty, unwit-
ting aBusion to just that fact.
Because baldness is both a potentially funny and shaming "infir-
mity" and is, because of its very extremity, sought out as a religious
sign by lsiacs and shipwreck survivors, it makes here a picture of
exquisite ambiguity. Those readers who are inclined to share with
sympathy Lucius's commitment to his dreams and his priests will
have no trouble with his bold. almost defiant and obviously joyous
display of his naked head. Those other readers who arc inclined to

42. ju\'cnal5.171; Arnobius 7.33: ··They love the morons with their shaved heads,
the resonant sound of he:tds being boxed, the appb.use. d1e shameful jokes .and ges-
tures, the huge red phalluses" (ddatanwr, llt n.·s est, slupidorum tllpitibus r.ui.s. S~JiaJ'ittarum
sonitu rlltJ14l' plmuu,jactis et Jiais turpibus,.fiucinomm illgl'lltium ru""n•); Synesios liml>mium
[IJI B,ddl!t$S nn For illustrations. see Chapter 10, not~ 19.
 THE TEXT QUESTJONS, THE READER ANSWERS 227
doubt the claims of priests and the business of shrines wil1 tind just as
much justification in the AA for their murmurs ·~what 3 fool this
Lucius is.'" My argument is that Apulcius has made both responses
possible as a lesson about the nature of religious conviction.
The full force of the unresolved ambiguity is caught in the image
of the shaved head. My cmphasis will of course seem to some too
ami-lsiac and to others too proreligious. Can an ancient novel be
both. or rather indudl· both while endorsing ncithl·r? I ask readers of
this book to take note of their own beJiefs and of their reading of Tl1e
Golden .4ss, and then. whatever their answers to the question "What is
true in life?", to hold the need to answL·r such 3 question of the real
world distinct from the need to answer the question for the book.
Apuleius acknowledges the net"d to answer such questions in the real
world. but his book is a pmtiug ofthe question and a demonstration of
the sophomoric naturl' of its answers. Whether an individual answer
seems more wise or more foolish-wise enough to accept in spite of
its evident folly. or foolish enough to rcj~ct in spitL· of its apparent
wisdom-is and can only be an individual's decision. The shrewd
trick of the AA is that it serves both to engage such a decision and to
leave a lingering feeling that thert..• is another side to it too.

HOW ELSE COULD THIS BOOK BE READ?

Since t ht..• AA has indcrd been read in other ways, it is pt..·r-
haps worth our while to take at least a quick look at the types of read-
ing that have been proposed. Tht..•r<.· arc many analyses that present
thoughtful and interesting answers to the basic puzzle of the book,
and as such they arc in the first place a testimony to the fact that the
A.4 is a puzzle. The ways in which rhey solve the puzzle often contain
important delineations of the rich interlinking of themes in the .4.4..
which are the stuff of the convictions. or partial convictions, with
which each reader emerges from tht.· book. What they l::ack is the
second-order awareness of how the audiencc·s reaction becomes itself
an obj~ct of furth~r thought, an awareness produc.:t:d on the simplest
level by a narrative about narrators (the so-called interpolated tales) as
well as by the: more complex structures of Apulcius's narrarology.
The conventional description of modern approaches to the A.i
distinguishes two broad types: those that judge it a thoughtless
22H CONSEQUENCES

hodgepodge and those that attempt to trace some unifying pattern in

the whole. 43 I prefer to class Gc,Jdeu Ass anaJyses into three types,
according to the basic approach they take to the central question of
the auctor /auor. The first type (discussed below in two sections, ''Vin-
aigrette" and "Scherz und Ernst'') deals with the AA as ifit had no ego-
narrator at all; the second type f'Excgetes and confessors..} speaks of
the problem of the narrator without taking seriously Lucius's author-
ity for his own story (If it has a solution, why doesn't he say so?); the
third type ("'The phenomenology of grace") comes to grips with the
surprise of the new meaning introduced in Book 11 and with Lucius's
rcticl•ncc to address the issue of its concealment in Books 1 -10. Un-
der each heading there are many varieties of treatment. The foHowing
discussion is not a bibliography of modern studies of Tlte Golden Ass
nor is it anything approaching one, but rather :a series ofquestions and
remarks on a selection of gambits in an ongoing critical game.

VinaiRn'tte
One popular approach to the AA t.•mphasizcs the taste of the
tim~s for works of maximal internal variety. Such expJanations ac-
cording to mode or cultural style lay great weight on Apuleius's
sophistic polymathy as a recognized fashion in second-century rhe-
toricll display pieces (epideictic oratory) and on the search for exqui-
site and unexpected flavors in combination. So Vallette describes the
AA as a "melange indefinissablc de serieux et de frivolite, de mysti-
cismc ct de libcrtinagc, de devotion ct d'irrevcrence:· Similarly Lcsky
regards the basic law of the book as •'Hctcronomil','' Morcschini finds
it a crazy mixture ofincompatible eiements, and Flaubert feels vertig-
inous from its heady smell ofincense and urine together. 44 The sweet-

H. E.g .• C. C. Schbm (Chapter 1. note 4).

-14. P. Vallette.•. Apultc•, Lt>s MttdPH~JrplrMt'S (Paris, 1940~ 1: xxx11; Lcsky. "Apul.:ius
von Madaura" (not~ 12): 72; C. Morcschini, "La Dcmonologi:a ml'dio-pl.ttonic:~. c lc
Mt'I~Jtlll''}i'si di Apuh.·io," Maia 17(1965): 30-46 (rd. p. 43); Flaulwrt. C,m'5pcmJaiUt'
(Paris. l'J26). 2: 450: "Mais s·il y a unc verite artistiquc au mondc, c'cst que: cc: liwc: c:st
un chef d'ocu\'re. II nu.· donne: ~ moi dc:s vc:rti~s c:t ~blouiss.:-me-nts. l:l nature pour
c:llc:-mcmc. lc paysagc. lc: ~:c.itc purcmcnt pittorcsquc des cho!ioCS sont traitcs Ia a la mo-
dc.-rnt• ct avt.>1.' unl" sou tHe amiqu1.' et chrcficn tout ensemble qui passt" au milieu. (.a sent
l'cncc:nsc: c:t l'urinc:.lc bcsti.a1itc s'y mari.e au mysti~.:ismc. Nous sommcs bien luin Ctll'Or~·
de l."l..'la, mluS autn-s, conunc t:uundragc moral. cc qui me fait croire que le littcr.:uurc
franc;aisc: c!>t l"ncorc jcunc."
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE REA DEn ANSWERS 229
and-sour juxtapositions arc sometimes explained by the personality
of the author, as well as the tastt: of the times; ~'There is in fact a
central ambivalence in the romance. a tension between Milesian ribal-
dry and Platonist mysticism, which reflects the complexity of the
author·s personality." 45 Similarly Hoevds reads in the novel an un-
conscious dynamic of the author's psyche. which is however so repre-
sentative of the readers· unconscious contradictory tendencies that
Apulcius naturally became the most famous representative oflatc an-
tique irrationalism. 4 &
It is true that variety was widely appreciated as a spice oflife and of
literature in Apuleius·s day, and this approach does welJ to bring that
out. But the limitation of this approach to the AA is that in such
fashionable variety one can sometimes detect deeper principles at
work. For instance, Lucian in lkaromeuippos 15-16 portrays Menippos
as one who appreciates the rdativity of human situations. From a
point of view high above: the earth, one can see tragedies (serious
crimes) in the palaces of kings and also the ridiculous contretemps of
commoners: "The spectacle was altogether variegated and contrast-
ing in its parts:· This vision is not an end in itself but a means to
realize the truth in cynical commonplaces a hour the vanity of human
striving. lt would be shonsighted to deal with Apuleius only as an
epicure who appreciates an extraordinary range of flavors and not to
notice those elements of tltougltt that he introduces about the various
meatlit~gs of that variety. Pointing to th~ utaste of the times" as an
explanation for the construction of the AA misses the most interest-
mgtssucs.
I think it worth emphasizing that the fundamental shortcoming of
such an account of the AA is its subordination of the author's work to
a greater entity. the force of "the age itself... which like a strong cur-
rem or a panicky crowd carries everything with it. All explanations
that begin •• A pule ius lived in an age that ..... arc methodologically du-
bious. It is a patter (see below) of thought that by definition can produce
no surprises, since it sees Apul~ius and the AA as passive products of the

45. P. G. Walsh, 'flu· R,,m,m .'\'•'l't/ (Cambridge, England, 1970}: 143: J. Am;lt,
"Sur qudqucs asp~.:cts Jc l'c!iothctiquc baroque dans h:s MhamrJrpln•s'"s d'Apulcc," Re,•u(
dt:l Elrldt·s Aruit'rlnt•s74(11J72): 105-52.
46. E E. Hoc-wls. Miirdtt'tl ur~J Afo1,ek i11 dm .\·1t·tar~wrpl1osm d'"s Apul'"ius 1.-\Jff .\la-
daura, Studies in Classic:a! Anuqu1ty, no. 1 (Amstcrd:l.m, 1979): 2&..
230 CONSEQUENCES
times, as symptoms. as excrescences, as reflections. But if, as I argue,
the AA contains a great deal of the surprising and thoughtful. then a
theory that has no place for the notion of an individual work written
against as well as with its times can hardly be adequate. [I had written
"pattern'' above. but a witty typesetter improved this to "patter.''
defined in Merriam-Webster's Collegiate thus: "(From pater in pater-
noster.) 1. The cant of thieves, vagabonds, etc., or of any class or pro-
fession: jargon or lingo. 2. A kind of rapid, voluble speech or ha-
rangue such as used by fakers or tricksters, or by comedians." The
academic speaking I have in mind is bounded by a triangle at whose
corners stand the preacher, the con man, and the standup comedian,
each with his set of glib formulas.]

Scltrrz mtd Enut

Another species of the same view, which acknowledges the
meaningfulness of Book 11 as both a] together diffcrem and final. tells
us that Grcco-Roman religion-and perhaps pre-modem religion in
general-displays a festive mixture of playful and serious elements that
is puzzJing to us only because our own religious formats have devel-
oped on other, more strait-jacketed lines. •• Ancient folk thought differ-
ently on this subject." 47 Tragedies were foiJowed by satyr plays; the Isis
procession is preceded by a masquerade (11. 8). The end result of this
line of thought is that Book 11 is not a problem, wa.snot a problem to its
audi~nce, because Book 11 fits an obvious paUt!rn of practice (which
has since disappeared~ Like the Vinaigrette view. proponents of Sclrerz
mrd Ernst arc saying that if only we had lived at the time Apulcius wrote
we would not be puzzled by Book 11.
There arc some important truths lurking behind this approach. but
like Lcvy-Bruhl's invocation of a uprimitivc mcntahty" that is not con-
fined by the law of non-contradiction, Scherz 1md Emst can be a catch
phrase that legitimizes fuzzy thinking about the complex realities of
Greco-Roman cults, festivals, taboos, prayers. rheologies, and senses of
decorum. The essential distinctions to draw arc the foUowing.
The sportive and satirical treatments we find ofGreco-Roman reli-
gious practices are most often located outside actual rituals. It is one
thing to find jokes told about priests and sacrifices; it would be quite

-17. R Merkel bach, RMran a.md .\lyJt~rium itt der Atttikc (Munich/ Berlin, 1%2): 1:!6.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWERS 231

another to find priests telling jok~s at sacrifices. I would include in this

catgory ofjokes about religion not only texts such as Juvenal's Satires
but also many passages from Greek comedy, which, though performed
tmder the general patronage of Dionysos on his holidays is not a rite.
The real value of Scherz wrd Emst is that it draws attention to the char-
acter of holy days as holidays in societies before the invention of rhe
weekend. Some of these jokes arc directed at character types (hypocrit-
ical or venal priests) or at the sheer foreignness of a non-native rite; a
large number arc just silly portrayals of ceremonial behavior. Strep-
siades' initiation into Socrates' school and Dikaiopolis's phallic mini-
procession follow the same comic routine as the trial of the dog in the
Wasps: a fami1iar ceremony with unexpected implements. Under the
empire the comic tradition of sporting with things religious continues
with mimes involving mytho}ogical travesties and parodies of Egyptian
religion and christian baptism. 48 Indeed, some of Apulciusts readers on
first reaching Book 11 must have thought. at ]cast momentarily. that he
was now beginning an Isis mimd
[n a different category altogether we must place scurrilous behav-
ior during rites-those archaic practices of honoring certain gods on
certain days with obscene cookies, dirty jokes and gestures. Of these
we must observe that they arc not a generalizable feature of all reli-
gious holidays but rather a well-regulated and situationally depen-
dent allowanc~. 49 Thus the men and male animals are expelled from
the temple of Demeter Mysia ncar Pcllcnc on the third day of her
seven-day festival. and the women hold an all-night celebration dur-
ing which they do "what custom lays down''-Pausanias's polite way
of referring to indecorous behavior-and on the next day the men
return and the two groups take turns ridiculing and insulting each
other (Paus. 7 .27. 9). Such rituals arc evidently very archaic and occur
only within weH-dcfined limits. Tht!' late intellectuals who mt!ntion
them express both reverence for their antiquity and profound shock at
their content. Ritualized obscenity is a very different thing from the
general laxity of behavior on tcstivc days.

4X. The m1mes. mocking Christian ri1uals. ate ,icscribt:d by H. lkich. /)(r Mimu~
(Berlin, 1903): 80-'J); Tc:rtulli<m 1111:ntions one involving E~yptian religion: ''w.:.-lws
Arwbis{Apol. 15.1~
49. H. Fluck. "Skurrilc Rih.'ll in gricchischcn Kultcn" (Diss. Frciburg im BrcJ5.-
gau, 1'131 ).
232 CONSEQUENCES
Next to the old and carefully circumscribed traditions of ritual
Scl1~rz 1md Emst, we must not forget to place the widespread norm of
Scherz gegen Erust. Plutarch, for instance, who had maximal respect
for the conventions of Greco-Roman piety even when they were non-
sense, is puzzled and upset by ritual obscenity (citing Xcnophanes: dt
/side 361 B; de defect. orat. 417C1 as were most thoughtful persons who
took both their morality and their worship of the gods seriously.
Pythagoras is an extreme case. but one understands the premise be-
hind repons that he never overate, had sex, got drunk, or indulged in
]aughter, ridicule, and vulgar stories (Diog. Lacrt. 8.20). If Milcsian
tales ar~ not really felt to be incomp.atible with serious pursuits, how
could Epiktctos criticize a student for reading them instead of Zeno
and Chrysippos (Arrian Epict. 4.9.6)?
Neither festival license nor certain very specific ritua]s of indecor-
ous laughter should be used to obliterate the normal distinctions felt
and observed regarding serious ceremonies, religious holidays, jok-
ing tales, and obscenity. Priests did not suddenly wink and grin and
tell diny or frivolous stories to the crowd during a ceremony. In par-
ticular, Egyptian priests were generally characterized as peculiarly sol-
emn. During their welJ-known periods of purification. they (like Py-
thagoras) forbade themsel\'eS all sex, laughter, or wine (Plutarch.
Quat•st. cotwil'. (5.10: 685A); .. Their laughter is infrequent, and when it
does occur ic on]y goes as far as a smile" (Chairemon frag. 10 Schwyzer
= Porphyry de abstitJ. 4.6). Clement of Alexandria (Pard. 2.4.2-4) de-
scribes the interior of Egyptian temples where you will find "a pas-
tophoros or some other ministrant about the precinct, looking solemn,
singing a paean in Egyptian, drawing aside just a little of the curtain to
display the god-which affords us broad laughter at his reverence"-
for it is only a statue of some animal! Clement may be laughing, but the
pastophoros is not. Of course, Egyptian holy days wen: ft:stiv:ds and
therefore one encounters licentious activities among the general popu-
lace: Strabo at Kanopos notes the wild license of the holiday crowd,
dancing and cavorting indecently, and sets it in opposition to (dvri.
uavrwv) the great reverence observed within the temple of Sera pis
itse1f (17.1.17). So in Book 11 the entire city ofK.:nchreai (and presum-
ably Corinth) celebrates the spring festival of Isis's ship-some as a
m.:re holiday and a time to wear Mardi gras costumes. others with the
clear and dignified reverence of their calling as priests or initiates.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWEHS 233
Finally it must be said that the Scherz Jmd Emst view ignores the
order of information arranged in the AA. Thc:rc is nothing surprising
or confusing about marginal merrymaking git'Cn that we know this is a
religi,ms ltoliday. But that is exactly what the narrator of Books 1-10 has
not told us about the narrative. The cultural equation is not reversible.
Ifwe know that a certain day or place is holy, we may expect it to attract
less serious paraphenomena. But nothing in the ancient world autho-
rizes us to infer fromjokcsorentcrtaining tales (Books 1-10) the immi-
nent prC'scncc of a goddess.
The deepest irrelevance of Scllerz 1md Emst as an expla11atiou of The
Goltletr Ass is that it addresses only the fact that serious and frivolous
elements may sometimes be juxtaposed, and not the fact that we arc
reading a serial narrative by a single narrator. Both the Vinaigrette
and the Scherz mrd Enw theories talk about the narrative of Lucius as a
variegated thing rather than listening to it as a discourse by an ego.
They arc quite successful, to be sure, in bringing out one pole of its
axis of unity. But the AA is not simply an anthology with an invisible
editor, rather it is an autodiegetic ('~[") text that is both tocused on an
auctor /actor and that continually plays with the significance of that
fact. The next theory. however. does try to account for the compati-
bility of Books 1-10 with Book 11 as a single person's narrative.

Exegetes cmd co~/fssors

One of the most interesting and suggestive approaches to the
AA is that which locates the implied occasion of its narration (what
Gcncttc calls its .. narrative instance") in a temple precinct. A visitor to
any of the great pubHc sanctuaries of the ancient world would have
encountered among the crowds of hucksters, oracle sellers, 50 and de-
vout worshipers two kinds of storyteller: exegetes and confessors.
The exegetes, or pcricgctcs, offered guided tours of the area for a fee,
and the ]ore that they retailed about statues and persons and p]accs
h;td ~ good deal of the secular-f:abulous about it. Confessors were

50. Plut.uch de l'ytll. Oltli'. 407C: '"Howcvc~ the gre.ttest disgrxe was brought
upon the honor of poetry by those rncndi•ant hustlers, that unstabk crowd who hover
abou~ l he tcm plcs of~ he Mother or of Scra pis. rccil ing oudes that they cit her make up
or pick out by lot from some books for slaws and \Vomeu, who arc mo!it irnprc!iSt.-d by
ntetcrs and poctkal words."
234 CONSEQUENCES
those who spoke aloud their personal testimony to the helping power
of the god in question: it was considered a normal return for an im-
portant divine favor to spend some time at the temple announcing to
all and sundry that the god had manifested his or her power in one's
own life. Alternatively (or in addition~ one could write up an account
of the desperate need and divine liberation one had experienced and
deposit it in the temple as an offering, for others to read. The story-
teller's invitation in the prologue of the AA docs not in itself suggest
that the speaker is to be thought of as standing ncar any temple, but
the concluding scenes of Book 11 locate Lucius precisely at the grear
temples of Isis and Serapis on the Campus Martius in Rome. The
suggestion is that (i) the tales ofBooks 1-tOare the sort that could have
been heard in a temple precinct as well as in many other locations
(marketplace, dinner table1 and (ii) the narrating $ituation that
emerges in Book 11 clarifies the (fictional) setting in which the audi-
ence and the narrator of the entire book are to imagine themselves
located, and more precisely, identifies that narrator as a confessor. 51
Both parts (i and ii) of this theory are truc:-and I shal1 now support
them with a selection of evidence to recrc=atc a sense of place for our
.. narrative instancc"-but though (unlike the theories in the previous
section) they do account for the identification of the speaker as an
auctor I attor, they still do not explain the AA.

E:n~gete.s.
The most complete picture of guides at work is Plu-
tarch's Wl1y the Pythia No LonJ!er Gives Omc/es in W!rse. The periegetes52
at Delphi take a group on tour through the sacred area. Their lecture is a
set spiel (Ta uvvrETay,Uva, 395A; T~ friluE18, 396C) that includes
reading aloud the inscriptions (ni ?TOXXa T~v i:m:ypCliJ.p.lrrwv, 395A),

51. The rhc:ory here advanced is my own version of a suggestion that has been
often made without much rigor: H. We mer." Zum Loukios e Onos," 1-lmnc·s 53(191S):
240-41; R. Merkelb~ch, "Fr;Jgtnent C'ines s:atirischen Romoans: Aufforderung zur
l:Scichre," Zeiuchrifrfur fbpyroloxir amd Epigraphik 11 (1973): 88 n. 24.
52. Plut2rch's word for "guide"' is prrirgrtrs, proboably bec2us~ tor him 'he older
s.cnsc of "exegete" as inrcrprctcr of ritu4llaws is strung. ln Pausanias's lhirgesU, how-
ever, the: guid~·s arc: n·gubr!y c:<~llcd ··~-xcgt"tcs." P:ms:mi:as's ref<"rc:ncl.."s to guides :ue
collected by A. W. Persson in a work dcvorcd to exegetes in the older sense: Di( Extgr:·
wr •md Ddplti, Lunds Universitets Arssk:dft. ny foljd Avdelningen 1, 14/22 (Lund,
1918): 43-46. C( R. MacMullen, Rrg4rfi.rm in tl11~ Roman EP?lpirt! (New Haven/London,
19H1 ): ;2(J-30.
 THE TEXT QUESTlONS. THE READER ANSWERS 235
telling historical anecdotes about curious and marvelous events
(Hiero's pillar fell down on the very day that Hiero himself died in
Syracuse: "the visitor marveled," [t.fJatip.aUE, 397E J~ mythical tales
(the rock where the first Sibyl sat when she left the Muses, 398C),
and-most important for our purposes-melodramatic novellas. A
wicked stepmother plotted to kill her stepchildren by pojsoning their
bread, but the baker-woman revealed the plot to the father and plates
were switched so that the stepmother's own children ate the poisoned
bread (401 E-F). The material is similar to AA 10.4-5 and to He-
liodoros Aithi.,pika 8. 7, here attached to the name of K roisos as a talc
about one of his dedicatory statues: since the statue had been known as
The Brcadbakcr at least since Herodotos (1.51.5), the talc may have
been told by guides at Delphi for sjx centuries before Plutarch heard it.
At a small shrine a curious visitor may have to seck out someone to tell
him the lore of the place, as Longos seeks an exegete to tell the story
that is implied in a painting he sees in a remote grove of the Nymphs
(Daplmis a11d Chloe, proem~ but at a major religious ccmer the guidt:s
arc ready and waiting for the tourists (as they arc today at sites in
Greece): .. Walking around in the colonnades of the temple ofDionysos
I was inspecting each picture, savoring the shl-er vjsual delight and inci-
dentally renewing my acquaintance with the heroic myths-for two or
three men had instantly rushed up to me and oflered to narrate every
story for a small fcc. Actually 1 could pretty well guess what most of
them were myselr' (l Lucian J Erotf!s 8, on Rhodes).
The note of impatience in this last remark and in Plutarch 395A
("The guides paid no attention when we asked them to cut short their
set speeches and most of the inscriptions") is an educated person's reac-
tion to a discourse that must have been pitched at a fairly low common
denomjnaror of public credulity and ignorance. It is precisely this expe-
riential moment that explains the ancient references to ••tying" and
"garrulous" art't~lo~'i who turn up as ~nt~nainers/storytellers in com-
pany with actors, buffoons, and writers of comic skits. The ancient
references to aretalogoi arc tcw, but some arc clearly honorific and others
just as clear]y contemptuous. 53 If the person and :lctivily arc placed in
the context l have described, there is no real prob]em in explaining the

53. A. Kicti:r, ·· Arctalogisc:hc Studicn" {Oiss. frciburg imllrcis~au, l'J2'J).

236 CONSEQUENCES
shift in attitudes. The wrong approach to aretalogoi, popularized by
Rcitzcnstcin in his Hellmistischt W.mdtrerziiltlungeu, 54 is to focus nor on
the persons and their activities but on arctalogia ("arctalogy") as a
(phantom) literary genre with ftxed rules of style and content and then,
like a librarian with a shelf now labeled but nothing on it. to look for
examples of the genre. This leads to the claims that everything from
Horace Satires 1.1 to Antonius Diogcnes' Jost novel A-larvels beyond
Tlwlc is explained by reference to the invisible generic category arttalo-
~id, which is then subdivided into .. profane arcta)ogy," .. religious arc-
talogy;· ..oriental aretalogy," ••edifying-obscene aretalogy," etc. In fact
the very word dpETa>..o-yta, though acceptably formed, occurs only
twice: once in the Septuagint and once in pseudo-Manetho 's astro-
logical hexameters (4.447. fourth-century c. E.)-ncithcr a very good
witness to natural Greek. i\pETaA.o')'ttr has as much claim to be a real
Greek word as #-f.vilEvp.ara in the same line of Manctho.
But if there was no such thing as a Rt'llre called aretalogy, there
were certainly persons caJlcd aretalogoi. A person so designated could
tdl the wonder stories of the gods whose miracles ("retai) had been
seen. Two men of Delos, Pyrgias and PE:olcmaios, describe them-
selves in inscriptions as arrttdogoi; the latter was also a dream inter-
preter. Nothing in our evidence indicates that aretalog..>s should be: re-
garded as a temple office in the same sense that priest, pastophoros,
etc .• arc offices with cult duties ro be performed at stated times.
Rather an aretalo~s, like a dream interpreter. is a person with a skiU to
offer who finds his livelihood where he is needed. most often ncar
shrines. The assumption that aretalogos denotes a sacred office is ex-
actly what has created the problem of how to understand the aretalo~i
who entertain Augustus at dinner (Suetonius Oaar~. 74). The same
assumption has led many, in searching for texts suitable for an arctalo·
gos to deliver. to caU the [sis hymns arctalogics. 55 What we are de-

54. (Lc1pzig. 1Y<I6~ In dtristian New Tcstanu:m studies. arc:u.logy has bc..-cn
dctincd as a n:ur:nin: th:u "must h.:m: .:1 hero whom it ct·lcbratc~. by reporting one or
mnrl.' of his marn:lluus deeds." The intcrc!it~ that motivate the nmstructiun of surh a
category. Yiz., to tind and assess narntiws rhat rc:u·mblc thl' chnstian gospels, arc sur-
\'c~·d by M. Smith. "Prolegomena to a Di!i-Luss.ion of An.·ulogics.. Dil'inc Men, thc:
Gospels .mdJcsus." )o11nJal of Biblical Liter<~ Ill IT 90 (1971 ): 174-W, from which the above
quote i!i taken (p. 196~
55. Tc~ts listc:J in Grandjean, :o-.;,wn·lk Arh411c•gi(' (note 1): ~-11. lt should bt: nmk
ciC'ar that those hymns form a se~r;m:, rclat~d class [o wondt•r storit-s. The hymns
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. TI-lE READER ANSWEUS 237
scribing, rather. is an activity and an ability-the possession of a rep-
ertory of stories lbout a sacred vicinity-rather than a formal
religious office or a genre with fixed rules of style and content. The
most likely examples of what an aretalO).I{)S could hav.: narrated are the
stories of cures at the healing shrines of Scrapis and Asklcpios, of
which a fair number have survivcd. 56 They test the boundaries of
credulity, relating quite fantastic events, often rather amusing ones
and som.:times involving the conversion of disbdicvcrs. Jnsot:u as an
aretalogos may be a historian or curator of miracle stories that are ap-
proved for circulation and inscription in the god's honor, we may
want to set his activity at the higher notch of honor than the temple
guidc's. But from the point of view of the.- stories told, the areM logos is
essentially a type of cxcgc':c.
The talt·s told at a shrine included many that \Vould bmh then and
now have been thought silly and even scabrous by some. A cavalry
horse, blinded in the right eye, is brought to th<.· tcmp1l" of Sl"rapis by
du.• so]dier who owns him. The god restores the horse's sight and the
animal prostrates himsdfbcfore the god's altar in profound gratitude!
(Ad ian N11t. auim. 11.31 ). 57 Two farmer's daughtl"rs who lived in the:
country districts around Syracuse were arguing about \Vhich had the
more attractive: buttocks, so they went out to the.· open road and asked
a young man from the city who was passing by to judge between
them. He decided in favor of the elder. But he also fell madly in Jove
with her and on retuming home took to his bed, as lovers so afflicted

--- - - - - · · - - - - · - - · - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - · - - ·
mc:ntion thc: fac:t that the gulidl·M; is. powc:rful and tht.·y sometimes rdL:r in a gt:n~o•ral way
to typical incidents of s.;aving ;and he:;~ ling: e.g .• lsidoros (SEG \'iii.S-'H) 2:1-34. (Tiw
D...·lian }l.,;xamctc-rs ut M.tiisus I J. U. Powell, C1llt·a,mt'a Al,·xattrlriti.J (London. I'J25}:
f*l-711 arc addrl'ss.:d to Serapis and tdl thl· wonder story ui his pncsr"s victory in ~
r.:nurt CISl'.) Nu mw L"Jn safdy aftirm ur d~o•ny tlMt Pyrgias, PtniL·nuin!i, and other .m·ta-
1,,~,; recited the Isis hymns. but one can make best scnSl' of the exiguous c:\·idcncl' by
thinking of them as s:Xt:gl'h:s tirst ;md ,-~ntors. if<~t o.ll, M:~omi.
5(). V. Lon~o. A•r·t,llo.~it• "rl "JLmJ,, ;(rt'W, \'ol. 1, J;p(cr•!tl r P•lpiri, Pubblicazioni
dc:ll'hututo di filolugi;l d.n~k;J c: mc:t.licv<~lc ddi'Univcr~it:l Lh ti~o·nov.t, nu 2') (GcuuJ,
1%9~ ..... the sJ.Crcd libraries contain countlc:ss numbers of holy books Iof Scrapis·s
t:urc:sr (Ad ius. :\ristcidcs (Jr. X ITo St·r;~pis J, p. 95 Dindorf).
57. 0. Wdnrcich, /J/,i/oltlgisrht' !HJc/lt'JUdlrrli -'-' (IIJ24): 72H-31 = .>\us.~l."u•alllrr
Scl1r~tim (Amsterdam. 1973~ 2: 63-6fl. Sc.~ also Adi;m·s stnr)' ot the t"ripplcrl tiglning
nx:k \\:ho tolluwc:d his master to the tcmplc: of Asklcpios, linc:d up With the mornmg
chorus to sing the p:~c;m and ,-isibly Sl"l"tm•d to be asking for a curc:, whirh tht• god
groaduuo;ly gr;uu~·d (frag. 9H Ht.:rl"hcr}.
238 CONSEQUENCES

are wont to do in ancient stories. He confides in his younger brother.

however, who goes out to the country to see for himself, and he falls
in love with the younger daughter. The father of the two sons is a
wealthy man of the city and docs not approve their marriage with two
poor women from the country, but at last he relents. The two farmer's
daughters, now married to wealthy husbands, found the temple of
Aphrodite Kallipygos (''Of the Beautiful Buttocks"; Athcnaios
Deiptt. 12.554C-E = Kerkidas frag. 14 Powell). What Reitzenstein
really sensed, in his search for nretalogia, was the wide range of accept-
able storytelling in temple contexts. 58 Apuleius's tales arc of course
longer and more elaborate than anything attested as a temple talc and
more importantly they provide no obvious hooks that would attach
them to a cult object or sacred place. Even to associate the AA tales
with the tales of exegetes and arctalo~i requires that v..-e tum to a spe-
cial category of JVunderrrzi:ihler, the person who tells his owu story.

Corifessors. Exegetes and arrtalogvi, insofar as they purvey

narratives to an audience, are telling from memory or from an in-
scription somcouc else's story. They arc the cxtradicgctic narrators of
adventures, however comic or salvific, that happened to another. But
the narrative of the AA is problematic for us precisely because the
narrator is not reading, say. an inscription whose final lines are un-
foreseen but is telling IJis own tale. We must leave the tempk guides on

58. "H.•rc a rtfcrcnce willnol be out of place to thl· Ethiopic 'Book of rhe Cock'
whic.:b is rC"ad in the Abyssini.m Church on Maundy ThutSU3)'· It has bcc:n translated by
M. Chaine.-, in the: Re•t•ue Sbnitiqur, 1905, p. 276. The contents ;arc as follows:
After thc:sc thin~s Akmsina, th~ wife: of Simon th!." Philrisl."l.", brought a
cock CU[ up with 3 knite, put It in a magnitkcnt dish, and set ll on the table
before: nur Lord. Jesus said, .. My time is at hand." Hc: lllt•!;st•d the bn·ad and
gn·c it to Judas. Satan entered into him and he went out--without rccci\·ing
th~: blessing ofJesus.
Jesus touched the slain cock and it stood up whole. He badt" it tollow .Judas.
t~nd se-e wlut he did, and return and report it: he endowed ir wi1h human speech.
It toUowed Judas home: his wife urged him to betray Jesus. He went w the
temple. The di:dogut.• with the Jews is reported, and P.aul of T:mus, "son of
Josue AI mason. son of Cadatan3," a rough man. says "'Now. thou, ddivcr him
into my hands without error."
The (;Ock returned to B!."thany. anJ sat before Jesus and \Vept bitterly, and
told all the story. The disciples wept. Jesus di!tmissc:d the cock to mount up into
t~ sky for a thnu~an,i ycu~. (M. R.J;ames. Thr .o\pc'{'l'l'htll."-'••w 7i.•stdiiU'11tiOx-
ford, 19631: \50)
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 239
one side then and turn to those persons in the vicinity of an anci~nt
sanctuary whom 1 cau··confcssors."
Saved by a god from shipwreck or disease, a survivor owes pay-
ment to the cult: an appropriate sacrifice or offering ( uWu-rpcr., La-
Tpa~ a testimonial plaque. an jmage of the limb cured, a picturC' of the
catastrophe survived, the story itself Temples and shrines were full of
such memorials, 59 and it was in the interest not onJy of the clergy to
collect them as proof of the power they served60 but of tht' faithful to
offer them, for faith itsclfis powerful, and the more belief that accrues
to a holy place the greater the availability of future help in one's next
lifc-crisis.61 So familiar is the reflex of looking for a god to thank
upon the occasion of any recovery that it is the subject of jokes and
fables too: a man was suffering from such a bad case of inflated scro-
tum (hydrocele) that when his ship sank he floated safely to shore~ he
dedicated its image in a t~mple (Auth. Pal. 6.166). 62 With (evidently) a
straight face. tht• hC'ro of LucillS, or tlu· Ass thanks the saving gods for
his recuperation from asinine curiosity: "There I sacrificed to the sav-
ing gods and I dedicated votive offerings .. (56).
Placing a picture or symboJic object or inscription in a temple bears
permanent witness w what the devotee wou]d say if he were there in
person. The story remains in rhc templc. 63 For a while the person him-
self might be there thanking the god by actually telling the story to all

51J. "Cm't yuu s.t.•t.• from all the!ic ..-otin.·to~bll"ts how many pcopl~ by the- powc:r ,1i
prayer have escaped the tempest's rage .and reached sati: harbor?"' .. I should like 10 :sec,"
said Diagor:u the: :tthC"ist, "the anus.s~d otlcrings or those who \\\.·n.· !ihipwn.·ckcd and
drowneJ ar sea" (Cicero N.zt. rlr.Jt, 3.h'9~
6U. ··nil· Gotthl"it vcdJngt fur ihrt:" Hilfe Elm: unci der Kult braucht Mittel"
(Hcr1ug. Wmtdt·rltrilmrgl'll I note 411: 130~ J-kroda~ depicts thl' um bragc: of a sa..:ris-
t.ln who is otli!-rt>d only one chicken lq~ as his poruon of rhc thank ofti:ring to Askle-
pios (4.75-97).
61. h w.a.s als.t.l downri~ht chn~.;rvu~ not HI thank. the: gmi wid1 the prupc.:r mate-
ria) offering: Asklcpio<t can harm as. well as hl·al. as Echcdnros dis.co\·en·d (Epidauro:s
hc.&lm~-!.turic:!l #7: 1 h:rzo~, U'llnJrrl!dlml~'ll Inote ·U J: H-ICJ). Str.:~tuuikc 1snun:d tho:
dr~·am rcqut'!it of Ht•ra to huild h~.·r a tt•mplt• 01nd snon thl•rt>aftt.·r ti:ll si(k (Luci;m J.· •l1·it
Srria l'J~
tl2. C. f. A~o;or 2H, JO, .lt ( ~ fJJ.ill),l,>t"IM 27~ :1'; sununuizcd in Ji E. P{'rry, ed. and
trans., Bal,rius .mJ I'IMrdrus (Cdmbridge, Mas~./ London, 1965): 425-27.
63. Not only stories ot rescue but ot other fan>rs rl'Cl'i\:cd: •·Thost· who h:~.,-c dc.·-
~r:ndcd iutu llu: shrint.• nfTrophlmin!t mu~t dedicate ;a uhktun which is writtl'n all that
each has sc:en or heard" (Pausanias 'J.31J.14).
240 CONSEQUENCES
who will listen. One of the common votive pictures was the shipwreck
survived,64 and one of the typical confessors was the shipwreck survi-
vor: "I llstened with interest and attention as they to1d their amazing
tales. like men who tell of their shipwreck and salvation, I mean those
numbers of men who shave their heads and stand at the temples narrat-
ing their triple waves and storms and crags and cargo thrown over-
board and masts breaking and rudders shattering, until at last the
Dioskouroi appear (the usual saviors in this type of melodrama) or
some other deus ex mathina perched on the topmast or standing at the
rudder and guiding the ship to a soft beach where it touches land and
breaks apart slowly and without violence while the men escape to
safety, thanks to the god's kindness and generosity" (Lucian Mere. coud
1~ The shipwreck survivor naturally asks, or his very presence and
situation ask, for alms from visitors to the temple. He stands there after
all as a double sign-of genuine need (for a shipwrecked man has typi-
c.:~lly lost everything) and of the god's power. What better way for the
non-sailing devout to express their religious intentions than by offer-
ing some coins to such a man: it is simultaneously an act of charity and
of faith in the god. Naturally there will be unscrupulous men who flock
to such a situation and cynics who call them on their scam. The confes-
sor, exactly like the art'talog<,s, has a certain amount of bad press: he is a
talkative beggar, a nuisance, a fraud:65 .. They make up a tragic story to
suit their immediate need, which is to get money from a Jargc num her
of ~ople by prerending to be not only unfortunate but favored by the
gods" (Lucian .Were. coruf. 1).
The case fiu reading Thr Golden Ass as a confc:ssion in a temple
precinct is strengthened by the facr that three other novelists usc the
device of closing their narratives with a dedication of the text itself as
an offering to be placed in a temple: Xenophon ofEphesos. Antonius
Diogcncs. Apollonios of Tyre. Further, in all three of these the finale
occurs in a temple. :md in two of them the recognition and reunion
arc precipitated by the hcroine·s votive inscription (Xcn. Eph. 5.11-
13) or the hero's confession of his adventures (Ap. Tyre p. 106 Riese).
All of this evidence is doub]c edged, however. For the more clearly
we look at the compamnda-votive plaques and pictures, stories to]d

64. R. G. M. Nisbet and M. Hubbard on Horace Odt"s 1.5.13.

65. ua•~fragus loquax (Mani:~l12.57 .12; cf. Juv(."t13ll4.302; Persius l.X!-J-IJO, 6.27-
33; Phott."t.lrus 4.23.2·U:).
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWERS 241
about dedicated body-parts. beggars' tales of shipwreck, even whole
novds-thc more striking is the one esscntia] difference: we know that
they have a confessional va!ue because they (or their contexts) say so.
What sacred cat has got A puleius's tongue? We know from Xenophon
of Ephcsos exaltly what it would take for the AA to be taken as a temple
dedication-a simple statement of the fact-one that would not be
read literally. of course, since the Epltesiaka is no more a real temple
offering than the sepulchral epigrams of the Iblatin(' Amllology arc real
inscriptions. But the faux naif dcg:mcc of alluding to simple faith and
its testimonials can be achieved in a tcw words and makes a fitting sign
of closure. Even this is absent from the AA. Not only is it a far more
complex narrative about narratives that continuously disclaims a(u)cto-
rial rcsponsibiJity, it manages in Book 11 to approacl1 a simple model
that would integrate its own diversity as a single narrator's discourse
(the confession). but signally refuses to make that announcement.
As a theory, .. Exegetes and confessors" succeeds up to a point in
locating for the diversity of material in the AA a single ·narrating oc-
casion {at least as a theoretical possiblity, prcscinding from questions
of length and style and degree of obscenity and melodrama tolerable
in a temple narrative). I would go further and suggest that the confes-
sor is just what A pule ius has in mind as a tempting resolution of his
problem narrative and that (in some part) Lucius in Book 11 asymp-
totic:.lly approaches the narrative stance of a confessor. But the gap is
never dosed ... Exegetes and confessors·· finally fails as an explanation
on two counts: its proponents can explain neither why Isis is a secret
for ten books nor why if the entire AA is a bearing-witness the narra-
tor ue1~er says so to us.
1 welcome evidence that is summoned to fill out the picture of an-
cient confessors, for it would serve to support my theory of the A.4. as
an open-ended problem text that the reader must supplement. If there
is a recognizable cultural image that an ancient reader is inevitab]y put
in mind of(the confessor~ an image that Lucius's narrative comes mad-
deningly close to but decisively shies away from. then wt: have an even
more concrete sense of how Apulcian teasing \.\o"Orks. It is not the on)y
such image avai]abl-: from that cemury. There were also philosophical
entertainers who begged for a living in the same marketplaces and tem-
ple areas inhabited by lsi;tc devotees: "Alexandria has a large popula-
tion of Cynics, as they arc called, produced by their philosophy as
other men arc from theirs. people whose convictions arc certainly not
242 CONSEQUENCES
specious or vulgar-but they have to live too: so they work the crowds
at intersections and along narrow streets and at the temple gates. con-
ning boys and sailors and such, stitching together crude jokes and
long-winded chatter and sharp marketplace answers" (Dio Chrysos-
tom 32.9~ In fairness to method, we must admit that ellis Sitz im Leben
has as much that can be fitted to the eleven books of The Golden Ass as
the confessor model. 66 But if it is no less it is also no more successfuL
for what is required is a theory that faces the fact of the lsiac secret and
accounts for the narrator's prolonged concealment of his idcmity as a
deacon ofthe gods of Egypt.

