AS Epitomes
Apuleius: The Golden Ass
Abstract
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Contents Updated: Saturday, 5 July 2008
Lucius Apuleius
Lucius Apuleius was born about 125 AD, at Madaura, in Africa. After studying at Athens, he practised as an advocate at Rome, and then wandered about Northern Africa, lecturing on philosophy and rhetoric. At Tripoli, he was charged with having won by witchcraft the love of a rich widow who had left him her wealth. He was acquitted after delivering an interesting defence, included among his extant works. He then settled in Carthage, where he died at an advanced age. Apuleius wrote The Golden Ass, for recreation, at Rome! It related the adventures of a young Greek nobleman who, through an interest in witchcraft, got changed into a donkey. People thought the story was true, and the author the hero of it. In fact, it is a Latin adaptation of a lost Greek romance by Lucius of Patrae which Lucian also copied. Apuleius deserves our gratitude for preserving a unique specimen of the lighter literature of the ancient Greeks, together with the folk-tale of Cupid and Psyche.
To Thessaly
I set out from Corinth in a fever of excitement and expectation, riding my horse so hard that it fell lame, so I had to do the remainder of the journey on foot. My heart was filled with joy and terror as I entered the town of Hypata. “Here I am, at last”, I cried, “in Thessaly! Thessaly, the land of magic and witchcraft, famous through the world for its marvels and enchantments!”. Carried away by my desire after strange and mystic knowledge, I gazed around with wonder and disquietude. Nothing in this marvellous city, I thought to myself, is really what it seems to be. The stones I stumbled over appeared to be living creatures petrified by magic. I fancied that the trees in the gardens and the birds that sang in their branches were men that had been transformed by Thessalian witches. The very statues seemed as if they were about to walk. Every wall had ears, and I looked up into the blue, cloudless sky, expecting to hear oracles.
Entering the market place, I passed close to a noble lady who was walking with a crowd of servants in her train. “By Hercules!” she cried. “It’s Lucius!” I hung back, confused and blushing, and Byrrhena, for it was she, said to one of her companions, “It’s Salvia’s boy! Isn’t he the image of his modest, beautiful mother? Young, tall and fair, with just her bright, grey blue eyes, and her alert glance. Every bit a Plutarch! Lucius, don’t you remember your kinswoman, Byrrhena? Why, I brought you up with my own hands”! I remembered Byrrhena very well, and loved her. But I did not want to meet her just then. However, I went with her to her house, a beautiful building of fine marble, containing some exquisite statuary. “You will stay here, my dear Lucius, won’t you?” she said. I then told her that I had C8me to Hypata to see Milo and his wife Pamphila.
My friend Demeas of Corinth had given me a letter of introduction. “Don’t you know that Pamphila is a witch?” she cried. “Do not go near her, my child, or she will practise her wicked arts on you. It is just handsome young men like you she enchants and destroys.”
Far from being terrified by Byrrhena’s warning, I was delighted with it. I longed to become an apprentice to a witch as powerful as Pamphila. With a hasty excuse I left the house and set out to find Milo. Neither he nor Pamphila was in when I called. But their maid, who opened the door, was such a pretty wench that I did not regret their absence. Fotis, as she was called, was a graceful, sprightly little thing, with the loveliest hair I ever saw. I liked the way it fell in soft puffs on her neck, and rested on her neat linen tunic.
It was a case of love at first sight with both of us. But before I began to ask her about Pamphila, Milo returned. He welcomed me very warmly, and put the best room in his house at my disposal, and desired me to stay to dinner. But in spite of my ardent curiosity, I was, I must confess, rather afraid of meeting his wife. So I said that my kinswoman Byrrhena had already engaged me to dine with her.
A Festival and an Arrest
On arriving at Byrrhena’s mansion, I was surprised to find that a splendid banquet had been prepared and that all the best people in Hypata were present. We redined on couches of ivory, covered with golden drapery, and a throng of lovely girls served us with exquisite dishes, while pretty, curly-headed boys brought the wine round in goblets of gold and amber. When the lights were brought in, the talk became freer and gayer; everybody was bent on laughter.
“We are, you see, preparing for the great festival to-morrow”, Byrrhena said to me. “Hypata is the only city that keeps the feast of the god of laughter. You must come, and invent some pleasantry to propitiate the merriest of all deities”.
“By Hercules!” I replied. “If the laughing god will only lend me inspiration to-night, I will do my best to entertain the townspeople to-morrow.”
