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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.
Playing Fair ............................. 100 Malice Aforethought ..................... 104 ImpJication ............................. 110 The Marketplace of Desire ................ 119 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 GrecoRoman culture, and in religious history. To set the scene for the performance 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 narratology, 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 literary 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 accounts of an experience that from then on would have a central place in the conflict of Western religious and political idcoiogics-convcrsion. The jack-in-the-box appearance of that born-again narrator is what first irked me to look very closely at the narratology of ApuJcius'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 generally, who arc sometimes misled by periodizations (especially of the exciting Foucauldian variety) to dismiss the beforc-X as radically irrelevant to X. From each of these audiences I anticipate a different skepticism, a different initial reluctance. From modem literati I cxpc:ct modernism-the belief or premise that medieval and ancient cultures are beyond 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 classicists I expect an initial disdain of current fads and a feeling of disorientation at the untraditional arrangement of materials. Classical philology 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 decades: they can complement and build on the achievements of traditional philology. Certainly this book has relied on the labors of several generations of classicists and would not have been possible without them. Again I hope to build a bridge. From religious historians 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 challenge 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 languages 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 audience-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 Jimited references to secondary literature to what 1 hope is a helpful minimum 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-ad2. 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 extraordinary for me about The Colden Ass is not what it contributes to a general theory of narrative but the fact that it is, simply on the face of it, such a modem-seeming narrative about narratives. This wants exploration 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 Henderson, Stanley Fish. Peter Brown, Froma Zeitlin, Herbert Lindenberger, Susan Stephenst Jeffrey Henderson. William Levitan. Ludwig 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. Mkhacljamcson. Richard Pierce, Mark Edwards, Ronald Mellor, and Sabine McCormack 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 andretyped 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 felJowship in 1978, and the Stanford Humanities Center in 1982 provided the stimulating leisure needed to work on this book. I hope Nietzsche is right that we rdiw cvc:ry cxpt.·ricncc ad it!/itlitum, for all of these were good ones.
List of Abbreviations
AA EPRO FVS
1-/TR
)RS
RE TAPA
ZAS
Asinus A1m•us (Tiu· Goldm Ass) Etudes preliminaires des religions oricmalcs dans I'L·mpirc rom am Dit• Fragmmtt' dt·r Hmokratikt·r, cd. H. Dids and W. Kranz, 6th ed. (Berlin, 1951-52) 1-/an'tlrd Tlu~c,Jogicl11 Rer,iew }t.mmal of Rotllatl Studies Rt·ai-Encydopi:idie der klassiscllcn AltcrtumswissetJSclu~ft, L"d. A. Pauly, G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll (Swugarr, 1894-) Transactions oftire Amt>ricau PIJUological As$ociatiou 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) itsci£ 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 instance. in a climate ofbclicf more favorab]e to magic and demonology than ours, Augustine wavered between describing the AA as an autobiography 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 indiCill'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 interpretations can be found in modern timcs. 4
THE QUESTION OF GENRE The problem has usually been posed as a qut.>stion of genrewhat 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 alJcgory. 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 questions arc unanswerable on their own terms-When did you stop beating your donkcy?-and others are set up to elicit multiple answers, such as the famous riddle oft he seven blind sages investigating an elephant. In such cases we must not answer the question but qut'stion 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 contradictory 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 familiu 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
COil librum pritnum conunemarius cxegcticus." (di:!..
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 ofHypata 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 journey, 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 revelation 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 condemned 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 celebrate 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 lubricious 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 invitation. 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 autobiography, 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 directedness 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 pamphlets expounding a Platonic philosophy, on his (lost) translations of Plato's works into Latin, 7 and on his self-presentation as a philosopher in his Apolo.~ia. There are many themes and names and situations 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 emphasis 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 manifestations 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
··r
5. The case is wdlmadc by M. Hiner, Autuhil~grap}ue dans l'Am: d'Or J' Apulee," 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, Rophy
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 contemporary 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 Lllcius, 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 purposes 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: hidden 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 $
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 (Munich. 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 status 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 ambiguous AA should be clarified by reading it autobiographicaHy or sophistically. The Lucianic reading and the religious reading are complementary: the former takes the frame ta1c of the AA as an extratext. 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. Interpreters 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 Socrates 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'Cupid 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 interpreters can only become a quarrd over whose Rosetta Stone is the authentic 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 illuminates 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 serving the goddess, then you will know what freedom rt>aUy is. The fundamental characteristic of the five classes of reading outlined 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 qucstion.16 Lucius's adventures become retroactively a problem ar the moment 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 meat 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 understood them even as he rushed to his doom (2.5f.~ And so any firstreader 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
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, Piatonk, Apuleian. That is to say, such methods arc synchronic and synoptic. It seems a methodological hysteron proterou to discuss the synchronic 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 secondreader {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 meandering paths of readerly intelligence as they were once first blazed through the dense text, though it might even better be called metachronic 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 pretension 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 reading, 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 privileging 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 novel's signjficancc, making it a thing given (by the author) rather than a thing won (by the reader). For this novel, more than most. continuously 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 varied that no suspicion need arise that we are in the presence ofa theme or message. But the comedy of audience comment, of characters assuming 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 interpretation. 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 revision 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 satisfying 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 entertainment. In particular that entertainment focuses on the two related issues 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 experiences 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 suspicions, none has any grounds for priority over the others. And, incidentally, 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 privileged 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, ofinterpreting 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 follows: 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 impersonating 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 readings nor the impulse to do so. They h:we not become relevant yet. The ideal tirst-reader is defined as an ordinary Latin-speaking citizen 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 expounding 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 vantage 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 education 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 historical 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 cxpcctaI 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'\poloxia 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. Lucius, or the Ass, the end of the story, Apulcius's carc:er-1 will also minimize the importance of ordinary cultural knowledge that the average contemporary reader might have brought to the reading of Apulcius. My analysis is designed to bring out what I take to beessential qualities of the AA, and in a precise sense location in a particular culture is twt a prerequisite- for those qualities. When I say that even a knowledge of ordinary languag~ and culture 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 possibilities 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 expectations 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 successful, 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 Husband 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 cleverness 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 contains 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 laissczfaire. We are in effect provided with a rule set and then shown the clements in a variety of combinations whose point is the unpredictability or novdty of the situation. and the final surprise is the delicious 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 knowledge 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 reguJarly works some surprise as well as delights us by its general conformity to the contracted terms of the narrative agreement. (ii) Thert" is a sense too in which Apulcius's language raises a similar issue of forcknow]cdgc and ignorance. Docs a specific form of language mark the AA as availab1c to the reader only on certain conditions (sophistic training, legal education, a knowledge of Plautus and archaic Latin classics)? Or is it rcdtablc at large to a heterogcn~ous crowd of literati and groundlings alike, none of whom is substantially 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 existence. This language was not acceptable in the higher and more respectable 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 (indignatus), pose (exrtt;f.!it), and run of words (including the play on
Catiliuafcantherium) are an unmistakable caricature of that republican political crisis more than two centuries earlier. The AA, considered 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 language u]timatcly an artist's construct rather than a natural language. but makes clear that it is contri,·ed as a partial masquerade of spontaneous 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.
AUCTOR & ACTOR
18
in what proportions the tone of word choice and phrasing has the color of contemporary low life or archaic low life. There are certainly elements 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 recherche, mixing Gadzooks! and Goddamits!? How docs this style affect our reception of the narrative? The tone is an important reinforcement of what I perceive to be basic narrative qualities of the AA as an exuberant but always ironic tale. Brutal
d~ns
son expression, apparc:mment spontane par des mots ct des lllUrnures qui St!mb)ent refieter Ja langue quotidiennc: )a mo)ns c}abort~e. Apulce prend soin cepcndant d'aftirmt•r sa presence lm:idc: advcrbcs. 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 . .,., 23.
Callcbat. Srnnc C."otid~nus (note 19): 500.
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 CalJcbat 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 language and culture in which it is written. Within these limits my approach 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 corners 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 interpretive 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 Lmproblcmatic 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·aning-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 interpretation 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 enigmas 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 Scrupulous Reader") to a set ofissues common to Apuleius's AA and the
modern detective story. a genre obsessed with hermeneutic entcruinment. In Chapter 4 ( ••The Contract") I focus on a particular Apulcian 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 hodgepodge 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 Skeptic Fa\o"Orinus recomrnended. 25 This is of course something of a masquerade. 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-conscious :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 interpretation 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 continuOUS, 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 contradictory lines of thought that might apply to Book 11 but without pressing the argument for any one of them-anticipates the conclusions actually reached in Part T\vo. So although this book, cspccia11y at the beginning, 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 prologue 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 Answers"). 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 succeed 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 distinctions 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 demonstrate 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 misleading sentence in the entire novel, implying that the separate, excerptible 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 criticism 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 characteristics 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 frequent 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 nurnbcr2:
1.2-20 1.26
Aristomencs' talc ofSocratcs
Lucius's account ofhimself
2. Jl-15
Milo's ta]c ofDiophanc<;:
2.21-30 4.9-21 4.26-27
Thdyphron's tale ofThelyphron
4.28-6 ..24 7.5-R 8.1-14 8.22 9.5-7 9.14-31
9.35-38 10.2-12
10.23-28
robbers' taJc~ young woman·s account ofhcr kidnaping old woman's fairy talc new recruit's talc of himself scrvam·s ta1c ofCharitc
a memorable crime a delightful talc of a poor person's :adultery a surp.1ssingly good talc servant's talc of rich man·s three sons a wicked maneuver, a wanton misdeed 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 )ourruzl 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 Thcssalythc hiJis and valleys. the difficult roads. the scenery. Suddenly the calm is interrupted by a loud laugh and a command. "I was just adding 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 discussion, 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 Milesian 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 con3. 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 command 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 attention to it. The same sentence thus has two meanings. both of which we immediately understand together: in relation to the character (actor) 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 understood to mean "go .. -cvcn "go with interest and attention." The cynic's injunction does not prevent the beginning of the storyt it underlines 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 [curiosus ], 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 emblemizing 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 mriosu.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: self5. 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 everything 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 become a tr:msparcm image of a later stage ofLucius's progress and consciousness. 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 unbounded ambition in ferreting out all unknown things. Dut on first reading, the sentence contains only a very low-key allusion to the common interest in avoiding boredom rather than to that thematic curiosity 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 illustrated. of such inquiry.
6. 201-4.
M. Albrecht, .\lt·ister rJ,niul1~r !'rosa
at~1
Care• bis Al'ultius (Heidelberg, 1971 ):
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 experience. 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 incredible but personally attested throat capacities of the sword swallower. If I relied on my own limited experience and capacities, argues thenarrator, 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 structure 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 entertainment to a religious vision. 7. H.
mininw mim1s imrrii (1.4). Jiun·s Jei rm~dici bat:ul(l, quod nmmlis srmiamJiufafiJ
gcncrosum
lubritis amp{l'xibus inlrar.Tt'rc ( 1.4 ~
ll(ldMIIIPJ
gen't, supmll!m
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 plausibly be read in an antireHgious way~as if to say, the gullible and credulous will see salvation under every rock, a god in every serpentine 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> explaining 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 represents 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 truchas occurred in the sword-swallowing scene. where the narrator reports 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 conventionally 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 attitude 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 premonition of some ultimate surge of supernatural belief, but as a wellknown and often-practiced convention of ordinary discourse (illustrated 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 impatient with a narrative that both demands and refuses to be taken seriously, can now agrcc-"Stop this incredible lying!" (ii) The narrator's self-characterization as thirsty for unlimited knowledge but not curious: 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 thenarrator. (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 firstreader, ''This talc is strange but true'' means .. You are hereby granted liberty to indulge in an incredible fiction for its own sake: your normal duty to evaluate and criticize accounts is temporarily suspended!' The second-reader. howL·ver, is in a position to conven their parodyarguments 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 surface structures; there are a)so more subtle and dt·vious features of the first narrating scene, which to the first-reader must seem merely capricious-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 awkwardnt•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 fatuousness. for at any moment the author may display a king's-X. suspcnding 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 narrator. 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 Lucius. 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 listen, 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 polarization between active narratec and passive narrator can only emerge on second reading. To the first-reader it seems. if it makes any impression 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 being 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 nothing to be impossible, and howsoever tht• fates have decreed, so all things turn out for mortals: for me, for you. for all people many marvelous 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 travelers 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 irrationality amidst the semblance of order. For that last sentence is not only a superb example of logical bathos (a fall-almost a pratfallfrom the serious point about audience beliefs1 but couches the argument 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 gingerly ask, Is there a pattern lurking behind the siUy irruptions of un-
reason? Why this orderly pairing of rational and irrational-of serious 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 almost 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 thenarrative, 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 rereadcrs we have what is virtually a higher order of consciousness about what this narrative means, so that the chattering of these twolegged 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 identical 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 ofinvcrsion, mirroring, and transformation.