The plu:nomcrtology C?fgrace

There is only one family of theories that satisfies the dou-
ble criterion of attending to the ego who narrates artd to the well-
kept secret oflsis at the end. These interpretations of the AA agree in
stressing the unusual and intentional epistemic character ofBook 11
as a surprise planned in order to reproduce in the reader an experience
of grace granted. or wisdom achieved, or moral lessons learned, 1Jtl
sim.
Before examining the variations and essential structure of that the-
ory. one should perhaps mention two others that at least nominally
satisfy our requirements. There is the "medicine show" theory, accord-
ing to which Apuleius spends ten books gathering a crowd before de-
livering his pitch. Isis is like a snake oil. more easily sold to yokels who
have been softened up by an entertaining show: .. It could even have
seemed desirable to bait the general public through saucy tales." 67 This
does technically account for the unity of narrator and the keeping of the
secret, but does not even begin to be plausible as a view of reader psy-
cho1ogy. The reader who has truly enjoyed the first ten books on their
own terms presumably wants more of the same, and when he realizes

66. Principally, all in the t\A that can be claimed as philosophy liltercd chrough
pnpul:u emeruinment, with an emphasis on \'Uigarity (skomm11ta) and lack of careful
coordination (''stitching together" = c"'uemm, 1.1 ~ This reading would make the ass's
lecture in front of the Corinthian thca[cr (10.33) the master sign1ticr for the rest of the
text: "How long must we endure this philosophi:r.ing :.ss?'' h v.'Ould produre pc.·rhaps :1
Luci•nic rc.1ding of the AA, like that of A. Hc1scrm•n. Tlu: Non: I before tilt .~',,&'tl {Chi-
cago/London, 19n): 1~5-66.
67. R. Merkdbach. Romo11 und MYJicriml1 in dt·r Ant ike (Munich/Berlin. 1962): 88.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 243
that Book 11 is serious propaganda. will simply reject it. Stronger than
that, because B(}oks 1-10 have formed in him the habit of accepting
and enjoying such bait, he will tlierefon.• reject Book 11 as alien. On
simp1er grounds, of course. one is left with a laugh4bk- disproportion
between the inviting spiel and the actual pitch.
Another tht:oretical possibility is to maintain that the AA is com-
posed for two audiences simultaneously-the initiated and the uniniti~
aled, both of whom fully understand and enjoy what is oflcrcd to their
l!!vel ofunderstanding. This rest•mblcs th~ long-controversial theory of
F. W. Verrall concerning Euripides as one who wrote for the simultane-
ous satisfaction of naive re1igious traditionalists and sophisticated de-
mythologizers. To maintain that two levels of meaning are reaJly avaiJ-
ablc from the beginning, one must find in the first paragraph ofthe tt:xt
an lsiac code that no initiate will mistake and that no non-initiate will
stumble muo. Such a reading is arte-mpted by P. Scazzoso, based on the
intersecting connotations of various single words in the prologue:
A.e~yptiam, sumrro (magical rubric~ impicere ("un vcrbo tccnico dd-
l'artc divinatoria"). 68 Yet the declaration thal lhcrc simply were nvo
independent audiences for the AA docs not address the structure of the
novel, which, at the very least, makes those two audiences confront
each other in Book 11 . Scazzoso 's initiated reader is roughly equivalent
to my second-reader, and I welcome such a reader's search. or re-
search, through the complex \Vcb of ambiguous tokens in Books 1~ 10.
But the distinctness of the: initiate-reading is nor that all readers an:
prompted to find. but rather that certain readers know from the begin-
ning. the Isiac signiticancc of this discourse. On this theory the: secret
ought to be maintained fully to the end. not half-divulged. A theory of
the narrator's secret in the AA must, to meet the facts. be a theory of
the revelation of that secret, and consequently ofchc authorial/actorial
designs on the uninitiated reader.
We turn to the one theory of real merit. which is rhat the surprise of
Book 11 is designed to be not a statement of faith for the reader to
accept, but an experience lhat reproduces the original surprise and
wonder of a religious revelation: ''for Apu]eius' purpose is at times to
deceive the reader in order that he may share in the experience of his
hero who so frequently misunderstands the situations in which he finds
244 CONSEQUENCES
himsciC' 69 Such a theory analyzes the drama of reading as well as the
drama of the events. showing how the reader is made to participate not
only in the events of Lucius's fictional life but in the original helpless-
ness of not knowing where they might lead. Thus in Book 11 the
reader experiences a deliberate discomfiture of his expectations and is
apparcnt1y required to acknowledge errors of reading. No author can
convey in words more than a simulacrum of any experience. But he or
she can construct a narrative about mistakes in such a way that each
reader wil1 make mistakes in interpretation that might be called analo-
gous to the original experience. The aim is an Alla-Erlebtris because any
straightforward preaching of the insight in question would misrepre-
sent it as an objective tlu'tJg that could be passed from hand to hand
rather than an unreproducibly personal experience.
In this theory. the act of reading is not an ethereal or translucent
process whose sole aim is to create in the reader·s mind a photo-
graphic reproduction of the text, seen angelically at a single glance
(the formalist method of New Criricism1 but is an assemblage over
time of partial integrations, guesses, and recognitions, with an inevi-
table residue of expect;-ations unfulfilled and obelized words or pas-
sagcs.70 This awareness of diachrony and culpable (less-than-angelic)
inteUigence is actually closer to the ancient sense ofliterature as per-
formance. generic variation, and rhetoric than the formalist systems.
An author with his wits about him is always aware of this practical
and useful dimension ofwriting/reading: "Others flock to my per-
formanccsexpccting comedy. onJy to discover stcc] in the ivy, a shock
whose surprise severely inhibits applause" (Lucian Diouysos 5).
The varieties of this reading arc distinguished from each other by
their rcspccrivc emphases on religious. philosophical, or hermeneutic
insight. Thl· religious reading can appeal to ancient mystery initia-
tions as brute experiences rather than educational transactions, as pa-
thos rather than gnosis: "[The soul, when the body dies, I undergoes
an experience like that of persons being inducted into the great mys-
teries~ ... first, wanderings and tiring circuits and suspicious jour-

fN. B. K~.:nny, "Th~o· Rc;J.d,c:r's Role in TIJt' G,,JJm A.sJ," .'\n•t/uua 7(1t.l7-t): 11{7.
70. S. E. Fish, Surprisfd by SitJ: Thr Rf'oult-r in "R.Jmrliu J.c.~~r" (London, 1967): Is
Tlra.· 11 lexl itr Tl1is Cla.u?: 'f11r Autl!c1rity 4 lmrrprrtil'l' G11111111tttitie•s (Cambridge.
Ma.ss., 19HO); W. lscr Tltr A a •'f R<'adi~t): (H31timorc-, 1978).
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS, TtiE ll.EADER ANSWERS 245

ncys through the darkness that go nowhere. then just before the end
all things frightful-terror and trembling and sweat and wonder; and
out of this a great light is met ..... (Plutarch Ou the Soul, frag. 178~
"Dragging me by the hair he pounded my head against the Aoor and
falling on me he began punching me right and left. I, like one being
initiated into a mystery, [knew J nothing at all" (Achilles Tat ius
Leukippr and Kleitophou 5.23). 71 The philosophical variant can find
much suppon in Plato, such as the meditation in the PilaidrM (229C-
230A) on the difficu1ty of se1f-knowlcdgc compared to the reinter-
pretation of traditional stories, such as that ofTyphon, and the many
Platonic games ofimpcrsonatc:d aporia, or in Epiktetos. who is elo-
quent on the role of philosophy to affect the individual with a sense of
inner guilt and not just to sit before an audience producing "little
thoughts and little sayings" (3.23.31}. n
I should say of this family of theories that they arc at least in the
right ballpark, but that in rooting for one team against another they
mistake the nature of the game. For they all seem to slip into the trap
of c:ndorsing the ambiguous cans (0 accept higher authority (from
Isis, Osiris, and their representatives~ thus favoring the sublime over
the ridiculous, instead of savoring the wclJ-contrived balance ofindc-
terminacy and the author's careful reticence. One final example of
this indeterminacy will serve as an indication of what these theories
have not quite grasped.
To give the name Mithras to the high priest oflsis. whose role is to
reveal to the first-rcadc:r a startling new meaning for Tluo Goldm Ass, is
like introducing the pope in the last chapter of a detective novel and
calling him Martin Luther. Centuries from 110\\' one could point per-
haps to the ecumenical movement among some twentieth-century

71. Dcmctrios mpi. EpJA.TJIIEL«'i <J.J: "Th.1t which is clear and obvious is likely to
be despised, like people who ukc: off their clothe!>.... 11011 Therefore the mysteries
arc reb.y~d in allegories in order to stun and frighten. as if in darkne-ss and the dead uf
night."
72. An a historical hcnnt.·neutic \'ariant ot this theory could dwell on the general
problem ofli\·ingltdling a life: •• ... K icrkf.·gaarJ':~o obs~:n·athm that Jifi: l.'i&ll only bt•
lived torward and understood back.wani. The experiencing self docs the living tor-
w;~rd, with the nurating sdf providing the qualifying context of undc-rsu11ding; ht"-
twccn the two temporally di5tinctlcvcls. then: arc discrcp.~ncics. in knowkd~. insight,
and \-alucs" (N. W. Visser. "Temporal Vanta~w Poim in tht' Novt•l," "l"hr }clunral o.fN.ma-
til.or: Trc/~~tiqut• 7[11J77]: H5-H6).
246 CONSEQUENCES
christians to explain the name as significantly syncretistic! The actual
name Mithras in Book 11 is postponed {tirst at 22. then at 25): surdy
the shock, on top of the speech itself, wou]d be roo great and rhe incon-
sistency too obvious to maintain the discrete balance ofBook ll's her-
meneutic comedy. Interpretations of the character Mithras in Book 11
arc an example of the way in which some modem accounts of second-
century religion have been inquinated by too uncritical a use of the AA
as a straight document: Reitzenstein 73 used the name to show that the
Kcnchreaian Isis-coven was syncretistic, and his text in tum becomes
tht: basis for assertions that .. in the syncretistic ambience of Eastcm
religions in Grcco-Roman culture, Mithras the solar god was inti-
mately tied to Isiac rcligion." 74 The evidence docs not bear this out. In
the fourth century c. E. we find an inscription by a worshiper ofmultiple
allegiance, Ccionius Rutius Volusianus, who held high positions in sev-
eral cults: pater of Mithras, hierophanta of Hekate, propheta of Isis, and
pont!fox of the Syrian Sun -evidcndy a serious collector of reHgious
offices. 75 But we also findt probably from the same century. a dedication
to .. the single Zeus, Sarapis, Helios," etc., in which the word .. Sarapis'"
has ~-en overwritten with "Mitras" 76 (Vidman. Syllogc 3R9~ At least

73. Hellenistic Myslcry-Rtl(~ions, 3d cd., trans. J. E. St~ly (Pittsburgh, Pa., 1978):

282(228).
74. C. M3rangoni.. "II Nome Asinio Muccl.lo e i mistcri di Osiride." i\rti t MtniO-
rit>ddi'Amzdrmia llalttl'il'ltl Ji &irnzr Ltrtm· td AniR7/3(1974-75): 335 n. 10. Archaeo-
logicill juxupositions of [siacil 01nd Mithraica arc collected by R. E. Wiu, "Some
Thoughts on Isis in Relarion fO Mirhr:ts," in ,\.fillmlil St11dits: Pr,•lrrdings '!; lhe ~irst
bllmsalic,,l411 Ccngrm t?f Midnuir StuJir.\ cd. J. R. Hinnclls (Manchester, 1975~ 2: 479-
93; the same author's "lsis and Mithras on Andros," in Hommagcs a M.j. H•nnastrrn,
EPRO, no. 7H (Lcidc:n, 1lJ7H~ 3: 1320-33. mak~s much of no ~vidence.
75. L. Vidman. Syllo.~ irum.ptionum rrligionis lsiacae tt SampitZlat (Herlin, l%CJ):
434, cf. rhe ~:une family in -147; comrarable insunces of Mithras/Isis/ctc. worshipers
from the late fourth c:cmury: 457, 450 note. On the ··general absence ofcxdusivencss
from Impt"rial p.ag:mi~m." mnk~:d in the ti.lurth renwry, !iee A. n Noel:. "Studies in rhe
Gracco-Roman Beliefs of the Empire," )oumal of Hdlrnic Studie.s 45(1925): 88-91. who
notes that "only the Egyptian deities claim to hold the tidd aJonc.... This c:xc:lusin:-
hl'SS was felt as such :md at times rc:~oCntcd ... •• (p. 89). In general, :sec L. Vidman, Isis
rmd &ro1pis bci Jm Gricchen und N.iirnf:m, Rdigionsgcschichtlichc Vcrsuchc and Vorar-
bcitcn, no. 29 (Berlin, 1970~ ch. 8.
76. The back side of the umc rippns has a devotional inscription either to Zr:us
I ic:lios Sarapis fmm 3 ~rson namnt Midtra or to Zt'US Hdios ~rapis M\thras from a
person unn.amed. A sla\.'C named Mithrcs. who when freed ch3nged his n3me and the
inscription to Aurdius Mithrc:s, uffc:rcd 01. dedication to Sera pis in the btc: thinl c:c:mury
C.E (L Vidm.m, Syllogc [note 75J: 3HH). Needless to say. there is a grc.at difference
berw~en a sl:.ve Mithres honoring Serapis in an inscription and a high priesl Mithras
conducting the rites of Isis and offering a spccia) revelation to Lucius.
 THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS 247
someone felt that the names still did make a difference. [f\vc look closely
at the group of phenomena loosdy known as syncretism. important dis-
tinctions emerge. Some gods, we might say. took to each other-others
didntt. c~rtainly of all the candidates for amalgamation, the religions of
Persia and Egypt were among the least likely to take to each other. The
alliance of Demeter and Isis is t."arly and strong, 77 but thr- mythology.
cult, and aspirations of militaristic Mithras and mate mal Isis have so little
in common that it is hard to imagine how a single person could take
them both seriously-that is, with the fen..ur and dedication ilJustrated
by the prayers of Hook 11. A striking instance of the antipathy is Euna-
pios's account ofa Mithraic pater who becanu: a hierophant at Eleusis and
thereby destroyed the worship of Demeter ( Vit.at.' soplti.st. p. 436 Wright~
But the point is not that a speculative interlacing of the two forms of
worship would be impossible or unthinkable-Isis's priest does use mili-
tary metaphors-hut rather that the issue of Mithras /Isis, 1ikc that of
Luther /Leo X, is so charged with controversial implications that to
toss it casually into a purposely problematic narrative about an unex-
pected leap of faith is bound to give one pause.
The etTect is delicate and deliberate. central and eccentric. J pro-
pose it as a minor tacct of Apulcius's narrative-hermeneutic strategy
in Book 11, which is altogether. at its best, an eloquent argument
from silcnct.". What needs explaining is the direct and unmissable ex-
perience of extraordinarily subtle narratology in Books 1-10 com-
bined with silence on the narrative's break at Book 11 . The text is full
of signs, of connections waiting to be made, but the l·ign{{icam fact is
that they can only be made on the reader's initiative and responsibil-
ity, often appealing to the high priest's doqul·nr and authoritative
speech, but never on the authority of the narrator in any of his shift-
ing personal locations. Abov<.· all thl' famous Osiran lapsus lin~Hat
(Aiadaureusem, 11.2H) does not interpret itsdf. It tells us only what we
already knew-that Apulcius did write the novel-and not \Vhat \Ve
have hl'l'n made to want to know.

77. &c th~· imporu.nt text t:dit~:d by Gumlj~:;~n, Smm.·ll·· An:ll:dtl.r{rc· (noll" 1). A
comparable atiinity is that ~tween the Syrian Magna Mater and the CappadociJ.n Ma
Bdlon:.; sc:c: 0. Fis.hwi.:k, "Hastiii:ri.'" JRS 57(1%7): H5. who remarks, ·• A nntahk
feat me of these: li:Xts is the way 111 \1,:hKh dn"Otccs of the om· d1vinity ~y '""It to the
otht·r." This typt..· uf rr.:btion, whi~.:h we might call s.ync:rcrism by ruurtc·sy, is humor-
ously illustr.atcd in the Syrian priests' ~:xplanation of the goldm cup in their bagg.ag\::
"The Mother of the Gods offt.•rL'd it 35 3 gift of hospit:Jiity to her sister. the Syri:m
goJJcss'' (9.10~
 III

CONJECTURES
Su Hbro riene Jlgo de buena invenci6n; propone
algo, y no conduyc nada.

-Ccrv.mtcs, na,. Quixorr 1.6

(the barber speaking of Cervantes' Galatea)
 9

Parody Lost and Regained

Speculate. reflect: every thinking activity

implies mirror~ for me. According to Plotinus,
the sou) is a mirror that creates material things
reflecting the ideas of the higher reason. Maybe
this is why I need mirrors to think: I cannot
concentrate except in the presence of rcfiected
images. as if my soul needed a model to imitate
every time it wanted to employ its spccu1ativc
capacity.
-ltalo Calvino. If011 a Wimt·r1 Nigltt
a Tral'r:llcr

In the next thrt.~ chapters I \Viii otTer some n.·constructions of

the significance of Tile GoldetJ Ass as it entered the complex cultural
discourse of the second century C. I:.. This will involve not only some
familiar items from its historical context-the Greek LJ4dus, or the Ass
and the spread oflsis worship-but a]so some new items that have not
been discussed in relation to Apull!ius. My reading of the AA as a work
ofhcrmcncutic playfulness and aporia has been conducted ahistorically
because the usual reconstructions of second century circum-~diter­
ranean culture-religion, philosophy, and literature-beg nuntcrous
questions. Now it is time to ask how its audience would haVC' ~rcd\lcd
such a nove) and to look at the conventional frameworks of piety and
cultural performance in which the AA is usually placed. What were the
cu]ture-spccific categories, the "horizon ofexpectations," in which and
against which Tile GoldctJ Ass would have been read? My nineteenth-

251
252 CONJECTURES
century literary models (detection and fantasy) and twentieth-century
critical vocabulary (narratology) have served their purpose and may
now be laid aside in favor ofwhat I would call a more familiar "nesting"
practice. That is. we have a treasured object that has survived from
ancient times and we want to place it in a context ofother relics that wilJ
surround and enhance it. As the novel has now become not a merely
pious tract or a merely silly story but a nexus of author's questions and
reader's answers, so the relations oft he AA to jts environment wilJ also
be complex and dialectical.
The three areas to be investigated here arc quest-for-wisdom narra-
tives (Chapter 9), the Aesopic tradition (Chapter 10~ and the availabil-
ity of authentically Egyptian religious lore (Chapter 11 ). It may be
worth remarking that the material assembled here is drawn from some
relatively little-known areas of Roman imperial culture. Not only have
previous readings of the AA supplemented the text with information
that decodes it (Chap. 1, pp. 7-8~ but also (I would paradoxically
maintain) those supplements have been too limited. As Part Two found
Apulcius's Platonism to be more like the Skeptical version in Plutarch
than like a fetal version of New Platonism. so Part Three will cast a
fairly wide net to drag in unusual items from popular culture and sug-
gest a new historical reading of the nove]. The unfamiliarity of these
items requires in turn that my exposition be rather detailed, in order to
give the reader the necessary sense of concreteness.
As a reader of the AAJ noting its buffoonish subtlety on matters of
Who knows what?, I have been trained by the book itself to be sensi-
tive to the issues of plausibility, conjecture, and those gaps in our
knowledge over which we so often and happily leap. Hence the fol-
lowing three chapters are offered not as dogma but as story, as more
or less likely conjectures. They arc based on the usual methods of
historical reconstruction; that is, they will not withstand a deter-
mined Cartesian doubt, but as likely stories go they arc well worth
listening to.

THREE TALES OF THE ASS

The ancient evidence for the talc of a man whose curious
delving into magic led to hjs transformation into an ass consists of
three texts, one of which disappeared sometime after the ninth ccn-
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 253
tury, when it was still available for the p.::atri:uch Photios to read. let
us put the Latin text of Apuleius. Tl1e Golden Ass, to one side for the
moment and consider what we know of the two Greek texts.
One of them is still extant in the corpus ofLucian's works, where it
bears the title Lucius. or tl1e Ass. 1 It is a rclativdy short work, consisting
of the same sequence of adventures undergone by Apuleius's Lucius,
but without the "interpolated" tales, the festival of Laughter, and the
Isis conclusion. 2 Lucius in this Greek tale is restored to human shape
by eating roses, and the final episode is his visit to the matron with
whom he had had intercourse as an ass. She entertains him at dinner
but when she djscovers in the bedroom that he no longer has an enor-
mous donkey penis she has him thrown out of the house without his
clothes. He goes to the harbor and sails with his brother back to his
home city, Patrai. "When I got home I sacrificed to the saving gods
and dedicated votive offerings for my deliverance not, by god. from
the dog's anus (as the saying goes) but from the ass's curiosity-after
a very long time and even so just barely safe at home."
About the second Greek version oft he ass-tale we know only what
Photios (ninth-century) recorded in his Biblior/Jeke, cod. 129: •• Read:
Lucius ofPatrai's several books of .WetamorJ>Iwses. Its style is dear and
pure and rather sweet. Although avoiding innovations in vocabulary.
he pursues the marvelous to excess and is, one might say, a second
Lucian. His first two books at least have practically been copied by Lu-
cius from Lucian's work entitled Lucius, or the Assl or vice versa by
Lucian from Lucius's work. It seems a more likely conjecture that Lu-
cian has done the copying. We have no way of knowing which precedes
the other. Yet Lucian has as it were refined and compressed out of Lu-
ciusts breadth of words whatever did not seem useful to his own pur-

1. Englis-h translations: M.D. M:aclt.·od, L11.:ia11 (C.1mbridgc, Mass./London,

1967~ 8: 52-145; L. Casson, Stl~arJ Sarin:-1 of Lutian (New York, 1962): 58-94; P.
Turner, Luci~n: 7'rur Hist.lry tmd Luti1u tJr tilt A.u (Bloomington, Ind., 1974~ The cvi-
dcnn·ofGrcck litcr:atun: is rdcvant11ot on I>· to Apulcius's intention but to the effect on
his audience:, many of whom can be presumed to be proficient in bmh languages, utm-
qut li11_gwz prrirus. St."C G. Schollgcn, "Ocr Adn:ssatcnkrds dc=-r gr1c=-c:hischen Schauspiel-
scl,rift Tcrtullians," Jallrbu{/lfiir Antikc 1md c:lzristC'rtlrlm 25(19M2): 22-27.
2. 1'. G. Walsh, Tht· Rc,mall ,\lcll'tl (Cambridge. England, 1970}: 1-17, gives a syn-
optic ublc of the contents oft he." two works.
3. The m:anu~ripts of Photios. give the title as Loukis, or thr A so~, which is also
fountlas the work's title in two m.muscripts ofluci;m; s.« M.D. M;~clcod, Lutiani opera
(Oxford, 1974~ 2: 276app. cril.
254 CONJECTURES
pose, fitting what remained into a single book, using the very same
words and constructions, entitling his booty Lud11s, or the Ass. Each
man's work is full of fictional stories and shamc1css vulgarity. But Lu-
cian designed his work to mock and ridicule Greek superstitions, just
as he did in his other workst whereas Ludus in all seriousness be1ieved
in transformations of one human being into another and from animals
into humans and vice versa and the other nonsensica] babbJe of ancient
myths, and so stitched these together and committed them to writing."
One of the principaJ early manuscripts of Lucian (Vaticanus 90, early
tenth-century) concludes the tale with the notice: "Lucian's epitome of
the Metmr10rpltoses of Lucius," which either derives from Photios or
represents an independent verdict.
No one believes nowadays that Photios's ··more likely conjecture''
is correct. The notion that Lucian, the outrageous provocateur, who
prided himselfon his origina1ity and unpredictabi1ity, would make an
epitome of another man's work and publish it under his own name
Jacks all plausibility. 4 But Photios's conjecture is not just a wild guess,
rather it is the inevitable result of his other judgments on the nature of
the rwn works before him. The premises that force his conclusion are
three: his reading of Lucius, or rile A.ss as a mockery of superstition, his
reading of the l\1ctamorphoSt's as a testament of the author's serious
belief in transformations, and his perception that they arc so close in
wording that one has been derived from the other, either by expan-
sion or by abridgement. Given these perceptions as unquestioned
premises, iris far easier to imagine that one author might subject a
credulous work to ridicule by selective omission than to imagine that
an author might try to convert a work conceived in mockery into a
serious presentation of his own beliefs in various transformations.
However, though Photios was clear-headed about what conclusions
cou]d be drawn from his premises, the premises themselves seem to
demand to be questioned. Above all. how can two texts be so close in
wording and structure that one must be an expansion or abridgement
of the other and yet each work have an entirely opposite tenor? Pho-
tios's view of Lucian's epitomizing is rather definite: he has "'left out

4. More char3ctc:risti' of Lucian was his Jmbl ish in~ a wnrk in the name and style:
of H('raklcitos. ;<~joke that w;a.s not :trnusing to those who Y.-ere taken in by it. G. Stroh-
maier, ·•Otx·rsdwncs zur Diugraphic Lukians," Pl•il~•l~•glu: 120(1976): 117-22: M.D.
Macleod, '"Lucian's Activities as :a 1\ll!.AAAZ!lN,"' PhiloloRm 123(l97tJ): 326-2H.
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 255

what was not useful to his purpose." This suggests the omission of
some features of the Metamorpllost•s that "sincerely .. testified to the be-
lit:f oft he narrator in magical tr-.msformations. 5 When they arc left out,
the essential ego-narrative ("I was turned into an ass and suffered many
indignities for a whole year·') looks very foolish. But both texts. on
Photios's account, were full of wild ficrions and naughty episodes. We
know what at least some of these were: the erotic and fantastic scenes of
Luci11s_ or the Ass. Since the hypothetical editorial activity that produced
LucillS, or tlw Ass was not invention or recasting but only omission, the
~\1ttamorpl1oses (or at least its t1rst two books} contained all the erotic-
fantastic episodes of the shorter work. What could possibly be done to
the same erotic-fantastic plot, either by way of enhancement or short-
ening, such that it could be perceived as credulous 1n one version and as
mocking jn the other?
At this fork in the decision tree I choose to think that Photios
mistook the credulous pt>rs,ma narrating the .WetcmwrpJ•oses as the au-
thentic voice ofthe author, and that the longer work was designed not
by a true bc:lievcr but by a storyteller writing in the character of a true
believer. This at least seems to give the maximum credit to Photios's
evidence on the three clements he perceived-the verbal and struc-
tural identity of the two works, the narrator's be1icf, and the mocking
tendency of the story itself. There arc many uncertainties to which I
cannot give answers and variables that I will leave to the side. It does
seem more likely that LucillS, or tile Ass is an abridgement of the i\·lcta-
morphoses.6 How much longer was the lt.fetamorplroses? The ·•at ]east''
in Photios's phrase "at least in the first two books.. opens two distinct
possibilities: (i) the Metam(,rpllosrs contained the ass-tale in its first
two books and other transformation stories in subsequent books. It is
difficult to conceive of Lucius of Patrai's narration of his own trans-
formation in two books being followed by Iris narration of other
transformation talcs. 7 Yet he is apparently the author of whatever fol-
lowed "the first two books." (ji) Photios vouches only for the first

5. K. Burger, "De Lu(tO l'arrcnsi'' (Diss. Berlin, l~!i7): H-10.

6. A. Goldbad~t:r. "Uber Lucius \'On P..uue, tkn tl~m Luci.m 7ugc!ichricl1cncn
Loukios c Onos und des Apulcius Mcumorphoscn.'' Zcitscllriftfiir di{· osr,·michischw
Gymnasi{'n 23(1H72): 323-41; Burger... De Lucio'' (nmc 5); M. Rothstein, Quat51iMtcs
Ludanrae• (Berlin, lAAX~
7 _ Jcnnif"r Hall rrics to do this in her Ls1ciau sSatin' (New York, 19Hl ~ appendiX 3.
256 CONJECTURES
two books of the Metamorphoses because he did not read the subse-
quent books in detail; since he alreJdy knew Lucius, or tile Ass and
could see that the A1rtamorphosrs was the same thing only more so, he
did not need to subject himself to the ordeal of reading those wild,
sexy adventures again. I find {ii) a little more convincing than (i), but
it leads to receding vistas of fruitless speculation: How many books
long was the lvletamorpl10sts? No telling. How much of Apuleius's
Golden Ass that is not jn LucirH, or tlu~ Ass might have been jn the
Metamorplwses? Who wrote the Jl.1etamorplloses and who made the
abridgement? To these unanswerable questions all possible answers
have been asserted. I prefer to ask a different question: What was the
point of the ass-tale?
Prcscinding from al1 questions of priority and authorship. I believe
the ass-tale itself, the narrative by a man whose curiosity about magic
led to his transformation, which was available in a longer and a
shorter version. can be put against a second-century backdrop in a
way that wm give new meaning to the plot as a vehicle for both belief
and ridicule ofbclicf. One of the sticking points in the interpretation
of the ass-tale is to assess the point of the composition. It is often
taken as pure comedy, a delightful tale unvexed by any Tendenz. 8 Put-
ting its hero's series of scrapes and escapes against the backdrop oft he
Greek novels about young lovers. Biirgcr suggested that it might be a
parody of serious romantic fiction. 9 Earlier he had published the sug-
g~stion that it was a personal satire on Lucius of Patrai as a writ~r of
mimbilia. 10 Perry. in his dissertation on the subject, judged it mainly a
humorous story, not primarily written to ridicule magic, but since
the author (whom Perry took to be Lucian) was of a satirical turn of
mind, he •• moulded the broad outlines of his story in the form of a
sadre on a paradoxographer.'' 11 I believe this assessment is exactly
right and that Perry's intuitive guess can be made much more precise.

K. Rothstein, Quarsti1Jnt'S (note 6): 128-29; P. Junghanns., Die Er~iilllungstt'lhnik

tull Apulrius' Afl·lan~~Jrplrosm mrJ il~n·r Hlflagt•, Philologus Supplena:n[band no. 24/l
(Leipzig. 1932): 5-6: "untc:rh~lh.-ndcn Stoff ohne s~tirische Bedeutung."
9. Studir11 zur Gt"sdlidltt· Jrsgrit'clliSlhl'll Romans, vul. 1, DtT LukiMro1naPI1md Sl'inr
littcralurgc5thirllllidrr Btdt"lllung, Wi:sscnschafdichc Bcilagc zum Programm des Hcr-
zoglichen Gymn~simm in Dl:mkenburg ~m Harz, 1902.
10. ..De Lucio" (note 5).
ll. "Tht' .\-lrtarnorplwsrs Ascribed to Lucius of Patr~c: Its Content, N~turc-, and
Authorship" (Ph.O. diss., Princeton University. 1920): SH.
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 257

THE RESTLESS QUEST f-OR WlSDOM

[n the third chapter of Lud11s, or tile ..4ss, Lucius's host asks
him about his prest!nt journey and how long he will be staying in
Hypata. Lucius replie~ thlt he is on his way north to Larissa but will
stay with his host in Hypata for three to fiv~ days ... But this was on1y a
cover story. My great desire was to remain there and search out one of
the women who know magic and to see some astounding act-say. a
person flying or turned to stone" (4). This moment, when the narra-
tor reveals the secret of his journey to the reader, is a moment of rec-
ognition. There is much in the ass-talc that is an exploitation of folk
humor. proverbs. fables, :md a certain amount that is rooted in the
broad narrative tradition that is also the subliterate source of the great
romances; but the frame on which an those dements dfl" fitted is the
story of a man in search of ra. 1rapa8o~ov-"something astounding."
He travels to a country where arcane knowledge is said to reside and
he avidly hunts it up. That his quest backfires and turns him into an
ass is the satiric twist given by the author to his version of a standard
story-the amobiographic account of a quest for secret knowledge,
prcfix~d to col1cctions of occult medicine. The very structure of the
ass-tale is a parody of the theme of a restless quest for a revelation,
which is extant in the prefaces of two handbooks of medical magic
(Thcssalos ofTraJlcs, Harpokration's KyranitJrs~ inferable for a third
(Dcmokritos~ and which was used as a framework for other works of
fiction (lamblichos, Antonius Diogcncs). In gathering these works
together l am isolating a common format that was available lo intra-
dun· both practical handbooks of herbal therapy and exotic narra-
tive.u My argument is not that the author ofthe ass-lale had any one
of them in mind but that the impact ofhis talc depends on the rccog-

12. Tlw cumubti ...,. f,:\"itlcnn:o that the ratt~n1 W;JS 3 rcco~nizablc format in the
mid-second century allows me to sidc.-step th1.• moot qm:stions of dating e.:~ch wurk.
-Th~!'is.llu5.~ .ami ''llarpokrarinn" nuy b~ l•!!ocudq·i~rilphs ~n.1d1•.:d to tho!lc: famnu!i
names; Antonius Oiogene'§ SC:l'lllS to b<.· quite: undat:ablc. In the text I assume- that Thc:s-
salos's letter is genuine. partly to introduce the signiti,ant cununcnts of Pliny on cxotk
medicine and partly to indicate that the ;a.uthor of thl· ll.'tll"f Jus at the \'cry IL"ast sm:-
ct:c:dc:d in reproducing what we know from other sources. to h;~w bcl'tl the charac.:tcr of
Thcss;alos as a proud. chansmatu:. magt·likc tigurc. On rhe "restl~ss quest tor wisdom ..
;as an a~lolcS<.·.:nt p.mcm in d, ... em pin:. se..• A. D. Nork. bsays 1!.11 Rdig;.,, cJ••·' fllf ,-\,cit""'
norld, c:d. Z. Ste\lo';lrt (Cunbnd~c. Ma~ .. 1972~ 1: 475.
258 CONJECTURES
nition of their specific type ofego-narrative, and not just of vaguely "a
paradoxographcr." 13
It is necessary to describe these works in some derail both because
they arc relatively unfamiliar and because each crystallizes a representa-
tive moment of popular culture's set of attitudes toward the strange-
but-true. The reader will note that my method is here the reverse of
that employed in parts One and Two: instead of excluding even the
obvious kinds ofextrinsic information about the AA, I am now includ-
ing all that and much more-even going to minor texts that i1lustrate
the labyrinthine subcultural corridors along which the ass-talc and the
AA would reverberate. The hermeneutic deadlock described in Chap-
ter 1 can be un-thought both by more intensive and by more extensive
reading, that is, by reading only the AA and by reading much more than
the AA.

