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 Stavros Frangoulidis
Witches, Isis and Narrative

≥
 Trends in Classics -
Supplementary Volumes
Edited by
Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos

Scientific Committee
Alberto Bernabé · Margarethe Billerbeck · Claude Calame
Philip R. Hardie · Stephen J. Harrison · Stephen Hinds
Richard Hunter · Christina Kraus · Giuseppe Mastromarco
Gregory Nagy · Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone
Kurt Raaflaub · Bernhard Zimmermann

Volume 2

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

Witches, Isis and Narrative
Approaches to Magic
in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

by
Stavros Frangoulidis

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

 앪
앝 Printed on acid-free paper which falls within the guidelines of the ANSI
to ensure permanence and durability.

ISBN 978-3-11-020594-7

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detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de.

쑔 Copyright 2008 by Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, D-10785 Berlin
All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this book
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permis-
sion in writing from the publisher.
Printed in Germany
Cover Design: Christopher Schneider, Berlin
Printing and binding: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen
 DM
parentibus meis
Antonios & Chryssoula
 Contents
Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XI

Text and Figure Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIII

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses . . . . . . . . . . . 13

The arrival at Hypata . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Encounter with magic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Wanderings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Reformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Return home / Isis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Chapter 2 Lucius versus Socrates and Aristomenes . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

Comparisons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Frustrating expectations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

Chapter 3 Lucius’ and Milo’s Tales of Diophanes and Asinius’

Prophecy: Internal Readers and the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
The exchange of tales . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Lucius versus Cerdo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
The prophecies of Diophanes and Asinius Marcellus . . . . . . . . 78

Chapter 4 Lucius versus Thelyphron . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

Contact with magic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
Consequences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Revelation of events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
Playing with expectations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Misfortunes – restoration / prolongation of misfortunes . . . . . . 105

Chapter 5 The Tale of Cupid and Psyche as a Mythic Variant of

the Novel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
Apollo’s oracle / Demeas’ letter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
Cupid’s palace / Milo’s home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Encounter with the divine / contact with magic . . . . . . . . . . . 117
VIII Contents

Wanderings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
Reunion / encounter with Isis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
Divine wedlock / serving the divine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126

Chapter 6 ‘War’ in Magic and Lovemaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130

Comparison of the two episodes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Love and war in elegy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Isis as goddess of peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Appendix: ‘War’ in the Tale of Cupic and Psyche . . . . . . . . . . 147

Chapter 7 Lucius’ Metamorphosis into an Ass as a Narrative

Device . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
Asinine features in Lucius as a human . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
Lucius’ transformation into a lower being . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
The employment of the ass for the creation of comic effect . . . 163
Apuleius as a new Aesop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
The relation of the ass to Isis’ cult . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
Isis reverses the metamorphosis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Isis and true knowledge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173

Chapter 8 Rewriting Metamorphoses 1 – 10: The Isis Book . . . . . . 175

The encounter with religion (Isis) / contact with magic . . . . . . 176
The Ploiaphesia festival / the Laughter festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
Initiation into Isiac rites / ‘initiation’ into magic . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Journey to Rome / adventures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
Lesser themes and elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198

Chapter 9 Transforming the Genre: Apuleius’ Metamorphoses . . . . 204

The tale of Cupid and Psyche . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
The immediate frame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
The wider frame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214

Appendix: Lucius’ Metamorphic Change and Entrance into a New

Life as a Metaphorical Representation of the Sailing of Isis’ Ship. 217
The archaeological context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Encounter with the goddess . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
The Ploiaphesia festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Comparison . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
Reconnection with society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
 Contents IX

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233

List of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250

Index of Passages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251

General Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253

 Acknowledgements

This volume is the first to be devoted to a comparative study of the var-

ious approaches Lucius and secondary characters adopt towards magic in
Apuleius’ Metamorphoses. When I started thinking about this project, I
had the rare opportunity to discuss it at length with David Konstan,
to whom I owe my deepest gratitude for his thought-provoking com-
ments, as well as for most helpful conversations and moral support
thereafter.
In the course of writing, I was greatly indebted to a number of col-
leagues and dear friends who read parts of this work and offered insight-
ful feedback and suggestions: Stephen Harrison, Maaike Zimmerman,
David Konstan, June W. Allison, Ken Dowden, Ewen Bowie, David
George, Poulheria Kyriakou, Theokritos Kouremenos, Lucia Athanas-
saki, Stavroula Economou, Maria Papadaki, Sophia Papaioannou,
Eleni Manolaraki, Nikos Litinas, and Antonios Augoustakis.
I owe special gratitude to Thalia Papadopoulou, Yannis Tzifopou-
los, and Ben Petre, who read through the entire manuscript (in various
drafts and in final version) and offered much constructive criticism and
suggestions.
I have also been greatly benefited from conversations with my col-
leagues and friends Gogo Katsimali and S. N. Philippides, an expert in
literary theory. Yiannis Lagamtzis has shared his expertise in locating and
obtaining the necessary permits for the publication of the photographs
included in this volume and I would like to thank him for his much ap-
preciated help. I would also like to thank the students of my courses on
Apuleius at the University of Crete, who first heard ideas related to this
project and offered their comments and encouragement.
Earlier versions of Chapters 9 and 3 were presented at RICAN (Re-
thymno International Conferences on the Ancient Novel) 3 and 4, held
at the University of Crete, Rethymno in May 2005 and May 2007 re-
spectively. An abridged version of Chapter 8 was presented at the con-
ference on “Narratology and Interpretation. The Content of the Form
in Ancient Texts”, held at the Aristotelian University of Thessaloniki in
December 2007. I would like to thank the various participants in these
three conferences, especially Ewen Bowie, Stephen Harrison, Gareth
XII Acknowledgements

Schmeling, David Konstan, Maaike Zimmerman, Richard Hunter,

Warren Smith and Marianne Hopman for thought-provoking com-
ments.
A version of Chapter 6 will be presented in ICAN (International
Conference on the Ancient Novel) IV in July 21 – 26 at Lisbon.
I owe special thanks to Maaike Zimmerman and Stephen Harrison,
editors of Ancient Narrative, for their permission to reprint a revised ver-
sion of Chapter 9, originally published in the proceedings of RICAN 3
with the title: “Transforming the Genre: Apuleius Metamorphoses.” In:
The Greek and the Roman Novel: Parallel Readings, edited by Michael Pa-
schalis et al. Groningen: Barkhuis and Groningen University Library,
2007, pp. 193 – 203.
I am also most grateful to the anonymous readers of Trends in Clas-
sics, who read the manuscript with great care and offered most valuable
criticism. Special thanks go to Dr. Sabine Vogt, editor at Walter de
Gruyter, for her excellent co-operation and to Claudia Hill for setting
up the manuscript for publication.
My heartfelt gratitude, however, is to Franco Montanari and Anto-
nios Rengakos, editors-in-charge, for giving me the opportunity to
publish in their innovative monograph series, Trends in Classics, as
well as for their constructive comments. In particular, I would like to
single out Antonios Rengakos, who has been an unfailing source of en-
couragement and support, for which I am deeply indebted.

Thessaloniki, June 2008

 Text and Figure Acknowledgements

The text of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses is from Helm’s Teubner edition

(1992). All English translations of the Metamorphoses are from Hanson’s
Loeb edition (1989). All other editions of ancient texts used in this work
are acknowledged in the notes.
With regard to images accompanying the text, I am grateful to the
following individuals: Pietro Giovanni Guzzo, Archaeological Super-
intendent at Pompeii, for permission to publish Figure 1: the fresco
depicting Diana and Actaeon; Prof. Nikolaos Chr. Stampolides for
permission to publish a number of depictions of Eros on seals (Ta
Svqac_slata tgr D^kou, Paris: De Boccard 1992); and to the École
française d’Athènes and Ms Kalliopi Christophi, Archivist, for providing
the original photographs of: Figure 2 (Stampolides 138 and plate 28.10;
photo Ph. Collet); Figure 3 (Stampolides 134, and plate 27.5; photo
H.–P. Couloy); Figure 4 (Stampolides 143 and plate 29.18; photo Ph.
Collet).
 Introduction

Apuleius’ Metamorphoses relates the arrival of the young noble Lucius at

Hypata, the capital of Thessalian magic. Through his involvement with
the slave girl Photis, maid of the witch Pamphile, Lucius aspires to be-
come an owl, the symbol of divine wisdom, but instead is transformed
into an ass, a paradigm of obstinacy, stupidity and sexual incontinence.
As an ass, he then undergoes a long series of comic misadventures, for-
cibly entering the service of several masters (as an animal desirable to
own), until he eventually arrives at Cenchreae, one of Isis’ sacred loca-
tions. There he comes into contact with Isis, goddess of another kind of
‘magic’, who offers him release from his troubles by restoring him to
human form, and grants him the true knowledge and wisdom he orig-
inally sought to obtain through his desire to be changed into an owl.
Magic is a central theme in the Metamorphoses and has received con-
siderable and varied discussion. Some scholars have discussed the subject
in relation to the broader social milieu and context; thus in a useful essay
Frances Norwood has treated the novel in relation to the restlessness,
magic and mysticism that characterized the late 2nd century AD.1 R.
A. Seelinger has examined aspects of magical bonding and deceit in
the Metamorphoses as compared to the magical papyri and the defixiones,
and then he observed how these motifs are evinced in various sections of
the novel that involve the supernatural.2 In a short but very useful essay,
David Martinez has studied the discourse of magic as seen in the tale of
Aristomenes and in Pamphile’s warnings to Lucius in Book 2, by com-
paring the language used with creation stories in both the classical and
Near-Eastern traditions; he concluded that the themes and motifs of
magic employed by Apuleius are commonplace.3 Most recently, Con-
suelo Ruiz-Montero has concentrated on instances of magic as figured
in the Greek novels (papyrus fragments, indirect references, episodes
and tales) and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (1 – 3).4 Among other things,

1 Norwood (1956) 1 – 12.

2 Seelinger (1981).
3 Martinez (2000) 29 – 35.
4 Ruiz-Montero (2007) 38 – 56.
2 Introduction

she draws a distinction between fictional (literary) and real magic by

comparing these texts with the language and ritual practices in the Grae-
co-Egyptian magical papyri.
Other scholars have focused on aspects of magic in individual nar-
rative units or clusters of stories. Nicole Moine compares the tale of Ar-
istomenes, in which there is mention of the witch Meroe and cheese,
with the passage in Augustine (Civ. Dei 18.1) that presents some stabu-
lariae mulieres who feed men cheese and turn them into animals that at
some point regain their human form.5 Maria Grazia Bajoni concentrates
on several scenes of necromancy in Apuleius (tales of Aristomenes and
Thelyphron) and in Petronius (the ghost stories in Trimalchio’s dinner),
seen as an expression of the irrational for the purpose of generating
laughter among the novel’s audience.6 Niall W. Slater has examined
the resurrection of an Egyptian killed on a battlefield in Heliodoros 6
and its typology, and then successfully applied this to the tale of Thely-
phron in Book 2 of the Metamorphoses, which is also discussed in detail
by Ruiz-Montero.7 Slater has further brought into focus the exchange
between Aristomenes and Socrates in Apuleius’ tale of Aristomenes
(Book 1), which he views as a conversation with the dead, and suggests
that the entire exchange could be understood as a form of an exchange
between the reader and the dead author. Paula James has briefly dis-
cussed the relevance of Lucius’ metamorphosis into an ass as well as
the new set of contradictions it brings to the fore.8 In an excellent ar-
ticle, Jo-Ann Shelton, who concentrates on the portrayal of women
in the novel, also develops a comparison between female magicians
and the male bandits, as they both engage in activities that throw the
hierarchical system into disorder: the former by changing the shapes

5 Moine (1975) 350 – 361.

6 Bajoni (1990) 148 – 153.
7 Slater (2007) 57 – 69. Elsewhere, Slater (2002, 161 – 176) traces the pattern of
consistent displacement as it appears in the tales of Aristomenes, Thelyphron,
and the narrative of Lucius. In Slater’s view, this pattern contributes substantial-
ly to the debate over the meaning and the ending of the novel, since Lucius’
displacement from home to Rome appears not as promotion but rather as
exile. Other scholars (Murgatroyd 2001, 40 – 46; Keulen 2003a, 107 – 135;
Frangoulidis 1999a, 375 – 391; and James 1987) have discussed individual as-
pects of magic as regards Aristomenes, Socrates, Thelyphron and Lucius’ meta-
morphosis into an ass.
8 James (1987) 92 – 95. In a similar vein, Murgatroyd (2001, 40 – 46) has focused
on the appropriateness of metamorphoses in relation to their narrative frame
and their role in foreshadowing the development of the novel’s plot.
 Introduction 3

of men and animals into other shapes and the latter by altering their sta-
tus and ranks.9 Shelton concludes that the witches are more difficult to
detect than the bandits: the former operate within society, whereas the
latter dwell outside the civilized world and band together as a group.10
Most lately, Kirk Freudenburg has concentrated on key scenes involving
visual curiosity in the novel; in his reading, this viewing is erotically
charged, while watching transforms both the viewer within the tale
and the object viewed. Freudenburg also claims that through the act
of reading, the novel’s readers become complicit in Lucius’ curiosity.11
Critical discussion has also focused on features of the magic ritual as
represented in the work. Christopher Faraone, for example, discusses
the episode where the witch Pamphile asks her servant girl Photis to
bring hair from her Boeotian lover and then to burn it together with
other elements (materia magica) in the secluded place of her room; ac-
cording to Faraone, this ritual corresponds to an agoge, ‘a spell that
leads’ the witch’s beloved from his house to Pamphile’s home. In the
case in hand, the result is not the desired one, because it is wineskins
rather than the lover that come pounding on the doors; and no wonder,
because the servant girl has originally obtained goat skin hair rather than
the hair from Pamphile’s lover (3.16 – 18).12 Alex Scobie comments on
Pamphile’s transformation into an owl in Book 3 of the Metamorphoses in
comparison with the similar scene of the witch changing herself into a
bird in the Onos and observes that in the latter case the bird is not an owl
but a raven, which Apuleius has changed in order to accommodate
Roman folk beliefs.13 Scobie then examines beliefs about witches
worldwide, with special emphasis on South America, in order to see
whether beliefs in that area are indigenous or are due to Roman beliefs
imported by Spanish overlords in the 16th and 17th century.14 David
W. Leinweber focuses on the presence of the theme of Lamiae in the
representation of three witches—Meroe, Panthia and Pamphile.15 And
in a short essay, Roger Pack directs attention to lychnomancy and the
use of magic lamps.16

