Aris & Phillips Classical Texts
Apuleius
METAMORPHOSES
Book 1
With an introduction, translation and notes by
Regine May

Aris and Phillips Classical Texts
APULEIUS
Metamorphoses
or
The Golden Ass
Book 1
With an introduction, translation and notes by
Regine May
k

Aris & Phillips Classical Texts
are published by
Oxbow Books, Oxford
©R. May 2013
All rights reserved.
No pan of this publication may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system or
transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying without the prior
permission of the publishers in writing.
ISBN hardback: 978-1-908343-80-2
ISBN paper: 978-1 -908343-81 -9
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Cover image: Lucius walking next to his horse on his way to Hypata
meets two travellers. From Μ. M. Boiardo, Apulegio volgare (1518).
Photo: John Gibbons

CONTENTS
Preface
V
Introduction
1
Bibliography
51
Metamorphoses or The Golden Ass Book 1
63
Commentary
92
Index
222

PREFACE
Apuleius’ Metamorphoses or The Golden Ass, our only complete Latin novel,
has inspired authors from the second century AD onwards until today. It
influenced, for example, Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night s Dream and was
dramatised by Peter Oswald for the Globe Theatre in 2002 as part of their
Cupid and Psyche season. Artists as far apart in time and aesthetic outlook
as Canova and the modem graphic novelist Manara have been fascinated by
it. The Metamorphoses' continued appeal derives in part from its modernity.
The modem novel incorporates all genres, for example drama, philosophical
treatises or lyrical poetry, and this has been prefigured by Apuleius’ text.
Metamorphoses is in many ways a timeless work of art: a gullible and
unreliable first person narrator finds himself placed in Kafkaesque situations of
the supernatural kind (exposure to witches and metamorphosis into a donkey)
and has to brave this frightening scenario all on his own. The scene for this
alienation of the character, so common in modem literature and experienced
by modem society, is set in book one of the Metamorphoses, which introduces
and anticipates many major themes of Apuleius’ complex novel. These themes
range from witchcraft and magic to the question of how serious philosophical
and religious allusions in the novel itself should be taken.
This commentary is intended to open up the first book of Metamorphoses
to a wider readership. The introduction accordingly places both the author
and the novel into the context of the literature and society of the second
century AD. It also ensures that Met. 1, despite being the first of eleven
books of the novel, can be read as a self-contained text.
The Latin text has been compared carefully with the manuscripts and modem
editions, especially Zimmerman’s 2012 Oxford Classical Text. I have tacitly
simplified obvious inconsistencies in the spelling of the text found in the
manuscripts, e.g. Photis/Fotis or grabatulus/grabattulus, but, like previous
editions of Metamorphoses (notably Zimmerman 2012), I have not tried
to harmonise all orthographical inconsistencies. The translation is intended
to be as close as possible to the Latin original, but not a grammatical crib.
It brings out especially the literary texture of Metamorphoses and the
rhetorical, often flowery style of Apuleius.
The commentary concentrates on Apuleius as a literary artist and is keyed
to the translation. But Apuleius’ style and especially his choice of words

VI
Preface
are integral to the interpretation of his literary aims. Like all archaists of
his period, he sees the single word, rather than the sentence, as the most
important structural element of his prose. He creates meaning by repeating
words throughout the novel, by reviving archaic words that had not
been used for several centuries, and by inventing new words altogether.
Therefore the commentary contains more linguistic detail than is common
for commentaries based on a translation, in order to help readers appreciate
the literariness and allusions of the text. Anyone who wishes to find even
more linguistic and stylistic information should consult the excellent and
detailed commentary by Keulen 2007. This is also a good starting place for a
complete bibliography, as the one in this book offers merely a brief selection
of the ever increasing scholarship on Apuleius.
Repetitions and cross-references within the commentary, and the
deliberate repetition of some material between sections of the introduction,
should aid a more casual consulter of specific parts of the book who may not
read the commentary through systematically. They are also intended to show
the tight web of repeated imagery with which Apuleius creates cohesion in
an often confusing and unique story.
I	am indebted to many people who helped me to complete this commentary.
An AHRC Early Careers Fellowship allowed me to take off the academic
year 2010-11 to concentrate on writing. My colleagues in Leeds and Oxford
helped me in many different ways, especially Ken Belcher, Stephen Harrison,
Malcolm Heath and Petra Hofmann, who read drafts at various stages of the
book. My special gratitude goes to my wonderful students in the Department
of Classics in Leeds, linguists and non-linguists alike, who read Apuleius
with me and whose enthusiasm for the ancient novels has been encouraging
and contagious. Maaike Zimmerman very kindly discussed matters of textual
criticism with me. Very special thanks go to the series editor Chris Collard
for his continued patience and detailed comments, which made this a much
better book. The team at Oxbow books and Aris and Phillips Classical Texts
put the manuscript into print in record time. At home I cannot even begin to
thank my parents Toni and Christel May for crucial childcare, Onkar Singh
for joinery advice, Nanki Singh for her warmth, and Gurbir Singh for his
practical and emotional support. My greatest debt is however to Amrita
May-Singh, to whom 1 am dedicating this book, for being the true light of
my life.
Regine May
Leeds, June 2013

INTRODUCTION
1.	The author and his times
1.1	The author, his life and works
Apuleius was bom c. 125 AD in Madauros (now M’daurouch) in Algeria,
a city in the then Roman proconsular province ‘Africa’. He spent much of
his time writing in Carthage (near modem Tunis). He was a member of the
Rome-acculturated Latin-speaking provincial elite, and produced his works
in Latin and Greek (the latter no longer extant). It is from these works that
his life has to be reconstructed, especially from Apologia and Florida. His
father was a high magistrate (duumvir) in the province, who left Apuleius
financially well off at his death (Apol. 24), and able to study rhetoric and
philosophy in Carthage (FI. 18) and Athens (FI. 20). Apuleius later travelled
to Rome (FI. 17) and some cities in Greece and Asia Minor. While in
Athens, he met Pontianus, a younger fellow student from Oea (now Tripoli
in modem Libya), whom he encountered again several years later when he
fell ill on his journey to Alexandria. Apuleius narrates what happened then in
his speech in his own defence, the Apologia, our only source for the events,
and written by him to show himself in the best possible light. He was nursed
back to health by Pontianus’ family and persuaded to stay for a year (Apol.
72), and eventually to marry Pontianus’ rich widowed mother Pudentilla,
five to ten years Apuleius’ senior and about forty at the time of marriage.
Shortly after, several of her relatives, probably unhappy to see her money go
to the young upstart rhetorician and philosopher, accused Apuleius of using
magic to coax Pudentilla into marrying him. The trial took place in Sabratha
(near Oea) in late 158/early 159 AD, with the proconsul Claudius Maximus
as the presiding judge. Given that Apuleius lived to tell the tale, it is clear
that he was acquitted, since if convicted he would have been executed as
a magician. In the speech itself Apuleius displays detailed knowledge of
literary history and philosophy, but especially the practices and theories of
ancient magic, knowledge also on display in his main work, the Golden /fss
or Metamorphoses, especially in Met. 1 (cf. § 11 below).
He continued to be active in Carthage later in his life, giving speeches in
front of several pro-consuls of Africa in the 160s AD. No literary work by
Apuleius has a verifiable later date, but the extant philosophical works (see
below) may be from this period. He probably died in the 180s.

2
Introduction
From his other speeches, an anthology of twenty-three rhetorical passages
remains, the Florida. It contains both whole speeches and excerpts, and
is full of learned and interesting anecdotes on themes ranging from
e.g. a description of India (FI. 6) to quirky events in the lives of various
philosophers and literary figures of the Greek and Roman past. This kind
of performance rhetoric, meant to instruct and entertain large crowds in the
theatre, puts Apuleius in the context of the Second Sophistic (cf. § 1.2), and
some themes reappear in Met.
In both Apologia and Florida Apuleius portrayed himself as a ‘Platonic
philosopher’ (e.g. Apol. 10); a statue base inscribed to a philosophus
Platonicus (Inscriptions latins d'Afrique 2115; found in Madauros) is
generally believed to have been set up there in Apuleius’ honour. He was
a follower and teacher, though not a genuinely original thinker, of Middle
Platonism (Dillon 1977), a prevalent intellectual stream in Apuleius’ time
(Moreschini 1978, 133-91). Several of his philosophical works survive:
On the God of Socrates explains Plato’s concept of the daimon to a Latin
speaking audience, as a kind of mediator between humans and the gods.
Two more works of somewhat debated authenticity survive: On Plato and
His Doctrine is a doxographical explanation of Plato’s philosophy, and On
the Universe (De Mundo) is a Latin translation of a pseudo-Aristotelian
treatise on the cosmos. Apuleius’ knowledge of Plato is evident in Met. 1
(cf. §10.1).
The date of Metamorphoses cannot be determined with certainty. Dowden
1994 argues that Apuleius wrote Met. in Rome in the mid-150s AD and for
a Roman audience rather than in Carthage. Most scholars however date it to
Apuleius’ later life, i.e. in the 170s or even 180s AD and propose a Northern
African place of composition (Harrison 2000). Accordingly, similarities
between Apuleius’ own life and his portrayal of Lucius’ adventures with
magic in Metamorphoses may be deliberate.
Apart from these major works, many of Apuleius’ writings are entirely
lost or only fragmentarily transmitted (fragments collected in Harrison 2000,
16-36). He claims himself to have written works in poetry and prose in both
Greek and Latin (FI. 9; 20). Some Latin erotic poetry is extant and displays
a similar eclectic archaising style to the one found in his prose texts. He
also may have written another novel, although only six short fragments of
his Hermagoras are extant. Other works range from translations of Plato’s
Phaedo to treatises on history, medicine, astronomy and biology.

Introduction
3
1.2	Contemporary context: archaism and the Second Sophistic
Apuleius’ knowledge and interests were wide-ranging though at times
superficial. Many of them are reflected in his extensive output, and especially
Metamorphoses. Met. 1 is a good example of Apuleius’ eclecticism of
knowledge and style. His language ranges from archaising poeticisms to
crude colloquialisms, and he displays a profound knowledge of previous
Greek and Roman literature and (especially Platonic) philosophy as well
as of ancient magic in all its varieties, up-to-date medical theories, biology
and the mystery religion of Isis. In this eclecticism he was part of a literary
movement of his times; his contemporaries Fronto (c. 100-170 AD) and
Aulus Gellius (c. 125-185 AD), forerunners and main proponents of Latin
archaism, had similarly wide reaching interests in classical literature and
learned details, ranging from e.g. details about pregnancy found in Greek
New Comedy (Attic Nights 3.16) to discussions of the correct use of words
found in the works of Plautus, Pacuvius and other archaic Latin writers.
Apuleius possibly knew Aulus Gellius from his time in Athens. The language
Apuleius uses noticeably in all his literary works, but especially to perfection
in Met., is informed by archaism, as he, too, revives words that before him
last left traces in the literature of the second century BC, cf. §12.
The so-called ‘Second Sophistic’ is mainly a Greek cultural phenomenon,
a period of renewed interest in the literature and language, but also rhetoric
and philosophy, of the Classical Athenian period. Sophists like Maximus of
Tyre, Dio Chrysostom or Aelius Aristides saw themselves as educators, and
gave oratorical performances to theatres packed full with audiences. Writers
like Philostratus covered topics ranging from the proper way to pursue
physical education to a hagiographic biography of the holy man Apollonius
ofTyana.
Apuleius follows a similar agenda to that of the Greek sophists (Sandy
1997, Harrison 2000). The second century philosopher, especially the one
interested in Plato and Pythagoreanism like Apuleius, would show curiosity
for magic, too (Dickie 2001,204). He is knowledgeable about many things,
and intent on displaying it to a wider audience. It is clear that he holds
especially rhetoric and philosophy in the highest regard. This is evident in
Met. 1, where the prologue, as Keulen 2007 and Tilg 2007 have shown,
owes much to formal rhetoric. For Apuleius, rhetoric and philosophy are
intrinsically linked, even at times identical (O’Brien 2002, 8-26).

4
Introduction
2.	The genre: the ‘novel· and the Milesian Tales
2.1	The Greek novel
There is no contemporary name for the extended fictional prose narratives
written in Greek and Latin, for which examples dating from the first century
BC/AD to the fourth century AD are extant and which scholars subsume
under the convenient label ‘ancient novel’ (e.g. Walsh 1995). Generic
features for these stories are therefore extracted from these extant texts, and
the ancient novels typically vary to the extent they exhibit these extrapolated
generic features. Many of the Greek novels feature an idealised love story
set in the distant Classical Greek past, where a beautiful young boy and girl
from aristocratic families meet at the beginning of the story, fall in love
at first sight, but then are separated from each other by Fate (Chariton’s
Chaereas and Callirhoe, Xenophon of Ephesus’ Ephesian Tales, Longus’
Daphnis and Chloe, Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon, Heliodorus’
Ethiopian Story). The lovers’ subsequent travels through the then known
world range from Persia to Egypt and Sicily, and are punctuated by
adventures such as sea storms, pirates or robbers. Other recurring features
are love rivals, apparent deaths and premature burials (Chariton 2.8.7; Ach.
Tat. 3.15; 3.5 etc.), or the timely intervention of gods to help the protagonists
(e.g. Pan in Longus, the Sun God in Heliodorus etc.). Despite all adversity,
the couple are reunited at the end of the story, return home to their city of
origin (nojfos-narrative) and take up their roles as leaders of their city states.
Other Greek novels, nowadays mostly extant in fragmentary form, show
a less idealising picture, where these features are either put more into the
background (e.g. the 1 st century AD Ninos Romance) or have less developed
love interests but more stress on historical context. The bawdy and comical
lolaos or Lollianos’ Phoenician Tales, as far as we can discern from the few
extant fragments, have more realistic, farcical and explicit sexual content,
with single protagonists and varying love interests, much in the style of the
two Latin novels by Petronius and Apuleius. If the description of a woman
embracing a donkey in P.Oxy. LXX.4762 is a novelistic fragment related to
Apuleius’ Greek original (see May 2010 and introd. §3), it fits into the same
category.
2.2	The Latin novel
The two Latin works traditionally placed into the same category of ‘novel’,
Petronius’ Satyrica (60s AD) and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, share many

Introduction
5
features with their Greek counterparts, although they often seem purposefully
to invert especially the more idealistic erotic novels. Both Satyrica and
Metamorphoses are set in their authors’ contemporary times; although they
both prominently feature travel narratives, apparent deaths (e.g. Socrates
in Met. 1.17.2), robbers and divine interventions (Priapus in Satyrica, Isis
in Met.), there is no overarching love story, and in Apuleius at least there
is no «osftw-narrative, as Lucius only briefly returns to his native Corinth
before he permanently moves to Rome at the end of the novel. We do not
have beginning or ending of Petronius’ text, so any assumptions here remain
speculative. Both novels feature episodic erotic encounters with various
women (and men, in Petronius’ case), which at times appear to be parodying
the sentimental love plots of novels like Chariton’s.
The relationship between the two Latin novels is problematic; at times
Apuleius’ novel appears to echo both linguistically and thematically episodes
found in Petronius. In Met. 1, similarities between both novels are obvious,
e.g. when the doorkeeper surprisingly breaks into the heroes’ room (1.17),
or in the depiction of amorous old women with a penchant for witchcraft and
alcohol; in Petron. 97.4f. the boy Giton hides from Encolpius’ aggressive
rival under a bed, a situation mirrored in Met. 1.11.8 (see commentary).
Both protagonists, Petronius’ Encolpius and Apuleius’ Lucius, are young
men, educated but foolish, with a thirst for love affairs and adventures, who
travel through contemporary Greece and Southern Italy and find themselves
in low-life situations.
It is however a matter of debate whether Apuleius knew and borrowed
from the earlier author as some scholars think (Ciaffi 1960), or whether any
similarities are coincidental or due to both authors interacting with previous
literature (Walsh 1978, Mattiacci 1993; Harrison 1997 and Schmeling 2011,
392f. at least consider Apuleius’ dependence on Petronius a possibility). A
candidate for inspiring the more farcical scenes in both novels is mime,
a low class comic genre of great flexibility and adaptability, which also
underlies e.g. the adultery episodes in Met. 9 and the broken down bedroom
doors in Met. 1 (cf. §2.4).
2.3	Milesian Tales
Although the more realistic elements in the Latin novels have been seen as
deliberate reactions to the more idealised Greek novels or corresponding to
the comic-realistic novels like lolaos, which they resemble more closely,
another (subliterary) genre may have influenced the two Latin novels.

6
Introduction
Apuleius himself refers to the genre twice in programmatic passages of
Metamorphoses (the prologue 1.1.1, and 4.32.5 in the Tale of Cupid and
Psyche), where he calls his story a ‘Milesian Tale’. Milesiaka, or ‘Milesian
Tales’, was the title of a book by Aristides (second century BC), translated
into Latin by Sisenna in the first century BC; neither is extant. Milesian
Tales were bawdy stories with surprise endings, possibly arranged as
inserted tales into a framing narrative. It has been tentatively argued that
Aristomenes’ story in Met. 1 might be a Milesian Tale (Harrison 1998, 72),
and the story of the matron and the donkey in Met. 10, definitely already
part of the lost Greek original (see below §3), may have parallels in Milesian
Tales, too (May 2010). Petronius’ Satyrica contains two Milesian Tales,
the Boy of Pergamon and the Widow of Ephesus, both of which display
these characteristics. As both novels feature tales set into long framing
narratives, Apuleius’ term ‘Milesian Tale’ in the prologue has been argued
to be a metonymy for the novel genre (Jensson 2004). This problematically
associates the novel with the Milesian Tales’ low literary value: Plutarch’s
Life of Crassus 32 refers to Aristides’ stories derisively: after the Romans
had been defeated at the battle of Carrhae, a Parthian officer found a copy
of Aristides’ stories amongst their luggage, and saw this as proof for the
Romans’ moral inferiority.
This low esteem for the genre is also indicated by some of the earliest
references to Apuleius’ novel, which describe Apuleius’ near contemporary
and fellow North African, Clodius Albinus, who lost the battle for the imperial
throne of Rome against Septimius Severus in 197 AD. In Historia Augusta
(Albinus) 11.15 the accusation that Albinus himself wrote Milesian Tales
“in a mediocre style’’ is the climax of a character-assassinating list of moral
and cultural faux pas, and according to Hist. Aug. Alb. 12.12 he “busied
himself with old wives’ tales and grew old among the Punic Milesian Tales
of his friend Apuleius”. This association with Milesian Tales continued to
influence the reception of Apuleius’ novel in centuries to come (cf. § 13).
2.4	Literary texture
In part due to Apuleius’ preference for archaism, but also in part because
of his eclectic tastes and the nature of the novel, Met. absorbs many other
genres into itself. This makes it an important forerunner of the modem
novel, which, according to Bakhtin 1981, 3f., is the only modem genre still
developing today, because of its capacity to adapt and subsume many other
genres in itself. Met. makes many knowing references to e.g. epic, comedy,

Introduction
7
tragedy, historiography etc., but also to lower, subliterary, genres such as
mime. Verbal allusions are often triggers to help recognition. The novel and
its many layers of intertextuality and allusion to previous texts and genres
become a literary game between Apuleius and his reader, who is invited
to follow the author’s clues. Without exposing the original texts of high
literature themselves to ridicule, their world is reduced to the grimy level of
the novel’s action by the incongruity between the situations.
For example, the killing of Socrates by the witches in 1.13.4 is described in
the manner and language of killing, often of a perverted sacrifice, in ancient
epic (see comm, and below § 11), adding to the reader’s feeling of revulsion.
The sword is pushed in capulo tenus ‘up to the handle’, an epic phrase,
see Vergil Aeneid 2.553 (Pyrrhus kills Priam at the altar), 10.536 (Aeneas
kills Magus). Harrison 2009,177 furthermore compares Homer Iliad 16.340
and 21.117f. (Achilles kills Lycaon with a neckwound); the same phrase
also occurs in Ovid Metamorphoses 12.491 in a similarly gruesome scene:
Caeneus not only thrusts his sword into Latreus’ entrails (capuloque tenus
... ensem ... viscera), but rummages with his hand in the deadly wound just
like Apuleius’ witches. As Apuleius describes an unheroic murder of not too
brave a man, the heroic and epic is pulled down to the mundane and tawdry
without losing its power to shock.
At the other end of the scale are allusions to mime and comedy; the
former, especially, in the extant examples, is a low, often subliterary, form.
For example, the doorkeeper scene in Met. 1.15 shares many similarities with
ancient mime, e.g. the doorkeeper breaking down the door into Aristomenes’
and Socrates’ room and catching the two friends rolling on the floor together,
wrapped up in their bed sheets. Apuleius relies on the easy recognition of the
stereotypical scene, and works from the contrast between his own creation
and the original mime genre; these men have not been engaging in an erotic
encounter, as mime characters most likely would have, but instead had tried
to flee from one; one of them is apparently dead, and the other had just
farcically but unsuccessfully attempted to commit suicide.
The tension between the original texts and genres and Apuleius’ adaptation
(or often enough inversion) characterises much of the texture of the novel
as an intensely literary and intertextual work that engages creatively with
previous literature (see Hinds 1998).

g
Introduction
3.	Metamorphoses and Ottos
As the prologue states, the story of Met. is originally Greek; Apuleius has
adapted into Latin a Greek novel called Metamorphoseis, which is now
lost but was still available to Photios (ninth century AD), who gives a plot
summary in his Library’ (cod. 129). Much has been speculated on its nature,
e.g. what kind of ending it had and if it had any inset tales such as those
forming a large part of Apuleius’ version. Photios also read a still extant
epitome of Metamorphoseis, called Loukios or the Ass (Onos), which is
transmitted among the works of Apuleius’ exact contemporary Lucian of
Samosata. It has essentially the same plot as Apuleius ’ novel, but no inset tales
and a farcical ending: Loukios, once transformed back into a human being
(without the help of any god), seeks out a matron who had been attracted
to him when he was still a donkey, but the woman now bluntly rejects him
because his regained human form lacks the physical assets that made the
donkey so desirable to her. Despite Photios’ rather vague description of the
lost original, it is more than likely that its ending was comparable to that of
its epitome, Onos: erotic and farcical.
As for other scenes and passages of Apuleius’ novel, we can be less certain
about their relationship to the Greek narrative: as the original is no longer
available for comparison, it is not always clear where Apuleius strayed from
it. But a comparison to Onos can at times provide us with clues. These changes
range from the names of some characters (e.g. Demeas in 1.21.8, Milo
1.21.3	and Photis in 1.22.7 are called Dekrianos, Hipparchos and Palaistra
in Onos) to some details of the plot (e.g. two instances where Loukios shares
food with his travel companions or Milo/Hipparchos correspond to Lucius
starving in 1.21 and 1.26). These changes and adaptations from what seems
to have been part of the lost original must be deliberate and indicative of
Apuleius’ different literary agenda, of creating a much more ambitious
and literary tale. This agenda can at times be established, e.g. the different
attitude to food in both novels (cf. §6.2) points to different characterisations
of Lucius and Loukios, and the change of name of his future girlfriend from
Palaistra to Photis mirrors a change in her characterisation from an illiterate
and crude sex instructor to a sophisticated mistress conversant with elegiac
literature and discourse (1.23.7, with comm.).
It is less clear whether the Aristomenes story (1.5-19) was in the lost Greek
original. Van Thiel 1971,1,45-63; 151, followed e.g. by Scobie 1978,44ff,
believes an inset story of some kind, and often quite close to Apuleius’ version,

Introduction
9
was in the original, whereas e.g. van der Paardt 1978, 81 and Walsh 1995,
146f. believe it to be an Apuleian addition. Whatever the case, it is clear that
some reworking of the original has taken place: in Onos 1 the men Loukios
encounters on the way to Hypata are Thessalians and, as noted above, they and
Lucius share a meal before they direct Lucius to Hipparchos’(= Milo’s) door.
In Met. Aristomenes at least is from Aegium near Patrae (cf. below on 1.5.3),
and they depart before the group reaches Hypata, without eating.
4. Metamorphoses 1 and the novel as a whole
4.1	Structure of Met. I and anticipation
Met. 1 falls into four distinctive parts. It starts with a somewhat enigmatic
prologue (1.1; cf. below §7). Then the novel’s protagonist Lucius is introduced
and meets two fellow-travellers on their way to the city Hypata in Thessaly
(1.2-4). One of them, Aristomenes, tells them his tale, his encounter with
Socrates and witches, and Socrates’ death (1.5-19). In the last part, Lucius
arrives in Hypata and enjoys the hospitality of Milo (1.20-26).
Apuleius structures his complicated plot and manipulates his readers
by the use of mirror scenes and repetitions of motifs (May 2006, 182ff.,
Frangoulidis 2008). This allows him to have seemingly innocuous motifs
foreshadow events later in the novel and to bind the main narrative and
the inset tales more closely together. For example, in 1.12.1 Aristomenes
finds himself on the floor and covered by his bed, and claims, half-jokingly
and metaphorically, that he has been turned into a tortoise. This anticipates
Lucius’ very real metamorphosis into a donkey (Tatum 1972). Similarly,
even the use of single words can create patterns of meaning: in Met. 1.1.1
the prologue promises his readers that their ears will be stroked (aures
... permulceam) by his charming story, and immediately afterwards it is
the ears of Lucius’ horse that will be stroked (1.2.3 auris remulceo), but
Aristomenes himself will revert to the first meaning and stroke Socrates’
ears with stories (1.7.3 fabulis permulceo). Apuleius thus creates a bond
between the prologue-speaker, Lucius and Aristomenes, all first person
narrators with identities that have a tendency to anticipate and mirror each
other’s. These repetitions may even spread over a considerable distance. In
1.15.5	Aristomenes metaphorically claims to have seen the earth gaping wide
open before him in his despair (terra dehiscente). In 9.34.1 the earth literally
splits open (terra dehiscens) and gushes forth a fountain of blood as a grim
portent of death. Both events are linked by the individual’s powerlessness