Tltrssalos of Trallcs
The epistle ofThessalos to Claudi:m or Nero is an account of
his acquisition of herbal remedies from Asklepios, who appeared to
him fac~ to fact> in Thebes. "the most ancient city of Egypt. and one
that contains many sacred things." 14 The epistle is a short autobiogra-
phy mainly telling about his studies and his journey: "Having worked
at grammatical science in the climes of Asia and having become better
than all the men there, I decided to derive some profit from my learn-
ing. I sailed to the famous Alexandria with a good supply ofsilver and
there I surpassed the most accomplished men of letters and I was
praised by all for my hard work and intelligence:· He then embarks
on a study ofudialt:ctical" (theoretical) medicine. When his course is

13. One of the earliest c:ocamplesofthc quest n;1rr01tivc pn:fixt"d to .m anthology is

the '' .mti-paradoxographer" P.daipbatos (fourth-century nc..E.): .. In the course of my
quite cxtc-nsi\"C" tr.l\"t"ls I inquired of the oldc:r men I nlet what thc:y had heud tell ;~bout
e;~ch of these subjects, and) set down what llc.-.mcd from them. I saw in person the
actual stlte of ~ch loc31ity. Wh;u I have written is not the common hC":ar,.;~y hut r:uher i~
what I myself have traveled to find .md have investigated" ( mpi.. d1TWTWP. in My lito
~raphi Grae,i, ed. N. festa [Leipzig, 1CX>2J, 3/2: 2).
14. Text in Thessa/o$ IA'Itl Tmllts, c:d. H.-V. Friedrich. Beitr'agc: zur klassischen
Philologic, no. 28 (~iscnheim am Glan. 1968). with bibliography in notes to intro-
duction. See also F. Pfi!itcr, "Pft.;~nv:n.Jbcrglaubc," RE 19: 1446-56; H. Piller, "Thcs.:-a-
los (6~" RE 6A: l~-82; J. Z. Smith. Map Is No1 T~rrilory, Studies in Judaism in L.:uc
Antiquity. no. 23 (Ldden, 1978): 172-H9.
 PAHODY LOST AND HEGAINED 259
comp1et(." and he 1s ready to return home. he happens to tind in the
library a book by the pharoah Ncchcpso containing a system of
twdvc: plants and twelve minerals whose correspondences with the
twelve signs of the zodiac determine: their healing properties for all
parts of the body. Confident that the treatise is genuine. he asserts in
writing his discovery of these powers and sends a Jetter to his parents
making claims of his success and promising a triumphant return
home. But when he actually does try to test the recipes he realizes that
it was all "the empty vaunting of a royal fool." Ridicule forces him to
leave AJcxandria, but he is ashamed t() return home until he can fu)fill
his claims, so he wanders about Egypt determined to tlnd the answer
or die. The essential Jines ofThessalos's character resemble those of
Lucius-vanity, curiosity, pride of intellect, and chagrin at his own
foolishness.
In Diospolis (Thebes), Thessalos qut:"stions the learn~d high
priests as to whether any traces of magical power still survive but,
since most of them have aspirations every bit as ambitious as hjs, they
refuse to divulge anything. 15 Only one reverend old priest admits to
knowing the art of1ekanomancy. Alone with him in an unfrequented
part of the city. Thcssalos fa1Is on his face and begs the old man to
provide him access to a god or else he wi11 commit suicidt•, such is the
anguish ofhis souL The old priest agrees and after three days of fast-
ing Thessalos comes at dawn to a room prepared for the ceremony.
Unbcknowst to £he priest, Thessalos has brought papyrus and ink
with him to make notes on what he hears. (Nock notes that this
sounds rathe-r like Apuleius's scene in the robbers' cave, where the ass
regrets not having pen and handbook.)1 6 He chooses AskJcpios as the
god he: most wants to interview and asks the prit"st to leave the room
after he has invoked the god. which the priest reluctantly agrees to do.
The god 3ppears in inexpressible beauty, radiating warmth and kind-
ness. He addresses Thcssalos as one whom people will honor as a god

15. "In llchopolis we s:.w the grcJ.t pncsts' hom;cs wlu:rc phill.lsuph~r:s ;md as-
tronomers used to live, a way oflifc: that ha.s now died om. Only oftidants of the rites
and guides tor \'L'Oitors .uc left thl·rc- now. A certain Ch:~ircmon tra\'dc-d with our party
from Alex:mdri;ato Egypt, who pretended to h<IVC such lore-hut he was ridiculni by
most people as a ch.ubtan and ignoramus. E\·en in the days of Plato and Eudox.os the
priests at Hdiopolis g01vc om little of their knowledge to fon:ignl!'rs·· (Strabo 17.1.21J}.
1(,_ Cc,m't"rsicm (Oxford. 1933): 2R9 (nmc to pp. lOtiO:).
260 CONJECTURES
when his successful treatments become generally known. The sys-
tematic treatise then fol1ows. dictated by the god and recorded by
Thcssalos. 17
In some ways this document corresponds to Apulcius's l\pologin pro
se dt nragia. A quest for p.ayl.lri} l~pyet.a, "powers of a m:~gus," could
in some lights be viewed as criminal, as it was for Apuleius. Thessalos is
in effect arguing that his success as a wond~r-physician should nO[ be
regarded as the illegitimate result of dark magic, for his knowledge is a
beneticia] gift from Asklepios. We might add that Thessa]os in fact
made a fortune from this saving gift to mankind. Pliny, who gives us
that intormation (Nllt. hist. 29.9~ also tells us that Thessalos in public
was surrounded by a greater crowd than any actor or charioteer. (''You
will be honored as a god," Asklcpios had said to Thcssalos.) His criti-
cism of all established medicine was rabid; a trace of this vehemence
remains in Thcssalos's characterization of Ncchcpso's book as ~the
empry vaunting of a royal fool" His monument on the Appian Way
bore the inscription ialronikcs, .. Champion Physician," "Victor over
Other Doctors,., (Pliny loc. dt.). In Rome Thc:ssalos was succt--cdcd by
Krinas of Mass ilia's still more precise ((afllior religiosiorqur) application
of astrology to one's entire daily diet. That this is an •• Egyptian'· system
is shown by Juvcnal's reference to it under the name: Pctosiris, Ncchcp-
so's learned scribe (6.581 ~

Au E.~yptian Dem"kritos
That Thessalos'sjoumey and revelation took place in Egypt
rings true to the common notions of imperial culture. Both Pliny and
Plutarch give us interesting insights into the rage for Egyptian occult-
ism in the first century c.E. Pliny regards the medical profession as an
enclave of Greek charlatans, supremely venal and sometimes erotic
(Vettius Valens's adultery with MessalinJ, Nar. hist. 29.5.8~ He stresses
the fabulous fonuncs they amassed by inventing cures and treatments
more outlandish than their predecessors: ..The science is refashioned

17. This treatise is nne of the earliest of 3 large and influential family of astral
medical systems, usu.-.Jly referred m a.s '"ioltromathem3tics." The types arc sun-eyed and
catalogued by A.-J. Fesrugierc.-, L<1 Rh•tlalion d'H~mrh Trirmrgislr, mi. I, L'.-lslrolo.~iut
IN sdtnm c•uultts, 2d cd. (Paris, 1950): 139-60.
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 261
each day into a new form, and we arc swayed back and fonh by the
shifting winds of Greek ingenuity." 111 Though he scorns them as Greek.
their doctrines arc more precisely traced to hellenized Egypt. Similar
to the hermetic astrological systems were the tables of sympathies and
antipathies that also came from Egypt. The earliest example is the
work of Bolos of Mendes {second-century B.C.E~ which he gave out as
edited from Demokritos. 19 The image of Dcmokritos that appears in
these works is very different from that of a theoretical atomist, as our
modern handbooks present him. 20 Rather he is a wandering sage who
culled rare lore from the wise men of all lands and who claimed to have
been unsurpassed by any man of his time in length of travels and
breadth ofknowledge. Pliny uses Bolos's pseudo-Dcmokritean works
on antipathies, on prepared remedies (cheirokmeta, compounds as op-
posed to simples~ and on minerals. Columella (7 .5.17) in the same
period is critical enough to detect the impersonation, asserting that
Bolos published his own works under Dcmokritos's name. 11 but Pliny
accepts and defends the fiction at face value. His Demokritos is as
prominent in magical science as Hippokratcs is in medical.l 2 Pliny ad-
mits that others deny the Demokritean authorship of these ·works, but
he insists (albeit with some distaste) that nor only Dcmokritos but
Pythagoras, Empedok]cs. and Plato certainly held magic in high es-
teem and traveled to far-off lands to acquire secret knowledge.
The tale ofDemokritos's travels that Pliny then relates most proba-
bly comes from the same Bolos of Mendes, though Pliny docs not
mention his name. In any case it is evidently a preface to a colJection of

18. mutdiUT ,,m umiJie lolitiU inltrpolis tl iPJ.~miornm Graeciat j1111u inpdlimur (Pliny
Nat. hist. 29.5.11 ).
19. R. Hallcux, l.ts Alchimijles grm (Paris, 1981 ). 1: 62-6(,, with bibliography in
notes.
20. H. Steckrl, "Demokritos. Beziehungen zum Orient (Pscudo-Dcmokritos~" RE
Suppl. 12: 197-200; tcstimoni01 to the romanticized life of Dr:mokriEos .uc cullccted in
FVS 68A 14-30. Even atomism could~ rcg:udcd as borro~d by Dcmokritos from the=
Ncar East. This was dw opinion ut" Po!>cidonio!l (Scr.llbo 16. 757; ~"'"" EmpiT. <J.363 -
FVS 681\55~ who <~ttribllk-d the doctrine to Mochos of Sidon, who live-d before the
Trojan War. E G. Schmidt. .. Atomc bci Mochos, Nonnos und Dcmok.rit," Pl1ilologus
122(1978): 137-43. Demokriros as alchemist: FVS 688300 (mi. 2. pp. 218-21 ~
21. This SC"cms to imp1y th~t Bolos pn•scnted himsdf b)· name as the editor of
Demokritean texts, hence the text is doubly framed-by Demokritos's pref.3ce and by
Bolos's. For a more elaborate case of multiple framing sec Antonius Diogcn~. bc:low.
22. N11l. lri.$1. 30.10; a D~o."Tilokritcan promise of returning to life, Sat. l1ist. 7. 189.
262 CONJECTURES
folk remedies, for that is in the main what Pliny means by magikr and
what he records from Demok.ritos.:U Demokritos obtained his knowl-
edge of these from Apollobex of Koptos· and Dardanos of Phoenicia.
He entered the tomb of Dardanos and found there his volumes. frorn
which he adapted the system (disciplina) that he published under his
own name. We have then a text in which Bolos (or someone else)
presents Dt'mokriros discovering ancient lore both from Egypt (Apol-
Jobcx of Koptos) and from Phoenicia (the tomb of Dardanos~ 24 The
details arc vague, bm the inference seems valid that PJiny had before
him an ego-narrative in which Dcmokritos relates his travels in search
of arcane knowledge, prefacing a book of materia medicoma~ica. For
comparison we may otler the preface to Demokritos·s Babylonian Lore,
from which CJcmcnt of Alexandria quotes: "Thus says Dcmokritos:
Of a1l the men in my time r traveJed through more Jands, searching out
what was farthest to be sought. and I saw more skies and lands and
listened to more learned men. and none has surpassed me in du.· assem-
blage ofwritings couched as cogent proof: not even the Egyptians who
arc called Arpcdonaptai, with whom I dwelled in friendship for five
years altogethcr." 15 The content ofthc Babylouian Lore. according to
Clement, was the famous Wisdom of Ac1Jiqar26 rather than an herbal
collection, but the principle of traveling to a distant land to search out
saving know]edge ''that I here present to you'· is the same.

Harpokmrim1:r Kyranides
The tc:xt of the tirst book 111 the collection known as the
Kymtridcs is the work of an ancient editor who conftated two recensions

23. "'?-.art ufrny project ro d.eal with marve1ous plants musr touch onrhose which
art.' 'magical' -for what could be more marvelous? The tirst to celebrate them in our
part of the Y."'rld were l•ythagoras and Dcmokritos, fol1owers of the Magi" {Nat. l1ist.
24.156, follmvt"d by cx<~mples ro the end of th( book. P~·thagoru may have had his
Bolos in one Cleemporos, ibid. 159). "Pythagoras, famous for his wisdom, was the tirst
co compose a volume on the cffcct of herbs, the disco\'cry and origin of this knowledge
being assigned to Asklcpios and Apollo <~nd in general to the immortal brods; Dcmokri-
tos too composed such a volume, borh ofth~m having wandered to the Magi ofPersia,
Arabia. /\ethiopia. and Egypt" (Na1. l1isr. 25.13~
24. W. Speyer, Biilhcrjimdt itt dt'r Glowbmsu~rbmtg dt't' A111ikt', Hypomnemata, no.
24 (Gouingcn, 1970): 72-73.
25. Clement S11c1ttatds 1.15.69 {= FVS 6MB2tJ9).
2(l. A.-M. Denis, ltrtr~JJuti'-''' IIUX pst•udipitmplm .1~.rus d'an(it't! lc•srllml'llf, Studia in
Veceris Testamenti Ps.eudepigraplu, no. 1 (lcidcn, 1970): 210-14.
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 263

of the: same work. 27 Both recensions contained prologues that ex-

plained th~: origin of the revelation and the process ofits transmission.
One prologue is written in the person of King Kyranos of Persia, who
trans1ated the following book from a Syriac inscription on ;m iron stele.
The other prologue is addressed by Harpokration of A1exandria to his
daughter and describes his researches in Babylonia, where he discov-
ered an iron stele inscribed with foreign ( rrapoiKou;, or '"Persian," Ilep-
<TtKo~) letters. The treatise itsdf is arranged according co the Greek
alphabet, each letter comprising a tetrad-one plam, one bird, one
mineralt one fish-with a discussion of their powers. For instance,
gamma covers glykysidr (peony), glaukos (owl), gnathos (unknown min-
eral), and glaHkos (a fish). A woman who wants to conceive should \Vrap
a withered peony pod in a scrap oflinen that has been dyed with seven
colors and bind it about her Joins. Alternatively, to prevent conception,
she should wear an amulel containing sprouting peony seeds smeared
with the ear wax of an ass. The root of the same plant rcpc1s demons
and ghosts from the person who wears it. drinks it, or inhales it. In
combination these materials arc even more powerful: an amulet of
gnatllos engraved with an owl standing on the Rlaukos-fish and comain-
ing the eyes of that fish will make its bearer. provided he abstains from
pig's flesh and all sordidness. appear in the darkness to be like a god.
and during the day everything he says will be believed, and ifhc takes it
to bed he will sec a true vision.
Two facts are dear about this collection: folklore from many dif-
ferent nations may have found its way into this rather indiscriminate
catchall, but its format is spccificaUy Greek. The tetrads are an order-
ing of Greek words according to the Greek alphabet. Therefore when
the prologut• of Harpokration quotes Greek hexameter verses an-
nouncing these tetrads as the basic principle on which the coUection is
formed (ovyKpiva-; Bvvap.w Bvvap.Et ev
TETpa8c.), these: verses can-
not be. as they claim. a translation from Syrian. The iron stele, carried

27. Text in Oil.' 1\yru,iJm, c:d. D. Kaimakil", lk·itr:iigc :zur klassb.c:h ..·n Philologic:,
no. 76 (Meisenheim am Gbn, l1J76}. The .acrn!>tlc5 in the vc:n>c portion!>, pointed O\lt to
me b)· Da,·idjordan. have: bcc:n noted by M. l. Wc.s(, "Magnus and Marcell in us: Unno-
ticed Acrostics in th\· Cymuilll.'s_'' ClaJsical Qu.Irlcrly .32(19H2): 48U-XI. The names
Tl.cssalos and Harpnkration hoth occur in a library inwntory of the third century c. E.
th:u. though it is very fragmentary, seems to consist mainly of philosophical and medi-
cal \\-arks (P. Varsov. 5: G. M:mtcuffd, Rlp)'ri l'ctrsOI'itmt"S 11935~ reprim: Milan. 19HJ~
264 CONJECTURES
from Syria to Babylon, on which Harpokration discovered not only
the introductory verses but the entire text of Kyranide-s, is a fiction,
]ike the copper column engraved with the laws of Atlantis (Plato Cri-
tias 119C) or the golden column jnscribed in Panchaian letters by the
mortal Zeus. who traveled from his native Crete to Babylon and then
to the island ofPanchaia according to Euhcmcros. 28 lt seems reason-
able to judge that the other clements in Harpokration's prologue arc
equally conventional. They run as follows.
Addressing himself to his daughter, Harpokration tells of the
journey he made through Babylonia gathering information (iuro-
pT,uat;), especially at Sdeukia. There he meets an old man who is
very ]earned and can speak Greek; he was brought as a prisoner of
war from Syria to Babylonia. The old man is Harpokration's guide to
an the sites of the city and then takes him to a spot some four miles
outside the city where there is a stele inscribed with Persian (or: for-
eign) letters. After taking measurements of the temple and its shrine
that house the stele and counting the 365 silver and gold steps that lead
up to it, Harpokration tums away from every other feature of this
wonderful place and w;mts to know :~bout the inscription alone. The
old man takes a linen veil off the stele and shows that it is engraved jn
foreign letters. Since Harpokration docs not know the language, the
old man agrees to translate.
Like Pliny's Demokritos, Harpokration wanders in se:uch of
learning (iUTopie.n) in the East. What he finds there is an ancient se-
cret, inscribed on an iron pil1ar, bringing joy and health to mortals.
On this last point the alternate prologue. written in the person of
King Kyranos of the Persians, is explicit: Depa:'TT'Elas EJJEKEV, oV JLTW
aXAa Kai TEpt/IE~ Kat cpi.Jue~. ··ror the sake of healing, and further
for joy and nature" (p. 15 Kaimakis). He prcs~nts himsdf as a mature
and wise scholar rather than as a foolish young scholar Jike Lucius,
but the quest for arcane knowledge is fundamentally the same.
The modem reader may find these narratives not only strange but
contemptible. It is easy for us to feel superior to the contents of these
books and to the sonu:what pretentious fictions that introduce them.
On the other hand it is also possible to find them rather delightful if
not taken seriously. Both of these attitudes arc: found among ancient

2H. Speyer, Bii(htrfimde (note 24): 111-17.

 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 265
readers. Plutarch speaks with gentle disdain of such sympathies and
antipathies as the power of garlic ro demagnetize iron or of an oak
branch to paralyze vipers. At a dinner conversation he represents
some of the guests ridiculing such be1iefs as fantastic and incredible
fictions(~ 1r'Aar:rp.a p.viJiiJ8f.r; . .. Kai a1Tt.OTov. Quaest. cotwiv. 2. 7:
641 8~ while others .. chatter on about the antipathies" (oi 1'0~ a1J'TI.-
1Ta0Eia~ iJpvA.oiiiiTE~, ibid.). He is critical of the mystification that
treats side effects and attendant circumstances as essential causes.
(Compare his similar discussion of whether Jightning produces
truffles, Quarst nmviv. 4.2: 664B-665A.) Noting the pleasant toler-
ance with which Plutarch conducts these discussions, we may say
that, although he docs not entertain such beliefs, he is willing to be
t.•ntcrtaint!d by them. At any rate rhey were obviously much in che air,
and both Lucian and Apuleius could count on their audience recog-
nizing the type.

The mage as rta"ator.

At least two of the: major Greek novelists seem to havc found
that the character of the traveler who has sought out occult lore and
who now divulges it to his readers was nicely suited to convey that
note of marvelous ad venture and exO[ic itJcredibilia that are the stuff of
their narratives. lam blichos 's Babylotriaka is the clearer case; Antonius
Diogcnes • Marrlfls beyo,,J Th11/e conr:ains most of the dements of the
type in question. Iamblichos and Antonius Diogcnes offer us an af-
fectionate treatment of the type. but with no him that he is anything
more than a sp]cndid narrator. These arc not texts that promise salva-
tion to the noetic reader or healing to che client who can pay for a
prescription from the mouth of Asklepios himself. They seem to
raise no questions of belief like those in the .-\A, yet they resemble
Apuleius's novel in that the exotic treasure with"which the traveler has
returned is a collection of tales.

/am1Jlid1os's nABYLONIAKA. Photios's summary of

Iamblichos's Babylm1iaka (Bib/., cod. 94), supplemented by an impor-
tant scholion in A 1 , contains the following information about the
author. He was a native Syrian. entirely unhdlcnizcd in language or
customs. The tutor who took charge of his education was a Babylo-
266 CONJECTURES
nian of high standing, once a scribe for the king himself and learned
in barb:arian wisdom, but who had been taken prisoner during Tra-
jan"s victory and sold to a Syrian among the spoils of war. This Bab-
ylonian scribe and scholar, now fallen on hard times in a foreign
land. teaches IambJichos the language and customs and the logoi of
Babylonia, of which the present novel is one. lamblichos then
learned Greek so well that he became a fine rhetor and now presents
this novel.
If the material acquired from the Babylonian scribe were only the
plot of the novel, we might not be able to discern a real similarity to
the traveling researcher bent on aHcn wisdom in the manner ofThes-
salos, Harpokration, and Demokritos. But when the mother of Ti-
gris, Euphrates, and Mesopotamia, who is a priestess in a temple of
A phroditc where cures are performed, learns that her son Tigris has
died from the bite of a blister beetle hiding in the petals of a rose that
Tigris was eating, she decides to invoke the spirit of her son in a
magic ceremony. At this point the hero Rhodancs and the heroine
Sinonis reach the island where the temple is located, seeking a cure for
Sjnonis's wounded breast. (She had been awotkcncd by a sudden fright
and accidcntal1y stabbed herself with a sword.) As it happens. Rho-
dancs is identical in appearance to the twin brothers Tigris and
Euphrates, so when he arrives at the temple while the priestess's mag-
ical ceremony is in progress. she cries out that her dead son has re-
turned to life and that he has brought Persephone with him. Rho-
danes plays along with this. as a sort of concession to the remarkable
naivete of the island"s inhabitants. As a part of the description of the
priestess's ceremony, lamblichos discusses the different types of ma·
gike-locust magic, lion magic, mouse magic. This last is very im-
portant, for it was the original form of all magic, as is shown by the
derivation of the word mystericm from mys (mouse). Furthermore
there arc magicians of hail. serpents, necromancy, and ventriloquism;
a practitioner of the last the Greeks call a Eurykles and the Babyloni-
ans a Sacchouras.
It is impossible to tell from Photios's bare summary what the tone
oflamblichos was at this point-solemn, facetious, or some mixlUre
ofboth. It might well have been a display of sham scholarship like rhe
encyclopedic parody by Ptolemy Hcphaistion (Photios Bi/JI., cod. 190),
who has similar lists and even more outrageous etymologies (Odys-
 PAHODY LOST AND REGAIN ED 267
scus changed his name from Outis to Odysseus~ he had been called
Outis because he had large ota, "ears," p. 147a10-11 Bekker~ The
insertion of Jamblichos's scholarly digression into a scene of necro-
mancy that then takes a comic turn (like thl' entry of the second Me-
naechmus mistaken for his twin in PJautus's Mmauhmi) suggests that
lamblichos had no serious purpose in discussing the forms of magic.
But the reference to the Babylonian word for "ventriloquist" reminds
us, as it reminded Photios at this point in his summary, that the entire
story was said to be derived from a Babylonian who not only knew the
literature of his country but was, as the scholiast put it, "learned in
barbarian wisdom" ( CTOVJOV n)v {Jap{Japov uof.{'it.l!v).
Here we encounter a confusion of identity not unlike that which
bothers readers of the ass-talc and TIJe Gollleu Ass. The information
about lamblichos that I have gjvcn above is from the scholion in A'·
Photios's text there reads: ''The writer [ b avyyp~~~ says that he is a
Babylonian and has learned magic, that he has also learned Greek cui-
tun~. and that he flourished under Soaimos the Achaimcnid and Arsa-
kid, king from a line of kings who nevertheless became a senator in
Rome and then consul and tinal1y king again of Greater Armenia. This
w.ts the ruler under whom the writer says he flourislu~d. He ~xpressly
states that Anton in us was then the Roman emperor. When Antonio us
(he says) sent Vcrus, his brother, kinsman, and co-emperor, to make
war on Vologaisos the Parthian, he himself forem]d the coming of the
war and how it would end, and that Vologaisos did flee beyond the
Euphrates and Tigris, and Parthia became subject to the Romans'' (p.
75b27-41 Bc:kker~
If the infi)rmation in r:hc scholion is correct, Photios has confused
lamblichos, a Syrian author who lcarnl'd Babylonian, with the Baby-
lonian scribe who was his teacher. One might bC' tt·mptcd ro interpret
''the writer" as the Babylonian scribe whose logos Iamblichos is re-
porting. This would explain the.· confusion, hut it cannot bt• right.
The ,.,·riter .flourished (dK~O:~EtV, p. 75b29 Bekker) in the 160s;
whether or not the Babylonian scribe is a complt.>tc fiction (which I
suspect~ lamblichos would not describe him as a tutor and ex-scribe
in 116 (Tr~1jan's conquest of Babylon) a11d as flourishing under
Soaimos, the restored king of Greater Armenia.
This paragraph in Photios makes clc:ar not only that lamb1ichos
was writing after 165 (defeat of Vologaisos), but that he himscJf
268 CONJECTURES
speaks as a mage (foreseeing and predicting the outcome of the war),
and that he attributed his knowledge of both mag ike and storytelling
to a Babylonian wise man. To explain his contact with the Babylo-
nian, Iamblichos might have invented a journey of his own to that
country. Instead he has the Babylonian come to him and teach him as
a boy the ancient lore in question. The somewhat pathetic role of
fallen dignitary is like that of the Syrian wise man and prisoner of war
who instructs Harpokration, and we will meet a somewhat less hon-
orable ma~11s-in-exile below.

Autoni11s DiORtHts 1 MARVEI.S BEYOND THULE. Photios has

fairly carefuJly preserved for us the complicated interweaving
(O'VvEi.p(LIJI, Bib/., cc>!l. 166, p. llOa 15 Bekker) of narratives in Amonius
Diogcncs' novel Marvels Beyoud Thule. Most of the adventures arc re-
lated by the heroine Derkyllis, who has b~en condemned by the
wicked Egyptian priest Paapis to lie dead by day and to live only at
nighr. (Perhaps. like Sharazade., she interrupts her account as each day
is dawning.) She is on the far distant island of Thule, and the audience
who listens to her tales is Deinias. Deinias, in tum, is narrating all this
to a fellow countryman of his named Kymbas, who has come from
Arkadia to Tyre to persuade Deinias to return to his homeland. Dein-
ias's explanation of why he cannot return begins with an account of
his leaving Arkadia to make researches (Kara (TJT"'}CTtV iOTopla~ . ..
a1T01TAaVTJnEi~ rij~ 1rarpwo~. p. 109al3 -15 Bekker). His inquiring
mind takl's him eastward, of course. past the Caspian Sea. the Ri-
paian Mountains, the source of the river Don (Tanais~ across the fro-
zen wastelands of Russia (Skythia) to the Far East. On his longjour-
ney he encounters many fantastic sights. Photios does not record
what they arc, but the adventures ofDcrkyllis and her brother bring
them in contact with horses that change color (p. 109b24-25 Bekker~
a Pythagorean philosopher whose eyes grow larger and smaller with
the waxing and waning of the moon (p. t09b27-29 Bekker~ andre-
ports of incredible items of natural history pertaining to animals,
plants, stars, and islands ( 1TOA.Aciw d7Ttt7TOTaTCtJJI iJEaiJ.arCdv, p.
110a10-13 Bekker). Presumably this captures the general tone of the
wonders met by Deinias on his scientific expedition. But what he
principally discovers is the artful narratrix Drrkyllis. with whom he
falls in Jove.
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 269
Her narrative, which is apparenrly the substance of the twenty-
four books, begins inTyre, where she is duped by the Egyptian priest
in exile into unwittingly casting her parents Into a deathlike trance.
She meets this wizard Paapis again in Sicily, where he has become the
eminenu grist of the tyrant of Leontini. She steals his satchclful of
books and his herb-chest, bur after very lengthy journeys and count-
less adventures he catches up with her on Thule and casts a magic
spe11 (nxvy ~-t«ytKV• p. tlObl Bekker) on her and her brother. Dejni-
as, to whom she is narrating her adventures, discovers from the
Egyptian magician's satchel (EK Toil '11'T1Pt.8wv, p. 110b27 Bekker; pre-
sumably from the books therein) how to reverse the spell and inci-
dcnta1ly how to wake their parents as \Vc11. The lovers. Derkyllis and
Dcinias, with all their friends, journey beyond Thule and finally reach
ro 1Tth'TC&JII a1TtO"TOTaTOII, .. the most incredible thing of all., (p. 111 a7
Bekker). They come so far north that the moon is almost touching
the earth and they can speak to the Sibyl who is living there in retire-
ment. She grants their wishes and, after falling asleep. they wake up
in the temple of Hcraklcs inTyre.
This eat's cradle of stories is composed of two strands-Deinias's
eastward journeys in search of marvelous knowledge and Dcrkyllis's
perilous adventures with a wicked Egyptian priest. Together they
form a block of information that is itsc1f the object of discovery. For
at the end of his talc, Deinias tells his Arkadian countryman K ymbas
to record his story on two sets of cedar tablets, one of which he is to
takt• back to Arkadia; the other will be buried with Deinias in his
tomb. It is not Kymbas but his Athenian companion Erasinidcs who
writes down the entire narrative on the cedar tablets. (This evidently
accounts for the Attic, rather than Arkadian, dialect of the novel.)
These cedar table-ts arc discovered by Alt'xandcr the Great after his
sack of Tyre. The set of frames around the narrative of Dcrkyllis is
not yet complete, tor the story of Alexander's discovery of the chest in
the tomb is relatt!d in a letter from his general Balagros to his wife
Phila, the daughter of Anti pater. This is contained in turn in a letter
by Antonius Diogcncs to his sister lsidora. The novel concludes with
a letter from Antonius to one Faustinus, in which he explains that the
entire novel, though it seems to lack the ring of truth. is based on a
library of ancient testimonia]s from which he has ]aboriously com-
piled his apista, ··incredible things." Furthermore, he brings forward
270 CONJECTURES
a list of authorities for the contents of each book. so that none of the
marvels will be left unvouched for. 29 Antonius Diogenes has included
every form of veridical documentation and applied it to what Photios
regarded as the sheerest hallucination ("things that no one has ever
claimed either to have seen or to have heard, not even to have fanta-
sized in his imagination," p. 111a5-7 Bekker~ We can only regard it as
parody when a chain of narrators is set up that goes, beginning with
some adventures rc1ated by DcrkyJljs's brother, from Mantinias to
Derkyllis to Deinias to Kymbas to Erasinides to Alexander the Great
to Balagros to Phila to Antonius Diogcnes to his sister lsidora, and
when the entire chain is explained to another party as a fiction indeed,
but one based on careful research into ancient authors.
I have described these tivc "'I went in quest of secret wisdom" nar-
ratives in some detail to give the reader a sense of the repeated pattern
and of what scope it allows for variations, and also to present their
characteristic flavor of strange-but-true, whether seriously meant
(Thcssalos, Harpokration, Dcmokritos) or adopted as a t1ctional pose
(Iamblichos, Antonius Diogenes~ There is uncerrainty and dispute
a bout the dates of aU these works. but each is arguably of the second
century C. E. or earlier, and in any case what they exemplify is afomrat
of which there were undoubtedly many other instances and that is
certainly current in the time of Lucian and Apulcius. My proposal is
that the reader of the ass-tale would calculate its significanct' and its
force from the recognition of this particular narrative format.
Another example of the same format, Lucian's parody MetdpptlS,
makes explicit the connection between higher saving knowledge and
the problem of conflicting philosophical schools, which I take: to be
the skeptical impetus behind The Goldert Ass. Menippos, just re-
turned from the underworld in outlandish garb and S'pouting poetry,
tells 3 friend that his inquiring adolescent mind was bedeviled by the
contradictions in Greek culture and philosophy, so he decided to

29. Such lis1s are what is u.su:~Uy de:dgnated by the term "paradoxo~raphy.''
r:uher th~n narntivcij; (wondet :.tortell~ This i!l my only hcsit;~rion ;about endorsing
Ptrry'5 formulation, "s;~,tire on a paradoxographer." P;~.radoxographers in the strict
sense are those aurhors collttrcd by A. Wc:sr~rnunn, .R1mdoxo~raphi Gmed (1839; re-
print: Amstcrd~m. 1963~ and A. Giannini, 1\Jmdoxvgraphorwm GnatCtJrnm Rrliq11i12t (Mi-
bn, 1965~ in which rherc docs incidc:nt;ally occur some l'lOirrativc: marc-ri~l. notably in
Pblegon ofTralles.
 I'ARODY LOST AND REGAINED 271
journey to Babylon and find a Zoroastrian mage who knew the incan-
tations and rites for taking one safely to the underworld. Mcnippos
describes his meeting with the Chaldaean sage Mithrobarzancs and
the careful ritual preparations for the desceut (6-10), comparable to
those ofThcssalos and to those of Lucius in Book 11. 30 This wisdom
that Mcnippos brings back is a conventional Cynic diatribe on
wealth. not a revealed handbook of zodiacal herbs.
The example of the quest-motif in Lucian's A.fmippos brings us
around to the question of the ass-talc's author·s identity. This is not an
issue on which I care to be very positive; it docs not affect the shape of
the argument that 1 will develop about Tile Goldeu Ass. But one can-
not help noticing that the reading of the ass-talc as a send up of the "]
went in search of arcane knowledge"' literature makes itjusr the son
of thing that Lucian loved to write. Compare cspcdally the J>lrilopS('U-
dt·s, with its rc-pc:ated confrontations of be1ievcrs and cynic (like the:
opening scene of the AA). It was the brilliant and economical thesis of
B. E. Perry that the Metamorphoses had been writrcn by Lucian and
abridged by anothcrt with the result that the abridgement came ro be
collected with Lucian's genuine works. 31 My reading of the ass-talc
only strengthens Perry·s intuitions. and incidenta1ly cxplains how
Photios was able to get two opposite readings from the same text in
its longer and shorter form. It is not only that the longer form C()ll-
taincd assertions of belief in the persona of Lucius of Patrai but that
the structure of the work itse1f contains both the cre-dulous (quest for
wisdom) and the cynical (anyone who goes on such a quest is an ass).
So a parody always contains the parodied:
Underlying the ~·pisodic and ;mtidcvdopmcnral narrati\'l' of th~ pica-
n:squc is yet another important pattcm of organization: rhc structure of

30. F. Doll, "Das E.ingangsstuck dc-r Ps.-K kmcntincn," Zt·il:scllriftjiir die llrurcs-
tamrntlirl•r Wim·mdhJ/i 17( llJ16): 13tJ-4M: R. Rcirzens~ein, Helleni$li( .Hys•rry·Rt'li·
xions: l"lu:ir Basic ldr~s and Sigr~~nWI(f, trans. J. E. Steel~·. Piusburgh Theological
Monognph Series. no. 15 (Pituburgh . .Pa., lY7t!; Gc:rnu.n Jd cd. publ. 1'126): 127-31
(marginal pagination): "What Thessa1os pinurcs or Lucian oOC:rs lin the .\_lnlipptlS I
is the: same thing that Apulcius purports to have cxp(.·ricnccd, only abbrevtatcd and
!iimpliticd" (p. 130).
31. A solution widdy ;u:ct·pt,,.'d, to which G. Anderson aJds the: lwist tha.t both
the MetoJmcrpl•osrs and L11cius, or tl11: Ass could be the work of Lucian: Swdirs ;, Ludatfs
C(lrtli{ Fiaion, MnentOS)'Ile Suppleml"nts, no. 43 (Ldden, 1976): 35.
272 CONJECTURES
the narrative genre {or genres) being parodied. While numerous critics
have discussed the picaresque as "antiromance," as a "countergcnrc·· thar
d~velops dialectically as an inversion of the pattern of chivalric romance,
tcw have rcaliz~d that it {·mbodi<.-s tht· stmcturcs of the romance at th~
same time as it inverts them. The code which is being broken is always
implicitly there. for the very act of dcconstructing reconstructs and
reatlirms the stmcturc of romance. This fom1al, generic nondisjtmction
is central to the picaresque's problematic ambiguity: the pattern of cx-
pcct:ltion created by the.- inverted form (i.e. the picaresqut>) competes
with the still somewhat operant, formal constraints of the genre or
genres that haw been invc.-rtcd. In other words, the reader receives at least
two sets of competing formal mctacodc signals: "this is a romance"; "this
is a picaresque antiromancc.'' As a. consequence. even a reader familiar
with chc tradition is somewhat contU.scd and frostratcd. and the narrative
"message.. has an initial appearance of chaos. 32

To press the case a little harder, let us notice a set of features that
the quest-for-wisdom narratives have in common. Most of them
mention the labor of deciphering a foreign language, the exact writ-
ing materials that were involved, the secrecy of the knowledge they
purvey, the saving joy it brings. and its exotic character as something
retrieved from a far-off land. Now the resemblance between the pro-
logue of the AA and Photios's description of the .Wetamorpltoses has
often been noted, leading to the suspicion that both Photios and
Apulc:ius reflect in their texts the prologue of the i\Jetamorpl1osts. 33
The very features that characterize the quest-for-wisdom narrati~s
arc found in Apulcius's prologue: the labor of learning Latin,l4 the

32. B. A Babcock, "''Uberty's a Whore': Inversions. Margin:a.lb., and Picaresque

Naruth:c:,'" in "f11c Rrvmiblc World: Syrnlxtlit /mlf!'rsion itr Arl aud &tiely, t'd. B. A. Bab-
cock (Ithaca, N.Y., llJ78): 99.
33. ScxChapter7, p. 18J.
34. Thcssalos did not lcam a foreign l.anguage, but he marks himself as one who
worked first ;u gr:unnur in Asi2 :md ;after excelling at that "I sailed to Alex:mdria and
t~re I surpassed thl' most accomplished men of letters and l was pr:.ised by all for my
hard work and intdligcnce." Com~n: Apulc:ius"s fim learning Greek like 01 good little
soldier in Athens, then moving on to Latin "wit b \VO<:fullabor and no m utc r in front."
lamblichos presents himself in the same fashion: he leamt.-d Babylonian lore in his
Syri;m childhood ;md then lll;1Stered Greek duiO}c:rt:~ H"ai. "XJJTpE' "hy diligent applica-
tion and practice.. (Photios, .Bibliolhl-tjll~, cd. n. Henry I Paris, I%OJ, 2; 40 n. 1~ lt is
po~sihlc, since \\It' are on this topic, to ~uggest that the name Harpokution of Akxan-
dria was chosen for the Kyrrmidrs bec;luse he wa~ a famous grammarian. The compc-
rent pur\'eyor of a h:mdhook of wondrous remedies is .:r. philologisr.
 PARODY lOST AND REGAINED 273
wrmng materials involvcd, 35 the whispering voice: (secrecy~ 36 the
promise of enjoyment and wonder, 37 a reference to Egypt and the
Nile (l·xotic). I should not like: to force tltc:sl· features into a firm claim
that (Lucian's) .Uetamc)rplws£'S had a prologue that clearly set the reader
up to expect a narrative like those ofThcssalos or Harpokration. but
the evidence can be drawn in that direction.