LUCJUS'S ACCOUNT OF LUCIUS (1.26) As Book 1 began with a long cxcmplum of narration-inframe 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 afterdinner activities. The fullness of good food and good wine and good stories arc often associated, as if to say that the ideally satisfied audience 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 baffling 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 common 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 degree 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 banquct."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. because 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. 1R.
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" (coucirmatidam, 2.11) spread of food, and not a zero-narrath·e but an immensely clever articu1ation ofboxcd audiences watching audiences, each reinterpreting 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 murdera 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, unnoticed 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 audience 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 audience 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~.
repeating now for Lucius what he then witnessed. Diophanes' rale then. with no change of words, has utterly different meanings and effects on three audiences: {i) tragedy, (ii) proof of trickery. (iii) farce. Both (i) and (ii) arc about Diophanes; he is tragedian 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 experience that Lucius relied on for his belief was a sham. Strictly speaking, 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 metaphysical 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 excdJent 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 appropriate 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 happiness to come, which is far different from a pessimistic view of a cruel, unhappy~ or improvident universe. There may indeed be happiness 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.
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 connections 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 fundamental than that fictional framework is the one we must return to-
that Pamphilc's knowledge and power are real, and hence that something like or equivalent to the claims of Diophanes' knowledge are true. The special pleasure of the AA is the way that asscnions and denials 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 retrospect: we have been warned that she is always on the lookout for handsome 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 violating a warning that was laid down carHer as l"ffective ("Quiet, quid, ... don't encroach on a divine woman, Jest you suffer for your unmodc: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 adventures 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 impatiently to escape. The analytic reader may enjoy dissecting the themes in this narrative 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 reaction 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 denominator from which we might begin to extrapolate: a theory of 24.
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 cannot 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 activity, 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 dramatized in the relations of the ass, Charitc, the old woman, and Tlcpolcmus, 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 interpreter 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 ironically 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 translated 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 inevitably 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 handbooks 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, however, 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 intertwined 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 distracted 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 displeased 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 maiden'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 vituperates 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 i/i,t IJrlcJliou mihi rtiam /Q(rim~s t'X(u~sil (4.24). 29. l1at.
For the ass has misinterpreted the new recruir's story .:md com-
pounds that mistake by misjudging Charite, who has herself correedy 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 Tlcpolcmus's talc-without a single word changed-means two quite different 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 reactionperforming 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 recruit 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 revulsion, 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
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.."'lgeance 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 outrageous 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 episode and the second-reader. When the first-reader becomes a secondreader, 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 puzzJement. The gap between these two experiences makes the secondlrui Jlrt"tio dis,ralli pcJltritliJiis atl.ztula. n11m et ips~ quosd11m lenottes prid~m 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 householders: heroes arul villains arc reversed. 32.
ttl'( mim
cognilos ll~tiN:O.
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 reread 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) amorous 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 order 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~ Because we fundamentally understand his words as those of a taleteJier (a tutor) we inevitably miss the meaning they have as spoken by a character 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 character 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 autobiography 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 eleJ4. tis (7.5).
P14'C lilt'
JUIIttiS
f."j!("IUUII
ud
abit'(IIIIU U!'ll!'
dt• pam111Jis istis
lllHIIIC'S lllf."aS a('Stimf."•
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. Parallel 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 rcreaders, noticing everything more acutely and cart>fully suspending judgment, should be directed instead at the old woman, at her comments 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 asymmetric 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 mutual 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 entertained 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 narratives were: joined to show opposite ends of a spectrum, so that whatever 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 repeated 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 outcomes. 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 IIOIIIIIImquam prorumlialll. drniqHt"firrt" 1111pui.JJ'l: rt ""'"'''mquam iHg11lc1ri /u(ttiSUttJ pnlSpt·
t''
nunqul? pnmc•trrummmrianr, fontm ndrn•t"t mtlliti.s Juld~.,lis lit"lltn'm sa.(innn.•s•d in '"'luptaltm
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 moment when they shift roles-narrator becomes audience, audience becomes narrator. The old woman moves directly from the interpretive 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 introductory 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 announced 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 entertaining and persuasivefabula; the old woman begins the centra] talc. introducing it in just the same fashion as d(c/asst but nonetheless delightful 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" HisMria 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 litcrary trivia.'' 38 This quote is from a letter to the Roman senate purportedly written by the emperor Severus, but the exactness of the literary allusion suggests that it is a document not from the late second 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 activities 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 determines 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 reject 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-') ant.i thcrcli:m: auynJ.Tr:ttiuns ot hc:r:s .lrt" anilibuJ_Iabr~lis, :m uld woman·~ tJkli.
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 housekeeper 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 housekeeper'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:mctification 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 prominent 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 moment of the old woman's story is Psyche's nadir of despair when she loses her lover and contemplates suicide. This situation closely corresponds 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 conclusion is that the young woman's story may have as happy an omcome 42.
(11.5).
sarml••mm pr..,gl'llic.s iuitialis,
SUIIIIHd
ttwninwn,
rrgit~a m.mil~m.
prillld
t"atlilum
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 entirely those of the bandit gang, or to read her story of Psyche as anything 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 intcl1igencc 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 Apuleius ''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 contract the method. To pursue the investigation more vigorously and 1. others:
The opinion is B. E. Perry's; th~: phrase is C. C. Schlam's. reviewing 1\-rr)' and World64(1970-7l): 293.
Cl~tssical
57
SK
TRUTH
single-mindedly. however, runs an enormous risk: a ruthless thirddegree 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 decisions 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 classic detection novel there is a solution given at the end that reitrterprtts the earlier events as having a significance quite different from what superficially appeared. Since the last chapter has displayed how high a proportion ofherml'11curic entertainment the AA contains. it makes a certain 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 specialized 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 inevitable. 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 {Oxford. 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: 1214); 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 nineteenthand 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' considerations that indicate that there' is a prima facie case for the similarity ofthe AA to modem detection stories: (i) The AA wasjudgcd by some in its day to be a high-class rhl"torkian·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 cdebratcd modcn1 mystery novcJs that have deceived readers by violating 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 detective 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 academics and intellectuals-both as readers and as writers. To mention only thccmincnt:J.I. M. St~wart ("Michael Jnncs"~ C. Day Lewis ("Nicholas Blake.. ), and Dorothy Sayers ("Dorothy Sayers.. ). Even mort• pertinent 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 natural locus for the seriocomic posing of fundamental issues about litera[Ure itself. (v) Readers have spoken of detection stories' special qualities in regard to time and memory: they are a concentrated exercise in immediate 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 forgettable 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 disappointment. 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 asint, i11~n1 tt'nllitws pistrini c
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 predominates, 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 inconsistencies. Note that the scrupulous reader docs not cal1 upon his own suppositions or deductions about what must have happened but simply uses the narrator's own words-"as you say," ut adfirmas. Scrupulosity in reading requires therefore no imagination, no positive contribution 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 supplements, 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 Febmary?-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 audience 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 cooperative. 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 ultimately significant incongruitks. Scrupulous reading by the general public is a relatively modem rcality9 -ncw, at least, in the conccnH. "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 singleminded 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 information. 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 chapter 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, Feb. 1842, which quotes his earlier notice) brilliantly analyzes the confusion Dickens caused by simultaneously developing clc\·er enigmas 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:
s
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 Apulcius-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, BIOa1~11; 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 stranger 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 elucidation." 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 grammatical 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, relationship. 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 irreJcvant 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 adopting 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 moment 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 somerimes. 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 evidential 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 perception even as an ass by the way they first entered and by their extended 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 husband."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}: 42225) 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 acceptable, 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 accountability for the exact epistemological status of his information means that the question "How could you have known that?" (9.30) is shimmcringly present throughout. 14 The rationale for the prominence of the distinction between "'What happened?" and .. How do you know what happened? .. is illuminated 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 deducible though in fact few readers succeed in finding it. The story is unsuccessful if the solution is reached by sheer guesswork or by accident. 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 subordinate, .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, requiring an unobvious murderer or method. The detection consciousness, were it present in Barnaby Rudgt1 would know at once that the unrecognizable 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 governed by the law of the least likely ending-rather as in Dorothy Sayers' 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 speak16. "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 scrupulous 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. men~
tales. The baker's death is a locked-room mystery. A dark stranger goes into the baker's room with him and closes Dead
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 supernatura] awe arc carefully explained away in modern locked-room mysteries, such as John Dickson Carr's Tile Three Coffins, the opposite 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 summoned 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 rticular 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).
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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 appeared to her, his neck still in a noose, ~·and he revealed the stepmother'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 supposed 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 summon the soul ofthe recently deceased man back to his body for a short time. The reluctant corpse sits 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
up
llfJ
20. dqm· '"'"m noa'l."rcar sffla~ apcn•it dr adalltrri"' dr mdau11 lara1o1A .,J i ..ifrros d••meassc•l (9. 31 ).
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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 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 •j
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 emaciated. 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 psychological 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 moment 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.
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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 narratives.'' An important advance in modem narra[O)ogy is Gerard Genette'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 identical 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 heterodiegetic narrator purveys fictions: h~ or she is a storyteller, not areponcr 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 244245 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.
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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 Odysst•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.~ account 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 thenarrative 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 purpost: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 anecdotal or storyhkc qualities, that is rdaycd to him by a character and dtt~u by him ro us. So understood, cxtradicgcsis becomes a very powerful 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 bystanders, 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 immediate 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 communication, narrator to narrator. that brought the information to the 27.
Geneue.
SrJmlilt' Oim~uru
(nut\: 25): 227-31.
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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 immediate perception. or before your coming onto the scene?" becomes inevitable. Figun·t
llMitc)d ie"grs is
lu•/trQd ifg,·sis
(.. 1 will tell you what happened.")
(.. I will tell you
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 stating facts reported to him by another. But the most interesting instan<.·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 receivedThe is!;Ul~ of the truth uf such !!.lib-narrative!> ~olllc!l up almo~l alHOm;.uic.llly 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 ). :!H.
~nd
76
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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 interrogation 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 heterodiegetic arrszvt'rs. The entire narrative keeps gravitating toward the explicitly 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 triumphant criminal to triumphant detective, is the intervention of a scrupulous 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 heterodicgcsis 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.
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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 administered 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 condemned. 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 insecuritysweating, shuffling his feet, touching parts ofhis head. mumblingthat 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 rational cri5i5 by a :;tunning revelation. The physician again intervenes:
"']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 ofjudgmcnt 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 endured 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 hundred gold pieces, .. as a reward for that timely sleep'' (10.12). The father has regained two sons whom he thought he had lost-"an ending 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 tragedy 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 ofoh32. 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.
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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 observation 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·utum). 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 acconntabihty for a text that is true, or at least truthful in appearance, because it is internally consistent. In f.1ct, however, the narrator·s disclaimer of the right to quote the speeches verbatim is violated-pre34. An ancient Gl5C ofserendipity: when llippokr.atcs once came to visit Dcmokrilos, 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
wmpc•ri, otd istQSiillr'raJ pr.!]i.•rum (10.7~
liM, t]U
c•mmtiart', srd quat plane
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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 assnarrator begins to quote exactly what the physician said in all its rhetorical detail. "At that moment a mcm her of the jury arose, a physician 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 committed 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 ofevidential 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 judgment."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 sequence." 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 husband in two different ways (5.8, 15~ rrappcd by her sisters into inconsistcntlyjng. 38.
luJificato nostro iudicio (10.11 ~
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defined solely in terms of that odd, mod(.'m professional, the detective), "provide revealing tests of narrative logic and art:' 39 It is convenient, 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 stories without an investigator. We may almost say. without an ;,vcstigatiotr, insofar as the reader and usually one character are merely allorl't'tf to discover the solution simply by following the interplay of conflicting versions of the truth and the eventual endorsement of one as correct. 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 detective 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 "fantastic." so finely analyzed by Todorov. 41 In a fantastic narrative the rcadl!r, and sometimes a character as well, hesitate between two different 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$.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 by F. D. McSherry. Jr.• "'The Janus Resolution,'" in Tl1r Mystery Writrrs ,"\rt, cd. F. M. Nevins (Dowling Grcen, Ohio, 1970): 263-71. surve~d
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Jaws, or the event is. though uncanny and starding, explicable by the familiar laws of the natural world;42 Like the detection story. the fantastic 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 radically 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 accepting 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 accepted belief (Socrates is dead) and reality (Socrates is alive) is expressed 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 apparition 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.