It was the jolliest banquet I was ever at. Even in Corinth we did not do the thing so well. It was not until I got into the open air, and set out for Milo’s house, that I knew how much wine I had taken. But though I was rather unsteady on my feet, I retained my presence of mind. I reached the house, and suddenly three great burly fellows sprang up, and battered furiously at the door. They were clearly robbers of the most desperate type, and I drew my sword, and, as they came at me one by one, I plunged it into their bodies.
Fotis was aroused, and opened the door, and I entered, utterly worn out by the struggle, and went at once to bed and to sleep. Early in the morning I was awakened by a great clamour. A throng of people burst into my bedroom, and two lictors arrested me and dragged me to the forum. But as they took me through the streets and squares, everybody turned out to see me, and the crowd grew so great that the forum was not large enough to hold the people, and I was led to the theatre. There the lictors pushed me down through the proscenium, as though I were a victim for sacrifice, and put me in the centre of the orchestra.
“Citizens”, said the prefect of the watch, “as I was going on my rounds late last night, I saw this ferocious young foreigner, sword in hanQ, slashing and stabbing three inoffensive creatures. When I arrived they were lying dead upon the ground. Their murderer, overwhelmed by his terrible crime, fled into a house and hid there, hoping, no doubt, to escape in the morning. Men of Hypata, you do not allow your own fellow-townsmen to commit murder with impunity. Shall, then, this savage, brutal alien avoid the consequences of his fearful crime?”
For some time I could not reply. The suddenness of the whole thing terrified me, and it was with a voice broken with sobs that I at last managed to make my defence.
“They were robbers”, I cried, “robbers of the most desperate and vilest character! I caught them breaking into the house of my friend Milo, your esteemed fellow townsman, O citizens of Hypata! There were three of them—three great, rough, burly rascals, each more than a match for a mere boy like myself. Yet I managed to kill them, and I think I deserve praise at your hands, and not censure, for my public spirited action.”
Here I stopped, for I saw that all the vast multitude of people were laughing at me. And what grieved me most was to see my kinswoman Byrrhena and my host Milo among my mockers. The senior magistrate ordered the wheel and other instruments of torture to be brought forth.
“I cannot believe a mere boy like this could have slain three great strong men single-handed”, he said. “He must have had accomplices, and we must torture him until he reveals the names of his partners in this most dastardly crime. But, first of all, let him look upon the bodies of the men he has foully murdered. Perhaps they will melt his hard, savage nature”. The lictors then led me to the bier and forced me to uncover the bodies. Ye gods! The corpses were merely three inflated wine skins, and I observed that they were cut in the very spots in which I thought I had wounded the robbers. I had, indeed, invented a pleasantry for the festival of the god of laughter!
The townspeople laughed with the inextinguishable laughter of the Olympian deities. They climbed up to the roof to get a good look at me. They swarmed up the pillars. They clung to the statues. They hung from the windows at the risk of their lives.
“Sir Lucius”, the magistrate then said to me, “we are not ignorant of your dignity and your rank. The noble family to which you belong is famous throughout Greece. So do not take this pleasantry in honour of the joyful god of laughter as an insult. In return for your excellent services at this great festival, the city of Hypata has decreed that your statue shall be cast in bronze and erected in a place of honour”. By this time I had recovered somewhat of my good humour. But knowing how mercilessly I should be teased at the banquet Byrrhena wished to give in celebration of my exploits, I went quickly home with Milo, and after supping with him, retired at a very early hour to my bedchamber.
Fotis the Maid and Pamphilia the Witch
In the middle of the night I heard a knock at my door. I opened it, and in came pretty Fotis, looking a picture of woe. “I can’t sleep without telling you everything”, she said. “I was the cause of all the trouble that befell you to-day. As my mistress was coming from the baths yesterday, she saw a handsome young gentleman having his hair cut by a barber. Seized with a wild passion for him, she ordered me to get some of his hair. But the barber saw me and drove me away. I knew I should get a cruel whipping if I returned empty-handed. Close by was a man shaving some wine-bags of goat-skin. The hair was soft and yellow like the young gentleman’s, so I took some of it to Pamphila. You know my mistress is a terrible witch, so you can guess what happened. She rose up in the night, and burnt the hair in her magic cauldron. As it burnt, the vine-bags from which it was taken felt the compulsion of the spel1. They became like human beings. Rushing out into the street, they hurled themselves against the door of our house, as Pamphila expected the young gentleman would do. You came up-just a little intoxicated, eh? and committed the horrible crime of bag-slaughter”."
“Now, don’t make fun of me, Fotis”, I said. “This is a serious matter, this witchcraft. What is Pamphila doing to-night? I have come here to learn magic, and I am very anxious to see her practising her strange arts.”