10
Introduction
when confronted with supernatural powers. The story of Aristomenes, too,
anticipates the story of Thelyphron, another tale of witchcraft (see below
§5).
In both content and structure Met. 1 is a microcosm of the novel as a
whole, introducing many of its themes. It features the travelogue of its
protagonist, who during his travels listens to many tales told within a tale,
which in many ways anticipate and reflect his own fate. During much of
Met. 1, Lucius is the audience of a first person narrative by Aristomenes,
who himself tells an inset tale told by Socrates. This is the role the reader
will take up while reading the rest of the novel. Lucius enthusiastically
claims to believe Aristomenes’ tale, which in turn is intended to influence
the reader’s reaction to the whole novel. Both Aristomenes and Lucius share
a similar fate (cf. §5 for details): at the end of their story, for example, they
have to sever their social and familial connections and enter voluntary exile
away from home.
4.2	Summary of the novel
Met. 1: The prologue’s promise to entertain its readers is followed by Lucius
narrating how on his way to Hypata in Thessaly he meets Aristomenes, who
tells how he saw his friend Socrates killed by witches after having had an
affair with one of them. After arrival in Hypata, Lucius stays with Milo, who
provides him with a bed but no food. Lucius’ attempts to obtain his dinner
remain unsuccessful.
Met. 2: Excited to be in the capital of magic, Lucius visits Hypata’s market,
where he meets his aunt Byrrhaena. Invited to her house, he sees statues
of Actaeon and Diana, and of Fortuna-Isis, both of which anticipate his
own fate as that of a man soon to be turned into an animal and pursued by
misfortune until he is rescued by Isis. Byrrhaena warns Lucius not to get
involved with Pamphile, Milo’s wife, as she is a witch. Lucius instead starts
an affair with Pamphile’s servant Photis. Later at dinner with Byrrhaena he
hears the story of Thelyphron, which shows similarities with Aristomenes’:
Thelyphron was mutilated by witches looking for body parts for magical
purposes while guarding a corpse. On his return to Milo’s house, the drunk
Lucius encounters three robbers at Milo’s door and kills them.
Met. 3: Lucius is arrested for murder and put on trial in Hypata’s theatre,
where a large audience laughs at his defence speech. When forced to uncover
the three bodies of his victims, they turn out to be wine-skins made from

Introduction
11
goats. The mock trial turns out to be part of the Festival of Risus (Laughter).
Milo takes the humiliated Lucius home, where Photis confesses to being
her witch mistress’ apprentice, and to having substituted the wineskins’ goat
hair for that of a young man her mistress wanted to bewitch. Lucius uses
her confession to pressure her into letting him watch Pamphile transform
herself into a bird, and then into transforming him, too. Photis makes another
mistake and turns him into a donkey instead. She promises to provide the
antidote, roses, the next morning and leads him into Milo’s stable. In the
night, robbers break into Milo’s house and steal Lucius and all other animals
together with Milo’s riches.
Met. 4: Lucius and the robbers arrive at the robbers’ cave, where he hears
three stories by other robbers on how their thieving expeditions failed and
their leaders Lamachus, Alcimus and Thrasyleon were killed. Another
prisoner, the beautiful and noble Charite, kidnapped just before her marriage,
is brought in. To console her, the robbers’ old housekeeper tells her the tale
of Cupid and Psyche, which stretches into Met. 6: “Psyche was a princess
so beautiful that she was worshipped as Venus, which enraged the goddess
who asked her son Cupid to arrange for a debased marriage for Psyche. An
oracle consulted by Psyche’s parents ordered her to be placed on a cliff to be
married to a monster. Her parents obeyed, but Psyche was carried from the
cliff by a gentle breeze to a beautiful palace.
Met. 5: Psyche was treated kindly by invisible servants, and at night an
unknown male made her his wife. After a while Psyche asked her husband
to let her contact her family. He finally allowed her to call her sisters to the
palace, but on the condition that she must not try to discover his identity
at their instigation. Her sisters visited and were jealous of Psyche, who
was happy and pregnant. They succeeded in making her try to discover
her husband’s identity. He turned out to be Cupid who had disobeyed his
mother’s wishes and married Psyche herself. Cupid left her, and Psyche
lured her sisters to their deaths and set out to find her husband again.
Met. 6: On her quest to find Cupid, Psyche encountered some gods who
were unable to help. Finally she surrendered herself voluntarily to Venus,
who set her impossible tasks to fulfil. Magical animals and creatures helped
her at Cupid’s request. The last task was a descent into the Underworld
to get Persephone’s beauty in a box and bring it back to Venus. Psyche,
curious, opened the box and swooned in a deadly sleep. Cupid revived her
and was finally allowed to marry her by Jupiter. Venus, pacified, agreed, and

12
Introduction
Psyche was made immortal, married Cupid and gave birth to their daughter
Pleasure.”
Lucius and Charite then attempt to flee but are recaptured by the robbers,
who plan to kill them both.
Met. 7: Before they can do this, a young stranger arrives, claiming to be the
famous robber Haemus. He tells a story of a brave wife disguising herself as
a man to follow her husband into exile and save him, and of his own daring
exploits as a robber. The robbers make him their captain and agree to sell
Charite instead of killing her. At first angry at Charite’s enthusiastic reaction
to Haemus, Lucius recognises at last that this is Tlepolemus, Charite’s fiance,
in disguise. Tlepolemus drugs and kills the robbers, rescues Charite and they
get married. They send Lucius to the countryside as a reward, but a herdsman’s
wife and a boy mistreat him. When the boy is killed by a bear, Lucius is falsely
accused by the boy’s mother of being complicit in his death.
Met. 8: A messenger comes from the city with the news that Tlepolemus and
Charite are dead; Tlepolemus has been killed by Thrasyllus, a love rival for
Charite. Charite blinded Thrasyllus in revenge and eventually killed herself.
The country slaves decide to flee and take Lucius with them on a dangerous
journey, after which they sell Lucius to a group of travelling priests of the
Syrian Goddess. The depraved priests enrich themselves by theft and false
prophecies.
Met. 9: On their travels Lucius hears the story of a cuckolded man whose
wife hides her lover in a jar when her husband returns unexpectedly. On
his discovery, the wife pretends she has sold the jar to her lover, and as her
husband climbs inside to clean it she and her lover complete their assignation.
When the priests are arrested for theft, Lucius is sold to a miller for hard
work in his mill. His vicious wife treats Lucius badly, and Lucius overhears
her discussing her adulterous affairs with a friend, who recommends a new
lover to her, Philesitherus, who wittily tricked his way out of discovery during
a previous adulterous affair. The miller’s wife meets him, but the lovers
are surprised by the miller’s unexpected return. She hides Philesitherus,
and the miller tells his wife another story of adultery. Lucius ensures that
Philesitherus is discovered and punished by the miller. The miller expels
his wife, who hires an old witch to send the miller the ghost of a murdered
woman, who kills him. Lucius is sold to a poor gardener, and as they are
invited to a rich man’s house for dinner they witness gruesome supernatural
omens predicting the death of the rich man’s sons, and the man’s subsequent

Introduction
13
suicide. As a Roman soldier tries to commandeer Lucius, the gardener beats
him up, but in the end Lucius’ braying betrays the gardener’s hiding place.
Met. 10. After the gardener’s arrest, the soldier takes Lucius on a journey,
where the donkey overhears the story of a wicked stepmother whose attempts
to poison her family are thwarted by a doctor who sold her a sleeping potion
instead. The soldier sells Lucius to two cooks. As they discover that their
donkey gorges himself secretly on their food leftovers, they turn Lucius’
eating skills into a public spectacle, until their master Thiasus buys him from
them. Thiasus allows a noble matron to have a sexual encounter with Lucius
for money. Thiasus then plans to make Lucius take part in a fatal charade in
the theatre in Corinth, with a woman condemned to death for murdering five
members of her family. Just as an elaborate pantomime on the judgement of
Paris finishes and Lucius’ performance is supposed to begin, Lucius escapes,
runs to nearby Cenchreae, and falls asleep on the beach.
Met. 11: When he wakes up he prays to the moon goddess for help. The
goddess Isis appears to him and directs him to a procession in her honour
where a priest, whom she will inform of Lucius’ fate, will hold roses for him.
Lucius should eat these, take part in the procession and become her devotee
for the rest of his life. Lucius follows her instructions and is transformed
back into a human being. Isis’ priest explains that Isis was behind Lucius’
transformation into an ass, as a punishment for his curiosity and slavish
pleasures. Lucius undergoes several initiations into the mystery cults of Isis
and Osiris, moves to Rome to make money as an advocate to finance his
initiations, and in the end joyfully becomes a priest in the Iseum in Rome.
4.3	First- and second-time readers
Many of the links between Met. 1 and the rest of the novel are not clear from
the start for a reader exploring the novel for the first time. Such a reader,
guided and misled by the prologue, might expect an entertaining though
rhetorically challenging tale of fiction to be enjoyed on its own terms. This
attitude will change through the reading first of Met. 1 and then of the novel
as a whole.
This unexpectedness invites the re-reading of the novel, and scholars have
been trying to find clues that ensure later events in the novel become less of a
surprise. A first-time reader will see the story of Met. 1 foremost as a warning
against meddling with witches. Only when the end of the novel has been
reached, scarce but important references to Egypt and Isis anticipate the ending

14
Introduction
and invite a second reading. References to Egypt in the prologue Met. 1.1
transform from mere ornamentation and exuberant description of the author’s
writing materials (Egyptian papyrus and reed pens) to an anticipation of the
Egyptian goddess’ involvement in the plot; the magical powers of heaven and
earth that all witches in Met. 1 have are claimed in Met. 11 by Isis. The story of
Met. 1, for a second-time reader, is discovered to be full of anticipation of the
plot as a whole. The witches are transformed from entertaining bogey monsters
to veritable anti-Isises who use magic for entirely selfish and negative purposes
and transform their enemies and ex-lovers into animals, whereas Isis, the
goddess of benevolent magic, uses hers to turn Lucius back into a human
being eternally devoted to her (cf. § 10.2). Similarly, the many inset tales of the
novel, the first of which is the Tale of Aristomenes, are for a second-time reader
again seen as warnings for Lucius or reflections of his experiences, and the
prologue’s promise of “an intertwined knot” (1.1.2) retrospectively gains yet
another meaning, that of an invitation to see the story of Metamorphoses itself
as continuously reflecting on itself and changing its purpose and ultimately
its interpretation.
Apuleius’ readers have a serious task ahead, as they are constantly asked
to engage with challenges of relevant literary allusions and games, and the
changing meanings and significance of the stories over the novel’s plot as
it develops (Winkler 1985). On re-reading, the novel itself becomes a fluid
text with changing, metamorphosing, interpretations.
Accordingly, metamorphosis is the novel’s guiding principle. Not only
does it underlie the plot of a human turned donkey, the novel itself has
metamorphosed from the lost Greek original, from a bawdy and entertaining
story, perhaps a Milesian Tale, into a sophisticated narrative, from one with
an erotic and funny ending into a salvation narrative. Metamorphosis is also
recalled at important moments; it is one of the themes of the prologue, but also
later in the text, e.g. Met. 2.1 (Lucius explores Hypata after hearing his hostess
can turn people into animals and imagines all stones, birds, trees and fountains
to be metamorphosed humans), 3.23.6 (Photis knows how to retransform
animals into humans); 11.6 (Isis promises retransformation to Lucius).
Met. 1 sets out the rules for metamorphosis in the novel: it displays concern
especially with how complete a metamorphosis of human into animal is,
i.e. whether it also changes the mind. In the first real metamorphoses of the
novel Meroe’s animals retain their human mind (1.9). This anticipates Lucius’
realisation in 3.26, namely that even as a donkey he still thinks like a human,
a matter of concern in antiquity (e.g. Cicero has Scipio speculate about it in

Introduction
15
De Re Publica 4.1, written 54-51 BC. Lucius’ ‘ancestor’ Plutarch (see below
§ 8), too, wrote the dialogue Gryllos, or On the Use of Reason by Irrational
Animals, where one of the crewmen transformed into pigs by Circe discusses
philosophy with Odysseus and shows great mental capacity). Loukios in Onos
13 explicitly states to Palaistra before his transformation that he intends to find
out whether his mind remains human or turns into that of an animal. Lucius’
continued human conscience is essential for the novel plot. Importantly, too,
the metamorphoses in Met. 1.9 are ‘apt’ metamorphoses, clarifications of the
metamorphosed persons’ characters, as they preserve the essence of people
after their metamorphosis into animals. A similar concept is found in Plato
Republic 620a-c and Ovid (Ovid’s influence on Apuleius: Krabbe 1989).
They foreshadow Lucius’ eventual apt animal metamorphosis into a donkey,
a notoriously stubborn and greedy animal prone to hybris.
4.4	The novel’s title
Two titles have been transmitted for the novel; its earliest editor Sallustius at
the end of the 4th century AD refers to it as Metamorphoses. Metamorphoseis
is also the title of the lost Greek original, and an accurate description of its
theme, both already set out in the prologue (1.1.2; 1.1.6). A few decades later,
St Augustine in City of God 18.18, where he also displays good knowledge
specifically of Met. 1, refers to the novel as Asinus aureus, ‘ The Golden Ass'.
While this title focuses on the novel’s protagonist, the colour is unusual for a
donkey. It has been associated either with Seth, the enemy of Isis portrayed
in the shape of a donkey and whose colour is reddish gold (Plutarch, De
Iside et Osiride 362e), or the Latin proverb assem para et accipe fabulam
auream (“give me a penny and get back a story worth gold”) found in Pliny
Epistles 2.20.1. The novel’s title would then pun on as, a small coin, and
asinus. Fulgentius (5th/6th century AD) refers to both titles interchangeably,
and it is likely that the novel had a double title (Winkler 1985, 292-321;
Bitel 2001), like e.g. Varro's Menippean satires (see comm, on 1.1.6). The
novel then has a combination of Latin and Greek titles, connected by e.g.
sive, and could have been called Asinus aureus sive peri metamorphoseon
or similar.
5.	Inset tales and the Tale of Aristomenes and Socrates
From the prologue onwards, Apuleius draws attention to the importance of
inset tales in his version of the novel. ‘Weaving’ is a frequent metaphor for

16
Introduction
adding various tales into a larger whole (cf. 1.1.1, 1.3.2 etc.), which gives
complexity to the novel’s structure. Although there is not entirely a scholarly
consensus whether the lost Greek original contained any inset stories at all
(see also §3), and if it did, whether they were of comparable length and
importance, it is clear that Apuleius’ inset tales are important guides to our
understanding of the rest of the novel.
Since it is the first instance of an inset tale, that of Aristomenes takes
up an exemplary function (Murgatroyd 2001a and 2001b), showing the
relationship between the tales and the main narrative. It comments and
reflects on the main narrative and throws light on Lucius’ character and
actions, as the stories of Aristomenes and Socrates both anticipate the fate
of Lucius (Frangoulidis 2001). Magic, featuring so heavily in the Tale of
Aristomenes, is also the cause of Lucius’ transformation into a donkey and
his ensuing journeys through contemporary Greece. Given that Lucius is
interested in magic and its transformative powers from the first instance
we meet him, although he is not open about it in Met. 1, to him at least
Aristomenes’ story should form a stark warning, a warning he chooses to
ignore: no matter how inadvertently one gets involved with witches, the
outcome is similar in any case - exile or even death. In Met. 1, as then again
many times throughout the novel, Lucius does not learn this lesson and
proceeds with his dangerous goal: to satisfy his curiosity especially about
magical transformation of humans into animals or birds. Just as the witch
Meroe transforms her lovers into animals in Met. 1.9, Lucius himself will be
turned into a donkey by his lover, the witch apprentice Photis in 3.24.
The motif of exile and loss of contact with family first displayed by
Socrates in 1.6.2 foreshadows Lucius’ separation from his family (in 3.19.6
Lucius announces he is no longer interested in returning to his family; they
believe him dead in 11.18; he requests the help of Isis to reconnect with
them in 11.2). Lucius remains disconnected from them. He has only a brief
visit home in 11.26.1 after his initiation and before permanently moving to
Rome. Just as for the other victims of witchcraft, Lucius’ involvement with
magic will have alienating consequences for the rest of his life. Aristomenes’
stoiy begins exactly like Lucius’ in 1.2 with a journey to Thessaly, and
parallels are constantly established between his and his friend Socrates’
experiences and those of Lucius. Both Lucius and Aristomenes go to Hypata
on ‘business’ (Met. 1.2), and both encounter transformational witchcraft
without completing their business. Aristomenes has lost out on his business
in Hypata (1.5.4f.), just as both Socrates (1.7) and Lucius (1.25) are unlucky

Introduction
17
in their business transactions and are victims of Fortuna. Aristomenes, too,
copies Socrates’ fate in many ways, e.g. by not returning home to his wife
and remarrying in voluntary exile in 1.19.
There are also equally important parallels between Lucius and Socrates,
as both are first guests and then victims of witches performing love magic.
Socrates again functions as a warning to Lucius when he discusses the
reasons for his travels in 1.7.7 (Lucius is asked in similar phrases about
his own journey in 1.24.7 and 26.6; James 1987, 47-51). Any contact with
witches should be avoided, especially in Hypata, but instead Socrates’ fate
fires Lucius’ interest in magic and keenness to explore it even more. As
Lucius has been warned repeatedly, he is more culpable of his fate than
Aristomenes. Lucius however at least learns the lesson from Socrates’ story
not to enslave himself to a witch like Meroe, but still dabbles with witchcraft
to his peril, resulting in his eventual metamorphosis into a donkey.
Unlike Socrates, Lucius will spend the whole of Met. 1 without food
or drink, but constantly looking for it only to have his hopes thwarted (cf.
§6.2). Lucius often describes his misfortunes as ‘sufferings’, aerumnae
(3.29.1, 7.16.1, 8.1.1, 8.26.6, 11.2.4 etc.) as do Socrates and Aristomenes:
1.6.5	(Socrates’ shameful display), 1.7.5 (Socrates, also in the context of
being led astray by his desire to see spectacles), 1.16.2 Aristomenes (in his
address to his bed).
Apart from foreshadowing the protagonist’s fate, Aristomenes’ tale
also functions as an anticipatory verification for Lucius’ incredible story
of magic. In due course Lucius’ own engagement with witchcraft will
prove Aristomenes’ narrative to be true as far as the novel’s universe is
concerned. Lucius, who as the overall narrator of course also has control
over Aristomenes’ narrative, lists no important contradictions between
Aristomenes’ tale and his own experience with magic and witchcraft.
Both stories reinforce each other, and Aristomenes’ story, like the Ghost’s
appearance in the first scene of Hamlet, ensures that the incredible events
that follow are believed to be possible in the novel’s universe, and sets out
the parameter for the ways its characters behave and should be interpreted.
All these various functions can be traced for other inset tales, too.
The Tale of Thelyphron (2.21-30), for example, with its related story of
witchcraft and resurrection, picks up many of the themes of Aristomenes’
tale. Both stories are told to Lucius by the tale’s protagonist, who suffered
greatly from maltreatment by witches. Thelyphron, for example, has his
ears and nose cut off, Aristomenes suffers no physical harm but becomes

18
Introduction
an exile from his home. In the tale itself a corpse is revived temporarily
and utters a necromancy, which echoes the fate of Socrates even to the
point of verbal correspondences. The Tale of Cupid and Psyche echoes and
develops the story of Lucius himself. Psyche especially mirrors many of
Lucius' characteristics and experiences, such as his curiosity or his rescue
by a benign deity from a terrible fate.
6.	Key themes
6.1	Guest-friendship (hospitium)
An important key theme raised by both Aristomenes’ and Lucius’ stories
is hospitality (Fernandez Contreras 1997; Vander Poppen 2008). The
relationships between Meroe and Socrates or Milo and Lucius are troubled
guest-friendships or hospitia, which usually follow certain rules and are
based on reciprocity. Apuleius’ terminology makes this clear: hospitium is
frequently used in connection with Milo, and Milo and Lucius are frequently
called hospes, which means both ‘host’ and ‘guest’. The sordid inns of Met.
1 and the starving dinner of Milo display the failure of hospitality in Met.
despite its importance in second century travel.
Guest-friendship is often depicted in literary sources, and Apuleius plays
especially with the literary versions of hospitium scenes. These are often very
much earlier than Apuleius, and found their most normative incarnation in
Homer and Callimachus, but the principles still underlie later Greek hospitality
(Nadeau 2010). Apuleius sets up Lucius’ relationship with Milo as an extremely
troubled, dysfunctional guest-friendship. This starts with Lucius’ arrival in
Hypata Met. 1.21.8, where Lucius comically claims that he will not smell
any cooking smells in Milo’s house if Milo is a miser. This is exemplary of
the topsy-turvy world Lucius will encounter in Milo’s house. In Homeric
depictions of hospitality, a stranger often encounters a young woman on the
road who directs him to the palace where he will become a guest (Nausicaa
in Odyssey 6.1 lOflf; Athena in disguise in 7.18ff.; the Laestrygonian princess
in 10.103ff.; Sidonian girl in 15.415ff.); Lucius encounters a less than helpful
old crone who points out Milo’s inhospitable house from the distance.
This inversion of customs continues in Milo’s presence. Generally
however the dinner scenes with Milo, both Met. 1.22 and 26, echo typical
elements ofhospitality scenes (Reece 1993,5-46), though not in the ‘normal’
order. Apuleius ironises some of these elements in the Milo episode. In
guest-friendship, the host usually stands up to greet his visitor, hence Milo's

Introduction
19
continued lying down in 1.22.6 is impolite and an anticipation of things to
come. Milo does not offer his guest a meal, although a feast is one of the
most important elements of hospitality. Even a poor host does his best to be
a good host to his higher status guest, such as the poor old woman Hecale
to Theseus (Callimachus, Hecale; Hollis 1990, 341-354), or the swineherd
Eumaios to Odysseus (Od. 14), especially if the guest’s arrival coincides
with dinner time. Only after dinner has been provided does a proper host ask
for his guest’s name and business. Milo welcomes Lucius only after having
been told his name and seen Demeas’ reference, and in 1.26.3 mercilessly
quizzes him without letting his guest eat. Enquiring about the stranger’s
homeland {Od. 1.170 etc.) and business {Od. 3.72ff.) is normal, but exchange
of information is supposed to be reciprocal and mutually beneficial.
Instead of providing his guest with the required entertainment, Milo requires
his guest to entertain him, despite Lucius’ exhaustion. Offering a guest a seat
is a sign of good hospitality (cf. Od. 1.130flF.). Milo perhaps attempts to do
this in 1.23.1, by offering Lucius his wife’s seat at his feet. But immediately
afterwards Milo gives another example of bad hospitality, as he does not touch
Lucius’ hand, only his clothes (he will do so later, 1.26.2).
Lucius is however not much better: in the formal world of hospitality,
Lucius’ refusal of Milo’s offer of a bath makes him a bad guest, as bathing,
often by female slaves {Od. 4.49 etc.), is part of the ritual. At 1.26.7 Lucius
criticises Milo behind his back, which may also be an inversion of the
customary blessing the visitor pronounces on the host to reciprocate for his
gracious reception {e.g. Od. 7.148ff.).
Occasionally in Homer, hospitality is extended to the visitor’s horses {Od.
4.39-42: Telemachos in Sparta; generally a more diplomatic guest than Lucius:
Harrison 1990a). In 1.24.2 the guest Lucius pays for his own horse to be fed
without taking a lead on this from Milo: Lucius simply assumes that Milo will
be indifferent to his horse and pre-empts any possible chance Milo might have
to look after his horse. He also overrides his host’s command to his servant
Photis (who has been ordered to take him to the baths and not go out to buy
food for his horse!). Again this is bad hospitality from both sides.
Bad hosts feature in both the surviving Latin novels. In Petron. 135-38,
Encolpius is hosted by Oenothea, but has to help preparing the food for
his own dinner (beans, cf. Met. 1.26.7). Petronius also draws attention to
Callimachus’ well-known Hecale episode, as Hecale is pointedly compared
to Oenothea (Petron. 135.15f.). Apuleius makes use of the exemplary nature
of Hecale, too. In Met. 1.23.6 Milo hopes Lucius will be, like Theseus in

20
Introduction
Hecale, an exemplary guest, and his ‘humble’ or ‘thin’ hospitality, hospitium
tenue, is a rendering of Callimachean phrases: cf. Callimachus Hecale frg.
26 Hollis έλαχυν δόμον ‘little house’ and Ovid Met. 8.630 (Philemon’s
house is ‘only small’, parva quidem·, Keulen 2007, 417). Milo however
does not realise the irony of the situation. Hecale was a poor woman who is
unable to dish up much food for Theseus because of her virtuous poverty.
Milo by contrast is a rich miser who does not intend to do so for selfish
reasons, which turns him into a bad host and Hecale’s exact opposite. Milo
misrepresents Callimachus, characterising himself as a provincial upstart
with a little, but not much, learning. Other than Hecale and Theseus, Milo
and Lucius are social near-equals. Milo is apparently quite rich, but does
not wish to show it. Lucius’ background is equally noble (see §9). Lucius’
and Milo’s relationship is different from the Callimachean guest-friendship
ideal: Milo could offer enough food but is unwilling to do so. He is merely
a bad host looking for a good excuse.
The troubled guest-friendship between Milo and Lucius is from the
beginning based on the wrong application of the rules of hospitium, and
deceitfulness and wrong assumptions by both. This sets up the continued
troubled guest-friendships Lucius will experience during the rest of the
novel, especially in Met. 10 where the donkey surreptitiously eats his owners’
meats and then turns into dinner entertainment himself for a rich man; it
finally focuses attention on the provision of food and especially banquets,
which are part of the Isis initiations in Met. 11, where communal dinners
punctuate Lucius’ engagements with the followers of Isis.
6.2	Importance of food
Food, its availability and absence, is an important theme in the novel
beyond indicating Milo’s bad hospitality. Several divergences from the
story of Onos and thus very likely the lost Greek original, which indicate
deliberate changes by Apuleius, refer to food (see §3). The Onos' equivalent
to Milo, Hipparchos, provides Lucius with a simple dinner and wine. In
Metamorphoses, food is much more of a problem (May 2006, 143-56).
Lucius ensures twice in Met. 1 that his horse gets enough food: 1.2.3,
where he allows it to graze, introduces the theme. In 1.24.2 Lucius gives
Photis money to provide his horse with barley. Lucius, on the other hand,
never manages to get hold of any nourishment for himself throughout Met.
1, where his many attempts are thwarted - he does not share dinner with
Aristomenes and his companion (1.4.6), Milo does not offer him any food

Introduction
21
despite having at least two opportunities in Met. 1 to do so (1.22 and 26),
and when Lucius attempts to buy his dinner himself in Hypata’s market, his
friend Pythias has the fish trampled before Lucius has a chance to eat them
(1.24f.). Other characters apart from Lucius strive for food, too. For example,
relief from exhaustion is specifically given through food to Socrates (e.g.
1.7.3	Aristomenes feeds Socrates after their ill-omened escape, and 1.18.7
Socrates desires food to recover). Aristomenes then almost chokes on his
food, and Socrates dies drinking from a river (1.19).
Any ‘eating’ in Met. 1 is in some way abnormal. Lucius’ choking on his
food in 1.4.1 is in itself a trivial event, but in the following anecdotes about
sword-swallowers Lucius makes the point that one can choke on soft food,
yet some people can swallow things one would not believe possible if one
had not seen them do it. He thus links food with the themes of fictionality
and the reliability of eyewitness accounts. Especially the second anecdote
of a dancer on a hunting spear (1.4.4) shows Lucius to believe incredible
things can happen about which the reader rightly might have reservations.
Food becomes an important metaphor for Lucius’ gullibility throughout the
novel, and Lucius’ hunting for food but not getting anything to eat is a motif
from comedy, characterising Lucius as an unsuccessful parasite.
Lucius’ hunger continues after his transformation: as a donkey, he suffers
continued starvation, which is stressed immediately after his transformation
in 3.26 when his own horse refuses to share food with the new donkey,
one of the first abuses he will suffer. Ironically the resolution of the novel
depends on the donkey eating roses to turn him back into human form, and
during the novel his various attempts to eat roses are thwarted regularly
(3.29; 4.2fi, 7.15; 10.19). Met. 1, with Lucius’ continuous attempts to get
food being thwarted, thus prepares and anticipates the donkey’s continuous
quest for roses to eat. Finally, during Met. 11, as parts of his mystery
initiations, Lucius will again enter periods of voluntary fasting punctuated
with religious banquets and feasts (Heath 1982).
A further irony lies in the setting of Met. 1 in Thessaly, which was
renowned for providing lavish dinners: in Plato, Crito 53e Socrates says
he would demean himself if he were to go to Thessaly and do nothing there
but eat, as one cannot do anything in Thessaly but eat dinners (cf. also the
comedy The Peltasts by Eriphos, in Athenaeus Deipnosophists 4.137e, for
Thessaly’s culinary fame). Lucius might disagree: he will find it easy to
encounter witches but extremely difficult to get his dinner.