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Mcroc is a witch. one who exacts terrible v~ngcancc from her unfaithful 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 described 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 stablekeeper 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
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throttle your fellow traveler, who lodged with you last night, and now you're seeking safety in flight?" (1.15~ Confronted with the accidental 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 usanyway his enormous clamor shocked me out of a profoundly lethargic sleep."' 44 The moment is brilliantly confusing: Aristomcncs comes dose to death himself, rolls around with a corpse, and when the janitorprosecutor 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 awaken44. !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).
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ing. 1.17-18). These contradictor)' answers generate the second uncertainty-What happened during the night? The inquiry about this uncertainty must be postponed whHe a third party is present, so Aristomcncs 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 hypothesis that the witches' intrusion was imaginary. But the sigh of relief 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 Aristomcncs' talc it is. as so often, a stage on the way to a definition of 45.
rcaHty. The fantastic suspension between two modes of reality vanishes when the narrative concludes in favor of the supernatural. The
reality Aristomencs experienced seemed dreamlike because it was determined 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. Deciding 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 concludes 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: Aristomcnes 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 cultivated 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 hypnotit-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 anoth.:r onl' from chis world" (J. L. Borges, .. Chesterton and the Labyrimlt.. of the Dctccuvc Story," in lJorgt"S.' A Rt·Jdt>r, ed. E. R. Moneg:tl and A. Reid I~"·w York. ICJISll: 72-73).
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.. 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 narrative 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. Bontemps.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 murd~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 meaning 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. 50.
M. Hc.:~d, Murdcrartllt-Pit+ll Clul,(Ncw York, 1955~ Directed by F. F. Coppol:l (~umount Pictures, 1974).
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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 destroyed by Caesar's soldiers in response to the appeal of a valiant wom;m, Platina. (iii) In escaping from their dragnet, he assumed another 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 successful 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) Entering 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 appears ''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 simply been to inveigle himself into a position of confidence with the robbers. and in that position (iv) he first stopped their plans to murder her (v) and then supervised their drinking until they passed out 51 .
sit rrform~lus (7. 9).
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(vi). The entire sequence of statements and actions has to be reevaluated 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 surprising ways is in line with the major rcidcntifications: farm boyfamous 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 reidentification, 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 beginning. Qack Lindsay's "Tale of the Old Woman" is properly circumspect.) 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 Narrator 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).
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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 husband?" 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 knowledge as he watches characters who do not know the outcome grapple with the problem_ Even a knowledge::able reader goes through the motions 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 question-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 inevitable in such a story, but before a Prince Charming can present himsdf. 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 estate 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. 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! .
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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 hasten 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 guaranteeing that we cannot evade the contrast between what Venus ordained (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 wonder that the blow has not fallen. What actually happens to Psyche is in accord neither with Venus's command nor with the oracle. The postponement 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 appearance, 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 Sapent. Loving God. Two avowedly false images arc added to this sc-
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rics-Psyche·s lies about a handsome young hunter and a middleaged 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 Milesian'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 relations 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 himself 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 celestial 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. 56. (4.32).
tX1!rdio stmumis huiu$ qrfam tciHtc.)lt~rrsfallatia$ atlltX
Gme(us et /oni(lu, propttr Miltsitu• (4mditcmrt sit La.ti1ut sorre trSJX"ulil
THESCRUPULOUSREADER
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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 husband 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 detection ofinaccuracics to the cva]uation of competing orders of explanation to the reidentjfication of a centra] character. Each of these detection 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 constructed 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 adventure. which we have so far lt!ft entirely to one side. A look at the hard-
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TRUTH
boiJcd side of 'tee thrillers will not only add perspective to our onesidt>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 ratiocinative tal~. viz., the talc of pure sensation. The opposition between the two major strains of the modern dctt·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 handwrought duelling pistols, curare, and tropical fi.sh." 60 If few academics 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· Quixote.. ("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 blossoms 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 extreme case of tough-guy detective. The next sentence in Apulcius veers back away from pure sensationalism with a Jitcrary reference to Mclcagcr 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 Cawelti, 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 directed 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 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 artislitllt", 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• degnmatus 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 (11.
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 recurrent 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 commitment 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, sensationalism 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 copresent opposite of the ratiocinative investigation. It is the combinarjon 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 epistemological exercises in correctly identifying the roles played in a story. The exercise is occasioned by act of vjolence that brings an end to whatever story there might have been.
an
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 "blocking 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 traditional 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~ hardboiled 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 narrators 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 contrast that is already implicit in any narrating. The anesthl"tized inspection 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 unmediatcd 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
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 thenarrating and 1hc distance between the story and the narrative. Apuleius's cultivation of antithetical narrative stances, the dctcctional 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 signification 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; therefore Lucius's reJigious life-history had to lead up to the sort of conclusion that would seem surprising beforehand but detectable in rctrospecr. 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 arrang~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 representation 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 participants 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 responsibility (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 distinction we will look at in Chapter 6) for the text they produce has already
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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 accompanied 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 interpretation 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 "confidence 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~
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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 tantalizing piece of information from any part of the talc: "I quite agree-in regard to Griffin's ghost, or whatc\'er it wasthat its appearing ti.rst to the little boy. at so tender .an .age, adds a particular 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 exhibits a very exact and carefully wcigh~d formula of allowab]e foreknowledge and necessary ignorance. lt is, on the one hand, a deathand-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
curs betwcc:n the crime and the pcripcty-cvery question asked or footprint photographed-serves in some fashion to gcncrJtc suspense. But it is equally demanded that the reader be kept in unfath2.
''The Turn of the Screw," in T/1t' C...omplett' Talts
(London, 1964) 10: 15.
3. ·l.
Ibid.: 16. Ibid.
L!f Horry }1!111N, cd.
L. Edd
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omablc ignorance about the nature of the solution until Jt JS announced, 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 judgment 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 ethics of a certain kind of lie-and its authors have formulated decaJogues (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 solution. "The stcret [must J be wdl kept." This is an intensification of the requirement on aU narrative involving any degree of surprise or suspense. It begins to appear, then, that detection stories arc a refined form of one of the essential dimensions of fiction itself, viz .• thenarrator"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 information, the detective story expresses that aspect of fiction for5. Next to them other jurists' rules an: sc:cn to com;~ in a pc3t de~ I th;~t is phari("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 s:~ic
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 onefirst that of the crime, then that of the detective who deciphers the crime-both clements of which arc based on concealment: the criminal 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 rcidentification of the detective with the criminal both exposes the criminal's idemity (anagnorisis) and re\·erses the direction of the criminal's attack on the rest of society (pcripcty). As Butor argues in Passiug Timr, the explanation itself is a kind of second murder. By telling what really happened the detective not only brings about a recognition (anagnorisis), 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 detective 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 information is dispensed to the audience, is that point at which the audience's "To the best of my ability llm going to r("(.'nact whlt happened y~sterday !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 questions" (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 6.
hctWl"'L"II fiv.: fiuty-thrce and
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 narratee could now become narrator to another, for the narratee has become 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 examining 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 cxpiation"?8 Certainly he has written a story in which criminal guilt and its congeners are repeatedly located in odd places and viewed from unexpected 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 previous 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. 9.
T. S. Eliot, Tl1t Family Rt"1mi0r1 (London, JIJ39): 101. 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 appears, 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 ofhomicidc against the wayfarer. The only witness is a silent one: ••tfonly the ass himself ... could speak with a human voice and could bear witness 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 punishment.11 She comes to avenge her son not by taking out her grief on an innocent animal, but by administering just punishment to a welldefined type of criminal behavior. Even if the murder had been committed 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 citizens' 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 imJomlliat 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 suggests his guilt; to the robbers a mere coincidence; to Lucius and ourscJvcs 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 "someone 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 . .... ''l4 w1c
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 features 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. Neither 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 Fortuna 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. worlddenying 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~ philosophizing 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 interdependent 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 investigators. 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 investigators 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 momentum 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, insatiab]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 important 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 behavior in which it it unthinkable that he, modest and chaste, could have any part) is his radical passivity in the face of Fortuna. The codependence 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, beyond 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 conveys 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 finding 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 devouring 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 religious 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 reproach and accuse himsdfin a loud-shouted prophecy. a made-up lie. as if he had committed s01nt· dl·~d against th~ propriety of holy religion, and morco\"cr he demanded that he himself impose the just pt>nancc tor his noxious misdeed on h imsd f with his own hilnds.l9 17.
dt•prardab.3t11Ur (M.29).
fictac llaticirMtit'ltlis mrtrdfJcio (H.29). 19. ·ima l1ac•t 1111115 c'X illis l~n"J, s~·J Jd,iJrs rj"/ici lUI <~rgrMi. SJ'c'
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) activities 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 responsibility 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 narrators who are deeply involved in a way that was hiddcn at the bt>ginning. 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, dismemberment 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, 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
t'f
THECONTRACT
111
Is this a pr:mk? Under wh:lt circumstances docs a report of graverobbing and witches' ambushes provoke hc:lpless laughter? Apparently when, as Byrrhena immediately defines the situation. it is afabula: "With your usual urbanity, repace that tale of yours so that my son Lucius here too may enjoy the affability of your neat confabulation."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 conformation 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 Thclyphron. His narrativl' pt'rsona is established as that of a displaced person (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 obvious 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 unmist;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 detcc21. 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 anonymously (" Oh. yes. and I almost ]eft out one thing: "). 13 EquaUy incredible 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 indistinguishable 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 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).
q11id~m
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 pommc1ed by servants as a kind of mythological dismcmbcrmcnt27 with no inkling of regret for what happened the night before? For the second-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 moment 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 concealed intelligence in the narrative surely points beyond psychology to something like an intersection of impersonal taleteller and narrating 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 center of the story. The missing cVl·nrs cannot be supplied by Thelyphron the observer; they are supplied instead by Thelyphron the dead husband. The corpse who seemed to be the passive subject of thenarrator'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. 27.
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) allows 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 confrontation 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 ofThelyphron, 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 autobiography. The confrontation of teller and told is worked out in the language and imagery so minutely as to justify even so hyperbolic a description 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 ofThelyphron'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 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 dismemberment 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 Thelyphron 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 multip1icity 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 masculinize 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 "masculine auimus,1' 6.5.) Also determined by the narr:nological awareness behind this talc arc the words inattimis (Thelyphron's selfdescription 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. 34.
1111 imum ltltlllll
permula•b.ml (2. 25 ).
35.
atrimum mwm co•muuculo (2.23).
n:{.lllftU dtrirmmr {2.27).
116
TRUTH
trees, they arc warned by a passing shepherd that the place is dangerous: .. 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 trying 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 specifically 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 previous chapter {pp. 82-86~ He begins as an innocent traveler, then becomes imulvcd with a dangerous adventure, helping his friend Socrates to escape from a witch. The witch and her sister reserve a special punishment 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 irmocence 1 can cite in this trial." 39 A resurgence of imagined guilt occurs later, on the road, when Socrates looks deathly pale: "Who could believe that of two travelers om.· died wirhout the other's injury?'. 40 After 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 responsibility 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. 42. i~hmc:nt
qJitJsi amscilli milti c11t'dii lmmauar {l.JCJ). Mcroi.' had forgiven the citizens in brcnc:ral bm singled out the: aua1.1r fiu pun-
( 1.10).
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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 qualities 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 implicates 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. 3032). 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 reascend upward"). 4 3 Exactly as with Lucius's crisis of choking, no outcome 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 because 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 recognizable prank," ··as an infraction of the rules so humorous and so unconcealed 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 selfmirroring facet. The entire project of detecting corrcspondcnccs-bctwcen Lucius and Socrates. between Charite and Psyche, between Psyche and Lucius, 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 clumsiness 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. 1
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~
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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 adequacy 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 another asymmetry of value in the AA. The prices of goods and services reported in the novel arc preposterously inflated-with one exception. 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. alternate unpredictably. An apt name for this Exchange is Fomm Cupidinis, "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 asymmetry makes some sense is that of popular narrative as a much44. 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: necromancy (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 Dcmosthenes remounted the platform and said, 'So you \Vant to hear, gcm1emcn, 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 pleasures of narrative, but reading the AA is peru tinged with gui1t. If for Apu]cius's audience listening to tales always implies some fcdings 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 moneymaking 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 audi45. 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.
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TRUTH
cnces about the nature and value of the tales they listen to and the presence 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 difference 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 speaking?" (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 demonstrated 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 reported 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 characteristics 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 conjoining (which I haw called imbalanced pairs or ~symml·tric syzygies) of hermeneutic aJternatives; these have responded to thoughtful analysis in such a way that they seem to be designed rather than fortuitous~ (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
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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 contrasrjng intelligibility of the entire novel to first- and second-readers, which gives to each scene a stereoscopic quality of unresolved differences 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 effect 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 argument 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 having 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 committed 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 authoritative endorsement oflsis? l.