9 Shelton (2005) 304, passim.

10 Shelton (2005) 313 – 314.
11 Freudenburg (2007) 238 – 262.
12 Faraone (1999) 87, also 24 – 25.
13 Scobie (1978a) 77 – 80.
14 Scobie (1978a) 83 – 101.
15 Leinweber (1994) 77 – 82.
16 Pack (1956) 190 – 191.
4 Introduction

Inextricably linked up with our central concern is the view of magic

expressed in the novel’s final Book. Both earlier and contemporary dis-
cussions have brought forth a wide variety of views. Georg Luck17 and
Carl C. Schlam18 both interpreted Lucius’ initiation into the religion of
Isis as an escape from destructive magic. Antonie Wlosok attempts to
shed light on the philosophical and religious reasons that led the author
to write what he views as a propaganda piece for the Isis religion.19
Nancy Shumate reads Lucius’ initiation as a conversion and as a proto-
type of St. Augustine’s Confessions. 20 Keith Bradley has assessed Lucius’
entrance into the cult as a mystical experience involving a new divinity,
but one who is an expression of a divine principle already seen in many
other guises.21 On the other hand, David Martinez,22 Gwyn Griffiths,23
Carl Schlam24 and Ruiz Montero25 have treated Lucius’ initiation into
the religion of Isis as a conversion to a kind of magic very different
from that appearing in the preceding books, as in the Egyptian religion
Isis is the goddess of true magic and miracles. In another work, Gwyn
Griffiths acknowledges the dominant presence of the Isis theme,
which offers cohesion to the whole work, and goes on to examine at-
titudes shown to other religions too, although the Isiac influence may
also be present.26 Whatever the case may be, the above approaches to
Isis, treat the Book in which the Egyptian goddess appears, in isolation
as a self-standing unit, with only superficial thematic relation to the rest
of the work.
This reading has been seriously contested most recently, by Danielle
van Mal-Maeder, who, on the basis of a number of clearly outlined par-
allels between Photis and Isis, has advanced the view that, in order to
appreciate Book 11 in full, the reader should not study it as an inde-
pendent story. Much more is gained, she argues, if Book 11 is read in
conjunction with the preceding narrative, thus treating Isis as a contin-

17 Luck (1985) 15 – 18.

18 Schlam (1992).
19 Wlosok (1999) 142 – 156.
20 Shumate (1996).
21 Bradley (1998) 315 – 334.
22 Martinez (2000) 29 – 35.
23 Griffiths (1975).
24 Schlam (1978) 94 – 105.
25 Ruiz-Montero (2007) 38 – 56.
26 Griffiths (1978) 141 – 166.
 Introduction 5

uation of Photis.27 Stephen J. Harrison has gone one step further to ex-
plore Lucius’ religious conversion in Book 11 of Apuleius’ Metamorpho-
ses, as potentially satirical of the serious narrative in Aelius Aristides’ Sa-
cred Tales, poking fun at the grandiose personal claims of Aristides as a
specially privileged religious figure.28 Agreeing with Harrison, Maaike
Zimmerman has suggested that satire runs through the entire eleven-
books-long novel and progressively becomes more prominent until it
reaches its culmination in the Isis Book, when Lucius, by now a new
devotee, gullibly allows himself to be taken advantage of yet again,
this time by the greedy priests of Isis and Osiris.29 Likewise, advancing
the argument of a thematically unified novel, Gareth Schmeling and Sil-
via Montiglio have analyzed the expression of Lucius’ obsession with
food, hair, sex and magic through all eleven books; and have argued
in support of the “interpretation that Lucius’ initiation in Book 11 fol-
lows a course of linear evolution, rather than of an antithetical develop-
ment, in his metamorphosis from man to ass in Book 3”.30
Without exception, all the aforementioned studies in defence of
unity in the Metamorphoses deploy their arguments by reference to the
course of the protagonist, Lucius the ass. Yet the hero is not alone in
his various adventures; he interacts with a great assortment of characters,
both in the embedded tales and in the main narrative. In other words,
what is still lacking, in the study of the narrative structure of the Meta-
morphoses, is an in-depth look at the structural and thematic relationships
on the contextual level, created by the multifarious attitudes the various
characters who ‘assist’ Lucius on his journey adopt towards magic, be it
malevolent or benign.
Along the lines of the above premise, I argue that Lucius, when he
finally encounters Isis, comes into contact with another kind of magic
that runs contrary to the earthly world of magic represented by the
witches, to which Lucius falls victim. In fact, it could be argued that

27 van Mal-Maeder (1997) 87 – 118.

28 Harrison (2000 – 01) 245 – 259; see also Murgatroyd (2004a) 319 – 321.
29 Zimmerman (2006) 87 – 104, and especially 103 – 104. The venality of Osiris’
priests, as Zimmerman points out (103), was the target of attack by both Juvenal
(sixth satire) and Persius (2). Zimmerman also directs attention to the satirical
connotations in Lucius’ proud display of his shaven head. On this point see
also Winkler (1985) 224 – 227 and van Mal-Maeder (1997) 107. Nevertheless,
one could argue that the emphasis on money characterizes many religions, both
ancient and modern (I owe this point to Warren Smith per sermones).
30 Schmeling and Montiglio (2006) 28 – 41.
6 Introduction

the presence of the witches in the novel, as representatives of the cata-

strophic magic in the world may be aimed at highlighting, by contrast,
the superiority of Isis’ positive magic.
In advancing this view, I am in agreement with such scholars as D.
Martinez,31 G. Griffiths,32 Carl C. Schlam33 and Consuelo Ruiz-Mon-
tero,34 who generally consider Isis as a goddess of magic and miracle,
without expanding greatly on that aspect of her nature. I would add
that the role of Isis as goddess of positive magic can only be fully appre-
ciated through the presence of the diametrical opposite: the negative
magic of the witches. My approach differs from these scholars in that
it is not primarily concerned with the witches, witchcraft or Isis per
se, but rather with how the various characters react to all forms of
magic in the series of tales coinciding with the various stages in Lucius’
adventures, both before and during his efforts to regain human form. In
other words, this study considers the topic of magic not as something
extractable from the Metamorphoses, but as something integral to the
work’s overall conception and detailed narrative structure. The variety
of approaches characters display towards magic, either in embedded
tales in which characters narrate their experiences with magic (e. g. The-
lyphron’s tale), or in the narrative in which Lucius relates his own in-
volvement in magic and his restoration to human form constitute nar-
ratives or stories about magic. It must be kept in mind that the inserted
tales appear only in the narrative of Lucius’ arrival at Hypata, where he
becomes involved in magic, and in the lengthy course of his wander-
ings; and none of them occurs in the novel’s final Book. This absence
can be explained in terms of the fact that at this juncture Lucius be-
comes fully aware of his future, and thus no longer is in need of instruc-
tions in the form of cautionary or paradigmatic tales. The series of par-
allelisms, similarities and contrasts found in the various attitudes dis-
played towards magic, whether malevolent or benign, suggests an artful
interrelationship.
In pursuing this line of argument I offer a systematic analysis of those
parts of the novel in which the protagonist Lucius is still human in form,
and of the way in which he comes into contact first with evil magic and
then with Isis. Here I explore structural and thematic links between Lu-

31 Martinez (2000) 33.

32 Griffiths (1975) 47 – 48.
33 Schlam (1978) 94 – 105.
34 Ruiz-Montero (2007) 38 – 56.
 Introduction 7

cius, who comes into contact with Photis, and all other major charac-
ters, such as Socrates, Aristomenes and Thelyphron, who are ensnared
by renowned witches in the various embedded tales. Comparison is
also made between Lucius and other lesser characters such as Cerdo,
who come into contact with astrologers. Such figures must also be
viewed as magicians, since they try to predict the future through the ex-
amination of the movements of the stars. I also discuss the relationships
between Lucius and Psyche in the embedded tale of Cupid and Psyche,
because, in common with Lucius, Psyche gives in some kind of ‘magical
practice’ when she penetrates Cupid’s concealed identity. The similari-
ties and contrasts, among characters in the embedded tales and the main
narrative, reveal the skilful integration of the inserted material and the
episodes in the novel’s plot, presenting various forms of punishment
which are the result from contact with magic. Lucius’ fortune is
much better than that suffered by all the secondary characters: his in-
volvement with the less disastrous magic of the slave girl Photis, who
is a sorcerer’s apprentice and not a real witch, may suggest from the
very outset that something may go wrong in the practice of magic,
but also that this danger may not preclude the possibility of eventual sal-
vation. Furthermore, there are a number of contrasts between the naive
but disastrous sorcery of Photis, who introduces Lucius to magic, and
the benevolent intervention of Isis, who reverses the effects of that
magic in Book 11. Variety in the forms of punishment resulting from
involvement in magic is in alignment with the aspect of multiformity
in the work, making the narrative paradigmatic of the misfortunes re-
sulting from contact with magic.
In this project I also discuss Lucius’ affair with the beautiful witch-
slave girl Photis, his metamorphosis into an ass and his ensuing wander-
ings in relation to his attitude towards Isis in Book 11. This comparison
reveals that the novel’s final Book can be viewed as a second Metamor-
phoses, a kind of recapitulation of the trajectory of the novel, which
presents the results of a different kind of ‘magical’ intervention in
human concerns, i. e. the effects of Isis’ ‘true magic’ on the life of Lu-
cius. As such, it reveals a contrast to the catastrophic magic practised by
Photis, and by extension, by all other witches in the novel’s early books.
This approach helps to explain why, at the end of the novel, Lucius
views himself as a reborn character whose sexuality is replaced with ab-
stinence and whose foolishness becomes wisdom. My line of argument
thus runs contrary to recent scholarly views that read Lucius’ reforma-
tion, through Isis and his subsequent triple initiation as an Isiac, as a con-
8 Introduction

tinuation of his metamorphosis from man to ass in Book 3, written in a

critical and satirical way. In other words, I examine the narrative from
Lucius’ point of view.
Finally, I attempt to situate the narrative of the Metamorphoses in re-
lation to the genre of the ideal novel. The articulation of the narrative in
Apuleius’ work is marked by symmetry in the plot, which follows a tri-
partite structure: The first part relates Lucius’ journey to Hypata, several
embedded stories with ordeals of victims who come into contact with
magic, Lucius’ refusal to heed these tales and his metamorphosis into
an ass (1 – 3). The second section narrates the long series of Lucius’ mis-
adventures (4 – 10); while the third recounts his encounter with Isis
upon arrival at Cenchreae, his restoration to human form through her
grace and his entrance into her service as her priest (11). This overarch-
ing tripartite structure is in line with the ideal novels, in which the cou-
ple falls in love, undergoes a series of adventures, either separately or to-
gether, and is finally happily reunited. That being said, Apuleius makes
significant alterations to the typical plotline in the ideal novels, develop-
ing the genre in new directions: in place of the typical love affair, Lucius
becomes involved in an affair with the slave girl Photis so as to gain ac-
cess to magic; and instead of being reunited with his mistress after his
metamorphosis and misadventures, he encounters another female figure,
the divine Isis, and is united with her after being delivered from his
hardships.
This project is thus the first comprehensive study to focus on the
multifarious attitudes characters display towards magic and the divine,
viewing them as a key to unveiling important and as yet unnoticed as-
pects of the rich and complex literary texture of Apuleius’ narrative.
Chapter 1, “Pseudo-Lucian’s Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses”,
explores the relationship between the Greek tale of the Ass and the
Latin novel. Although pseudo-Lucian’s work is generally regarded as
an epitome of a lost Greek original, on which Apuleius also relies, it
does not contain the inserted tales and the Isis Book on which my ana-
lysis is based. This examination helps to explain why Apuleius chose to
write a work that uses a story found in another work of fiction, possibly
predating his own, and, most especially, why he added a philosophical
and religious dimension to his work. In this discussion I also attempt
to demonstrate the thematic relevance of the major inserted tales and
episodes in Apuleius’ work, that are absent from the Greek epitome,
and elucidate their skilful integration into the novel’s plot. Above all,
 Introduction 9

by focussing on the divergences between the two works, I offer the nec-
essary background information for the Chapters that follow.
In Chapter 2, “Lucius versus Socrates and Aristomenes”, I discuss
Lucius as the living substitute for Socrates, the character who bears
the name of the famous philosopher, whose story he hears from a fellow
traveller while en route to Hypata, the capital of Thessalian magic. The
case of Socrates differs from that of Lucius in important respects: the
former loses his life after being ensnared by a powerful witch whom
he just happens to meet, whereas the latter obstinately seeks direct con-
tact with magic. This and the fact that Lucius pursues a young and beau-
tiful apprentice to Pamphile, rather than the witch herself, helps to ex-
plain why his life is spared and he is transformed into an ass, leaving the
prospect of salvation open. Had Socrates met Byrrhena and Photis or re-
ceived any warnings about the dangers of magic, as Lucius does, his fate
perhaps would have been different. I also concentrate on the series of
parallelisms, similarities and contrasts between Lucius and Socrates’
friend Aristomenes: the latter is condemned to permanent exile, where-
as the former eventually gains release from the dire effects of magic
through Isis.
Chapter 3, “Lucius’ and Milo’s Tales of Diophanes and Asinius’
Prophecy: Internal Readers and the Author”, concentrates on the series
of similarities and differences between Lucius and the merchant Cerdo
as recipients and therefore ‘readers’ of prophecy by the false prophet Di-
ophanes. On hearing that Lucius has consulted an astrologer in order to
learn the outcome of his journey to Hypata, Milo recalls the case of a
merchant named Cerdo, who sought to ascertain the most auspicious
time for his journey, but quickly saw through Diophanes and did not
fall victim to fraud. Thus Milo implicitly pours scorn on Lucius for ap-
pearing to trust Diophanes’ prophecy, which foretold that he would be-
come the subject of a story told in many books and acquire great fame.
In obtusely failing to draw the correct conclusions from his host’s re-
marks, Lucius emerges as fully responsible for his metamorphosis into
an ass and ensuing misadventures. Comparison of Diophanes’ prophecy
with that of Asinius Marcellus, priest of true religion, also offers the
chance to explore affiliations between Lucius, as first-person narrator,
and the extratextual author.
Chapter 4, “Lucius versus Thelyphron”, treats the series of marked
parallelisms, convergences and divergences between Lucius’ unwitting
contact with the wineskins and the ridicule this entails, and Thely-
phron’s ordeal. The irony is that, yet again, Lucius fails to learn anything
10 Introduction