22
Introduction
6.3	Curiosity
Curiosity is one of the main themes in Met. (Hijmans 1995), and in Met. 1 it
characterises especially Lucius (1.2.6) and Aristomenes (1.12.8), but also the
doorkeeper (1.17.3; Nethercut 1968,115;Schlam 1992,48-50). Curiosity isa
self-diagnosis frequently offered by Lucius’ wiser self in Met. (cf. 2.1.2; 2.6.1;
7.13.5; 9.30.2; 9.42.2; 10.29.3). This characteristic is shared to a lesser extent
by Loukios in Onos. Plutarch, Lucius’ Middle Platonist ‘relative’ (see below
§8), wished to heal ‘curiosity’, or rather ‘meddlesomeness’, in his readers
(Cooper 1980; Keulen 2004), which he considered a negative condition. In
Plutarch’s On Curiosity 2, Moralia 516a (cf. also Theophrastus’ curious man
Characters 13), the curious man is characterised as malicious, unaware of
his own shortcomings, preoccupied with vices and misfortunes of others and
having an evil reputation. Although Plutarch’s curious man is generally much
less sympathetically depicted than Lucius, Lucius certainly is unaware of his
own shortcomings, especially in 1.2.6, where he claims not to be curious while
insisting on hearing a stranger’s story. It is Lucius’ curiosity that causes him to
be subjugated to appetites and pleasures of the body (DeFilippo 1999).
Later in the novel, Lucius’ curiosity is his downfall: he is warned several
times in the novel against meddling with witches, but nevertheless his
curiosity gets the better of him. For example, in 2.4 he does not take heed
when, at Byrrhaena’s house, he sees a statue of Actaeon turning into a stag
and being tom apart after observing the goddess Diana “with a curious
glance”, which is a clear anticipation of Lucius’ metamorphosis after
spying on the witches. Lucius continues to disregard all warnings against
witchcraft, is sensuous and naive, and curious. Consequently, he insists on
watching Pamphile transform into an owl (3.21), which triggers his desire
to experiment with magic himself, with dangerous results. For the donkey,
there is however a pay-off: he frequently satiates his curiosity thanks to his
long ears. Finally, in 11.23, Lucius becomes the initiate of a mystery cult,
but warns off his readers, with whom he had shared his curiosity until that
moment, from their “rash curiosity” about his initiation and refuses to reveal
what actually happens during his initiation. At least then Lucius thinks that
he has learned his lesson - the reader of the novel might disagree with him.
6.4	Suicide
Although initially not obvious, Aristomenes’attempted but ultimately botched
suicide in 1.16 anticipates many others in the rest of the novel, both by its
failure and its choice of method. Lucius himself attempts it (Michalopoulos

Introduction
23
2002) unsuccessfully (7.24, by a fall) and contemplates it (10.29.1: means
unspecified); Psyche, Lucius’ alter ego, makes several attempts to kill herself
(with a knife: 5.22.3; with falls: 5.25.1, 6.12.1, 6.17.1), but never succeeds.
Generally, successful male suicides use the sword: Lamachus, a robber
(4.11.6), and a despairing young man (9.38). Females often use the noose:
the robbers’ old housekeeper (6.30.6); the steward’s wife (8.22.4, with a
noose and jumping into a well). Male suicides by noose are unsuccessful; a
cook considers it, but instead he decides on killing Lucius the donkey as the
“remedy offered by the gods’ providence” (8.31.2fi).
In real life, male suicide by hanging, as Aristomenes chooses, is
comparatively infrequent, as it was an ignoble, feminine death (Van Hooff
1990,66-8). Digest 3.2.11.3 (c. 100 AD) suggests that suicide caused by ‘bad
conscience’ and committed by hanging was considered without honour. Men
threatening death by hanging (and invariably not succeeding) is however a
comic motif (May 2006, 243fi; e.g. Plautus, Asinaria 816), and the usual
reason for it is love (e.g. Plautus Casina 113; Mercator 47Iff.; Calidorus
wants to hang himself in Pseudolus 85ff). For Aristomenes however it is the
fear of being accused of a crime he has not committed (cf. 6.30; 7.24; 8.31).
Choosing initially (1.16.1) between different methods of suicide sets another
precedent: in 4.25.3 Charite contemplates (but does not attempt) suicide by
hanging, the sword and fall, and in 5.25 Psyche is advised not to choose
between different types of death; the women have real choices to make, but
Aristomenes does not have much equipment to choose from, locked up as
he is in his bedroom, and considerations of honour and appropriateness of
method do not come into his decision, as they do for Charite or Psyche. This
gives his suicidal deliberations a different note, as he has to pick between
suicide (from hanging) or crucifixion after a trial. In Tacitus Annales 3.50
there seems to be an indication that if given a choice crucifixion is worse
than hanging; Aristomenes choses the latter, but ultimately fails in his
attempt like many other characters in the novel.
7.	The prologue to the novel in Met I
The prologue is so complex and enigmatic that countless articles (recent
bibliography in Keulen 2007, 9-27) and a whole book (Kahane and Laird
2001) have been dedicated to it and study its literary allusions, origins in
rhetorical treatises, generic connotations and much more. Here and in the
commentary only a few points and motifs can be picked up.

24
Introduction
Met. 1.1 fulfils the usual requirements of prologues: it engages interest in
the book, asks for the goodwill of its audience (captatio benevolentiae) and
discusses literary precedents, genre and origin while claiming to be original
(1.1.4, “with no teacher guiding me”). Its first sentence already makes
clear that the novel contains various inset tales and is genetically related
to Milesian Tales (1.1.1). It adds at first sight merely ornamental references
to Egypt, which become instrumental for readers looking for hints at the
appearance of Isis in the novel’s last book, and thus invites second-time
reading.
Then it turns to the theme of metamorphosis, physical and metaphorical,
and thus sets the parameters for the story in which both occur, from the
actual transformations of Pamphile into an owl and Lucius into a donkey,
to the more metaphorical changes of fate, e.g. Lucius’ metamorphosis from
a young scholar finally into an initiate of Isis (more examples: comm, on
1.1.2). Even the novel’s own transformation from its Greek origin into
a Latin story is discussed (in 1.1.3 three Greek cities are the speaker’s
origins, and at 1.1.6 the story is Graecanicam, derived from the Greek). The
speaker’s move in 1.1.4 from Greek to Latin explains ostentatiously why a
native Greek speaker, as the prologue-speaker claims to be, presents a novel
written in Latin. Even its equine content may be alluded to in a technical term
from horse riding acrobatics (1.1.6, desultoriae) and a possible reference to
a donkey’s braying (1.1.5, rudis).
From the first words, ears and listening form an important motif,
picked up again throughout Met. 1, cf. 1.2 (Lucius strokes his horse’s ears
and overhears a conversation); 1.3.2 (Lucius accuses the sceptic of not
listening); 1.20.6 (Lucius travelled to Hypata “on his ears” because of an
entertaining story). In 1.1.5 the prologue-speaker (locutor), in contrast to
the ‘reader’ (lector) in 1.1.6, continues this stress on orality and hearing of
stories. Throughout the prologue the reader is first asked to listen to, and at
the end to read, the novel, creating a tension between orality and reading.
Ears benignly listening to a prologue can also be found in Roman comedy
(Plautus Menaechmi 4; Asinaria 4; Trinummus 11, with Winkler 1985, 201
n. 43, Keulen 2007,67), a genre at the time of Apuleius’ writing available to
its audience in carefully edited written form but also through recitation and
theatrical performances (May 2006).
Surrounded by references to the hearing of stories is a reference to
scrupulous visual inspection, when in 1.1.1 the reader is urged to look at
the papyrus carefully, stressing the fact that the prologue is written down

Introduction
25
and read by the reader, and not performed orally by a prologue-speaker; its
orality is feigned.
This juxtaposition does not necessarily have to be an unsolvable
contradiction. In fact, the prologue raises issues of oral performance in a
time when books were most likely read aloud to an audience. In such a
context, both concepts themselves are oscillating. It also reflects the tension
inherent in Lucius as the novel’s narrator, who in the narrative spends much
of his time unable to speak and listening to stories, which he now puts down
in writing for his readers while ostentatiously taking part in a conversation.
At the same time the prologue shirks from dealing clearly with other
essential points, importantly the identity of its speaker and the name and
background of the narrator (some points made in Dowden 2001, 124ff.).
The prologue plays with its readers’ expectations and purposefully thwarts
them.
The prologue-speaker’s identity, a vexed problem, is stressed specifically
in 1.1.2, where the prologue asks quis ille?, who is he? - a question he never
answers directly. It could be Apuleius the author (Edwards 1993), Lucius
his protagonist, or a combination of both (Korenjak 1997; Tilg 2007), a
prologue-speaker in the style of Roman comedy (May 2006), or even the
book itself (Harrison 1990b), or the speaker changes half way through,
engaging in a fictional dialogue (Drews 2006). Thus Metamorphoses would
contain metamorphoses of Apuleius into Lucius and vice versa. Others claim
there are multiple speakers, including a scripted intervention by the reader
(Winkler 1985, 195) or an anonymous third person (De Jong 2001,205).
This problem of the speaker’s identity continues throughout the novel,
also partly triggered by the nature of a first-person narrative (cf. below § 13).
The common yet problematic identification of Apuleius with Lucius, even
beyond the prologue, is triggered by Lucius’ apparent self-identification with
Apuleius, when in another metamorphic sleight of hand he declares his place
of origin to be Madauros (i.e. not Corinth), when a priest announces that he
had a dream that “a man from Madaurus, but poor” would come to see him,
meaning Lucius (11.27.9; van der Paardt 1981). Apuleius and Lucius share
certain similarities, as they both are provincial elite, studied in Athens, speak
Latin and Greek and are associated with Platonic philosophy (Harrison 2000,
217f.). Both are initiated into some mystery cults (Lucius eventually in Met.
11, and Apuleius says in Apol. 55 that he is an initiate of several mystery
cults, although he does not mention Isis). Other autobiographical links were
accordingly created and projected back onto the prologue: Beroaldo 1500,

26
Introduction
for example, considers Faustinus, Apuleius’ possible son (addressed in the
prologues of De Mundo and De Platone; Harrison 2000, 9), to be a possible
interlocutor for the speaker of the prologue.
The prologue in its complexity and fluidity of metaphors and meanings
is a fitting introduction to a complex novel dealing with metamorphosis; the
identity of the speaker oscillates between Apuleius, Lucius and an unknown
speaker, the prologue itself seems to metamorphose its form and meaning
for first- and second-time readers. Most importantly, however, it invites
Apuleius’ readership to enjoy the story (laetaberis, 1.1.6), a joy that Lucius,
too, will feel in the final words of the novel, when he happily (gaudens)
executes his duties as Isis’ priest.
8.	Fictionally and truth
The novel’s story is set in Apuleius’ present. Many of the events Apuleius
portrays are realistic and believable. The novel however also includes events
and references which make it clear that its events are fictitious. The text’s
fictionality is first raised in the prologue (cf. §7), and then, for example, in
the description of Thessaly and Lucius’ family (Keulen 2003b), and again in
1.2.5	in the discussion between Aristomenes and his travel companion.
Immediately after the prologue, and as soon as the narrative starts, the
landscape Lucius travels in (1.2.2) is described as a stereotypical, fictionalised
wilderness. Its description has verbal echoes eg. of Ovid Met. 3.225-226
(Actaeon’s hunting grounds) and appears to be based not on reality but on
rhetorical showpieces and literary themes linked with Thessaly, an area in
Northern Greece so famous for witchcraft as to become a byword for it.
This Thessaly can then become the background for depictions of witchcraft
which echo literary precedents.
Similarly, Lucius names two real contemporary philosophers as his
maternal ancestors (1.2.1). Plutarch of Chaeronea in west Boeotia (c. 45-125
AD) was a Middle Platonist who wrote numerous treatises on philosophy,
table manners, Parallel Lives of Greeks and Romans, etc. Plutarch’s nephew
Sextus of Chaeronea (c. 160 AD) was a Stoic or less likely a Platonic
philosopher, who also taught the emperor Marcus Aurelius. It is possible
that Apuleius knew one of them, Sextus, personally from his time in Athens
(FI. 20.4; c. 145-50 AD; Dowden 1994), possibly as one of his teachers.
Although this mention by name might be a personal tribute, Lucius crosses
the border between reality and fiction. Nikagoras, a third century rhetorician

Introduction
27
and official at Eleusis, boasts that both Plutarch and Sextus are his ancestors
(Inscriptiones Graecae 112 3814). What makes the claim obviously fictitious
is however the blatant misidentification of Lucius’ ‘ancestors’ Plutarch and
Sextus, two Boeotians from Chaeronea, as Thessalians. This may be an
early hint not to take the novel too literally. It stresses the contrast between
historical accuracy and a fictionalised, literary approach, and it becomes
clear that in this novel nothing will be quite what it seems: the real Plutarch
is not from Thessaly, the Socrates the readers will encounter in 1.6.1 is not
from Athens, and very different from his famous philosophical counterpart
(see below § 10.1). The contrast between Lucius’ philosophical ancestry and
his identity and outlook on life may thus anticipate the contrast between the
real Socrates and Apuleius’ anti-Socrates.
This programmatic theme of fictionality is continued in the discussion
whether the story told by Aristomenes, the first inset tale of Met., is true
or fiction. The question is raised at its start, e.g. in 1.2.5 (“absurd and
monstrous lies”), and again in 1.20.2 after Aristomenes has finished it, and
where the sceptic again calls it a lie in language echoing his first statement
(“nothing more absurd than that lie”). Some similarities with Lucius’ own
stoiy just told in 1.4 (e.g. the cheese, the shaft thrust into a throat, even the
free dinner at an inn) encourage Jordan 2004,253 to argue that Aristomenes
may have made up his own tale on the spot to echo Lucius’. This is unlikely,
given the discussion of adynata (contradictory events to the extent that they
appear impossible, e.g. the tearing down of stars) and witches in 1.3 that
precedes Lucius’ story. Aristomenes’ story functions programmatically as a
preparation for the unlikely events which follow in the rest of the novel and
blurs the borders of realism and fiction. Lucius, too, is not deterred by the
unlikelihood of Aristomenes’ story; his reply declares his firm belief in the
ability of the senses, especially sight and hearing (1.3.3), to deliver the truth;
a belief that will be disproved by the events that follow. Vision especially
is fallible in Met. (May 2007). For example, after his metamorphosis,
Lucius is not a mere donkey, but a human who merely looks like a donkey.
Aristomenes’ insistence on swearing the most solemn oath possible at 1.5.1
by the all-seeing Sun and on telling the truth before he tells his story raises
the issue of his reliability. Despite Aristomenes’ declaration that there were
many eyewitnesses who could vouch for his story in 1.5.2, Lucius will later
never attempt to verify it, leaving Aristomenes’ account of the following
events untested.
In these examples, Apuleius draws attention to his narrator’s unreliability;

28
Introduction
nothing Lucius claims to be true either about himself or about the inset tales
can be taken at face value. The novel thus raises fundamental questions
about the ability of stories to tell the truth and about its narrator’s reliability
to distinguish reality and fiction.
9.	The protagonist: Lucius
Met. 1.2 introduces the novel’s protagonist, though not by name, but very
unusually through his mother’s lineage (cf. also §10.2 and 11) as a relative of
the philosophers Plutarch and Sextus. He is identified only in 1.24.6 as Lucius,
and his mother in 2.2.8 as Salvia. His father Theseus is mentioned only once,
by Milo in 1.23.6, whereas Lucius’ aunt Byrrhaena in Hypata (who claims joint
descent with him from Plutarch) in 2.2f., too, stresses iris maternal ancestry.
In 3.11.1, Lucius’ family’s fame is said to “fill the whole province”.
Salvia’s name can be found in Thessalian inscriptions; under Domitian
a certain C. Salvius Liberalis Nonius Bassus was Proconsul of Macedonia,
to which Thessaly belonged (Bowersock 1965; Alvares 2007). Lucius’ link
via Salvia to Plutarch and Sextus may be intended to characterise Lucius
as a member of the intellectual elite (Harrison 2000, 215ff.; on Plutarch
in Apuleius see Van der Stockt 2012). Generally we find out more about
Loukios’ family in the Onos than that of Lucius in Met., where Apuleius
keeps Lucius’ hometown, family relationships and his business vague.
Lucius never clarifies what business brings him to Thessaly (cf. comm, on
1.2.1). Loukios’ intentions to find out about magic are much clearer in Onos
4: the travel for him is a pretext, and his main intention is to meet witches
and see men fly or turned into stone. Loukios is more forthcoming about his
origins; he is from Patrae (Onos 2.2) and of the family of the governor of
Macedonia (Onos 55.2-3). Lucius’ place of origin most likely is Corinth,
where he returns in 10.19. Met. 2.12.3 hints at this, and in 11.18 Lucius’
family can travel quickly to Cenchreae after news of his retransformation
spreads. Lucius has a letter of recommendation from Corinth (1.22.4). Not
all references to Corinth however support this conclusion. Lucius never
explicitly calls Corinth his home, refers to his home in vague terms (1.26.5;
7.2), and does not show any recognition of the place in 10.29, when he
almost enters Corinth’s theatre (Mason 1971).
Lucius is young and handsome. His youth can be inferred not only from
his general naivety and lack of experience, but also from his description
in Met. 1. If Pythias and Lucius were contemporaries during their studies

Introduction
29
in Athens, they should be of roughly the same age. Pythias is now holding
office as an aedile, an office typically held in one’s early twenties (see also
on 1.24.7), which suggests the same age for Lucius, too. Lucius’ physical
beauty, introduced in 1.23.3, is elaborated upon in 2.2, where he is described
as of medium height, slender, blond, with a simple hairstyle and watchful
aquiline blue eyes and a graceful gait, all features Lucius is supposed to
have inherited from his mother Salvia.
Met. 1.2 introduces key themes in Lucius’ characterisation: his vanity as
a pseudo-philosopher who is proud but not very knowledgeable about his
ancestry (see §8) and his curiosity (§6.3). Lucius claims to be a philosopher
who has studied in Athens, but is interested in magic, the antithesis to
philosophy, as Apuleius establishes in Apologia (see §1.1), and thus cannot
be a good philosopher in Apuleius’ understanding, despite his ancestry.
When Lucius links Plutarch and Sextus with Thessaly rather than Chaeronea
in Boeotia, a contemporary reader aware of Plutarch’s real origins might be
suspicious, as it seems that Lucius does not seem to know much about his
ancestor, and does not imitate him. Lucius’ claim to be related to Plutarch
then is caused by his pride in his ancestry, Plutarch’s and Sextus’ nobility
and their intelligence, and Lucius’ desire for prestige and literary relations;
at the same time it is also undermined by, for an informed reader at least, his
obvious misidentification of his family’s place of origin.
Lucius attempts to show off his knowledge, especially of medicine and
philosophy. The language in 1.4.1 is quasi-medical when Lucius describes
his choking. Often Lucius’ medical knowledge is however inadvertently
misused or slightly wrongly represented, which displays his lack of relevant
knowledge. He also name-drops Athens as the place he was a student and
the Stoa Poikile in 1.4.2 to show off his scholarly credentials, but crucially
he stays outside the place of philosophical advancement, thus unwittingly
displaying himself to be a greedy buffoon. Furthermore, the sword swallowing
episode and Lucius’ admiration for the effeminate performer, taking his
tricks to be real, unwittingly characterise him negatively as gullible and
misreading fiction and trickery for reality. The nature of Lucius’ admiration
for what are cheap tricks and pantomime performances that generally have
negative associations indicates that Lucius’judgement on literature or what
really happens in the novel should be taken with caution. Lucius does not
necessarily see a clash between philosophy (his ancestry) and magic (his
interest). His issue is the lack of balance, as Lucius does not practise any
philosophy but gives in to the negative curiosity for magic.

30
Introduction
Similarly, in 1.20.5 Lucius sees stories primarily as pleasant entertainment,
and does not understand the warning with which they are to provide him.
This is the first incident of a series of misunderstandings of inserted tales that
anticipate and reflect his life story as warnings, e.g. Lucius’ assessment of
Cupid and Psyche as a “pretty little story” (bella fabella). So, for a second¬
time reader, the novel’s opening indicates that Lucius’ narrative should not
be read in the spirit that Lucius (though not Apuleius) offers it - Lucius is an
unreliable narrator, naive and gullible, despite his aspirations to high birth
and great learning.
10.	Plato and Isis
An important question for the interpretation of the novel raised in Met. 1 is
whether it contains any ‘serious’, i.e. philosophical or religious, message.
This is tied in with finding any coherent philosophical, mainly Platonic, or
Isiac references. It becomes clear to a reader of Met. 1 that from the prologue
onwards both Platonic and Isiac allusions are present. The first are rather
obvious to a first-time reader, whereas the latter are comparatively veiled
and more easily detectable by a second-time reader, e.g. the references to
Egypt in the prologue, or the various meanings of Meroe’s speaking name
(see comm, on 1.7.6).
10.1	Plato
During Met. 1, Apuleius treats Plato’s dialogues primarily as literary
texts. His allusions to them are entirely of a literary nature and make little
reference to Platonic philosophy. Already in the prologue Apuleius creates
links to Plato as a literary text. The prologue’s dialogic structure (cf. comm,
on 1.1.1) evokes drama, but also the kind of philosophical dialogue featured
in Plato. Like the prologue, the dialogues Philebus, Hippias Minor, Cratylus
and Symposium all start in mid-conversation (De Jong 2001).
Symposium especially is an important intertext for Met. 1 on the level of
narrative and structure (Dowden 2006). For example, it features a similarly
complicated, Russian-doll-like arrangement of narrators and subnarrators as
Met. 1, with characters reporting other characters’ speeches, e.g. Aristomenes
that of Apuleius’ Socrates, or Plato’s Socrates that of Diotima (Penwill
1990).
In 1.2 Lucius introduces himself as a descendant of two philosophers, but
this is not clear cut, as Lucius misidentifies Plutarch’s origins (see §8), and

Introduction
31
in the seminal first inset tale this deviation continues. After referring to a
Plutarch who is not quite like the philosopher and Middle Platonist, Apuleius
then presents a Socrates, who again is not like the Athenian philosopher
(469-399 BC) who is the main speaker in many of Plato’s works and the
subject of one of Apuleius’ books (On the god of Socrates). Apuleius,
the self-styled philosophus Platonicus or ‘Platonic philosopher’, admires
Socrates, and in Socr. 19(16) praises him as “a man of prime perfection, and
wise according to the testimony of Apollo”.
In appearance and gestures Apuleius’ Socrates at times recalls the
philosopher, but at others he appears as his exact opposite. Plato describes
the real Socrates as famously abstinent where e.g. Alcibiades’ temptations
were concerned. In Plato’s Symp. 176c he can either abstain or drink without
feeling any ill effects, and apparently outdrink everyone in Symp. 220a. He
remains remarkably sober still (and awake) at the end of Symposium (223d),
unlike his drinking partners. He has chosen the priestess Diotima as his
instructor on love in the Symposium. The real Socrates also had been offered
a chance to escape to Thessaly instead of having his death sentence executed
(Plat. Crito 53d; Smith and Woods 2002), but ultimately decides against
going to Thessaly because the only things on offer there are lavish dinners,
debauchery and licentiousness (αταξία και ακολασία).
Apuleius’ Socrates shows no signs of being a philosopher, and his travels
are not intellectual or philosophical, either, but undertaken for base profit
and pleasure. He is keen on wine (Met. 1.7f.) and is the worse for wear after
his evening with Aristomenes. Apuleius implies something catastrophic
would have happened if Socrates had listened to Crito and gone to Thessaly
instead. Apuleius’ Socrates encounters robbers and the destructive Meroe in
Thessaly where he settles.
There are also some obvious similarities, for example in the portraits of
both men’s families: the only time the real Socrates’ wife is portrayed in
Plato, she acts similarly to die wife of Apuleius’ Socrates in Met. 1.6.3:
in Phaedo 60a-b and 116b she holds his youngest child in her arms, cries
and beats her breast. They are treated similarly by their husbands: the real
Socrates is accused of neglecting his wife and children in Crito 45c-54b, as
he chooses death in Athens over exile in Thessaly, and Apuleius’ Socrates
never returns from his exile.
At times Apuleius’ Socrates seems to imitate Plato’s Socrates consciously,
e.g. when he veils his head in shame when Aristomenes sees him for the first
time (1.6.4; Thibau 1965). This gesture is associated with the real Socrates

32
Introduction
in Phaedrus 237a, but goes very wrong for Apuleius’ Socrates. Thwarted
by his threadbare garment, he inadvertently reveals his naked body when
trying to show his shame at his condition. Apuleius’ Socrates tries to be as
dignified as his Athenian namesake, but does not quite manage to do so.
Even Socrates’ death scene in 1.18.8 evokes Platonic imagery in an extended
scene of imaginative engagement with Plato. Aristomenes and Socrates rest
next to a river overshadowed by a plane tree. This introduces the stereotypical
locus amoenus and recalls the beginning of Plato Phaedrus 228e-230e, where
Socrates and his friends sit down on grass next to a plane tree and near running
water. Phaedrus became the prototype for a description of the locus amoenus,
which originally signifies a ritually pure, but primarily idyllic location for a
philosophical discussion, particularly popular in Antonine literature (Trapp
1990; Kirichenko 2008). Apuleius, too, is aware of the scene’s significance;
he discusses how Socrates is warned by his daimonion not to cross the river
before he had placated Eros (Plato Phaedr. 242b) in Socr. 19 (163fi). Despite
the similar setting, the death of Apuleius’ Socrates is not very philosophical.
Keulen 2007, 355 and Van der Paardt 1978, 83 point out that both Apuleius’
Socrates and the real one die because of a drink (1.19.9). But whereas the real
Socrates dies slowly and conversing on philosophy and in a dignified manner
(see Plato, Phaedo), Apuleius’ Socrates keels over quickly without a word,
acting as the opposite to Plato’s Socrates from his first introduction to the
very end (O’Brien 2002, 27-45), and leaving the reader with uncomfortable
thoughts on the immortality of the soul and metempsychosis (transmigration of
the soul), topics discussed in Plato’s Phaedo and especially Republic 10, where
the soul of the Pamphylian Er returns to his body twelve days after his apparent
death to recount his vision of the souls in the Underworld (10.614-21).
Lucius, too, is aware of Plato’s Socrates and admires him. He praises him
in Met. 10.33.3 as “an old man of divine intelligence, whom the Delphic
god preferred over all mortals in his wisdom”. Lucius, the offspring of
philosophers himself, should have recognised the signs and warnings of the
story of Aristomenes and Socrates. Instead, he never comments on or reacts
to this anti-Socrates of the novel’s topsy-turvy world. It seems therefore that
allusions to Plato in the novel are not intended to add a serious philosophical
message to the plot, but instead are used as a characterisation tool for both
the characters in the inset tale and for Lucius. Without disrespect to Plato,
Apuleius uses well known passages from Plato’s dialogues to create a foil
for Lucius to put his inadequacies on show; he can be judged against the
Platonic passages by an informed reader.