'"IApulcius'sl message, what we must call his philosophic vision. is all the 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~
srrong~r ~cause t~re
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 sensitive 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 toward 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"Iigii.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, concerning 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 totlowing 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.ilorllramcrtr) 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).
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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 questions 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 ignorance that Plato describes, there is the profound recognition of the priority 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 emblem for this elusive phi]osophical gambit-a Platonic dialogue between author and reader rather than among characters in the script1select 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 philosophy, 6 but rather to describe the concrete and unique (in)coherence of an imentionally sophomoric text and to do so in terms that, though they undoubtedly have a different weight for us than they
H.-G. G:adamcr. Tmrlr ~nd Mt'tl1od (N~"W York, 1975): 326. 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~ S. 6.
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 wisdom 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 eccentric 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 experiences 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 evaluations 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 temptation, !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 Madaura 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 extensive elaboration of narrative paradoxes in Books 1-10. One must admit 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 categories-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 retransformcd 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 discussionthough 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 become 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 suddenly become unfamiliar, a new person with a different understanding 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 diagramed as in Figure 2. Figure 2
UEADER} &
Lucms-llucius's liti-1 -Lucius's lite ...
lucius
...,L..,"'
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 anthology 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\·enturcs. "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-
,,.q
10. uam t'l ipse g~tds .~mtiaJ a~itrLJ 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 assume) 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 presenting 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, augus111111 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 Lucius'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 reinterpretation) of the point of his experiences and, by implication, of the point of his having narrated them to us. (ii) The reader, remembering certain oddities and curious patterns of Books 1-10, can (cmjecwre 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 diagram 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 authorization 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 integrations tor the reader who decides to find one. That integration. however, 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 dismissal 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 religious 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 certain 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 obviously 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 without 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-'cntionaUy 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 parents' names are Theseus and Salvia, and his mother's illustrious marriage, 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 Lucius 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.
3-40. 2.
A. R. Bc:llingt.·r. "Ludan's Dranwic Technique," \alt Classico~l SIUdfes 1 (1928):
"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 appc.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 himself (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~ Lucius 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 secondreaders 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 experience 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 rcidcntification of a character in Books 1-10 (narrator becoming the central actor) is overlooked. Parallel to the naturalistic method of introducing information about the ego as having a wdl-dtaractc:rittd identity is the much more important discovery that the ego is not only a storyteller 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 reader'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 images." If he is introducing not a novel but a story collectio,, the tentative sense of the phrase '4 We begin a Greeklikc talc" is not "I am starting 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 stories 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 paragraphs is essentially an daboration of ..Once on the road to Thcssaly I
138
CONSEQUENCES
heard the following story." This extended introduction does not demand 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 thenarrator 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 introduction 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 Lucius 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 experience of the first-reader groping to understand the form of the narrative 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, impetuosity). 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 instance, 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 simply 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 replaced but only overlaid by another form of discourse, the connected autobiography. As the reader progresses through the text two sets of characteristics 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 magical 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 happens 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 delight, 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 unresolvably 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' Aftlamclrpllom, .. 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 Apulcius'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 lessons 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 consciousness ofhis god. Each past episode is drawn into thl" present relationship 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 confession. 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.
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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 commenting 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 twiceread intelligibility. In both relations. Lucius now/Lucius then and Apulcius author/Lucius fictional narrator, the search for a single perspective 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 authoritative voice of the text makes no declaration about what the reader should choose. Apulcius neither affirms nor denies any of the perspectives-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 assassin: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 narrator 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 cudgel. 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 mctaphors:fommir~r ... jo14ra ... fem·stra) is made possible as a form of pretended 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 suppressing the narrator's present reality; it makes immediate sense as a technique of presenting (making present) the past as a forum of entertaining 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 plagarum mihi meJrtllaris imiJt'rrl dt~lor; COX 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~
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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 revile her. Before his transformat;on he speaks to her lovingly and tenderly (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 repeats 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 reversal from one to the other being an unpremeditated surprise. The first-reader requires no explanation for the many kinds of novdty~ reversal, and unprepared shock in the AA. Tht:y arc an immediately gratifying cognitive pleasure. But for the second-readert each withholding of information, in addition to still making s~:nsc as a narrator'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 singleminded 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 bearing on his own life (2.1; 3.1 ). Of course, since Lucius the actor did not
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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 environment 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 previous 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 misleading, 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 secondreader becomes aware that a dramatic stage-soliloquy is a teasing replica 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 independent comic structure (right eye) and the silhouette of a phi]osophical perspective (left eye) so that the text for the second-reader leaps alarmingly off the page like an illusion in a 3-D movie.
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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 Lucius's growing world-disillusionment, preparing him for a real conversion 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 performance, often savoring a wishful thought to inflict death on myself before 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 development in him of a new mora] rectitude and his readiness at Jast to receive 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 1ascivious description of the Venus ballet: " ... Venus, as Venus was when yet a virgin. announcing the paradigm of perfect beauty by displaying 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
THE DUilLJC IT[ES OF:\( JCTOR I ACTOR
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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 contagion 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 coming 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 unrevca1ed) lsiac consciousness? 13 12.
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
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No. For the authority of Mithras's pontification about Lucius's life has the effect of directing the rereader's attention to Fonuna-statemcnts in a way that falsifies (rather than completes) what they originally meant. There are two falsifications: (i) that the narrator's Fortuna-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 understands 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 reflective 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 supplemt"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. 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 !
,et,.
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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, representing 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 falsifying 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 contrast 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 secondreader 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 accountability has been discussed in Chapter 3 (pp. 66-70). Here I refer to some examples dtat specifically refer to the asininity of the narrator: •• For as the conversation progressed a little more clearly, despising 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 .. ) connectors 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 ~
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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 allusions to the fictional nature of the narrative. The most outrageous and also the most accurately contrived reference 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 deformity-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 verification 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 adulterous 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 nature of the text might perhaps be "philosophizing ass" (pllilosophautem 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 lan19. 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 idat 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 familian: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~
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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 transferred 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 Lucius•'16 (also at 3.23, 29; 7.2; 9.13; 11.2). Each ofthese phrases implies "I was not Lucius;' which for the secondreader becomes a teasing reference to the ultimate1y unfixed and un]ocatable 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 appearance 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~
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 Lucius'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 bystander, 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
subiM Jfllar (OIIUrtutalicmt' risurr• toto iclflll C{111111fOilffllm (9.12).
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Subita s,•aae (()mmuMtitl is about as close as this text ever comes to describing what happens in Book 11-a sudden reallegiancc of beliefs, a surprising abandonment of old commitments in favor ofa new sect. But the context is debased. the content of the convt:rsion is ridiculous, and the audience quite appropriately guffaws. Each of these religious phrases is inserted into a secular scene that contains no possibility 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 another hint at the fundamental theme of the AA-non-authorization, particularly of religious notions.
FROM AUCTOR-NARRATOR TO AUCTORNOVELIST, 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 auctor (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 intelligible sy.stem of interplay, characterizing the book itself as a sophomoric text. while for the second-reader the same facetious, boundaryviolating 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
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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 between 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 message 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 particular 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 responsible 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 coherence 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 Satyrika 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 author. 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 always 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 examples 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, authoritative 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 prestige 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 buffoon-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 secondcentury 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 conrem, 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 author 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' fashion 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 condescension of the polished and learned: "These trees, elaborately foliated 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 uncountrified name ·rose laurels,' which are a lethal food for any beast." 39 His approach to Hypata. just after the close of Aristomenes' tale (an important 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 ~ Lucius 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: "] applauded Photis's witty remark and answered her \Vith an equal sophistry: •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 mythological exempta for sordid events would in itself remind the reader of the gap between high culture and low, but the narrator makes it explicit by calling it a joke (cauillatus) or by interpreting the king's behavior 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
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 experience 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 incredible, 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 vertisemcnt 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 inadvcrtcnt1y 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 locution 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 developed 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 simple, 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 narrative is leading, the prophecy becomes a problem. For the secondreader 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-mirroring 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 upper-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 "truthful' for' vor;u:ious' in oru~ of my rcpuns un the ground that the: client miglu not understand 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 becomes 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 character 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 himself" (75). This blend of intellectual rigor (skepticism. insistence on autopsy) with less-than-childish naivete is characteristic of scltolasticus: "One night the professor climbed into bed with his grandmother. 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 fatuousness: "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 (Munich, 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 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 professor 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 keeping 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 drowsily 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
rm
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 professor, '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 helmets 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 jumping 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 foolish 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 maneuver 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 ccnSJ. 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 Dcmokritos, and almost aU the information aboUl him is hismrically unreli:ablc (though culmrally 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 irreconcilable conflict between thoughtfulness and folly, such as Vdldus Patercu)us 1.13.4: "Mummius was so ignorant (mdis) that when Corinth 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 disesteem, 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). Galen'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
1669.55 and could bc late-r rhan Sut'({ltlius). At least onc is still being told: 201 = A. 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. Dund~.·s.
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 imitates 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 mobility 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 singled out for comparison and comment is Odysseus's attainment ofwjsdom
(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. 59.
dirum, IIW1tr
i""''" m·ro I'lixram pt"n'grillafi
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 conversion: the ass's painful Hfe has one consolation that refreshes and restores him~ free access to a variety of people whose secret lives are open to him. (ii) The legendary exemplar for the exchange of suffC.'ring 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) specifically 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 culmiJ13ting 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 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 comment; 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 pmdrutem-is to be won from the text in hand? Like other such assertions implied in the narrator's performance, this is neither true nor false. Nor is it just playful1y ironic. as if the concea1ed (cclatus) narrator simply meant the opposite of what he says. Rather it is one dement in a larger system of playful allusions to the A A's unity I disunity. 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 theactor 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 follows. The entire story of Actaeon can be read from that single moment. 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 curious, 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 Lucius with witches and hounds, and in its noble figure of Diana prefigures the divine woman who will appear at the end. Byrrhcna remarks, "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 Lucius'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 disunity. 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' importperhaps no more lhan an uncontrolled expansion of two narrati\'C: tormulas: "My as.ssha 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 reflection 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 behind 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 supplements 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 searching 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 goddess. 66 If we think of the stone Actaeon on top of the cave. his gaze is (1-J.
(2.4 ). 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 Nymphes' 3 Volubilis (Maroc~" in I. Con,r;:reso drquco/,l~ico del Marn1rcos rspt~iiol (Te-ru:m, 1954): 345-57.
CllTt:rl!
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 watching 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 prolonged 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 prevent 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 mindlessness, I continued to watch what was happening. as it were, in my sleep.''68 The stupefying discovery that he is not a half-guilty murderer 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 until ... '' 69 The combination of extreme mental states and motionlessness 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 3.1012. The grief Lucius feels at being the scapegoat of the Laughter festival 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 gracious to his agent and author [auctMrttl et < ac > torrm }, and will lovingly accompany you everywhere; nor will he ever allow your grief to be hcartfcltt but will continuously make your face shine with the happiness 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 lolumrzis. 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.
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 commonly shared climax and pcripcty of the plot. The ltisus festival is on the one hand a well-shaped anecdote that reaches a ceremonious conclusion in the magistrates' offer of a civic statue, a statue about which that same story will continually be told to explain its meaning for Hypata 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 climax and the end, dissipates and alienates for us that moment ofccJebration. 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 explanations in terms of two persons named Lucius. It is not only the character of the text to swing back and forth between coherence and inconsequence but also to employ a set of images to capture that contradiction. The statue represents a fixed narrative unity (Actacon•s story. the Risus-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; Actaeon'S statue tells the story of his own dismem berm em and loss of self. The contrast of dismemberment and bodily integrity may be regarded 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 (Pamphile's workshop, 3.17) to make other bodies move according to their will. the fascination with hair and lack of hair, the threats of castration 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 prolegomenon to more detailed development. The mention ofbodily integrity 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 generates ctJ rourt• playful mirages of incoherence {How and will all this tl.t tog<.·thcr?). But the alternating assertions and renunciations of responsibility 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 support 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 degrees of authority is being assumed for the material an author presents. and authors in one mode 111ay pretend to be oper
mined by his source is acted out in the scenes that portray sexual activity. The phallos, the erect penis, is a conventional symbol of patriarchal 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 (Aristophanes 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 ointment 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 animal 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.' Helletriquc 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 phallos: 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 intercourse 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.
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 intersect when Photis enters Lucius's room after the Risus festival and offers 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 happened. 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 ofLucius'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 wineskins. 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 contradictory assertions that someone is in control and that everythingjust flows through the passive channel of the author. 88 M6. (2.1H).