from Thelyphron’s tale, or from the ridicule he suffers in the Laughter

festival following his unwitting contact with magic. Lucius takes advant-
age of Photis’ feelings of guilt over her own mistake, and asks her first to
show him Pamphile when she changes into an owl, and then to help
him to turn into a bird. Given that Photis is an inexperienced appren-
tice, her first mistake (over the wineskins) foreshadows the second one,
during which the incorrect use of magic ointments transforms the prot-
agonist into an ass. Lucius does recall Thelyphron in the sense that both
are overconfident in their belief that they can face magic, but unlike
Thelyphron, Lucius is only temporarily disfigured for the duration of
his adventures; he is eventually reunited with his family and even
goes on to make a fortune and acquire fame. Once again, this can be
attributed to the fact that Lucius becomes involved with Photis, who
is not a real witch.
In Chapter 5, “The Tale of Cupid & Psyche as a Mythic Reflection
of the Novel”, I examine the rich pattern of structural and intratextual
links between Psyche, in the shorter tale of Cupid & Psyche, and Lu-
cius’ experience in the novel’s larger story. Psyche’s exposure on the
rock, her union with Cupid, who does not reveal his identity to her,
the fall from happiness and her adventures in search of her husband
and, finally, the reunion and divine marriage on Mt. Olympus, seem
to recreate the pattern of Lucius’ arrival at Milo’s house, his involve-
ment with the slave girl Photis as route to magic, his embarrassing met-
amorphosis into an ass and adventures, and his ensuing symbolic union
with Isis, goddess of benevolent magic in the world. In this respect, the
inset tale presents a mythic variant of Lucius’ larger story, as if the au-
thor wishes to offer a key to interpreting the larger story from the de-
velopment of events in the embedded tale.
Chapter 6, “‘War’ in Magic and Lovemaking”, examines the de-
ployment of war imagery, both in Lucius’ unwitting contact with
magic on encountering the wineskins, and in his earlier sexual encoun-
ter with Photis. The language employed in both cases renders the for-
mer a mirror of the latter and, in turn, reveals the strong interconnec-
tions between magic and sex. These links help to cast Photis, and, by
extension, the witches in general, as forces of violence and disorder,
in stark opposition to Isis, who emerges as a goddess of peace and
order in the world: she frees Lucius from magic and imposes celibacy
on him, therefore removing those aspects of his character that were re-
sponsible for his metamorphosis into an ass and his ensuing misadven-
tures.
 Introduction 11

Chapter 7, “Lucius’ Metamorphosis into an Ass as a Narrative De-

vice”, argues that in metamorphosing Lucius into an ass, Apuleius
evokes those features that traditionally characterized the ass in antiquity,
such as obstinacy, foolishness and hyper-sexuality. The transformation
into an ass and not, for example, into a bird, as Lucius had wished,
casts the protagonist’s character traits in the narrative into sharper relief.
In addition, the metamorphosis allows the author to construct a series of
comic narratives, make apt use of proverbs and convert the essentially
sorrowful story of a man’s metamorphosis into an animal into a comic
narrative. Lucius’ metamorphosis into an ass also facilitates his move
from Hypata and arrival at Isis’ cult place at Cenchreae, as the ass is
owned by various masters and is able to change locations. This choice
reinforces the paradigmatic aspect of the narrative, in stark contrast to
the Greek epitome, where Lucius’ metamorphosis into an ass merely
serves to reinforce the erotic character of the narrative, given that the
ass is renowned as a lustful animal. In the context of the Isis cult, the
selection of the particular animal may also be determined by the reli-
gious end to the work: Isis hates the ass because it reminds her of her
enemy Seth-Typhon, that is, the ass-like daemon who killed her broth-
er/husband Osiris. Thus Isis rushes to ass-Lucius’ aid when the latter ap-
peals to her. By restoring Lucius to human form, Isis also annuls the
character traits that led to his metamorphosis: sexuality gives way to ab-
stinence from sex, and foolishness is replaced by true knowledge and
wisdom.
Chapter 8, “Rewriting Metamorphoses 1 – 10: The Isis Book”, ex-
plores the series of structural and thematic parallelisms, similarities and
oppositions between Lucius’ encounter with Isis on the one hand
(Book 11), and with magic on the other (Books 1 – 10), as emerging
from a chain of parallel narrative episodes and their supporting themes.
It is only when the protagonist, in the course of his adventures, meets
the witches’ positive counterpart, Isis, who demands humility and celi-
bacy, and restores him to human form, that the path to true knowledge
and wisdom, originally aimed at through contact with magic, is finally
revealed. Indeed, the one positive element in Lucius’ humiliating meta-
morphosis into an ass is the fact that it leads to eventual union with Isis.
There are numerous marked similarities and, most especially, opposi-
tions between the encounter with magic through Photis as a medium,
and that with the divine Isis. It is these that account for Lucius’ refusal
to be integrated into the Hypatan community and the fellowship of
Laughter; as well as his subsequent acceptance of Isis’ offer to become
12 Introduction

her devotee. Thus the encounter at Cenchreae represents the complete

overturning of events in Hypata, and the elevation of Lucius to a higher
status.
The final chapter, “Transforming the Genre: Apuleius’ Metamorpho-
ses”, compares the plotline of the Latin novel (Lucius’ relationship with
Photis, the separation of the couple, adventures, and Lucius’ symbolic
union with the goddess Isis), with that of the ideal novels (romances)
in which the protagonists fall in love, undergo a series of adventures,
are reunited through chance circumstances and finally return home. It
is argued that Apuleius has altered the typical plotline of the romance
plot, by emphasizing Lucius’ slavish pursuit of pleasure, and by intro-
ducing a model of marriage between the mortal (Lucius) and the divine
(Isis), which replaces the conventional reunion of the couple. In this
manner, Apuleius changes the plot of the idealistic novels in which
the element of ideal love plays a dominant role into a quasi-ideal one,
and thus develops the genre in entirely new directions, in complete
alignment with the novel’s central theme of metamorphosis.
The Appendix, “Lucius’ Metamorphic Change and Entrance into a
New Life as a Metaphorical Representation of the Sailing of Isis’ Ship”,
treats Lucius’ entrance into his new life and his initiation into Isis’ rites as
analogous to the initiatory spring-rite of the sailing of Isis’ ship, render-
ing them an iconic double. This link is assisted by the earlier represen-
tation of Lucius’ adventures on land and arrival at the port of Cenchreae
as a sea journey in stormy weather. The presence of the metaphor is ac-
centuated by Isis’ special relationship with the sea and navigation, as in-
dicated by her cult titles Euploia and Pelagia. Thus, the narrative of the
Ploiaphesia festival not only advances the novel’s plot but also helps to
situate Lucius’ larger experience in the novel in the context of a sea
journey, making it in essence a double one: from Hypata to Corinth
and from the realm of magic to that of Isis and true religion.
Let us begin with an intertextual comparison of the narrative of the
Metamorphoses with the Onos.
 Chapter 1
The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

The narrative of the Onos, which has come down to us in the works of
Lucian, reveals many points of contact with Apuleius’ Metamorphoses.
According to the canonical view, these similarities should not lead to
the conclusion that the former served as a model for the latter, since
there are significant differences at numerous junctures in their respective
narratives. Rather, the two texts are now believed to derive independ-
ently from a lost Metamorphoses by a certain Lucius from Patras; the Onos
is viewed as an epitome of that work.35
Irrespective of the explanations advanced for the relationships be-
tween these three works, one thing is certain: Apuleius expands the nar-
rative outline of Lucius’ adventures, as presented in the Onos, by insert-
ing a considerable number of episodes and embedded tales, all of which
may be attributed to authorial originality,36 and which amount to a new
handling of the ass-story.37 The additions offer an illuminating com-
mentary on the life of the main character Lucius, and can be explained
in terms of the distinct intent of each work: the Onos is nothing more
than an entertaining Milesian narrative (fabula milesiaca), i. e. a story fea-
turing love and adventure, usually being erotic and titillating in charac-
ter. Though the Latin novel also belongs to the Milesian tradition, it
clearly goes beyond the bounds of the genre in placing greater emphasis
on Lucius’ sufferings as a result of his involvement with Photis and
witchcraft, and in adding the benefits he receives from Isis, goddess of

35 For an extensive discussion of scholarship on the various views expressed see

Schlam and Finkelpearl (2000) 36 – 41; Harrison (2003a) 500 – 502; Finkelpearl
(2007) 263.
36 Several scholars, e. g. Bohm (1972 – 73, 228 – 231) and Schlam (1992, 21), have
argued that the author may have worked from a novel with a religious conclu-
sion.
37 See also Keulen (2007) 8.
14 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

positive magic in the world (1.1) sermone isto Milesio (“in that Milesian
style of yours”).38
Scholars have explored the divergences between the Onos and the
Metamorphoses in great detail.39 As will become evident, a re-examina-
tion of the most striking discrepancies between the two works may
go some way towards explaining the intentions of each.40 Above all,
the tentative survey that follows will offer useful background informa-
tion for the ensuing Chapters, by focusing on the function of similarities
and differences within the contexts in which they appear.41
First, some general remarks are in order. The numerous additional
episodes and tales in the Metamorphoses are not inserted arbitrarily, but
serve a larger design and goal: they help readers to anticipate Lucius’ im-
minent misfortune and subsequent salvation. The various characters in
the tales are confronted by situations similar to those faced by the pro-
tagonist. Thus the tale of Aristomenes (1.5 – 19), where Socrates unwit-
tingly comes into contact with magic, foreshadows Lucius’ unwitting
encounter with the wineskins animated by Pamphile’s magic. Similarly,
Thelyphron’s over-confident attitude towards magic (2.21 – 30) antici-
pates Lucius’ later stubborn insistence on being ‘initiated’ into sorcery
despite the risks involved. In retrospect, the subsequent numerous in-
serted episodes and tales following the metamorphosis highlight the
fact that Lucius’ fate is better than that of other characters: he is even-

38 For an excellent re-examination of ancient evidence on the lost Milesian Tales

of Aristides, and most especially the way Apuleius uses them, see Harrison
(1998b) 61 – 73, especially 68 – 69.
39 Krabbe (1989) 83 – 112, passim; Smith (1994) 1582 – 1598; Shumate (1999)
113 – 123; Kenney (1998) xiv-vi, and 215 – 217, with an appendix offering a
list of the corresponding paragraphs and episodes between the Onos and the
Metamorphoses, as well as of the episodes and embedded tales, not found in
the Greek Ass tale, but added by Apuleius; Zimmerman (1999) 120 – 122;
Mason (1999) 103 – 112; Mason (1994) 1665 – 1707; Tatum (1969) 487 –
527. Also Zimmerman (2002a) 126 – 128.
40 The embedded tales are no mere insertions, but help to bring out Lucius’ fool-
ishness in his pursuit of magic (e. g. the tale of Aristomenes and of Thelyphron).
They further direct attention to the nature of the dangers as a result of passion
for magic and Lucius’ involvement with Photis (i. e. master’s punishment of his
slave for his extramarital affair, the tale of Philesitherus), or foreshadow the ways
in which Lucius will find his deliverance from magic (i. e. the tale of Cupid and
Psyche, the tale of the wicked stepmother, etc.).
41 For an assessment of the tales from the perspective of their possible bearing on
the story of Lucius and the Isiac interpretation of his experience in Book 11, see
Tatum (1969) 487 – 527.
 The arrival at Hypata 15

tually saved, whereas almost all secondary characters suffer irreversible

misfortune or are killed. Furthermore, the additional material offers
glimpses of hope that foreshadow the protagonist’s release from hard-
ship. For example, the horrible tale of the miller’s death through the ef-
fects of witchcraft serves to underline Lucius’ better fortune in his own
involvement with magic (9.14 – 31); in the story of the wicked step-
mother (10.2 – 12), the positive and unexpected ending, worthy of di-
vine providence, increases readers’ expectations that something may
change in the ass-Lucius’ life and that his troubles may come to an
end through a similar divine agent (10.12): providentiae divinae condignum
accepit exitum (“an ending worthy of divine providence”). This view is
reinforced in the novel’s longest tale, that of Cupid and Psyche
(4.28 – 6.24), which differs from the other stories in one important re-
spect: Psyche comes into contact with the divine, rather than with
witches and earthly magic, and eventually gains release from her troubles
through submission to the gods.42 The implication would seem to be
that salvation is only attainable via divine intercession.