Introduction
33
10.2	Isis
The most important Hellenised version of the Isis myth is narrated by
Plutarch, Lucius’ ‘ancestor’, in On Isis and Osiris: when the Egyptian god
Seth kills his brother Osiris and spreads his dismembered body all over
Egypt, Isis, sister and consort of Osiris, mourns her husband and faithfully
collects his limbs, resurrects him and conceives her son Horus by him. This
Egyptian myth became very popular in Greece and Rome (Witt 1971, Gwyn
Griffiths 1975). The Iseum in Pompeii was founded in 105BC (Apuleius
Met. 11.30.5 notes a college of Isiac priests in Rome founded during the
“time of Sulla”). Isis’ cult underwent some periods of prohibition, e.g. under
Augustus who disliked this non-indigenous cult associated with the Egyptian
queen Cleopatra, the enemy he defeated in 31 BC at the battle of Actium.
The literature of that period (e.g. Ovid, Tibullus) portrays the cult not always
in the most flattering terms. In the second century, however, the worship of
Isis became very popular under the emperor Hadrian, who was interested in
its aspects of death and resurrection and associations with Egypt.
This is not the place to discuss whether the novel has a serious religious
message about this important mystery cult. It is clear that Apuleius, himself
initiated into several mystery cults (Apol. 55), has profound knowledge of
and interest in the Isiac religion. Some aspects of his portrait of her cult are
however worrying: Lucius’ ensuing initiations are expensive and repetitive,
and he appears unquestioning and gullible and does not reflect in any depth
on his new religion. Some scholars (e.g. Winkler 1985, who leaves both
serious and parodic options open, or Harrison 2000, who firmly argues for
a religious parody) therefore believe that Isiac references are yet another
layer of literary sophistication a learned reader might detect in the novel.
Although a distinction between the portrait of the goddess Isis herself and
that of her perhaps less than satisfactory followers in the novel should be
made (May 2006,310ff.), indirect references to her and her Egyptian origins
in Met. 1 point to a complicated relationship between the portrait of Isis in
Met. 11 and the witches in Met. 1.
As an originally Egyptian goddess, Isis can be discovered retrospectively
in the at first sight merely ornamental references to Egypt in the prologue
(cf. comm, on 1.1.1). This concept of adding Isiac connotations to the story
continues throughout Met. 1. Meroe’s name is a point in question, as at a
second glance it may be an allusion to one of the centres of Isis worship
in Ethiopia, its capital Meroe. As ‘Panthia’ is also one of Isis’ cult titles,
Meroe’s ‘sister’ in Met. 1.12.4 allows for similar connotations (Schlam

34
Introduction
1978, 96; Dowden 1998, Ilf.). Even Lucius’ unusual insistence on tracing
his ancestry through his mother rather than his father in 1.2.1 may point to
Egypt and magic: magical papyri identify individuals through their mothers’
names, a tradition traced back to Egyptian influence (Graf 1997,128). Other
Isiac links are introduced in a similar manner. The adynata (‘impossible
things’) in 1.3.2 in the sceptic’s speech are at first tied up with the chapter’s
discussion of fictionality. For a second-time reader, however, they become
intrinsically linked with magic and witchcraft, after that reader has
encountered a similar list of magical powers in 1.8.4, but then are specifically
attributed to witches (Pamphile has similar powers e.g. in 2.5 and 3.15).
All of Apuleius’ witches in Met. can perform harmful magical feats of the
kind described in the adynata. Importantly, Isis claims to be able to perform
them, too, but in a positive and benevolent way, as the “mother of the world
of nature and mistress over all elements’’ (11.5.1), and Lucius praises her in
11.25.3	as having power, amongst other things, over the waves and Tartarus
itself Isis, pronouncing her well-meaning and benevolent magic herself
before transforming Lucius back into his human form, is the opposite of
the witches, whose interest in transformational magic is entirely put into
the service of their erotic interests. Retrospectively, and still unexpectedly
for a reader of Met. 1, Isis finds herself in the company of witches, with
her powers forming exact counterparts to theirs. This contrast between the
witches and Isis leads to an identification of the witches as Isis’ opposites,
or anti-Isises.
This is also evident, for example, when Meroe and Panthia noisily break
into Aristomenes’ and Socrates’ room in 1.11.7 in a perverted form of divine
epiphany, which is the opposite of Isis’ dignified and quiet appearance in a
nocturnal vision in 11.3. When Meroe and her sister cross the threshold, they
symbolically step over an important magical boundary. The threshold, seen
as the haunting ground of spirits, is associated with magic and Hecate, cf. e.g.
Aristophanes Wasps 802-804 (cf. comm, on 1.6.1). Doors are frequently used
in tomb designs, because of their symbolic function as borders between life
and death. ‘Liminal’ experiences in Apuleius are associated with transitional
states, e.g. in 5.2.1 (Psyche crosses the threshold into Cupid’s palace like a
bride), but more frequently with death and rebirth, e.g. in 6.18 Psyche has
to cross the threshold into Orcus to reach the “threshold and black halls of
Persephone”, the goddess of the Underworld (6.19.3). Isis herself is however
also in charge of life and death, and in 11.21.7 she is said to be able to
draw those to her cult who were “on the very threshold of their final days”.

Introduction
35
Lucius himself experiences this in 11.23, when during his initiation ritual,
he crosses the threshold to Persephone’s Underworld and feels as if reborn.
Aristomenes therefore serves as a forerunner of and warning for Lucius, and
the evil magic of the witches anticipates the benevolent magic of Isis.
There may also be Isiac links with other plot elements which are arguably
Apuleian additions, e.g. the Pythias scene in 1.24, where Lucius goes food¬
shopping, albeit unsuccessfully. In 11.24 Lucius takes part in ritual meals
as part of his initiation, and the purchases Lucius has to make before it
are most likely food-shopping, given the food sharing element of Isiac
initiations (Egelhaaf-Gaiser 2000, 272-329; 424f. discusses archaeological
evidence for kitchens in Isea which hosted celebratory meals for initiates;
see also Tertullian Apologeticus 39). Thus in Met. 1 Lucius is prevented
from enjoying his food, but ultimately shown as a successful purchaser of
it in Met. 11. Although Apuleius does not mention it in his depiction of the
priests of Dea Syria who are Lucius’ owners in Met. 8, fish plays a role in
her cult as well, where the consumption of certain fish was prohibited, cf.
Lucian, De Dea Syria 14 and 45-47 (Davidson 1993, 60). Fish therefore
plays an important part in Lucius’ journey from the ‘wrong’ mysteries of
magic and later of the Syrian Goddess to the mysteries of Isis in Met. 11.
Even though Isis herself does not appear before the last book of the novel,
perverted versions of her, the witches and possibly the Dea Syria, anticipate
her.
10.3	Fortuna
Isis appears in the novel in another disguise, too, hinted at by an important
ecphrasis of a statue in Byrrhaena’s house in Met. 2.4, which is a syncretistic
portrait of Isis-Victoria-Fortuna (Peden 1985; for the narratological
importance of Byrrhaena’s statues see §6.3). Fortuna-Tyche, the goddess of
Fortune, is an unpredictable driving force also in Greek novels and ancient
drama, and introduced in 1.6, 1.7 and 1.16. In Met. 1 she is conventionally
blamed for the evil that causes the characters to suffer. Socrates, for example,
sees himself continuously as the tragic victim of malevolent Fortuna, whom
he blames constantly for his situation (1.6.1; 1.6.3; 1.6.4, cf. also 1.7.1 and
10, where references to Fortuna frame the chapter). This approach continues
throughout the novel where Lucius accuses her of pursuing him, especially
after his metamorphosis (she is called ‘blind’, ‘savage’, ‘cruel’, etc.). As a
donkey he has even fewer chances to influence his fate and becomes hostile
Fortune’s passive victim. In Apuleius’ time Fortuna-Tyche was more and

36
Introduction
more associated with Isis. Isis finally becomes the benevolent force of
Fortuna who returns Lucius to his human state in 11.15, when the Isis priest
reveals to Lucius that blind Fortuna has ensured a positive outcome of his
wanderings and he is now in the benevolent hands of Isis, the “Fortuna
with eyes” who has “providence”, and who has engineered his sufferings
as a donkey because of his curiosity and addiction to “slavish pleasures”.
Fortuna undergoes a metamorphosis from her normal portrait as amoral and
random in Met. 1 into benevolent Isis in Met. 11 (Schlam 1992, 58-62;
Montiglio 2005; May 2006, 320ffi).
11.	Ancient magic
Apuleius was accused of using erotic magic to make his wife fall in love with
him. His Apologia, one of our major sources for ancient magic, is however
not an objective source: it is shaped by his self-defence, and his claims need
to be checked against other depictions of magic, notably magical papyri
and lead tablets. Apuleius clearly had a profound knowledge of magic
and its practices, and he puts it to good use in Metamorphoses. This kind
of knowledge was not incompatible with his career as a philosopher and
educator, others showed similar interests. Plutarch, for example, seems to
have believed that magic and ghosts existed (see Cimon 1.6). Isis and Osiris,
too, are intrinsically linked with magic, often invoked in the magical papyri,
or said to have taught magicians their skills. Apuleius denies in Apologia
that there is a close relationship between magic and mystery religions, but
magical papyri show that e.g. magic practices are called ‘mysteries’, or the
magician undergoes an ‘initiation’ when he learns his craft. The witches in
Met. 1 accordingly practice mysteries, but of a damaging kind.
One of the most common feats of magic is the use of binding spells
(katadesmoi/defixiones), often written onto small lead tablets or papyri and
sometimes buried in the graves of people who died prematurely or violently.
In Met. 3.17.4 Apuleius lists “metal strips engraved with mysterious letters”
as part of Pamphile’s magical equipment. These must be curse tablets
themselves (Gager 1992, 256f.) These spells were intended to force the
magicians’ (or their customers’) will on their victims. Binding spells fall
into five major categories, all in evidence during Apuleius’ period (Graf
1997, 120f.): judicial spells (to harm one’s opponents in trials), erotic
spells (to make someone fall deeply in love), spells against slanderers and
economic competitors, and finally agonistic spells (in the context of racing

Introduction
37
or other competitive spectacles). In Met. 1.9, Meroe is shown to employ the
first four of these five types to harm her opponents; but instead of merely
‘binding’ her opponents, she transforms them into animals. Pamphile, too,
uses force against her lovers and punishes them fiercely for non-compliance
in Met. 2, metamorphosing reluctant lovers into stones or animals {Met.
2.5). Apuleius’ detailed magical knowledge is adapted to match the theme
of metamorphosis of his novel.
About a quarter of extant deftxiones are used for love magic, and in fact
love magic is what the witches in Met. 1 will be busy with most of the time.
In Papyri Graecae Magicae XII 873 and IV 185ff. a magician makes similar
claims of cosmic powers as those listed in Met. 1.3 and 1.8 (‘stopping the
sea’). In Greek Magical Papyri {PGM) XXXIV = P.Mich. inv. 5, a magician
lists his(?) cosmic powers, but declares he has not found an effective love
spell yet. The papyrus fragment may be from a novel (included as ‘The
Love Drug’ novel fragment in Stephens and Winkler 1995, 173-78; more
cautious: Schmeling 2011, 520). The cosmic powers listed include pulling
down the moon, preventing the day from rising and being able to cross
the sea without a boat. Apuleius’ witches, especially Meroe and Pamphile,
despite their allegedly cosmic powers, use magic primarily for their own
gratification, but both are ultimately unsuccessful in its execution. Meroe
is, despite her magical knowledge, unable to bind Socrates permanently to
herself. Socrates is not in love with her, but terrified, even hates her (1.7.9)
and tries to escape from her as soon as Aristomenes offers the opportunity.
This discrepancy between what witches are said to be able to do in Met. 1.8
and what, at least in the novel, they are actually able to accomplish ties in
with the continued problematisation of fiction and reality in Met. (cf. above
§8). The same link between magic and sexual attraction is associated with
the figures of Photis and Pamphile, and later in Met. 9.14 with the Miller’s
Wife, who takes recourse in magic after her adultery has been discovered;
the witch she employs, like Meroe, also has power over the divine, see
below. In Met. 9.29L, too, she does not succeed in her erotic magic for her
client and resorts to sending a ghost to kill the miller instead.
By being able to transform men into wild beasts, Meroe and the other
witches destroy the boundaries between order and chaos, human and bestial.
Transformation of the magicians themselves into animals can be associated
with ancient magic (Pap. Lugd. 2.190). The witch Moeris in Vergil Eclogues
7.97ff. combines necromancy and animal metamorphosis: she turns into
a wolf and raises the dead. Apuleius’ Pamphile and the witch threatening

38
Introduction
Thelyphron both can turn themselves into animals: an owl (3.21.6) and a
weasel (2.25.3).
Necromancy, though rarely described in the magical papyri, is depicted
several times in novels (Slater 2007): in Heliodorus Aethiopica 6.14f. the
old woman of Bessa revives her son temporarily to find out the future, and in
Apuleius Met. 2.29 the Isis priest Zatchlas resurrects the dead Thelyphron,
whereas in 2.25 Thessalian witches ‘reanimate’ the living Thelyphron
who had fallen into a corpse-like sleep. In Met. 1, the death and temporary
resurrection of Socrates falls into the same category. Cutting the jugular
or severing the complete head is part of several necromancy scenes: e.g.
Pompey’s ghost appearing to his son in Lucan 6.813 may be able to do
so because the father’s head had been cut off; Medea cuts Aeson’s throat
and drains his blood (Ovid Met. 7.285-93; Ogden 2001, 202T, 214f.).
Meroe, too, slices through Socrates’ throat, tears his heart out and collects
his blood in Met. 1.13. His death closely resembles other portraits of
necromantic sacrifices, i.e. the human sacrifice of a male, often a young
boy, for necromantic purposes (Ogden 2001, 201; cf. Canidia in Horace
Epodes 5; Ovid Fasti 6.137ff., 159-62). As the magically resurrected victim
of such a sacrifice, Socrates has a similar function to those other revenants
who utter prophecies after their deaths. Consequently, Socrates’ statement
in 1.17.3 is strictly speaking a necromantic speech, to which truthfulness
is usually accredited (Ogden 2001, 140). Socrates’ speech is however very
trite and problematic: he mistakes the doorkeeper for an innkeeper, who,
he suggests, might have wanted to steal something. As the witches had
previously ‘stolen’ Socrates’ heart and blood, his necromancy is indeed
‘true’, but the culprits and the manner of ‘theft’ are different from that which
Socrates implies. His necromancy is inconsequential: not entirely untrue,
but certainly unreliable. In this respect it effectively distinguishes itself from
other literary necromancies. In another necromantic and mirror episode,
the story of Thelyphron, Apuleius further explores this uncertainty of the
necromancy’s truthfulness. In 2.29.6, the gathered crowd at first questions
the reliability of the resurrected corpse of Thelyphron, who accuses his wife
of having murdered him. Only after the corpse truthfully reveals that the
other Thelyphron had been visited by witches at night and robbed of some
of his body parts, is the corpse believed.
Meroe and Panthia may use Socrates’ heart and blood for a wider range of
magical purposes, mainly love magic, and the solution proposed by Panthia
in 1.13.2 for Aristomenes, dismembering or castrating him but leaving him

Introduction
39
alive, would fulfil the same function. In Apol. 33, the discussion of obscene
words for fish derived from fanciful descriptions of male or female genitalia
in an accusation of magic suggests that cut-off male genitals could be used
for erotic magic. Other witches in Met. make use of body parts; in 2.22 and
2.30 Thelyphron is ‘dismembered’ while alive, in 3.17 Pamphile’s magical
possessions include body parts and blood of slaughtered people. Witches
take internal organs from their victims in Plautus Bacchides 27, Petronius
Satyrica 63.8, etc. In Onos 6, Palaistra, the equivalent of Photis, announces
that she knows how to butcher and cook a man, and how to get hold of
his inner organs and heart, indicating intimate acquaintance with magical
rituals. This is not paralleled in Apuleius’ version Met. 2.7, as Apuleius
portrays Photis more sympathetically and tones down her magical abilities.
The killing of Socrates enacts a perverted sacrifice, a speciality of
Thessalian witches (e.g. Erictho in Lucan 6.524ff.). It intentionally inverts
every detail of a normal sacrifice, where e.g. the victim’s head was pulled
to the left and the right jugular was severed, but Socrates’ head is turned to
the right, his left jugular is cut; other elements of sacrifice are inverted, too
(cf. comm, on Met. 1.13; McCreight 1993, Jordan 2004). Inverting proper
religious or societal rules into their opposite is generally a characteristic
of magic. This is one of the reasons why it is regularly performed at night
(Apol. 47; Ogden 2001, 166). Apuleius’ witches are active at night, too:
the witches break into Aristomenes’ bedroom three hours after midnight
in 1.11.6, and Pamphile performs magic during the first watch, i.e. a little
earlier than Meroe, in 3.21 (see 1.3.1 and 1.10.5 for more nightly witch
activities). Ghosts in antiquity are generally believed to appear at midnight.
Consequently, Met. 1 contains much discussion whether it is still night or
already day.
Even Socrates’ final burial is consistent with magical beliefs and the
witches’ needs. Aristomenes does not bury his friend only for the sake of
their friendship and religious duty. A proper burial is important to avoid the
return of Socrates as a ghost (Felton 1999,9-11, Felton 2007). Having died
a violent death (biaiothanatos) and being left unburied (ataphos) would
both be preconditions for Socrates to return and haunt the witches; it would
also make him liable to become a malevolent ghost still under the influence
of witches and magicians (nekydaimori). The female ghost in Met. 9.29 (see
below) can be conjured up by a witch because she had died violently and
prematurely. Horace’s witch Canidia also fears that the boy killed under
similar circumstances to Socrates’ might return as a nekydaimon and harass

40
Introduction
her (Horace Epodes 5.9Iff.). It is therefore entirely in the self-interest of
the witches to keep Aristomenes alive long enough for him to bury Socrates
properly. Whereas for Meroe’s (and Aristomenes’) protection only a “little
earth” (1.13.3) is required to fulfil the proper ritual and prevent Socrates’
return, Aristomenes indicates in 1.19.11 that he has done more than this and
given his friend a burial as proper as possible under the circumstances.
Throughout his story, Socrates is associated with ghosts, but never
specifically described with any of the usual Latin terms for ‘ghost’ (see
comm, on 1.6.3). His ghostly nature is noticeable, though, for a second-time
reader, who in Met. 9.30 encounters a larva, a harmful female ghost, in a
mirror scene (see §4.1; Winkler 1980,162f., Felton 1999,15f., Keulen 2007,
168). There the ghost of a violently killed woman is called up to murder
the miller in a scene which recalls Socrates’ portrayal in 1.6 and 19 with
thematic and exact verbal echoes: both are only ‘half-clad’ (.semiamictus;
1.6.1,	a word only found in Apuleius), Socrates ’ first appearance as ghostly-
white, disfigured, and clad in rags anticipates hers, who is also as pale as
boxwood, emaciated and filthy, and deformed by sadness. Both she and
Socrates recall the usual portrayal of ghosts in antiquity as pale and filthy,
especially ghosts of the larva-type. Apuleius is aware of this: in Apol. 63.1
he denies owning a horrible looking statue (described as larvalis), associated
by his accusers with magical practices. A second-time reader who notices
the same words used in the description of the ghost in 9.29f. retrospectively
deciphers this linguistic confirmation that Socrates is a revenant. This had
not been entirely clear even up to his second death in 1.19, as his description
as a ghost is deliberately kept in an ambivalent manner to keep the readers
guessing about the nature of his condition. The ghost in 9.29f. serves as both
clarification and reminder of Socrates’ possible fate.
These similarities extend to the witches who control both ghosts: the
witch who sends the larva to kill the miller is called a “woman with power
over the divine” (femina divini potens) in 9.29.4; a similar list of powers is
ascribed to Meroe, who in 1.8.4 is also called divini potens.
The association with Thessaly as a magical place of witchcraft is evoked
emphatically in 1.2.1. Lucan, too, begins his account of the Thessalian witch
Erictho with the emphatic Thessaliam ‘Thessaly’ (6.333). This should lead
readers to expect the specific ‘Thessalian trick’ of pulling down the moon,
which throughout literature is constantly associated with Thessalian witches
(Propertius 1.19; Horace Ep. 5.46; Tibullus 1.2.43; Cicero De Natura
Deorum 2.50 etc.). This famous feat is however never actually performed

Introduction
41
by any of Apuleius’ witches. He first raises, but then thwarts his readers’
expectations of seeing the ‘usual’ type of magic performed.
Despite some links with other literary descriptions, Meroe’s and Panthia’s
magic is extremely unusual in other aspects, too. Lucan’s Erictho needs
many unusual ingredients and elaborate incantations for the corpse to revive
(6.624-830). Horace’s Canidia needs ingredients and Thessalian chants for
her necromantic sacrifice. Pamphile’s preparation for metamorphosis takes
much preparatory work in Met. 3.21; the narrator never gives away in detail
how much preparation the witch in Met. 9 requires to send the larva to the
miller, but implies that it is considerable. Meroe and Panthia do nothing
of the kind. Their silence during Socrates’ murder and their omission of
magical ingredients are unusual and show again an important deviation from
the norm, possibly to keep Apuleius’ readers guessing about Socrates’ status
as a revenant, the ambiguity of which would be destroyed by incantations
and applications of relevant magical ingredients.
The image of magic in Met. 1 is therefore inconsistent and contradictory.
It is clear that Apuleius has detailed and exact knowledge of ancient
magical practices as pictured both in literature and on magical papyri. On
the other hand, he frequently chooses to veer from the norm, even where
very important and well-known rites are concerned, when it helps to further
his plot or keep his readers in suspense. It is therefore remarkable that the
depiction of Meroe and Panthia has been so influential on later portraits of
witches and magic.
12.	Language and style
As a trained rhetorician interested in the archaising movement (see above
§1.2), Apuleius pays close attention to his language. His writing is eclectic and
exuberant. In his syntax he prefers coordination (parataxis) over subordination
(hypotaxis), and his sentences are structured by isocola (members of the same
length) arranged as parallelisms, which at times may even rhyme, to create
balanced, musical sentences. For example, see 1.22 ardua montium ac lubrica
vallium et roscida cespitum et glebosa camporum (“steep mountains, slippery
valleys, dewy pastures, and cloddy fields”), the poetic style of which cannot
be rendered adequately into English. Despite their length, which might make
them appear to be very elaborate, Apuleius’ sentences are comparatively more
straightforward to follow even during a possible oral performance or recitation
than Cicero’s complicated periodic clauses.