87.
l."~ft'
igirur 1-lltis rmt aJr1mda dtqm:
tmW ci11S
comilium 11dur auspici11m pttm.lum
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 Lltomus, 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 oftendcmcss and eternal commitment, then reviled as a wicked thing to be punished (seep. 144 above). Similar juxtapositions of desire and contempt occur in Book 10. The ass has intercourse with a wealthy and powerful matron, who again controls the scene. The ass finds her endearing. 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 dignified 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 outburst 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 desire arc coupled in a way that says something not only about the illusions 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 (Petroni 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 exploited 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 consolation 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 because 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 mysteries,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 characterized by its obsessive shifts along the axes of class, unity. and authority. For the first-reader Tlte Goldet1 Ass cmertains by shifling its frames of reference. That makes the novel inconsistent. but inconsistent 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 cxis90. 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 impossibility 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 alternatives, 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 description 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 valuerich, for they need to be evocative rather than flat, though the evocations themselves are of course bracketcd." 92 The Gtl/tletl Ass is an evocation 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 moment of dosure and beginning. the speaker's performance is interrupted by a question: quis illd ~ ··who is that? .. This forces the prologue 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 whisper-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 themse-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
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 fanciful 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, prosapia, aemmnabilr) indicate a learned writer. at home with the supramundane 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 situation 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 otThand 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 famous 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 observations 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 =
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 Ad.\ptro from A. Scobit<, l\pulrilb M~lomlorplzo)·rs-1: .-'\ Gmulll:'llt.l')', lkitr:i~ zur l}hilologie. no. 54 (M:i:senhcim .un Gl:m, 1'J75): 65. The hypothc~is is proposed by It Hdm, "Preface" to Ap111i·i Plat.Jnici M.ulmm.,Hi! HMid•t (lcipzi~. 1910): VIVII. 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. 3.
kh1s~i!;chr:n
184
CONSEQUENCES
Greek Metamorphosr.swiU later tum out to be quite important in analyzing the point of Apuleius's composition, but at this moment we must be very careful in assessing what Apuleius makes available to the firstand second-readers. The more interesting fact is that in the very process 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 appropriateness to the subject of the tales (changes of form and fortune~ but he does not say that the following tale is translated from Greek. Graecanicam 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 translator, 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 together") rather than production of the material. The jtcms assembled ("tales") arc the kind of cultural product that circulates anonymously. 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 translation 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 bearing on the full appreciation of the text: it might be studded with private 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, secondreader's eye on what it docs not say. The AA does not begin by resigning its authority to a preexisting text. The tirst prologue and the enlire 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 Apuleius 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 secondreaders) 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 prologue 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 Egyptian 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 contemptuously dismissed as an irre1evant flourish. Both sides speak from a true perception, but it requires a third observation to coordinate their partiality 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 embarrassed 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 similarity 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 variants 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 (BHimner), others write At-gyptitl to agree with argutia. The point is that the AA was originally written not to be a hcrmcticalJy scaled monument, to be admired only from a respectful distance, 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 exaggerated 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. characrcrlcss, 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 interpreters 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 reveals 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 responsibility rests with the consu1tant.
MUTUAL NEXUS As Chapter 4 has indicated, the various narrators and audiences 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 adjective '•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 arrangement, 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, common 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 Apu1cian 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 resurrect 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 transformations arc permanent and some allow return or restoration to the original state. Me roe's victims become animals with no hope of restoration (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 announced 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 husband"),14 to a Corinthian lady of quality (10.19-22), and to a condemned 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 ordinary 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 punishments 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 himsdf to .. belong•• to her. 17 II. 12. 1]. 14.
15. 16. 17.
er miJri c! ipsi dtllllitt" cct~a par ac similis (9.32). habtrrt itt mt' siltwl tLIPIIlil4.mt tt uc·c·tc~rrm (10.18). cum mc•ttfamulo lll('l'qllC urctM't illc1 tqu(J.fiutum umsrrrwm arqr1t (etrtirr~rm (7 .3)t1c1n SI'TWmt sc·,/marilum (R.26)OfChamc and Tlcpokmus, 4.26; 7.11; ofPhotis .and lucius. 2.17; 3.20. C',.~l rihi mlllua r~c~lunratt' mt~t~cipara sum (2.10). 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 institutions of uexus is the textual basis tor Mithras's dcscr1ption of Lucius'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 himsclflitcrally 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 caku1atcd route to Pamphile. His words of advice to himself were, "Bend back from a bondage: of Venus wirh your hostess, pay religious respect 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 economica1ly and physically. When Aristomencs meets his old umate" (coutllbenralem, 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 explains 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!_ 1'J.
Si'TIIiJt•J JW/upttJUS (11.15). 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 llfl11i, 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 partners 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 Aristomenes. In ancient tales it was the lamia who preyed on her male victims both sexually and by drinking their blood, and that is what Aristomcncs calls her (1.17). So far, this discussion of mutuo rrcxu and the recurrence of asymmetric 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. Commentators on the AA regularly fall into deprecating both the foolishness 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 firstreading. in which it was precisely Lucius's curiosity that provided the reader with excellent stories and precisely Lucius's lust that occasioned the entertaining bedroom scenes with Photis and the Corinthian 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 intemperate 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 describing 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.~ Pagina 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'episodc: 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 interpreting him. But in the AA the relation is reversed: the present Lucius places himself in wholesale subordination to his own alien past, renouncing the normal authoritative dominance of a narrator over the very mtaning of his past self. Augustine's Couftssions are an illuminating 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 autonomy of that scl£ But since ordinary narratives depend upon that convention 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: important 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 required 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 information 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 history of his languages, as jfhe had been asked not, "Who are you? .. bm "'Why do you speak so strangely? .. It often appears, as Hagendahl remarks, 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 Corinth.'' 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 recorded: 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 Gcschichtswc: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 virtual 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 Mcbnchthon 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-~ whinnying (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 manger, 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 possible 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 distance 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 ManiJius 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 beginning 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 author 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 A1adaurensem 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 author behind Lucius to whom Lucius's career in some sense really applies: 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 acrobatic science I here cssay." 35 The ••already" (illm) now becomes more pointed: "This very pun that I have just [ iam I made about the transformation 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 galloping 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 cleverness 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 meaningful 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 prologue 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 Lucius 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 familiar 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 P1autinc 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 differentiated 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 subservient 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 "au39. 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
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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 Piautine prologues. the parts the actors will play are called imagines that they will put on: ··He will transform himself into the image of Amphitruon."50 Two characters interchange their imagines 51 and one actress will make her imago appear to be two different women by appearing 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 AAprologus's comment on the surprising aptness of his form to his content 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 pdUCis c/,lqwtr, Aul. 1; cf. Ce~pt. 53; Mrn. 6~ ~9. 1\lrn. 79-82~ Mm. 49-56.
briefly explain" (nr qui.s rrtirrtur qui sim,
ct:
in Ampllitnlr»li.rtltrtit seu imaginrm (Amplt. 121; 124. 141 ~ lmius illic, lric illius l1oJirftrt imagini'm (Ce~pt. 39~ Miles 150-51. Amph. 14; Capt. 52; Trln. 16. Aji11. J0-1l~ Mm. 9-10; Cas. 33-34; Trin. 18-19. 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).
50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.
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 account 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 quinquennial 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 extensive 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 relevant to understanding the text, a text that in tum has become one of the centerpieces of our all too meager information about the various Eastem 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, Hekataios 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 modem inquirers has assembled more infonnation about Egypt's religion abroad than any ancient scholar-traveler cou]d have acquired in a lifetime: T. Hopfner's five volumes of Fontes Historiae ReUgionis AegyptiiJCat1 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 Griffiths' Apuleius of Madauros, tilt' Isis-Book [EPRO, no. 39f. The lastnamed 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 meticulous assessment of the interaction of Greek and Egyptian theologies 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. M<~nllll~(,
Must rt·u:mly at Maroncia: Y. Gr:.1nJjc:au, L"tr•· N.,rm!llf
Ar~~la/pgi( d'lsi~
EPll.O. no. 41.J {lcidcn. 11J75). a good introduction to th{' subject.
J
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 Anyperson into whose hands the novel might have come and that the reader has just fmished the first ten books. Anyone in ancient Athens, Corinth. 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 acquaintance 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 relate only what can be spoken without sin to the understanding of people 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 attested cJscwherc. but all seem to fall comfortably within the range of local variations, so much so that scholars of rdigious history have usually 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 conditions 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 argue, tm•arrs to raise) the problem of what the entire novel means, it is precisely here that the greatest number of interpretations have clustered. 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 autobiographical 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 spotlights 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 readings of the AA: some are foolish, some are very sophisticated andremarkably 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 hermeneutic 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 makeshift 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 commentary on on]y a very small portion of Book 11, and the central argument 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 organizing 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"onfound 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 Lucius'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 enticed 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 problem. 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 auspicious 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).
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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 trappings 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 magnificent 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 undercut 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 appeared to him at the same time that she: appeared to Lucius the previous 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 pmrcipuus (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 author 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 combined 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 unmistakably 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 silent. 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 venerable power transtormcd today to rejoin the human race. Happy man. by Herak]es. and thrice blessed, who obviously by the innocence and faith of his preceding life merited so splendid a patronage from heaven as to be born again, in a manner of speaking. and instantly vowed to observe the holy lifc.'" 10 ~.
It has occasioned a little comment that the surrounding crowd interpret 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 interpretation 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 compelled 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 important 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 ceremony: "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 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 "Hetcronomil·"'; l-ldm notes it as an astounding contradiction: .. Um so erstaunlichcr ist dc:r Widcrspruch, wcnn im 11. Buch (16.2) die Menge den J:.mzaubcrtcn prcist, wcil cr oflcnb: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).
ir he
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 incorrect 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 transformation. Her point was that no one would leap to the wrong conclusion rhat Lucius is a magician (cf. 3.29). But nevertheless her explicit exclusion 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 interpreted? 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 fallinginto-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 addition. This too can be interpreted: "The goddess cannot annul the magic, only exploit it bcneficcntly... 16 Add this to the list of clarifications 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 respectively, 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 wondering what to say ... ,.. (ii) Mithras's sermon interpreting Books 110. (iii) the crowd's .. Happy the man ... "formula, which misinterprets 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 Augustan 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 imposed 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 happened to Lucius but what happened to .. me." who have been narrating 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 problem 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 ensemble 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
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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 unmistakable 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 contemplative 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 worshiped with greatest reverence under the tide 'Campensis.' taken from the location of her temple. At last I was her
const~nt
cultist, a
rcligion!' 18
foreigner in thC' shrine itself but a native in her 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 completing 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 significant image in a dream regularly stands for something else. Lucius I~.
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 cxamiJling 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 rationale of that deity and his religion was interconnected with hers, or rather united, still there was the greatest difference between their ceremonies. 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 induced 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 analyzed 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 presentation: 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.
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 bafflementis 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 moment 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 astonishment 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 .. ,.,, opposite,.. {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. 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 ofminordcrical functionaries (&itrii~ zllr Hicrodulie inr l1~llfnistischrn Aegypt('n, Abhandlungcn dtr
n
THE TEXT QUESTIONS. THE READER ANSWERS
219
god, unnamed but evidently Osiris in some guise, foretells his meeting 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~ paradoxical 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 answering 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: pastnphoro• 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 conjunction 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).
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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 insistences and then at Jast outright commands to do so, I sold my clothesthey 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 approach great ceremonies. will you hesitate to entrust yourself to a povcny 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 double 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 success: "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•tarJahar. 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'''sfn'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], echoing 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 smallish time I was again interrupted by unexpected and in every way wonder-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 completed 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 suspicionsuspicion 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~
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"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 invested the reader with the opportunity, the materials, and the necessity 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 worries 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 epilogues reporting his own post-initiatory astonishment and desperation 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 acceptance, the I remaining strangely removed from the writerly process 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 largesse 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 requirements, supplying more than is asked, as an analogue of the reader'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 over32. quicquo1m sitr•riHs Mtlis.mm (29). 33. iPutm((um tt'ldat• CLmtp~Jro la~l(illH ex SlluliiJ pit'lo1tis maRi.r •JU•UII I.Jti.s (30).
mt'PUimJ
rrmm
col·
THE TEXT QUESTIONS, THE READER ANSWERS
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come the! monclary and theological scrupll.'s that du.· author has placed in our (and his own) path. This is our contribution to the worship of Isis and Osiris, making up for the present narrator's dcticicncics. 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 images 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 profoundly sophomoronic text is no solution to rhc problems of understanding that have been engineered by Book 11 .
THE FINAL lMAGE The closure of chapters l-26 and of the first epilogue (chapters 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 occur 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
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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 sentence 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 direction. 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 narrating. He bt•gan his enunciation with a promise for tht~ future (.. I will sew together,'' .. I will charm your cars..). He then began his impersonated narrative with a past imperfect {"1 was heading for Thessaly .. ). The full cirde of narrative time would be completed by a simple 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 unclosed: The idcmity of the impersonated I is ncvc:r brought into contact 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 egonarrative, 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 itself. 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!.