The arrival at Hypata

The initial point of contact between the two works is first-person nar-
ration, though the two works take up the story in slightly different ways.
In the Onos, the narrator launches directly into an account of his jour-
ney to Thessaly (1), without any preliminary remarks. By contrast, in
the Metamorphoses the author constructs an imaginary dialogue between
the narrator and his audience/readers (1.1):
At ego tibi sermone isto Milesio varias fabulas conseram auresque tuas benivolas le-
pido susurro permulceam —modo si papyrum Aegyptiam argutia Nilotici calami in-
scriptam non spreveris inspicere—, figuras fortunasque hominum in alias imagines
conversas et in se rursum mutuo nexu refectas ut mireris. exordior. quis ille? paucis
accipe. Hymettos Attica et Isthmos Ephyrea et Taenaros Spartiaca, glebae felices ae-
ternum libris felicioribus conditae, mea vetus prosapia est; ibi linguam Attidem pri-
mis pueritiae stipendiis merui. mox in urbe Latia advena studiorum Quiritium in-
digenam sermonem aerumnabili labore nullo magistro praeeunte aggressus excolui. en
ecce praefamur veniam, siquid exotici ac forensis sermonis rudis locutor offendero. iam
haec equidem ipsa vocis immutatio desultoriae scientiae stilo quem accessimus respon-
det. fabulam Graecanicam incipimus. lector intende: laetaberis.

42 In this tale, the only figures comparable to witches are Psyche’s jealous sisters,
who eventually suffer a cruel death.
16 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

But I would like to tie together different sorts of tales for you in that Mile-
sian style of yours, and to caress your ears into approval with a pretty whis-
per, if only you will not begrudge looking at Egyptian papyrus inscribed
with the sharpness of a reed from the Nile, so that you may be amazed
at men’s forms and fortunes transformed into other shapes and then restored
again in an interwoven knot. I begin my prologue. Who am I? I will tell
you briefly. Attic Hymettos and Ephyrean Isthmos and Spartan Taenaros,
fruitful lands preserved forever in even more fruitful books, form my an-
cient stock. There I served my stint with the Attic tongue in the first cam-
paigns of childhood. Soon afterwards, in the city of the Latins, as a new-
comer to Roman studies I attacked and cultivated their native speech
with laborious difficulty and no teacher to guide me. So, please, I beg
your pardon in advance if as a raw speaker of this foreign tongue of the
Forum I commit any blunders. Now in fact this very changing of language
corresponds to the type of writing we have undertaken, which is like the
skill of a rider jumping from one horse to another. We are about to
begin a Greekish story. Pay attention, reader, and you will find delight.
In this imaginary dialogue, the narrator tries to stir the curiosity of his
readers and thus ensure their interest in the work.43 He does so by
using a careful narrative strategy to introduce the two major themes
in his work, the erotic and the religious. The former is referred to by
identifying the narrative as a Milesian one, which reveals an awareness
of popular taste. An implicit allusion is then made to Egypt and religion,
as suggested by the words papyrum Aegyptiam, Nilotici calami, which ac-
quire a prominent position with the appearance of Isis in the final
Book.44 Overall, the author appears to be well aware of a general pref-
erence among readers for the erotic over the religious and thus gives the
religious element a less prominent position. Once the general content is
defined, we proceed to the ‘biographical’ section of the preface, in
which the narrator gives information about himself: in this case, use
of the first person creates implicit confusion with the author. Neverthe-
less, the narrator identifies himself as a Greek deriving origin from Ath-
ens, Sparta and Tainaros—clearly not the author, who hailed from Ma-

43 In the promise of the narrator to stroke the ears of the reader with a pretty
whisper, Graverini (2005, 177 – 196) sees a combination of similarities with
the effeminate, singing style or imperial rhetoric sometimes associated with
the Sirens’ song, and the sleep-inducing voice of the bees in Vergil’s Eclogue 1.
44 For a series of connections between the prologue (1.1) and the epilogue (11.30)
in the work, see Laird (2001) 272 – 276; also May (2006) 308. For an analysis of
the prologue as an initiation of the reader into the world of the book, see Hen-
derson (2001) 188 – 197.
 The arrival at Hypata 17

dauros, a Roman city in Northern Africa.45 In the final part of the pref-
ace, the subject matter of the work is more specifically identified as in-
volving the metamorphosis of humans into animals, the change of their
respective fortunes and their final restoration back to their former con-
dition, in what the narrator claims will be a highly entertaining story.
On the other hand, in the Onos, the narrator—a certain Lucius—
opens with an account of his journey to Thessaly (1): )p-eim pot³ 1r
Hettak_am46 (“Once upon a time I was on my way to Thessaly”).47
On the way he meets some fellow travellers heading in the same direc-
tion. In the corresponding sections of the Metamorphoses, Lucius, who is
likewise travelling to Thessaly, encounters two other wayfarers: Aristo-
menes and a sceptical fellow traveller. Apuleius expands the narrative
considerably, by including the conversation the men enter into,
which leads to the narration of Aristomenes’ tale (1.2 – 20).48 This recalls
the sufferings of Aristomenes and his friend Socrates at the hands of a
powerful witch named Meroe. Before the account begins, Lucius states
his belief in Aristomenes’ adventures and urges his newly-found com-
panion to retell them for his benefit (1.4). After hearing the tale, he
terms it a charming account which has alleviated the discomforts of
travel (1.20): lepidae fabulae festivitate nos avocavit (“charming and delight-
ful story”). Lucius even thinks that his horse was pleased, as it covered

45 The speaker of the prologue is identified in various ways. Some (Smith 1972,
512 – 534; Winkler 1985, 200 – 203; May 2006, 110 – 115) identify the speaker
of the prologue as an actor outside the work. Harrison (1990b, 507 – 513) has
made the interesting argument that since the prologue-speaker cannot be def-
initely identified as either Lucius, or Apuleius, or a combination of the two, or
even a notionally separate prologue-speaker, we should consider the option of
the book as a personified object delivering this prologue: the motif of the
speaking book which introduces and describes itself is not unfamiliar in litera-
ture. On the other hand, Gaisser (2008, 19) views the speaker as largely uniden-
tifiable. This unidentified speaker, as Gaisser argues, “is another of Apuleius’
personae, made deliberately mysterious and intriguing, in order to announce
and advertize the writer’s protean powers at the opening of his novel”. In
the course of the narrative Gaisser (pp. 19 – 20) then accepts the view that
the author puts on the mask of the actor Lucius, or perhaps Lucius puts on
the mask of Apuleius (see Chapter 3, below).
46 The Greek text of pseudo-Lucian’s Onos quoted in this work is from Macleod’s
OCT edition (1974).
47 All translations of the Onos are from the Loeb edition by Macleod (1967).
48 See Keulen (2007, 7 – 8), for correspondences in the microstructure between
the Onos and Apuleius’ Book 1.
18 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

the distance to Hypata without being forced to carry its master.49 Such
naïve comments reveal Lucius’ complete failure to perceive the tale’s
deeper message; he thus enters Hypata without considering what may
be in store if his arrival in the town is marked by bad omens, as hap-
pened earlier with Aristomenes, or if he encounters a witch who pun-
ishes her unfaithful lovers, as was previously the case with Socrates
(1.21). His entry into town increases reader expectations that misfortune
is about to befall him, as he is a person who fails to learn from his ex-
perience.
The pattern of similarities and contrasts develops still further with
regard to the narrator’s host in Hypata. In the Onos, Lucius obtains in-
formation about Hipparchus, who lives with his wife and his maid, from
his travelling companion on the way to the town (1):
oR d³ eQd]mai t¹m ^ppaqwom toOtom 5kecom ja· fpoi t/r p|keyr oQje? ja· fti
!qc}qiom Rjam¹m 5wei ja· fti l_am heq\paimam tq]vei ja· tµm artoO caletµm
l|mar7 5sti c±q vikaqcuq~tator deim_r.
They said they knew this Hipparchus and where he lived in the city; they
told me that he had plenty of money, but that the only women he kept
were one servant and his wife, as he was a terrible miser.
On the other hand, in the Metamorphoses, Lucius obtains the relevant in-
formation from an old tavern keeper whom he sees upon his arrival.50
Lucius identifies his host as one of the leading citizens in town (1.21):
nostine Milonem quendam e primoribus? (“Do you know someone
named Milo, one of the foremost citizens?”).
The old woman jokingly characterizes Milo as one of the primores
because his house is the first in town, just outside the city walls (1.21):
‘vere’, inquit, ‘primus istic perhibetur Milo, qui extra pomerium et urbem totam
colit’ (‘‘‘Foremost is the right word for your Milo,’ she replied, ‘since he
lives outside the city-limits and the whole town’’’). She then points out
the host’s house and informs Lucius that Milo is a very rich but stingy
money lender, who lives with his wife and servant in a very small
house (1.21):51

49 His characterization of the tale as charming recalls the narrator’s promise of de-
light for the novel’s readers in the preface of the work (1.1): lector intende: lae-
taberis.
50 Krabbe (1989) 104.
51 Zimmerman (2006, 91 – 92) associates Milo’s greed with Roman verse satire.
On the other hand, May (2006, 143 – 181) treats Milo’s house as a comica
 The arrival at Hypata 19

‘videsne’, inquit, ‘extremas fenestras, quae foris urbem prospiciunt, et altrinsecus

fores proxumum respicientes agniportum? inibi iste Milo deversatur ampliter num-
matus et longe opulentus, verum extremae avaritiae et sordis infimae infamis
homo, foenus denique copiosum sub arrabone auri et argenti crebriter exercens, exiguo
Lare inclusus et aerugini semper intentus, cum uxorem etiam calamitatis suae co-
mitem habeat. neque praeter unicam pascit ancillulam et habitu mendicantis semper
incedit.’
‘Do you see those windows at the end there, looking out on the city, and
the door on the other side with a back view of the alley nearby? There is
where your friend Milo lives, a man with heaps of money and abundant
substance, but notorious for his utter miserliness and sordid squalor. He
is constantly lending at high interest, with gold and silver as security, but
he keeps himself shut up in a tiny house, worrying about every speck of
copper-rust. He lives with a wife, his companion in adversity, maintains
no servants except one little maid, and always goes about dressed like a beg-
gar.’
The exchange between Lucius and the old woman is important, as it in-
troduces the interplay between appearance and reality in the novel’s nar-
rative: Milo is described as being very rich, but he apparently does ev-
erything to maintain the illusion that the opposite is true.
Although the old tavern keeper is not portrayed as a witch, Lucius’
meeting with her may bring to mind the enchantress Meroe, an inn-
keeper who comes to Socrates’ aid and then becomes his mistress
after he is set upon by robbers. This helps to cast Lucius as a living sub-
stitute of Socrates, who does not even appear in the Onos. By the time
he reaches his host in Hypata, Lucius of the Metamorphoses has already
been exposed to one didactic tale and one chance encounter, both of
which he misinterprets, thus heightening the reader’s sense that he is ex-
tremely naïve, in spite of his considerable pride for noble origins from
Plutarch and his philosopher nephew Sextus (1.2). His foolishness
heightens the reader’s expectation for Lucius’ misfortune.
The two narratives display further superficial similarities with regard
to the protagonist’s host in Hypata. In both accounts, Lucius gains access
to the house via a letter of introduction, but the names of the host and
letter writer differ: in the Onos, he bears a letter for Hipparchus written
by the sophist Decrianus in Patras (2): Cq\llata Fjy jol_fym aqt`
paq± DejqiamoO toO Patq]yr sovistoO (“I come with a letter for him
from Decrianus, the professor from Patras”). In the corresponding
part of the Metamorphoses, he has a letter for Milo sent by Demeas of
domus. See also Keulen (2007, 380), who compares Milo with misers and
moneylenders in Roman Comedy.
20 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

Corinth, who is a mutual friend (1.22): litteras ei a Corinthio Demea scrip-

tas ad eum reddo (‘‘I have a letter for him from Demeas at Corinth”). On
one level, the change of names and places can be accounted for in terms
of Lucius’ respective origins.52 In the Latin novel, it rapidly emerges that
the old woman was accurate in describing Milo as a deceitful miser; his
house is very small (1.23): lare parvulo (“tiny hearth”), and even lacks the
most essential furniture, since its owner lives in perpetual fear of robbers
(1.23): nam prae metu latronum nulla sessibula ac ne sufficientem supellectilem
parare nobis licet (‘‘The fear of robbers prevents us from acquiring chairs
or even sufficient furniture”). Milo himself does everything in his power
to maintain the illusion of poverty: he compares himself to the mythic
Hecale in stinginess when he invites Lucius to emulate his father’s
namesake, Theseus, who did not scorn the hospitality of the virtuous
Hecale when he came to Marathon, and thus maintained the impression
that he was poor (1.23). Moreover, the explanation Milo offers for his
Spartan lifestyle heightens the sense of irony when the house is later set
upon by the robbers he has set out to deceive. It is these robbers who
steal Lucius the ass along with Milo’s other animals to carry the loot.
In both the Greek narrative and the Latin novel, Lucius goes to the
public baths before dining with his host, but in the latter case Apuleius
adds the episode in which the protagonist falls victim to deception by a
fish merchant in the market (1.24 – 25).53
Scholars have variously interpreted the fish-market scene and the
punishment meted out to the fishmonger in the Metamorphoses. Maaike
Zimmerman views Pythias’ act as satirical, recalling similar scenes in

52 On this, see the excellent discussion in Harrison (2002) 43; see also Harrison
(2000) 219. The alteration of Lucius’ birthplace may be determined by Apu-
leius’ readers, who would have been more familiar with Corinth, capital of
the entire province of Achaea, than with the city of Patras, and by the fact
that Corinth, which was destroyed by the Romans in 146 BC and re-establish-
ed as a Roman colony in 44 BCE, was a more prominent place in Apuleius’
times. On this explanation and the historical significance of Corinth at the
time, see Graverini (2002) 61 – 62, and passim.
53 Keulen (2007, 8) defines the Pythias-scene as Apuleius’ personal imprint on the
Ass-story. It is during the encounter with Pythias, a former schoolmate who has
become an aedile, that we hear the name of the protagonist Lucius for the first
time (1.24), whereas in the Onos, it is Hipparchus who names Lucius first (2):
t¹ d³ oQj_diom t¹ 1l¹m bqør, § Ko}jie, ¢r 5sti lijq¹m l]m, !kk± eucmylom t¹m
oQjoOmta 1mecje?m (“But you can see, Lucius, how tiny my cottage is. Neverthe-
less it is glad to offer its hospitality, and you will make it into a mansion if you
live in it in a tolerant spirit”).
 The arrival at Hypata 21