42
Introduction
The most characteristic element of Apuleius’ style, however, is his
diction. Like his fellow archaist Fronto, Apuleius specifically focusses on
the choice of the right word. He revives archaic words last attested in the
Roman comedies of Plautus (c. 254—184 BC) and out of use for 350 years
by his own time (most recently analysed by Pasetti 2007).
A few examples include his revival of scitulus ‘sexy’, used to describe a
still quite attractive Meroe in Met. 1.7.7. It is archaic and comic, previously
used in Plautus Rud. 564; 894 and Afranius com. 386 Ribbeck, and then only
again in Apuleius. In Met. 1.5.3 and 1.21.4 he uses cuiatis ‘where from?’, an
archaism, found e.g. in Plautus (e.g. Ba. 11, Cur. 404, Men. 341, Poen. Prol.
109, 994), often in the context of a prologue, but also in archaic tragedies
(Accius trag. 22; 625 Ribbeck and Ennius Annales ff. 276 W = 280 Vahlen).
Apart from Apuleius and the early poets it only occurs in his fellow archaist
Gellius 15.30. Both examples with their archaic, often Plautine, origins
are used in scenes which are arguably comic, and therefore carry added
meaning. Language, especially single words, is often a possible trigger for
interpretation in Apuleius (May 2006).
At the same time, Apuleius coins new words of his own which are often
based on archaic patterns of word formation. Met. 1 especially has many
hapax legomena (words only found once in Latin literature) where Apuleius
seems inspired by Plautus. For example, in 1.7.4 adlubentia ‘inclination’
was likely created after Plautus’ adlubescere (‘to gratify', Mil. 1004) and
lubentia (‘inclination’, St. 276), which was personified as a goddess in As.
268. The same sentence contains cruciabilis ‘torturous’ which occurs first
here (five times in Met.) and Gellius 3.9.7, but it may be another comic
touch, compared to Plautus’ cruciabilitas (‘torment’, Cist. 205), excruciabilis
(‘deserving torture’, Cist. 653) and cruciabiliter (‘with torture’, Pseud.
950). Again the scene is comic, and Apuleius uses comedy-inspired words
to draw his readers’ attention to it. Other hapax legomena like antelucio
(‘before daybreak’, 1.11.3; 1.15.1) and the diminutive anteluculo (1.14.6)
draw attention through their unusualness to the discussion of the time of day,
which is important for the plot.
Apuleius is fond of creating compound adjectives with semi-, a tradition
he found in Plautus, Catullus and Ovid, as a sign of Apuleian poeticism. He
uses 31 of them, many of which, like semiamputatus, are hapax legomena
(Pasetti 2007, 12Iff.). Met. 1 alone has five (1.4.5 semiamputatus ‘half-
pruned’; 1.6.1 semiamictus ‘half-clad’, 1.14.2 semimortuus ‘half-dead’,
1.15.1	semisomnus and 1.15.4 semisopitus, both ‘half-asleep’).

Introduction
43
Apuleius’ register ranges from the sordid, contemporary and colloquial
at one end to the tragic and poetic at the other. For example, in 1.14.2 and
1.18.6	he uses lotium ‘piss’ instead of the more technical urina (1.13.8). At
the other end of the spectrum, he revives in 1.7.7 the rare word domuitio
(‘return home’), which is only found in Pacuvius trag. 173 Ribbeck (58D)
and Apuleius (six times in Metamorphoses and Hermagoras fr. 8).
Allusions to previous literature abound and are often functional as well as
ornamental. For example, when Apuleius paraphrases or alludes to a snippet
from an early tragedy {Medea in 1.10.2), he not only wants to decorate and
ornament his own text with a gratuitous proof of his leamedness, but instead
to draw attention to the context of his source, which then has consequences
for our assessment of his own text.
This obsession with meaning and context even of single words is
noticeable throughout the novel, and creates links not only with previous
texts and genres, but also within the novel itself. Often words function as
triggers for the recognition of mirror scenes, for example the similarities
between Socrates and the female ghost who kills the miller in Met. 9.
Apuleius has a specific predilection for word games and puns, some of
which may be pseudo-etymological (collected and discussed in Nicolini
2011). For example, in 1.7.9 annosa ‘aging’ is an etymological pun with anus
(‘old woman’), a connection already seen by ancient authors on etymology,
cf. Paulus Diaconus Fest. 6 “‘an old woman’ {anus), named so after the
multitude of years {ab annorum multitudine)”. Meroe is also described as
scortum scorteum (‘a hoary whore’, 1.8.1), where alliterations in a Plautine
manner reinforce the proverbial nature. Similarly pseudo-etymological puns
abound, see e.g. 1.7.8 gratae atque gratuitae (‘gratis ... gratefully received’)
or 1.20.2 habitus et habitudo (‘dress and bearing’).
The result of Apuleius’ experimenting with words is a highly sophisticated
and elaborate yet entertaining style that is difficult to capture in translation.
Because of the way Apuleius’ prose concentrates on the meaning of single
words, the commentary discusses single words in more detail than is usually
the case for commentaries keyed to a translation. The translation attempts
to reproduce this artificial and interesting but at times odd and idiosyncratic
style (see Harrison 1999, xxxi f. for further lit.).

44
Introduction
13.	Reception of Met /
Metamorphoses has a long and varied history of reception (see Harrison
1999, xxxviiif.). The inset tale of Cupid and Psyche has been especially
popular throughout the centuries. Metamorphoses 1, too, has contributed
to the novel’s popularity, especially regarding the development of fictional
prose texts, notably through the prologue, and the portrait of Meroe, which
influenced mediaeval and Renaissance concepts of witchcraft.
Gustave Flaubert offers a good overall assessment of the important aspects
of the reception of Met. 1. He expresses his admiration for Apuleius’ novel
as a masterpiece which describes nature and landscape in a modem way
and combines the religious with the stench of urine: “ce livre est un chef-
d’oeuvre ... ?a sent l’encens et l’urine, la bestialite s’y marie au mysticisme.”
(letter to Louise Colet, 27-8th June 1852).
The prologue’s reference to the low class genre ofMilesian Tales initially
created a negative response to Apuleius’ novel (cf. § 2.3). Depreciatory
references to Milesian Tales are found especially in Christian authors, e.g.
Tertullian, On the soul 23 (c. 160-225 AD); Jerome, Apology for himself
against the books of Rufinus 1.17 (401 AD). Jerome (c. 347-420 AD),
Commentaries on the prophet Isaiah 12 laments that many more people
read Milesian Tales than the books of Plato. In c. 430AD, Macrobius
in his commentary to Cicero’s The Dream of Scipio 1.2.7L associates
the plots of Menander and his imitators with those of Petronius and
Apuleius and wonders why the philosopher Apuleius dabbled in stories
of that nature. Macrobius’ near contemporary Martianus Capella saw
Milesian Tales as a synonym for entertaining fiction in his Marriage
of Philology and Mercury 2.35. Subsequently, and apparently due to
Apuleius’ associating his own novel with them, ‘Milesian Tales’ seems
to have become the technical term for extended prose narratives which
are not overtly intended to instruct or better their readers: Cervantes’
Don Quixote (1605) defines Milesian Tales as extravagant and amazing,
and the opposite of moral tales.
Furthermore, Apuleius’ prologue influenced other prologues of literary
works. For example, Fulgentius (late 5th/mid 6th century AD) bases his
prologue to Mitologiae (which contains a somewhat pedestrian summary
of Cupid and Psyche and some moralising on its implications in 6.116-
118) on Apuleius’: “let me soothe (permulceam) the seat of your ears with
some whisper (susurro)" recalls Met. 1.1.1. Although Fulgentius’ attitude to

Introduction
45
Apuleius’ novel is on the whole inimical, he is happy to echo features of its
prologue to find favour with his own readers.
Authors producing texts alternating between prose and verse (prosimetra)
during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance believed that Metamorphoses
were prosimetric, too: Met. 1.1.6 vocis immutatio, ‘change of speech’,
was taken to refer to the change from a poetic prologue to a prose section.
Apuleius’ text would require a certain rewriting to adapt it to metre, and there
was no agreement about where this entirely imaginary change occurs. The
theory was tested by Coluccio Salutati’s (1331-1406) idea of the prologue
as a Plautine prologue, adopted e.g. by Beroaldo 1500. Subsequent chapters
were also seen as programmatic. Lucius’ description of the landscape
through which he travels in 1.2.2 is quoted by Robert Burton in the preface
to his The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), promising his readers to cover
both difficult and easy topics.
Apart from the formative influence of the prologue on style and the
conception of genre, the characters of Lucius and Socrates were also taken
up by Renaissance readers who compared their own fates to those of the
literary characters. Often enough, they also thought Apuleius was describing
his own adventures, thus mistakenly identifying Lucius the character with
Apuleius the author; this common enough misidentification is already found
in Augustine, City of God 18.18 (shortly after 410 AD) and facilitated by the
novel’s first person narrator.
Petrarch was familiar with Apuleius from 1348 onwards at the latest. In a
letter to ‘Socrates’ (i.e. his close friend Ludwig van Kempen), he repeatedly
associates himself with Apuleius and Lucius. Petrarch says he did not make
the boast that Apuleius had made, i. e. that his readers would enjoy themselves,
and then quotes the last sentence of the prologue (Petrarch Familiar Letters
1.1.12). In Fam. 9.10.4 Petrarch contrasts the ending of Met. 1 to his own
experiences: unlike Apuleius (sic) once in Hypata as Milo’s guest, he had
been given a lavish meal. Petrarch uses Milo’s miserliness as a point of
comparison in 1.10.3. The description of Hypata in Met. 1.5.4 and especially
2.1	is echoed by Petrarch in Fam. 1.4.4, but adapted to Paris, and the notion
of Lucius’ ‘business’ is probably recalled in Petrarch’s letter Fam. 1.4.1,
where he discusses how he recently set out to France on ‘some business’
(Mass 1989).
Others identified with Socrates: Boccaccio (1313-1375) in his letter to
Petrarch Mavortis miles extreme (‘My energetic soldier of Mars’ 1339; see
below) is inspired by Socrates’ description of his volatile fortune in Met. 1.6:

46
Introduction
Boccaccio was, he says, ignorant of the “slippery twists, unsteady onslaughts
and changeable reversals of our fortunes”, and covered his blushing face,
but at the sight of a seductively mysterious woman.
This easy identification of Renaissance authors with Apuleius himself or
his characters became more problematic after Poggio Bracciolini (1380—
1459) discovered both the Onos and Photios’ description of the lost Greek
original and realised that Apuleius’ novel forms a translation of a Greek book
and is thus fictitious, and not an autobiography. Still, authors continued to
interweave their own autobiographical experiences into their understanding
of Metamorphoses. Even after Poggio’s discovery, Apuleius’ novel could
become a battlefield for the definition of his later readers’ identity.
By mistranslating Met. 1.1.5 forensis (‘of the forum’) as ‘foreignness’,
which was the standard interpretation in the Renaissance, Humanists
saw Lucius’ self-description replicated in their own experience and their
Humanism as a kind of metamorphosis from previous barbarity (Carver 2007,
236-250). Especially when Italian Humanists charged German Humanists
with ‘barbarism’, the latter group took to Lucius’ description of himself as
a foreigner to Latin who had learned the language as an autodidact and was
now earning his way in Rome by speaking. The sixteenth and seventeenth
century even saw a division into Apuleians, who endorsed Apuleius’ writing
style, and anti-Apuleian Ciceronians. Andreas Schott (1552-1629), one of
the latter group, used Apuleius’ claim of ‘foreignness’ to disparage Apuleian
Latin, as Apuleius himself was ‘braying’ (rudere) rather than speaking and
had claimed in the prologue that he was ‘unskilled’ and learned Latin with
difficulty (Tullianorum quaestionum de instauranda Ciceronis imitatione
libri III. Antwerp 1610, 44fi). Similarly, Melanchthon (1497-1560) Praise
of eloquence 29, and Juan Luis Vives (1493-1540) On education 1.3,
both disliked Apuleius’ style and compared it with a donkey’s braying
(rudere) because the prologue-speaker claimed to be a rudis locutor (‘an
inexperienced speaker’, 1.1.5).
Apuleius’ unusual and difficult language however also found its
admirers, who created glosses on Met. The earliest of these appear in the
Abolita glossary (possibly compiled in 7th century Spain, named after its
first entry), which has twelve glosses from Met. 1 alone. Unusual words
were of interest, too, to his first Renaissance readers, who immediately
started to use them in their own literature. For example, Boccaccio gives a
correct definition of Met. 1.23.4 gurgustiolum ‘little hovel’ in his interlinear
gloss on MS Laurentianus 29.2, fol. 27v, evidence for his close engagement

Introduction
47
with Apuleius’ text (Gaisser 2008). The word is then also used by Coluccio
Salutati in Epistolario 1.10, line 1, and in Boccaccio’s Mavortis miles
extreme. Boccaccio uses several exclusively Apuleian words in the same
text, including the rare antelucio (‘before daybreak’, Met. 1.11.3; 1.15.1)
and semisopitus (‘half asleep’, Met. 1.15.4, a word he had already found
noteworthy in Laur. 29.2 fol. 26v). In his letter Boccaccio describes how
he got up once just before daybreak, feeling ‘worn out and half asleep’,
marcidus et semisopitus, left his gurgustiolum and went to the shore of the
Bay of Naples, where he encountered a mysterious woman. Recognition of
his imitation of Apuleius is triggered by the unusual vocabulary he found in
Met. 1, but then extends to literary engagement as well.
Entire Apuleian phrases in Latin and the vernacular became part of the
Renaissance writers’ repertoire; for example, Petrarch, in On the solitary
life 2.4 alludes to Met. 1.5.1, Socrates’ oath by the all-seeing sun, which
is contrasted to God who “sees everything, not meaning the sun, as Ovid
and Apuleius have said” (vede ogni cosa, non intendendo del sole, come
Ovidio e Apulejo hanno ditto). Occasionally, even misunderstood phrases
in Apuleius attest to the novel’s popularity. Lucius’ swallowing of a cheese
cake in Met. 1.4.1 intrigued some readers. Coluccio Salutati’s manuscript
MS Harley 4838 glossed it as ‘lasagne’, and the food is recalled by FalstafFs
“T’is time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese” (Shakespeare, The
Merry Wives of Windsor v.v. 138f.).
Lucius’ adventures in Thessaly feature prominently in adaptations of the
novel as a whole. A few examples follow. Hans Sachs, the German poet
and playwright, composed a parable Der gulden esel (1538), in which his
Apuleius sets out to Thessaly to experience magic, and his subsequent
adventures form a parable that warns against promiscuity. Agnolo Firenzuola
imaginatively rewrites Lucius’ story into his own in his novel L 'asino d’oro
(published 1550): e.g. Lucius’ autobiography becomes his own, and instead
of Milo in Hypata it is Petronio in Bologna who receives him. Charles
Nodier’s nightmarish Smarra ou les Dimons de la Nuit (1821) is based
on Met. 1 (explicitly mentioned in the prologue); its hero Lucius tells of
his dead friend Polemon’s encounter with the witch Meroe. Hypata is also
the setting for Petrus van Limburg Brouwer’s (1795-1847) novel Een ezel
en eenig speelgoed (An ass and some toys). Here Lucius is turned into a
donkey and after many adventures meets Palaistra again, who, it turns out,
had deceived him on purpose to get his money. Louis Couperus’ escapist
De verliefde ezel (The Ass in Love', 1918) retells the story of Charmides

48
Introduction
(= Lucius) as a travelling salesman and adapts Met. 1 freely, e.g. Meroe
tries to seduce Charmides himself, and other characters are given names
from Roman comedy. Georges Pichard’s graphic novel Les Sorcieres de
Thessalie (1985) concentrates on the novel’s erotic potential, whereas Peter
Oswald's fast-paced play The Golden Ass (2002) gives a spirited and very
funny characterisation of Lucius as naive, and Aristomenus’ (sic) story as an
entertaining farce.
The story of Aristomenes and Socrates on its own has an interesting
reception. Burton in The Anatomy of Melancholy (3.349) uses Meroe as an
example for jealousy if an old woman sleeps with a younger man. Already
Francesco Colonna’s Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (1499), a work full of
literal and verbal allusions to Metamorphoses, sees the story of Socrates and
Meroe as a metaphorical warning for both novels’ protagonists against sexual
encounters with women. He alludes specifically to Socrates’ description
of his ensnarement by Meroe when his protagonist Poliphilo, whose
characterisation is in many ways inspired by Lucius, becomes inexperta
urigine percito (‘excited by unfamiliar lust’, cf. Met. 1.7.8; Carver 2007,
183-235). The witches’ memorable entrance into Aristomenes’ and Socrates’
room in Met. 1.12 is recalled in the second book of Hypnerotomachia
Poliphili. The heroine Polia has a nightmare inspired by Apuleius’ scene:
she hears the bolts of her locked bedroom door fly back, and seems to
hear burglars coming in, and then describes her fear as worse than that of
Aristomenes, transformed into a tortoise on seeing Panthia and Meroe. The
intruders, it seems, wish to punish her for her refusal to obey the gods of
love. Even after Polia is woken up by her nurse, she resembles Aristomenes
in Met. 1.14, as she is “prostrate, utterly weary, more dead than alive ...
like a paralytic” (translation from Carver 2007, 230). The story of Socrates
and Aristomenes also formed an inspiration for Curio Lancillotto Pasio of
Ferrara in his Bucolicorum Mimisis ([s/c.] 1506), who retells their adventure
in the tavern as that of Telephron and Byrrhenus in Eel. 9. Socrates’ second
death in Met. 1.19 may be recalled in Spenser’s Faerie Queene (1590/96).
The Redcrosse Knight drinks from a stream cursed by the goddess Diana
and is immediately enfeebled (1.7.6.2-5), and at the beginning of book 2,
Mordant is beguiled by the enchantress Acrasia, and when he drinks water,
he falls dead on the ground (2.1.54-5). Both scenes may be inspired by
Socrates drinking from the stream, and combine the idea of drinking water,
witchcraft, eroticism, and death, thus making Meroe one of several models
for Spenser’s Duessa and Acrasia (Carver 2007,407-11).

Introduction
49
Meroe becomes synonymous with witchcraft in later works. In the
romantic play The Old Wives’ Tale by George Peele (1595), Meroe is the
mother of an enchanter who has taught him his craft. In the 1916 play Cupid
and Psyche by John Jay Chapman, based on Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche,
Panthia, Meroe and Psyche are the daughters of King Agathon and Queen
Arete. Only Panthia is a witch, though Meroe is jealously weaving intrigues,
and both are supported by their greedy husbands. They transform into owls
to reach Psyche’s palace, and unlike Psyche’s sisters in Met. do not come to
any harm at the happy ending.
Unsurprisingly, Met. 1 has had an immense impact on perceptions of
magic and witchcraft. Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim (1486—
1535), an alchemist and theologian, uses Apuleius, specifically the character
of Meroe, several times, for example in his De Occulta Philosophia. He
refers to her magic powers by quoting Met. 1.8.4 in his introductory letter to
the historian and occultist Johannes Trithemius, and uses the list of cosmic
adynata in Met. 1.3 in De Occulta Philosophia 1.72 to discuss the power of
magic. Another influential work on magic, Nicholas Remy’s Daemonolatreia
(1595), also makes much use of parallels with Met. Daemonolatreia 3.11 sees
Lucius’ sword swallowing in Met. 1.4.3 as evidence for demons aiding in
magical feats, and the witches’ nightly attack on Aristomenes’ and Socrates’
room as examples for a story which is fictional but close enough to facts
to be credible. Even Lucius’ expression of credulity in Met. 1.20.3 is used
in Daemonolatreia 3.12 as an example for the unpredictability of God’s
actions.
Finally, Lucius’ depiction of witchcraft is at its most influential in the
description of later witches’ cosmic powers (Heine 1962, 334ff). Ben
Jonson uses it explicitly in his Masque of Queens II. 146-52 (1609). Macbeth
IV.i.52-61 (the witches cooking a magical brew) may also go back to
Apuleius’ influence. The witches’ Thessalian ability to pull down the moon
was especially well known and referred to, and portraits of them were based
on Latin love elegy and Apuleius, e.g. in Christopher Marlowe, Dr Faustus,
scene III (1588), John Lyly, Endimion: The Man in the Moone (1591;
spoken by the sorceress Dipsas); Robert Greene, Friar Bacon and Friar
Bungay 11.48 (c. 1589); Shakespeare, The Tempest V.1.269f. (1610/11; on
Sycorax); Spenser, The Faerie Queene 3.3.12 (1590/96); Milton, Paradise
Lost 2.665f. (1667); Goethe, Faust 7920 and 8034; Thackeray, The History’
of Henry Esmond, Esq. chapter 9 (1852; on Medea).

50
Introduction
14.	Metamorphoses manuscripts and the text of this edition
Apuleius’ Metamorphoses survived from antiquity only by the skin
of its teeth. The text was revised in the fourth century by Sallustius in
Constantinople, according to his subscription at the end of Met. 9 in F =
Laur. 68.2. Sallustius’ manuscript, or a copy of it, made its way to the library
of Monte Cassino, where in the eleventh century what is now our archetype
was copied from it:
F Laurentianus 68.2 (Montecassino 11th century), in Beneventan script. It
suffered from faulty preparation of the vellum that leaves parts of the text
almost or completely illegible, and is full of corrections and emendations by
the scribe himself or many later hands.
All other manuscripts descend from it and are of lesser importance.
φ Laurentianus 29.2 (Montecassino c. 1200 AD), a direct copy of F, is useful
where F is illegible; it was studied in detail by Boccaccio, whose marginal
annotations survive.
A Ambrosianus N 180 superior (13th century AD), derived from a copy of F
(now lost) made before some folia of F were badly damaged, and before φ
was copied from F.
Other manuscripts mentioned in the commentary are all derived from a copy
of F different from the ancestor of A: U = Illinois Urbanensis 7 (1389), E =
Etonensis 147 (first half 15 th century). The consensus of A, U, E and some
lesser manuscripts is referred to as a.
Most recently, especially thanks to the work of Zimmerman 2012, the
importance of the editio princeps 1469 (Joannes Andreas de Buxis, Rome)
and other early printed editions, such as the second Iuntina 1522 (Bemardus
Philomathes) which may preserve both humanist readings and readings from
lost manuscripts, have come more to the foreground.
For a more detailed description of the transmission, see the edition by
Zimmerman 2012, xff. I have followed her stemma, although there are
occasional disagreements with her text. I looked at the digitalised images of
both F and φ available online at http://teca.bmlonline.it/TecaRicerca/index.
jsp and consulted de Buxis’ editio princeps (1469) in the John Rylands
Library Deansgate in Manchester. For all other manuscripts, early editions
and conjectures of earlier scholars I rely on Zimmerman’s reports.

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METAMORPHOSES
or
THE GOLDEN ASS
Book 1

64
Apuleius: Metamorphoses or The Golden Ass Book l
1.1	At ego tibi sermone isto Milesio varias fabulas conseram, auresque tuas
benivolas lepido susurro permulceam, modo si papyrum Aegyptiam argutia Nilotici
calami inscriptam non spreveris inspicere, 1.2 figuras fortunasque hominum in
alias imagines conversas et in se rursum mutuo nexu refectas ut mireris, exordior.
‘Quis ille?’ Paucis accipe. 1.3 Hymettos Attica et Isthmos Ephyrea et Taenaros
Spartiatica, glebae felices aeternum libris felicioribus conditae, mea vetus prosapia
est. 1.4 Ibi linguam Atthidem primis pueritiae stipendiis merui. Mox in urbe Latia
advena studiorum Quiritium indigenam sermonem aerumnabili labore, nullo
magistro praeeunte, aggressus excolui. 1.5 En ecce praefamur veniam, siquid
exotici ac forensis sermonis rudis locutor offendero. 1.6 Iam haec equidem ipsa
vocis immutatio desultoriae scientiae stilo quem accersimus respondet. Fabulam
Graecanicam incipimus. Lector intende: laetaberis.
2.1	Thessaliam - nam et illic originis maternae nostrae fundamenta a Plutarcho illo
inclito ac mox Sexto philosopho nepote eius prodita gloriam nobis faciunt - eam
Thessaliam ex negotio petebam. 2.2 Postquam ardua montium ac lubrica vallium
et roscida cespitum et glebosa camporum emersi, [me] equo indigena peralbo
vehens, iam eo quoque admodum fesso, 2.3 ut ipse etiam fatigationem sedentariam
incessus vegetatione discuterem, in pedes desilio, equi sudorem fronde curiose
exfrico, auris remulceo, frenos detraho, in gradum lenem sensim proveho, quoad
lassitudinis incommodum alvi solitum ac naturale praesidium eliquaret. 2.4 Ac
dum is ientaculum ambulatorium, prata quae praeterit, ore in latus detorto pronus
adfectat, duobus comitum, qui forte paululum processerant, tertium me facio.
2.5	Ac dum ausculto, quid sermonis agitarent, alter exerto cachinno ‘Parce’, inquit,
‘in verba ista haec tam absurda tamque immania mentiendo.’
2.6	Isto accepto, sititor alioquin novitatis, ‘Immo vero,’ inquam, ‘impertite sermones
non quidem curiosum, sed qui velim scire vel cuncta vel certe plurima. Simul iugi
quod insurgimus aspritudinem fabularum lepida iucunditas levigabit.’
1.2	mireris exordior. U: mireris. Exordior F
1.3	Spartiaca F, corr. Salmasius
1.5	forensi F, corr. in φ by a later hand
1.6	accersimus ed. Ven. 1493: accessimus F: arcessimus Wowerius
2.2	emersi, [me] equo Keulen: emersi me equo F: emersimus equo Leo: emersi, in equo
Robertson: <emensus> emersi in Vallette; other readings have been suggested
2.3	sudorem fronde Becichemus: sudorem frontem F: sudorem fronte Helm: sudoram
frontem Haupt
2.4	prataque F, corr. Ferrarius: praeterit post prataque written by the first hand above the
line in F

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1.1	Now, let me string together various stories for you in this Milesian tale, and
stroke your willing ears with a charming whisper, if only you do not scorn to look
upon an Egyptian papyrus inscribed with the sharpness of a reed from the Nile,
1.2	and that you may marvel at the forms and fortunes of men turned into different
appearances and remade back into their former selves in an intertwined knot, I
begin. ‘Who is this person?’ Hear in a few words. 13 Attic Hymettus, Ephyrean
Isthmus and Spartan Taenarus, rich regions forever preserved in books of even
greater richness, this is my ancient lineage. 1.4 There I acquired the Attic language
in the first training of my childhood. Soon after, in the Latin city as a stranger
to the studies of the Quirites I took up and cultivated their native language with
burdensome labour and with no teacher guiding me. 1.5 And look, I start by asking
your forgiveness if I as an inexperienced speaker of this exotic language of the
forum offend you. 1.6 Still, exactly this change of speech itself corresponds to the
style of horse-vaulting skill that I have sought out We are beginning a Grecian
story. Reader, be attentive: you will enjoy yourself!
2.1	To Thessaly - for there, too, are the roots of my mother’s family, descended
from that famous Plutarch and then from the philosopher Sextus, his nephew, who
give glory to us - to this Thessaly I was making my way on business. 2.2 After
I had passed over steep mountains, slippery valleys, dewy pastures, and cloddy
fields, riding on my pure white horse, a native of the area, who, too, was now quite
weary, 2.3 So that I myself, too, might shake off the weariness of my long time in
the saddle with an invigorating walk, I leapt down onto my feet, carefully rubbed
off the horse’s sweat with foliage, stroked his ears, loosened the bridle, led him
forward slowly at a gentle pace, until the regular and natural assistance for his belly
might ease the discomfort of his weariness. 2.4 And as he, with his head turned to
his side and down, sought to make his breakfast on the hoof from the pastures he
was passing, I made myself the third to two fellow-travellers, who by chance had
reached a little ahead. 2.5 And as I listened out for what kind of conversation they
were engaging in, one of them said, with a loud cackle: ‘Stop it; stop these absurd
and monstrous lies of yours.'
2.6	When I heard this, as I am generally thirsty for novelty, I said: ‘On the contrary,
share your conversation with me - I am not inquisitive, but someone who would
like to know, if not everything, then at least most things. At the same time, the
delightful charm of stories will alleviate the steepness of the hill we are climbing.’