“Come, then, and look”, said Fotis. We crept to the room where Pamphila was, and peered through a chink in the door. The witch undressed herself, and then took some boxes of ointment out of a casket, and opened one box and smeared herself with the stuff it contained. In the twinkling of an eye feathers sprouted out of her skin, and she changed into an owl and flew out of the window.
“She has gone after that handsome young gentleman”, said Fotis. “I have to wait here all night until she returns, and then give her a lotion of aniseed and laurelleaves to restore her to her proper shape.”
Fotis Makes Milo into an Ass
“Why, my dear Fotis”, I exclaimed, in intense admiration, “vou know as much about witchcraft as your mistress! Come, practise on me! Get me some of that ointment and change me into a bird. Oh, how I should like to fly!”
After some hesitation she entered the room, and took a box out of the casket. I stripped myself and smeared the ointment over my body. But never a feather appeared! Every hair on me changed into a bristle, my hands turned into hoofed forefeet, a tail grew out of my backbone, my face lengthened; and I found, to my horror, that I had become an ass.
“Oh, ye gods”, said Fotis, “I’ve taken the wrong box! But no great harm’s done, dear Lucius. I know the antidote. I’ll get you some roses to crunch, and you will be restored to your proper shape.” Fotis, however, dared not go at once into the garden, lest Pamphila should suddenly return and find me. So she told me to go and wait in the stable until daybreak, and then she would gather some roses for me. But when I got into the stable I wished I had waited outside.
My own horse and an ass belonging to Milo conceived a strange dislike to me. They fell upon me with great fury, and bit me and kicked me, and made such a clamour that the groom came to see what was the matter. He found me standing on my hind legs trying to reach the garland of roses which he had placed on the shrine of the goddess Epona in the middle of the stable.
“What a sacrilegious brute!” he cried, falling upon me savagely, “attacking the shrine of the divinity who guards over horses! I’ll lame you, that I will!” As he was belabouring me with a great cudgel, a band of fierce men armed with swords and carrying lighted torches appeared. At the sight of them the groom fled in terror.
“Help! Help! Robbers!” I heard Milo and Fotis cry. But before the groom was able to fetch the watch, the robbers forced their way into the house and broke open Milo’s strongbox. Then they loaded me and the horse and the ass with the stolen wealth and drove us out into the mountains.
Unused to the heavy burden laid on me, I went rather slowly. This enraged the robbers, and they beat me until I was well nigh dead. But at last I saw a sight which filled me with the wildest joy. We passed a noble country house, surrounded by a garden of sweet smelling roses. I rushed open mouthed upon the flowers. But just as I strained my curling lips towards them, I stopped. If I changed myself into a man the robbers would kill me, either as a wizard, or out of fear that I would inform against them! So I left the roses untouched, and in the evening we came to the cave in the mountains where the robbers dwelt, and there, to my delight, I was relieved of my grievous load.
Soon afterwards another band of robbers arrived, carrying a young and lovely maid arrayed as a bride. Her beautiful features were pale and wet with tears, and she tore her hair and her garments. “Take this girl”, said the robbers to the old woman who waited upon them, “and comfort her. Tell her she’s in no danger. Her people are rich, and will soon ransom her.” Charite, for such was the name of the beautiful bride, fell weeping into one of the old women’s arms.
“They tore me away from Tlepolemus”, she said, “when he was about to enter my bridal chamber. Our house was decked with laurel, and the bridal song was being sung, when a band of swordsmen entered with drawn swords and carried me off. Now I shall never see him again.”
“Yes, you will, dearie”, said the old woman. “But don’t let us talk about it now. After all, you are not in so evil a plight as Psyche was when she lost her husband, Cupid. Now listen while I tell you that marvellous tale.” And here is the tale of Cupid and Psyche as the old woman related it to Charite.
Cupid and Psyche
There was once a king of a certain city who had three daughters. All of them were very beautiful, but Psyche, the youngest, was lovelier even than Venus. The people worshipped her as she walked the streets, and strewed her path with flowers. Strangers from all parts of the world thronged to see her and to adore her. The temples of Venus were deserted, and no garlands were laid at her shrines. Thereupon, the goddess of love and beauty grew angry. She tossed her head with a cry of rage, and called to her son, Cupid, and showed him Psyche walking the streets of the city.
“Avenge me!” she said. “Fill this maiden with burning love for the ugliest, wretchedest creature that lives on earth.” The king was thereupon commanded by an oracle to array his daughter in bridal robes and set her upon a high mountain, so that she might be wedded to a horrible monster. All the city was filled with grief and lamentation when Psyche was led out to her doom and placed upon the lonely peak. Then a mighty wind arose, and carried the maiden to an enchanted palace, where she was waited on by unseen spirits who played sweet music for her delight and fed her with delicious food.