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a pcrf~ctly shaven head, forced on the attention of tht:" Roman populace 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 Lucius's shaven head be made to bear the focus of final, insistent inspcctiont 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 practice 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.
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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" (Artcmidores 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, unwitting aBusion to just that fact. Because baldness is both a potentially funny and shaming "infirmity" 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 gestures, 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..·rhaps worth our while to take at least a quick look at the types of reading 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
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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, ''Vinaigrette" and "Scherz und Ernst'') deals with the AA as ifit had no egonarrator at all; the second type f'Excgetes and confessors..} speaks of the problem of the narrator without taking seriously Lucius's authority 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. Under 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 for works of maximal internal variety. Such expJanations according to mode or cultural style lay great weight on Apuleius's sophistic polymathy as a recognized fashion in second-century rhetoricll display pieces (epideictic oratory) and on the search for exquisite and unexpected flavors in combination. So Vallette describes the AA as a "melange indefinissablc de serieux et de frivolite, de mysticismc 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 vertiginous from its heady smell ofincense and urine together. 44 The sweettim~s
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 modc.-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."
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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 ribaldry and Platonist mysticism, which reflects the complexity of the author·s personality." 45 Similarly Hoevds reads in the novel an unconscious dynamic of the author's psyche. which is however so representative of the readers· unconscious contradictory tendencies that Apulcius naturally became the most famous representative oflatc antique 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 contrasting 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 interestmgtssucs. 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 currem or a panicky crowd carries everything with it. All explanations that begin •• A pule ius lived in an age that ..... arc methodologically dubious. 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 .\ladaura, Studies in Classic:a! Anuqu1ty, no. 1 (Amstcrd:l.m, 1979): 2&..
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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 paternoster.) 1. The cant of thieves, vagabonds, etc., or of any class or profession: jargon or lingo. 2. A kind of rapid, voluble speech or harangue 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 developed on other, more strait-jacketed lines. •• Ancient folk thought differently 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 confined 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 religious 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.
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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 character of holy days as holidays in societies before the invention of rhe weekend. Some of these jokes arc directed at character types (hypocritical or venal priests) or at the sheer foreignness of a non-native rite; a large number arc just silly portrayals of ceremonial behavior. Strepsiades' initiation into Socrates' school and Dikaiopolis's phallic miniprocession 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 behavior 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 religious holidays but rather a well-regulated and situationally dependent 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 during 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 ).
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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 nonsense, 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 behind 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 indecorous laughter should be used to obliterate the normal distinctions felt and observed regarding serious ceremonies, religious holidays, joking tales, and obscenity. Priests did not suddenly wink and grin and tell diny or frivolous stories to the crowd during a ceremony. In particular, Egyptian priests were generally characterized as peculiarly sol-
emn. During their welJ-known periods of purification. they (like Pythagoras) 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) describes the interior of Egyptian temples where you will find "a pastophoros 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 populace: 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 presumably 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 authorizes us to infer fromjokcsorentcrtaining tales (Books 1-10) the imminent 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 compatibility 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 devout 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."
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those who spoke aloud their personal testimony to the helping power of the god in question: it was considered a normal return for an important 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 storyteller'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 audience 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 Plutarch'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, however, 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 Heliodoros 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 incidentally 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 reaction to a discourse that must have been pitched at a fairly low common denomjnaror of public credulity and ignorance. It is precisely this experiential moment that explains the ancient references to ••tying" and "garrulous" art't~lo~'i who turn up as ~nt~nainers/storytellers in company 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).
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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 arctalogy;· ..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 astrological 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 interpreter. Nothing in our evidence indicates that aretalog..>s should be: regarded 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 exactly 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 de54. (Lc1pzig. 1Y
THE TEXT QUESTIONS. TI-lE READER ANSWEUS
237
scribing, rather. is an activity and an ability-the possession of a repertory 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 approved 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·ta1,,~,; 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}.
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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 acceptable 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 special 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 inscription 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 unforeseen 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'11tiOxford, 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 payment to the cult: an appropriate sacrifice or offering ( uWu-rpcr., LaTpa~ 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 scrotum (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 saving 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 himself 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..:rist.ln who is otli!-rt>d only one chicken lq~ as his poruon of rhc thank ofti:ring to Asklepios (4.75-97). 61. h w.a.s als.t.l downri~ht chn~.;rvu~ not HI thank. the: gmi wid1 the prupc.:r materia) offering: Asklcpio
dr~·am
Srria
#7: 1 h:rzo~, U'llnJrrl!dlml~'ll Inote ·U
J: H-ICJ).
Str.:~tuuikc 1snun:d
tho:
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
l'J~
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). tl2.
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CONSEQUENCES
who will listen. One of the common votive pictures was the shipwreck survived,64 and one of the typical confessors was the shipwreck survivor: "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 narrating their triple waves and storms and crags and cargo thrown overboard 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 typic.:~lly lost everything) and of the god's power. What better way for the non-sailing devout to express their religious intentions than by offering 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 confessor, 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. 5.1113) 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, 6.2733; 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)ctorial 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 occasion {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 confessor 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 asymptotic:.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 narrator ue1~er says so to us. 1 welcome evidence that is summoned to fill out the picture of ancient 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 maddeningly 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 temple areas inhabited by lsi;tc devotees: "Alexandria has a large population of Cynics, as they arc called, produced by their philosophy as other men arc from theirs. people whose convictions arc certainly not
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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. conning boys and sailors and such, stitching together crude jokes and long-winded chatter and sharp marketplace answers" (Dio Chrysostom 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 double criterion of attending to the ego who narrates artd to the wellkept 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 theory. one should perhaps mention two others that at least nominally satisfy our requirements. There is the "medicine show" theory, according to which Apuleius spends ten books gathering a crowd before delivering 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 psycho1ogy. 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 {Chicago/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 composed 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 simultaneous satisfaction of naive re1igious traditionalists and sophisticated demythologizers. To maintain that two levels of meaning are reaJly avaiJablc 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 ddl'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 research, 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 beginning. 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 helplessness 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 analogous to the original experience. The aim is an Alla-Erlebtris because any straightforward preaching of the insight in question would misrepresent 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 photographic 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 inevitable 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 performance. 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 performanccsexpccting 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 initiations as brute experiences rather than educational transactions, as pathos rather than gnosis: "[The soul, when the body dies, I undergoes an experience like that of persons being inducted into the great mysteries~ ... first, wanderings and tiring circuits and suspicious jourfN. 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 (229C230A) on the difficu1ty of se1f-knowlcdgc compared to the reinterpretation of traditional stories, such as that ofTyphon, and the many Platonic games ofimpcrsonatc:d aporia, or in Epiktetos. who is eloquent 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 ofindcterminacy 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 perhaps 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 torw;~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.matil.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 inconsistency too obvious to maintain the discrete balance ofBook ll's hermeneutic comedy. Interpretations of the character Mithras in Book 11 arc an example of the way in which some modem accounts of secondcentury 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 intimately 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 several 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 MtniOrit>ddi'Amzdrmia llalttl'il'ltl Ji &irnzr Ltrtm· td AniR7/3(1974-75): 335 n. 10. Archaeologicill 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: 47993; 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 Vorarbcitcn, 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 distinctions 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 Eunapios'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 military 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 unexpected leap of faith is bound to give one pause. The etTect is delicate and deliberate. central and eccentric. J propose 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 experience of extraordinarily subtle narratology in Books 1-10 combined 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 responsibility, often appealing to the high priest's doqul·nr and authoritative speech, but never on the authority of the narrator in any of his shifting 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 humorously 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 nineteenth251
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 narratives (Chapter 9), the Aesopic tradition (Chapter 10~ and the availability 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 suggest 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 sensitive to the issues of plausibility, conjecture, and those gaps in our knowledge over which we so often and happily leap. Hence the following 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 determined 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 enormous 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 Lucius 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 Lucian 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 Luciusts breadth of words whatever did not seem useful to his own purEnglis-h translations: M.D. M:aclt.·od, L11.:ia11 (C.1mbridgc, Mass./London, 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 cvidcnn·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, utmqut li11_gwz prrirus. St."C G. Schollgcn, "Ocr Adn:ssatcnkrds dc=-r gr1c=-c:hischen Schauspielscl,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 synoptic 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. 1.
1967~
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 Lucian 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 expansion 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? Photios'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. Strohmaier, ·•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 belit: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 eroticfantastic episodes of the shorter work. What could possibly be done to the same erotic-fantastic plot, either by way of enhancement or shortening, 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 authentic 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 structural 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\·lctamorphoses.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 transformation in two books being followed by Iris narration of other transformation talcs. 7 Yet he is apparently the author of whatever followed "the first two books." (ji) Photios vouches only for the first K. Burger, "De Lu(tO l'arrcnsi'' (Diss. Berlin, l~!i7): H-10. 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. 5.
6.
256
CONJECTURES
two books of the Metamorphoses because he did not read the subsequent 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 Putting 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 sugg~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.
tull
K. Rothstein, Quarsti1Jnt'S (note 6): 128-29; P. Junghanns., Die Er~iilllungstt'lhnik 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 Hcrzoglichen 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 narrator reveals the secret of his journey to the reader, is a moment of recognition. 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 intradun· both practical handbooks of herbal therapy and exotic narrative.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 representative moment of popular culture's set of attitudes toward the strangebut-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 including 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 Chapter 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 autobiography 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 learning. 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
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 introduction. See also F. Pfi!itcr, "Pft.;~nv:n.Jbcrglaubc," RE 19: 1446-56; H. Piller, "Thcs.:-alos (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.
~raphi
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 fasting 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 kindness. 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 astronomers 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
260
CONJECTURES
when his successful treatments become generally known. The systematic 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 criticism 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, Ncchcpso'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 occultism 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 opposed 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 admits 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 esteem and traveled to far-off lands to acquire secret knowledge. The tale ofDemokritos's travels that Pliny then relates most probably 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 knowledge 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 (ApolJobcx 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.· assemblage 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; Dcmokritos 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 explained 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 discovered an iron stele inscribed with foreign ( rrapoiKou;, or '"Persian," Ilep
ev
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: Unnoticed 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 medical \\-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 Critias 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 reasonable 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 (iuropT,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: foreign) 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 secret, 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 tolerance 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 recognizing 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 affectionate treatment of the type. but with no him that he is anything
more than a sp]cndid narrator. These arc not texts that promise salvation 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 important 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 Trajan"s victory and sold to a Syrian among the spoils of war. This Babylonian 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 ofThessalos, Harpokration, and Demokritos. But when the mother of Tigris, 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. Rhodancs is identical in appearance to the twin brothers Tigris and Euphrates, so when he arrives at the temple while the priestess's magical ceremony is in progress. she cries out that her dead son has returned to life and that he has brought Persephone with him. Rhodanes 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 important, 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 Babylonians 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 necromancy that then takes a comic turn (like thl' entry of the second Menaechmus 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 cuitun~. and that he flourished under Soaimos the Achaimcnid and Arsakid, 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 Babylonian scribe who was his teacher. One might bC' tt·mptcd ro interpret ''the writer" as the Babylonian scribe whose logos Iamblichos is reporting. 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 Babylonian, 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 honorable 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 related 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. Deinias'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 Ripaian Mountains, the source of the river Don (Tanais~ across the frozen wastelands of Russia (Skythia) to the Far East. On his longjourney 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~ andreports 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 twentyfour 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 countless adventures he catches up with her on Thule and casts a magic spe11 (nxvy ~-t«ytKV• p. tlObl Bekker) on her and her brother. Dejnias, to whom she is narrating her adventures, discovers from the Egyptian magician's satchel (EK Toil '11'T1Pt.8wv, p. 110b27 Bekker; presumably from the books therein) how to reverse the spell and incidcnta1ly 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 retirement. 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 compiled 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 fantasized 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" narratives 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 returned 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; reprint: Amstcrd~m. 1963~ and A. Giannini, 1\Jmdoxvgraphorwm GnatCtJrnm Rrliq11i12t (Mibn, 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 incantations 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 cannot 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('Udt·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()lltaincd 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~ pican: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 llrurcstamrntlirl•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 cxpcct: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 writing 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 prologue 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. Babcock (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 application 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 Akxandria was chosen for the Kyrrmidrs bec;luse he wa~ a famous grammarian. The compcrent 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 asstalc. 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 govern35. 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 simply ;;m authentication procedure.·. 36. "K yr.mos" w.uns the: n:adcr thriJ. 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:nroman<:- 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 retnJ.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 secrets 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 beyond 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 combined 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 explained in both its aspects-unexpected but somehow right in rctrosptct-as a 180° turn from the remorselessly episodic and repetitive belaboring of Lucius for being a fooHsh ass (in his aspirations to arcane knowledge) to a unifying vision of the Great Lady who incorporates in herself all possible aspects of such quests. The adumbrations of Isis and of higher divine perspectives in gcnt: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 contexts 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 adventures and all the while we hear the ventriloquist Lucian. They form an asymmetric pair whose performances arc simultaneous and indissolubly 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 making 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 aspect, 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 connections 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 ledge. 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 special 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 distinctly 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 quality 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-Roman audiences and to its fantastic suggestiveness. "The dancer will know the tales of Egypt, which are rather mystical, and he will perform 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-Egyptians) 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 highlight 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 adaptation. contraction, and expansion at the hands of numerous storytcl1crs. 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 ristophancs 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 betrayed by his adopted son, was transferred to Aesop ( Vita At'Stlpi chaps. 101-8). An Aramaic version of Atl!iqaris extant in a late fifthcentury papyrus, 8 but it is not clear when that material began to circulate 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): 2426. H. Zeitz, "Ot·r Aesopmman tmt.i seine GcKhichtc: eint.• Untcrsudumg itn Anschluss 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
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 Achiqar's story became part of Aesop's. Ncktancbos figures in the Ll/C as a crafty king of Egypt (chaps. 10523) 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 fluctuations of what is currcnt1y famous among those with minimal education. 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 geography 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 historical 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 cont~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 between 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 grateful 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 thirdcentury 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 disfigured 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 followed by a group of graduate students (scholastikoi). The central sections 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 backdrop of ambitious professional intellectuals trying to extend their authority into many walks of life.