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3.1	At ille qui coeperat, ‘Ne’, inquit, ‘istud mendacium tam verum est quam siqui
velit dicere magico susurramine amnes agiles reverti, mare pigrum conligari, ventos
inanimes exspirare, solem inhiberi, lunam despumari, stellas evelli, diem tolli,
noctem teneri.’
3.2	Tunc ego in verba fidentior ‘Heus tu’, inquam, ‘qui sermonem ieceras priorem,
ne pigeat te vel taedeat reliqua pertexere.’ Et ad alium: ‘Tu vero crassis auribus et
obstinato corde respuis quae forsitan vere perhibeantur. 3.3 Minus hercule calles
pravissimis opinionibus ea putari mendacia, quae vel auditu nova vel visu rudia vel
certe supra captum cogitationis ardua videantur; quae si paulo accuratius exploraris,
non modo compertu evidentia, verum etiam factu facilia senties.
4.1	Ego denique vespera, dum polentae caseatae modico secus offulam grandiorem
in convivas aemulus contruncare gestio, mollitie cibi glutinosi faucibus inhaerentis
et meacula spiritus distinentis minimo minus interii. 4.2 Et tamen Athenis proxime et
ante Poecilen porticum isto gemino obtutu circulatorem aspexi equestrem spatham
praeacutam mucrone infesto devorasse; 4.3 ac mox eundem invitamento exiguae
stipis venatoriam lanceam, qua parte minatur exitium, in ima viscera condidisse.
4.4	Et ecce pone lanceae ferrum, qua bacillum inversi teli ad occipitium per
ingluviem subit, puer in mollitiem decorus insurgit inque flexibus tortuosis enervam
et exossam saltationem explicat, cum omnium qui aderamus admiratione. 4.5
Diceres dei medici baculo, quod ramulis semiamputatis nodosum gerit, serpentem
generosum lubricis amplexibus inhaerere. 4.6 Sed iam cedo tu sodes, qui coeperas,
fabulam remetire. Ego tibi solus haec pro isto credam, et quod ingressui primum
fuerit stabulum prandio participabo. Haec tibi merces deposita est.’
4.1	meacula Comelissen: mea gula F
4.2	proxime Wowerius: proximo F

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3.1	But the one who had spoken first said: ‘Indeed, this lie of yours is just as true as
if someone wanted to say that because of some magic whispering running rivers are
turned back on themselves, the sea becomes sluggish and immobilised, the winds’
breath fails into lifelessness, the sun is stopped, the moon is dried out of her dew, the
stars are tom down, daylight is taken away and night is prolonged.’
3.2	Then I said more confident in speaking: ‘Hey, you, who told the story previously,
don’t be ashamed or reluctant to weave the rest of the tale. ’ And to the other one: ‘But
you with your thick ears and obstinate heart reject what may well show itself to be
true. 3.3 By Hercules, you know rather little to think that because of some people’s
most depraved beliefs those things are considered to be lies which appear either
novel to hear or crude to see or for sure too hard to be captured by comprehension;
if you explore them a little more carefully, you will find them not only clear to
understand but also easy to do.
4.1	As for me - last night, when I was eagerly wolfing down an only slightly larger
piece of polenta cheese cake in a competition against my fellow diners, because
of the softness of the glutinous food hanging in my throat and hindering my air
passages, I very nearly died. 4.2 But yet, quite recently in Athens, and in front of
the Stoa Poikile, I saw with my very own two eyes a wandering performer swallow
a really sharp cavalry sword with a deadly tip; 4 J and soon after I saw the same
performer, with the encouragement of a tiny donation, bury a hunting lance, starting
with the part which threatens death, down into his innermost bowels. 4.4 And look,
behind the iron of the lance, where the shaft of the inverted weapon rises up from
his gullet, near the back of the man’s head, a boy, beautiful to the point of effeminate
softness, climbs up, and unfolds a dance in undulating twists, without muscles or
bones, to the amazement of all of us present. 4.5 You might have said that on the
staff of the god of medicine, who carries it knotty with half-pruned little twigs, his
noble snake was clinging there in fluid embraces. 4.6 But come on, please, you who
started the story, go through it again. I alone will believe your tale instead of him,
and at the next tavern we approach on our journey I will make you share my meal.
This is the reward paid down for you.’

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5.1	At ille: 'Istud quidem, quod polliceris, aequi bonique facio, verum quod
inchoaveram porro exordiar. Sed tibi prius deierabo Solem istum <omni>videntem
deum me vera comperta memorare; 5.2 nec vos ulterius dubitabitis, si Thessalicam
proximam civitatem perveneritis, quod ibidem passim per ora populi sermo iactetur,
quae palam gesta sunt S3 Sed ut prius noritis cuiatis sim, qui sim: Aegiensis. Audite
et quo quaestu me teneam: meile vel caseo et huiusce modi cauponarum mercibus
per Thessaliam Aetoliam Boeotiam ultro citro discurrens. 5.4 Comperto itaque
Hypatae, quae civitas cunctae Thessaliae antepollet, caseum recens et sciti saporis
admodum commodo pretio distrahi, festinus accucurri id omne praestinaturus.
5.5	Sed ut fieri adsolet, sinistro pede profectum me spes compendii frustrata est.
Omne enim pridie Lupus negotiator magnarius coemerat. Ergo igitur inefficaci
celeritate fatigatus commodum vespera oriente ad balneas processeram.
6.1	Ecce Socraten contubernalem meum conspicio. Humi sedebat scissili palliastro
semiamictus, paene alius lurore, ad miseram maciem deformatus, qualia solent
Fortunae decermina stipes in triviis erogare. 6.2 Hunc talem, quamquam necessarium
et summe cognitum, tamen dubia mente propius accessi. \Hem\ inquam, ‘mi
Socrates, quid istud? Quae facies! Quod flagitium! At vero domi tuae iam defletus
et conclamatus es, liberis tuis tutores iuridici provincialis decreto dati, 6.3 uxor
persolutis feralibus officiis luctu et maerore diuturno deformata, diffletis paene ad
extremam captivitatem oculis suis, domus infortunium novarum nuptiarum gaudiis
a suis sibi parentibus hilarare compellitur. At tu hic larvale simulacrum cum summo
dedecore nostro viseris/
6.4	‘ Aristomene’, inquit, ‘ne tu fortunarum lubricas ambages et instabiles incursiones
et reciprocas vicissitudines ignoras.’ Et cum dicto sutili centunculo faciem suam iam
dudum punicantem prae pudore obtexit ita ut ab umbilico pube tenus cetera corporis
renudaret. 6.5 Nec denique perpessus ego tam miserum aerumnae spectaculum
iniecta manu ut adsurgat enitor.
5.1	<omni>videntem Leo: videntem F
5.2	Thessalicam Beroaldus: Thessaliam F
5.3	<Aristomenes sum,> Aegiensis Castiglioni
6.1	decermina Lipsius: deterrima F, corrected in the margin to determina
6.3	ferialibus F. corr. de Buxis: <in>ferialibus Helm

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5.1	But he said: ‘I consider what you promised a fair and square deal. Moreover, I
will embark on the tale that I had started. But first I will swear an oath to you by the
Sun, this <all->seeing god, that I recount true and proven facts; 5.2 and you will not
doubt me any longer when you reach the nearest town in Thessaly, because there
the story is discussed freely on everybody’s lips, about what occurred in full view.
5.3	But first, so that you know from what country I come and who I am: I am from
Aegium. Hear, too, with what kind of trade I keep myself: with honey and cheese
and tavern merchandise of this kind I rush to and fro through Thessaly, Aetolia and
Boeotia. 5.4 So after hearing that at Hypata, the city which is more powerful than
all Thessaly, some fresh cheese of fine flavour was being put up for sale at a rather
advantageous price, I hurried there in a rush in order to buy it all up. 5.5 But as
tends to happen, I started out on the left foot and my hope for profit was thwarted;
for on the previous day Lupus the wholesale merchant had bought it all up. For that
reason, tired from my fruitless haste, just as the evening star was rising, I started
out for the baths.
6.1	And look, I spot my old friend Socrates! He was sitting on the ground half-clad
in a tom cheap cloak, almost someone else in his pallor, reduced to a miserable
gauntness, like the cast-offs of Fortuna who usually beg for alms at the crossroads.
6.2	As he was in such a state, and although he was a close friend I had known
extremely well, nevertheless I approached him with a doubtful mind Oh dear,’ 1
said’, ‘my friend Socrates, what is this? What a sight! What a scandal! But at your
home you are mourned and lamented, your children have been given guardians by
the decree of the provincial judge, 6.3 your wife has performed your funeral services
and has disfigured herself with her sorrow and everlasting grief; as she has cried her
eyes out almost to the point of catching blindness, she is being compelled by her
very own parents to gladden her household’s misfortune with the joys of a new
marriage. And here you show up, looking like a ghost, to our very great shame.’
6.4	‘Aristomenes’, he said, ‘It is clear that you know nothing about the slippery
twists, unsteady onslaughts and changeable reversals of our fortunes.’ And with
these words he covered his face that had been blushing in shame already for a while
with his patched up rag cloak, with the result that he bared the rest of his body from
the belly button down to his groin. 6.5 I could not bear any longer this miserable
spectacle of distress, took him by the hand and struggled to make him get up.

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7.1	At ille, ut erat capite velato, ‘Sine, sine,’ inquit, ‘frixatur diutius tropaeo Fortuna,
quod fixit ipsa/
7.2	Effeci sequatur, et simul unam e duabus laciniis meis exuo eumque propere
vestio dicam an contego, et ilico lavacro trado. 7.3 Quod unctui, quod tersui,
ipse praeministro; sordium enormem illluviem operose effrico; probe curato, ad
hospitium, lassus ipse, fatigatum aegerrime sustinens perduco. Lectulo refoveo,
cibo satio, poculo mitigo, fabulis permulceo. 7.4 Iam adlubentia proclivis est
sermonis et ioci et scitum [et] cavillum, iam dicacitas tinnula, cum ille imo de
pectore cruciabilem suspiritum ducens dextra saeviente frontem replaudens,
7.5	‘Me miserum,’ infit, ‘qui dum voluptatem gladiatorii spectaculi satis famigerabilis
consector, in has aerumnas incidi. 7.6 Nam, ut scis optime, secundum quaestum
Macedoniam profectus, dum mense decimo ibidem attentus nummatior revortor,
modico prius quam Larissam accederem, per transitum spectaculum obiturus, in
quadam avia et lacunosa convalli a vastissimis latronibus obsessus atque omnibus
privatus tandem evado. 7.7 Et utpote ultime adfectus ad quandam cauponam
Meroen, anum, sed admodum scitulam, devorto, eique causas et peregrinationis
diuturnae et domuitionis anxiae et spoliationis [diuturnae et dum] miserae refero.
7.8 Quae me nimis quam humane tractare adorta cenae gratae atque gratuitae ac
mox urigine percita cubili suo adplicat. 7.9 Et statim miser, ut cum illa adquievi, ab
unico congressu annosam ac pestilentem contraho; 7.10 et ipsas etiam lacinias, quas
boni latrones contegendo mihi concesserant, in eam contuli, operulas etiam, quas
adhuc vegetus saccariam faciens merebam, quoad me ad istam faciem, quam paulo
ante vidisti, bona uxor et mala Fortuna perduxit.’
7.3	eluviem F, corr. Oudendorp
7.4	et scitum [et] cavillum Oudendorp
7.4	tinnula found in nowadays lost manuscripts and printed by de Buxis, Aldus,
Philomathes: timida F: <in>timida Helm: mimica Keulen
7.7 [diuturnae et dum] dittography deleted by all editors
7.9 contraho A U: con contraho F, <cladem> [con] contraho Helm, con<suetudinem> Van
der Vliet, con<dicionem> Martos, many other emendations suggested

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7.1	But he said, just as he was, with his head covered: ‘Let, oh let Fortuna enjoy for
longer that trophy which she herself has hung up.’
7.2	I forced him to follow me, and at the same time I took off one of my two
garments and quickly clothed him, or should I say, covered him, and handed him
over there and then to the baths. 7.3 What was needed to oil and what to dry him
I supplied myself; an enormous layer of filth I scraped off with great effort; when
that had properly been taken care of, I was exhausted myself and led him to an
inn, hardly able to hold him upright because of his tiredness. I revived him with a
bed, filled him with food, relieved him with drink, and soothed him with stories.
7.4	Soon there was an effortless inclination for chatting and joking and there was
clever banter, soon sparkling wit, when he drew from his innermost heart a torturous
sigh, and repeatedly struck his forehead savagely with his right hand. 7.5 ‘Wretched
man that I am,’ he began, ‘because when I was pursuing the pleasure of quite a
famous gladiatorial spectacle, I fell into these dire straights. 7.6 For, as you know
very well, I had gone to Macedonia for business, and after working there attentively,
in the tenth month I returned home much wealthier; shortly before I reached Larissa,
about to attend a spectacle in passing, in some pathless valley full of crevasses I was
beset by some gigantic robbers, deprived of all I had, and finally escaped. 7.7 Given
that I was shaken to the utmost I stopped with a certain innkeeper called Meroe,
an old woman, but still quite sexy, and told her the reasons for my long travels,
my anxiety to return home, and my miserable plundering. 7.8 She began to treat
me more than kindly, and laid before me a gratis dinner, gratefully received, and,
and soon, excited by lust, me myself on her bed. 7.9 And I immediately became
miserable, as soon as I had given in to her, as from that one single act of sex I
contracted an aging and pestilential wife; 7.10 and even those garments that the
good robbers had conceded to me to cover myself with I handed over to her, even
the meagre wages which I earned when I was still vigorous, working as a sack-
carrier, until my good wife and evil Fortune reduced me to that shape which you
saw a little while ago.’

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8.1	‘Pol quidem tu dignus’, inquam, ‘es extrema sustinere, si quid est tamen
novissimo extremius, qui voluptatem Veneriam et scortum scorteum lari et liberis
praetulisti.’
8.2	At ille, digitum a pollice proximum ori suo admovens et in stuporem attonitus,
‘Tace, tace’ inquit; et circumspiciens tutamenta sermonis, ‘Parce’, inquit, ‘in
feminam divinam, ne quam tibi lingua intemperante noxam contrahas.’
8J ‘Ain tandem?’ inquam, ‘Potens illa et regina caupona quid mulieris est?’
8.4	‘Saga’, inquit’, et divini potens caelum deponere, terram suspendere, fontes
durare, montes diluere, manes sublimare, deos infimare, sidera exstinguere,
Tartarum ipsum inluminare.’
8.5	‘Oro te,’ inquam, ‘aulaeum tragicum dimoveto et siparium scaenicum complicato
et cedo verbis communibus.’
8.6	‘Vis’, inquit, ‘unum vel alterum, immo plurima eius audire facta? Nam ut se
ament efflictim non modo incolae, verum etiam Indi vel Aethiopes utrique vel
ipsi Anticthones, folia sunt artis et nugae merae. Sed quod in conspectu plurium
perpetravit, audi.
9.1	Amatorem suum, quod in aliam temerasset, unico verbo mutavit in feram
castorem, 92 quod ea bestia captivitati metuens ab insequentibus se praecisione
genitalium liberat, ut illi quoque simile [quod venerem habuit in aliam] proveniret.
93 Cauponem quoque vicinum atque ob id aemulum deformavit in ranam, et nunc
senex ille dolio innatans vini sui adventores pristinos in faece submissus officiosis
roncis raucus appellat. 9.4 Alium de foro, quod adversus eam locutus esset, in
arietem deformavit, et nunc aries ille causas agit. 9.5 Eadem amatoris sui uxorem,
quod in eam dicacule probrum dixerat, iam in sarcina praegnationis, obsepto utero
et repigrato fetu perpetua praegnatione damnavit; 9.6 et, ut cuncti numerant, iam
octo annorum onere misella illa velut elephantum paritura distenditur.
8.6 conspectu A U: conspectum F
9.2	[quod venerem habuit in aliam] excluded by Leo as a gloss
9.3	dolio Helm: dolium F
9.5	obsepto Beroaldus: obseto F

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8.1	‘By Pollux,’ 1 said, ‘you deserve to suffer the worst, if there is indeed anything
worse than your most recent fate, since you preferred the pleasure of Venus and a
hoary whore to your home and children.’
8.2	But he moved the finger nearest to his thumb to his mouth and said, dumbstruck
to a state of stupor, ‘Be quiet, be quiet’; and looking around for means to make our
conversation safe, he said ‘Say nothing against that divine woman, so that you do
not contract some harm against you with that unguarded tongue of yours.’
S3 ‘You don’t say so?’ I said. ‘That powerful woman and inn-keeping queen - what
kind of woman is she?’
8.4	‘A witch’, he said’, ‘and with power of the divine, to pull down heaven and to
hang up the earth, to solidify fountains and to wear away mountains, to raise ghosts
and to bring down gods, to switch out stars and light up Tartarus itself*
8.5	Oh please,’ I said, ‘do remove that tragic curtain and fold up that comic
backdrop, and give it to me in ordinary language.’
8.6	‘Do you want to hear about’, he said, ‘one or two, or rather many of her deeds?
For making men fall in love with her madly - not only the locals, but also Indians
and Aethiopians (both kinds), and even Antipodeans, are idle matters of her art and
mere trifles. But hear what she carried out in plain sight of several people.
9.1	Her lover, because he had dared to make advances to another woman, she
turned with a single word into a wild animal, a beaver, 9.2 because that beast, when
it fears captivity, frees itself from its pursuers by biting off its testicles, so that
a similar thing should befall him [because he had lusted after another woman].
9.3	A neighbouring innkeeper, too, and therefore her rival, she transformed into a
frog, and now that old man swims around in a vat of his own wine, and submerged
in its dregs addresses his previous customers raucously with officious croaking.
9.4	Another man from the forum she transformed into a ram because he had spoken
against her, and now he conducts his cases as a ram. 9.5 The wife of a lover of hers,
because the woman had uttered some witty insult against her, and who was already
big with advanced pregnancy, she condemned to everlasting pregnancy by sealing
her womb and holding back the baby inside; 9.6 and, as everyone reckons, that poor
woman has been swollen up by the weight of eight years already, just as if she were
about to give birth to an elephant.

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10.1	Quae cum subinde ac multi nocerentur, publicitus indignatio percrebruit
statutumque, ut in eam die altera severissime saxorum iaculationibus vindicaretur.
10.2	Quod consilium virtutibus cantionum antevortit et, ut illa Medea unius dieculae
a Creone impetratis indutiis totam eius domum filiamque cum ipso sene flammis
coronalibus deusserat, 103 sic haec devotionibus sepulchralibus in scrobem
procuratis, ut mihi temulenta narravit proxime, cunctos in suis sibi domibus tacita
numinum violentia clausit, ut toto biduo non claustra perfringi, non fores evelli,
non denique parietes ipsi quiverint perforari, 10.4 quoad mutua hortatione consone
clamitarent quam sanctissime deierantes sese neque ei manus admolituros et, si quis
aliud cogitarit, salutare laturos subsidium. 10.5 Et sic illa propitiata totam civitatem
absolvit. At vero coetus illius auctorem nocte intempesta cum tota domo, id est
parietibus et ipso solo et omni fundamento, ut erat clausa, ad centesimum lapidem in
aliam civitatem, summo vertice montis exasperati sitam et ob id ad aquas sterilem,
transtulit. 10.6 Et quoniam densa inhabitantium aedificia locum novo hospiti non
dabant, ante portam proiecta domo discessit.9
11.1	‘Mira’, inquam, ‘nec minus saeva, mi Socrates, memoras. 11.2 Denique mihi
quoque non parvam incussisti sollicitudinem, immo vero formidinem, iniecto non
scrupulo sed lancea, ne quo numinis ministerio similiter usa sermones istos nostros
anus illa cognoscat. 113 Itaque maturius quieti nos reponamus et, somno levata
lassitudine, noctis antelucio aufugiamus istinc quam pote longissime.'
11.4	Haec adhuc me suadente, insolita vinolentia ac diuturna fatigatione pertentatus
bonus Socrates iam sopitus stertebat altius. 11.5 Ego vero adducta fore pessulisque
firmatis grabattulo etiam pone cardines supposito et probe adgesto super eum me
recipio. 11.6 Ac primum prae metu aliquantisper vigilo, dein circa tertiam ferme
vigiliam paululum coniveo. 11.7 Commodum quieveram, et repente impulsu maiore
quam ut latrones crederes ianuae reserantur, immo vero fractis et evolsis funditus
cardinibus prosternuntur. 11.8 Grabattulus, alioquin breviculus et uno pede mutilus
ac putris, impetus tanti violentia prosternitur, me quoque evolutum atque excussum
humi recidens in inversum cooperit ac tegit.
11.5	Cardinem or cardines most codices and early editions: cardine F

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10.1	As these things happened again and again and many were harmed, indignation
became widespread in public, and it was decided that on the next day she should be
punished most severely by stoning. 10.2 That plan she forestalled with the strength
of her incantations, and, just as that famous Medea, after she had begged for a
truce of one small day from Creon, burned down his whole house and his daughter
together with the old man himself with the flames from her circlet, 103 in the same
way this woman carried out necromantic spells to form a ditch (as she herself told me
recently when she was drunk) and shut up everyone in their very own houses with
the silent force of supernatural powers, so that for two whole days no bars could be
broken, no doors tom out, and not even the walls themselves be breached, 10.4 until
encouraging each other they cried out in unison and swore most solemnly that they
themselves would not lay hands on her, or, if anyone else intended otherwise, they
would bring help and rescue her. 103 And she, propitiated in this way, set the whole
town free. But the man who was responsible for that assembly she transported in
the dead of night, together with his whole house, that is, with walls and the floor
itself and the entire foundation, locked up as it was, away to the one hundredth
milestone into another town, which was situated on the highest top of a rugged
mountain and because of that without water. 10.6 And since the close-built houses
of its inhabitants did not offer enough space for their new guest, she threw down the
house in front of the city gate and left.’
11.1	‘Strange,’ I said, ‘and indeed quite dire things do you recount, my friend
Socrates. 11.2 In short, you struck me, too, with no little anxiety, or rather fear, since
you have not thrown a mere pebble but a lance of fear at me, that that old woman
would use some help from divine powers in the same way and get to know of our
conversation here. 113 Therefore let us go to rest as quickly as possible and, once
our exhaustion has been lifted by sleep, let us flee from here before first daylight,
and as far away as possible.’
11.4	While I was still advising him like that, good old Socrates, worn out by
unaccustomed wine-drinking and unending tiredness, was already fast asleep and
snoring loudly. 11.5 But I shut the door and fastened the bolts, and even placed my
cot behind the pivots and pushed it tightly against the door, and placed myself on
top of it. 11.6 At first, for fear, I stayed awake for a little while, then about the third
watch or so I closed my eyes a little. 11.7 I had just fallen asleep when suddenly
with an attack heavier than you would have thought robbers capable the door was
unbolted, or rather knocked to the floor, its hinges broken and thoroughly ripped
out; 11.8 My cot, rather short anyway, missing one foot and rotten, was knocked to
the floor by the violence of such a great attack, and as I, too, was rolled out of it and
thrown to the ground, it fell back upside down, covered and hid me.