Horace’s Satire 1.5.34 – 36 and Persius 1.29 – 30.54 Wytse Keulen views
Pythias as a representation of “the comic figure of the ‘corrupt-official’
who is not interested in maintaining justice but whose injustice serves to
maintain his authority”, since the person who is truly punished by the
aedile is not the fishmonger but Lucius, who bought the fish.55 Carl
C. Schlam sees in Pythias’ act “a satire of an officious administrator—
and perhaps a hidden reference to an Isiac ritual to dispel evil, which
involved the trampling of fish”.56 In this rite the fish stands for evil
and the trampling as symbolically suggesting the act of averting it.
John Heath regards the episode with Pythias as “an example of the grue-
some distortions of reality in the novel”.57 Judith Krabbe argues that the
name Pythias may echo that of Theseus’ friend Perithous,58 and links
Pythias’ stamping on the fish and characterizing them as nugamenta as as-
sociated with the Syrian and Egyptian taboo, thus anticipating both the
Dea Syria (Book 8) and Isis (Book 11).59 As related in Plutarch, Lucius
should not have eaten them.60 Expanding further on this, Maria Plaza
sees in Pythias’ reaction a symbolic act relating to the Isiac rite connect-
ed with the trampling of fish in public to commemorate the Sun-god’s
victory over the human rebellion, thus foreshadowing the larger scenar-
io of the narrative.61
From the perspective adopted here, the encounter between Pythias
and the fishmonger may be read as intending to show the great decep-
tion played on Lucius upon his entrance to Hypata. By extension, this
helps to define the nature of the town and its citizens in their treatment
of strangers (1.25). The incident thus helps to create a parallel with that
experienced by the merchant Aristomenes, who relates how he came to
Hypata to buy cheese at a moderate price, but rapidly discovered that a
certain merchant named Lupus had emptied the market by purchasing
all available quantities (1.5): sed ut fieri adsolet, sinistro pede profectum me
spes compedii frustrata est (“But, as usually happens, I started out with

54 Zimmerman (2006) 94 – 95.

55 Keulen (2007) 444, also 448.
56 Schlam (1992) 33.
57 Heath (1982) 57 – 58. Heath (p. 58) also directs attention to Lucius’ eating hab-
its in the novel as “providing both a unifying theme and an appropriate para-
digm for the reader’s response to the novel”.
58 Krabbe (2003) 69 – 70.
59 Krabbe (2003) 159.
60 Krabbe (2003) 159.
61 Plaza (2006) 73. On the ritual see also Schlam (1992) 33.
22 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

my left foot and my hope of profit was frustrated”).62 It is interesting to

observe that in Hypata Lucius’ schoolmate from Athens has become an
aedile and is accompanied by lictors, whereas in the same town Lucius
will be turned into an ass. This difference is perhaps due to the fact that,
unlike Lucius, Pythias does not seek involvement in magic. In addition
to ordering the lictor to trample on Lucius’ fish, Pythias also punishes
the fishmonger by berating him in the forum, where we can assume
other merchants and buyers are present. Pythias may not then be viewed
as a comic and satiric figure, as he does not trample on Lucius’ fish him-
self, but asks one of the lictors to do so. In a strange city then, Lucius has
the rare fortune of meeting an old friend who can offer protection from
fraud. Nonetheless, he fails to understand the import of Pythias’ inter-
vention—which may have saved him from food poisoning—and instead
dwells on the fact that he has lost his money and supper (1.25).63 In
choosing not to read between the lines, Lucius displays the naivety
that will lead to the series of misfortunes awaiting him in Hypata and
beyond.
In both the Greek and the Latin novel after Lucius’ return home
from the public baths his host invites his guest to participate in the din-
ner. A contrast, though, is immediately apparent. In the Onos after Lu-
cius’ return from the bath Hipparchus offers his guest some food and
wine at this house (3). On the other hand, in the Latin novel Milo forces
his newly-arrived guest to participate in dinner conversation, but leaves
him without food and exhausts him with endless talk (1.26). Such be-
haviour is a clear violation of the etiquette of xenia (“hospitality”), ac-
cording to which one should first feed guests and then engage in con-
versation.64 In fact, Milo’s parsimony forces Lucius to go out in search of
his own dinner while on the way to the bath house (1.24). Any hopes of

62 Keulen (2007, 444) points out that the market of Hypata was figured as a place
of merciless competition, but does not develop a comparison between the two
incidents.
63 The noticeable differences between the two narratives continue even further.
Upon his return from the market, Lucius is invited for dinner by his host. In
the Onos, Hipparchus offers Lucius enough food and they then spend the
rest of the night in pleasant conversation. By contrast, in the Metamorphoses
Milo exhausts his guest with tiresome conversation and even leaves him with-
out food, thus making clear his stinginess and lack of manners.
64 Most lately Vander Poppen (2008, 157 – 174) discusses the theme of hospitium in
Lucius’ encounter with Milo and his contact with Isis; but it must be pointed
out that the hospitality offered by Isis involves Lucius’ enrollment in a spiritual
community.
 The arrival at Hypata 23

his obtaining a decent meal are dashed when Pythias, a former school-
mate, reveals that the fish Lucius buys in the market is rotten (1.25).
From the very first hours of his stay in Hypata, it thus emerges that
the townsfolk have little, if any, respect for strangers, and constantly
try to take advantage of them.
Moving on to the following morning, in the Onos we read that Lu-
cius meets a rich lady named Abroea on the street. A friend of his moth-
er’s, she invites him to stay at her house (4): t_ owm oqw· paq’ 1lo·
jatak}seir, § t]jmom ; (“why then won’t you stay with me, my
child?”). Abroea goes on to inform Lucius that his present host’s wife
is a powerful witch, who should be avoided at all costs (4):
Vuk\ttou loi, 5vg, tµm Zpp\qwou cuma?ja p\s, lgwam07 l\cor c\q 1sti
deimµ ja· l\wkor ja· p÷si to?r m]oir 1pib\kkei t¹m avhakl|m7 ja· eQ l^ tir
rpajo}sei aqt0, toOtom t0 t]wm, !l}metai, ja· pokko»r letel|qvysem eQr
f`a, to»r d³ t]keom !p~kese· s» d³ ja· m]or eW, t]jmom, ja· jak|r, ¦ste
eqh»r !q]sai cumaij_, ja· n]mor, pq÷cla eqjatavq|mgtom.
I would have you be on your guard against Hipparchus’ wife in every way
you can. For she’s a clever witch and a fast woman who makes eyes at every
young man. Any who won’t listen to her she punishes with her magic; she
has transformed many into beasts, while others she has done away with al-
together. You, my child, are young and handsome enough to please a
woman at first sight, and, being a stranger, you are something of no ac-
count.
The equivalent scene in the Metamorphoses has Lucius meet his maternal
aunt Byrrhena. In like fashion to Abroea, Byrrhena invites her nephew
to stay, but Lucius politely declines.65 Lucius’ rejection of hospitality in
both works is an indication of his noble status and high manners, as he
could not have offended his host who has already offered him hospitality
in his house. Here again Lucius’ respective place of birth in the two nar-
ratives accounts for differences in the names of his relatives and associ-
ates.66 As Krabbe observes, Byrrhena has a much larger role than Abroea
in the Onos;67 Apuleius includes a visit to the rich woman’s house that is
absent from the Greek narrative, and which serves to make her advice

65 This woman then offers a flattering description of Lucius, stressing his fine
looks (2.2). This intended to direct attention to his peak condition prior to con-
tact with magic and ensuing metamorphosis into an ass and, in retrospect, may
be intended to provide an explanation as to why he runs the risk of falling vic-
tim to Milo’s wife Pamphile, given her well known penchant for young men.
66 Harrison (2002) 44.
67 Krabbe (1989) 87.
24 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

more vivid and powerful.68 During the visit, Lucius is struck by the
splendid decorations in the atrium of Byrrhena’s house,69 which boasts
a group of marble statues representing the myth of Actaeon being
turned into a stag (2.4):
ecce lapis Parius in Dianam factus tenet libratam totius loci medietatem, signum per-
fecte luculentum, veste reflatum, procursu vegetum, introeuntibus obvium et maie-
state numinis venerabile; canes utrimquesecus deae latera muniunt, qui canes et
ipsi lapis erant; his oculi minantur, aures rigent, nares hiant, ora saeviunt et sicunde
de proximo latratus ingruerit, eum putabis de faucibus lapidis exire et, in quo sum-
mum specimen operae fabrilis egregius ille signifex prodidit, sublatis canibus in pectus
arduis pedes imi resistunt, currunt priores. pone tergum deae saxum insurgit in spe-
luncae modum muscis et herbis et foliis et virgulis et alicubi pampinis et arbusculis
alibi de lapide florentibus. splendet intus umbra signi de nitore lapidis. sub extrema
saxi margine poma et uvae faberrime politae dependent, quas ars aemula naturae ver-
itati similes explicuit. putes ad cibum inde quaedam, cum mustulentus autumnus
maturum colorem adflaverit, posse decerpi et, si fontem, qui deae vestigio discurrens
in lenem vibratur undam, pronus aspexeris, credes illos ut rure pendentes racemos
inter cetera veritatis nec agitationis officio carere. inter medias frondes lapidis Actaeon
simulacrum curioso optutu in deam proiectus, iam in cervum ferinus et in saxo simul
et in fonte loturam Dianam opperiens visitur.
Next I saw a piece of Parian marble made into the likeness of Diana, oc-
cupying in balance the center of the whole area. It was an absolutely bril-
liant statue, robe blowing in the wind, vividly running forward, coming to
meet you as you entered, awesome with the sublimity of godhead. There
were dogs protecting both flanks of the goddess, and the dogs were marble
too. Their eyes threatened, their ears stiffened, their nostrils flared, and
their mouths opened savagely, so that if the sound of barking burst in
from next door you would think it had come from the marble’s jaws. Fur-
thermore that superb sculptor displayed the greatest proof of his craftsman-
ship by making the dogs rear up with their breasts raised high, so that their
front feet seemed to run, while their hind feet thrust at the ground. Behind
the goddess’s back the rock rose in the form of a cave, with moss, grass,
leaves, bushes, and here vines and there little trees all blossoming out of
the stone. In the interior the statue’s shadow glistened with the marble’s
sheen. Up under the very edge of the rock hung apples and the most skill-
fully polished grapes, which art, rivalling nature, displayed to resemble re-
ality. You would think that some of them could be plucked for eating,
when wine-gathering Autumn breathes ripe colour upon them; and if
you bent down and looked in the pool that runs along by the goddess’s
feet shimmering in a gentle wave, you would think that the bunches of
grapes hanging there, as if in the country, possessed the quality of move-

68 Krabbe (1989, 86 – 87, and especially 106) views Byrrhena as prefiguring Isis.
69 A discussion of the scene from the perspective of curiositas appears in Wlosok
(1999) 146 – 148.
 The arrival at Hypata 25

ment, among all other aspects of reality. In the middle of the marble foliage
the image of Actaeon could be seen, both in stone and in the spring’s re-
flection, leaning towards the goddess with an inquisitive stare, in the very
act of changing into a stag and waiting for Diana to step into the bath.
As narrator and viewer, Lucius concentrates on those details that reveal
the beauty of the statue, but once again fails to detect the underlying
message. This is evident from the emphasis placed on the lifelike rendi-
tion of the goddess, the surrounding animals and the scenery. Indeed, all
the marble figures are described as being in motion: the goddess seems
to be walking, as if to greet the guests of Byrrhena’s house; the dogs are
portrayed with all their wild features, as if barking; the grapes leaning
over the goddess are characterized as real and ready to eat when the
fall wind blows; the waves of the lake are almost touching the feet of
the goddess.70 When compared to this lengthy description, Actaeon’s
curiosity only receives brief treatment. The validity of such a reading
is confirmed by the conclusion of the passage, where Lucius wishes
to emphasize the pleasure he derives from viewing the sculpture (2.5):
eximie delector (“enjoying myself enormously”).
It is at this point that Byrrhena intervenes so as to explain the deeper
meaning of the artwork, which has apparently escaped Lucius (2.5): ‘tua
sunt’, ait Byrrena, ‘cuncta, quae vides’ (“‘Everything you see,’ she said, ‘be-
longs to you’’’). The sculpture serves as a visual and immobile omen,
foretelling Lucius’ fate.71 Niall W. Slater has made here the very inter-

70 For the element in the ecphrasis, see Freudenburg (2007) 242; for a discussion
of motion in the ecphrasis, see Paschalis (2002) 132 – 142. See also Jacobson
(2004) 38, on the notion of running in the representation of Diana’s marble
dogs.
71 This comment may also be obliquely addressed to readers, who are called upon
to dig deeper than form and decode the novel’s underlying message. In Euripi-
des’ Bacchae, Pentheus views himself superior to the stranger Dionysus (and his
religion). In this he resembles his cousin Actaeon who views himself as a supe-
rior hunter to Artemis. Pentheus then, who dies like an animal for observing
the secret Bacchic rites, seems to foreshadow the development of the myth
in Hellenistic and Roman times where Actaeon watches Artemis taking her
bath in secret, and turns into a stag as punishment for his curiosity and then
is torn apart by his own dogs (Bach. 1290 – 1291):
poO d’ ¥ket’; G jat’ oWjom, C po_oir t|poir ; j oxpeq pq·m )jt]yma di]kawom
j}mer.
But where did he die? At home, or in what place? j Where in the past
hounds divided up Aktaion.
All references to the Bacchae in this work are to Diggle (1994); all translations of
the play are by Seaford (1996).
26 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

Figure 1: Fresco depicting Diana and Actaeon (Soprintendenza archeologica,

Pompeii).

esting observation that the sculpture represents more than one moment
in time:72
Actaeon is already undergoing the punishment for his curiosity by being
metamorphosed into a stag, but the naked object of that desire is not pres-
ent before his eyes. A clothed Diana strides along, somehow both before
and after the moment of discovery: the lack of any emotional description
of her figure may make us believe that she has not yet gone to bathe, while
the dogs at her side may suggest that they are ready in pursuit of Actaeon.