APULEJUS'S ADAPTATION OF THE PARODY

Illuminating as this background may be tor reading the ass-
talc. the eflcct it has on the imcrprctation of TIJe Goldetl Ass is even
more startling. For if the ass-talc is a take-otT on .. I went in quest of
wisdom" narratives. with asininity and comic adventures substituted
for tht· wisdom, then Apuldus has translated the parody. with all its
ridicule of the quester intact, but has added at the end the very sort of
epiphany and rc:vclation that rhc parodie,J works contained. 38 If at
every moment of the (Lucianic) ass-tale the deepest message govern-

35. Thcss.aJos: '"I h1J the torcsi~ht, unbr:knuwn:~ot ru the high prij."st, to bring
papyrus ;md ink 1u make noii.."S on wh;11en:r tlu: god might say.'' Harpokration: an iron
stdc; Antonius Diogcncs; cc:du tablets. The spc:citication of writing materials is sim-
ply ;;m authentication procedure.·.
36. "K yr.mos" w.uns the: n:adcr th<Lt this JXl~scssion, more valu.tble than gold,
should not be imparted to foolish nll"ll but only to the 11octikoi, ··and if you impart it to
your children, you mnst hind them on o;uh to k"ep ir safe.'" The-ssalos: rhe privac)' of his
long-sought interview; Dcmokritos: books buri~:d in ancient torubs.
37. Antonius Diogcnc:s: the: c~:dar chest containing the inscribed tablets bears the
insc:ription, '"Srrangcr, whoever you arc:, op~.·n thi!l chest th.u you may learn things to
.:um.ze you." L~ctor imt~~dt·, JrJt'tdbt>riJ. Th~: Kyr.JuiJ~.> will produce ••thC:I';lJ')' and joy and
naturt·." Thcssalos: the: god smiles kindly :md promiSt.·s honor an~l success.
38. "I Apulcius Jhat den Esclsrom.m latcinisch bcJ.rbcitct und ihm dabci wicdcr
einc:n c:rnsten religiosen Sinn unterlegt. Per Esdsroman h;lttc "altere My:stc.-rh:nro-
man<:- parodit•rt. Apulciu!! kchrtc wieder zu dent url'prun~lichcn Sinn zuruck" (R
Merkelh.lch. Rom.m 1111d .\.fysrt•rium i11 dt•r Amikt I Munich I Ucrlin, 1962]: 3.~8-39~
Without .tny definite content for the term ••Mystericnromanc" in this otlh.:md re-
tnJ.rk. Mcrkelb1ch\ approxinl.ltion to whlt I reJ:ard as the probable truth sccms to
have been wholly fortuitous. There j!; some tor mal simil.:~rity between my analysts of
the AA :md Noumcnios'!> view th;a Ptno\ text c:ontains profound .unhi~uitiesdueto
his joining the high sokmnit)' of Pyth.ai!oras with the: low playfulness of Socrates;
hut Noumenios al!lo s.ecs Socr;atc~ ;.:md Plato Js genuine Pytha~orc:ans. whose true
tc;~rhing of three ~ods w;t..; only pJrtly undt-•rstood in its different .t!>p~cts by c.·dch of
thctr disciples (irag:. 24 d~s PLtccs).
274 CONJECTURES
ing the composition is the ridicu]e of Ludus·s passion for arcane se-
crets as asinine curiosity, then th~ lsiac conclusion of the AA is both
more and less a surprise than we might have thought: less, because it
is a suitable goa] of the sort of quest Lucius has undertaken (seen
against the background of Thessalos's interview with Asklcpios);
more, because that goal in all its supe-rstitious forms was the constant,
underlying object of attack throughout the tale.
The boldness of Apulcius's enterprise, assuming that my thesis has
merit, requires that our historica] ana]ysis acknowledge the existence
of more complex perceptions and motives on the part of religious
writers than simple .aftirmation and simple rejection, that we go be-
yond the categorial possibilities envisioned by a Photios. The picture
we must draw of Apulcius's activity is that. faced with both naive "1
sought and found a revelation.. texts and a humorous attack on such
texts, he perceived the one-sided trmh in either scheme and com-
bined clements of both into a collage whose incongruity forces the
reader to become actively involved in feeling both sides of the issue
and rc:aching a conclusion about their interaction, if he or she be so
inclined. The incongruity of Books 1-10 with Book 11 is thus ex-
plained in both its aspects-unexpected but somehow right in rctro-
sptct-as a 180° turn from the remorselessly episodic and repetitive
belaboring of Lucius for being a fooHsh ass (in his aspirations to ar-
cane knowledge) to a unifying vision of the Great Lady who incorpo-
rates in herself all possible aspects of such quests.
The adumbrations of Isis and of higher divine perspectives in gcn-
t:ral that Chapter 2 detecte-d turn out to be completely acceptable. So
too arc the equally compelling and equally transient moments when
prct~nsions co privileged knowledge arc unmasked as fraudulent.
The methods of revising and rethinking the same data in new con-
texts explored in Chapter 3 arc intelJcctual tools that apply not to the
~:vents of Book 11 but to the narrating of Book 11. Above all they
point to the narratological issues of authorizing a text written in
character, asking of the text, .. How do you know that?'' which means
.. from what perspective do you say that?" which means .. Who arc you
anyway?" Apulcius introduces these questions through his narration
 PARODY LOST AND REGAINED 275
of narrations in order to bring out the dual perspective latent in the
ass-talc that he is translating. 39
Lucius, or tltc Ass, as a parody of naive ego-narrati\'es. employs a
doubl~ consciousness according to a single formula that is relatively
easy to comprehend: the dummy Lucius of Patrai tells us his adven-
tures and all the while we hear the ventriloquist Lucian. They form an
asymmetric pair whose performances arc simultaneous and indissol-
ubly linked-the speaker and his silent partner. In listening to a single
voice we hear both persons talking. This ru]e of meaning is powerful
and rigid, demanding that the bond of auctorlacttlT always be e\"a)uated
in favor of the auctor and against the actor. Apu]eius very simply
opens up that structure by introducing stories into his story, making
his narrator an audience to other characters narrating and also mak-
ing evident the many different kinds of transferred responsibility for
each discourse in tum (s~~ Chap. 4). lly rnuftjpJyjng the number of
possible hermeneutic perspectives so that everyone in turn is a
dummy in some sense, and perhaps everyone a speaker, Apuleius
converts the fixed Lucianic nexus of auctor dominating actor into a
reversible linkage. Religious knowledge as such has this comedic as-
pect, that one person's saving system is another person's joke. In a
certain Hght the deacon of Isis looks rather like a clown.

39. If pressed for an answer to the well-worn questions what hn Apulcius added
to, or the epitomator subtracted from. the Gm:-k .\1rlamc,rplwm, I would rer1y th.u the
.:ma.Jysis of Part One gives some good grounds for suspecting that very few, perhaps
nune. oft he tales in the AA were in ~he Greek M,-l~m"rplrosr$ and that Aruleius h.u also
added Pythi;u (fish-trampling). the wineskins, Epona in th&: stable ... At the same
time we should note that even the epitome hu its share ofsophisric:~ted butToonishn~s
and some :self-consciousness about dlutr:lr and .urm; which may haw served as impetus
for Apuleius'sdevelopment.
 10

Isis and Aesop

A~sup, that famous storyteller from
Phrygia. is right1y respected as a man of
wisdom, since h~ delivers his eminently
pracri<:al advice nut in the rigid and dictatorial
style that is cuswmary to philosophers. but
rarhcr, by devising entertaining fictions, he
insinuat('S discerning and robust perspectives
imo our hearts and minds with a certain allure
for tht." listener.
-Aulus Gdlius, Attic Nights

WHY ISIS?
One of the widely bruited responses to the anoma1y of Hook
11 has bee-n to sec it as a record of the brute, historical fact that Apu-
]cius underwent a conversion to Isis. Isis is there in the AA because
she \\'as there in the author's Jitc. I noted earlier that outside Tile
Gt'Mt·n Ass there exists some information about Apulcius's connec-
tions with several cults. but none connecting him and Isis. He was a
very celebrated public speaker, regularly commanding large crowds
in Carthage who listened co him lecture as a piJil,,soplws, 1 not as a
pastophoros. When he was honored by that city with a public statue,

1. Apuh:ius so dcfmcs himself throughout the Flt~ri.lrJ-5 (p. 6.2~ 4) (pp. 10.14.
14. tn~ 13 (p. 17.26). 15 (p. 2.'\. 9-l.l~ 16 (p. 27.1-2, 15-17). 18 {pp. J3.24-J4.2~ 20 (p.
41.2-5~ (P<~gc rcfcrc:nrcs arc to the edition of R. Hdm, Apuki Platm1id AJ,lcl.wrriiSis
Flt,ridLI ILeipzig. l«Jtu I·)

276
 lSIS AND AESOP 2n

it wa!; in!>cribed PIJilosc1pht'l Plato"iC,l, not lsiaw. 2 Jn the fourth century

\Ve begin to find references to Apuleius as a mage or miracle worker
(tirst in Lactantius), but never as an Egyptian dcvotcc. 3
Now, on my reading of the AA, there is no reason to think that
Apulcius underwent a pcrsonallsiac transformation at all, only that
hr- found thl:' tams and rites of her cult suita blc to use as an itiStatw.· of
that leap to a higher, integrating hypothesis that transforms the
meaning of earlier episodes in one's life. Yet even if any rosmir power
would ha\"c done as well to pose the problem of transformed know l-
edge. we arc: still entitled to ask. Why in fact did Apull-ius supply Isis
and no other?
Three answers spring to mind. First. the mere presence of the ass
in the Greek 1'-..fctamorplwst•s ought ro have been sufiicicnt ro suggest,
to an author who planned to comphcatc and convert the story. th.:
specific retwisring of the tale toward tht> ass-god of Egypt. Thcrt"
were occasional reports that tht· Jews worshiped an ass, ..a and since
Jews were both honored for their ancient wisdom and despised tor
their alien ways, a Jewish rather than an lsiac Book 11 would have
been quite conceivable. (The Syrian goddess could be carried around
by her dcvolees on an ass, bur she is nlll:'d out because shl:' is already in
Lucius, or tilt' Ass.) By far the best known rcJigious ass \.vas the Seth/
Typhon ofEgyptian mythology: magk:ll spells ap1cnty testify to the
usc of his name and his totem animal. If an ass-talc parodying the

2. S. Gsell, lmm'ptious larillt'S de' I'AI~irit• (P.uis, I'J22~ 1: 2115. Sec also J. Gucy,
'"l" Apcllpgir d"l\pul.:c.· ~:t lc:s insaiptions de: Tripolitainc:.'" R1'l'lrl.' 1lt:'J Eru.IC's f_tllittl'5 32
(1~54): 115-l'J. Tin: statue is the.· su(.,_jcct of J. wry cl.:vcr :;pc:t:ch of gratitude in which
Apulcius declares hunsdfc:c:mc:nte-d in piJcc: in C:nthagc fon•\·er {quippt· it4 insrillli 1m111r
uir.Jr rur.zr·umpu.< 11obi.< I"''brJtr, quilms lilt" iuJx·rt'('tuwu_/irmirt-r .lrJi.-o~ui) .md describes the
death oflhc ingenious comic poer Philc:mon, who was tound rigid on his couch, still
holding a scroll and fm:r.cn in an attitude of thoughtful conrc:mpbtion (Hc,ri,/d 16, p.
23.22-24 Helm).
.~. P. Monceaux," Apulee ma~iden: hisroite d'unc ll·~cnde africJinc," Revue dc•s
IJr:ux .\toudes HS(Jan. -Feb. 1H.'HH): 571-60~- In Thcodorus JlrillCianu~·!> J..:upCirist.J ( IJL•tnc
Rl!mc•tlits) one of ei}l:ht ..."\'n w3ys ro <:top :1 no~c..·hlt"t"d j.,. item ;, ch,m.u ad dllrt'tll ipsi11s.,
•·s,m.l!lli.l', imptmt til!i .·1p11kws Moldamrtt;is ut nmus tum :;.trt" (""Write on J piece: of paper
:md hold ir ur to rhc p:uicnt\ ear: •Apuleius of M;~d.UU;l l'Otlllll.lrlc.h you, 0 blood. [0
stop !towing!'"). Eupt•ristt~, cd. V. nose (Lcipz•~· lSCJ4): 276.21. On Apulcius'!; i\-,1d1lc··
llt"n in genc:r;ll, sL"t' E. H. Hai~ht, ."aJmlrius .md Hi$ ltttlunu1' (New York, 1963); C.
Morc~hini, "Sulla f<~ma di Apulcio ndla urda .antichit'J," in Rom.mitoJS. 1·t Cluiilidtril•l$,
Fmf(hrifr). H. JY.rszir1k, cd. W. den Boer c:t :~I. ( Amstcrd.1m/London. 1973): 24J-4!t
4. Sec: Chapter 1I. nott." 70.
278 CONJECTURES
quest for special revelation is to be refashioned with a surprising spe-
cial revelation, Isis is the obvious association.
Second, lsiac worship throughout the Greco-Roman world from
the HelJenistic age onward was popular, visible, and strange. The
priests and worshipers conducted many daily rites that were open to
the public, they were active in all major cities, and the marks of their
Egyptian origin (clothest ornament, language, music) s~t them dis-
tinctly apart from any native style. The popularity and visibility of
lsiac worship meant that all readers would understand roughly what
the narrator was talking about; the strangeness emphasizes the gap
that separates the final Lucius from his earlier self. (That exotic qual-
ity makes Isis a more apt Answer than, say, Dionysos, who also had
associations with the ass in the camivalcsque Return of Hephaistos.)
Lucian testifies at once to the availability of lsiac lore to Greco-Ro-
man audiences and to its fantastic suggestiveness. "The dancer will
know the tales of Egypt, which are rather mystical, and he will per-
form them rather symbolically; I mean Epaphos and Osiris and the
transformations of the gods into animals" (Je saltat. 59~ It is the rich
and mysteriout; symbolism of things Egyptian (at least to non-Egyp-
tians) that makes Isis & Co. in Book 11 such a powerful fillip to reread
Books 1-10.
Third, and this is an aspect of the popularity of Egyptian religion.
Isis commonly figured in tales of saving. Artcmidoros indicates the
general principle: "Serapis and Isis and Anoubis and Harpokrates~
these gods and their statues and their mysteries and all their story, as
well as the gods associated with them in temples and altars-signify
disturbances and dangers and threats and crises from which they save
people contrary to every expectation and hope. For these gods are
universally considered to be the saviors of those who have gone
through everything and reached the ultimate danger; people who arc
already in such a fix are suddenly saved by these gods" (OtJeirokritika
2.39. p. 175.8-16 Pack). Ovid gives a specific case in the talc of Iphis,
the Cretan girl raised by her mother in disguise .as a boy (because the
father could not afford to dower a daughter) and transformed on her
wedding night into the opposite sex. The deception had originally
been ordered by Isis and her whole Egyptian retinue; the last-minute
transformation was her work too (Mctamorpltoses 9 .666-797~ s

5. F. Amaldi, ·'L'Episodio di lfi nellc Jfrlamorfosi di Ovidio (IX.666sgg.) c I'XI

libro di Apule1o," in Atti Jel Corwt.(no lnttmdziondlt 01•idit:~110 (Rome. 1959). 2:371-75.
 ISIS AND AESOP 27?

But th~ popular story that to my mind sheds most light on the:
tenor of Isis in the AA is one of the few extant works that has a good
claim to being, like the ass-talc itsclt: a genuine folk-book-the LUf.·
of Aesop. 6 By yoking Aesop alongside Tl1e Colden Ass I mean to high-
light a common format of cultural criticism that is informed by a
peculiarly self-denying intelligence.

THE LIFE OF AESOP

Like other folk-books, the L!{e '?l Aesop has a different kind
of history from a text written by an author. From papyri we know
that the Lift ~r Aes''P had achieved written form by the late second
century C.E.• but before that we have to posit a repertoire of episodes.
featuring Aesop as a fixed character, that undergoes continuous adap-
tation. contraction, and expansion at the hands of numerous story-
tcl1crs. 7 The fact that Aesop stories arc an inherited tradition, widely
known by audiences in all ages. serves as a check on the freedom with
which his life may be retold. Certainly in the fifth century ac:E.. , at
least two of the fixtures of Aesop sag~ were in place: his life as a sla\'C
on Samos and his death at Del phi (Hcrodotos 2.134-35: A ris-
tophancs Wasps 1446-48~
One of the developments in that tradition can just dimly be traced.
At some point in the elaboration and interweaving of various suands
of folk narrative, the old Eastern talc of Achiqar, the wise vizier be-
trayed by his adopted son, was transferred to Aesop ( Vita At'Stlpi
chaps. 101-8). An Aramaic version of Atl!iqaris extant in a late fifth-
century papyrus, 8 but it is not clear when that material began to cir-
culate among speakers of Greek. Later tradition associates Achiqar
spccifical1y with Demokritos (as rranslawr: Clement Stromatris
1.15.69 = FVS 6Hll299) and with Thcophrastos (dialogue title.

(J. Text in ll E. Perry, cJ .••int•picol (Urbana. Ill. 1952): 35-130; tramlation by

L W.Ua.ly, .ies,,p 11•itlumt M,,m/s(Ncw York/London, l%1).
7. 11 E. Perry, Srudit·s ill Jlw '/"i·:\"1 Hisrvry (tf lire• L!ft ami hJhlts c!f Ar.sor. Amcricau
Philological Association, Jlhilolo~,:tical Monographs, no. 7 (Hwcrford. Pa., 1936): 24-
26. H. Zeitz, "Ot·r Aesopmman tmt.i seine GcKhichtc: eint.• Untcrsudumg itn An-
schluss an dit· ncugcfundcncn Papyri," Ar.~yptu.s l6(1936): 225-56.
M. E. Meyer, l'h·r Htrym~fimd '""' Ekpllo~rrtirw, 3d t•d. (lcip1ig, 1912): I02-2H; tc:xt
.;md trJ.nsl:uion in A. Cowley, cJ .• Aramai( [~l'rri 4 tiiC' IWI1 Cortury R.C (l'J23: n:-
print: Osnabn'ick. l%7): 20-'-26. T"u fragm<."nts of a dt·motic vct<ilOn, datable to rhc
tirst century c t:.. ;md probably from tlu: Fayllm, han; n:ccmly bt.-cn publisht·d by K.-
Th. Zauzich. "Ucmot1schc hagmcntc zum Ahikar-U.om:m.'' J~,Jia Rm.1 U~ h1(1[t LXI·:
J. "· {dtltrrmri . .. •lttfi.-.ua, cd. H. r-rankc ct al. (Wic.:sbadcn, 197fJ}: IHO-X5.
280 CONJECTURES
Diog. Lacrt. 5.501 but even if these could be trusted :1s tokens that
Achiqar was ~vail able in Greek it would still be uncertain when Achi-
qar's story became part of Aesop's.
Ncktancbos figures in the Ll/C as a crafty king of Egypt (chaps. 105-
23) and he is evidently the pharaoh who also plays an important role
in the Alexander novels. But this too is no help in dating the story.
Popular narrative gives famous names to its characters with no
thought for chronology and changes them according to the fluctua-
tions of what is currcnt1y famous among those with minimal educa-
tion. Since the point of the narrative is the story itself rather than
history, •'King Ncktancbos" simply means '"famous king.'' and his
role in the Aesop story could have borne another name in earlier days.
The indifference of storytellers to the tight grids of history and geog-
raphy is illustrated in the Lifo cif Aesop by the introduction of one
"Lykourgos, king ofllabylon.'' 9
But these very difficulties confronting the inquirer who asks his-
torical questions about the text of the Life of Aesop are also the best
testimony to its genuine folk character. As such, it is an invaluable
source of information for assessing what parts of TJ.~ c,.[J~u Ass,
which imitates popular oral narrative. would have b~en perceived as
belonging to the largely lost but undeniably real repertoire of con-
t~mporary storytelling. These include not only sccnc:s of low life: and
episodes of peasant cunning that have the same tone as parts of the
AA but a number of dose parallds in incident, including a vision of
Isis and her miraculous aid to the hero.
First let us consider the general similarity of tone and world be-
tween the L!fe of Arsop and The Goldm Ass. Vulgarity, obscenity. and
flouting of conventional decorum arc high on the Jist of common
qualities. Further, in both works then.· is a coordinating viewpoint
within which obscenity makes sense. Here are three examples. Wives
and maidservants in the Life arc either naturally lascivious (22. 29, 32)
or easily tricked into yielding to their suitors (129 = "The Widow of
Ephesos," Pctronius SQtyrika 111-12). One foolish maiden (131) often
heard her mother praying that her daughter would get some sense
(vdo~~ One day away from the farmstead she happened ro see a man
having intercourse with a she-ass (oJ~o~); she asked him what he was

9. F. Ptistcr ... Acs.oproman un,i Alcxandcrroman,'' Pl,it.,lo.'!iul!c- Hudtt:mclrr!fi 43

(1923): 812-14.
 JSIS AND AESOP 281
doing and he said, "I'm putting some sense into her.'' uoh. please put
some sense into me too:' He pretended to be reJucrant: ••1 don't know
if I should; trust a woman to be ungrateful for favors received."
''Please. mister, don't worry about that; my mother will be so grate-
ful to you that she will give you whatever payment you ask. She often
prays that I get some sense put into me." So he deflowered her. She
then ran joyfully to her mother and said, 'Tve got some sense at last,
mother!" '"How did that happen, child?" And the foolish girl replied,
•• A man had this 1ong, red, muscular tool and he ran it in and out of
me untH he put some sense into me." .. Oh my child, you've lost what
little SL'nsc you had!''
Aesop himselfis both shockingly ugly and enormously phallic (30,
75). The episode in which his master's wife sees him masturbating
and asks him to have sex with her ten times in rerum for a cloak is
missing in G. the tenth-century manuscript that uniqucly represents
the earliest form of the Lift, but it has lately been found in a third-
century papyrus (fJOxy. 3331 ). 10 Aesop manages nine times well
enough but has no strength ]eft for the tenth. His mistress reminds
him of their all-or-nothing agreement, so he tries again but this time
he ejaculates onto her thigh. He: threatens to tell his mast~r if she
docsn•t given him the cloak. but she replies, "I hired you to work my
field, bur you jump~d the wall and worked the field next door. Give
me my due and you'll get your cloak." Aesop went to his master and
asked him to judge a case between him and the mistress: .. As we wcr~
walking along the road we saw a tree full of ripe plums. She said, 'If
you can hit a branch with one stone and knock down ten plums for
me, 1'11 give you a cloak.' I aimed well and knocked down the ten but
one of them fell into a pile of manure and now she won't give me the
cloak." She defended hersdf. .. , agree that I got the nine. but the tenth
that fell into the manure doesn't count. If he tries another throw and
shakes down a tenth plum for me, he can have his cloak.'' Aesop said.
"My wrist is weak now." The master decided in his favor and told his
wife! that they would bring her some plums when they retumed from
the market (75-76).

lU. Since the missing material seems, by comparison with recemion W, to h:1ve
lx·t·n just t"nough to fill a singl.: folio. Perry conjectures that it .. was ddilxrau~ly torn
out of the codex, either by way of expurgation or for private circulation... Studirs (note
7): 8. The cpi!ioi.1dc i!i also absent from recension W except for tY.'O old manuscripts.
282 CONJECTURES
The Lije finds even in excrement an occasion for philosophizing
about life (28, 67). While the master is defecating, he asks AesopJ who
is standing by with a towel and water, why we often tum around to
look at our own excrement (6 7). Aesop replies that in olden days a
certain king's son led such a luxurious life that he had to spend many
hours sitting and shining; one day he sat and shat so long that he shat
his own mind (rppEJIE~) away. Ever since then peop1e have fearfully
inspected their excrement to see that they haven't done likewise. "But
don't worry about it, master; you won•t shit away your mind, since
you don't have any!"
The vuJgarity of the Lift in equating mind and sense with sex and
excrement, cspccia11y when a slave is talking to his master, is not the
uncensored reality of low life but represents rather a specific animus
against the claims of the educated elite to have proprietary rights over
wisdom and shrewdness. The Life of Aesop and the AA have this in
common: both acknowledge the existence of a higher realm of elite
education and they both stand outside that realm. lucius is born to
wealth and educated power but is forcibly ejected from his birthright
by a magic transformation that disfigures him; Aesop is born dis-
figured and must always be regarded as ignoble, even when he is
proved again and again to be superior in intellect to the elite.
Aesop·s master is a philosopher, Xanthos of Sames, who is fol-
lowed by a group of graduate students (scholastikoi). The central sec-
tions of the Life (20-91} portray a running battle of wits between
master and slave in which the slave always outthinks the philosopher.
There is cunning outside the academy. and though oppressed by the
authority of professional philosophers it manages in the person of
Aesop to speak freely, brilliantly, and gaily. Aesop is physically
beaten and tormented, he docs the work of a pack animal (18). he is
blamed for crimes he did not commit (2-3). thrown into jail by the
city police (65), but always succeeds in vjndicating his innocence and
triumphing over unjust treatment with astonishing cleverness. He
laughs at his master (36). the philosopher who is continually stumped
by problems that Aesop then solves, often with a story. When he
daims to know nothing. he is really making a point 2hout those who
have just claimed to know everything (25). In this respect his wisdom
and common humanity, as with Socrates, make sense against a back-
drop of ambitious professional intellectuals trying to extend their au-
thority into many walks of life.
 ISIS AND AESOP 2H3
The wisdom of Aesop and Socrates is aporctic and skeptical. Xan-
thos, because he is a philosopher, is approached by truck farmers and
assemblymen with practical problems, and he feels profoundly
ashamed, even suicidal, when it is shown that lu.· is a philosopher who
cannot answer every question (36. 81-84). Aesop's wisdom is rooted in
the opposite perception that his knowledge is minimal and wholly un-
certain. When a policeman asks him where he is going. Aesop says. ··r
don't know." The policeman, thinking he is a runaway slave, puts him
in jail. Aesop then says, "See. I reaUy didn•t know where I was going"
(65). The point of this simple: joke (which] \Vtmld call profound if the
very mention of profundity were nor itself so pretentious) is that Aesop
is scrupulously aware that his beliefs arc only beliefs. Though he has no
conventional worldly power, this awareness itsdf gives him such lever-
age over those bound by con\'cntions that he can actuaJiy tease and
provoke his master, the policeman. and otht:rs in authority.
l would argue that this practical skepticism in the Lifl' (Jf At·sop,
combined with its earthy humor and vindication of extra-academic
cunning. make it a much better second-century compamudum to place
on the shelf near Apulcius's Asiuus Aurt'IIS than the usual choices:
Aelius Aristeides' hypochondriac Hoi}' joJ~rnal, the lsiac hymns. or
Plutarch's Ou Isis aud Osiris. Beyond the salient fact that the Life is a
comic-philosophic narrative, which none of the othcrs are, it also
contains incidents that have counterparts in the AA. These arc not
exact and extended parallels of thl· sore that \\'ould lead us w posit a
derivation of one from the other, but rather. as with the Philo~elos
(Chap. 6, pp. 160-65~ such as to indicatc that the Life tif Aes()p, the
Greek .W.rtamorplloses, and The Goldt'" Ass all represent (or try to rep-
resent) the same wide field of oral folk-narrative. Here arc six:

Aesop is cooking four pig·s legs for Xanrhos and his dinner guests
(42); the master wants an excuse to beat Aesop so he steals one of the
pig's legs from the cooking pot while Aesop is out of the kitchen.
Aesop realizes thar he will be in trouble. so he goes out into the yard
where Xanthos has a little pig he is fancning tor his wife's birthday
and cuts off one of its legs. In the AA 8.31 ~ a dog steals a stag·s leg
from the kitchen that has been bought for the master's suppcr. 11 Thl·

11. Apulcius·s change of the meat in qucstiou from wild J.ss (in tht: AH) to sug is
one of many playful allusions to Act01c:on. See J. Ht'ath, "Acueon, the Unnunnc:rly
Jntrudc..•r,"' (Ph. D. ~lissc:rtation. Stanford Uni\'Crsity, 1982): 113.
284 CONJECTURES

cook is thrown into suicidal despair until his wife suggests that he kill
the .ass in the courtyard (placed there "by the gods' providence") and
substitute one of its legs for the stolen meat. (The larger family to
which both episodes belong is The Cook Punished for Faulty Food.
parodied by Petronius Satyrika 49.)
Another low-class food joke is found at AA 1.25 and a parallel is
inferable from Lift 37, 39, 44. (The episode is lost but rhe text sur-
rounding the lacuna leaves no doubt about the essential nature of the
action.) Lucius tries to please his host by buying his own dinner in the
marketplace, but the fish he purchases are trampled into the ground by
his friend Pythias. Aesop brings vegetables home from the market for
X:mthos's wife to cook and (for some reason) she tramples them to
pieces on the ground.
Aesop, like Jost"ph's brothers in Genesis, is arrested for stealing a
gold cup and hiding it in his baggage (127). The charge is trumped up
in his case:; however the devotees of the Syrian goddess at AA 9. 9 arc
similarly arrested for actually having stolen a golden cup from the
temple of the Mother of the Gods. It is dear from their defense-that
it was a gift from one goddess to another-that their crime is real.
The ass is sold from one master to another for ridiculously )ow
priccs. 12 So Aesop is put up for sale along with two handsome and
skilled slaves (27): they fetch a price of 3,000 dcnarii, whi1e Aesop is
sold for 75. The tax coHectors sec the transaction and come for.vard to
coUect their shart", but both Xanthos and the slavedealer arc em bar-
rassed to admit that they have been party to so paltry a negotiation.
Since they are silent, Aesop says, "I'm the one who was sold; he's the
buyer and that one·s the seller. If these two have nothing to answer, then
obviously I am a free man:• At which Xanthos admits the price and the
tax co11ectors laugh at its lowness and forgo their charges.
Philebos returns to his merry band and shouts from the door. "Oh
girls, look at this handsome slave Ijust bought for you" (8.26~ They arc
mightily disappointed when they sec that it is an ass: "He·s your hus-
band. not ours!" Xanthos's wife and maids similarly hope that the new
slaw will~ a handsom~ stud. Whc:n Xamhos rctums from the slave-
market, his wife prays. ~'Thank you. lady Aphrodite; you've made my
drC'ams come true!" Xanthos reascs her: .. Wair a minute. dear, and you

12. R. Duncan-Jones, Tltc' Ecvii~Jmy of thC' Homarl Empin·: Qu.rmit.z.tilte Studies

(Cambridge. England, 1974~
 JSIS AND AESOP 2H5
will sec such beauty as you have never seen before!" The maids (Kop~
uta) are fighting over which one wiJI take him as her husband (29-31 ~
Their disappointment at the grotesque Aesop is parallel to that of the
girls in the AA (Ta KOpciur,a in Lrlcius. tlr the Ass 36).
The Syrian devotees devise a prophecy that has multiple meanings
(9.8~ Aesop's master is unable to decipher a grave marker that contains
seven letters-A B a 0 E e X. Aesop volunteers to decipher the in-
scription and to find a treasure of go]d in return for his fn~dom (78-
80~ He walks four paces from the tomb and digs down to a hoard of
gold. On demand he explains that the tomb belonged to a philosopher
who was keeping the gold safe by a code in plain sight. The letters arc
the initials of the sentence ~'Walk Four Paces, Dig, Find Gold Treasuren
(A: d-rro{3tk, 8: ~i}p.crra, ~= TEUUapa, 0: op~ov, E: EVpTJUEI.t;, (-t:
"YJCTCXVpOV, X: '}(PlXTWV~ When Xanthos reneges, Aesop assens that
the treasure was being kept for another man who has the right to claim
it. The identity of that owner is also signified by the mysterious epi-
taph: "Return to King Dionysios Gold Treasure Found Here" (A am)..
OOt;, B: pacn.AEl. & h.wvvuiqJ, 0: ovtfJpE'j, E: iv{Jti&, 9: {JTJUCXUpOV,
X: '}(PVUiov). Xanthos then offers Aesop half the treasure not to inform
Dionysios of what tht')' have found. "rll take it not as a gift from you
but in fulfillment of the will of the man who buried it... ··How do you
mean?" ··As the letters say, 'Take, Pace, Divide Gold Treasure Found
Here' .. (A: O:vE'AEcrlJE, 8: fla8iaaTE, a: 81.E'AEcrlif, 0: liv EiiparE. E:
Mif8E, e: iJTJUQVpOV, X: )(PVUiov). This primitive "Gold Bug" story
illustrates the dc1ight that populu narrative takes in codes and riddles,
especially ones that are misunderstood.

Together, these six comparisons designate the common con-

cern found in the AA (and the ass-talc) and Life of Aesop for food Jost,
slaves in peril, crimes and punishments, market values, lust and its
disappointments, and elementary letter-play-the worJd of popular
narrative. 13

13. The cuincidcnL"~ EhaE fivt" of~hesc six arc from the Sl'Ction on the S)·rian pries.Es
or ki'l"iJoi ("f;~ggots") ma)· also point to some more particular articulation. perhaps to
the story m:uerial illustrated on a third- to second-cemury RC.F. bowl (known in two
copies) that shows phallic kimzi.ltli (so inscribed) in peaked caps tickling a donkey's
penis. The other side of the bowl shows mill workers and the master of the mill; seeM.
Rosto\'tze!T. .. Two Homcric Bowls in the Louvre." Amt'rinm jounral tf Ardlt'(II•'.~Y
41 (1937): H6-96; L.A. Moritz, Gmit~-.\li/IJ a11d Flour in ClaJsital A1iliq11ily (Oxfiud.
1951'1): 12-17. tigurc on p. 13.
286 CONJECTURES
Another item in that wor1d is Isis. Aesop is a mute at the beginning
of his talc, but in return for helping a priestess of Isis who has wan-
dered from the main road, the goddess appears to him in a dream
during his siesta, grants him speech, and asks her daughters the nine
Muses to give him their talents too. Thjs inaugural event in the Life
has, like everything else in it, only a loose connection with the other
episodes. Aesop before the miracle is already extraordinarily clever:
fellow slaves eat their master's figs and accuse Aesop of the crime,
knowing that he is mute and cannot defend himself; Aesop indicates
by signs that he will prove his innocence by vomiting, which he docs.
and then points to the guilty slaves to do likewise (2-3).
Isis's miracle explains how the mute Aesop gained his speech in
return for his piety, but the rest of the book is not an illustration of
that piety: Aesop's death is brought about by ApoHo because he impi-
ously forgot to honor the god along with the Muses in a shrine on
Samos (100, 121). The slight of Apollo seems to belong to the oldest
core of the Aesop material, 14 and the gifts of the Muses might well be
ancient too. Isis obviously is later. Her appearance with the Muses is
quite gratuitobs, and for that reason is a nice expression of her easy
availability in Apu]eius's day to fill the role ofSavioreue when one is
called for.

THE GROTESQUE PERSPECTIVE

Our analysis to this point of the Life of Aesop has merely ad-
duced it as an overlooked compamtrdwn to the AA, one that has a simJlar
vulgarity and wit in its narrative, and a divine intervention as well, with
none of the Apuleian temptations for the reader to glamorize or mys-
tify the author/actor. The endeavor may succeed in recapturing some
of the closeness of the AA to the tangible, everyday culture ofits time.
compensating for overuses of sanctimonious and ethereal comparanda
such as Aelius Aristeides. 15 But the Aesop material can also add another
dimension to our search for the elusive self of the auctor/actor.
What I meant by the phrase "self-denying intelligence" (above, p.

14. A. Wicchcr.;. Aesop j,, Delphi, Bcitragc tur kl.assischcn Philologic, no. 2
(Meisenheim am Glan, 1961 ): 31-33; G. Nagy, Thf' Bf'Sf of tltt Achaeans (B~ltimore.
1Y79): 2tl0-90.
15. F. Millar, "The World of the Cllldm Ass," JRS 71(1981): 63-75; H.J. Mason,
··The Distinc[ion of lucius in Apuldus' Mtlanwrphosts," Plllltnix 37(1983): 135-43.
 ISIS AND AESOP 2H7
279) is that tht=> Lift of Aesop and thc mimc of Apuldus's day arc two
representations of a cultural forum in which speakers in grotesque
disguise arc aUowcd not only to be obscene but to utter critical truths
about authority. One of the moves possible, and therefore inevitabk·.
in the repertoire of low. vulgar comedy is serious sassincss. Because
the actor is already grmcsque. deformed. and without honor, and be-
cause he is punished with slapsticks on the spot, he can speak the
unspeakably irreverent thoughts about rulers that arc forbidden to
normal citizens. The ritual or performativc connection between a vis-
ibly shameful status and a grt:ater freedom of thinking and speaking
can be traced through all the eras of Greco-Roman culture. My sug-
gestion is that Apuleius chose to descend to that arena, speaking in
the person of a fatuous scholasticus and a grotesque, much-slapped ass,
bccausl· it enabk·d him to construct a more complex, more unauthor-
ized and more replayable set of games for the readers who would be
enticed to his Golde, Ass.
The dialectic of deformity, intelligence, and authority that connects
Hipponax, Epicharmos, Aristophancs:pl1lyax plays, l-lcrodas, and the
mime has not yet been traced out, but if I mention a few high points the
general notion will perhaps be clcar enough to make the point tor my
argument.
The ugliness of Aesop is a specific cha1lenge to convention, not just
an objc:ct of ridicule but a prO\·Ucation to thought: ..The Samians
looked at Aesop and laughed, saying 'Bring on a second interpreter of
signs to unriddle this sign.' Aesop heard this and instead of showing
contempt he kept calm and said, 'Men ofSamos, why are you staring at
me?' They replied. 'Can this person solve our r1ddlc? His own looks
arc a ponent! He is a frog, a galloping pig. a hump-backed jug, a drill
sergeant for chimpanzees, a clever imitation of a fiagon. a butcher's
pantry. a dog in a madman's cage!' But Acsop said, 'You shouldn't look
at my looks, you should think about my thoughts. It's absurd to make
fun of a person's mind on the basis of his external features. Many pco-
p]e have ugly looks and sound minds,"' etc. (M7-88~
The deformity of Aesop is as csscmial to his tradition as is his wis-
dom.16 Wicchers reproduces an Attic vasc of thc fifth Cl11lUry ncr:.