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12.1	Tunc ego sensi naturalitus quosdam affectus in contrarium provenire. Nam
ut lacrimae saepicule de gaudio prodeunt, ita et in illo nimio pavore risum nequivi
continere, de Aristomene testudo factus. 12.2 Ac dum infimum deiectus obliquo
aspectu, quid rei sit, grabattuli sollertia munitus, opperior, video mulieres duas
altioris aetatis. 123 Lucernam lucidam gerebat una, spongiam et nudum gladium
altera. Hoc habitu Socratem bene quietum circumstetere. 12.4 Infit illa cum gladio,
4 Hic est, soror Panthia, carus Endymion, hic Catamitus meus, qui diebus ac noctibus
inlusit aetatulam meam, 12.5 hic qui meis amoribus subterhabitis non solum
me diffamat probris, verum etiam fugam instruit. 12.6 At ego scilicet Ulixi astu
deserta vice Calypsonis aeternam solitudinem flebo.’ Et porrecta dextera meque
Panthiae suae demonstrato, 12.7 ‘At hic bonus’, inquit, ‘consiliator Aristomenes,
qui fugae huius auctor fuit et nunc morti proximus iam humi prostratus grabattulo
subcubans iacet et haec omnia conspicit, impune se laturum meas contumelias putat.
12.8 Faxo eum sero, immo statim, immo vero iam nunc, ut et praecedentis dicacitatis
et instantis curiositatis paeniteat.’
13.1	Haec ego ut accepi, sudore frigido miser perfluo, tremore viscera quatior,
ut grabattulus etiam succussu meo inquietus super dorsum meum palpitando
saltaret. 13.2 At bona Panthia ‘Quin igitur,’ inquit, ‘soror, hunc primum bacchatim
discerpimus vel membris eius destinatis virilia desecamus?’
133 Ad haec Meroe - sic enim reapse nomen eius tunc fabulis Socratis convenire
sentiebam - ‘Immo’, ait, ‘supersit hic saltem, qui miselli huius corpus parvo
contumulet humo.’ 13.4 Et capite Socratis in alterum dimoto latus per iugulum
sinistrum capulo tenus gladium totum ei demergit 13.5 et sanguinis eruptionem
utriculo admoto excipit diligenter, ut nulla stilla compareret usquam. Haec ego
meis oculis aspexi. 13.6 Nam etiam, ne quid demutaret, credo, a victimae religione,
immissa dextera per vulnus illud ad viscera penitus cor miseri contubernalis mei
Meroe bona scrutata protulit, cum ille impetu teli praesecata gula vocem, immo
stridorem incertum per vulnus effunderet et spiritum rebulliret. 13.7 Quod vulnus,
qua maxime patebat, spongia offulciens Panthia ‘Heus tu’, inquit, ‘spongia, cave in
mari nata per fluvium transeas.’ 13.8 His editis ambae una remoto grabattulo varicus
super faciem meam residentes vesicam exonerant, quoad me urinae spurcissimae
madore perluerent.
12.2 infimum F: in fimum A: in infimum or in fimum v
12.5	subterhabitis φα: subterhabi**tis F (with ta apparently erased)
12.7	se laturum Vulcanius: relaturum F: se relaturum de Buxis and a later hand in φ
13.1 sucussu meo Helm: succussus sum eo F
13.7	qua - patebat de Buxis and a later hand in φ: quam - patebat F
13.7	spongia de Buxis: spongiam F
13.8	ambae una Rohde: ab*una F: abeuna φ

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12.1	Then I realised that certain emotions naturally display themselves through
their opposites. For as tears quite often come from happiness, thus even in that
excessive fear I could not contain my laughter, as I had been made a tortoise out
of Aristomenes. 12.2 And when thrown right down to the ground I was watching
out for what was happening with the comer of my eyes, protected by my clever
cot, I saw two women of rather advanced age. 123 One of them carried a lighted
lamp, the other a sponge and an unsheathed sword. So equipped they stood around
Socrates who was fast asleep. 12.4 The one with the sword began to speak: ‘This
one, sister Panthia, is the dear Endymion, this one my Catamite, who for days and
nights made fun of my tender age, 12.5 this is the one who poured disdain on my
love and not only maligned me with slanders, but also arranged his escape. 12.6 But
I, deserted, to be sure, through the cunning of an Odysseus, will weep, Calypso-like,
for my eternal loneliness.’ And after stretching out her right hand and pointing me
out to her friend Panthia, 12.7 she said ‘And this good counsellor Aristomenes, who
was the author of that escape and now is stretched out prostrate on the floor, very
close to death, lying underneath the cot and observing all of this, thinks that he will
get away unpunished for these insults against me. 12.81 will make sure that he later
- no, soon - no, right now - feels sorry for his past wit and present curiosity.’
13.1	As soon as I heard that, wretch that I was, I broke into a cold sweat, my insides
were shaking and shuddering, so that even the cot, unsettled by my trembling, was
dancing in pulsating motion over my back. 13.2 But the good Panthia said: ‘Why
don’t we, sister, pluck this one apart first like Bacchants, or bind his limbs and cut
off his manhood?’
13.3	To this Meroe - for so I realised then that her name in fact fitted Socrates’
stories - answered: ‘No, let this one at least survive, so that he may bury the body of
that miserable wretch with a little earth.' 13.4 And she turned Socrates’ head to the
other side, and sank the whole of the sword up to the hilt into him through the left
side of his throat, 13.5 and caught the burst of his blood carefully in a little leather
bag she had moved there, so that not a single drop was anywhere to be found. This
I saw with my very own eyes. 13.6 Also, in order not to deviate, I believe, from
the ritual of the sacrifice, the good Meroe even inserted her right hand through that
wound all the way to his insides, searched around, and pulled out my poor comrade’s
heart, when he poured out, since his throat had been cut open by the impact of the
weapon, a sound, or rather an inarticulate rasp, through the wound, and bubbled
out his life-breath. 13.7 Panthia stanched the wound where it was gaping widest
with the sponge, and said: ‘Hey you, sponge, bom in the sea, make sure you travel
there through a stream.’ 13.8 Having said that they both together removed my cot,
squatted with legs apart over my face, and discharged their bladders, until they had
soaked me through with the wetness of their filthy urine.

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14.1	Commodum limen evaserant, et fores ad pristinum statum integrae resurgunt:
cardines ad foramina residunt, ad postes repagula redeunt, ad claustra pessuli
recurrunt. 14.2 At ego, ut eram etiam nunc humi proiectus, inanimis, nudus et frigidus
et lotio perlutus, quasi recens utero matris editus, immo vero semimortuus, verum
etiam ipse mihi supervivens et postumus, vel certe destinatae iam cruci candidatus,
143 ‘Quid’, inquam, ‘me fiet, ubi iste iugulatus mane paruerit? Cui videbor veri
similia dicere perferens vera? 14.4 “Proclamares saltem suppetiatum, si resistere vir
tantus mulieri nequibas. Sub oculis tuis homo iugulatur, et siles? 14.5 Cur autem te
simile latrocinium non peremit? Cur saeva crudelitas vel propter indicium sceleris
arbitro pepercit? Ergo, quoniam evasisti mortem, nunc illo redi.”’
14.6	Haec identidem mecum replicabam, et nox ibat in diem. Optimum itaque
factu visum est anteluculo fiirtim evadere et viam licet trepido vestigio capessere.
14.7	Sumo sarcinulam meam, subdita clavi pessulos reduco; at illae probae et fideles
ianuae, quae sua sponte reseratae nocte fuerant, vix tandem et aegerrime tunc clavis
suae crebra immissione patefiunt.
15.1	Et ‘Heus tu,ubi es?’ inquam. ‘Valvas stabuli absolve, antelucio volo ire.’ Ianitor
pone stabuli ostium humi cubitans etiam nunc semisomnus, 15.2 ‘Quid? Tu’, inquit,
‘ignoras latronibus infestari vias, qui hoc noctis iter incipis? Nam etsi tu alicuius
facinoris tibi conscius scilicet mori cupis, nos cucurbitae caput non habemus, ut pro
te moriamur.’
153 ‘Non longe’, inquam, ‘lux abest. Et praeterea quid viatori de summa pauperie
latrones auferre possunt? An ignoras, inepte, nudum nec a decem palaestritis
despoliari posse?’
15.4	Ad haec ille marcidus et semisopitus in alterum latus revolutus, ‘Unde autem’,
inquit, ‘scio an convectore illo tuo, cum quo sero devorteras, iugulato fugae mandes
praesidium?’
15.5	Illud horae memini me terra dehiscente ima Tartara inque his canem Cerberum
prorsus esurientem mei prospexisse. 15.6 Ac recordabar profecto bonam Meroen
non misericordia iugulo meo pepercisse, sed saevitia cruci me reservasse.
14.1	ad postes repagula Oudendorp: postes ad repagula F
14.2	lutio F, corr. φ
14.2	perlutus Colvius: perlitus F
14.3	perferens F: proferens φ

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14.1	Just when they had passed the threshold, the doors rose back up again
undamaged to their previous state: the pivots settled back into the bolt-holes, the
bars returned back to the posts, the bolts ran back into the locks. 14.2 But as I was
even now stretched out on the ground, lifeless, naked, cold and soaked in piss, as if
just recently delivered from my mother’s womb, or rather half-dead, indeed rather
my own survivor and posthumous child, or at least a candidate for the fated cross, I
said: 143 ‘What will become of me when it is revealed in the morning that he had
his throat cut? To whom will I seem to be saying things resembling the truth, though
I am conveying the truth?
14.4	“You could at least have called out for help, if you, such a big man, were
incapable of standing up to a woman? A human being is butchered before your own
eyes, and you are silent? 14.5 And why, moreover, did the same band of robbers not
slay you? Why did their savage cruelty spare an eyewitness, especially since you
could indict them for their crime? Consequently, because you evaded death, return
to it now.’”
14.6	I kept turning this over and over again in my mind, and night began to turn
into day. It appeared to me the best thing to do was to escape furtively just before
daybreak and to take to the road, although with fearful steps. 14.7 I grabbed my
little sack, and after inserting the key I pulled back the locks; but these excellent
and faithful doors, which had been unbolted of their own free will at night, opened
with difficulty only and very reluctantly then with repeated insertions of their very
own key.
15.1	Then I said: ‘Hey you, where are you? Open the tavern gates! I want to leave
before daybreak! ’ The doorkeeper was lying on the floor behind the tavern door and
even now still half asleep. He said 15.2 ‘What? Don’t you know that the roads are
infested with robbers, and you are starting a journey at this time of night? For even
if you have some kind of crime on your conscience and, to be sure, wish to die, I am
not such a pumpkin-headed fool that I would die for you.’
15.3	‘Daylight is not far off,’ I said, ‘besides, what can robbers take away from a
traveller who is in complete poverty? Or don’t you know, you idiot, that a naked
man cannot be stripped, not even by ten wrestlers?’
15.4	On that comment he rolled onto his other side, still worn out and half asleep,
and said: ‘And after all, how do I know if you didn’t slit the throat of that fellow
traveller of yours, with whom you stopped here so late, and are not taking your
refuge in flight?’
15.51 remember that at that moment the earth gaped wide open and I saw the depths
of Tartarus and in it the dog Cerberus hungering ravenously for me. 15.6 But I
recalled that good Meroe had indeed spared my throat not out of mercy, but out of
cruelty had reserved me for the cross.

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16.1	In cubiculum itaque reversus de genere tumultuario mortis mecum deliberabam.
16.2	Sed cum nullum alium telum mortiferum Fortuna quam solum mihi grabattulum
subministraret, ‘Iam iam, grabattule’, inquam, ‘animo meo carissime, qui mecum tot
aerumnas exanclasti conscius et arbiter quae nocte gesta sunt, 16.3 quem solum in
meo reatu testem innocentiae citare possum, tu mihi ad inferos festinanti sumministra
telum salutare.’ 16.4 Et cum dicto restim, qua erat intextus, adgredior expedire ac
tigillo, quod fenestrae subditum altrinsecus prominebat, iniecta atque obdita parte
funiculi et altera firmiter in nodum coacta, ascenso grabattulo ad exitium sublimatus
et immisso capite laqueum induo. 16.5 Sed dum pede altero fulcimentum, quo
sustinebar, repello, ut ponderis deductu restis ad ingluviem adstricta spiritus officia
discluderet, 16.6 repente putris alioquin et vetus funis dirumpitur, atque ego de
alto recidens Socraten - nam iuxta me iacebat - superruo cumque eo in terram
devolvor.
17.1	Et ecce in ipso momento ianitor introrumpit exerte clamitans: ‘Ubi es tu, qui
alta nocte immodice festinabas et nunc stertis involutus?’
17.2	Ad haec nescio an casu nostro an illius absono clamore experrectus Socrates
exsurgit prior et ‘Non’, inquit, ‘inmerito stabularios hos omnes hospites detestantur.
173 Nam iste curiosus dum inportune irrumpit - credo studio rapiendi aliquid -
clamore vasto marcidum alioquin me altissimo somno excussit.’
17.4	Emergo laetus atque alacer insperato gaudio perfusus et: ‘Ecce, ianitor
fidelissime, comes [et pater meus] et frater meus, quem nocte ebrius occisum a me
calumniabaris.’ Et cum dicto Socratem deosculabar amplexus.
17.5	At ille, odore alioquin spurcissimi humoris percussus quo me Lamiae illae
infecerant, vehementer aspernatur. 17.6 ‘Apage te,’ inquit, ‘fetorem extremae
latrinae;’ et causas coepit huius odoris comiter inquirere.
17.7	At ego miser, adficto ex tempore absurdo ioco, in alium sermonem intentionem
eius denuo derivo, et iniecta dextra, 17.8 ‘Quin imus’, inquam, ‘et itineris matutini
gratiam capimus?’ Sumo sarcinulam et, pretio mansionis stabulario persoluto,
capessimus viam.
16.4	immisso Vulcanius: misso F
16.5	officia de Buxis and a second hand in φ: officio F: <officinam ab> officio Robertson:
ostia Jacobson
17.2	ne-inmerito F, corr. Rossbach to non-immerito: nec-immerito a second hand in A
17.4	comes et pater meus et frater meus F: et pater meus excluded by Salmasius

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16.1	Therefore I returned to my bedroom and began to deliberate with myself about
a sudden kind of death. 16.2 But since Fortuna did not supply me with any other
death-bringing tool than the cot alone, I said: ‘Well now, my cot, most dear to my
heart, who have suffered together with me so many trials and tribulations as my
accomplice and spectator of what happened in the night, 16.3 and whom alone I can
summon as a witness for my innocence now that I am accused, supply the saving
weapon to me, since I am heading for the Underworld.’ 16.4 And with these words I
proceeded to disentangle the rope with which the cot was woven together, threw one
part of the rope over a small beam which projected from underneath the window
towards the other side and fastened it, and after I had forced the other part of the rope
tightly into a knot, I climbed onto the cot, raised myself up for death, and placed
my head into the noose. 16.5 But as soon as I pushed back with one foot the prop
on which I was supported, so that by the pull of my weight the rope should tighten
around my throat and cut off the function of my breath, 16.6 suddenly the rope,
rotten anyway and old, broke, and I fell back down from the height and collapsed
on top of Socrates - for he was lying next to me - and together with him was rolled
down onto the ground.
17.1	And look, at precisely that moment the doorkeeper burst in, shouting at the top
of his voice: ‘Where are you, who were in such an excessive huny in the middle of
the night and now are snoring, all wrapped up?’
17.2	At this, and I do not know whether he was roused because of our fall or because
of that man’s dissonant screeching, Socrates got up first and said: ‘It’s not without
reason that all guests despise these tavern-keepers. 173 For instance that curious
fellow, when he rudely burst in -1 believe with the intention of nicking something
shook me with his mighty shouting out of a very deep sleep, although I was really
quite worn out.’
17.4	I emerged happy, swiftly, and drenched with unexpected joy, and said: ‘Look,
my most trusty doorkeeper, at my friend [and my father and] and my brother, whom
you falsely accused me of having murdered last night when you were drunk.’ And
with these words I embraced Socrates and tried to kiss him.
17.5	But he, stunned by the stench of that filthy liquid with which those Lamiae
had stained me, shoved me away violently. 17.6 ‘Get ofT, he said, ‘you stink of the
bottom of a latrine;’ and he began to inquire good-humouredly into the reasons for
this stench.
17.7	‘But miserable as I was, I improvised some absurd joke and diverted his
intention towards a different subject of conversation again, took his right hand
17.8	and said, ‘Why don’t we go, and enjoy the charms of early morning travel?’ I
picked up my little satchel, and once I had paid the charge for our lodgings to the
tavern-keeper, we took to the road.

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18.1	Aliquantum processeramus, et iam iubaris exortu cuncta conlustrantur. Et
ego curiose sedulo<que> arbitrabar iugulum comitis, qua parte gladium delapsum
videram, 18.2 et mecum ‘Vesane,’ aio, ‘qui poculis et vino sepultus extrema
somniasti. 18.3 Ecce Socrates integer, sanus, incolumis. Ubi vulnus, spongia? Ubi
postremum cicatrix tam alta, tam recens?’ 18.4 Et ad illum ‘Non’, inquam, ‘immerito
medici fidi cibo et crapula distentos saeva et gravia somniare autumant. 18.5 Mihi
denique, quod poculis vesperi minus temperavi, nox acerba diras et truces imagines
obtulit, ut adhuc me credam cruore humano aspersum atque impiatum.’
18.6	Ad haec ille subridens ‘At tu’, inquit, ‘non sanguine, sed lotio perfusus es.
18.7	Verum tamen et ipse per somnium iugulari visus sum mihi. Nam et iugulum
istum dolui et cor ipsum mihi avelli putavi; et nunc etiam spiritu deficior et genua
quatior et gradu titubo et aliquid cibatus refovendo spiritu desidero.’
18.8	‘En’, inquam, ‘paratum tibi adest ientaculum.’ Et cum dicto manticam meam
umero exuo, caseum cum pane propere ei porrigo, et ‘Iuxta platanum istam
residamus’ aio.
19.1	Quo facto et ipse aliquid indidem sumo, eumque avide essitantem aspiciens,
aliquanto intentiore macie atque pallore buxeo deficientem video. 19.2 Sic denique
eum vitalis color turbaverat, ut mihi prae metu, nocturnas etiam Furias illas
imaginanti, 193 frustulum panis, quod primum sumpseram, quamvis admodum
modicum, mediis faucibus inhaereret ac neque deorsum demeare neque sursum
remeare posset. 19.4 Nam et brevitas ipsa commeantium metum mihi cumulabat.
19.5	Quis enim de duobus comitum alterum sine alterius noxa peremptum crederet?
19.6	Verum ille, ut satis detruncaverat cibum, sitire inpatienter coeperat. 19.7 Nam
et optimi casei bonam partem avide devoraverat, et haud ita longe radices platani
lenis fluvius in speciem placidae paludis ignavus ibat, argento vel vitro aemulus
in colorem. 19.8 ‘En’, inquam, ‘explere latice fontis lacteo’. Adsurgit et, oppertus
paululum planiorem ripae marginem, complicitus in genua adpronat se avidus
adfectans poculum. 19.9 Necdum satis extremis labiis summum aquae rorem
attigerat, et iugulo eius vulnus dehiscit in profundum patorem et illa spongia de eo
repente devolvitur eamque parvus admodum comitatur eruor. 19.10 Denique corpus
exanimatum in flumen paene cernuat, nisi ego altero eius pede retento vix et aegre
18.1	curiose sedulo<que> Zimmerman, previously doubtfully suggested by Helm,
together with curiose <et> sedulo: curiose sedulo F
18.3	ubi vulnus spongia ubi F (question marks after vulnus and the second ubi added by a
second hand)
18.4	non inquam ed. Basil. 1533: ne inquam F
19.1	intentiorem acie F, words correctly divided by Philomathes
19.4	brevitas F: crebritas Wowerius
19.8	adsurgit all early editions: adsurgit ille F (but ille expunged by the first hand)

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18.1	We had already travelled some way, when everything was illuminated by
the rising of the radiant light of day. And I for my part kept staring carefully and
attentively at my friend’s throat, at the place where I had seen the sword plunged in,
18.2	and said to myself: ‘You are mad, you were buried in your cups of wine and and
had a really bad nightmare! 18.3 Look, Socrates is untouched, healthy and unhurt.
Where is the wound, the sponge? Where, finally, is that scar so deep, so fresh?’
18.4	And to him I said: ‘It’s not without reason that trustworthy doctors maintain
that people swollen with food and booze have vicious and oppressive dreams. 18.5
Take me, for instance: because last night I did not restrain myself sufficiently from
the cups, a rough night brought me dire and wild visions, so that I still believe I have
been spattered and polluted with human blood.’
18.6	He smirked at this and said: ‘But you are not doused in blood, but in piss. But
I myself had a dream, too, that I had my throat cut. 18.7 For I felt pain in my throat
here and believed that my heart itself was tom out of me; even now I am out of
breath, my knees are shaking, I stagger when I walk, and I crave some food to warm
my spirits again.’
18.8	‘Look,’ 1 said, ‘breakfast is prepared and ready for you.’And with these words
I lifted my satchel off my shoulder, and quickly offered him some cheese with
bread, and said: ‘Let’s sit down next to that plane tree.’
19.1	That is what we did, and I, too, took some food from the same satchel and
as I watched him stuffing himself greedily, I saw him wasting away with a rather
more intense gauntness and paleness of boxwood. 19.2 In the end, so much had his
lifeless colour changed his appearance, and out of fear was I recalling the image of
those night-time Furies, 19.3 that that first bite of bread I had taken, although it was
rather small, was sticking in the middle of my throat and could neither move down
nor come back up again. 19.4 For even the very lack of fellow travellers made my
fear mount. 19.5 For who would ever believe that one of two companions could
have been killed without the other one having committed the crime? 19.6 But as
soon as he had wolfed down enough food, he began to feel unbearably thirsty. 19.7
For he had greedily devoured a good part of the best cheese, and not very far from
the roots of the plane tree a gentle stream was gliding lazily, like a peaceful pool in
appearance, rivalling silver or glass in its colour. 19.8 ‘Here,* I said, ‘Fill yourself
up with the milky liquid of this spring.’ He got up, and after waiting a little to find
a more level edge of the river bank, he got down on his knees, leaned forwards and
greedily reached for a draught. 19.9 He had as yet hardly brushed the water’s moist
surface with the tip of his lips, when the wound in his throat gaped open into a deep
hole and that sponge rolled out of him suddenly, and only a little blood accompanied
it. 19.10 In the end his lifeless corpse would nearly have fallen head over heels
into the river, if I had not held him back by one of his feet and with difficulty and

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ad ripam superiorem adtraxi, 19.11 ubi defletum pro tempore comitem misellum
arenosa humo in amnis vicinia sempiterna contexi. 19.12 Ipse trepidus et eximie
metuens mihi per diversas et avias solitudines auftigi, et quasi conscius mihi caedis
humanae relicta patria et lare ultroneum exilium amplexus, nunc Aetoliam novo
contracto matrimonio colo.’
20.1	Haec Aristomenes. At ille comes eius, qui statim initio obstinata incredulitate
sermonem eius respuebat, 20.2 ‘Nihil’, inquit, ‘hac fabula fabulosius, nihil isto
mendacio absurdius.’ Et ad me conversus, ‘Tu autem’, inquit, ‘vir ut habitus et
habitudo demonstrat ornatus, accedis huic fabulae?’
203 ‘Ego vero’, inquam, ‘nihil impossibile arbitror, sed utcumque fata decreverint,
ita cuncta mortalibus provenire. 20.4 Nam et mihi et tibi et cunctis hominibus multa
usu venire mira et paene infecta, quae tamen ignaro relata fidem perdant. 20.5 Sed
ego huic et credo hercules et gratas gratias memini, quod lepidae fabulae festivitate
nos avocavit, asperam denique ac prolixam viam sine labore ac taedio evasi.
20.6	Quod beneficium etiam illum vectorem meum credo laetari, sine fatigatione
sui me usque ad istam civitatis portam non dorso illius sed meis auribus pervecto.’
21.1	Is finis nobis et sermonis et itineris communis fuit. Nam comites utrique ad
villulam proximam laevorsum abierunt. 21.2 Ego vero quod primum ingressui
stabulum conspicatus sum accessi, et de quadam anu caupona ilico percontor.
‘Estne’, inquam, ‘Hypata haec civitas?’Adnuit. 21.3 ‘Nostine Milonem quendam
e primoribus?’ Adrisit et: ‘Vere’, inquit, ‘primus istic perhibetur Milo, qui extra
pomerium et urbem totam colit.’ 21.4 ‘Remoto’, inquam, ‘ioco, parens optima,
dic oro et cuiatis sit et quibus deversetur aedibus?’ ‘Videsne’, inquit, ‘extremas
fenestras, quae foris urbem prospiciunt, et altrinsecus fores proximum respicientes
angiportum? 21.5 Inibi iste Milo deversatur, ampliter nummatus et longe opulentus,
verum extremae avaritiae et sordis infimae infamis homo. 21.6 Foenus denique
copiosum sub arrabone auri et argenti crebriter exercens, exiguo lare inclusus et
aerugini semper intentus. Cum uxorem etiam calamitatis suae comitem habeat,
21.7	neque praeter unicam pascit ancillulam et habitu mendicantis semper incedit.’
21.8	Ad haec ego risum subicio. ‘Benigne’, inquam, ‘et prospicue Demeas meus in
me consuluit, qui peregrinaturum tali viro conciliavit, in cuius hospitio nec fumi nec
nidoris nebulam vererer.’
21.1	comites utrique a: uterque comites F: comites uterque φ
21.2	ingressus F, corr. Elmenhorstius: ingressu de Buxis
21.6	uxorem ... comitem a second hand in F (changed from uxore ... comite)

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painfully pulled him up onto the higher riverbank; 19.11 there I wept over my poor
friend for a while and covered him with sandy soil forever in the neighbourhood
of the stream. 19.12 As for me, shaking and exceedingly terrified for myself, I fled
through distant and trackless wastelands, and as if I were a man guilty of the murder
of a human being, I left behind my own country and home, and embracing voluntary
exile, I now live in Aetolia, having taken a new wife.’
20.1	This was Aristomenes’ story. But that companion of his, who from the very
beginning had rejected his story with stubborn incredulity, said: 20.2 ‘Nothing is
taller than this tale, nothing more absurd than that lie.’ Then he turned to me and
said: ‘Now you are a gentleman, as your dress and your bearing demonstrate - do
you go along with that tale?’
20.3	‘Well,’ I said, ‘I believe nothing to be impossible, but whatever the Fates
decree, that in its entirety happens to mortal men. 20.4 For you and I and all men
experience many wonderful and almost impossible things, which however lose their
credibility when told to some ignoramus. 20.5 But I for my part believe this man, by
Hercules, and also keep in mind my gracious thanks for him, because he distracted
us with the charm of such a delightful story, and I came to the end of a harsh and
lengthy road without toil or tedium. 20.6 This gift also delights this good mount of
mine, I believe, since without causing him any tiredness I was carried right up to
this city gate here, not on his back but on my ears.’
21.1	This was the end of our conversation and our shared journey, because both my
companions went off to the left towards the nearest little farmhouse. 21.2 I on the
other hand went to the first inn I spotted on approach, and there and then inquired
from some old woman innkeeper: ‘Is this city’, I said, ‘Hypata?’ She nodded.
21.3	‘Do you know someone called Milo, one of your first citizens?’ She smiled,
and said: ‘In truth, Milo is regarded as the first man here, because he lives outside
the city boundaries and the whole town.’ 21.4 ‘Joking aside,’ I said, ‘most excellent
mother, could you please tell me where he is from and in which house he dwells?*
‘Do you see,’ she said, ‘those windows at the very end, which look out towards the
town, and on the other side the door which looks back out onto the nearest alleyway ?
21.5	Your Milo dwells in there, amply stuffed with money and exceedingly rich,
but a man with a bad reputation for extreme avarice and the most contemptible
stinginess. 21.6 He constantly lends out capital on interest with gold and silver as
security, is locked up in a tiny house and always anxious about his brass. Although
he has his wife as a companion of his calamity, 21.7 he does not keep any servants
except one little slave-girl, and always walks around in the dress of a beggar.'
21.8	I broke into laughter when I heard this and said: ‘My friend Demeas advised
me kindly and thoughtfully when he recommended me to such a man as I was about
to set out on my journeys, in whose hospitable house I would need to fear neither a
cloud of smoke nor kitchen smells.’