72 Slater (1998) 29. For parallels and contrasts between the ecphrasis in Apuleius
and Ovid’s version of the story at Met. 3.138 – 142, see van der Paardt (2004)
27 – 30.
 Encounter with magic 27

Byrrhena then warns Lucius that Milo’s wife Pamphile is a powerful

witch with a taste for young lovers, and advises her nephew to be ex-
tremely cautious. The name Pamphile, meaning the all-lover, perfectly
accords with the witch’s character, given her strong sexual appetite.73
Byrrhena could not have intervened to inform her nephew about the
dangers of magic earlier when she first saw him in the the public
space of the street and found out that he was staying at Milo’s house
(1.3). It is only later when Lucius visits her house and she is able to
talk to him in private that she notices his inordinate interest in the statue
of Diana and Actaeon.
The description of the sculpture is closely related to the outer nar-
rative in which it occurs, serving as an artistic double:74 Pamphile takes
the position of Diana,75 Lucius stands for Actaeon, who is transformed
into a stag as punishment for his curiosity, and the superb sculptor be-
comes the equivalent to the novel’s author.
Like the schoolmate Pythias, who earlier uncovered the magnitude
of the deception played on Lucius, Byrrhena tries to protect her nephew
from the dangers of Pamphile’s magic. In this sense, the presence of
both Pythias and Byrrhena serves to create suspense in the narrative,
as they try to prevent Lucius from the misfortune about to befall him.
And, just as in the Onos, Lucius disregards the advice he receives and
wants only to return to the house of his host, since he has at last discov-
ered where to find the magic he was looking for while strolling in town.

Encounter with magic

In both narratives, Lucius then returns home and constructs a plan to
avoid his host’s wife but gain access to magic nevertheless, via her ser-
vant girl. Appropriately, he meets the girl in the kitchen alone; after a
courting scene, the couple agree to meet in Lucius’ room for a night

73 Krabbe (1989) 84; Müller-Reineke (2006, 651 – 652) advances the interesting
explanation “that Apuleius has not only chosen the name Pamphile as a speak-
ing name, but also that by naming his character he had the opportunity to make
a literary pun on his acquaintance with an author who wrote a century earlier
like himself about all things worth knowing, and whose enormous and, as a
woman writer, surely suspicious success, allegedly attached to a work about
sex, made the perfect model of his character.”
74 Freudenburg (2007) 242, and further bibliography there.
75 Wlosok (1999) 147.
28 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

of passion. At this point, the Latin novel adds the dinner table conver-
sation between Pamphile, Milo and Lucius (2.11 – 15), which culmi-
nates in yet another inserted tale. The scene opens with Pamphile work-
ing her magic arts for the first time, reading the lamp light in order to
make weather predictions, thus conforming to Byrrhena’s earlier char-
acterization of her as a witch (2.5). In the ensuing conversation, Milo
makes an ironic comment on his wife’s clairvoyant powers (2.11),
while Lucius speaks in her defence, thus revealing himself to be a
firm believer in magic. He then narrates a tale about a certain astrologer
named Diophanes who has predicted he will profit greatly from his
journey to Hypata. The host tries to refute such claims with a story
in which Diophanes is ridiculed; he is no believer in magic or fortune
telling, and even makes fun of his wife for having recourse to the occult.
The entire conversation serves once again to bring out Lucius’ heedless-
ness and foolish belief in false seers. In intratextual terms, this conversa-
tion also clearly reproduces the context of the earlier exchange between
Lucius, Aristomenes and the sceptical traveller on the way to Hypata
(1.2 – 5).76 At the dinner table, Milo takes the position of the sceptical
fellow-traveller; Pamphile appears in the place of the witches Meroe
and Panthia, who perform their magic rites in the inn; and Lucius
takes the place of Aristomenes, who narrates the tale of Socrates’
death. This narrative doubling multiplies the warnings Lucius receives
of the risks associated with magic, prefiguring subsequent plot develop-
ments, as Lucius fails to learn from his experiences.
In both works, Lucius then enjoys a passionate night of adventures
with his host’s servant girl, who becomes his mistress. The next digres-
sion in the Metamorphoses involves Lucius’ attendance at a dinner party
held by his aunt Byrrhena. The entire community of Hypata has gath-
ered, and Lucius is treated to another tale (2.18 – 31), similar to that re-
counted by Aristomenes in the previous book (1.5 – 19). Like Socrates,
the young Thelyphron comes to Thessaly to watch the Olympic Games,
but ends up being transformed into a spectacle himself.77 This comes
about because Thelyphron overestimates his abilities and agrees to
guard a corpse overnight in exchange for money; during the night he
is attacked by witches and loses his nose and ears. Thereafter, he is ridi-
culed first by the participants in the funeral procession and then, as nar-

76 Winkler (1985) 43 – 44.

77 It is interesting to note that just as Byrrhena has spoken to Lucius of the dangers
of magic, an old man warns the young Thelyphron about the risks of magic.
 Encounter with magic 29

rator of his tale, by the guests at Byrrhena’s lavish dinner. The function
of this embedded tale is to prefigure the ordeal that is in store for Lucius
following the unwitting encounter with the wineskins animated by
Pamphile’s magic, his piercing them with his sword (2.32), and the
Laughter festival the following morning (3.1 – 12). At the festival, the
Hypatans stage a mock trial and accuse the stranger Lucius of triple mur-
der, as part of their annual celebrations in honour of the god of Laugh-
ter. Lucius takes this trial for real and ends up being ridiculed, as the
three citizens are later revealed to have been no more than animated
wineskins. Throughout the festival, the Hypatans treat Lucius as an an-
imal and laugh at his plight, just as the guests at Byrrhena’s dinner party
derive pleasure from Thelyphron’s misfortune. This treatment of The-
lyphron and Lucius by the Hypatans make the town appear as a savage
community with disregard for strangers.
The entire day’s events at the Laughter festival (3.1 – 12), which is
completely absent from the Onos, anticipate Lucius’ later humiliation
as an ass, and are directly attributable to Photis’ involvement in
magic. The encounter with the wineskins constitutes the first, indirect
contact with magic, and involves a preliminary metamorphosis: goatskin
hair is transformed into animated wineskins, but Lucius’ own body re-
mains unaffected. In turn, Photis’ feelings of guilt over the wineskin epi-
sode account for her subsequent willingness to let Lucius see Pamphile
performing spells (3.15 – 23). Moreover, the first blunder anticipates the
second one, when Photis, being an apprentice witch, turns her lover
into an ass instead of a bird (3.24). Magic, a powerful force, is left in
the hands of fallible mortals with catastrophic consequences. Finally,
through Lucius’ metamorphosis into an ass, the author’s play with the
expectations of readers, who have long ago anticipated his misfortune,
comes to an end. The repeated warnings about the dangers of
magic—given in the form of inserted tales or advice from aunt Byrrhe-
na—make the theme of Lucius’ metamorphosis into an ass also appear
more natural than in the Onos, where developments are not foreshad-
owed in any way.
Lucius’ metamorphosis into an ass is in agreement with the distinct
character of each work: in the Onos the sexuality of the ass fits well with
the exclusively Milesian character of the narrative, whereas in the Meta-
morphoses the author goes beyond this to multiply the misfortunes suf-
fered by the poor beast, and thus bring out the didactic aspect of his nar-
rative.
30 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

Wanderings
In the corresponding sections of the Onos (16) and the Latin novel
(3.28), shortly after the metamorphosis, a group of robbers burst into
the host’s house, load Lucius the ass with part of their loot and lead
him off to their mountain cave along with other pack animals. Having
arrived at their den, the robbers sit down to dinner. This is the next
point at which the two narratives diverge, since Apuleius inserts original
material into the meal-time conversation, again in the form of tales: one
of the robbers, who has successfully robbed Milo’s house, chides an-
other group for failing to bring off raids against Boeotian towns, and
for losing several of their valiant leaders in the process (4.8). The leader
of that group counters the accusation by narrating three lengthy tales
that deal with the loss of Lamachus, Alcimus and Thrasyleon, all
three of them brave leaders of the robbers (4.8 – 21). The accounts pro-
vide the narrative causation for the arrival of a young recruit named Tle-
polemus. Disguised as the notorious robber Haemus, he comes to liber-
ate his bride Charite, who was kidnapped by the robbers on her wed-
ding night and is being held in their cave (7.4 – 13). In his guise as Hae-
mus, Tlepolemus employs the stratagem used earlier by one of the rob-
bers’ own companions, Thrasyleon, who dressed up as a bear so as to
enter the house of a certain rich Demochares. Despite this, the robbers
fail to see through Tlepolemus’ disguise; they accord him a warm wel-
come and even go so far as to appoint him leader, for they have lost so
many brave companions. The supposed new recruit then puts his strat-
agem into effect. He uses Ulysses’ ploy with wine to put the robbers to
sleep and then liberates his bride, leading her home on the back of the
ass. The groom later returns to the cave with a group of soldiers and de-
stroys the entire robber gang, thus punishing them for their lawless ac-
tions.
It should be noted that no reference to the couple’s names is made in
the Onos, where there is only a brief reference to the groom. He gives
information to the soldiers about the hiding place of the thieves and
then accompanies them to free the girl along with the ass (26): 5tuwem
d³ ja· b tµm j|qgm lelmgsteul]mor s»m aqto?r 1kh~m7 aqt¹r c±q Gm b
ja· t¹ jatac~ciom t_m k,st_m lgm}sar (“The girl’s fiancé had come
with the soldiers, for he was actually the one who had shown them
where the robbers lived”). This remarkable turn of events, with the un-
expected liberation of Lucius the ass along with the captive girl from
captivity in the cave, may increase reader expectations that fortune
 Wanderings 31

may not always be the same, and that Lucius too may find release from
his troubles.
Both the Onos (29 – 34) and the Latin novel (7.17 – 23) then describe
the harsh ordeal suffered by the ass while in the possession of a cruel
boy. As in other cases, Apuleius expands on the misfortunes of the ass
and thus brings to the fore the didactic aspect of his narrative; in his ver-
sion, the boy is eventually killed by a bear (7.24 – 28), not found in the
Onos. Though the savage manner of his death may be interpreted as a
form of punishment by fate for mistreating the ass, the boy’s mother
holds Lucius the ass responsible for bringing about her son’s end, and
treats him accordingly, thus exacerbating his troubles.
The pattern of interrelationships between the Greek and Latin ver-
sions of the story extends to the death of Lucius’ owners, which Apu-
leius expands into a tragic narrative. In the Onos, a slave informs his
companions that the couple, who go unnamed, have been swept out
to sea and lost (34):
9pe· d³ m»n bahe?a, %ccek|r tir !p¹ t/r j~lgr Hjem eQr t¹m !cq¹m ja· tµm
5paukim, ta}tgm k]cym tµm me|mulvom j|qgm tµm rp¹ to?r k,sta?r
cemol]mgm ja· t¹m ta}tgr mulv_om, peq· de_kgm ax_am !lvot]qour aqto»r
1m t` aQciak` peqipatoOmtar, 1pipok\sasam %vmy tµm h\kassam
"qp\nai aqto»r ja· !vame?r poi/sai, ja· t]kor aqto?r toOto t/r
sulvoq÷r ja· ham\tou cem]shai.
When it was now dead of night, a messenger came from the village to our
farmhouse with news about the young bride who had been the prisoner of
the robbers, and her bridegroom. He said that, while they had been walk-
ing on the shore late in the evening, the sea had suddenly risen and snatch-
ed them out of sight, and that their lives had thus ended in tragic death.
Although the loss of the couple is likewise reported by a slave in the
Metamorphoses, Apuleius presents the circumstances of their death in
an elaborate manner reminiscent of Greek tragedy:78 the messenger
gives the names of the couple (Tlepolemus and Charite) and a jealous
suitor (Thrasyllus). In this version of events (8.1 – 14), Thrasyllus invites
Tlepolemus on a hunting expedition and then stages his death, so as to
claim the hand of Charite.79 His plan is thwarted when the ghost of Tle-