16. The: opening lines of the: L!lr of AI'"SLlJ' (ms. G) OJ.rt.' n~ry garble-d, but tlu:y
ron~i~t of a list of pejorative: adjccti ..·cs.
roughly meaning "rcmlting to look at, putrid
and useless, with a bulgmg head and :1 pug nose, bl:u:k, stunh.'d, corrulent, b:mdy-
umcd, his limbs set .n odd .;~nglc-s ... a mistake."
21U~ CONJECTURES
showing Aesop with a huge head, sloping tacc, outsize nose. and puffy
cheeks, conversing with a fox. 17 Il may even be built into his name, if
Nagy's etymology is correct; aiu- w~ = .. base facc." 18 The same
look is found on the statuettes of mime actors in late Hellenistic and
imperial times: large dopey ears, bulbous noses. flat foreheads, pointy
heads, usually bald. 19 1 have alrcad y noted that the obscenity in the Lift
often stands in a tendentious relation to conventional wisdom. Now I
will argue that the ugly, obscene speaker of mime is an inheritor ofthc
traditional role of Grotesque Outsider, who from earliest times was a
blamer and critic of conventional authority.
The early comp1cxities of this cultural group arc traced by Nagy,
who includes Thersites and Iros as well as Aesop. Both are deformed,
Thersites being hump-backed and pointy-headed, lros fat-bellied
(~apyo~) and probably phaHic. 20 Within the aristocratic tradition of
cpos these blame figures arc themselves blamed: Thcrsitest for all that
he speaks the same truth :as Achilles, is beaten with a royal stick; Iros
is promised a deformation that will give him the permanent look ofa
grotesque-he will have his ears and nose cut off. The Homeric sing-
ers portray the ugly railer as an unpleasant outsider and make him
suffer serious beatings because he says thing that the aristocratic and
polite traditions regard as ugly. Thersites and Iros are caught. as it
were, in a hostile genre. If we could sec the cultural blame-figure (of
which Thcrsitcs and lros arc distorted appropri.uions) in his own
proper environment, he would be, like Aesop in his stories, the center
of value and insight. He might still be ugly and still be beaten, but
beaten now as the uglyt slapstick hero of his own genre.
The Lij(· of Aesop can thus be interpreted as a witness to a sub-
mergt"d. Jargdy unwritten and unlcncrcd cuJrural tradition in which
the Deformed Man speaks both comically and seriously against the

17. Wicchcrs. At•setr• (note 14): 32.

18. The nanu· of his nustcr may also be gcncr;~rcd from the same traditional op-
position of smart, ugly slave with stupid. handsome philosopher. At least f~o~ is
m.cd in the- l.if~ to n.une tht opposite of Ae-sop:" Aesop s;aid, 'Lo~dy, dicJ you w:ant your
husband to buy a slave who was youn~. h:~ndsomc. good-looking, bright-eyed, and
l
fJir-ho~ired ~Q'VlM~I?"" (32).
19. G. M.A. Richter. "Grotesques and the Mime." Ammc.m);mmal o{.4rclrcoloo
17(1913): 149-56~ A. Nkoll Maslts, Mim,•s ~tnd 1\firatlt$: Swdit$ iu 1lrr 1\lpular Tlrt.alrt'
(New York. 1963) has a goud selection of iltuscrations, csp. pp. 43-49,88-89.
20. Nagy, B~sr '!l rh~ .icllacans (note 14): 229 n. 4. citing F. Broer, ··un Nom indo-
curoJ~en de rhomm..- che7. Hmnerc,.. Rti'UI! II(' Philo/,l_gil: 50(197(i): 206-12.
 ISIS AND AESOP 289
tyranny of conventional wisdom. 21 If Aesop tends more to the seri-
ous, his non-idemical twin, Margitcs, tends to represent the merely
comic formulation of the same clcmcnts. 22 Aesop knows nothing-
in the Socratic sense23 -and yet there is no puzzle that stumps him;
Margites litera1ly knows nothing. His speciality is to display igno-
rance of things so basic that it would ordinarily seem inconceivable
that anyone not know them. Margites was afraid to have sex with his
bride because she might tell her mother. He had to be tricked into it
by his wife, who pretended that she had been wounded in the vagina
and the only cure was for Margitcs to put his penis on the wound.
Other fragments imply that he had trouble with elementary arithmetic
(Polybius 12.4a.5~ He may have tried to count the waves and simply
started over each time he reached the highest number he knew (which
was either five or a hundred: Ihroemiographi Gmeci, cd. Leutsch 2.517).
The phrase that sums him up is "He understood many things and Wl-
derstood them all wrong." 24
As to the look of Margites, we may guess that he was pot-bellied
(J.Ld:fYYo~) and perhaps compounded of disproportionate parts like the
polymctric verse of the Homeric poem about him. Certainly in re-
gard to ro]cs he is the ancestor of the Jatcr deformed performer of
mime known as the stupidus. I introduced in Chapter 6 a tradition of
sophomoric jokes about the sdtolasticus, arguing that they were speci-
fically stage routines of low comedy. Now I shaH put together the
Grotesque Critic (Aesop) and the Grotesque Fool (stupidus of mime)
3S the serious and comic poles of a seriocomic tradition in which

21. Mclantho and Mcl:mthios, r.:.ilers both, m.:.y :~lso c:ury with them :m unex-
purgcd sign of rln: tur111i11g of the: bbmc figure. They :~rc both children of Dolios
(="Crafty"~ Odyllq 17.212: 1H.322).
22. Tl.'stimonia to the poc:m .\tar..'!itrs, though not to the entire: tradition about
Margitcs. arc collected by M. L. West, l~mbi tt Elt'Ki Gmcci (Oxford, 1972~ 2: 69-76.
Cf. H. Lmgcrbcck, •• .\largires- Versuch e-incr Bt.-schrc:ibung und Rekonstruktion.'"
Han'drd Srwlit's ill Classual Pllilol...,gy 63(195H): 33-63: M. Fordcrcr. Zum lromt'Tisdlm _
Margilr:s (Amsterdam, ttJf.Cl).
23. How much of Pbto's version of Socrates is due to a ron5eiously Acsopic col-
oring-his; looh, his long suflC:ring, his c;ommon rouch. his uncom·cnlion~l wisdom.
his homdy similes~
24. noll' -IJ1TU:rraro lpya, teaJt~ S' Y,'ITicrrcrro mivra ((Plato} A/rib. II 147B ""
Marg. fr. J Wl!'sr). Mugites.' hrand ofpolynuthy nuy stand bc:hind lucim's anti-Odys-
sc.an tlsi min1u prud(lltrm, nntllisciurn .:.t AA ':1.13. Lucius slides from ;t self-identitic-:~tion
as Homeric Odyssc.-us to Homeric MargitC!i. C( Fordcrcr, Margilts (note 22): 16-20,
on Marg:itC's as a nc~ativc 170AliTpomJ~.
290 CONJECTURES
physical deformity and intellectual paradox are exploited to arouse
critical laughter.
The testimonia collected by Reich. Wiist, and Nicoll15 picture the
stupidus as a second banana. a clown who may confuse, disrupt. and
make fun of a primary action by his imitations and intrusions. Only
one extended example of such a routine has accidcntalJy survived-
the Charition mime.l 6 In it the rescue of a maiden from a barbarian
land by her brother and a ship captain, a Ia Ipltigtneia among tile Tau-
riaus, is combined with the KykloJ1S trick of getting the barbarians
drunk. As counterpoint to the mdodramatic action. the stupidus in-
terjects obscenities-praying to the goddess Pordc (roughly "Far-
tern is:· or it may be a stage direction: 4. 241 mentioning the Psolichos
( •• Hardon.. ) River (23, 46~ and suggesting that the captain be thrown
overboard to kiss the ship's ass (109~ He is sacrilegious too: when tht:
heroine rejects with horror the plan to steal some oft he temple offer-
ings. he agrees. "You mustn,t touch them- I will" (37, 55).
For these Harpo Marx shenanigans he is ofcourse rebuked, at least
verbally (5, 55~ More common in mime was the usc of sticks to
thwack the misbehaving buffoon. The blows r2inC'd on the stupiJIIS's
bald head or humped back are a signal that his words are outrageous as
well as a mock punishment for them. The formal appearance of pun-
ishment is employed not to censure the offender but to enable the
audience to respond with free delight to the transgressive behavior of
the buffoon.
Because the mime encouraged violations of respect for authority
(in Cllarition's case the gods. temple property, and the captain of a
ship) by appearing to punish them on the spot. a space was opened up
on occasion for truly dangerous jibes at powerful persons. N umcrous
anecdotes relate how, especially in imperial conditions, the mimes
became voices for what no one else dared say. 27 Thus a mime deliv-
ered a lightly veiled allusion to the inevitabjlity of tyrannicide in the
very presence of Maximinus, but did so in Greek. ••when the em-
peror asked his friends what the mime clown [mimims sct4rm J had

25. H. Reich. lkr .~lim1u (Berlin, 1903): 57H-83; E. Wiist. •'Mimos," RE 15:
1727-64; Nicoll, Masks (note 19): M7 -90.
26. POxy. 413; D. L. ~ge. &lul PaJ'Y'i, vol. J, Lifrmry Tbpyri, H.Jrlry (Cil.mbridgc.
Mass./London, 1970): 336-49.
27. Reich, Mir"Hs (note 25}: 182-92, coU.cCls the anecdotes.
 ISIS AND AESOP 2YJ

said. he was told they were ancient verses wriw:n against rough men;
and he, being a Thracian and a barbarian, believed it.. (Historia Au-
~usta, Duo .\1axim. 9.3-5). Another mimL· was able to allude: with
impunity to Marcus Aurelius's wife's lover (Historia Augusta, 1\1. Att-
tcmin. 29). Ptolemy Philadclphos and Caligu1a killed downs for in-
sullS like that (Athcnaios Deipn. 14.621 A; Suctonius Cal(~. 29.4).
By emphasizing the critical cutting-edge of the I~i)(· Clj At·sop and
mim...-. as expressions of popular thinking that contained dements of
resistance to elite educational privilege and public authority, I mean to
bring out the: cunning and point of the: AA 's frequc:m imitations of
them. If Book 11 has an abrupt ending rather than a tidy one-a
feature of mime performances18-and if the theme of the ass-man
was featured in mimes, 29 our verdict on this should not be that Apu-
lcius participated in the mindless antics of the rabble but that he saw it
as a novel and effective venue for putting unthinkable issues on trial. 30
Because Aesop and mime already contain a devious play of unwanted
perspectives and a hiding of the se1f behind a grotesque, degraded
facade, they can be subsumed in Apuleius·s larger device. his Socratic
game of provocative questions with no authorized answer.
But lest this chapter's treatment seem to play favorites in Apu-
lcius's mock trial of issues, secretly advocating the bald down over
the bald deacon. I shall now give an example of another, contrary
intricacy that can be traced in this doscly tatted text.

28. ''lc is the c:ondm>ion of~ mime, not a play -there's no tina I cadence, one ch.u-
;~cter just eh1des ;mother's ch1tChl'S, the clacker rattles and the curuin is pulled up''
(Cicc.-ro Jlro Carlio6..1).
24J. lllustr~ted by il tim-century c. L bronze relict: H. Reich, "Dcr Konig mit der
Domenkrom.·," NrurJal~rbiidu!rfiir .ltJs kltJssisf$u• Allt'rtuiN 7(1904): 705-33, tigurc on p.
711; Nicoll. ,\l4sks (note liJ): 75.
30. Cf. the moving of lucius's trial frorn the hw court tn the theatl·r (3.2}. The
most startling of the mime dements in the :'\A, if only we knew a little more J.bout
props, might be the- fake cal"i :md nose of Thdyphmn, The 'it.ltm•Uej; regularly sh~lw
such actors as having large, tl.mny noses and cars, though the evidcm:c is clear that they
did not wear 111.1sks. Surely nut all mimes 3L""tu;~ll)· h;ni gmlcsque f:.lcct: wmc of them
must have used stit:k~n or ti~o•-on noses and cars. No other chancter in the .-\A is so
perfectly the slllpiJus as Thclyphron.
 11

The Gilding of the Ass

'']suppose it's abour Christ?"

.. No. Jt's about the childhood of
Dostoevsky.''
''Dostoevsky," said Miss Terborg One
tirmly, "was very interested in Christ."
Across the chasms, thought Gott, threads of
connexion can always be traced.
-Michad Innes, Hamlet, Rrr~tnge.'

Still in the familiar realm of conjecture and tollowing the nor-

ma] un-Carresian methods of historical reconstruction, let us tum at
last to the first words of the novel and tell a likely story about the title of
the book that we have throughout referred to as rhc AA, for Asim1s
Aureus, Tile Golden Ass. I should warn the reader that this, the eleventh,
chapter will have an Egyptian character, for in it there occur revelations
of mysterious s~:cret meanings, lsiac and Sethic lore ••emwined in a cal-
ligraphy so dense and involuted" as to be illegible to non-tanatics, ar-
cana of which no hint has been given in the first ten chapters.
Of the two titles by which Apuleius's novel is commonly known,
Met amorphous and The c,,fde" Ass, the latter is frequently declared to
be merely a nickname, popular in origin, honorific in character, and
perhaps easier to understand in the Latin West than the author•s origi-
nal Greek title, A1etamorphoseon1 (a genitive plural). All known manu-

1. The discussions: of e•rly modern scholars are col1ected in F. Oudendorp, Ap-

l'uleii O]Jrra 01Pmia (Lddcn, 1786). 4: 2-J. who insisrs that Mttdmorphoses ;alone is ;au-
thentic, the other title being mere GsjnitJus l1tsus. The common opinion may be found.

292
 THE GllDING OF THE ASS 293
scripts arc derived from Laurentian us 68,2, 2 where the subsaiptions
to each book attest only to the title Metamorplzoseon: e. g., E..~ salustirls
/egi et em(eu)davi romeftlix. METAMORPHOSEON · LIH(BR) II·
EXPLIC(IT) INCIPIT LIBER · III· F(eliciter), .. I. SaJlustius. read
and emended at Home with joy. Book 2 of the Metamorphoses con-
cludes; Book 3 begins. WithJoy." These subscriptions are the work of
one Sallustius. whose work on the text can be shown to go back to the
years 395-97. 3 These subscriptions arc the basis of the almost unani-
mous modern agreement tha[ the novel was en[itJed by its author
Atetamorpl•oseis (in the Greek nominative plural). a word that in fuller
bibliographic references including the book number automatically
becomes genitive plural: (LibcriLibri) Metamorpl10scoll. I believe this
consensus about Apuleius's title to be wrong and wiJl argue here that
Asinus Aureus is both authentically A pule ian and very significant.

THE EXTERNAL CASE fOR ASJNVS AUREUS

The earliest reference to Asiuus Aurcus is a well-known pas-
sage in Augustine (de civ. dd 18.18) concerning folktales of human-

tor instance, in R Hd m 's introduction to his translation, A p ult i•~ Alt"tamotphoscn; odtr,
l:>t'T~Idtnf' r:JI'I,l.~ttittisl/1 und /Je.,tsch{Berlin, 1961): 5~ H.J. Rase. A HotndbookofLuin
Litt'mturr (London, 1936): 521; L. \'Oil Schw.:~bc •• Appulcius... RE 2: 250~ J. Tatum,
•.<\pult'ius and "Tht' GoJdt'n :iss" (lth:.lCa, N.Y./London, 1979): 17 n. 1. M. Sch;~nz-C.
Hosiu~-G. K rucgcr. Gmllid1lt' drr mmiscl•rn Littr'lltur; Jd cd. (Munich. 1922~ .3: 1()(1.
accept .-\sinus Aurr11s as the title in the sense: .. ass cndOVIo-cd with human re:.son" (!}.
2. D. S. Robertson, "The Manuscrip[s oftllC Mt·tcurle!rpiJMt'S of Apulcius," Classi-
t~JI Qu4rtt'rly Ul(1924): 27-42, S5-99. The 11niquenes5 of Laurentian us 6K.2 (known as
F) was first suggested by H. Kcil, Obsl:'mllionrs Crilica~ i11 Caronij rr J.-a"o"is dr Rt• Rt4S·
tica Libris (Halle. JM49): 7HT.
3. Subscription to Book 9: EA'I(l S11l111stius ltgi & tllltlldcwi romf jfli:'l. 0/ihio & Pr"-
t.in~t 1ii cot1s.. It• forCI marl it ccmlrowr~i''"' dt'damam mutori tndtltdtilt Rurs•u (OIIilclntinu_p.Jii
rrcoA"•ovi mario & attico ccm. Sec 0. Jahn, "Obcr die Subscriptionen in den Handschrif-
r"n mmi.;c:hcr Ch!t:c~;iker," Rr•ritlltl' rlt'r faduicrl1m \.ntlluh4t df'r WiHttmh~{tm zu l.rip·
.:~~ 3(1K51); 327-72 (Sallustius on pp.•~31-32); H. Bloch, .. Tbe Pag;;~n ll.cviv.ll in the
West ;tl r he End of the Foun h Century," in Tlze Confl ift bt-r~wtll fbga" i.r.,. o1nJ Chris1i11 nity
in d1t Fc1ul'tll Cc>tltury, cd. A.. Momigliano (Oxford, 1%3): 2l4; A. Cameron, .. Po~ganism
;md lher:uure in L:ue Fourth Century Uome," in Christianintle rt forme~ 7irti'rdirti dt'
l'm1tiquite tlll"diJ'f m rKciJcnr, Entrctiens sur l'antiquitc classiquc. no. 23 (Geneva, 1977):
5-6. The title Mrt~morphoston occurs at the end of each book. \'ariously spelled in F:
mtldmt~pio1l'lltt (explicit Ill); mtrliamorplromlll (l"xplicit IV, V); ltU'IIIaiHotfo.{tllPI (explicit
X); mr.tapbor12 mv~{ost.,n (explicit Vll); mt>thaphormorpllO$l'OII (my f;n~rite, explicit VIII).
294 CONJECTURES
to-animal-to-human transformation. He himself has heard such
tales in Italy conceming innkeeper womt!n and unfortunate travelers:
.. Their minds however did not become bestial but remained human
and rational, just as Apulcjus (in the books that IJe inscribt·d witlz tlr~· title
1' Tl1c Golden Ass") reported or pretended to have happened to him-
self-when he took a drug and became an ass but kept his human
soul" (my italics; n~c tam~u itr eis mrmem_fleri bestialem, sed raticJtJalf•m
lmmanamquc servari, sicut Apuleius, iu libris quos Asini Aurri titulo ill-
scripsit, sibi ipsi aaiclissc llt accepto l't.'Ut''to lmmano at1imo pemraumte
asitwsfierct aut indicavit autjinxit). It has not hitherto been noticed that
this unambiguous phrast• can only mean that Augustine read the
novel in manuscript bearing the title Asinus AJm•us and that this ap-
peared to him to be Apuleius's own choice-.. that he inscribed with
the title ... ;• quos ... tiwlo inscripsit. This is rather stronger than. say.
inscribitHr, .. is inscribed," which would merely indicate a tide found
rather than a title authorized by Apuleius. Augustine has, I think, his
own reasons for pinning the title on Apuleius (sec p. 297~ but he
could nor develop his polemic unless he did regard the title as an au-
thentic one.
Augustine is thus a witness to a distinct manuscript tradition (and
a community of book readers) in the fourth century in which the
novel's tide was Asinm Aurem. Nothing can be made of che relative
priority of Sallustius 's years of work (395-97) to Augustine's writing
ofthe deciaJitatedei (413-26~ since Augustine presumably knew Apu-
lcius's writings throughout his life (born 354~ and his testimony,
though set down somewhat later than Sallustius's, is therefore rele-
vant to the entire second half of the fourth century in Africa and ltaly.
Neither of these two early witnesses to the title of the work can be
invalidated as inaccurate, and neither betrays any knowledge of the
other. An evident stalemate.
The main argument of this chapter is that rhere are four good rea-
sons for believing that Asi,ms Aure11S was Apulcius's title. But before
embarking on that I would Hke to suggest in passing that tht! most
economical hypothesis to account for the divergence between Augus-
tine and SaJlustius is that Apulcius's original title was double-like
those of Varro's AJt•nippean Satires and Plato's dialogues as known in
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 21J5

Apulcius 's day 4 ~Asi11us rmreru, TTEpi p..ETCXJ.WprpwuEwv, ( Tl1r Golden

Ass, Cone em in)! lvletamorphoscs ). 5
Ancient readers were ordinarily rather casual about exact titles:
Cicero, for instance, refers to one of his own compositions 'lr.triously
as Cato maior and as de se11tctutc and by its opening words, 0 Trte, si
quid. 6 One of the works Cicero used in that dialogue (1.3) was Aris-
ton ofKeos's Ta.iJCdvO~. 7TEpi. yi]p~. Varro's Menippeans arc the most
telling model, since they often feature a phrase whose meaning or
relevJnce is not at first apparent: caprinum proelium, 1TEpi T;Bov-i}~ de-
sultorius, 1TEpi Tov ypaf{JEtv; cymu.c, 1TEpi Tafl'ii~ mutumtl muli mtlmrll,
1TEpi xwpLUJ.WV. Sometimes the two parts of Varro 's title are split
between Latin and Greek, as I am proposing for Apulcius's .4.sinus
Aureus, 11epi p.eTap.opf{JwUECdV. 7

4. PIJto\ dialogues were org..mizc:d inro tetralogies with double titles l:ty Thr .l-
syllo~ (c.uly fint-ccruury c E.) according to Di.og. Llt'rt. 3.57-60, the :;.crond p.ut
usually beginning with 7rEp,(27 out of 36~ That Thrasylloo; w.1s fo1lowing the example:
of Derkylidc~. probably already known to V01rro (•I~ liti~Ud L.ui"" 7 .37), is argued by H.
Allinc, Hisroirt' dwrf'.~tt ,/e Pl.mm, Bibliothcque de I'Ecolc des hautes etude!';, no. 21S
{Pari!>, 1915): 112-13, on the basis of Albinus Pr.llt,l!. 4. Varro\ title:;, arc .1 nutter of
controversy: E. llolisani. t-anoraf' Mct1ippco (P.1dua. 1936): :..:xix, and P. Ccbc, l{m,,,
~tin•J Mtniptt~~ Collection de r"Ecnlc fran,aisc de Rome:, no. 9 (Home, 1972), 1: xiii-
xiv, accept the arguments of A. Riese' .. Die Doppdtitcl\·arronischcr SJtircu," in Sym·
bola !Jhift~lo.\~nltn Bont~tnsium in Hvuomn F. Rirsclu~lii, (lcipzi~. 1H64-67): 471J-H8. that
the Greek nEpi-titks ;arc the: invention of ;a htcr ec.titor. Ric:~':. argumelll!t <~tc. I think,
not entirely com·indng, but in any C3:r.c the {_;reck mpi-titlcs were known and used
by Aulus Gellius (Noel .•-\tt. 6.16: M. 1--itrrll itr satum •JIIdln rrEpi. i8Eu~lrTwv imcripsil)
and therefore would be: known to Apulcim.\. audience:. A. Scobie noted the po!>sibility
oL1 posc-Apuleian double ride in his Armleii4S, M••fllnr"''I'JrMol: A C'..otmtJcnMry, Beirr".ige
zur kla~i!iChc:n Philologie, no. 54 (Mc:i~c:nhcim am Gl.m, 1975): ~9.
5. Pettus Colvius (citl!'d in Oudcndorp !note l J) thought that Apul1.•ius"s own
title was .\.ftldtrwrpiii)Sttltt sir't de· Asitlcl Allrto, on the grounds that both Wl.·re us,cJ by
ancienr :mthors.
6. H. Zilliacus, "Doktitcln i :.mtik liuc:ratur," l;rdlh'S 3li(JIJJR): 1-41; E. Nach-
m<~nson, Vrr gritchiscl1r Bctchtitd, ri11igr Brt~bdclmmgerJ, Got>tcborgs Hocgskolas
Arsskrift. no. 47/19 (Goteborg, N41 ); Carl Wendt!, Dir ~rif'CIJistlrt•-romisclre Bluhbr-
scl~r·ribuug rorrglidltrl mit J" drs rttlrd(fftl Orirnts, llaltiliChcn Monographicn, no. 3 (IIallc,
1949): 29-34; K.-1:. Hcnriksson, Crird•istht Biicl1~rt•td in drr ro•niscllt"ll Lilerarur (Hel-
sinki. 1956); N. l-:lorslall, "!)omc Problems of Tituluurc in Roman Literary t·JiSoltu)·,"
B•,Jirtitt cif tlu· lnstirute C'f C/assi(al Studirs (l..~ndotl Uniwrsily) 2H( 19XI ): 103-1-4. C ic~:rn \
rcfcn:ncc:s: Cdlo mawr-Lad. 4, ad ..o\tl. 14. 21; dt' m•ututr -de J;,•. 2.3; wo 'li"le, si
quid'" -.1.1 All. 16.11.
7. Wholly Latin title~: 40; Grec:k words written in Latin chuactcrs: 17; Grl·ck
titles: 25. AU the second halves otthc tides ( mpi.) arc in Grct'k.
296 CONJECTURES
Modern writers usually explain the gemuve plural J.A.ETaJ.Wp-
cpciJuewv by adding Aoyot from Phorios's discussion of the two ass-
tales (Bib/., cod. 129)-p.E-rap.optpcixrE6JII AO')'Ot- llui'()Opot.. But TTEpi.
p.ETap.o(HPWuEwv has two advantages over p.ETa#U)fMPcMrEwv A.oyoc
(i) it represents a wc11-known form of title that solves the apparent
problem of Asimu AureJ~s versus JUTap.opcpwCTEwv and (ii) it dissolves
the problem sometimes felt about the appropriateness of the plural.
p.ETap.tJ{)(PWuEwv Acryot clearly indicates several tales involving trans-
formations, and to find this in Apuleius one must invoke metaphori-
cal transformations, which is not the immediate scnst" of the term as
applied to "these Milcsian tales." 8 mpi.. p.ETap.opi{)6Juewv would be a
generic plural, which Perry argued must be the: proper sense. 9 A
number of Varro 's subtitles are generic plurals: e. g., Testamenwm,
mpi 8taih}Kwv; fbpia papae, mpi E')'KCtJp.i.bJv. It is the example of
Varro's A.ft>tJippeatiS that leads me to supply 1TEpt as the link between
Asitms Aurtus and p.ETap.owwuEwv. (A double tide consisting of
two nomjnatives in different languages would, I think, be unparal-
leled.) I further suspect that the Varronian project of philosophy cum
comedy for the: masse's may be the most important model for Apu-
leius 's own work.• 0

H. J T.atunl, .. Apulcius and Metamorphosis," A'"crican J.mnlod of Pl1ilolo~y

IJ3(11.J72): 306-13.
9. "Th~ Significance of the Title in Apuleius' Mrto~morpJ.oscs," C.:lrJ.Ssi(oiii,hilciC'l)'
IH(1923): 23R So H. 1l Gousch:.lk concludes ch~t Herakleides Pontikos's mpi roO"(I.III
means ... On dbc:asc in gcnr:ral', not rh.u sc\·cral diseases wcr~ trc.ttcd s(·rialirn" (1-ltm-
clides ot' Hmws !Oxford, l9HOI: 21 ~
to: The drarn4tic and (;~bulous dialogues of Hcrakleidcs Ponrikos. who com-
bined .1 wom;~n cured from :1 thirty-day trance. a s.ymposium on the bst d.ty of Empe-
dokks' lift", and ules of Pyth.lgura!lo inro a single work, will serve a:o; .m insunce uf the
Greek models .ag:.in.">t which Varro was writin~ (Gottschalk. HtmdidrJ lnote IJJ: 21).
V.uro ~ .\lmippram are like the A.A. in their amhiguou" mix of (PbutinC") Jrch;~i.;ms ;md
non-st.JnUJ.rd c:onccmporary !'opt.-cc:h: E. Z.:~ffo1gno, "Cmnmcmo J.llcs.!>ico delle Alrnip-
pa,'" in St11di .f\'oniani, Pubblicazioni dcll'htituto di fi1ologia classica !:' mcd~v;ale Jeii'-
Utliversir:, di (~nov;a, no. 41 (Genoa. 1975~ 3: 195-256. esp. 219-24.
V;~rro is speaking: .. y,_"t in those old works of mine where I interpreted r:uher than
imitated Mcnippos. I s;altc-d the whole: with a l'cruin hilarity. mingling many ~hings
from the very hC'ilrt of philosophy and many dialectical propositions-all this in order
that the less cduc.-.tcd might more c.uily get the point, if thl!'y were invited to read by
means of a certain jocularity" (cr lamw i11 illis li~Uribus noslri.s, quae ,\lt'111ppum imit"ti, 11011
illlrrprrlali, qr~o~tlam luldrilalr ctmsprrsi1mu, 'm1lta admi.~M rx imi111a plliiMt~pllia, mulla Jictd
didlatiu; lJtldt' q~t!l_latililu trrinu.s dolli illll'lltogtrttll, ;,,rrmdit.:zrt· quddam acJ ltgt'tJJum ir-witoti,
Cic-ero An1J. 1.2. ~).
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 2Y7
The hypothesis of a double title leads us to ask whether th~rc is any
significance in the fact that Augustine uses Asiuus Arm·usand Sa1lustius
uses .Hetamorp/Joseon. Probably not, but there arc three possibilities to
keep in mind. It is conceivable that either Sallustius or Augustine (or
both) was simply ignorant oft he other ride. Again, both may be indif-
ferent to which tide they usc, like Fulgentius, who knows both titles
and cites either one on various occasions, but never both togcthcr. 11
But there is also some plausjbihty in the suggestion that Sallustius and
A ugustinc could have known the two titles but each consciously chose
one over the other. Augustine regards Apulcius as an authority in the
enemy's camp. and his citation may easily be read as contemptuous:
"'The Goldcu Ass, as he himself called it ... " (stressing Asinus rather
than A11reus). He also emphasizes that the narrator Lucius is identical
with the author: sibi ipsi accidissc. Augustine seems pleased to have
caught Apuleius in a dilemma: either he was an ass or he was a novel-
ist-in either case his contemptibility is self-prodaimed. 12
On the other side. thanks to the arguments of A1an Cameron, it
now seems unnecessary to associate Sallustius's work on Apuleius
with the late fourth-century efforts of Roman traditionalists to main-
tain and defend the continued cxistenc.: of their culture against chris-
tian assaults.tJ Yet it is easy to imagine that a serious student of the
work. who thought it worth copying (no matter what his religion).
might hayc preferred the more abstract and honorific title p.E.-
TaJ.WP¥JWuEW'II to the paradoxical and folksy title Asitws Aun•us. Sal-
]ustius would not be the first or the last reader to have been drawn to
this text as a dassic of religious experience or sheer narrative excel-

II. in libris rttr"lltrl•PJil$t'tltt (Myt/1. 3.6): iPI ,u·tmtMjciSI'IItt (ExpM. smn. 12111. 36)~ in
.uir~t• aHmJ (Expos. st"nll. ant. 17; 40~ Fulgcntius ;~]so pa}·s Apulcius the tribute of imita-
tion: ~fftJlim wamm .wrium S1!1l~s lrpido quolibt-r s1wmo pt'rtnultrdm (Jiytll. I, prcf. 3) =
aJIITfJIJilt' ltttJJ bt~til\1/as lrpido msurro pmnulcrtJm (AA 1.1 ): cf. also Myr/1. 1, pref. 2 (catl1in·
"""'n n.-,, ia1 j, 3 ( mg.lr.J,., suln's anil ibusjabuJam), 4 ( Jl1ius cu riMitas ), 20 ( Ps ittn).
12. On contempt fornovds, sec D.P. Reardon, Gl/ffiUIIS litlfrairrsgrw des ut ft 1111'
$iivlt-.~at•rcJ).-C. (l'.uis. 1971): 323 f. note32. Augusrine'!o :accuution that Apul'-'ius may
have wrincn fiction ( {i11.\·il) is almost a~ seriuu~ a charge as his suspicion th;~t Porphyry
mo&y h:avc for~ocd an ~raclc (cor~jinxcril; dt civ. Jri 19.2.1.2~ The theological defense of
tr:ad itional Roman myths, t h.at Ju pitc: r's scandalous ad vc:nr urc:sa rc just 111 adc-u p s tmics.
is in itsdf a condemnation of them (rot!rinxil, Augustine Epist. lJit 1~. follo·wcd by a
discussion of Apulcius). We might add that Augustine had no taste for Greek at all and
for tlut reason too may h~ve s1ighu:d n~pi.~U-Tap.o()IPWvEwv.
13. Sec note 3.
29H CONJECTURES

lcncc and yet to have been somewhat repelled by its uncompromising

incorporation of barnyard filth-wh21t Flaubert referred to as its
heady smell ofincense and urine togcthcr. 14 But these thoughts are an
asjde from my principal argument, to which I now return. that Asiuus
Aureus is genuinely Apuleian.

THE MEANING OF THE TITLE

If the external case for Asinus Aureus as authentic is at least
reasonably soundf there is ncverthdess a second and rather trickier set
of considerations about its sense :md appropriateness. The only serious
defense of Asinus Atm•us to date is that ofR. Martin, 15 who argues that
it represents the ass associated with the wicked god Seth, who in
Egyptian texts is described as ruddy ( 1T11ppbt;} Few accept Martin's
analysis, since it is based on a leap from dry desert red (structurally
opposed to the wet black earth around the Nile) to the brilliant yellow
hue denoted by aurtrls. Yet, though the argument fails, it is ar least a type
of consideration that would be relevant to justifying Asinus Aureus on
intcmal grounds. These internal grounds mw;t be our next subject.
First we must reexamine the interpretation of arm•r1s as a simple
and straightforward term of praise. It is this interpretation that has in
some part Jed commentators to reject Asitws Aureus as of Apuleius's
own devising, thinking that he could hardly hav.c tried to promote the
excellence of his own composition by so crudely flattering a title. The
parallels adduced to illusnate the honorific sense of aureus as applied
to works or writers do indeed show the peculiar devotion of a disci-
ple, often verging on the obsequious, 16 and it is hard to imagine an
author getting away with it in his own instance.

14. Sc.:c Chapter 8, note 44.

15. ''Le Scns de !'expression 'A sinus. :~urcus' et lJ signification du rom;1n apu-
]}icn," R~••urd!'J Eludts Luira~s4S(1970): 332-54.
16. (i) "Golden'' words or writings: •.ml't'a Jicra (Epiam'), Lucn:tius 3.12; est '"nim
r~on ma.~mu ttt•mm al4rtolm ... libtll•u (Krantor, mpi. 71'illt7o~). Cic~ro ;-\r<JJ. 2.135;
}lumw ora1ir»1is tlurrumfimdtns Aristottlt'j, Cicero !let~d. 2.119: Ta XJ1Vuii l7r1J I Pythago-
re3n), lamblichos Protrcpticus 3; XPuua 7rOtpay-yiA~UX'a IPyth;lgorean), Jerome adv.
Rl4/in. 3.39~ Pf,1lor1i.s amulum tlc~t~uium, Fulgcntius Mytl1. 1, pre£ 27; title: .--\urea {dictd?).
G~iu.~ the Jurist (d: F. Schulz. History ~?f Roman Legal S,ittltt' )O!<ford. 1953): 167);
(Rhetoriram) aumrar &wci.s, M;!rti;anus C;ape11a 5.429. (ii) "Golden" spc<~kers or writer!>:
7rapct ni.1, En•o.pwvr' .,.;q )(IWCT~ Aclian .'\ltJt. 1111im. 2.11; Dio Chryso-stomos (Mc:n;~n-
 THE GILDINGOFTHE.1SS 299

But the paraUds tail in one regard: it is one thing to call an admirabl~
text golden and quite anoth~r to call an ass (or even The Ass) golden. 17
The latter expression. even if it means ..cxccl1cnt," cannot help but be a
pamdox. Like aurea.tabula (Pliny Episr. 2.201 As in us Aureus is an oxymo-
ron. It is from the oxymoronic joining of the least valuable (asiuus)
with the most valuabl~ (aureus) that our interpretation of the title
should begin. A reader coming fresh to the work will know only that,
whatever else it may tum out to mean. the title is at first a puzzling
conjunction of opposites. The following observations on four possib]e
senses of Asiuus Aureus do not prove that it was Apulcius's title, they
merely confirm the independent argument that A.sinus Aur(·us.has as
good a daim as .\f(•tcutJorpiJoseotl. The more I can show that the fantasti-

dcr lthctor dr rpid. p. .390.1 Sp.~ (iii) PhysicJily golden lctten•• both ac:tual ;md ticti-
tiou!i: Ta l)ucacrlJEvra ... EV XPVut.!J 'l'l"ii'OKL ypcil/lavrE~;, Pl:ito Cririas l20C; rria
pnlt(t'/ll" {Cisi/NJis) Dt'IJ1I1is iciPISc'U'ImJ,, durris liltf'ris, Pliny .'Vat. lrisl. 7.119: ~·iuJ dit"i sma·
trucomulla amTu litlt:ris.~~mJc~ itJ wria, Tacitus.A•mals 3.57 (cf.. 3.59);p.1rscarmittum aurris
lillt'ris loui Cc~pitolitw dhllttJ, Suctonius Srrl) 10; a king-list ')'f)QIJ.IJ.arn XJJVcmi~ a11ay~
ypap.JJ.EI!WV, Plutarch dt Iside 360A; a set uf tivc questions and ans~o~,:cr~> '){JJIXJ'Ot~ 'YpQIJ.-
p.cww "'fEypap.p.irov, Ludan :tl••;ntndn· 43; Pimbr's 7th Olympiau inscribed in
Athena':!~, tcmplc .lt lindus XPIXrok ')'pUIJ.JJ.autv, &hoi. PinJar 01. 7 ;,it.; digrwm
pC)fniiJ qutld pt'rt:rm.trulllm apicibru aumlis, Sidon ius Apullinuis Epist. 1.11.3; "A certain
SimL-on rc:~d in ls:~iah 's prophecy 'A virgin sh~ll bear a S!Jil.' H~ scraped out '\'irgin' and
wrote 'a good woman.' Later, he found 'virgin' just as if hi!' had not scraped it. After he
had made the change a second time he tound the original \\-ord written in letters of
gold" (C. G. Loomis. Wltire Magic, A11 Imroduai,.,, to tltt FoJiklorr 1.1f Cl.ristia11 Lt·gmJ
(Cambridge, Mass .• 11J4H): as:;, referring to F. A. Foster, .4 Stan:aic Lijc ~{Christ, E.uly
English Text Soc.:ic:ty, Original Series, no. 166 (London, 11J26),linc:s 2737-96).
"Golden" tl.'Xts, therefore, arc [ypically monumental, laconic, mcmor;ablc: .1 name.
short sayings, laws. poems-not rolk n.arratiws cle\·cn books long. To this the only
c.:~m1parison l ha\'c come acrol'!li is the nliph':oi command that Sinbad's :>iKth voyage be
inscribed on parchmenl in k-ttcrs of gold. (There is also in Greek an ironic us:r.gc.
}(PIXTOW =''foolish": Mcn.mdcr 1Jyskt•lt•s675: Ding. Lacrt. tO.H [Epil"mm; on Ptato);
Lucian Ldps. I; Adian Epi$1.19; Alkiphron2.14~
17. The contrast c;m be illus.trJ.ttd within th~ animal re;\ltn. lo JS ;\ "~ld~n cow"
(lhn:·hylidt"o; lfl.1(,) h~·,·;m!l.t' she i'i au ;lll!."c~tral heroine: Hera '!o J"IC;u.:ock b. a ''golden
species'' bccmst• it is beautiful (KaAA&poj)(po~) ::md admired ( mpc#Air.ovr;) (Anti-
ph:mcs. C.m1iMnHn .-\rtito•rmn Fm.cm~tlld, cd. T. Kock (l('i~,zi~. 1HH2~ 2: fr.1~. 175 =
ArhenJios Ddpt~. 14. 655B). Th~ s;une <-.m hardly 0e sAid of the as!; (or c\'c:n the :\is~
cxc:c-pl with an imml·di.nc ;md ~lhviou' iron)'· A ~imil:ar pu;1dox is found in the pro\·crb
oro~ AiJpc:t'i (which Varro used J.s a title:): Ti. yap xou-6~ tpauL Avpo Ka:' o~ lbroC"rnit'-
.~raphiGr.rrn'l: 291-92.1() honor ;m J!oS iseithc.•r tooli!ilwr insulting. Hence, in order to
imult his Egyptian subjects, Ochos !>tlught.crcd the A pis-hull and di ..·ini:zed .an J.SS in its
place (Aclian '-:1r. l1ist. 4.8~ Nat. anim. 10.28); hence too the ;mti-sc:mitic ;~ml ;ami~hri:r­
tian kp;cnd§ofa!i$ wor!;hip (sec below, n. 70).
300 CONJECTURES
cal phrase is apt to the nature of the text, the more confident we can feel
about attributing that aptness to Apuleius himseJ(
Not all readers have minds trained to catch the oxymoronic. There
is much in the AA that de1ights the sophisticated reader and may elude
the less sophisticated. The characters in the text itselfenact an ongoing
contrast of foolish and clever perspectives, and it seems fair to assume
that Apuleius knew well enough that his reading audience would con-
tain a wide range of abilities. Since I regard th(.' first-reader's discovery
that the book is a problem to be the book's most important structural
characteristic, I will also distinguish what the title could mean to first-
and second-readers. The following four conside~tions about the apt-
ness of the title A.sinus AJ1reus delineate what the title could mean (i, ii)
to average readers who are beginning and ending the novel, tlu~n (iii. iv)
to that smalJcr class of readers with a knack or penchant for abstruse
word-play, both at the beginning and at the end of their reading. I have
found that modem readers sort themselves into the same categories:
they either agree with (i) and (ii) but find {iii) and (iv) impossible to
conceive, or rhcy find (i) :md (ii) acceptably conventiona] but (iii) and
(iv) exciting. No one of these explications is entirely probative by itself.
but their cumulative force builds a strong case for A.si,ms Aunoru.