ISIS AND AESOP
2H3
The wisdom of Aesop and Socrates is aporctic and skeptical. Xanthos, 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 uncertain. 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 leverage 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 represent) 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 surrounding 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 barrassed 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 husband. not ours!" Xanthos's wife and maids similarly hope that the new slaw will~ a handsom~ stud. Whc:n Xamhos rctums from the slavemarket, 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' (Cambridge. England, 1974~
Ecvii~Jmy
of thC' Homarl Empin·: Qu.rmit.z.tilte Studies
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 inscription and to find a treasure of go]d in return for his fn~dom (7880~ 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 epitaph: "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 concern 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 41 (1937): H6-96; L.A. Moritz, 1951'1): 12-17. tigurc on p. 13.
Gmit~-.\li/IJ
tf Ardlt'(II•'.~Y
a11d Flour in ClaJsital A1iliq11ily (Oxfiud.
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 wandered 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 impiously 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 adduced 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 mystify 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 because 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 visibly shameful status and a grt:ater freedom of thinking and speaking can be traced through all the eras of Greco-Roman culture. My suggestion 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 unauthorized 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 pcop]e have ugly looks and sound minds,"' etc. (M7-88~ The deformity of Aesop is as csscmial to his tradition as is his wisdom.16 Wicchers reproduces an Attic vasc of thc fifth Cl11lUry ncr:. The: opening lines of the: L!lr of AI'"SLlJ' (ms. G) OJ.rt.' n~ry garble-d, but tlu:y roughly meaning "rcmlting to look at, putrid and useless, with a bulgmg head and :1 pug nose, bl:u:k, stunh.'d, corrulent, b:mdyumcd, his limbs set .n odd .;~nglc-s ... a mistake." 16.
ron~i~t of a list of pejorative: adjccti ..·cs.
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 singers 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 submergt"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 opposition 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 indocuroJ~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 serious, his non-idemical twin, Margitcs, tends to represent the merely comic formulation of the same clcmcnts. 22 Aesop knows nothingin the Socratic sense23 -and yet there is no puzzle that stumps him; Margites litera1ly knows nothing. His speciality is to display ignorance 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 Wlderstood 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 regard 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 specifically 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 coloring-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-Odyssc.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 survivedthe 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 Tauriaus, is combined with the KykloJ1S trick of getting the barbarians drunk. As counterpoint to the mdodramatic action. the stupidus interjects obscenities-praying to the goddess Pordc (roughly "Fartern 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 offerings. 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 punishment 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 delivered a lightly veiled allusion to the inevitabjlity of tyrannicide in the very presence of Maximinus, but did so in Greek. ••when the emperor 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. Atttcmin. 29). Ptolemy Philadclphos and Caligu1a killed downs for insullS 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 Apulcius 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 Apulcius'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. ''lc is the c:ondm>ion of~ mime, not a play -there's no tina I cadence, one ch.ujust eh1des ;mother's ch1tChl'S, the clacker rattles and the curuin is pulled up''
28. ;~cter
(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 norma] 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 calligraphy so dense and involuted" as to be illegible to non-tanatics, arcana 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 original Greek title, A1etamorphoseon1 (a genitive plural). All known manu1. The discussions: of e•rly modern scholars are col1ected in F. Oudendorp, Apl'uleii O]Jrra 01Pmia (Lddcn, 1786). 4: 2-J. who insisrs that Mttdmorphoses ;alone is ;authentic, 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 concludes; 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 unanimous 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 passage 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," Classit~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 Handschrifr"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 Tl1c Golden Ass") reported or pretended to have happened to himself-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 illscripsit, 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 appeared 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 authentic 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 Apulcius's writings throughout his life (born 354~ and his testimony, though set down somewhat later than Sallustius's, is therefore relevant 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 reasons 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 Augustine 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 1'
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 Ariston 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}~ desultorius, 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 PIJto\ dialogues were org..mizc:d inro tetralogies with double titles l:ty Thr .l(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: xiiixiv, 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. Nachm<~nson, Vrr gritchiscl1r Bctchtitd, ri11igr Brt~bdclmmgerJ, Got>tcborgs Hocgskolas Arsskrift. no. 47/19 (Goteborg, N41 ); Carl Wendt!, Dir ~rif'CIJistlrt•-romisclre Bluhbrscl~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 (Helsinki. 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. 4.
syllo~
296
CONJECTURES
Modern writers usually explain the gemuve plural J.A.ETaJ.WpcpciJuewv by adding Aoyot from Phorios's discussion of the two asstales (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 transformations, and to find this in Apuleius one must invoke metaphorical 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 unparalleled.) I further suspect that the Varronian project of philosophy cum comedy for the: masse's may be the most important model for Apuleius '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-ltmclides ot' Hmws !Oxford, l9HOI: 21 ~ The drarn4tic and (;~bulous dialogues of Hcrakleidcs Ponrikos. who combined .1 wom;~n cured from :1 thirty-day trance. a s.ymposium on the bst d.ty of Empedokks' 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 Alrnippa,'" 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. ~).
to:
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 indifferent 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 novelist-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 maintain and defend the continued cxistenc.: of their culture against christian 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 excelII. 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 imitation: ~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 disciple, 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 Pythagore3n), 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!: 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 oxymoron. 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 fantastidcr lthctor dr rpid. p. .390.1 Sp.~ (iii) PhysicJily golden lctten•• both ac:tual ;md tictitiou!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$1.19; Alkiphron2.14~ 17. The contrast c;m be illus.trJ.ttd within th~ animal re;\ltn. lo JS ;\ "~ld~n cow" (lhn:·hylidt"o; lfl.1(,) h~·,·;m!l.t' she i'i au ;lll!."c~tral heroine: Hera '!o J"IC;u.:ock b. a ''golden species'' bccmst• it is beautiful (KaAA&poj)(po~) ::md admired ( mpc#Air.ovr;) (Antiph:mcs. C.m1iMnHn .-\rtito•rmn Fm.cm~tlld, cd. T. Kock (l('i~,zi~. 1HH2~ 2: fr.1~. 175 = ArhenJios Ddpt~. 14. 655B). Th~ s;une <-.m hardly 0e sAid of the as!; (or c\'c:n the :\is~ cxc:c-pl with an imml·di.nc ;md ~lhviou' iron)'· A ~imil:ar pu;1dox is found in the pro\·crb oro~ AiJpc:t'i (which Varro used J.s a title:): Ti. yap xou-6~ tpauL Avpo Ka:' o~ lbroC"rnit'.~raphiGr.rrn'l: 291-92.1() honor ;m J!oS iseithc.•r tooli!ilwr insulting. Hence, in order to imult his Egyptian subjects, Ochos !>tlught.crcd the A pis-hull and di ..·ini:zed .an J.SS in its place (Aclian
'-:1r. l1ist. 4.8~ Nat. anim. 10.28); hence too the ;mti-sc:mitic ;~ml ;ami~hri:r
tian kp;cnd§ofa!i$ 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 contain 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 firstand second-readers. The following four conside~tions about the aptness 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. Partial 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. Aristophancs Ploutvs 287). (He also had an ancient connection with marvelous 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 Empousa/OnoskcJis: bcautifu] women who have the legs of an ass (Lucian Vemt ltist. 2.46) or of bronze and dung (Aristophanes Frogs 29495; .. 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 popular 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 summon 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'('tlups ·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 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).
red.
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 conventionally 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 between 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, antique knowledge to be able to work wonders. lf"alchemy·· seems too definite a term. one may speak instead ofthl' occult scicncl's, as fl'stugicrc 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 ... " (Lucian 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"' (lapideam r'stam do mum uestram factums au ream, Apuleius A A 7 .8). Second, some scientitlc projects were engaged. well before Apuleius's day. in the production of precious minerals (or their counterfeits) 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., evidently 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 contained old wives' tales, Egyptian spells, incantations to recite while picking herbs, recipes for amulets, and tales of metamorpllosis. 19 Such K. C. D.tilq·. Tilt• Eld~r Pli11y'$ CJraptrrs tiPI Cl~t·miud Subjects (London. 1929}: 202. R.l-JaJlcux. Lrs.4./(himisrcs~rcu(Paris,198n 1:22-24. 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, Al25. 26. 27.
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. 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 Hermes. comprising the thirty-six sacred plants of the zodiac:· Pamphilos's offense. by Galen's lights, was to lend his authority as an important grammarian to the recording of popular superstitions and mysrcriosophic fraud. Another significant instance of a metamorphosis 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. Nikander 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 reference to the Demokritean recipe for emeralds), and thar fantasy pat30. 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.:ibcmcs 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, .. spccitically 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 transformation 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 perspective. 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 incomputability 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 narratives 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 conduding 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 important: 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 unspoken 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 spcaker·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 gather33.
.. 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 position he tirst read out from the formulae in a book the prayers of weBwishing 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 diminished; paradoxically. it may have increased as Isis became more established. 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
,/i,·e•IJooml tn~•.f.•rilms ds.
quem cunai }.!Tammart•a
-(111•'11 S.Jfl•"•m•·ti n•llo·gii 11m11t'rl (",fl -rode11 iu
reign ofCaligu)a we can observe unmistakable signs of a virtual Egyptomania. 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 liturgy.40 bur we do not know how much, nor whether the nonEgyptian-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 object 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 pseudoEgyptian (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 imprri.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 inscriptions.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 manufacture 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 Dornitian (88 C.E.). 47 The inscriptions on these obelisks are original compositions executed in Italy in correct hieroglyphics. They arc tangible evidence not only for the possibility that some in Italy (the Latinspeaking 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 GrecoRoman scholar. theologian or linguist, have really leamed of Egyptian language and writing? Most modem accounts of this subject arc written from a perspective that emphasizes that Greco-Roman historians and bcllcs-lcttrists, for all their fascination with the concept of ideographs, did not really understand the syntax ofhieroglyphic writingin 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 current knowledge. The story need not be told from that alien perspective. I would make instead three points about dassical knowledge ofEgypRoullc:t, Mt•lllmlt'llls (not4." 42), # # 27, 73-7~. 150, 243-2+4. Ibid., # # JO, 1>5, HM, 324; Tran t:un Tmh, Cutle' (note~~): 52-56, ligs. 3-6. 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. 43. 44. 45.
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'roglyp1Jika.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 allegorical 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 hieroglyphic 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): 3989, 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 further 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 linguistic 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 divergent 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 mau: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 different set of questions than those of modern linguists; the answers they reached to those questions contain reliable philological data; the thcosophic 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 authentic knowledge of Egyptian sacred writing-authentic, that is, in the sense of accurate data within an assumed framework of theasophie 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 specifically 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 offers the decisive inform arion that connects "gold" and "ass," information 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. Hans-Rudolf Schwyzcr, Clr.Jirc•rrum, Kl..lssJsch-ptulologischc SmdJC~n. no. 4 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'criturc 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): 17786. There \\"t'rt: of course mln~· other writers whose authority was based on their trawls 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. ' Sb.