78 Tatum (1969) 516 – 517.

79 In Thrasyllus’ name, Repath (2000, 627 – 630) detects an association with Thra-
syllus, the Platonist/Pythagorean philosopher who was astrologer to Tiberius,
and Adrastus, a Peripatetic philosopher, as Thrasyllus performs the same role
as that of Adrastus, who killed the son of Croesus in the story of Herodotus
(1.34 – 45).
32 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

polemus appears to Charite in her sleep and reveals all, urging her not to
marry her husband’s murderer (8.8):80
‘Mi coniux, quod tibi prorsus ab alio dici non licebit: etsi pectori tuo iam permarcet
nostri memoria vel acerbae mortis meae casus foedus caritatis intercidit,—quovis alio
felicius maritare, modo ne in Thrasylli manum sacrilegam convenias neve sermonem
conferas nec mensam accumbas nec toro adquiescas. fuge mei percussoris cruentam
dexteram. noli parricidio nuptias auspicari. vulnera illa, quorum sanguinem tuae la-
crimae proluerunt, non sunt tota dentium vulnera: lancea mali Thrasylli me tibi fecit
alienum’ et addidit cetera omnemque scaenam sceleris inluminavit.
‘My wife,’ he began ‘for no one else can even call you by that name: even
though the memory of me still abides in your heart, nevertheless the mis-
fortune of my bitter death has cut through the bonds of love; marry some-
one else and be happy, only do not accept the impious hand of Thrasyllus.
Do not speak with him, nor share his table, nor sleep in his bed. Flee the
blood-stained hand of my killer. Do not enter into a marriage polluted by
murder. Those wounds whose blood your tears washed away are not all the
marks of tusks. It was the spear of evil Thrasyllus that separated me from
you.’ And he added all the other details, illuminating the whole stage on
which the crime had been enacted.
When Charite becomes aware of Thrasyllus’ scheme, she decides to
exact cruel revenge on him by putting out his eyes. Having done so,
she commits suicide on her husband’s tomb so as to be reunited with
him in death (8.14). Thrasyllus then enters the vault and dies of inedia
(“starvation”). The tragic deaths are enriched with images that allude
to the wedding ritual, though both marriages end in disaster.81 The
tale is adroitly integrated into the larger narrative, since Thrasyllus’ un-
controllable, ill-fated desire for Charite mirrors Lucius’ insatiable curios-
ity for magic. Not unlike Thrasyllus, Lucius constructs a scheme, which
involves winning over the confidence of Photis so as to achieve his aim
(2.6). Furthermore, Charite’s self-sacrifice may foreshadow the manner
in which Lucius agrees to forego the pleasures of his earthly life in order
to be united with the goddess Isis, in the novel’s final Book.82 Beyond
the tale itself, in both the Onos and the Latin novel, the death of the
couple serves to save Lucius the ass from the imminent threat of castra-
tion (33): eQ d³ aqt¹r !pe_qyr 5weir ta}tgr t/r Qatqe_ar, !v_nolai deOqo
letan» tqi_m C tett\qym Bleq_m ja_ soi toOtom syvqom]steqom
pqobat_ou paq]ny t0 tol0 (“If you have no personal experience of

80 For a comparison of this apparition with other spousal phantoms and Apuleius’
literary predecessors, see the excellent discussion in Lateiner (2003) 222 – 227.
81 On the wedding imagery in the episode, see Frangoulidis (1999b) 601 – 619.
82 Hägg (1992) 228.
 Wanderings 33

this type of surgery, I’ll come here in three or four days’ time and use
my knife to make him gentler than a lamb for you”).
In the centre of the novel, while Charite is still being held captive,
Apuleius inserts the longest and best-known tale of all. This relates how
Cupid falls in love with Psyche; how Psyche is punished for daring to
uncover the hidden identity of her divine companion; and how the
couple is eventually reunited and married on Mt. Olympus
(4.28 – 6.24). Yet again, the tale fits perfectly into the context in
which it is embedded. Just as Lucius displays inordinate curiosity for
magic, Psyche is over-eager to find out the identity of her husband, de-
spite having been warned that this will signal the end of her union with
him. Both Lucius and Psyche appear incapable of resisting a strong de-
sire for forbidden knowledge and thus put their lives at risk. Just as Psy-
che suffers relatively mild punishment when compared to that of her
jealous sisters, who meet a cruel death for having advised Psyche to dis-
cover her husband’s hidden identity, so Lucius, as victim of magic, es-
capes the fate of other similar characters in the novel’s tales. The prereq-
uisite for the salvation of both Psyche and Cupid is submission to the
divine: Psyche must submit to Venus if she wishes to regain her sepa-
rated husband. This anticipates the manner in which Lucius will regain
his human form and save his soul through initiation into Isis’ mysteries.83
Through the tale, which is meant as a representation of Lucius’ story in
a form of a myth, the author aims to give the readers a clue as to how his
reformation will come about, and how he will find release from his
troubles and eventually save his soul. The powerful presence of the di-
vine further foreshadows and accounts for the presence of the Isis Book;
Isis will take Cupid’s place and Lucius will be in a position similar to that
of Psyche. As listener, Lucius once again fails to perceive the deeper
message of the tale and, like his earlier reaction, as viewer of the sculp-
ture of Diana and Actaeon (2.5): Dum haec identidem rimabundus eximie
delector (“I was staring again and again at the statuary enjoying myself
enormously”), he merely characterizes the tale as charming (6.25): tam
bellam fabellam (“such a pretty tale”).84
In both Greek and Latin versions of the story, the slaves of the mar-
ried couple then seek to gain their freedom by running away with the
ass. In the Onos the slaves embark on a three day journey to Veroia in
Macedonia (34). Having decided to settle there, they sell the ass to

83 Hägg (1992) 228, and further bibliography there.

84 Wlosok (1999, 149) observes that Lucius is very far from learning from the tale.
34 Chapter 1 The Onos versus Apuleius’ Metamorphoses

Philebus, a corrupt priest of the Syrian goddess (35). By fleeing from

Thessaly to another province—in this case Macedonia—the runaway
slaves may seek to avoid prosecution.85 As is to be expected, Apuleius
gives a much richer account of Lucius’ adventures with the slaves
(8.15 – 23).86 The townspeople inform them of the presence of wolves
and the dangers of being attacked during the night. In fear of possible
pursuit, the men decide to press on nonetheless (8.16); they are not at-
tacked by wolves, but on reaching the following village are stoned by
the locals, who set wild dogs on them in the mistaken belief that they
are thieves (8.17 – 18). Reduced in number, the slaves eventually seek
refuge in a forest, but a shepherd warns them that the place is accursed
(8.19). They do not heed the warning until one of their companions is
taken by a serpent disguised as an old man (8.20 – 21). At nightfall they
reach a village, where they hear a story about a master who took re-
venge on his married slave for falling in love with another woman,
thereby bringing about the tragic death of his wife and his son
(8.22).87 Far from being extraneous material, the adventures and tale
should be regarded as indicative of the sufferings that have befallen Lu-
cius the ass as a result of his decision to pursue the socially inferior ser-
vant girl Photis, which in turn was motivated by his desire to dabble in
magic. Furthermore, the inserted material highlights his comparably
better fortune than several other characters following his involvement
with the witch slave girl Photis in both the narrative of the adventures
and the embedded tales. At the same time, though, Lucius should not be
seen as provoking these misfortunes, since it was the runaway slaves that
led him on the dangerous itinerary (8.16).
In both the Greek (35) and Latin (8.25) versions, Lucius then enters
into the possession of the corrupt priests of a Syrian goddess, is accused
of madness, and manages to escape death only after devising a clever
ruse, which receives fuller treatment in the Latin novel (9.1 – 4). He is
finally sold to a new master when the priests are arrested by soldiers
and cast in jail for stealing a cup from a temple, a charge stated explicitly

85 Browne (1978) 443.

86 For the artful organization of the narrative of the travelling slaves (8.15 – 22)
divided into three parts and concentrating in particular on their opening distinct
parts, see Murgatroyd (1997) 126 – 133. For parallels between the travelling
household of Book 8 and parts of Book 1, as both books deal with travel
and destinations, see Dowden (1993) 97 – 98.
87 Tatum (1969, 518) rightly points out that the horror of the tale is accentuated
by its brevity.
 Wanderings 35

only in the Onos. 88 While Lucius is owned by the priests, the Apuleian
version inserts an adultery story (9.5 – 7) which is yet again assessed as
charming (9.4): lepidam de adulterio cuiusdam pauperis fabulam (“an amus-
ing story about the cuckolding of a certain poor workman”). In the cli-
max of the tale, a wife earns money from the sale of a tub, while her
deceived husband is even forced to carry the barrel to the adulterer’s
house. Here again, the tale is skillfully integrated into the immediate
context in which it appears. Like the wife, the priests of the Syrian god-
dess are immoral; like the naïve husband, who offers his service to the
adulterer, Lucius the ass offers his service to the immoral priests. It
comes as no surprise that Lucius entirely fails to see any connection be-
tween the tale and his own plight, and restricts himself to an assessment
of the story’s aesthetic merits. The entire narrative of Lucius the ass in
the service of the corrupt priests of the Syrian goddess also intends to
foreshadow the vast contrast with Lucius’ subsequent service to Isis as
her priest in Book 11, which is also entirely absent from the Greek
tale of the Ass.
Moving on in the narrative, Lucius the ass is then bought by a miller
(Onos 42; Met. 9.10). In both versions he is given a rest on his first day,
but the following morning is set to work in the mill. Here Apuleius in-
serts a story about adultery (9.14 – 31);89 the ass distinguishes this tale
from all others, perhaps because of his own input in revealing the pres-
ence of the adulterer in the house and thus offering service to his dear
master (9.14): fabulam denique bonam prae ceteris, suavem, comptam (“better
than all the others and delightfully elegant”). In actual fact, the tale only
serves to bring out the foolishness of Lucius’ actions, for he is ultimately
responsible for his master’s cruel death when the wife resorts to magic,
from which there is no salvation. Thus, the tale once again reveals the
ass-Lucius’ failure to learn from his experiences in the novel, in stark

88 For variations in the treatment of the stolen cup motif in both the Onos and the
Latin novel, see the detailed discussion by Zimmerman (2007) 288 – 290.
89 Zimmerman (2006, 92 – 93) has associated the theme of adultery and infidelity
in the tales with Roman satire, in which the theme of infidelity involving mar-
ried women features prominently, as seen in the examples of adulterous women
in Juvenal’s sixth satire. See also Tatum (1969, 520 – 521), for the parallelism in
plot in these tales. For a discussion of the adultery tales from the perspective of
their structure and interrelation, as well as the role of the miller’s speech, see
Bechtle (1995) 106 – 116. For the rich intertextual interactions of the adul-
tery-tales with a range of literary and sub-literary traditions in both Greek
and Latin, see Harrison (2006) 19 – 31.
Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Children
of Christmas, and Others
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Title: Children of Christmas, and Others

Author: Edith Matilda Thomas

Release date: August 28, 2012 [eBook #40598]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILDREN OF

CHRISTMAS, AND OTHERS ***
Children of Christmas
Edith M. Thomas
Children of Christmas
AND OTHERS
 BY
EDITH M. THOMAS
Author of “The Dancers and Other Legends
and Lyrics”
“Cassia and Other Verse”

BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
The Gorham Press
1907

Copyright, 1907, by Edith M. Thomas

All Rights Reserved

The Gorham Press, Boston

 CONTENTS
I
CHILDREN OF CHRISTMAS
Cradle Song 9
How Many 9
Her Christmas Present 10
A Christmas Spy 11
Refreshments for Santa Claus 12
How the Christmas Tree was brought to Nome 12
Holly and Mistletoe 15
The Firebrand 15
The Foundling 17
Meeting the Kings 19
The Procession of the Kings 24
Melchior’s Ride 25
One of the Twelve 26
The Witch’s Child 28
Babushka 31
A Christmas Offering 33
Christmas Post 33
The Christmas Sheaf 34
The Birds on the Christmas Sheaf 36
What the Pine Trees Said 36
Two Child Angels 37
The Old Doll 38
II
OTHER CHILDREN
The Apple-blossom Switch 41
The Indignant Baby 42
A Question of Spelling 42
“Yours Severely” 43
A Lack of Attention 43
“I Ought to Mustn’t” 44
A Vain Regret 44
In the Dark Little Flat 44
The Little Girl from Town 45
For Every Day 46
The Day-Dreamer 47
Born Deaf, Dumb, and Blind 48
The Cradle-Child 49
Some Ladies of the Olden Time 50
A Water-Lily 51
The Kinderbank 51
Buonamico 54
The Prince and the Whipping-Boy 57
Master Corvus 59
“P. Abbott” 62
The Giant’s Daughter 64
Erotion and the Dove 66
The Homesick Soldier 67
The Cossack Mother 67
The Blossom-Child 68
The Clock of the Year 69
III
SOME OF THEIR FRIENDS
The Young of Spring 73
The Triumph of the Brown Thrush 74
Day—Wide Day! 74
The Blossoms of To-morrow 75
The Nest in the Heather 76
Lady Grove (Silver Birches) 78
Shadow Brook 78
The Brook and the Bird 79
The Birds of Soleure 80
The Prairie Nest 82
The Moving of the Nest 83
The Widowed Eagle 85
The Chickadee 86
The Earth-Mother and her Children 87
“When the Leaves are Gone” 88
The First Thanksgiving 88
“Mascots” 89
Mother Fur 90
What the Cat-Mother Said 91
What the Bird-Mother Said 91
What the Friend of Both Said 91
The Little Brown Bat 92
The Lost Charter 92
The Saving of Jack 96
Skye of Skye 98
Tip’s Kitten 99
The King of Cats 100
Waifs 104
Frost-Flowers of the Pavement 105
Stars of the Snow 106
June in the Sky 106
Mother Earth 107
The Rain Rains Every Day 108
The Good By 109
 I
CHILDREN OF CHRISTMAS
 CRADLE SONG
For one Born at Christmas

Happy thou, a winter comer,

Happier with the snows around thee
Than if rosy-fingered summer
In thy cradle-nest had crowned thee.

Tender is the night, and holy:

Little clouds, like cherub faces,
Up the moon path, drifting slowly,
Vanish in the heavenly spaces.

Clothed in splendor, past our earth night,

Sphere on sphere is chanting Nowel:
Child, thy birthnight keeps a Birthnight
Dearest in all Time’s bestowal!

He who slept within a manger

Guards the pillow thou art pressing—
Sent thee hither, little stranger,
Blest—to be our Christmas Blessing!
 HOW MANY

Resting her curly head on my knee,

And slipping her small hand into mine,
My baby girl asks how many there’ll be
On Christmas day when we dine.

Though I’ve told her before, and she knows very well,
“There’ll be grandpa and grandma,” I repeat,
And Uncle Charlie and Aunt Estelle
And Cousin Marguerite.

And Uncle Philip and Cousin Kate,

And mamma’s old friend, Miss Madeline;
And—let me see—ah, yes, that is eight,
And Mr. Brownell makes nine!

As I close my story I hear a sigh,

The curly head closer nestles, and then,
In a sad little voice, “How many are I?”
“My darling! At least you are ten!”
 HER CHRISTMAS PRESENT
A True Incident

With doll in arms to court she came,—

A mite of tender years
Between her sobs she put the case,
Her eyes brimmed up with tears.