First thougl1ts
"Remember that a satire docs not, like a work of history,
require a title that exactly fits its contents but rather, in order to invite
and attract the reader from the start. must hide behind an imaginative
jest. Hence the foreign languages and marvelous neologisms in the
titles of Varro 's satires. whose contents for that very reason remain
largely unknown to us, since the title is a child ofwhimsy and wit. not
a conceptual statement of the theme but often at best a surreptitious
nod in its direction. In the older satire the tide was like a humorous
doodle in the margin."lB
A sinus Au reus, 1TEpi JUTaiJ.OptpWO'Ewv has just such a baffling and
intriguing quality. An ancient reader on first encountering it must
have taken a rapid mental inventory of his or her associations with its

1H. Apocofiltyrllo$1~ ~d. F. Buechder, in Symhold J>llil(t/(lg.Jmrn Bctml·miurn in

Honorcm F. Riuchelii (Leipzig, 1864-67): 37-38.
 THE GILDlNG OF THE ASS 301
three dements-gold. ass. transformation-and tried to assess the
value of their combination. The most obvious possibility is probably
.. an ass who was transformed into gold,t' as if by Midas's touch. Par-
tial integrations point in the same direction: ass+ transformation =
people turned into asses; gold + transformation = things turned into
gold. 19 My first thesis about the tide is that it would inevitably set
most readers thinking of folktales, magic. and that curious area of
suspect knowledge that later came to be known as alchemy.
All three themes arc connected in the lore of Midas and of
Onoskclis. Midas not only had ass·s cars and the golden touch. in at
least one variant he was entirely turned into an ass (Schol. Aris-
tophancs Ploutvs 287). (He also had an ancient connection with mar-
velous roses [Hdt. 8.138.2-31, 20 which led A. H. Krappe to suggest
that the ass-talc dcvc1opcd directly out of the Midas material. 21
Asses and transformation are essential ingredients of the Em-
pousa/OnoskcJis: bcautifu] women who have the legs of an ass (Lu-
cian Vemt ltist. 2.46) or of bronze and dung (Aristophanes Frogs 294-
95; .. dung" apparently a joke for something else-another metal?
go]d?) and who undergo transformations (into w~ter, Lucian lfrae
hist. 2. 46; into various beings-cow, mule, beautiful woman, dog,
... weasel, Aristophanes Frogs 288-92). Onoskclis is connected with
gold in the Testamt'rtl of S(>lomorr, 11 a judaeo-christian work on popu-
lar demonology that took its present form somc}Vhcrc between the
first and fourrh centuries C.E. Solomon's magic ring frees his temple
architect from a vampire n;:amed Ornias. who is constrained to sum-
mon the other major demons for interrogation as to their powers and
weaknesses. After Beelzebul comes Onoskelis (chap. 4, pp. ts• -21*
McCown): a female demon with the appearance of a beautiful

19. Though I assume; here the hypoth~cic;J.I double titl(', the :ngum~nt would J'('t-
lups ·work as V~.-cllihhc original title were only .A.sit1u.s Aurrus, since tr;J.nsform;J.tion is 01
topic of the first !'entence (fijiiTdS (()llllfrsas).
20. ~nolhcr conneCtion bc:tW~~n u:~ll;!l.;and roses: OJIOiJVpU&fj ~TCcJ~TtiUTW· 0' 6f.
d~6oliprw KttAOW&P, oi. 8i dro~Aclxl'lJI· aih'-17 t'OTUI ro po& ... i~ ~~TOW OTE!paro~
rrlllKOVUUI ·Eu.,.,J'Efj ivmwioprair;; Tiiw ~W'I' (Kymnitks red.
K.aimakisl. 1, omk"rrn~
21. A H. Krappc." 'AmAAcuiJ ~aoo~... Clauital Philolo~ 42(1947): 228;J. \':In der
Vliet. "Die Vorrcdc dcr Apulcisch~n M('tamorphmcn," Hmn~s 32(1897): 79-85,
briefly alluded to a possible connection bcl\\'t'CD the: tide: and Mid;,.s.
22. Ed. C. C. McCown (leipzig, 1922).
302 CONJECTURES
woman but the shanks of an ass, who confesses to dweJling in caves23
and adopting many forms: "It is my nature to adopt a wide spectrum
of forms." Though she is destructive, many worship her to their own
unwitting doom. "for they wish to find gold by calling on my name;
and I do give a smal1 quantity of gold to those who worship me well."
The point of noticing Midas and Onoskclis is not that Apulcius or
his contemporary audience were bound to have them in mind-far
from it. But the associations prompted by those three terms together
set up an initial tidd of expectations within which the tide, wlliltht:
autlror it1dicates oth~nvise (and I do not underestimate the reader·s
power to tolerate unresolved ambiguities), will seem at home. Midas
and Onoskelis illustrate the sort ·~{discourse in which one would con-
ventionally expect to find gold, asses, and transformation together.
The impression I daim for the title is confirmed of course in the
prologue and opening chapters, and to this extent my thesis may
seem obvious enough. The prologue speaker offers folktales: uarias
fabulas concerning transformation of people into other things and
back again. The first speaking character sets up a comparison be-
tween such ta)cs and reports of witchcraft (1 .3), which is in fact the
subject of the first story ( 1. 5-19). What has not yet been appreciated,
however, about the opening of the AA is the connection with a third
area in addition to folktales and magic-alchemy. The word is later
than our period and its impJications perhaps too ddinitc for the
proto-alchemical wizardry and medico-magical lore I have in mind
from Apulcius's own day, but it indicates well enough the diverse
body of competing systems that claimed in the name of secret, an-
tique knowledge to be able to work wonders. lf"alchemy·· seems too
definite a term. one may speak instead ofthl' occult scicncl's, as fl'stu-
gicrc does in his masterful survey of this material. 24
For our purposes three facts arc important. First, the notion of
transforming base matC'rials into gold is a common fantasy, a popular
figure of speech: "This is the wand of Hermes: 'Touch whatever you
wish; he says. 'and it will be gold"' (Arri:m Epict. 3.20.12). ''My book

2.1. Recension C. which 111:1)' belong to dl(' t"l:'lfth or thirte('nth ct>ntury (McCown,
cd.. Tt-stamrtlllnotc 22): lffi), adds .. , Jy.·dl in a cave where gold is stored." ~Aaeov oucw
Evila XJWUWV It€ iTa& (rccen. C Xl.3, p. 83• McCown~
24. LA Ri•,fiJtic'lfl d'Hermr.( Trijme.~islt, \'01. 1, L 1.45trolo_{!it et les sciC'IIW owlltf'S. 2d
<"d. (Paris, 1 1J50~
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 303

does not promise to make people understanding and quick who arc
not so by nature; for it would be worth a lot. worth everything in fact.
if it could refashion (p.ETa1TAauaL) and transfigure (J.LE.TlXKOup.:iJrrm.)
such things-to produce gold from lead or silver from tin ... " (Lu-
cian de ltisr. conscrib. 34); •• And tearing open his rags he poured 2,000
gold pieces into their mjdst and said, 'Behold this little gift or rather
my dowry willingly offered to your association and. if you do not
r(!fuse, I offer myself along with it to be your trusty leader who will in
a brief space of time turn this stone house of yours into gold"' (lapi-
deam r'stam do mum uestram factums au ream, Apuleius A A 7 .8).
Second, some scientitlc projects were engaged. well before Apu-
leius's day. in the production of precious minerals (or their counter-
feits) from baser substances. Pliny tells of Gaius's experiment to
transform orpimcnr {cwripigmeuwm, arsenic trisultide) into gold (l\lat.
hist. 33.4). 25 That such science belongs to the dubious realm of the
occult is indicated by Seneca's reference to a Demokritean recipe for
turning an ordinary stone into an emerald (Epist. Mor. 90.32-33). The
earliest recipes that survive for such transformations into gold, silver,
and gems are third- or fourth-century C. E. 26 but contain traces of the
earlier occult science of Bolos of Mendes (second-century B.C. E., evi-
dently the source of much Demokritean lore) 17 and Anaxilaos of
Larissa (expelled from Rome 28 acE.). 18
Third, animal and plant transformations figured in this occult
lore. As a single telling example consider Pamphilos of Alexandria's
dictionary of plants. mpi {3oTavwv, which according to Galen con-
tained old wives' tales, Egyptian spells, incantations to recite while
picking herbs, recipes for amulets, and tales of metamorpllosis. 19 Such

25. K. C. D.tilq·. Tilt• Eld~r Pli11y'$ CJraptrrs tiPI Cl~t·miud Subjects (London. 1929}: 202.
26. R.l-JaJlcux. Lrs.4./(himisrcs~rcu(Paris,198n 1:22-24.
27. I. l·lammcr-J!=nsen, "Demakritos," RE Suppl 4: 219-23: W. Krul1, ''Bolos
und Dcmokriros," 1/rrmcs 69(1934): 221i-32; l-1. Slcckd, "Dcmok.ritos." RE Suppl. 12:
l'l7-20U; P.M. frazer, Ptt,femai( Alt'xaudria (Oxford. 1972): 440-44; Hall\·ux, Al-
cllimilltJ (not~: 261: 62-61J.
2R. Max Wd1mann, Di1· Pl1ysik<1 (/t'1 Bolos Drmokrir.H amd (/tr Mll,(!irr :\naxii"M aus
I.An'ssa, Ahh.and)ungcn dcr prcussischcn Akadcmw dcr Wi:sscn:schotftcn. Jahrgang
1921'1, phil.-hist. Klasse, no. 7 (Berlin, 192fl; laheled "Teill," but no furd1er parts were
p\.lblishcd).
~- G:~.kn. de simpl. mrJi<o lrmp 6, protm (J 1.7'12-YM Kuhn): A~"' ,um-
IJ.Of¥Wcntf>. 7'J2; EiD' ·it~ Ei T«' ainwJ> (,:c. {X¥ravijw) it itv{JpUmov JUTEIJDfMI'Wh'l
llt'T)()~~. 794; ~UTOJ.Wf¥Wa'E'~· m.
304 CONJECTURES
tales had of course for a long time been wciJ known and well despised;
evidently any plant or animal species might have a story told of its
former existence as a human being. 30 Some at least of Pamphilos's
lore was hermetic: "Next he speaks of the plant cal1ed aetos, about
which he admits rhat no Greek has ever said anything. but which has
been recorded in one of the books attributed to the Egyptian Her-
mes. comprising the thirty-six sacred plants of the zodiac:· Pamphi-
los's offense. by Galen's lights, was to lend his authority as an impor-
tant grammarian to the recording of popular superstitions and
mysrcriosophic fraud. Another significant instance of a metamor-
phosis fantasy in occult lore is attested for Bolos himself: in his On
Sympatltics and Amipatl1ics he told how the Persians tried to cultivate a
deadly Persian plant in Egypt for usc against the Egyptians, but it
changed into the opposite (el~ Tovvavriov #UTa~a'A.eiv. Schol. Ni-
kander Tlleriaka 764a).
The origins of alchemy remain obscure. Defming alchemy very
strictly by the discovery of distillation appararus, I. Hammer-Jensen
criticizes those (including the alchemical writers rhcmsclves) who
would date its origins to Hellenistic times or earlicr.l1 But. on the
other hand, it is quite dear from Pliny. Plutarch. and others that by
the first century c.E. a fairly substantial and heterogeneous body of
Eastern systems of natural magic was in circulation 32 -Thcssalos
and Demokritos are convenient examples. It is clear too that some of
this material dealt not only with natural powers in substances but
with hand-wrought operations {Bolos's Cheirokmtta; Seneca's refer-
ence to the Demokritean recipe for emeralds), and thar fantasy pat-

30. The.- bee was once a beamiful wonun nam~d Melissa-:~. t~l«.· that nO[ t!'ven
ru!>tics bclicw, says.Coh.nnc:lla (d~: tt tmt. 9.2); awnitc tirst sprang up from Cerberus's
slawr. Pliny ."'1/111. hi.It. 27.4; nunr W;lS Hades' mistress, trampled ro death by jc;Jious
Persephone. Su:abo R.3. 14 (344C): cabbage was a rear shed by Lyk.ourgns. GI'Of'llnika
12.17.16-22; the Ophiogencis arc descended from a serpent that turned into a hero,
Str;abo 13.1. 1-t (SHHC~
31. l. Hammer-Jensen, Dir c~tltf:11t .Jllr:hymit, Del K.on~ligc Danskc Vidcnsk.:i-
bcmcs Sdskab., Historisk-filologiskc Mcdddelser, 4, no. 2 (Copenha~n, 1921~ Stt
.:~)so F. S. Taylor, .. A Sun"Cy of Greek Alchemy... }4lUnloll ".f Htlltnic Studit.l 50(1930):
100-39; H.J. SheppJ.rd. "Alchemy: Origin or Origins?" Amfli.\'" 17(1970): 69-84.
32. C[ the sctlsiriv~.· ;.mal)"l'is ofJ. A. North. "Religious Tol~.·ration in Re-publican
Rome," Prorudit.gs f.!{ till.' Cambrid~c· Philo/.;~,&al S~.Jrif.'fY 25(1979): !G-103, shO\.,;ng th.n
in the early second rcmury u.c..c. rhc.-rc was dearly ;a rnark.c.-t in Italy for new, .. spcci-
tically religious" org:mizations :md new :l\'cnucs of apJU03Cb to higher powers.
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 305
terns such as instantaneous transformation were at home here. Taken
together, these facts justify my daim that the title Asinus Aurrus and
the prologue of Apuleius's novel might easily put an ancient reader in
mind of occult lore, proto-alchemical science and the usc in those
systems of tales of metamorphosis (Pamphi1os~

Tl1e Ass becomes goldt•u

lf it is legitimate to envision :m ancient reader carrying with
him thoughts of alchemy, occuJtism, or science fantasy during the
reading of The Goldm Ass, such a readt:r might experience Book 11 as
transforming the novel itself. The plot concludes with the transfor-
mation of the ass not into the same human being he once was but into
a candidate for lsiac initiation, and with the change of story go
changes in style, pacing, values, character types, and authorial per-
spective. It is, one might say, as if Apuleius has turned base Mi1esian
metal into lsiac gold. lnsofar as the story itsclfis transmuted from low
to lofty, from vulgar to valuable, the promise oft he title is at last fully
borne out. The snap of recognition (AI!a-Erlcbuis) about the title
would match the problem of the lsiac surprise ending and perhaps
cover for it. at least to the extent of giving the impression that the full
implication of the title had from the start included such a possibility.
This interpretation gives central importance, as any interpretation
of the title should do, to the oxymoron gold/ass. The appucnt in-
computability of those two concepts is now, for the reader who has
finished the novel, a mark of their aptness as title to the text. Of
course, this does not solve the narratological problems to which parts
One and Two have been addressed, since the goldenness of the ass is
only vaguc1y honorific and '"rill not bear the scrutiny of intelligence
that the i\A itself has exhibited to and demanded from the reader.
That is to say, Tilt GolJetJ Ass is a completely satisfying title only to
the reader who is content with a general sense that gold and Isis are
simply good things and nothing more. The peculiarly sophmuoric
performance of the AA and its provocation as a narrative about narra-
tives sets a higher standard for a neat so)ution than that here oudined,
a standard that would be met if there were, say, some more particular
connection between the notions of Isis and gold in the paradoxical
transformation of the ass.
306 CONJECTURES
Tilt ass ;, tllr prologue
For the reader trained to an Apuleian level of ingenuity, the
prologue already bears out the relevance of the asitms in the tide. The
speaker's explicit question about his own identity, the autobiographical
answer to that question in terms oflanguages learned. and the condud-
ing ambiguity of mdis lowtor have been analyzed in Chapter 7. Here it is
simply pertinent to note that the argument about the title advanced by
J. Tatum embodies a correct principle but needs to be supplemented
and revised by a point of fact. 33 Tatum pointed out that Metamorphoses
is a thematically appropriate title because the prologue contains dear
allusions to metamorphosis (figums conuersas, uocis immutatio). He 3lso
argued that the prologue contains no allusions to asses or gold. and this
appears to be only half-correct. Tatum's emphasis on theme is impor-
tant: I should say that the prologue·s dexterity in enunciating themes is
that it puts the theme of transformation in the foreground as the storied
content of the following discourse and just as clearly (mis)directs the
reader,s attention to the themes of identity and language as the un-
spoken conditions for understanding and interpreting the text. That
the speaker is reidentified as an ass and his language as braying is the
first. comic transformation to which the prologue alludes. The spcak-
er·s reidentification as a pastophoros of Isis and his language as that of
her hturgy is the finale that at last redeems aureus as a specifically Isiac
oxymoron. as I shall now argue.

Tire lsiac ass: &tlr Nbty

The actor is transformed from ass to initiate, eventually to
pastophoros; his language is transformed to ... what? The liturgy of
Isis outside Egypt seems to have maintained both a firm commitment
to the primacy of its ancient hieroglyphics as the visibk· token of its
authentic mystery and antiquity and also a readiness to speak Greek
and Latin wherever it was practical. To go no farther than the AA,
Lucius is privileged to see the sacred hieroglyphic script locked up in
the inner sanctum of the shrine (11.22~ but the forms of worship also
show adaptation to Grcco-Roman patterns. "But when we came to
the temp]e itself ... one of the initiates. whom they all referred to as
the ..grammatcus," standing in front oft he doors, addressed a gather-

33. .. Apule ill$ and .Mct.lmurphusis," A•ll.-ritaP1}4l•tma1 4 Pl•ilology 93(1972): 306-13.

 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 307
ing of pastophoroi (which is the name of a very sacred group) who
were so to speak summoned to an assembly. From an elevated posi-
tion he tirst read out from the formulae in a book the prayers of weB-
wishing for the great emperor and the senate and the leading citizens
and the whole Roman people-for sailors and ships and whatever in
our world is ruled by Roman authority. He: then pronounced in Greek
language and rite the p/oiaphesia. "34
The ship-launching ceremony (ploiapl1esia, Nauigium Isidis) is little
attested: it seems to be a Greek development of authentic Egyptian
ideas a bout Isis. 35 The pra}'l'rs for ci\'il authority are more at home in
Roman than in Egyptian contexts: on the Roman side they were the
core of a New Ycar·s festival on January 1 and 3 (•wta pub/ira), on the
Egyptian side prayers were rather addressed to the ruler as a god than
for him. 36 But no oil-and-water separation is possible when Egyptian
personnd and gods are being cultivated in Greek and Roman milieux.
The symbolic importance of Egyptian words and writing never di-
minished; paradoxically. it may have increased as Isis became more es-
tablished. The ear1iest Greek prayer to Isis, recently found at Maroncia,
is mainly concerned with accommodating her worship to the Greek
notions of Demeter at Eleusis. Equivalent later inscriptions arc much
more comfortable in using cult tidc:s for Isis that arc defiantly Egyptian
and unassimilablc to Greek traditions. The shift from apologizing for
Isis as not so very foreign to proclaiming her aboriginal Egyptianncss
as a reason for her excel1ence can be paralldcd in the social history of
early unrest and later acceptance of the cult itself. Th~ presence oflsis in
Rome had off and on occasioned intense rdigio-political controversy in
the late republic and early empire, particularly during the two decades
64-43 D.C. E.. but after Tiberi us the cult, which had always sprung back
after persecutions like a riotous weed. was held in high honor. 3 7 By the

34. at wm .ul ipsum il3m tt·mplrun perurnimm ... ex Iris r11ms quem cunai }.!Tammart•a
,/i,·e•IJooml tn~•.f.•rilms ds.<islt"lll wo•IU f'.JSI<'f'llo•nml -(111•'11 S.Jfl•"•m•·ti n•llo·gii 11m11t'rl (",fl -rode11 iu
wmicmt·rn H'''•Jio imlidrm ,,,. mblimi su~·sw dt·libn•, J,·/illt"ris ;;wstcl IWla pmr.fiwu l'riruipi
IPIIlglll• Sfll<lllliqur ct rqs~iti ftltl.J-qlj(' Rotrto.WO J'Opulo, lloJUihis, ll<lUibU.\ qu.u·quC' jill! rmp~ricl
rnmtdi nc•str.ttis re.~•mtur. Tf'riiiiUiaiJt'rmtlll(' rifllq11e Gmrlitnsi itd r.Aota,cEuta ( 11.17).
35. J. G. Griftirh!>, A]'11leius iJ.f .\laJ.mrvs, tJn· Isis-Book. EPRO. no. 39 (lciJcn.
1975): 31-47.
36. P. FraZl'r, Pt,,frm.Hl Alrxatulril1 (Oxfort.l. 1972~ 1: 115ff. 213tT.
37. M. Mabisc, I.e'S c.mJiticiJIS dt• pcni-tratiiHl rl de· difliuion des mltcs tKyptit'IIS Ctl
lt.llic•, EPRO, no. 22 (Lc:idcn, 1972): 3~7-455.
308 CONJECTURES
reign ofCaligu)a we can observe unmistakable signs of a virtual Egyp-
tomania. The building of an elaborate lseion and Scrapeion on the
Campus Martius and the introduction of the i"uentio Osiridis into the
public Roman calendar of feasts, both probably due to Caligula, 38 are
signs of a general fascination with Egyptian styles of art, 39 ceremony,
dress, and language.
Of these, language is the most important for us and certainly the
most difficult to document. Some Egyptian was used in the Isiac lit-
urgy.40 bur we do not know how much, nor whether the non-
Egyptian-speaking worshiper needed to know what he or she was
saying. Insofar as some of the priests were themselves Egyptian (the
dark black skin shown in the lsiac murals at Herculaneum seems to
indicate that) 41 and there was concern that the ritC'S be conducted with
careful precision. it would seem that wherever there was a substantia)
lsiac temple the language of Egypt was there.
Certainly the hieroglyphic writing was there; in fact it was an ob-
ject of such fascination that we must distinguish among three classes
of artifact bearing hieroglyphic inscriptions: the Egyptian (authentic
pieces transported from Egypt), the Egyptianizing (inauthentic use of
Egyptian-looking motifs on Grcco-Roman pieces~ and the pseudo-
Egyptian (works of non-Egyptian manufactur~ that are nonetheless
correct in style). As an example of the first group there is the famous
inscribed obdisk that Augustus brought from Hdiopolis and erected
in the Circus Maximus in 10 neE. (now in the Piazza del Popolo). 42 Its
inscription was translated into Greek with reasonable accuracy by
one Hermapion (recorded by Ammianus MarcelHnus, 17.4.18tr.~ In
the lscum CampcnscJ the great temple oflsis on the Campus Martius
to which Lucius comes in 11.26, one could also have seen Egyptian

3~. M. M01bisl·, llll't'rllairt• prNimitklirr dt•s .lommt•nts ,;g)'plirrrt dt=t,utr'I'TtS t'n ltalit,
EPRO. no. 21 {Lcid.:n. 1CJ72): 201:1-14~ Gmditicns (note 37}: 226-27, 4tX). 405.
JY. M. de Vos, [_'E}!iltOIIMHi•1 in pitrurr.· t mosairi romdtiC'·ramrani Jd/t1 prima ct(J impr-
ri.Jit, EPHO. no. R4 (Lcidcn, l9HO}.
.J.U. Porphyry dt abstin. 4.9: hymn to wake Serapis; Gritllrhs, The ISis·B~ok (note
35): 6H-69.
-II. V. Tran ram Tinh, Lc Cultr dt•s di1•i,•itt.r oricmalrs aflcrwl11rumz, EPRO, no. 17
(lciden, 1971 ~ tigs. 40-41: F. Snowden, 8/arks i11 Alttiquiry (Cambridge, M1ss./
Lotl(lon, 1970): 1H9-192.
42. A. Roulkt. Tlrr EgYFttitJtl and Egyptianiziug Molmmt'n's 1!f' fml'cri11l RoJmt,
EPRO. no. 20 (Lcidc:n, 1972). #69.
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 309

baboons, rdiefst and obelisks with genuine hieroglyphic inscrip-

tions.43 Egyptianizing objects sometimes were decorated with fake
hieroglyphs. In their case individual signs might be genuine, copied
from authentic pieces. but their combination is nonsensical 44 The
most interesting group for our purpose is the pseudo-Egyptian,
whose hieroglyphs arc correct Egyptian but whose content and man-
ufacture arc Roman. Three important examples of pseudo-Egyptian
inscriptions are Hadrian's obelisk commemorating Antinoos, 4s
Domitian's obelisk erected shortly after his accession in 81 C.E., 46 and
an identical pair of obelisks erected with a sanctuary of Isis at
Benevcntum by Rutilius Lupus (or Lucilius Rufus) to honor Dorni-
tian (88 C.E.). 47 The inscriptions on these obelisks are original compo-
sitions executed in Italy in correct hieroglyphics. They arc tangible
evidence not only for the possibility that some in Italy (the Latin-
speaking community envisioned for the AA) could read and write
sacred Egyptian script but for the knowledge of:. particular item of
Egyptian mythological vocabulary that has bearing on the ass.
The question \\'e must first ask. is. What could an inquisitive Greco-
Roman scholar. theologian or linguist, have really leamed of Egyptian
language and writing? Most modem accounts of this subject arc writ-
ten from a perspective that emphasizes that Greco-Roman historians
and bcllcs-lcttrists, for all their fascination with the concept of ideo-
graphs, did not really understand the syntax ofhieroglyphic writing-
in particular, the determinative and phonetic uses of the symbols.
When the story is told in terms of the modern decipherment of tht:
system, as is done (for instance) by E. Iversen in The A.fyth ofE&ypt and
Its Hit•roglyphs. 48 the inadequacy of Greco-Roman understanding is
cast as a major villain and blamed for postponing far too ]ong our cur-
rent knowledge. The story need not be told from that alien perspective.
I would make instead three points about dassical knowledge ofEgyp-

43. Roullc:t, Mt•lllmlt'llls (not4." 42), # # 27, 73-7~. 150, 243-2+4.

44. Ibid., # # JO, 1>5, HM, 324; Tran t:un Tmh, Cutle' (note~~): 52-56, ligs. 3-6.
45. Roullct, llorllllllfiiiS (note 42~ #86.
46. Ibid .• #72.
47. M:.l;.~iS!.', Trm·main• (note 3R): 296-99.
48. (Cotx-'nh:t~n. 1961). W. Otto, Prit'StC"r und 'Tw1pf.'l im lldlmistis(lltll At)!Yptt·n
{Lcip7.ig/Bcrlin. 19<1R~ 2:233. also sets a low estimate on Hellenistic knowledge of
hieroglyphics.
310 CONJECTURES
tian sacred writings: (i) On Iversen's own showing. the authors who
devote some attention to the meaning of ideograms make very few
mistakes. Chief among these are Plutarch (comments on thiny-thrcc
names and ideograms in de Iside);49 Porphyry in de abstin., de imagin.,
and clscwhcre;S0 and at ]cast the first book of Horapollon's Hit'rogly-
p1Jika.s1 (ii) The defining interest of these investigators is not what we
would call linguistic but theosophical. Ofcourse they arc found wanting
by the standards that assume that the goal of philological knowledge
is the language itself. More importantly. they would in fact have been
unable to r~ad actual Egyptian texts; but that seems n~vcr to have been
the aim of Plutarch, Porphyry, or Horapollon. Rather they sought
truths of the universe and supported those truths where possible by
reference to the most ancient and enigmatic authority they knew. (iii)
The chief fault of these theosophists is their use of rather fanciful alle-
gorical etymologies. But, as Plutarch remarks in their dc.:fcnst:, such
"slippery similarities'' arc authentically Egyptian (de /side 3810~ In the
Papyrus Jumilhac (late Ptolemaic hicroglyphics1 five equally fantastic
etymologies of ·~noubis'' are given. 52 Iversen's edition of a late hiero-
glyphic dictionary shows that contemporary Egyptian explanations of
their own ancient symbols was ofjust thisstylc.53 When Greco-noman

49. Griffiths, Tht·lsis-BL).(>k{note 35): 101-10.

SO. F. Sburdonc, Hieretglypllica (next note): xxx,·i.
51. r. Sbonlonc, Hori .1,,1,Jii11is llirrtl~lypl1ita (Naples, 1940); Frenl'h tran!l.l;UiOil
and commentary by 8. van de Walle andJ. Vcrgotc in Clrroniqm: d'fgyptt: 35(!1J43): 39-
89, 36(1943); 199-239; English transbtion by G. Boas, The Hit'rogiYJ'IIi.-s c~f H1mpollo,
BoiJin~n Series. no. 23 (New York, 1950). Sec also Iversen's article cited in note 56.
52. J. Vandier, Lt' l~pymsjumiflrac (Centre N~1ion~l de Ia Recht>rcht' Scientitique,
Paris. n.d.~
53. ·• ... the aim and purpose of rhe Eypti:.m erymologies \\-ere not :u all to fur-
ther an understanding oft he \\'ords as linguistic: dements, but to add to the.· knowledgc
about the things they stood tor, considered as dements in their mythical connexion."
" ... a conncnion which is mainly established by means of metaphors and their lin-
guistic equivalents, the alliterations." "This practice of giving scwral explanations of
the s:mu: thing by mc:ans of dilli:rcnt mythical idcmitic:ations, which :arc often diver-
gent and to our mind even contradictory, is typical of Egyptian thought and in strictest
confonnity with its logic, according ro which each connection with the mythical ma-
u:rial. and each new idcntiiic.uion gave its own independent aspect on the mythical.1nd
cosmological signiticance of the problem"" (1\Jpyrm Carlsberg Nr. VII, Fmgmt'nU of a
llinLlglyplrir Diai••"ary, cd. E. h·c.·rsen, Dc.-t Kongdigc: Danskc: Vidcnskaht:rnc:s
Sclskab., Copenhagen. Hi5-torisk-tilolog1skc Sknfter, bind 3, no. 2 !Copenhagen.
1958]: 10. 11, 12-13. The pap)'TUS w.:~s written in the tirst ccntuq.· C. I:..; the dictionary
itself was composed sometime bet\\o'ccn the seventh cent. neE. and the time of writing).
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 31 J

writers indulge in theosophical etymologi2ing of hieroglyphics rather

than observing the standards of twentieth-century philology, they are
imitating the Egyptian scholars of their own day. In sum. what Iversen
and others brand as the inadequacy of classical writers' understanding
of ancient hieroglyphics is due to the conscious application of a differ-
ent set of questions than those of modern linguists; the answers they
reached to those questions contain reliable philological data; the thco-
sophic approach is not a peculiar Grcco-Roman stupidity but is on a
par with Egyptian scholarship about their own antique script.5 4
Where could Greco-Roman inquirers come into contact with au-
thentic knowledge of Egyptian sacred writing-authentic, that is, in
the sense of accurate data within an assumed framework of thea-
sophie interpretation? There arc several answers: (i) every Egyptian
priest, at ]east in Egypt, had to master hieratic script as a condition of
office. 55 (ii) Both Manetho and Chain~mon wen.· Egyptian priests
who wrote works in Greek on Egyptian religion, Chaircrnon speci-
fically On tile Sacred Writiug. 56 (iii) Th~ political relations obtaining in
a multilingual society sometimes made it opportune that important
documents be published bi- or trilingually. Of these rhree ar~as of
contact-priestly, scholarly. and diplomatic-it is the third that of-
fers the decisive inform arion that connects "gold" and "ass," informa-
tion that was more than likc1y available from the or her sources as well.
Let us return for a moment to the lector's prayers before an assem-

54. A nco:~t c~s'-· of th'-· imponderables i" A pion, Grc<.:o-E~ypti.m ~howm.an .and
philo Iogue, who in his 011 rite lAtitll....m.l?ll.:l,('l' derived corona from Greek )(OpEVT*' :.md
support~·,! it with ;~ mis.spdled c:it:nion from Simonidcs. Should thi!i cnum ;as joke,
ignorant·c, or the sort of inspired guesswork that n1.ay nowadays be found under the
rubric ·• Indo-European Studic.-s"?
55. S. Sauncron, "Lcs Conditions d'acces l Ia fonction s.accrdotalc l l'cpoquc
grcco-rorn;amc," Bulll.'litt ,Jt. l'lrwilul Fr-an(~ is d'Attltt;oloJtil' Urimt~Jit- Ju Cain· 61 (1962):
55-57.
Sb. Hans-Rudolf Schwyzcr, Clr.Jirc•rrum, Kl..lssJsch-ptulologischc SmdJC~n. no. 4
(L~ipzig. 1?32~ J. Vc:rgotc J~ri\'cs Clement's and 1\uphyr)''l> accurate knowh:dbtt: .about
the: thrn· writmg systt.'tnsof Esypt frum Ch.1c:rc:mon: ··clement d" Ah:xandric' et I'C'cri-
turc cgypttcnnc." C/lrt~tliquc· d'J~:~Yt'tr 31(1941 ): 21-)H. Sec also E. Iversen," Horapollon
and the .Egyptiln Conceptions of .Eternity,"' Ril'iJlll dc~li Studi Orirmali 3H(1%3): 177-
86. There \\"t'rt: of course mln~· other writers whose authority was based on their tra-
wls in Egypt, such u Seneca, til:' situ ct Jr Jolcris Ac.'~}'ptiormn, and Str.abo. Diodorus
Sikulos seems to have some ~mhemic Egyptian vocahularv: H. Schaefer.·· Acgn1tischc
Woru: bc:i Diodor.'' .ZAS ·H (1904). 140-42. '
312 CONJECTURES

bly of pastophoroi in the Isis temple at Kenchrcai. In praying for the

Roman emperor the lsiac clergy were in a sense negotiating their own
identity with its compound of non-Roman liturgical practice and full
allegiance to the social welfare of the empire. One of the available
formulas for minimizing the difference between traditional Egyptian
rites and the realities of Roman political power had already been
adopted by (or foisted on) the Greek Ptolemies and was continued by
the Roman emperors-they were addressed as if they were pharaohs,
using the five standard pharaonic titles. On three of the obelisks men-
tioned above, the two at Bcncvcntum and the one erected to com-
memorate Domitian's accession, the emperor is described by the five
pharaonic titles. These inscriptions arc original compositions exe-
cuted in Italy in correct hieroglyphs, part of which is the standard
titulaturc. We cannot say that in every lsiac prayer for the emperor,
whether spoken in Egyptian. Greek, or Latin, these tides were uscd,
only that they were obviously one of the avaHable formats. Domitian's
accession obelisk was originally erected (81 C. E.) in the exact center of
the court between the temples of Isis and Scrapis on the Campus
Martius. Lucius·s destination when he reaches Rome. 5 7 I take this as a
tangible symbol of the availability of the specific knowledge to which
l will now refer.
The third of the five pharaonic titles is the so-ca1led Gold Horos
tide. It consists of the Horos-fakon sitting on the sign for gold, the
Egyptian word ,b.5 8 The interpretation of this hieroglyphic title, as
given in the trilingual Raphia decree (217 llC:f:..~ is·~ Horos over his ene-
mies:· avrt:rrlrAwv inrE(YTEpov. demotic: p3 nrj liT u3j-f ddj. 5 9 Why
shouJd the enemies of Horos be denoted by the sign for "gold'•? Be-
cause in Egyptian mythology Horos's ent:my. Seth. is referred to as

57. Thl!'rc it !'>r.aycJ unril M.1xeruius movcJ it to his circus in the fourth century; it
is now in the Pi.1zza Navona.. E. I 'l.'erscn, OIJtlisks itt Exile (Copcnhaltcn• 1%8). 1:I:IOf.
5~. /\. Erm.m, Wiirlt'rlul(lr ller ii"Ryplistlm• Spmtht' (Berlin. 1957). 2:240.1-3.
59. 1-L-J. Thissen, Stwdim zurra R.zpltiaJrkrr~ Uciti.ige zur kJassischcn Philolo~-lc. no. 12
(Meisenheim am Glm. 1966): 33. I .:~m p;meful to Prof,.. L. Koenen and S. Stepheus for
Jr:JWing my anet1tion to this 'IM>rk. /\.H. G..udincr. Ancirrll E.1..ryptilm Otwmastitil (1947; re-
print: Oxford. 1%H~ 2:70•. The !"oame Greek tr:msbtion oft he Gold-Horns title is u~ in
t~ Rosctr.a SlOne (l% H.<: E..· W. Din.cnbc:rgc:r, Orirnti) Gmt'ci ltutriptiCIIt'!t Stlroar ILC"ipzig,
1~3-5]:90~
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 313

"the golden one" or "the golden Scth." 60 This in tum is explained by

"one of those word plays of which Egyptian priests were so fond:" 61
Seth's principal cc..~tcr of worship is the- city Nbt,62 ••Gotd City" (in
Greek called Ombos 63 ~ and the adjective nbty can refer both to the city
Nbt and to the common noun uiJ, "gold." Mythological rcfcrcncc:s to
Seth of Nbt (Seth 1\lbty) mean "Seth of Gold City" and "golden Seth."
Though in earlier times several animals had been associated with
Serh, "a J'epoque greco-romaine, ('assimilation de Seth al'ane est to-
talc.... ,. 64 1t appears to have been a common piece of knowledge by
Apuleius's time that the ass could symbolize Egyptian Seth/Ty-
phon. 65 Such an identification is the evident meaning of the goddess's