(L~ipzig. 1?32~
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 mentioned above, the two at Bcncvcntum and the one erected to commemorate Domitian's accession, the emperor is described by the five pharaonic titles. These inscriptions arc original compositions executed 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 enemies:· 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'•? Because 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; reprint: 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 totalc.... ,. 64 1t appears to have been a common piece of knowledge by Apuleius's time that the ass could symbolize Egyptian Seth/Typhon. 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$-Ro1.1k [note 35 ): 412); "The ~ndent Nubt. Juvcnal's Ombos, was a cult ce-nter of Scth.... Nubri, •nc-of-Gold', was actually an
epithet of Seth" (li I:U\\-ell, MWhatJuvl'Ilal Saw: Egyptian Religion 3nd Anthropophagy in Si1rirr 15," Rhtini.ldtt.c M11~rurn 122(19791: 1R6~ 61. "Ce qui est sur, c'cst que l'orctait frappe d'interdit, constituait un tabou (bout) en ceruins nomcs ct en certaines \'ilk"'S d'Egyptc, en rapport-d.: cda nou5o somrncs surs-a"cc: lc dicu Seth. Lc caractcrc scthicn de l'or ... s'c:xpliquc-dllm m l•illr$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
(Lei den, 1t.l72): 76; H. Kl'l'S, Ant itrll Egypt: A "ans. I. 1:. 1>. Morrow
(Ch~eago/Londm1,
1977): 12.3.
Hani, ·· Artc d'Or" (norl' 61 ): 275. H. Kc:c:s, "Seth," RE2J\: 1!:199, citing Pluun:h ;m,J Adi;~n;J. G. GrHlidls, Plutauh Dr· Jsidt• rr Osiridt• (Carditl: 1970): 4(19-12~ I. Grumach, "On the History of a Coptic Figuu M3gica." /lrtJ
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 illlportance 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. Actually there were many avenues along which this information circulated, making it much less arcane than at first appears. We must remember 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 venerate 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 complair<~ :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'adorant ct en le priant ... "(p.. 1 n. 4; from a mmslation b)' Rc\·illout in Rta•uc• d( Nlisf(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. "SethTyphon•.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
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 challenges leveled in court against Apuleius by his prosecutors: he searched for rare fish. he treated an epileptic, he has a secret idoltherefore 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 unheralded 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]escence and evanescence of higher integrating perspectives on the depressed. 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," Endrvri~ 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. Zilndcl. "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 absence of an authorized perspective. Second, that absence, in re1ation to Egyptian liturgical titles, becomes explicit in Book 11 in a scene illustrating the auctorlcutor·s noncomprehension 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 defended 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 paradigm 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 several 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 already 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 fish72. 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 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 th~
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 happening around him. But after we have located these crypto-Egyptian elements, interpreting 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 entertainment continuously alludes to the gap between seeing a possible meaning and accepting it as uniquely true. critics who ignore the difference 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 authorial non-endorsement could be neatly explained as Apuleius's reftection 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)rpl10.srd' Apulce,.. L'Ar1tiq1titt Cla.s.siqwr27{195R}: lQ0-104; 11• Grimal, ''Lc Calame cgypticnnc 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 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 suggestive. A Roman curse tablet of the tirst century B.C. E. reads "Good and beautiful Proscrpina, wife of Pluto-or perhaps I should address you as ~l\'ia ... Proscrpina Sal..·ia, 1 give y
Ja-
THEGILDINGOFTHEASS
319
Solmscn proposed. 77 Older and wiser, he is now bemused and intrigued 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 knowledge and its gt.'llcral structure of profane authorization. But what really requires explanation in the AA is the constant attention to the phenomenon 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 introduction 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..•mporarily, 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. 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 adolescence 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 enthusiastic 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 midthirties after h1s trial, md yet that no trace survives of the biac apostleship of this \'C"ry import:mt literary celebrity.
z.:;
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 opinions, 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 resurrection 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 realizes that, when she finds a genuine piece and uses it to construct a lifesize image of the complete author, the Apuleius being worshiped is a tiction, and that the authority then attributed to that idol is an ideology-probably a comforting one-invemed by the worshiper.B 1
I hope that this eclectic book with its variety of methods, disciplines, 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 corfHIS 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~
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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 selfcritical 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 concrete 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 society. 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 Redemption 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 ;\
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 Philology 18 (1983): 23-29. Tatum, J. ''The Tales in Apu1eius' 1Jetamorphoses."' TAPA 100 (1969): 487527. - - - · 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 Stories 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 Postmodem 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.
200-202: suppression of a•u·torto a(tt~r, 140-53; two pcr,.pccti"-cson same sentence,~ :12 1\udcn, W. tL !&0 Augustine: Co11jmiom, 141-42. 194; men in his life, 14.1: on ..id.. 1: on title of ."\il, 2cJ3-94, 221 Authorization: absence of. 124,126, 129,
131. 181-82. 1R5. 2!.!1.. 216,222. 247;
endorsement \'S.. mcmioning, JL JJH; ofan interpretation, Q. 124; of rch~ious knowledge, 17Y; by sphragis, 192.. Stor als1.1 Ma~ter; Origin,
ab$Cnceof Authorship (aJtctorir.u, authority, responsibility): as dominance, 194: for i'\A, 173-76, 203; for crime, 99-118; for crime-story, 99-104. 110-15; For-
Autobiography: AA as, 2.., L 320; AA becomes, 138: as asymmetric syzygy, 193-94: Augustine's OmfoJ.Jioru, ~ credibiliry officrional,l.J..; ofconfessor 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 philosophical 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
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; unst:.tr."tl clause in, 1.21 (Stealso Afterthought); va.mpiric, 191 92 Couversion: of audience, ~of delight to chagrin. ]()();of guilt, ~ oflanp;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 virtue, 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
Hcrkommcr. E., 1.26n21 Hermann, l., ~ Herzog. R, 225n41. 2.l9tlhll, .2.J2..u6l Hctcrod icgc sis, 7.J.db. Hictcr, M., 5..a5 Hieroglyphs: vicY."td by Lucius, !.; used outside Egypt, 306-17 Hippokr:nc:s, 79nJ4, 261 Hitchcock, A., H2 Holbl, c., 3llizilj
Hoe\rcls., F. E., 229tt46 Holme!>, S.• 116, :IDl Holqui!tr. M., ~ Homodiegc.'Si.s, ~ Su al1oAutohiogr:aphy; Evidential accountability Hopfner. T .• 205, 218n23. 313nf10
Horapollon (Hiti'O)?Iyphikn~ 3.10.l1..1.tt.56 Horse, Lucius', ~ 199-200, 21(,; as audic:~ 36-37; as Lucius' yoke-mate,~
ldentific;nion: of Lucius, 136; ofa n.untor, :fl..l9'J:ofprolo~uc-spc:aker. 196.~
Ignorance, offirst-re:ulcr, 15-19,101: Socratic, 1.26. lies, F., 52 Initiation: of :my reader into any story, 102; of Lucius, 127. Chapter !:1 lnnc."S, M., 222 Integrity {uniry, coherence) of AA: ftUf;:tUating. 165-73. Jll Irony. See Oispar3gement. of!>elf lser, W., 2+41170 Isis, Chapcr ~ appc.us to At"Sop in a
dream, 2R(,; COillJlU('d Hl witches,~ erects ida I, 3.20 lvt"rsen, E., 309-10, Jttn56,l1.2u51 Jacoby, A., .l15n1ll j;'lffttr, U.. 1&21
Leroux, G., l::l6.dlZ lcs.ky, A., 611ll, 212rtl2, 22tU&!Y Lewis., C. D.• 52 Locked Room, 62. U1 Long. A. A., l2.5.ul
Longo, V., 237r6(, Luci:m, Q,_ l25n4, 136. 229, 2421'166. 253-56,270-71.27R Lucius: chuactcriu-d as agent, l.J6. 139:-40: c:hu;actc:rized as narntor, l36-4CJ: not disillusioned with wor1d, 14647: not untru.'itwonhy u narrator, 140n4: suppressed a~ narr;.~ tor.~
LutiiiJ. or rl1r AH (the Greek Mt't.lfnorplroJr.s~ l1-1. JH.1-!i;;. 12R.l2l. 252-57.270-75.277 Ma Bellona, 2.:l1uZZ MacKay, L.A., 1..2Hu2. MacLeod, M. 0., .2.5.:lr1j
Millar, F., 2M6rt15 Milo. J2=H. 1116.12.1 LSB.l21 Mime: 160-65. ,,6i costume of: 126; lsi~c and christi.;m, 2ll; resistant to .authority,~
Mithras (priest oflsis): illitrologically conjoined with Lucius. 212n26; interprets lucius'lit'to, 8-1;1, ~ 127, \48-49, 210-15; odd name for Jsiac priest in second l."entury, 245 -47; on servile pleasures,~ 1.2.3 Machos of Sidon, 26la2U Molt, M., 2..tcl
Momr11tum (fukrum): in a talc, ~in .4.4. 127. 1JO: in A&A, 12.3 Monceaux, P., 2nuJ Mores.chini, C.,~ 22Ht!44, 21ZzLJ Moritz, L. A., 2.85..r.tJ
Mueller, D., 205 Mutua,,. (loan), 18H-94, Stt also Contract; Nexus
Narr.ning: an acti•.rity ofcharacters, ~ and food, 37-38; subject of the Ai\,
21 Narratology, sy!items of, xii N:urator, not untrustworthy, ~ Natura, )74, \77, W
Manin, R., 29ft .1Hl:l62
Ne(hcpso.~
Ma~n.
Ncktancbos, 72n, 2iiO Nl-w Critici!om,lli Nexus: cnsla\'Cmcnt for debt, 188-94: of
H.) .• 2tr4. 286n15
M:aster (Mic;tress}: choice of text as, 7 -H, 1J.319; .author Js, 194; sla\"e talk 'I b:.ck to, 2!:!2 ....,q3: ~uhmi"i'-iion tn divine~. 2.ll.. 21 i -2"\· submission to !io&distic, 175 -7~. 191 -92 Stt .t/s(J Nexus Mazzarino, A., 1..2.1u.2! Mdanchthon, P.• l97rt30 Mdvill~.
I:L.. 208u.l
Menander, !Uw65
Mend ilow, A. A., ':ll..JJ«:J
Asiniuo; to l.lJcl\t!l, 2\R-19: of Mithr.a
to Lucius, 219t46; ofqur:,tion~ ;md answt'rs, 252 Sa also Asymmetric syzygies Nicoll, A., 288nl9, 220. mo22 Nilsson, M., ~ Nock, A. D., 213tJ15. 21&23, 246u75,
Queen, E.• 1.0.l.tt6. Quest for wisdom narratives, 257-75 Question: AA pos.es. 2Tl. 221: in prologue. 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 Apuleius, ~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; oflucius' 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 S;1dism: Fortuna's against Ludus, 106:
narrator"s against p;1st sdt: llJ.. Su also Asymmetric syzygi~s Sallustius, 293-94, 297
Sah•ia, Jl.8.tt15 Sandy, G. N .• 2(m1 S;~.rtrc:, J.-P., ill Sauneron, S., l1.1..u55 Sa~rs, Q, ~ 69r~l9,
Schwyzer, J::id!.. .3l..lJ156 Scobie, A.., 1R3nJ. 295t~4 Scott, Sir W. (quoted~ 1 Scribe, Jss as mere, ~ Sc;ruples. 60-62. 176. 211 Sebeok, T. A.,18nJ3
Seneca, ~ JU tC6. Serendipity, N Sextul> Empiricus, 125 Sh.:arazadc, 2bti Skepticism: and religious knowledge, 179: as intcrpreliVt" method lor reading· AA, ~difficulty of maintainin((, 123: in detective stories, ~ in L.ifo "./ At<$cJp, .2H.l:. philosophic.ll posi-
Spurmm tldditamrrumn. St!f' Castration, of text: Supplement
Statue:-, 1..68..:12 Steckel, tL 2611120. l..l3n2l Stein, G, ill Stephens, S., .l12n5.9 Stcphcrl)on, W. E., 128tfJ Sterne, L, 61 Stew.m,J. L M., 52 Straho,205,259n15,1llu5h Strange but true, & 1b 12.\ 258. 21!l. Stt al1o Paradoxography Strohmaier, G., 25.4.t:cl Supplement: Luciu1o' third initiation o~s, 221-22; by prologuc-spe~ker, 180. 195: by rcJ.dcr:s, ~ 147td3, l(i7. 207-CJ. 213.215. 211J, 222-24.l:U.; by schobrs, 7 -H. 252; by Thdyphron, 113-15, 1.2:1.. St-t",d$oCastration Surprisc,142-44: Book U as,~~~ 122: Lucius' sec:ond ami third initi:~ tionus, 215-23 Su .also Jgnoran('c Smpense, lot -2. 142-44: of judgment, 5i. S!!., 20.8.. Srr .zl.
S..-end!;en, J. T., lAlli15
Swallowing, of sword, ~ 1.18. Credulity (sullibllity) S)'ncrctism, 112. 246--47