But in the darkness of night someone came to her couch and wooed her tenderly, and she fell in love with him and became his wife. And he said, “Psyche. you may do what you will in the palace I have built for you. But one thing you must not do, you must not attempt to see my face.”
Her husband was very sweet and kind, but he came only in the night-time; and in the daytime Psyche felt very lonesome. So she begged her husband to let her sisters come and stay with her, and her husband had them brought on a mighty wind. When they saw how delightfully Psyche lived in the enchanted palace they grew jealous of her strange happiness.
“Yes, this is a very pleasant place”, tbey exclaimed, “but you know what the oracle said, Psyche. You are married to a monster! That is the reason why he will not let you see his face.”
In the night, when they had departed, Psyche lighted a lamp and looked at her bedfellow. Oh, joy! It was Cupid, the radiant young god of love, reposing in his beauty. In her excitement Psyche let a drop of burning oil fall from the lamp upon his right shoulder. The god leaped up and spread out his wings and flew away, saying:
“Instead of marrying you to a monster, as my mother commanded, I wedded you myself. And this is how you serve me! Farewell, Psyche! Farewell!” But Psyche set out to follow him, and after a long and toilsome journey she reached the court of Venus, where Cupid was now imprisoned. Venus seized her and beat her, and then set her on dangerous tasks, and tried to bring about her death. But Psyche was so lovely and gentle that every living creature wished to help her and save her. Then Venus, fearing that Cupid would escape and rescue his wife, said: “Psyche, take this casket to Proserpine, in the Kingdom of the Dead, and ask her to fill it with beauty.” Psyche was in despair. No mortal had ever returned from the Kingdom of the Dead. She climbed a high tower, and prepared to throw herself down, and die. But the very stones took pity upon her.
“Go to the hill Taenarus”, they said, “and there vou will find a wav to the Underworld, but go not empty handed. Take two copper coins in your mouth, and two honey cakes in your hands.”
Psyche travelled to Taenarus, near Lacedaemon, and there she found a hole leading to the Underworld. A ghostly ferryman rowed her over the River of Death, and took one of her copper coins. Then a monstrous dog with three heads sprang out, but Psyche fed him with one of her honey cakes, and entered the hall of Proserpine, Queen of the Dead, who filled the casket, and by means of the last honey cake and the last copper coin Psyche returned to the green, bright earth.
But, alas! she was over-curious, and opened the casket to see the divine beauty it contained. A deadly vapour came out and overpowered her. She fell to the ground, but Cupid, now escaped from his prison, found her lying on the grass, and wiped the vapour from her face. Taking her in his arms, he spread out his wings and carried her to Olympus, and there they lived together in unending bliss, with their little child, who is known to us by the name of Joy.
Saved from the Robbers
While the old woman was entertaining the beautiful captive with this charming tale, a tall, fierce young man in ragged clothes stalked boldly in among the robbers.
“Long life to you, brave comrades!” he said. “Don’t judge me by these rags, my boys. They’re a disguise. Have you heard of Haemus, the famous Thracian brigand? If so, you’ve heard of me. My band has been cut up, but I’m bringing what men I still have to you. Shall we join forces?” The robbers had just lost their own captain, so they receivcd Haemus with great joy and made him their leader.
Soon afterwards ten of his men camc in, loaded with swollen wine bags. “Here’s enough wine”, he said, “to last a fortnight if we use it temperately. Let us celebrate this glorious day by finishing it at one sitting!” The robbers at once fell furiously to drinking, and their new captain forced Charite to come and sit beside him. After a little wooing, she began to cling to him and return his kisses.
“Oh, what a frail, fickle, faithless race are women!” I said to myself. “Scarcely two hours ago she was crying her eyes out for her bridegroom; now here she is, fondling a wretched assassin.” What an ass I was! It was some time before I noticed that the new captain did not drink himself, and that the men he brought with him were only pretending to drink, while forcing the wine on the other robbers, who soon became too drunk to drink, and rolled over in a deep sleep.
“Up, boys, and disarm and bind these ruffians!” said the new captain, who was none other than Tlepolemus, the bridegroom of the fair Charite. And leaving his servants to perform this task, he put Charite on my back and led me to his native town. All the inhabitants poured out into the street to see us pass, and they loudly acclaimed Tlepolemus for his valour and ingenuity in rescuing his lovely bride and capturing the robbers.
Charite did not forget me in the scenes of rejoicing. She patted my head and kissed my rough face, and bade the groom of the stud feed me well and let me have the run of the fields.