60. Erman, Wiirtc:rbuciJ !note 58)2:242.6-7; '"Hopfner IT. Hopfuet, l'ls~W(h iibtr
lsi.s amd Osiri~ (Prague. 1940-41)] (11.13~) suggc:~ts that the puonomasia ofNhty, •he- of
Ombos'. a name ofScth, and nbav, 'gold'. lie~ behind the idea Iof a prohibition of gold
:1t the ft-stiv:~l of Rc )" (Griffiths, Tht lsi$-Ro1.1k [note 35 ): 412); "The ~ndent Nubt.
Juvcnal's Ombos, was a cult ce-nter of Scth.... Nubri, •nc-of-Gold', was actually an
epithet of Seth" (li I:U\\-ell, MWhatJuvl'Ilal Saw: Egyptian Religion 3nd Anthropoph-
agy in Si1rirr 15," Rhtini.ldtt.c M11~rurn 122(19791: 1R6~
61. "Ce qui est sur, c'cst que l'orctait frappe d'interdit, constituait un tabou (bout)
en ceruins nomcs ct en certaines \'ilk"'S d'Egyptc, en rapport-d.: cda nou5o somrncs
surs-a"cc: lc dicu Seth. Lc caractcrc scthicn de l'or ... s'c:xpliquc-dllm m l•illr$-
probablemcnt p3run de cesjcux de rnots dont les rretres egypriensetaicnt couwmiers:
l'ur, en ctTct, sc dit nb (noub~ et lc mot 11bt (Ndkr) d!!signc Ia ... me d'Ombos, l'un des
principau'! centres du culte de ~th, ~ppel.e aussi nbty (Nt'bty), 'Celui d'Ombos"' U·
I bni. "L'A11t· d'Or d' Apult'e er I'Egypte," Rt'I'Ht dt Pl•iJ,,Jt~git• ~711973 ]: 274-HO, quote
from p. 276).
62. R 0. F-o~ulkn~r. Tilt ..o\ncitnt F.J,ryplilln Pyramid Ttxu (Oxford, 1969): Seth Nhty: #
#LD4, 1145, 1667; Nbly: # #247, JiO, 2251. "Nbt"Ombos.' ... Tltisis.thed.:~!sicaiOmbos
which is. coupled with Tentyra (Dender.lh) by Juwn~l :~nd Acli:m .... The b'<>d W<lS Seth,
and rhc remains of .his rc:mpk. of[CfJ mL,ltioning the place-name. n.,Kkr t:crtain the identi-
fiCation of the site"' (Gardiner. Otwmasli(tJ lnotc 59J, 2:2H• -29·~
63. Both ,\i'lll and the sirnibrly naanL-d Nby.r (Kom Ombo) further to the south lay
ncar Nile termini for routes leading to the gold mines in the Eastern desert (R.
Grundl:u:h, "GoldminC"n," Lt'xikon Jtr AgyJltologir, c:d. H. W. 1-ldck (Wiesbadcn. 1976}
2.5: 740-51. (I am indebted tor this information to Prof. Rich6rd Pierce, Uniwrsity of
Bergen.) See also A. Burton, J);,oJ.,•u Si,·ufm, &4Jk J: A Cc,mmmt.ary, EPRO, no. 29
Culwral1~pograpl1y, cd. T. G. H. Jamc:s,
(Lei den, 1t.l72): 76; H. Kl'l'S, Ant itrll Egypt: A
"ans. I. 1:. 1>. Morrow (Ch~eago/Londm1, 1977): 12.3.
64. Hani, ·· Artc d'Or" (norl' 61 ): 275.
65. H. Kc:c:s, "Seth," RE2J\: 1!:199, citing Pluun:h ;m,J Adi;~n;J. G. GrHlidls, Plu-
tauh Dr· Jsidt• rr Osiridt• (Carditl: 1970): 4(19-12~ I. Grumach, "On the History of a
Coptic Figuu M3gica." /lrtJ<rt<JiPJ~J '!f thi! T~W~fth lratt'matwPJal Ctlfl~"'ss tif fbpyr.)/,,gy,
American Studit.·s in Papyrology. nu. 7, ~:d. D. H. Samuel (Tort:mto, 1970): 169-81.
314 CONJECTURES
words when she speaks ofthe ass as "that wicked animal that I have so
long hated."66
On the basis of these two sets of facts I conjecture that the title
Asitrus Aureus refers to the enemy of Isis and is a translation of his cult
epithet Nbty: Seth Nbty -+ Seth a11reus -+ asinus aureHs. The first
transformation is one of language {Egyptian Nbty/Latin au reus~ the
second one of identity (Seth/ass). The surprising appropriateness of
the phrase asinus aureusto Book 11 involves the same elements as rudis
locutor, a change of identity and a change of language. Hence the illl-
portance of those themes in the prologue.
I have proposed the Isiac prayers for the emperor and the Domitian
obelisk in the lseum Campense as concrete locations for the item of
esoteric knowledge that Apuleius has incorporated into his tide. Ac-
tually there were many avenues along which this information circu-
lated, making it much less arcane than at first appears. We must re-
member that Egyptian mythology was not codified in a standard text
for scholars but was a diverse body of stories embedded in practices
and ritcs.67 Most of these have been lost, though the fabulous Papyrus
Jumilhac shows how rich the local mythological-liturgic.:1l tr.:1ditions
could bc. 68 One such practice recorded by Plutarch illustrates that the
connection of gold and asses was a Jiving part of lsiac practice: "The
people of Busiris and Lykopolis do not use trumpets at all because
they make a noise like an ass; and they believe the ass to be in general
not .a pure but a daemonic beast because of its likeness to Typhon
[Seth]. and when they make round cakes in the festivals of the months
ofPayni and Ph.aophi. as an insult they stamp on them an image of a
tied ass. In the sacrifice to Helios [ Re'] they instruct those who vener-
ate the god not to wear golden objects on their body nor to give food
to an ass .. (de lside 362F-363A). The taboos on wearing gold and on
feeding an ass are two practices that signify the exclusion of Seth
Nbty. 69 This is the sort of custom that is not observed in an automatic

6li. pes.simat mihique detesraMis iam dud11m belu.:11.' istius (11.6~

67. J. G. Gritliths, •·The Horus-Seth Motifin the Daily Temple Liturgy." Ar,E"ypws
38(1958): 3-10.
(IS. Vandicr, PapyrusjrmrillldC (note 52~
69. R. Martin cited this evidence about gold in his 3rgumem that aurcus in Apu·
Jeius's tide stands for TnJpp(jr; (cited in nore 15~ J. Hani corrected him (Anr d'Or [note
611: 276) with the informo~tion about Nbry, but curiously failed to draw the obvious
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 315

or merdy mechanical fashion but that is explained to the: initiates or

to the folk keeping holiday and that enshrines the knowledge of
Golden Seth the ass, k~ping it alive outside the texts that survive to
be citcd. 70

conclusion. F. Daumas., "La Valeur de l'or d:ms Ia pemee egyptienne," Rr1•ut dt I'Hi$-
toin- drs RrligiMu 149(1956): 1-17, quotes the lamrn15o abbot Shnoutc: "'Si \'ous pn:nc7
a\'C'C tant de precaution l'or, en ayant soin de nc pas lc toucher de \'OS mains pour com-
plair<~ :mx dcrnom en qui \"OUS cmyc:z ... si vous n'osc:z lc dcpt'nsc:r pour vos bcsoins. si
vou.s pcnsc:z cue souillc c:n lc tuuchant, a plus forrc: raison scrc:z-vous suuillC:s en l'a-
dorant ct en le priant ... "(p.. 1 n. 4; from a mmslation b)' Rc\·illout in Rta•uc• d( Nlis-
f(Jirt· des RdigionsH[lHHJ]: 425).
70. The taboo on trumpcb as reminiscent of Seth brin~s us back to the loud.
annoyin~ bray of the ass. A phylactery ,,;rh a drawing of ;m ass-headed m;m contains
the phra~ UIJ.E{J8aA~o~ l)miT?J~ lid~. an acrostic for Seth, meaning "'terrible ro.Jrir•.e
god" (P. Michael. 27: G. Michaelides.·· Papyrus con tenant un dcssin du dicu Seth atete
d'lnc:," ArgyJ'••u 32( 1952 J: 45-53). Plutarch (G:~tll'il•. St'J''· S.ZJ'· I50 F) and Ad ian (l\htt.
tmim. 10.21'1} both report the association of the: Seth-an and the blue of a tnnnp<"t. In
Egyptian, Seth can be referrc:d to simply as '"the shoote-r·· ( "L3rmm:iichcr,'' "Unruhstit:.
tcr": Erman, IViirr,·r/w(J. [note: 5HJ. 3: 325. llJ}. W. A. Wud interprets the Seth-title l1i11•
as ..the braying unc" (".The HI W-Ass. the Hl JY-Scrpcnt, and the God Seth." }o11mal ~t'
~\liar En51•'"' Studies 37[ IIJ71i }: 23-34). This association nuy give the joke in n•dis lcWllclr
an lsiac dimension as well.
lntercstin~ too in this conn-.."Ction is the theory of Pclli~rini, retined hy A. jacoby
( "Dcr angcbhche E!>clskult dc:r Judc:n unJ Chri!otr:n." ;\TC·IIia· fiir Rd{~iQf'l>lf'l$$fPJsdr.:~fi 25
(1927): 265-IQ~ thJt the anti-semitic stories of an ass's head worshiped by the jews aro!ic
from the Egyptian perception th.-u the n~meJ.thv..'Ch/j;~hu !loundt.-d to rh.ctn like .l sentence
in Coptic meaning "He is .an .:.s..-." (i.J or io = ".1s..o;." evidently a simple onomatopoci.-. in
Coptic, like English .. hcc-haw."lt .1ppcars that hu•JuJ• was the demotic word for .. bray":
W. A. W.ud.jo11nanl ojNt:ar E~wmr Stu11ies 28[1%9): 267. S(.~ ;also W. f;mth. "Seth-
Typhon•.Onod und dcr csclskoptl.ge Sab.aoth," Oriws Clm'sti,;rmu 5711973J: 7')-120. On
early Esypti.m us.; of "Yahweh" as the name of a place in P:llt.-stint•, ~"C M. C. Astour.
.. Yahwc~~ in Egyrtian Tupographi<: Lists,.. fTsfJ(Irriji T:lmdr .Edt-f. t.'d. M. G.:irg an\1 E.
Pusch, Agypten und Altcs Tcsumcnr: Studicn z:u Gcschichtc, Kultur und Religion
Agyptcm und des Alten Test.amems, Band l [D.unbcrg, I'J79): 17-34). In !>Onu:ofthc
accounts, the ass's head i!i specifically s;~icJ to bt.• :..uldm (joscphos wrtllll .-'\piorJfiPI 2. 9.114:
Soauld, s.a•. lia,..,Ot<p&~~ which might writ)• both the E~ypti.1n ori~in oft~ C;lric:~tun•
;,~nd th: common knowlcdboe of the a!ot-O(.iiltion of gol~..J with the Scth-Js.o;.
As regards circu!Jtion of the Egypt~n word .''li'bt, the nu~ic;~l p.1pyri refer with
l'Omt• frequency to NF.BOUTOSOUALETH (Karl Prdst•ndanz, cd .. P.rpyri Gr.rrcar
.\f~gico~c [= J>GMJ. rev. A. Henrichs IStutt~art. l'J7J-74J: 111.46; JV.JU6, l•Uti, 2213,
2291 t:, 2485. 260..1, 26b5f.;2750, 2913; VIL317f., 4%; XIV.3. 23; XVI.ll6; LXXII.9; A.
Audollcnt. Dttixicmum "litbdlad JIJ04: n·s~rint: Frankfurt am Main, J'Jt,7J: JH. 13.
242. 42}. Some of these arc Sc:thi:m contexts. but often conflatc:d with He kate. More to
the point, I invite dc:motit: experts to judge: NEBOUTOSOUALETH in Egyp1i.1.n
magical im-ocations: (i) an invocation to Seth /Typhon to be recited owr an as..<;'s head at
sunriSt• and sunset: f. L. Grifiith and H. Thompson, TJu· Dc•mc~~ir M.z~ical Rlpynii l!l'
316 CONJECTURES
Can we credit that Apuleius possessed such a knowledge of lsiac
language and myth as I have claimed but did not write Tire Goldtn A.u
to promote that religion? The question sounds very like the chal-
lenges leveled in court against Apuleius by his prosecutors: he
searched for rare fish. he treated an epileptic, he has a secret idol-
therefore he must be a magician, as charged! It simply does not follow
that an author who knows that the Isiac ass is golden must alro be a
practicing pastophoros.
If one were to wonder how so telHng a significance coukl go un-
heralded by the author, there are two replies. First, that the Isiac
meaning of .. golden ass" is, as Buccheler said of Varro's tidcs. 71 ua
humorous doodle in the margin;' .. a child of whimsy and wit," that
represents an intention more satiric than evangelical. If the novel were
simple propaganda for lsist the Seth-formula would undoubtedly be
explained for those readers willing to be converted. But the point of
the AA as a philosophical game is to play constantly with the coa]es-
cence and evanescence of higher integrating perspectives on the de-
pressed. ground-bound, desire-ridden existence of mortal men and
beasts. (The fact that the human mind can envision such glimmering
perspectives is what makes our normal existence seem depressed,
ground-bound, etc.) The essential experience of reading the AA is
that we watch from the ground while Lucius ascends into some realm
of light above the clouds and that we Cllntlot follow. Note that for the
author/narrator to have provided an explanation of the title would at

Lmdou tmd Lridfll (London. 1904~ col. XXIII, li.nc 16 (twice)= JJG.\.f XIVa,linc 3: (ii)
a similar ln\IOCation: rol. IV. line It = PGM XIVc, line H; (iii) :m im•oc:~tion of Osiris
against his cncmic:s: W. E. Crum. •• An Egyptian Text in Greek Charactc:n," J'•um11l ~f
.Bgypti~tJ Ar(/tellloxr 28(1942): 20-31, col. 2, line H (ct: NHT in col. l, lin~_IH); more
thoroughly studied by J. Osing. Der spati(qyJ'lis(lrt" /Japynu B.\.t 10808, Agyptischc:
Abhandlungcn, no. 33 (Wicsb.1dc:n, 1976), who docs not howc"-cr deal with column 2;
(iv) pr:~yt.·r for a dre.1m: J. H. Johnson, "Lou"·n: E3229: A Demotic: Magical 'lt'Xl," En-
drvri~ 7(19n): 55-102. col. 2, lines 20 and 21; (v) ;m invocation to Seth /Typhon (Grcck
letters, pro b~ bly Coptic words): R. Pin uudi, "lmucaz ione a Seth-Typhon;· Zt•itrd•rifr
fiir Pa~yn'l".'!ie 1md EpignlJllrik 26(1977): 2..J.5-4R, liuc: 14 (,uiJfpevoviJTaJI'Ow). J. Ziln-
dcl. "Agyptischc Glosscn," JlJrci1Jiul1rs .\fusrum 1CJ(JH64): 4H4-~. sug~cstcd that it
me~m "Lord of tl'k' Undenvorld," hut he was rc:ading NEBONTOSOUALETH =
NEB ON TO SUAL.
71. Quoted at the be~inninr; of)cction l (p. 300).
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 317
one stroke have resolved the central problcm/achicvcmcnt-thc ab-
sence of an authorized perspective.
Second, that absence, in re1ation to Egyptian liturgical titles, be-
comes explicit in Book 11 in a scene illustrating the auctorlcutor·s non-
comprehension of Egyptian writing: .. He brought forth certain books
from their setting in the secret places of the sanctuary, written in letters
that could not be understood; in part they set fonh the pithy words of
set formulations by means of various animal shapes. in part they de-
fended said text from the reading of profane curiosity-seekers by
means of letter forms set in knots, wound round like a wheel and
tightly tend riled together." 72 We know from the accumulated resources
of modem Egyptology that "Golden Seth" was one of the set formulas
that could occur in such a book, but Lucius does not. That is the point.
Apuleius brings his alter ego face to face with the original title of his
own book, written in a book that Mithras will follow in conducting
Lucius's own initiation. 71 This act of looking into a mirror and seeing
nothing there (like Thelyphron, cf Chap. 4. pp. 114-15) is a para-
digm of the hermeneutic playfulness that not only organizes Books
1-10 but continues to frame the composition of Book 11. 74
My conjecture that the title Tl1c Goldru Ass has, among its sev-
eral meanings, an lsiac reference may remind some readers of the
theory that the novel was written for two audiences-the initiates
{jlmat•'ci). who would realize that Lucius·s adveutures somehow al-
ready contained an lsiac inner structure, and the profane, who are
aHowed to wallow outside on a lower level of enjoyment, missing
'he real point. This interpretation has so far been able to base itself
on one rather convincing example of veiled lsiac allusion-the fish-

72. dr oprrtis adyti proji•rt quosJam librclS litUris ignombilibus rrarnottJIOS, ptlrtimjiguris
miusa· mc•di llrJimtJUum rotlt't'pli srrmonis lcltiiJl('tuli,,sa utrba suggrrmtes, JU~rtirn nodr.Jsis d in
•nodum rotar tortuosis ctJprrolatimqru condcnsis apicibu.s a mriositatc prC?fanCJnmr lutiotlf'
m1mita (11.22).
73. "From this book he instruct~o.·d me about what would have to be procured for
th~ ritual of iuiti;uiou'" (inliidt•m mihl pnu·Jin~t tJif4lt' jiJrrm ad IIJum tclc'lilc' ru·,r~:o.triv
prurpamnda, 11. 22).
74. The role of the author as trick !iter of dnuut n:;1dcrs is itself xthian: H. Tc
Vcldc, .. The Egyptian God Seth as a Trichtcr," J.mmal l:!f 1/u: .-'\mcrinm Rrst"ardl Crmcr in
F.~ypr 7(1968): 37-40; U. Biaochi, '"Seth. Osiris ct I' ethnographic:-."' Rr••ut de I'Hisroire
des Rtligit'lltS 179(1971): t 13-35.
318 CONJECTURES
trampling scene. 75 "Golden Seth" now adds another, which shares
the same feature that Lucius is left utterly mystified by what is hap-
pening around him.
But after we have located these crypto-Egyptian elements, inter-
preting them is quite a different task. Where the two-levels-of-truth
theory falls short is in assuming that detailed acquaintance with lsiac
rituals and mythology implies the author's personal acceptance (in his
life) and promotion (in his book) ofthose rites as the key to salvation.
Since. on the showing ofPolrt One, Apuleius's hermeneutic entertain-
ment continuously alludes to the gap between seeing a possible
meaning and accepting it as uniquely true. critics who ignore the dif-
ference between an Egyptian meaning and the author's conviction are
committing that special brand of folly that consists in repeating the
very absurdities that have entertained them in Books 1-10. 76
Even for ingenuous historicists, there are alternatives. To take a
simple example, the combination of insider's knowledge and autho-
rial non-endorsement could be neatly explained as Apuleius's reftec-
tion late in life on an early experience of re1igious enthusiasm, as

75. P. Derchain :md P. Hubaux, "L' Affaire du muche d'Hypata dans Ia Mh4me)r-
pl10.srd' Apulce,.. L'Ar1tiq1titt Cla.s.siqwr27{195R}: lQ0-104; 11• Grimal, ''Lc Calame cgyp-
ticnnc d' Apu]cc," Revue des Etudes Anciennes 73(1971 ): 343-55. One might add to this
the suggestion of C. Holbl: "ln diesen Zusammenhang gehOn anch die Tatsache das.s
agyptisch bs 'cinfUhrcn', 'cinwcihcn'. subst. 'Gchcimnis' rni~ dcm Fis.ch I Ja- I
gesch ric ben wird IWh. L 4731" ( Z~IIK'J issc il~yptischf'T Rcligionsmrstelltm~tn jiir Ephc~
EPno. no. 73 [lcidcn, 1978]: 52).
Since on my reading the more mytho-rcJigious echoes the better, it migh~ be worth
noting that Lucius's parents' names, Thcseus (1.23) and Salvia {2.2~ arc \'Cry sugges-
tive. A Roman curse tablet of the tirst century B.C. E. reads "Good and beautiful Proscr-
pina, wife of Pluto-or perhaps I should address you as ~l\'ia ... Proscrpina Sal..·ia, 1
give y<lU the forehead of Plot ius; Proserpina S.alvia. I give you the eyebrows ofPlotius,"
etc. (Bona prdchm 17osnpit~d, Plutonis u:csor, Sl'il'r' mt' &l11iam Jciurr opportt:l ... l~ost:r·
pinll Stlll•id, do tihifrontrm Ploti, l.JrostrpiM Sal"ia, diJ ribi lllpt'Trilia PIMi: W. S. Fox, Thf'
Jollns Hopki'JS Tt~~IIar: Dt~/ixiom1m, Supplement to Amtrican joumtJI ~f l'l1if"l"gy, \'01.
33,11 Baltimore, 1912): 17-18.) If Salvia suggests Proscrpina, the combination of The-
seus and S.aJ\'ia may allude to the d.c:Kcnt of Pcrithoos to the underworld. aided by the
rductant Theseus, to woo Proscrpina-an expedition punished by entrapment on a
flesh-holding rock. These mOlifs arc reminiscent of Psyche's descent to Jlroscrpin~. of
Ludus's cntrapmc:n~ in bombgc caused by erotic .. descent" (delapsus, 11.15) to scr\'ilc
pleasures, and of Ludus's mixture of innocence and guih.
76. S. Felman... Turning the Scn·w of ln~erpreution," Ycdt• Frrruh Swdi('s 55156
(1977): 94-207.
 THEGILDINGOFTHEASS 319

Solmscn proposed. 77 Older and wiser, he is now bemused and in-

trigued by issues of religious epistemology per se. 18
This, I say, will do as well as a two-Jevcls-of-truth theory to explain
the radical split in the AA between certain dements of fanatic knowl-
edge and its gt.'llcral structure of profane authorization. But what really
requires explanation in the AA is the constant attention to the phe-
nomenon that what seems for the moment to be a true interpretation
(of narrative or personal experience) is later shown to depend on the
perspective of the interpreter. This includes, but is not exhausted by.
the feature that at least one (and probably more) of lucius's adventures
turns out from an initiated perspective to be a secular parallel to a
goddess's rites. It is as if the world of human folly (fish-trampHng, for
instance) moved in patterns that curiously parodied, without meaning
to, the rituals in the Iseum Campcnse. The material of [siac higher
meanings is certainly the featured example of a master code whose in-
troduction unriddles (and in another sense creates and maintains) the
surds of human existence. But the effect of the AA on all its readers,
whatever their prior rc1igious traditions and convictions, is to show

77. "Di,l he rind it I sc. consc;iousncss ofdivine I0\11.' anJ protcnion Jatlcur te..•mpo-
rarily, and did a temporary monopolization of his mind .and fcdings lcJ\'C so lasting an
impression with him? ... What is often read as a confession ofbeliefm:.y ''asily bC" a
nostalgic recollection" (F. Solmsc:n. lsiJ j3rru111g tht Gm·ks tm.d R(lmo:JtU, Martin Classical
Lectures, no. z.:;I<.:ambridge, Mass./ London. 1979 J: 112). A phrase of Photis to Lucius
has often been ll!oL•d to prop up the case for amobiography: she relers to his h:l\:ing been
initiated into many sacred rites (.So:Jeris pl~ribus ir~iti"tus, 3.15~ But a similar phrase' is used
in an equally intimate context in Achilles Tatius Lt'ukippe lltld Klei1C1plrotl 5.26. 3: "I
spt·ak to you as an initiated man.'' The Iauer clearly has no autobiographical force, but
is merely an appeal to thl" addrcssl"e's better nature:. All Photis mc~ns ts that Lucius
ought to know how to kcc1) a s.c:crc:t.
78. Such a conjecture, rxcmpli .emria, also has the: mnit of making scns(.· of two
common opinions :about the AA that are often held simultaneously without notice of
what they imply: (i) that the noo.·t-•1 describes an experience of Apulcius's late adoles-
cence in Greece, and (ii) that the nO\-w;:l was written a good deal later in his life, at least
after his trial for ~ru1~ike {lSM/159~ during which his prosecutors did not mt.•ntion his
novl•l about maKic. (h seems ro he rhcsc two rrcmis.cs that prompt Gritliths' remark:
"IApulcius) did not, it s.t.""Cms. make an~·blaing c:ommitmem to the Isis-cult ... '"1 Tlu·
lsis-B''''k (note 35): 15 J.) h is prim~jacit· incredible that Apulcius underwent an enthusi-
astic conversion to lsts at Kenchreai in his early twenties, maimainc:d that de\'Otion
with a burning innc:r sinn·rity until tin ally ,!edaring it by writing the: :\ t\ in his mid-
thirties after h1s trial, md yet that no trace survives of the biac apostleship of this \'C"ry
import:mt literary celebrity.
320 CONJECTURES

how all supernatural and revelatory knowledge is essentially relative to

the unsharable point of view of an individual. As that location shifts,
from reader to reader or character to character or even from auctor to
actor, conviction vanishes.

A final word on autobiography: Apuleius, ofcourse, had a key role

as auctor in designing the game for us to play, as did the inventors of
chess, baseball, and Pac-Man, and no doubt he used many things in
his wide acquaintance, even parts of himself, in putting The Golden
Ass together. 79 As a final paradox. I would Jike to maintain that the
temptation ro search the novel for traces of Apuleius·s life and opin-
ions, which I take to be both irresistible and futile. can be approved
insofar as it is genuinely lsi:ac. By that I mean that it should imitate the
central myth of Isis's own "search for traces'': when Isis went looking
for the fourteen (or twenty-six) disiecta membra of Osiris that Seth had
scattered about the nomes of Egypt, she found them all except the
phallos. Then, to fool Seth and to multiply the number of audiences
who would worship Osiris, she told each of the counties where she set
up a w01x-and-spicc image of her husband that they had the complete
corpse-a double li~ since each had only one limb and no one had the
central, life-giving member (which alone had experienced resurrec-
tion after Osiris's first dcath). 80 The tracking down of the auctor's self
and convictions in the AA is not a bad rite, provided the reader real-
izes that, when she finds a genuine piece and uses it to construct a life-
size image of the complete author, the Apuleius being worshiped is a
tiction, and that the authority then attributed to that idol is an ideol-
ogy-probably a comforting one-invemed by the worshiper.B 1

I hope that this eclectic book with its variety of methods, disci-
plines, and perspectives has allowed readers of different persuasions to

79. Examples of Apulcian autobiography detected in the AA arc listed in Chapter

1. note 5.
HO. This is the dominant Grcco-Roman tradition. recorded by Plutan·h dt• lsidt'
JSRA-B and Diodoms Sikulos 1.21.
81. The credit for this theory of searching through what we call an :~uthor's cor-
fHIS of writings for the disiNta mrmbm of hi !I ~urobiography must go to Eunapios. A
!!oullicic:ntly sharp-cyt"d reader can "track .. (d-va.xr-e.:I(.Jt) and .. collect .. (d-II'QAE)'OLTO) the
"pieces" (Ta ~eara p.ipo~ of "the di...inc" (d 8E«>rar~) Pluurch's own life scattered
throu~hout hi:-. llmflil'l Ulrc'~ ( Vita•• .~lphisr. 454~
 THE GILDING OF THE ASS 321
learn from each other's fields. Let me recall the Apulcian promise
quoted in my preface-that his public oration in two languages should
equally satisfy those audience members who preferred Greek and those
who preferred Latin. The Golden Ass, because it is a problem text and
claims to employ a "desultory scicnccn that leaps acrobatically from
one horse to another, 81 may be especially apt for a multidisciplinary
treatment. But 1 believe that such interchanges can be very fruitful
with other ancient texts and modem methods too. The facetiousness of
this particular book is an adaptation to Apuleian playfulness and will
not be a general feature of such interchanges. except insofar as all self-
critical and l"xpcrimcntal scienccs become frohlichr WisseusciJajt. One
fWtdamcntal requirement for such endeavors is a detailed awareness of
what anthropologists refer to as the cmiclctic crossover. that is, from
native categories to researcher's categories. An ancient text ought to be
explored with as full a knowledge of its original intelligibility, the con-
crete mode ofits production and use, the realities of its social-historical
existence as possible, and also with a heightened awareness that the
modern reader is always theory-laden, that our theoretical premises
have themselves a history as the product of this or that period and soci-
ety. The special virtue. then. of multidisciplinary studies is that when
well grounded they both produce fuller and richer accounts of their
object and also ]cad to an awareness of what imelligibility flows from
the methods thcmscl....cs rather than from the object. I hope that such
studies become more common.
But if I am right in my contention that Tl.e Golden Ass deliberately
lacks key dements of authorization and that it resembles a set of
games for readers to play, provoking them to decide, and if my Auctor
& Aaor has in its own ludicrous way aided you in playing those
games, then the last word belongs neither to Apuleius nor to me but
to you.
Select Bibliography

Extensive bibliographies on Apulcius arc citl·d in Chapter 1. nott.· 4. Walsh

and Tatum (below) give good working bibliographies. The works here cited
are simply the ones I have found most stimulating or useful to argue with.

THE GOLDEN ASS

Anderson, G. Eros Sc,plu'stes: A"cit'lll Nowlisu t~t Play. American Classical
Studies, no. 9. Chico, C~ .• 1982.
Callcb.u, L. &mro Cotidianus da,JS les AUrcunorpl10sts d'Apulh·. Cacn, 1968.
Dowden, K. •• Apulcius and the Art of Narration.'' Classi(a/ Quarttrly 32
(1982): 419-35.
Ebd, H. "Apulcius and the Present Time." Arttlw.sa 3 (1970): 155-76.
Hammer, S. .. L'Etat actucl des recherches sur l'ocuvrc d'Apu1ce." Eos 29
(1926): 233-45.
Heiserman, A. The !\'owl ~fore tlu~ ,'\'o!oel. ChiCago, 1977.
Hicter, M. "L' Autobiographicd:ms 1' Anc d'Or d' Apulee." L'Amiquit<.~Cit~ssi­
que 13 (1944): 95-1 11 ~ 14 (1945): 61-68.
Junghanns, P. Die Erziiltl•mgsrfflmik 1ror1 Ap141eius' MctiJmcnpl~e~srs amd ilm·r
f/cJrlagt. Philulogu~ Supplcmcntband no. 24/1. Leipzig. 1932.
Millar. F. ··The World of the Goldm A.u."JRS72 (1981): 63-75.
Ncthcrcut, W... Apulcius' Mrtamorpi1Mcs: The Journey." A§'n 3 (1 969):
97-134.
Penwill, J. L. .. Slavish Pleasurt.·s and Profitless Curiosity: Fa11 and Redemp-
tion in Apuldus' ~tamorphoses ... Rm~ms 4 (1975): 49-82.
S:tndy, G. N. "For('shado\\;ng and Suspense in Apull·ius' A1flamorp11Mts."
Classical )111mr,1l68 (1972-73): 232-35.
- - - · '"IJctronius and the Tradition of the lntcrpo·bu:d N;•rrathrc." TAPA
101 (1970): 463-76.
Schlam, C. C. "Piatonica in the A.fetamorphtucs of Apulcius." J:. U~'\ 101
(1970): 477-87.
Scobie, A. Aplllt•ius ;\<tetam.,rplrosrs 1: A Ctmtmmtary. Beitrage zur klassischen
Philo1ogie, no. 54. Mdsenheim am Gtm, 1975.

323
324 SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY
Smith, W. S.• Jr. ''The Narrative Voice in Apuleius' .\fttamorpl1oses ... TAPA
103 (1972): 513-34.
Svendsen,). •• Apu]cius' Tl1e Goldrn Ass: The Demands on the Reader." Pacific
Coast Pllilology 13 (1978): 101-7.
- - - · .. Narrative Techniques in Apuleius" Golden Ass." RJcific Coast Philol-
ogy 18 (1983): 23-29.
Tatum, J. ''The Tales in Apu1eius' 1Jetamorphoses."' TAPA 100 (1969): 487-
527.
- - - · Ap••leius ar1d "Tl•e Golden Ass." lthac;a, N.Y./ London. 1979.
van der Paardt, R. Th ... Various Aspects ofNarrativc Technique in Apulcius·
Mctarnorplrosrs." In AsptctsofApultii4S' "Golden Ass," ed. H. L. Hymans,jr.,
and R Th. vandcr Paardt. Groningcn, 1978.
van Thiel, H. Der Eselsroman. Vol. 1, Unttrs•uhungtn. Vol. 2, Syt~optiscl•e
AusgtJbe. Zetemata, no. 54/1-2. Munich, 1971-72.
Walsh, P. G. The Roman Novel. Cambridge, England, 1970.

NARRATOLOGY
Barthcs, R. SJZ. Transbted by R. Miller. New York, 1974.[First published in
French, 1970. J
Genettc, G. Narmth~ Discourse: Afl Essay itt .\-fetiJod. Translated by J. Lewin.
Ithaca, N. Y./London, 1980. [First published in French, 1972.)
Rabinowir~. P.j. "Truth in fiction: A Reexamination of Audiences." Critital
lnq,;rr 4 (t 9n): t2t-41.
Todorov, T. The Poetit:s of PrMt. Translated by R. Howard. Oxford, 19n.
[First published in French. 1971.)

DETECTION
Ca\\.relti,J. G. Adr't'IIIIIR.', Mystery, tmd Romanct. Chicago/London, 1976.
Holquist, M. "Whodunit and Other Questions: Metaphysical fktcctivc Sto-
ries in Post-War Fiction." Nrrv Littrary History 3 (1971-72): 135-56. [R~­
printcd in Most. cd., J1ortics ofM14rdt'r(scc below}: 150-74.)
Knight. S. Fcrm aud ldtology ;,. Crime Fittiotl. Bloomington, Ind .• 1980.
Most, G. W.• and W. W. Stowe. eels. Tlu~ Port1'cs of Murdrr: Dtttctivr Fiction and
Litemry Tl1cory. San Diego /New York /London, 198.3.
Pronzini, B. Gun in Cheek: A Swdy of"Aiternatil'f'" Crime Firtion. Toronto,
1982.
Tani, S. Thr Doomed Dttutit~: Tilt Ccntributiort of tht Dettclivt Newt'/ to Post-
modem American ar~d /talwn Fictio11. Carbondale and Edwardsville, Ill.,
1984.
Todorov, T. Tile Fantastic: A Strucwral Appro~JCII to a Literary Gt•t~rc. Translated
by R Howard. Cleveland, 1973. IFirst publ1shcd in French, 1970.[
Winks, R., ed. Detrt:tirre Fiction: A Coll~ttio~r of Critical Essays. Englc,vood
Cliffs. N.J., 1980.
 SELECT BJBLJOGRA PHY 325
lSIS
Griffid1s.j. G. Plutardt~ lJt• Iside tt Osiritlr. Carditl: 1970.
- - - · 1~pult'ius ofj\ttada•nos. Tl1t T.~is Ro,lk. EPRO. no. 39. lciden, 1975.
Vidman, L. Isis rmd Sarapis bt'i tlm Grit•clrm 1mcl Riimmt. RdigionsgcsdJicht-
Jiche Versuchc und Vorarbcitcn. no. 29. Berlin, 1970.
Index Locorun1
ACHlllES TATlUS
5...2l .................... -~
5....26...3 •••..•.•.•••.... 3191111
AELIAN
de natura anima/imn
.121 ..................... 1.28
1.22 .................. 1..1..6n.l6
1fi.28 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3151!70
~ .................... 2.11
fr:Jg. 28 Hercher .....•..... 21Zn51
I\ ESOP
~ M!: .H.Perry ........ 2.39u62
Altxo2ttdt'r Rolthlllct'
lA ........................ 12
AlKlPHRON
u ...................... 226
AMBROSE
Pf_
161179 .................. 225
1\MMIANUS MARCELUNUS
17 418 .................. Jilli
APOLLONIOS OF TYRE
p. 106 Riese .................. ~
APULEIUS
Apologia
1..J •......•••••..••.••.••. 1.6.1
5i .................... 1Au..1..8
6i=65 .................
o2Sillltt t1UTtiiS
w .... 25. ~ ~ lll. 180
L2 ................ 28-21J. 136
L2.:2U ... 27-37. 82-86. 11 c.-1s
L..1 . . . . . • • . . . . • • • . . . • • 1.2.1.tt22
l..ll ...................... 61
L21 .................. 156-57
L.22. .....................
1..2!b2.5. ... 120. 122••47. 136, 21M
L2.6 . . . ................ Jl::.J2
2..2. .................•. 31&12.5.
;u ............... 165. 168-70
2.1. ...................... 115
2 11-15 ............... .12d.J
2.12 .............. 15R. ~
2....1.6. .•.••.•••.••••••••••• 115
2...1.8 . . • • • • • • • • • • • • . • • • 175-7(t
2 19-30 .............. 110-15
2.22 ..................... 1..24
? y>-J 1 a .............. 82aA2
.l...l ...................... liS
1..2 ................... 22l.u.30
3.10-12 .............. 170-72
]_li .................. 13. J..Q2
3-1..:1. • • • • . . . . • • • • • . . . • • • • . 1..26
l...l.5. . . . . . . . . . . . ....... 319nTI
i l l ..................... l..SZ
.1..2!! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • . . . . . 1.15
3.21 ..................... 1.16
3.22 ..................... 1.10.
l..25 ... " ...... " ........ 111
.1.21. .................. l1. 1.28.
!L2 ...................... 1.5b.
:l.l.2 ...................... 11
4.n ................... ~
4 26-6 24 ....... 50-56, 82.=.2J
~ 6..25 ................... ~
6.28-29 .................. 1.21
?Q) 2...l.:.l ................. 1..05.:8.
1...5. •..•••••••••••.••••• :rb 88
~ ................ 81:89
1Ji ...................... .30.3.
u ......... .............. :18
I...1tl , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 46-471 88
~ 1...l.fl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. ill
z..u ..................... lli
327
328 INDEX
'?J 2? .................. rn ARJS'TOI,HANES
7 24-28 ............... lil:bS Clourh
~ ................ 12:13 206-17.636-93.747-82 ...• l.M
8...Ll ...................... 11 %1-1104 ................ i l l
8 19-22 ........... 74. 115-lll Wasps
I:L2ft . . . . • . . . . . . . • . . . . . • . . 2H:i 1446-48 ................. 212
a n-?s .............. 109-10 Frogs
8..11 ..................... 21:0. 2~-92,294-95 ..........• J!U
2..8 ...................... 285 ARNOBIUS
2..2 ...................... 28!i 1.J3 ............. , .. , . 226n42
9.....12 •••.•••••••••••••. 152-53 ARRlAN
2...1.1 ••. 129. 165-68. 177. 289u24 Epicftti Dis.sm~tirntc·~
9 15-16 .................. 1.5fi l 11 39 .................. 1.6i
9 1()...28 ............... 15=.1.6 3 20 )2 .................. .302
2..21 ...................... 1.8 3 23 31 ..•..........••... i l l
9...30 ............ @. M-67. fi2 4...9...b .................... 2J2
10 2-12 ............... 16dYl ART EM IDOROS
~ ................... l l i Olltirokriti k.1
10 13-19 .............. 1.08::2 1...22. ••. ' ••.••••.•..••••.. 226
10.20-22 ................• 1.ZZ 2.32 ..................... 218.
1.0..21 .................... Ll6 AUGUSTINE
1..ll.22 . . . . . . . . . . • . . . . . . • . . 19.3 Ccrnjtuicmts
]() 23 28 ••••.••••••..•••• l.ZZ 2.3. 3.1, ~.4-6 ............ 1J..1
1.0..26. ......•.......•...... 11 dt livitalt dti
11l.2& .................... . 11 lJl..1.8 ............. 1,, •• 2(}3 (),J
1!l.22 .................... l.i6 19.23 2 ............... 221z112
1.1l..l1 .................... l=l6 dt c11m pro rnort&liJ
1Q...J3 .•.... 1221147. 150. 242n66 15. ................... ~
ll...1 .................. l..3!l:..3.l AULUS GELLIUS
~ .................. ~ ttoaes atficae
l.l....B ••••.•.•••.••.•.••.•• 2JU ~ ................ ~
1Lli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19M, 20J 2QJL2 .....•........... 2Qu25
11..15. ...... 8-lO. 127. 1.30. 147.
191, 210, 31&25
11..11 .................... 301
1..1..20 .................... 2l1l CHAIREMON
lL22 .................l06. 317 frag. 1.Q Schwyzer ............ 2J2.
~-············ 72.127.206 CICERO
1..1..2:l .................... 118. .-'\cade'"ica
1.L26 ................ 21(l, ]08 L2.8 .............. " .... 226.
1.L21 ............. 128.217-19 de reatwm deorurn
11..2.8 •.....•.....•....... 220 J..82. ...•..••..•..••... ?3%59
1..1..22 .................... 221 in Catilina'"
1L..10 .................... 224 l. 1 ................... 17, 198
.tt deo s,,(ro1lis pro Carlio
"Prcface.. 111 ............ 182rll 65 .................... ')9)n28
V .................. ixn2. 32..l CLEMENT ALEX.
Florid.z ft1rdagogus
5. 9. 13. 15. 16. 18. 20 . 276nl 2 4 2-4 .................. 232
u. ............ '. 141118, 211u2 StJ'CIIrt.1teis
1H ..................... Ll.uH 1.15.69 .............. 262, 279
 INDEX 329