“They’ve put my mamma into jail—

And oh, I love her so!
She’s very good—my mamma is—
Please, won’t you let her go?”

“Just look! She made this doll for me”

(She held it up to view).
The judge did look. “Don’t cry,” he said,
“We’ll see what we can do.”

“What charge against the prisoner, clerk?”

“Sold apples in the street.
She had no license, and, when fined,
The fine she could not meet.”

“My mamma’s good. Please, let her go.”

The judge looked down and smiled;
“So well you’ve pleaded, she shall be
Your Christmas Present, child.”
“Now take this paper, little one,
It sets your mother free.
She should be very proud of you;
Go, tell her so, from me.”

With doll in arms away she went,

And soon the prison gained;
And when her mother clasped her close,
The happy child explained:

“A kind, good man like Santa Claus,

With hair as white as snow,
He let you out because—because
I asked him too, you know!”
 A CHRISTMAS SPY

When Phœbe brought the wood and coal;

To lay the fire, what did she see
But Baby—dropped upon one knee
And peering up the chimney-hole!

She never turned her little head,

With all its curly, yellow hair:
I asked, “What are you doing there?”
“Me look for Santa Taus!” she said.
 REFRESHMENTS FOR SANTA
CLAUS

“It may be late and stormy and cold

When Santa Claus reaches our street;
And Santa, you know, is very old,
So I’ll leave him something to eat.”

“And what do you think he would like, dear heart,”

“Something nice and sweet,” she said;
“Jelly and jam, and a cranberry tart,
And a teenty piece of bread!”

So there on the sideboard is Santa’s feast,

Which her own small hands have spread;
Jelly and jam,—three kinds at least,
And a tart—but where is the bread?”
 HOW THE CHRISTMAS TREE
WAS BROUGHT TO NOME

Night of the winter—winter and night in the city of Nome,

There where the many are dwelling, but no man yet has a home!
Desolate league upon league, ice-pack and tundra and hill;
And the dark of the year when the gold-hunter’s rocker and dredge
are still!

By the fire that is no man’s hearth,—by the fire more precious than
gold,—
They are passing the time as they may, encompassed by storm and
by cold:
And their talk is of pay-streak and bedrock, of claim by seashore or
creek,
Of the brigantine fast in the ice-pack this many and many a week;
Wraiths of the mist and the snow encumber her canvas and deck,—
And the Eskimos swear that a crew out of ghostland are crowding
the wreck!

Thus, in the indolent dark of the year, in the city of Nome,

They were passing the time as they might, but ever their thoughts
turned home.
Said the Man from the East, “In God’s country now (where we’d all
like to be),
You may bet your life there’s a big boom on for the Christmas Tree;
And we’d have one here, but there isn’t a shrub as high as my hand,
Nor the smell of spruce, for a hundred miles, in all this land!”
Then the Man from the South arose: “I allow, if the Tree could be
found,
I’d ’tend to the fruit myself, and stand ye a treat all round!”
“Done!” said the Man from the West (the youngest of all was he).
“I’ll lose my claim in the ruby sand—or I’ll find the Tree!”

The restless Aurora is waving her banners wide through the dome,
And the Man from the West is off, while yet they are sleeping in
Nome!
Off, ere the low-browed dawn, with Eskimo, sledge, and team:
He is leaving the tundra behind, he is climbing the source of the
stream!
On, beyond Sinrock—on, while the miles and the dim hours glide—
On, toward the evergreen belt that darkens the mountain side!
’Tis a hundred miles or more; but his team is strong, is swift,
And brief are his slumbers at night, in the lee of the feathery drift!

There were watchful eyes, there were anxious hearts in the city of
Nome;
And they cheered with a will when the Man from the West with his
prize came home!
And they cheered again for the Christmas Tree that was brought
from far,
Chained to his sledge, like a king of old to the conqueror’s car!

Said the Man from the South, “I’ll ’tend to the fruit that grows on the
Tree!”
Said the Man from the East, “Leave the Christmas dinner and
trimmings to me!”
 HOLLY AND MISTLETOE

Said the Holly to the Mistletoe:

“Of this holy-tide what canst know,—
Thou a pagan—thou
Of the leafless bough?
My leaves are green, my scarlet berries shine
At thought of things divine!”

To the Holly spake the Mistletoe:

“Matters not, my leafless boughs but show
Berries pale as pearl—
Ask yon boy and girl!
If human mirth and love be not some sign
Of share in things divine!”
 THE FIREBRAND
(Northern Ohio, Christmas Eve, 1804)

Hark to a story of Christmas Eve

In the lonely days of yore:
’Tis of the measureless, savage woods
By the great lake’s windy shore—
Of mother and child, in a firelit span,
Where the wilderness bows to the toil of man!

“Christmas is coming, and father’ll be here;

Through the woods he is coming, I know!
Over his shoulder his ax is laid,
And his beard is white with snow!
Yes, but look in the fire, my child,
At the strange cities there, so bright and so wild!”

“Mother, what are those restless flames

That close by the window pass?”
“Only the firelight fairies, child,
That dance on the window-glass!
But look, how the sparks up the chimney fly,
Up, and away, to the snowy sky!”

“Oh, listen, what are those shuddering cries,—

Mother, what can they be?”
“Only the branches that grate on the roof,
When the wind bends down the tree!
Now sing me the song I’ve taught to you,
That I, myself, as a little child knew!”

“But, mother, those flames dart back and forth—

Like balls of fire they play!
And those shuddering cries are at the door;
‘You must let us in,’ they say!”—
“My child! Your father’s whistle I hear—
Say a prayer for him—he is coming near!”

She has seized the tongs, she has snatched a brand,

And waved it abroad at the door!
Through the drifting snow a form she sees—
He is safe, in a moment more;
Safe—and afar are those shuddering cries,
And the baleful lights of the wolves’ red eyes!

Thus did it chance on a Christmas Eve,

In the days that are long since fled;
But a light so brave, and a gleam so true,
Through the waste of the years is shed,
As I think of that blazing, windblown brand,
Waved at the door by a slim, white hand!
 THE FOUNDLING

I
The good man sat before the fire,
And oftentimes he sighed;
The good wife softly wept the while
Her evening work she plied:
One year ago this happy time
The little Marie died!

II
“And surely, now, if she had lived,
She would have reached my knee!”
“And surely, now, if she had lived,
How cunning would she be!”
In fancy each a darling face
Beside their hearth could see.

III
The door swung wide—a gust of wind
The fitful candle blew;
’Twas Franz, the awkward stable-boy,
His clattering step they knew.
“But Franz, speak up, speak up, and tell
What thing has chanced to you!”

IV
His round blue eyes with wonder shone,
His bashful fears had fled:
“I saw—I saw the cattle kneel
 Upon their strawy bed;
And in a manger lay the Child—
A light shone round His head!”

V
“He must have dreamed,” the good man said,
“A vision, it would seem.”
“Nay, master, for the light shone bright
On stall and loft and beam.”
Then said the good wife, “I, perhaps,
Might go and dream this dream!”

VI
No further words, but forth she fared,
With Franz to lead the way.
They reached the barn, whose sagging door
Shot out a yellow ray;
The kine did kneel upon the straw,
As truthful Franz did say!

VII
And there—oh, lovely, lovely sight,
Oh, pleading, tender sight!
Within a manger, lapped in hay,
A smiling, rosy mite
The good wife saw, and nearer held
The lantern’s yellow light.

VIII
She took the foundling in her arms,
And on its sleeping face
Her tears and kisses fell in one:
“How great is Heaven’s grace!
It is the Christ-Child’s gift to me,
To ease the aching place!”
 MEETING THE KINGS
(Suggested by “A Provençal Christmas
Postscript,” Thomas A. Janvier)

Long, long ago, in dear Provence, we three!

Three children, ruddy with the midi sun
(And blither none the all-seeing sun might see),
How happy when the harvest-time was done,
The last slow drop from out the winepress run;
And when the frost at morn was thick like snow;
And when Clotilde at evening sang and spun,
And old folk, by the new fire’s ruddy glow,
Would tell, as I do now, the tales of long ago!

Those tales—ah, most of all, we begged to hear

The tales our grandsires from their grandsires had—
How, in the darkening undertime of year,
When with first-fallen snow the fields were clad,
That blessèd time when nothing can be sad
(Such peace through Christ’s dear might encircles all),
How, then, the sleeping hives made murmur glad—
The white ox knelt within his littered stall,
And voices strange and sweet were heard through heaven to
call!

We were three children—René, Pierre, Annette.

The little sister listened, wonder-eyed;
Each held her hand (that touch, I feel it yet!),
And all three drank those tales of Christmas tide.
The leaden-footed time how shall we bide?

How many days and hours we know full well,

Almost the little minutes that divide!
Meanwhile, like music of a hidden bell,
Our beating hearts keep up the chime, Noël, Noël!

One thing there was, desired above all things:

“Say, will they come (as ever from of old)—
The wise, the good, the three great Eastern Kings,
Who brought rich gifts,—frankincense, myrrh, and gold?”
How often of their names had we been told—
Balthasar, Melchior, Gaspard,—splendid all,
Wide-turbaned, sandal-shod, and purple-stoled,
Perhaps upon white steeds, curbed-in, and tall,
Or else on camels with the velvet-soft footfall!

“Will they at vespers be, on Holy Night?

And will they stop and see the little shrine
Where Jesus lies beneath the Star’s true light,
As when, at first, they found him by that sign?”
“Hush, René, hush! and if the eve be fine,
Thou—yes, all three—shall go to meet the Kings.
But children—mark ye well these words of mine!
Each way, of four, to town the traveler brings;
So it may chance ye miss them in your wanderings.”

Such sage replies our questions would receive.

The Holy Time drew near, and yet more near;
At last, it was the morning of the Eve,
All day we swayed from lovely hope to fear.
“‘Too early?’ Nay, ’tis twilight, mother dear—
At least, so very soon the sun will set!”
“Your warmest coats—the air is sharp and clear.
And in your hurry, children, don’t forget
That baby feet tire soon—remember p’tite Annette!”

“No, no! I do not tire, though fast I run!”

Ah, how we laughed to see the red lips pout—
The small sweet pride that would not be outdone
In such a race, by brothers big and stout!
“Annette the first shall see the Kings, no doubt”—
It was our grandsire spake with twinkling eye.
“Yes, yes; she shall,” impatient to be out,
We answered. Once beneath the deepening sky,
We ever took the sunset way—as late birds thither fly!

For thus we reasoned with one grave consent:

If yonder star above our mountain’s crest
Should be that Eastern star for guidance lent,
Then must the Kings be journeying from the West.
So on we ran, past harvest fields at rest,
Past sheepfolds where the flock of summer dreamed
(Full soon they would be kneeling, as we guessed!)
And on, and on—and now, at times, it seemed
Far down the twilight road rich banners waved and gleamed.

But ever of enchanted weft they proved,

On sunset’s pageant field emblazoned low;
And caravans, still moving as we moved,
At length, for straggling olive trees would show.
Then, while less confident our pace would grow,
Wiser than I—a twelvemonth and a day,
Would René counsel: Might it not be so—
As we had heard our own dear mother say—
The roads are four—the Kings had come another way?
No time to lose. We took the homeward track,
The Kings at vespers might be lingering still.
Soon were we in the church. Alack, alack!
The Kings had passed; for though they bore good will
To our good parish, yet must they fulfil
The prayers of all; and there were other folk
Who, if unvisited, would take it ill.
“’Tis said they must reach Arle by midnight stroke;
Sweet spices they have left—judge by the censer’s smoke!”

We boys took manfully this frown of Fate;

But tears stood in petite Annette’s blue eyes.
“Another year, my precious,—thou canst wait;
Besides, to-morrow morn a fine surprise
There’ll be for children who are sage and wise.
Gifts—but I may not tell you now, my child.”—
’Twas mother-love that did such cure devise
For bud-nipped hopes and hearts unreconciled;
We slept, and dreamed, on this—and then, the morning smiled!

Time passed. We never saw the Kings. Ah, well—

At least the two of us saw not, I know.
But how shall I the wonder of it tell?
There came a winter wild and dim with snow.
It seemed to us that sheeted ghosts did go
Upon the wind, that never ceased to moan.
And one of us with fever was laid low:
Like leaves the little hands were tossed and thrown,
And on her cheek the rose of fever was o’erblown!

The storm was done. The day threw off its shroud—
(’Twas Christmas Eve—till then by all forgot),
And suddenly, across a scarp of cloud
One crimson flame, a parting sunbeam shot.
It reached Annette upon the low, white cot,
It touched our mother’s face, Madonna-mild.
With dreaming eyes that saw us, yet saw not,
Petite Annette threw out her hand and smiled:
“Pierre! The Kings have come, and with them is a Child!”

Long, long ago in dear Provence was grief.

In vain the troubadour may sing Noël!
In vain the birds give thanks for Christmas sheaf,
In vain I heard, “God loved Annette so well
That He hath taken her to heaven to dwell.”
No comfort till René would whisper me:
“O brother, think upon it—who can tell?—
Perhaps there was no other way, to see!
And, Pierre, remember how she told the news to thee!”
 THE PROCESSION OF THE
KINGS

The little town is muffled all in snow;

Yet there Weihnachten[1] love is burning clear.
And on each door three letters[2] in a row
Proclaim the Three Kings’ Day is drawing near.

Oh, then will Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar

Ride through the country on their horses white!
And all the people, live they far or near,
Will early rise and follow with delight.

And never will the great procession stop

Till they Christkindlein and his mother greet:
Then on their knees the turbaned kings will drop,
And fill her lap with gifts, and kiss his feet;

For they will find her, sitting still and meek

Upon a bench beside some stable-shed,
Her soft hair brushing dear Christkindlein’s cheek,
And sunshine brightness all around each head!

Then, while the old folk smile through happy tears,

Blame not the children if a shout they raise
When little Esel,[3] with his pointed ears,
Leans o’er the fence with puzzled, wistful gaze.
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