“Now I shall at last be able to get a mouthful of roses”, I thought, “and recover my human shape.” But, alas! the groom was an avaricious, disobedient slave, and he at once sold me to a troupe of those infamous, beggarly priests of Cybele, who cart the Syrian goddess about the public squares to the sound of cymbals and rattles.
The next morning my new owners smeared their faces with rouge and painted their eyes with black grease, then they dressed themselves in white tunics, and set their wretched goddess on my back, and marched out, leaping and brandishing great swords and axes. On coming to the mansion of a wealthy man, they raised a wild din, and whirled about, and cut themselves and scourged themselves until they were covered with blood.
The master of the mansion was so impressed with this savage and degrading spectacle that he gave the priests a good sum of money, and invited them into his house. They took the goddess with them, and I scampered out into the fields searching for some roses.But I was quickly brought back by the cook. His master had given him a fat haunch from an enormous stag to roast for the priests’ dinner, and a dog had run on with it. To avoid being whipped for his carelessness, the slave resolved to let the priests dine on a haunch of their own ass.
He locked the door of the kitchen, so that I could not escape, and then took a long knife and came to kill me. But I had no mind to perish in this way, and I dashed upstairs to where the master was busy worshipping the goddess in the company of the priests, and knocked the table over, and the goddess and many of the worshippers. “Kill the wretched thing”, said the master. “It has gone mad.” But the priests did not care to lose their saleable property, and they locked me in their bedroom, and sold me next day to a poor gardener who needed an ass to cart his stuff to market. But as the gardener was taking me home a soldier came tramping along the road. He, too, wanted an ass to carry his heavy kit. So he struck the gardener down with his sword and seized me by right of conquest. Then he took me to the town to which he was travelling and disposed of me for a small sum to two confectioners.
Milo becomes the Golden Ass
By this time I had grown very feeble and thin. Though I was changed into an ass, I could not relish hay and grass and food of that sort, and I derived scarcely any nourishment from it. I still had human tastes, as well as human thoughts and feelings. Happily, I was very well off with my new masters. Every evening, they brought home the remains of the banquets they had served, bits of chicken, pork, fish and meat, and various cakes, and these they put in their room while they went for a bath before dinner. I used then to creep in and take all the best bits, and when my two masters returned they began to reproach each other with having filched the choicest pieces. In the meantime, I grew plump and glossy and broad-backed, and as my masters observed I ate no hay, they spied on me one evening.
They forgot their quarrel when they saw their ass picking out the best bits like an epicure: and, bursting open the door, they cried: “Let us try him with wine!” Naturally, I drank it very readily. “We have got a treasure here”, they said. They soon found that I was intelligent, and understood human language. And after training me they took me to Corinth, and exhibited me there and made a great deal of money. In a short time, I became famous throughout Greece as the Golden Ass, and I was bought by the town for use in the public show. And one evening I succeeded in escaping and fled to a lonely spot on the seashore.
As I nestled down on the soft sand, the full moon rose above the eastern waves, and shone with a glorious radiance. My heart opened to the mysteries of the sacred night, and I sprang up and bathed seven times in the cleansing water of the sea. Then, with tears, I prayed to Isis, to restore me to my rightful shape.
Sleep fell swiftly upon my eyes, and in my sleep the goddess visited me. She rose up, a vision of light, from the waters.
“See, Lucius”, she said, with a voice that breathed sweetness over me, “I am come in pity of your lot to show favour to you. Tomorrow my priest will descend to the seashore to celebrate my festival, and in his left hand he will carry a crown of roses. Go forth without fear, and take the crown of roses, and then put off the shape of a beast, and put on the form of a man. Serve me well all the days of your life, and when you go down to the grave you shall be lifted up into the fields of Paradise, and there you shall worship and adore me for all eternity.”
The saviour goddess then vanished, and I awoke, and dawn was in the sky and the waves danced in the golden light. A long procession was winding down from the city to the shore to the sound of flutes and pipes. First came a great multitude of people carrying lamps and torches and tapers, then a choir of sweet voiced boys and girls in snowy garments, and next a train of men and women luminous in robes of pure white linen—these were the initiates—and they were followed by the prelates of the sacred mysteries, and behind them all walked the high priest, bearing in his right hand the mystic rattle of Isis, and in his left hand the crown of roses.
By divine intervention, the crowd parted and made a way for me, and when I came to the priest he held out the roses, and I ate them, and was changed into a man. The people raised their hands to heaven, wonder stricken by the miracle, and the fame of it went out over all the world. The priest initiated me into the mysteries of Isis and Osiris, and I shaved my head, and entered the College of Pastors, and became a servant of the high gods.