COLUMELLA Maxunim Duo

1..5...11 ................... 26.1 2...1:.5. .........•.......... 29..1
2..2 •.•......•.....•... ~ HOMER
Ody.ury
DIO CHRYSOSTOM 1.}.42:9- 3K • .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. 1..65.
.12...9. ..................... 2:l2 Iliaci
DIODOROS SlKULOS 6.235-36 ................. 1.00
L2l .................. 320n HO HORACE
DJOGENES LAERTJUS .'i.Jiit('$
1i.2!.! ..................... 232 1.3.19-20 ............. ffiu25
~ ····· .............. 12tt34
ISOKRATES
EUNAPIOS Rmathmi1 iltos
Vilat• Sophistfln4m 1 .................... l.21.tt!t5
p. 436 Wri~lu ............. W
p. 454 Wright .......... 320rJ81
JOSEIJHOS
EUSEDIUS
cotmoa A pit•trrm
Pra~pt~rlltio Emn.!?f'lita
2.9.ll4 ............... .3151!7()
5...22 • . . • • • . . . . . • . . • . . . . 1..2.Sta..!&
JUVENAL
FULGENTIUS
5JUU ................. 226ui2
txp<~.!ilio strm. tlllll'}-
6....!i11 .................... 225
.]6 .................... 297n11
ti...51U .................... 2.00
m yl l1ol<t_eia" 1
1..:l....lU2 ................ 2!I:UtWS
prct: ,t 3.b ........ 2112. 297rt 11

GALEN KALLIMACHOS
de rm·t IIO'do mc•dc·nJi :\iti"
2.5 ...................... lfiS. I 30-32 .................. 1.26.
dt simpl. mtdi(. lf'Jtlp. KERKIDAS
6 proem ............... 3031!29 fra~. H Po·wcll ............... 23.H
Gtllporrik.z
12.17.16-22 ........... 304n30 LONGUS
lAlplmis .mJ Chlo~
HELIODOROS proc1n ................... 2J5
Aithiopik<1 LUCIAN
8.1 ...................... 235 dr dr.z Syrit•
HERAKLEITOS 12. . . . . . . . . . • . . . . . . . . . . 239n.6.1
frag. 93 D-K ................ 1.25 1/t lu'jftJria (OriSUifrtJIJ•l
HEI~OlJAS J! .............. -........ .lU.l
4 75-97 ....... , , . , ... 239u(,(l dr saltariont
HERODOTOS 52 ..•............•....... 21H
L5.L5 ................... 2.15 Dionyso5
2-12! .................. ~ 5. .............••.•••••••• l!t!i
2JY-35 ................. m Ht>tmotirno j
Hippi11trik11 1::16 ••••••••••••••••••••••• 22i
!Ad ..................... 19.8 Ik.uomenippos
Histori•t A11.~1U1a ~ ................... 222
Clodiru .41ilimu Salan'td Posts
12..12 ................. 2tr3. ~ 1=2 ................. 225,240
MttrtUJ .illiMitlll.' Symposion
29 ....................... 221 1.8 •.........•.••.....••.. 226
330 INDEX

~rat histc~riat Pldlogf'los

2.!l6 ..................... 30.1 J ........................ 1.61
ILUCIAN) 2. ................ 161. 1641156
Erotts u ....................... 1.61
8 ........................ 2J5. 1.8 • .. . • .. • • • .. • • .. .. . 1..ftlu..56.
Lufi us, or tilt :\ ss 22 ....................... 1.61
4 ........................ 2.51 21. •.....•............ 239n62
15 ....................... 1.28 22 ....................... 1.61
.36 ..................• ·-· .285 ll. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . l...6..l.tt!1.8
S6 ....................... 232 !l3 ................... 1...60::6..1
LUCILIUS :iS. ..•.•.................. 1..60
(Antlt Ad. 6.166) ............. 232. 5.!1. ••••.••••••.•••••.••••. 1.61
56 ....................... 1.61
MANETHO 12 ....................... 1.62
~ .................... 236 :zs ....................... 1.60
MANILIUS 18 .................. 163. l..M
Astronomica 26 ....................... 1.62
5...85 ..................... 1.28 1!l2 ..................•... 1.62
MARTIAL 112 .................. l..62r.t5..l
10 55 3 .•••••..••..•.••••• 61 L{2 .................. ~
125712 .............. ~ lJ8 .............. - ... 1.G:ia.56
l..5:l .................. l..62n50
NON IUS t2l .................. ~
p. 848Linds:ay ........ 225. 226 202 ...................... l.b2
NOUMENJUS 225 .. . . . .. .. . . . • . .. . . 1..62u.5..l
frag. 24 dc:s Pl:tces ...... 273tt38 263 .................. 164tt56
frag. 55 des Places ....... 127n7 PHOTIOS
Bibliot~lu
cod. 1.22 ................. 1..8J
ORIGEN PLATO
ccmtra Crlsum Critias
6.21 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223r.tJ:J: 119C .................... 2M
OVID Plraidros
Mrtmttorphosts 229C-2JOA .............. lli
C) 666-797- ............... 218 Tletattttc,s
174E .................... 1..M
PAUSANIAS PLAUT US
1..21..!1 ................... 211 Amphitruo
9.39.14 ............... 23~J63 50:5J ····· ........... 12Su25
PEH.SIUS 11~19 •..•...••••..•• 2U2tt55
1.88-90. 6.27-33 ...... 240n65 304-305 .............. 2oa.56
PET RON IUS Asinoria
s.uyrika 2:111 .................. • 1.82tt1
:fl ....................... 2&1 Capti11i
lli
9?7 ll . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ua:l2 ................. 61=62
109 8-10 ................. 22.5. Mtrc.llor
111-1"> .................. 2.80 ~ .................. 201tt41
132 6-14 ................. 111 Autmlm
PHAEDI~US 4. •••••••••..••••.•.•.• ~
1..22. . . . • . . . . . . • . . . . . . . 1...1.ltt18 TniCrdtntus
4.23.24-25 ...........• 2m165 2::1!} .•••.•..•••...••• 210n3?
 INDEX 331

PLINY STRAUO
'UJtumlil lu'storia ~. ··············· l04u30
2...:18 •••••••••••••••••••••• M 13 1 14 ............... 304n30
:I....l.H2 . . . . • . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.6..l.tt.22 17117 .................. 212
2.5...1.1 •.••••••.••.•..•• 2621123 SUETONIUS
21..A ......•........... 304n 30 C(l/~~ula
22...5. .............. 260. 261rd 8 ~ ..................... ~
22...2 ..................... 2.60. Domitinm1~
.1f..l...11l .. .. .. .. .. • • .. ... 26.LJ.2.2 1.8 ....................... 22.6.
.31..!1: ..................... 30.3 Octmrian.u
PLINY N ....................... 2.16
Epistulat SYNESIOS
2.2ll...1 ............... 100. 2')1.) Enco•nium ,,. BaldtlfS$
PLUTARCH 77B ..................... 22ft
Cictrt~
5..2 ...................... l.hi TACITUS
Ccm vi t•i11m .5t>p1. $o1p.
:\~rico/11
lSOF ................. "11 Str'ZO J.J ...................... C!U
dt dt.foclr4 omc.
TERTULLIAN
401E-F .................. 235 A pc,f.-.((ti(ll m
417C .................... 2J2
H.1 ................... 223n .11
df' lsidt
15..1 .................. 231 "48
352C .................... 225
358A-D .............. 320rt8U
.361B ................•... 23'> VARRO
362F-363A .•............. i l l Jt linj!ua Lt~lifl~l
3811) .................... llll 1069 70 ............... ~
On tl11~ soul ap. Nonius
frag. 118 .•............... lli p. 722 ~-5 Lindsay ..... 196 9i
Quat>sl. cotwiv. Vita :\r.wpi
2.1. ...................... 265 "-3 ..................... 2.86
:1.2 ...................... 2G5 21 ....................... ~
5....1.U ..................... 232 22:.11 ................... 2M5.
JL 39 44 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2ll=i
t

:l2 ....................... 28.1

115 .....•......••......•.. l.Hj
QUINTJLIAN (iJ. . ...••.••.••••••..•••.. 2.82
Inslitrllf's ~ ................... 2H.l
liLZ2 ................ ~ ZB..:80. ................... 2.HS
1 8 18-19 ............... xiH..1 8Z.=88 ................... 2H1
8..1.25 .................... 1.8 l.!ll..:8 ................... 212
105-23 .................. 2HU
12Z .........•....... 2fl4. 2B6
SENECA 129, 1J.J .......•......... 2&.1
l"iJ'iJiular mt1r•llts
90 32-33 ................. .lli.1
XENOPHON EPHESIOS
21......1.2 • • . . . • • . . . • • . . . • . l69n 65
5 Jl-JJ .................. l!lil
~ .................... 5n2
SERVIUS
in Am. ZENODIOS
7.16. 8.24H ............... 1.91 ~ ..................... 121
Index

Achillcs Tatius, 224"~ 319rt77 Asymmetric syzygies (unb.d:mccd

Achiq.ar, 262. 279-80 pairs~ 35-37. 50-52, 123. 190; first-
Actaeon, 168-70, 2.H.lnl..1 and second-readers, 124;
Adytius, l.J6. Fortuna /Lucius, 107-R; inappro-
Ac<npti.un, 128, 18£•-88 priate audicno: response, !1L 120:
Aesop. (Lijt~(.>\tsop~ 164n55. Lucius-actor llucius-narr.ator,
Chapter 10 140-53; Mithras' interpretation vs.
Aetius. 125d crowd's, ~in shaggy dog story, 2;
Afterthought (to a contract) 58,112. 125 \"Cnlriloquist /dummy, m
A1hR-cht, M., 22.a6 .-1 ucror (actetr, Chapter fu ApuJeian
Alchemy. 261 rt20. Jl.ll...=.5. phrase, U; Apuleius /lucius
Allegory, 5& (novelist /character~ 140. 142. 153,
Amat.j., 2"9n45 159: Aristomcnc:s as, 116-18: bond-
Anaxilaos ofL.uissa, .IDJ :.gc between, 188-94, 275; confused
Andcrs.on, G., Z1lull by Photios, 255; gap bc:rwc:cn, 224;
Antonius Diogenes, 2.£1, 251. 261u21. Lucian JLucius, 2i5u32;
265, 268-70, 27.'\,.JS, 273n37 Lucius-now /Lucius-th('n (nur.~ting
Aphrodite of the Bc.mtiful Buttocks, !>elf/past self~ 139-53: in Plautus,
237-38 200-202: suppression of a•u·torto a(-
Apion, 3l.laS:1 tt~r, 140-53; two pcr,.pccti"-cson
.i.pcllonios orryrr:, 2M! same sentence,~ :12
J\.pulcius: .as nugu~. 260, 277; J.S pl1ilet· 1\udcn, W. tL !&0
5ophus, 276; as sophist. fu on trial, .11.6 Augustine: Co11jmiom, 141-42. 194;
.4n-t.dOAtJ$, 2'\S-38, 2M} men in his life, 14.1: on ..id.. 1: on title
A~t<~1ogy, no such thing, 236-Ja Sec of ."\il, 2cJ3-94, 221
also Hymns, lsiac Authorization: absence of. 124,126, 129,
Aristcidcs (,\tiltsi~JktJ~ 1R2n2, 232 131. 181-82. 1R5. 2!.!1.. 216,222. 247;
Aristomcnes, ~ ~ 82-86. 138, endorsement \'S.. mcmioning, JL
l51ill JJH; ofan interpretation, Q. 124; of
Aristoph.Jncs, 2.11 rch~ious knowledge, 17Y; by sphra-
Artemidoros, 21f,, 218 gis, 192.. Stor als1.1 Ma~ter; Origin,
Ascension, ofLucius,ll!i ab$Cnceof
Asinius Marcellus, 211:1-19, 221 Authorship (aJtctorir.u, authority, respon-
AskJepios, :\0-31, 219H61, 259. 262n23 sibility): as dominance, 194: for i'\A,
Astour, M. C., llinW 173-76, 203; for crime, 99-118; for
Astrology, 39-42, 219n26, 260 crime-story, 99-104. 110-15; For-

333
334 INDEX
tun:. '!0, 108; Lucius's abnegation of.
.l.Qf!; Mithras', 209-15; Photis',
175-76: mime's disrespecl for,
28k2l
Autobiography: AA as, 2.., L 320; AA
becomes, 138: as asymmetric syzygy,
193-94: Augustine's OmfoJ.Jioru, ~
credibiliry officrional,l.J..; ofconfes-
sor in temple, 238--40; n::lnion of
present self to past sdfin, 194;
Dioph:anes', J2. 158: in prologue,
195-%; in uJes, ili Lucius', 37-39,
~as quest for wisdom, 257 -75;
religious, ~sham, ~stories
discovered to be, 1..1.0.d..8
Babcock, B. A., 2.11 -72
B:.but, D., 1..25.tt4
Baldness, 224-27. ~
Balzac, 1:::!.. Sarnui~. lill
Barnum, P. T., 217
Barthc:s, R, xii, ~on re-reading, .l.U:.l..l
Baudelaire, C., 61
Belief: of talc audience, ;h.~ co-present
with disbe1ief. j2.. ~ ~.as philo-
sophical subject in AA. 124-25 Su
also Confidence nun
Bellinger, A. R.• 136n1
Bergm;m,J., 219n26
Berkeley, A., 52
Bioy-Ca:s:ues, A., 60.
Blair,). G., 121n46, 2U8uJ
BoiJ, F., Vl" 30
Bolos ofMendcs, 261-62, E=A
Bond, Bonding, Bondage. &e Contract;
Master; Nexus
Book of rile Cock. Ethiopic, 238t~58
Borges, J. L., ~ S2., 86n48. Q4
Doyancc, P., J7Bz,9Q
Br.ilying, 196-99. 315u70
Dreadhakcr ofKroisos,lli
Brenk,F.E,1.25.r.t.4.
Bruneau, P., t:LLu18
lluckland, W. W., 188116. l..82.r&
Buc..-chdcr, F., Jl:Xll16
Biirgcr, K., 255~ 2.S.S..!!6. 256.
Buffoon, 160-65,226
Butor, M., M!.. J.Ol
Callcbat, L, 17-19,22.4
Calvina. L.. 251
Cameron, A., 293nJ. 291
Carr,J. D., 102; The Thrt!c CA.ffins, 69.
Castration: of Lucius, 177; of text, 1!l3
Ca\\-chi, j. G., 65, 68n 17. 95
Celsus, 125a!
CtnturuuluJ, 126, 16l
Cervantes. M de:, hl..lli
Chaeremon,lli
Champigny, R., 80.dil
Chandler, R., 2.4:.::25
Characterization: of actor, 1.16. 139: of
auctor{narrator). UL 1..12.
Characterized narrator: misleading
term, 1J2.
Charile, 45-56. 71. 155-56
Charitiort (P. Oxy. 413~ 220.
Chariton, 21.lill
Chesterton. G. K., ~
Christ, 222
Chrisric, A.• ~ 691119
Cicero. M.. 12.1..12l:3.
Citizrn Ka~. 81
Class, va.ri.a blc in A A, l.S!l::::65
Cleemporos, 262n2J
Clement of Alexandria. 262, Jllu5b
Columella, 2.61
Confes!i.ion, 109. UJ
Confessors, 233-34, 238-41
Confidence rnan, 100. 119-22
Con/idn•cc Mmt, Tht (Melville), 2.0&.1
Co~jecturC', reader forced to, l.lL &t
also Supplement
Contrxt: commercial, 112: narrative,
~~ 99-100, 118-22,188-94; un-
st:.tr."tl clause in, 1.21 (Stealso After-
thought); va.mpiric, 191 92
Couversion: of audience, ~of delight to
chagrin. ]()();of guilt, ~ oflan-
p;uage, 199; of Lucius into ass. 174.
256~ of lucius into book, lSH-59: of
meaning, M-11. 27-33.39-40,.41.
(in dete-cti\'C' stories) 5.& of narrator to
subjcct of tales, lJ& of J»in into vir-
tue, 165-MJ: religious, U2.. Stt also
Rcidcntification
Cooper, G., l.26.t.t88
Coppola. F. F.• l:fl.n.5U
Credulity (guUibiJity~ ~ 116, 121-22,
216, 22U:2.1
Crum, W.E.• 316u71l
Cunning, commerci.:ll, }2.. 120. 121
Cupid(CupiJodesirc~ l..ll.. ~ 191;

lovcrnr Ps)"Cht:, R9-93; M;•rkctpl.lCt'
of.l2U
"Curio!iity"; :about magic, 256: o( 1\c-
ucon, 168-70; of Aristomenes, H2.;.
asinine, 239, 253, 274; .aversion of,
bj• phallos, 11.8; c~nine incident, m
dcprcc.atcd by moralistic rc.1dcrs,
192: in detective story, ~of inn-
keeper, !l±; of Lucius, 28-29. J,1 136.
139, 165; of reader, 178;of
Thcssalos, 2.52
Cynicism: vs. belief. 28-29. g 40-·H.
271: distingui'ihcd from Sk.eptici'im,
27n~ :& epistle-s. 125tti;, in Alcxan-
drcia, 241- 42; of imerpreter, 27-33,
~ l2l &r lll5cl Skcptici.•;rn
Daumas, F., .ll.5W2
Dead men's tales, 69-72, 1b.
Dcmeas,lb2
Demeter, ill
Demetrius the Cynic, .lb2.ub5
Dcmokritos, 79n34. 2.51 260-62d
273n36. 279, J0.1d.
Dcmosthcncs., 121
Denis, A.-M.• 262r~26
Derchain, P., 318rl75
Dcrrida,J., 6fin6
Detection, Chapter ,1 99 11Q
Detective, as double ofcriminal, lUJ
Dickens, C., 180; Bamttby Rud,f{~. 63--65.
68;. Grr•ft E:cpt·ctatiom, Z:t oath, 1Bll
Dickie. M., l18za2.l
Diller. H... 25&H
D1ogcncs, l25.u.:l
Dioph.:tncs, 39-40. 119. 145, 158-59,
162. lffi
Disbelief: necessary in detection reader,
6S.. &r aln1 Cynicism; Skepticism
Disp.uagcmcnt: of AA. :H.~ 12l:of
self,~ 109-10,279, m
Dolger, F.. 221,34
Domin;~nce: of Fortuna O\'er lul"ius,
l!!Z::1i;ofPhotis over Lucius,175-76
Dostoevsky, 222
Doubling: of ActOJc:on. 168-70; of Aris-
tOn'l~'llCS and Lucius, 118; stereo-
scopic effect, ~ ofThdyphron,
112. St-t• also Duplicity
Dowden, K., 66nl2
Doy lc, A. C. 62u.2. 65rt 11, 204.
INDEX 335
Drake, G. C., 7nl.J... SH11 :~
Dream, J\ristomcncs' ad\·cnturcs as.
M.f-H5: Asinius', 219-20; Books
k.Ulas, 2;. intcrprctcd hy opposites,
52-53; Lucius', ofCandidus, 216;
Lucius', ofinitiation, 216-17: Lu-
cius', oflsis. 1.30: Luciu.o;', ofOsiris,
221-22
Dun.and, F., 2lliu5
lJunbabin, K. M. C., l1Hu2.l
nunc;;m-Junes, R., 120rr44. 122n47,
2K4t•l2
Dundcs, /\., l.fulu56
Duplicity, of auctor ldctr.lr, Chapter fl
Ebcl, !::L 124t~!l
Eliot, T. S., 67,, 1i.. 102. lil.l
Epiktctos, 2:15
Erection:ofass, l93;ofLucius, 174-75;
of Osiris, .12(1
Enn.m. /\., JJ2u58. 313n60. .ll.5.f11U
Etienne, R., 1.62
Euhcmcros, 2.6:i
Evidential.:account:lbility. 66..=1.b
Exch.mh~· ofules, 50,; represented in
tales, 119-20; ta.lcsotTered in,
119-22 Seral.sLJContracr; Nexus
Fantastic, the, ~
Fauth, W., .115H10
Felman. S., 56n43 • .l1.Htt1b.
Fc!>tugicrc, A. -j.. 260n17, .lU2
Fish. S., 'l.J4,711
Fishwic:k, D., 247un
First-reader. Set Header
Flaubt-rt, G., 22Hn44, 22K
Fluck, H.• 231u:i2.
Fordc:rcr, M., 2H9u22. 2HYn24
Fortuna: tlirector ofacfion in Hooks
7- to, 107-H; friendly to Lucius, 149:
identified with Pro\' idcucc:, 149: "nu-
lcvolcnt", lllfl=.8. 147- 49
Fr:lenkel, J:: .• l9.ln..24
Frazer, P.M .• 30lu21. Jll1ul6
Freeman, R A.• ~ lil.1rU
Fulg<:ntius, 2!£l
Gad.mler, ~ 12!w5
Galen, 125t~4, ~
Game. stot)' ;Is, .1.5.. 10-l. t JR-19, I..JO.
200. l16
336 INDEX
Gardner, A. H.. 312n59. .ll.1u62 Hoe\rcls., F. E., 229tt46
Gcncttc. G.• xii. 73-75, 97-98. IJ1.JJtD Holme!>, S.• 116, :IDl
Genre, of A ..<\,~ idl Holqui!tr. M., ~
Gcrm.:ain. S.. 1!atl66 Homodiegc.'Si.s, ~ Su al1oAutohiog-
Glucker,J., i..z.s..rcl r:aphy; Evidential accountability
Gobillot, Ph., 225rz=IO Hopfner. T .• 205, 218n23. 313nf10
God: lean liktly per!ion, ~only on~ Horapollon (Hiti'O)?Iyphikn~ 3.10.l1..1.tt.56
of.l12 Horse, Lucius', ~ 199-200, 21(,; as
Goldbachcr, A., 255rr6 audic:~ 36-37; as Lucius'
GrJndjcan, Y.• 205, 23fm.15, Wtin yoke-mate,~
Gr<~vcs. ll., lA Hubaux, P., .Jl..8n15
Grella, G., 2ful:65 Hymns, lsiac (falsely c:dled 'aretalo-
Griffiths, J. G., 205. 2..1k 213n15. 2llL gics'). 205. 236
307n35, 3(1HtJ40, .110,49, 3J3n60.
313fJ65. 314tJ67. 319tr78 [amblichos (B~abylortiaka~ 2S7, 265-68.
Grima!, P., 318n75 272n34
Grumach, L. 313t•f•5 ldentific;nion: of Lucius, 136; ofa n.un-
Grund!Jch. R., 31lu 6] tor, :fl..l9'J:ofprolo~uc-spc:aker.
Guey, J.. 2Iln2 196.~
GuilL Su Authorship~ Detection Ignorance, offirst-re:ulcr, 15-19,101:
Socratic, 1.26.
Haight, E.l::L. 27711.1 lies, F., 52
HaJl,j.,llit17 Initiation: of :my reader into any story,
Hallcux, Jt, 261.1119, 3031126. 303n27 102; of Lucius, 127. Chapter !:1
I l.anuncr, :!:. 6tJlU lnnc."S, M., 222
Hammer-Je-nsen, L. 303n27, 104 Integrity {uniry, coherence) of AA:
Hammett. D.• 2±. l52lcl6. ftUf;:tUating. 165-73. Jll
Hani,J., 313n61, .ll.!ltJ!tl Irony. See Oispar3gement. of!>elf
Happ. l::l. 1&21 lser, W., 2+41170
Harpokr;•tion (Kymnidrs~ 257,262-65, Isis, Chapcr ~ appc.us to At"Sop in a
272t!34, 273r~35, 27juU dream, 2R(,; COillJlU('d Hl witches,~
Head. M.• !iZ.ttl2 erects ida I, 3.20
Heath.J., 169, 283tll 1 lvt"rsen, E., 309-10, Jttn56,l1.2u51
Heiserman, A., 2421•66.
Helm, R.. ~ HiJtd, 197, 212..tt.12 Jacoby, A., .l15n1ll
Henderson, John, 12Cw28 j;'lffttr, U.. 1&21
Her:1kleides Pontikos, 2Ww9, 2lJ6niO J;llllC'!i, !::::b 34" 10, 99. 11l1
Hcraklc:itlls, l2..'i, 1.!!2 (par;aphrascd). Jan.-.on, T.• L2fw2fl
JH7--H8 (paraphuscd); parodied by Jews.. 277, 315rr70
lucian.~ Jordan, D., 2f\"n27
Hcrkommcr. E., 1.26n21 Journoud, S.• l..2.1n2i
Hermann, l., ~ Jungh:mns, P.• 6"11, 2.5fin8
Herzog. R, 225n41. 2.l9tlhll, .2.J2..u6l
Hctcrod icgc sis, 7.J.db. Karada~li. T., 121MS
Hictcr, M., 5..a5 Kecs, I:L 313n6J. l1.1zztn
Hieroglyphs: vicY."td by Lucius, !.; used Kellman, s.• ':lnl6
outside Egypt, 306-17 Kenny, R., Wtt69
Hippokr:nc:s, 79nJ4, 261 Kcrmode, F....·ii, 6.1
Hitchcock, A., H2 Kiefer. /\., 2J5n5.\
Holbl, c., 3llizilj Kierkcg3.ard, S., llilil2
 INDEX 337
Knox, R., ill2 Mc:nippos, 270-71, 22fuilll
Koenen, L., 3121159 Mcrkelbach. lt. Snf,, 5Rta3. 19."\tz24.
Korte. A.• ~ 230n47. 234n51. 242rJ67. 2731!3H
Kri\ppe. A. tL. Jill Meroe, ~~ !}1117. 1.B2.. 191 92
KrinasofMassiha, 26ll Mida~ .lill-2
Kroll, W., 303u27 Millar, F., 2M6rt15
Milo. J2=H. 1116.12.1 LSB.l21
Langcrbcck, !::!. 2.8'l.u22. Mime: 160-65. ,,6i costume of: 126;
Leroux, G., l::l6.dlZ lsi~c and christi.;m, 2ll; resistant to
lcs.ky, A., 611ll, 212rtl2, 22tU&!Y .authority,~
Lewis., C. D.• 52 Mithras (priest oflsis): illitrologically
Locked Room, 62. U1 conjoined with Lucius. 212n26; inter-
Long. A. A., l2.5.ul prets lucius'lit'to, 8-1;1, ~ 127,
Longo, V., 237r6(, \48-49, 210-15; odd name for Jsiac
Luci:m, Q,_ l25n4, 136. 229, 2421'166. priest in second l."entury, 245 -47; on
253-56,270-71.27R servile pleasures,~ 1.2.3
Lucius: chuactcriu-d as agent, l.J6. Machos of Sidon, 26la2U
139:-40: c:hu;actc:rized as narntor, Molt, M., 2..tcl
l36-4CJ: not disillusioned with Momr11tum (fukrum): in a talc, ~in
wor1d, 14647: not untru.'itwonhy u .4.4. 127. 1JO: in A&A, 12.3
narrator, 140n4: suppressed a~ narr;.~­ Monceaux, P., 2nuJ
tor.~ Mores.chini, C.,~ 22Ht!44, 21ZzLJ
LutiiiJ. or rl1r AH (the Greek Mt't.lfnor- Moritz, L. A., 2.85..r.tJ
plroJr.s~ l1-1. JH.1-!i;;. 12R.l2l. Mueller, D., 205
252-57.270-75.277 Mutua,,. (loan), 18H-94, Stt also Con-
tract; Nexus
Ma Bellona, 2.:l1uZZ
MacKay, L.A., 1..2Hu2.
MacLeod, M. 0., .2.5.:lr1j N.1 bokov, V., 5..2.
MacMullen, ll, 2.ll.u5.2 Naes!i, A., 126nf\
Madaura {Madauros~ 141: Madl11trtttstm, Nagy, G., 28£Jnl4, 2B8.
12.li. 122. Z1.2.. ill Narr.ning: an acti•.rity ofcharacters, ~
Mabisc, 307rt37, ~Ot!n"\8, 309n47 and food, 37-38; subject of the Ai\,
Malhcrbc. A.J., l2.SA!l 21
Marangoni, C., 246n74 Narratology, sy!items of, xii
Marcillct-Jauherr,J .. l..1&9..l N:urator, not untrustworthy, ~
Margiu~s, 2.H2 Natura, )74, \77, W
Manin, R., 29ft .1Hl:l62 Ne(hcpso.~
Ma~n. H.) .• 2tr4. 286n15 Ncktancbos, 72n, 2iiO
M:aster (Mic;tress}: choice of text as, 7 -H, Nl-w Critici!om,lli
1J.319; .author Js, 194; sla\"e talk 'I Nexus: cnsla\'Cmcnt for debt, 188-94: of
b:.ck to, 2!:!2 ....,q3: ~uhmi"i'-iion tn di- Asiniuo; to l.lJcl\t!l, 2\R-19: of Mithr.a<o
vine~. 2.ll.. 21 i -2"\· submission to !io&- to Lucius, 219t46; ofqur:,tion~ ;md
distic, 175 -7~. 191 -92 Stt .t/s(J answt'rs, 252 Sa also Asymmetric
Nexus syzygies
Mazzarino, A., 1..2.1u.2! Nicoll, A., 288nl9, 220. mo22
Mdanchthon, P.• l97rt30 Nilsson, M., ~
Mdvill~. I:L.. 208u.l Nock, A. D., 213tJ15. 21&23, 246u75,
Menander, !Uw65 2571112. ZS2
Mend ilow, A. A., ':ll..JJ«:J Nordtn, E.. 121n30
338 INDEX
Norden, F., 105nll ,lmid6
Nonh,J. A., 214n16. J04n32
Noumcnios, t27n7, 213n38
Obelisks, 308-9, 312
Odysseus, 122. 266-67
Oinomaos of Gadara. 1..2.S.tM
Old wives' Lllr, s.b5!
Onoskelis, 301-2
Origin, .Jbscnce of.l8...1.2.!. l..&b8S.
Osiris, 210. 217 -23; idolized, J2U
Otto, W., 205. 21Sn2l. Jm.d8
Ovid. Mttdtnorpl•osts, 1.82. 228.
Pu: k. R. A. :i2z123
I
Palaiphatos, 2S8.ttl.J
Pamphile. ~ -43. 106, 172, 189, l.2l.
Pamphilos of Alexandria, 30.1.=l
~nek, l., !Mn60
Paradoxograpby, JJa 210n22
Pastophoros (lsiac dracon~ 204. 218n23,
223-24. 2"\2
1-Tnwill,J. L. 8n15, 147nl3• .l2.l
Perry, B. E.. 51ttL ~ 2.56... 211..
279n6.279n7.281nl0.296
Persson, A. W., 234u52
Petosiris. 26U
Pctronius, ~
Pfister, F.• 258tJ\4. :2.8lli.tl
Ph:dlos, 173-78. lilt!; Aesop's, 2H1
Philistion, 1..6JuS.i
Plti/ogtlo.s, 160-65
Photios, 125n4. 253-56. 265-14
Photis, U. 1Q6. ill.. l.ii.. !& 115...
189 -91 • 194. 3.l.2.t.t11
Pierce, R., l1.1n6J.
Plato, 12S... 1.2fl.. 136. 245. 252, 261,
273t~38. 289n23; dialogue titles, 295:
in Egypt, 259n15; tr.:msbted by Apu-
lcius, 5
lllaulUs, hl... 184. ]tiC), l95n25. 200-202;
archaic language in A..i, lii. 1.62
Pliny. 260-62
Plotinus., 25.1
Plutarch, l25d. :mi. 233n50. 234-35.
265 • .110.
Poe, E. A., 63-65, 6Rn18. 1.02
Porphyry, .ll.O
Porter, D., 60nS
Poscidonios, 2611120
Powell. B., 31Jn60
Praechter. K.. J..2.5nj
Prcaux,J. G.• 11.ill18.
~idence.~
Psyche, 55-56. 80,37. 89-93. 115.
.l1BtU5
Prolemy Hephaistion, 266-67
Pyrrho, 125.
l~tlugoras. 163n54. ID. 261. 262n23,
268.273nJ8,296niO
Pythiu, 120, 1..22.. 2.!H
Queen, E.• 1.0.l.tt6.
Quest for wisdom narratives, 257-75
Question: AA pos.es. 2Tl. 221: in pro-
logue. 195: primacy of. 1l6.. l..lJ;
re:a.der forced to, 126
Rapp. A., 1..60.nA1
Rr.adrr: comparison offim- and
~cond-, 129n10, 131. 137, 142,
17R-79, 1R6:distinction bct.~n
first- and second-, 1!!. lJ:. definition
offim-, H; as detective, !!!... 119; as
profane, 206;rolc scripted by Apu-
leius, ~trapped by author, 194. i l l
lli
Reudon, B. P.• 221.tt.12
Reflection: on past event~ l..ll; on sdf,
115: thinking .as, 2Sl
Reich, tL lfi2n52, 16.'ln54, J64n57.
231n48,290,291n29
lteidentification: of cha ucrer !i, ~
H6-93; ofdetective as criminal. ~
of lucius as subject of AA, 137: of
prologue-spcaker,128.:22
Reinterpn:tation. 5« Convcuion
Rcitzcnstdn. R., 236. 238, 246, 211ttl0
Resurrection. Su Erc!ction
Revelation, interrogation as, 126; oflu-
cius' identity to first reader. 136-38;
ofLucius to lsiac worshippers, 118
Richter, G. M. A.• 2H8n12
Robbe.Grillet. A., 5.2
Rogcrs,J. T .• 81
Rostovtzcff, M .• 285.W
Rothstein. M., 255n6, 256n8
RouUet, A., 308n42. J02n1.. 43-46
 lNDEX 339
S;1dism: Fortuna's against Ludus, 106: Spurmm tldditamrrumn. St!f' Castration, of
narrator"s against p;1st sdt: llJ.. Su text: Supplement
also Asymmetric syzygi~s Statue:-, 1..68..:12
Sallustius, 293-94, 297 Steckel, tL 2611120. l..l3n2l
Sah•ia, Jl.8.tt15 Stein, G, ill
Sandy, G. N .• 2(m1 Stephens, S., .l12n5.9
S;~.rtrc:, J.-P., ill Stcphcrl)on, W. E., 128tfJ
Sauneron, S., l1.1..u55 Sterne, L, 61
Sa~rs, Q, ~ 69r~l9, 94n59, 123. Stew.m,J. L M., 52
147r~l3: Tltt Nint Tailors, 68 Straho,205,259n15,1llu5h
Scazzoso, P.• 5,6, lli Strange but true, & 1b 12.\ 258. 21!l.
Sdncter, I::::L .ill tl5fi Stt al1o Paradoxography
Schlam, C. C .• 2n4. 7n14. 57trl. 228u.43 Strohmaier, G., 25.4.t:cl
Schmidt, E. G., 2nlo20 Supplement: Luciu1o' third initiation o~s,
Schollgcn, G., 25.lnJ 221-22; by prologuc-spe~ker, 180.
Scoonbom, H.-B.. mill 195: by rcJ.dcr:s, ~ 147td3, l(i7.
Scholasticus, 160-65 207-CJ. 213.215. 211J, 222-24.l:U.; by
Schor,N.,~ schobrs, 7 -H. 252; by Thdyphron,
Schwyzer, J::id!.. .3l..lJ156 113-15, 1.2:1.. St-t",d$oCastration
Scobie, A.., 1R3nJ. 295t~4 Surprisc,142-44: Book U as,~~~
Scott, Sir W. (quoted~ 1 122: Lucius' sec:ond ami third initi:~­
Scribe, Jss as mere, ~ tionus, 215-23 Su .also Jgnoran('c
Sc;ruples. 60-62. 176. 211 Smpense, lot -2. 142-44: of judgment,
Sebeok, T. A.,18nJ3 5i. S!!., 20.8.. Srr .zl.<o Skcptici5nl
Seneca, ~ JU tC6. S..-end!;en, J. T., lAlli15
Serendipity, N Swallowing, of sword, ~ 1.18. .~·~a/~('
Sextul> Empiricus, 125 Credulity (sullibllity)
Sh.:arazadc, 2bti S)'ncrctism, 112. 246--47
Skepticism: and religious knowledge,
179: as intcrpreliVt" method lor read- Tatum,]., 2(ml, 293,•1. 29fm8, Jllii.
ing· AA, ~difficulty of maintain- Thclyphron. 70-71, T1.. 110-15. 119,
in((, 123: in detective stories, ~ in 143-44, 162. IY4, 22lrz30
L.ifo "./ At<$cJp, .2H.l:. philosophic.ll posi- Th.:ophrac;to:r;, 219.
tion, 125 -26, 252. 270: recom- Thcrsitcs, ~
mended by Apuleiu.... 124-32: rec- Th~s.eus, .11..Hu2S
ommended by lucius, 29-31. 123: ThcssaJos ofTralles, 2.~7 -60, 2fJ:Jn27,
r~commended by Milo,~- Sec 27l,272n34,273n35-37
al~IJ Alllhoriution; Cynici!>m Thibau, H.., 5.u8
Smart, N., 112. Thicrfelder, A. .• 160ra47
Smith,J. Z., 258z.z..b! This<oen, H.-].. ~
Sm.ith. M., 236n54 Thurber.] .. S1
Smith. W. S., W ~ 200n3H Tirnon ofPhhus, 12.5.
21. g
Socrau.•s (Ari:!.tumcne!l' frieud). Todoro..·, T .• 58112, ~ H.l
1:12-HS. 121. Tlepolcmus, 47-50, :zJ
Socrates (Plato's master~ !2S. 12.6. Tran tam Tinh, V., Ja8u:U.
282~3; Acsopic, 289; pbyful, 21.lu.1 Truth. St-t Strange buttrue
Solmscn, F.• 312
Solomon, lt$lammt of. Jill-2 Vallette, P., l!:i3JIJ. 2001137, 22Hn44
Speyer. W., 262r~24. 2Mv2K v:m dcr P.1ardt, R. Th., 2.1.2u2.5.
Spillane, M., ~ van dcr Vliet, J., 2<Xhd7
340 INDEX
Van Dine, S. S.. 102 West, M.l., 26.31127
van Thic:~ H., 6n11, 183n3 Whircchurch. V. L., lfl}
Vuro, 184, 196-97, 294-96, 300 Wicchcrs, A., 286n14, 287n8ij
Verrall. F. W., 243 Wiu. R. E., 246n74
Vidman, l., 205, 246u75, 246n76 Wright, C. S.• 140PI-4
Vi~oser, N. W., 245r~72 Wust, E., l63n54, 290
Vos.~.d~30~~19

Walsh, P. G., 22~J,45, 253"2 Xenophon of Ephcsos, 240-41

w.. bc:r. R., 125r~4
Ward, W. A., 3L5n7t) (his)
Weinreich, 0., 2J7n57 Zangwlll,l., 59, 62n8
Wdlmann, M .• 303 Z<~uzich, K.-Th.• 271Jn8
Werner. H .• 234n51 Zeitz.. H., 279n7

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