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22.1	Et cum dicto modico secus progressus ostium accedo et ianuam firmiter
oppessulatam pulsare vocaliter incipio. 22.2 Tandem adulescentula quaedam
procedens, ‘Heus tu’, inquit, ‘qui tam fortiter fores verberasti, sub qua specie
mutuari cupis? An tu solus ignoras praeter aurum argentumque nullum nos pignus
admittere?’ 223 ‘Meliora’, inquam, ‘ominare, et potius responde, an intra aedes
erum tuum offenderim.’ ‘Plane’, inquit, ‘sed quae causa quaestionis huius?’
22.4	‘Litteras ei a Corinthio Demea scriptas ad eum reddo.’ ‘Dum annuntio’, inquit,
‘hic ibidem me opperimino.’ 22.5 Et cum dicto rursum foribus oppessulatis intro
facessit. Modico deinde regressa patefactis aedibus, ‘Rogat te’, inquit.
22.6	Intuli me eumque accumbentem exiguo admodum grabattulo et commodum
cenare incipientem invenio. 22.7 Assidebat pedes uxor et mensa vacua posita, cuius
monstratu: ‘En’, inquit, ‘hospitium.’ 22.8 ‘Bene’, ego, et ilico ei litteras Demeae
trado. Quibus properiter lectis, ‘Amo’, inquit, ‘meum Demean, qui mihi tantum
conciliavit hospitem.’
23.1	Et cum dicto iubet uxorem decedere, utque in eius locum adsidam iubet, meque
etiam nunc verecundia cunctantem adrepta lacinia detrahens, 23.2 ‘Adside’, inquit,
‘istic. Nam prae metu latronum nulla sessibula ac ne sufficientem supellectilem
parare nobis licet’ Feci. 233 Et sic ‘Ego te’, inquit, ‘etiam de ista corporis speciosa
habitudine deque hac virginali prorsus verecundia generosa stirpe proditum et recte
conicerem, 23.4 sed et meus Demeas eadem litteris pronuntiat. Ergo brevitatem
gurgustioli nostri ne spernas peto. 23.5 Erit tibi adiacens en ecce illud cubiculum
honestum receptaculum. Fac libenter deverseris in nostro. 23.6 Nam et maiorem
domum dignatione tua feceris, et tibi specimen gloriosum adrogaris, si contentus
lare parvulo Thesei illius cognominis patris tui virtutes aemulaveris, qui non est
aspernatus Hecales anus hospitium tenue.’ 23.7 Et vocata ancillula, ‘Photis’, inquit,
‘sarcinulas hospitis susceptas cum fide conde in illud cubiculum, 23.8 ac simul ex
promptuario oleum unctui et lintea tersui et cetera hoc eidem usui profers ociter
et hospitem meum produc ad proximas balneas; satis arduo itinere atque prolixo
fatigatus est.’
22.5	facessit Philomathes: capessum F: capessit U: capessivit Helm
22.6	accumbentem Robertson: accumbantem F: accubantem φα
23.5	en ecce Liltjohann: et ecce F U

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22.1	And with these words I walked a little further and approached his entrance, and
began to knock on his firmly bolted door, shouting loudly. 22.2 Finally a young girl
came out and said: ‘Hey you, who have been beating our door so energetically, in
what form do you desire to borrow?’ Or are you the only one who does not know
that we do not allow any collateral apart from gold and silver?’ 223 ‘Give me a
better omen than that,’ I said, ‘and rather tell me if I might find your master inside
the house.’ Of course,’ she said, ‘but what is the reason for this interrogation?’
22.4	‘I bring a letter for him, written by Demeas of Corinth.’ ‘Wait for me just here,’
she said,’ while I announce your presence.’ 22.5 And with these words she bolted
the door again and made off inside. A little while later she returned, opened the door
and said: ‘He asks you in.’
22.6	I took myself inside and found him reclining on a rather short cot, and only
just starting his dinner. 22.7 His wife was sitting at his feet and an empty table
was placed before them. He pointed at it and said ‘Look, this is our hospitality.’
22.8	‘Very well,’ I said, and there and then passed Demeas’ letter to him. After he had
read it quickly, he said: ‘1 am grateful to my friend Demeas, who has recommended
such a great guest to me.’
23.1	And with these words he ordered his wife to get up, and ordered me to sit down
in her place, and although I was now hesitating because of my sense of modesty
he grasped the fringe of my garment and pulled me down. 233 ‘Sit down here’,
he said, ‘since out of fear of robbers we cannot provide any seats or even any
sufficient furnishings.’ I sat down. 23.3 And then he said: ‘I would guess already
from that handsome appearance of your body and that utterly maiden-like modesty
of yours that you are the offspring of a noble family, and rightly so, 23.4 but my
friend Demeas also announces this in his letter. Therefore I beg you not to spurn
the smallness of our little hovel. 23.5 Look, that adjacent bedroom over there will
be a worthy little shelter for you. Be sure to enjoy your stay with us. 23.6 For you
will make our house bigger with your reputation, and also lay claim for yourself to
be a shining example, if you are content with a rather small home and emulate the
virtues of Theseus, who shares his name with your father, and who did not spurn
the humble hospitality of the old woman Hecale.’ 23.7 He called his little maid and
said: ‘Photis, pick up our guest’s satchels and store them faithfully in that bedroom,
23.8	and at the same time quickly bring here from the store-room oil for rubbing and
towels for wiping and everything else necessary for the same purpose. And lead my
guest to the nearest baths; he is quite tired from his difficult and lengthy journey.’

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24.1	His ego auditis, mores atque parsimoniam ratiocinans Milonis volensque
me artius ei conciliare, ‘Nihil’, inquam, ‘rerum istarum, quae itineris ubique nos
comitantur, indigemus. Sed et balneas facile percontabimur. 24.2 Plane quod est
mihi summe praecipuum, equo, qui me strenue pervexit, faenum atque hordeum
acceptis istis nummulis tu, Photis, emito.’
243 His actis et rebus meis in illo cubiculo conditis pergens ipse ad balneas, ut prius
aliquid nobis cibatui prospicerem, forum cuppedinis peto, 24.4 inque eo piscatum
opiparem expositum video et percontato pretio, quod centum nummis indicaret,
aspernatus viginti denariis praestinavi. 24.5 Inde me commodum egredientem
continatur Pythias condiscipulus apud Athenas Atticas meus, qui me post aliquam
multum temporis amanter agnitum invadit, amplexusque ac comiter deosculatus,
24.6	‘Mi Luci’, ait, ‘sat pol diu est quod intervisimus te, at hercules exinde cum a
Clytio magistro digressi sumus. 24.7 Quae autem tibi causa peregrinationis huius?’
‘Crastino die scies’, inquam. ‘Sed quid istud? Voti gaudeo. Nam et lixas et virgas et
habitum prorsus magistratui congruentem in te video.’ 24.8 ‘Annonam curamus’, ait,
‘et aedilem gerimus, et si quid obsonare cupis, utique commodabimus.’ Abnuebam,
quippe qui iam cenae affatim piscatum prospexeramus. 24.9 Sed enim Pythias, visa
sportula succussisque in aspectum planiorem piscibus, ‘At has quisquilias quanti
parasti?’ ‘Vix’, inquam, ‘piscatori extorsimus accipere viginti denarium.’
25.1	Quo audito, statim adrepta dextera postliminio me in forum cuppedinis
reducens, ‘Et a quo’, inquit, ‘istorum nugamenta haec comparasti?’ 25.2 Demonstro
seniculum - in angulo sedebat - quem confestim pro aedilitatis imperio voce
asperrima increpans, 25.3 ‘Iam iam’, inquit, ‘nec amicis quidem nostris vel omnino
ullis hospitibus parcitis, quod tam magnis pretiis pisces frivolos indicatis et florem
Thessalicae regionis ad instar solitudinis et scopuli edulium caritate deducitis?
25.4	Sed non impune. Iam enim faxo scias, quem ad modum sub meo magisterio
mali debent coerceri.’ - et profusa in medium sportula iubet officialem suum
insuper pisces inscendere ac pedibus suis totos obterere. 25.5 Qua contentus morum
severitudine meus Pythias ac mihi, ut abirem, suadens, ‘Sufficit mihi, o Luci’,
inquit, ‘seniculi tanta haec contumelia.’
25.6	His actis consternatus ac prorsus obstupidus, ad balneas me refero, prudentis
condiscipuli valido consilio et nummis simul privatus et cena, lautusque ad hospitium
Milonis ac dehinc cubiculum me reporto.
24.3	cuppedinis Emout: cupidinis F: cupedinis a second hand in φ
24.5	aliquantum multum F, corr. Colvius: aliquantulum multum A U
24.6	a Clytio Seyffert: adstio F: ab Adytio Winkler
25.4	mali debent coerceri a second hand in F: mali debeo coherceri F: mali debeant
coherceri U

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24.1	After I had heard this, reflecting upon his character and frugality and wanting to
recommend myself more closely to Milo, I said: ‘I don’t need any of these things, as
they accompany me on my way everywhere. But I can easily make inquiries about the
baths, too. 24.2 In fact, this is of the highest importance to me: you, Photis, please take
these few coins here and buy hay and barley for my horse, who carried me swiftly.’
24.3 After this had been done and my things been deposited in that bedroom, I
myself headed for the baths. But first, so that I could look out for something for
myself to eat, I made for the food market 24.4 and there saw some sumptuous fish
displayed for sale, and when I asked the price, which he set at one hundred coins, I
rejected this and bought it for twenty denarii. 24.5 Just when I was emerging from
there Pythias bumped into me, a fellow student of mine in Athens in Attica, who
had recognised me after all this time with affection, rushed up upon me, embraced
and kissed me fondly. 24.6 ‘My dear Lucius’, he said, ‘it has been quite a long time,
by Pollux, since we visited you, and by Hercules, ever since we departed from our
teacher Clytius. 24.7 But what is your reason for this journey?’ ‘You will know
tomorrow,’ I said, ‘but what is this? I am happy your prayer has been granted For I
see you have attendants and rods of office and the outfit that utterly fits with the role
of a magistrate.’ 24.8 ‘I am administering food supplies and pricing’, he said, ‘and
serve as aedile, and if you wish to purchase anything I will assist you by all means.’
I tried to decline, especially because I had already sought out sufficient fish for my
dinner. 24.9 But of course as Pythias had seen my basket and shaken up the fish so
that he could see them more clearly, he asked: ‘And for how much have you bought
that rubbish?’ ‘I could hardly’, I said, ‘wrest them away from the fishmonger for
twenty denarii.’
25.1	When he heard that, he immediately grabbed my right hand and led me back
into the food market. He said: ‘And from which one of those men have you bought
this junk?’ 25.2 I pointed out a little old man to him - he was sitting in a comer
- and he immediately barked at him with a rather harsh voice in accordance with
the official powers of an aedile and said: 25.3 ‘Well now, don’t you even spare my
friends or any of our guests at all, since you mark up worthless fish with such high
prices and bring down the flower of the Thessalian region to the equivalent of a
craggy wilderness by the costliness of your groceries? 25.4 But not with impunity.
For I will now make sure you know how evil people must be summarily punished
while I am magistrate. ’ He poured out my basket in our midst and ordered his official
to step on the fish and crush all of them with his feet. 25.5 Satisfied with the severity
of his character my friend Pythias urged me to leave and said: ‘This rough treatment
of that little old man is sufficient for me, Lucius.'
25.6	I was taken aback and completely dumbfounded by his actions, and retreated
to the baths. Because of the useful advice of my wise fellow student I was deprived
both of my money and my dinner, and after I had bathed I took myself back to
Milo’s house and thereafter to my bedroom.

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26.1	Et ecce Photis ancilla, ‘Rogat te\ inquit, ‘hospes.’ At ego iam inde Milonis
abstinentiae cognitor excusavi comiter, quod viae vexationem non cibo, sed somno
censerem diluendam. 26.2 Isto accepto pergit ipse et iniecta dextera clementer me
trahere adoritur. Ac dum cunctor, dum moleste renitor, ‘Non prius’, inquit, ‘discedam,
quam me sequaris.’ 263 Et dictum iure iurando secutus iam obstinationi suae me
ingratis oboedientem perducit ad illum suum grabattulum et residenti ‘Quam salve
agit’, inquit, ‘Demeas noster? Quid uxor? Quid liberi? Quid vernaculi?’ Narro
singula. 26.4 Percontatur accuratius causas etiam peregrinationis meae. 26.5 Quas
ubi probe protuli, iam et de patria nostra et eius primoribus ac denique de ipso
praeside scrupulosissime explorans, 26.6 ubi me post itineris tam saevi vexationem
sensit fabularum quoque serie fatigatum in verba media somnolentum desinere ac
necquicquam, defectum iam, incerta verborum salebra balbuttire, tandem patitur
cubitum concederem. 26.7 Evasi aliquando rancidi senis loquax et famelicum
convivium, somno, non cibo gravatus, cenatus solis fabulis, et in cubiculum reversus
optatae me quieti reddidi.

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26.1	And look, the maid Photis said: Ύοιιτ host asks you in.’ But because by now
I was an expert in Milo’s asceticism, I offered the courteous excuse that I believed
the discomfort of my journey should be alleviated not with food but with sleep.
26.2	When he heard this, he came himself, put his right hand in mine and began to
drag me along gently. But while I hesitated, and while I resisted modestly, he said:
‘I will not leave you until you follow me.’ 26.3 He followed his words with an oath,
and led me, as I was now obeying his stubbornness against my will, to that cot of
his, and when I sat down he asked: 4Is our friend Demeas in good health? How is
his wife? How are the children? How are the slaves?’ I told him each single thing.
26.4	He asked in more detail for the reasons for my journey, too. 26.5 And when I
had run through these properly, he then enquired about my country and its leading
citizens, and finally about its governor in most minute detail, 26.6 until he realised
that after the discomfort of such a cruel journey I was also tired out by the string of
stories and sleepily stopped talking in the middle of my words, and in my weakness
was vainly prattling vague fragments of words, and finally he let me go to sleep.
26.7	At last I escaped that rancid old man’s chatty and starving dinner party, and
weighed down with sleep not food, having dined on stories alone, I returned to my
bedroom and surrendered myself to my desired sleep.

COMMENTARY
i
For the prologue see introd. §7.
1.1 Now, I ...for you: An unusual beginning for a literary work, an invitation to
see the novel as a conversation between speaker and reader, and a dialogue between
written and oral. Occasionally, Greek prose texts (Xenophon Smp. and Lac.) begin
with the Greek equivalent to at ‘but’, αλλά, giving it a colloquial tone, where the
text is seen as starting in mid-conversation, or as a continuation of a previous work.
Cf. also 1.4.6 ‘I alone ... will believe you’ (ego tibi solus in a dialogue) and again
4.27.8	(the introduction of the inset tale Cupid and Psyche with sed ego te\ where
it is both a prologue and a conversation between two people, as here. The identity
of the prologue-speaker never becomes completely clear (see introd. §7). At ego
occurs five times in Met. 1 to change the reader’s focus from previous events to
something new.
let me string together various stories: The theme is picked up again at the end
of the book, 1.26.6 ‘the string of stories’, providing a suitable frame for a book
which consists mainly of oral tales told by several narrators and subnarrators. It
also introduces the novel as a whole, which often has tales within tales. On the
structure of shorter tales inserted into longer ones see introd. §4.1. Keulen 2007, 65
and Zimmerman 2008, 140f. argue that this indicates a symposium setting, i.e. one
which combines serious discussion with entertainment. In FI. 9.27ff. Apuleius uses
‘various stories’ (historias) to describe his own varied style and ability to write in
various genres and several languages.
At first glance, conseram may be subjunctive or future tense, but permulceam
(‘stroke’, cf. below) reveals it to be the former (as jussive), followed by another
subjunctive (spreveris).
in this Milesian tale: Milesian Tales are an important concept for Apuleius’
definition of the purposes and genre of his novel (see introd. §2.3). Apuleius here
implies that, like Milesian Tales, his novel will include several inset tales and
have erotic and risqu£ content. The phrase offers another parallel to the beginning
of Cupid and Psyche in Met. 4.32.6, where the narrator refers to ‘the author of a
Milesian tale’.
stroke your willing ears: This captatio benevolentiae stresses the oral aspect of
the prologue; cf. the similar address to the reader/listener in 9.14.1 ‘to your ears’
(ad aures vestras). Lucius will stroke his horse’s ears in 1.2.3. As the prologue-
speaker strokes the reader’s ears metaphorically, he metamorphoses the reader into
a donkey, in a phrase echoing Plautus’ prologue to As. 4 ‘Make the whole crowd

Commentary
93
all ears’ (face ... omnem auritum poplum). By contrast, Quintilian disapproves of
audiences who seek the pleasures of having their ears ‘stroked’ by oratory (11.3.60),
although Apuleius disagrees in PI. 1.1 (183), where it is a positive characteristic
of oratory (auditus ... mulcentem; see also Socr. 17 (158) oratione permulceat for
positive connotations). As the turn of phrase is taken up again during the story of
Aristomenes (Met. 1.7.3), this implies some parallels between the soothing effect
of stories on Socrates’ mind and the prologue’s effect on the reader. The leitmotif
of ‘charming/soothing’ the audience’s mind is repeated throughout the novel, e.g.
2.25.1 Thelyphron tries to soothe his mind by singing to himself; 3.10.5 Milo tries
to soothe (permulcere) Lucius after his ordeal during the festival for the God of
Laughter, Risus; 5.15.2 disembodied voices soothe the minds of their listeners
(remulcebant)\ 5.25.4 it is used of Pan soothing Psyche’s anxieties after Cupid has
left her; 10.32.3 flutes soothe the hearts of the audience at a spectacle; and 11.21.3
Lucius’ impatience is soothed by a priest. On the prologue’s oral aspects see introd.
§7.
charming whisper: For a second-time reader of Met. 1, an intense low whisper
has connotations of magical incantations (cf. on 1.3.1), for one who has encountered
Lucius’ initiation into the mystery cult of Isis in Met. 11 it might even imply the
whispering of an initiate of the mysteries. Lepidus, ‘charming, witty’, is a positively
charged literary term; Apuleius uses it to judge stories appreciatively in Met.
1.2.6	and 1.20.5 (HSussler 2005, 48f.), see below on 1.2.6; in Theocritus 1.1, in a
similarly programmatic position, gentle whisperings of pan pipes soothe the ears of
its audience (Gibson 2001, 71 f.), a motif also picked up by Apuleius in FI. 17.
if only you do not scorn to look upon: Captatio benevolentiae, but also
displaying a certain anxiety, given the negative image of Egypt in the Roman psyche
as effeminate and extravagant (introd. §11). It has been read as an exhortation to
read the novel with a serious philosophical interpretation (Drews 2012), but see
introd. §10.
Egyptian papyrus: The reference to Egypt has three different meanings, which
correspond to a threefold development of the reader’s awareness: (i) A first-time
reader would take the references to Egypt to be merely ornamental and only see the
connection to Egypt as a source of writing materials. Papyrus was mainly produced
in Egypt. In Plato, Phaedrus 274c ff, Egypt is also the place where writing originates
from, especially if linked with papyrus rolls as here; but unlike the critical Socrates
in Plato, Apuleius invites his readers to enjoy themselves when reading stories
(Trapp 2001, 40fi); by inverting Socrates’ approach, Apuleius would set his novel
up as anti-Platonic as early as the prologue, which would have consequences for
the portrait of his Socrates as a pleasure-seeker with a farcical Platonic ending, (ii)
After readers have read Met. 1, they might believe the reference to be a subtle hint
at magic and the Thessalian witches (see below on 1.3.1) as leitmotifs of the novel,
as magic is especially associated with Egypt: this would get confirmation from the
witchcraft in the rest of the book. Egypt is in Apuleius’ time believed to be the ‘true

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home of magic’ (Dickie 2001, 203), cf. Apol. 38.7, where Apuleius lists ‘magical
words in Egyptian ... fashion’, which makes the ‘charming whisper’ of Met. 1.1.1 a
possible magical incantation as well as a literary statement, anticipating not only the
delight of reading the novel but, eventually, its Isiac ending and various Egyptian
events (e.g. Zatchlas’ necromancy Met. 2.28). For the reader encountering the witch
Meroe in Thessaly, with her name derived from an Ethiopian capital, during the
whole reading of Met. 1 the association of Egypt will be with magic rather than
with Isis, (iii) Only after a reading of the whole novel will the full implication be
apparent of any references to Egypt, i.e. a reference to Isis as the saviour of Lucius,
because of Isis’ affinity with Egypt. Met. 11.5.3 Isis says that only the Egyptians
call her by her real name, Isis. Consequently, the reader’s understanding of the text
undergoes constant changes.
sharpness of a reed from the Nile: Apuleius’ pen stands metaphorically for
his output in FI. 9.27 (see Hunink 2001, 115 ad loc.). Argutia is a literary term for
wit, cf. Apol. 95.5 and Met. 10.17.2, where argutiae is used of Lucius’ entertaining
skills as a donkey who eats human food; the word is possibly indicating Lucius’
self-delusion about the cleverness of this kind of action. In Met. 11.9.6 reeds are
Egyptian flutes in a procession of Isis, linking prologue and ending.
1.2	forms and fortunes of men turned into different appearances and remade
back into their former selves: Actual reversed metamorphosis features heavily in
Apuleius, e.g. Met. 3.25 (Photis announces she can turn Lucius from a donkey back
into a human), and 11.12 (Lucius’ eventual reversed metamorphosis). The plural
articulates not only physical transformations (e.g. 1.9: men into frogs, beavers
and rams) but also metaphorical ones (e.g. Aristomenes into a tortoise: 1.12.1), or
transformations of fortune (e.g. from good to* bad or bad to good, and back again,
e.g. Socrates’ apparent bad fortune when ‘killed’ by the witches, his good fortune
when he is found seemingly alive, then (1.17.2) turning into bad fortune when he
dies; his change from pallor (1.6.1) to normal complexion and back to deadly pallor
again (1.19.1). Met. 3.9, the discovery of Lucius’ wineskin victims during the Risus
festival changes his fortune completely; Charite’s miraculous saving by her fianc6
(Met. 7.12) turns into murder and suicide (Met. 8.Iff.). On metamorphosis as a
theme of the novel see introd. §4.3. Van Thiel 1971,1,44 points out that this list of
metamorphoses agrees so closely with Photios’ summary of the lost Greek original
that the phrase may be an adaptation of its lost prologue, whereas everything else in
Met. 1.1 is probably Apuleian.
and that you may marvel ... I begin: Wonderment and admiration are key
features in Met. 1, e.g. 1.4 (Lucius’ reaction to the sword swallowing), or 1.17
(Aristomenes’ to Socrates miraculous ‘resurrection’), but it is also a term in
paradoxographical literature and other novels, cf. e.g. Antonius Diogenes’ Apista
(Incredible Things beyond Thule).
Until now the stress has been on the interweaving of various stories of metamorphic
quality, and the delight of the reader. Exordior draws attention to the formalities

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of the prologue; it signifies the exordium, i.e. the introduction of a literary work
(cf. Socr. 3 (124) exordiar). Aristomenes echoes this when he introduces himself
and his tale, also in mid-dialogue (Met. 1.5.1 exordiar), cf. 5.16.5 (Psyche’s sisters
weaving a web of lies to match the ‘warp / beginning of their discussion’ (exordio
sermonis), with a weaving metaphor also present in exordior).
The punctuation here (comma after mireris, making exordior the main verb and
figuras fortunasque etc. its object), follows the suggestion of Harrison 1990b, 507T,
and Harrison and Winterbottom 2001, 12.
an intertwined knot: Metamorphosis and reverse metamorphosis are intertwined
in Apuleius: similar phrases in PI. 1.7(194) and Mund. 5 (297) describe the balance
of the elements. The same phrase is used in Met. 3.18.2 (Pamphile twists strands of
hair as part of a magic ritual leading to metamorphosis).
Who is this person?: The speaker does not answer his own question, and
changes suddenly from the first to the third person (ego to ille), but then again to
the first (1.1.3); his identity is hotly debated (see introd. §7), especially as he asks a
question he then never explicitly answers. The question may be a comic device. A
prologue-speaker entering into a scripted dialogue with himself or the audience can
be found in Roman comedies (May 2006, 110-15).
Hear in a few words: This stresses the conversational aspect between speaker
and reader. Paucis (sc. verbis) often introduces Plautine prologues, e.g. Aul. 1, Trin.
4f. or Terence Hau. 1, and is used elsewhere without verbis as here, e.g. Men. 779,
Terence Hec. 510. Paucis here, as in Aid. 1., is deceptive; in both passages a large
part of the prologue still follows.
1.3	Attic Hymettus, Ephyrean Isthmus and Spartan Taenarus: Three
mountains metonymically describe three cities, and as such the whole of Greece, as
the three mountain ranges identify the cities Athens, Corinth and Sparta in poetic
language. This catalogue intends to define (and confuse) the origin of the speaker
spatially. The first two cities form part of Lucius’ ancestry in the novel, but the latter
does not. The list also stands metaphorically for Greek literature as the origin of
Apuleius’ novel, as all three cities are especially prominent in Greek mythology and
literature (Harrison 1990b, 511).
Athens exemplifies the purest form of the Greek language (cf. on 1.1.4) and is
Lucius’, Pythias’ (Met. 1.24), and also Apuleius’ own place of study (Apol. 72.3, FI.
18). Hymettos is a mountain in Attica famous for its honey (Horace Carm. 2.6.14,
Pliny Nat. 11.32; Auberger 2010, 158), and metaphorically used for rhetorical
sweetness to the extent of stereotyping it, Lucian Rh. Pr. 11. Milo indicates Lucius’
father is Theseus in Met. 1.23.6, named after a famous Athenian king who united
Athens.
‘Ephyrean Isthmus’ is a unique turn of phrase describing Corinth, Lucius’
probable city of origin (introd. §9). Ephyre is an archaic name originally for a place
near Argos (Homer II. 6.152), but later for Corinth (e.g. Pliny Nat. 4.11); the name
was then revived by the archaists (Gellius 14.6.4 specifically mentions that it is the

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old term for Corinth). The isthmus is the narrow strip of land near Corinth, about 6
km wide, which connects the Peloponnese to Greece’s mainland.
Sparta in Laconia in the Peloponnese is the last of the three Greek cities the
speaker claims descent from, but the only one which has no clear connection
with Lucius. Taenarus is a promontory near Sparta at the southernmost tip of the
Peleponnese, and a cave there is associated mainly with the descent of heroes into
the Underworld, e.g. Vergil Λ. 6.119-23; it serves as Psyche’s gate to the Underworld
in Met. 6.18-20. As Psyche is often seen as a mirror of Lucius, Taenarus may be
foreshadowing her chthonic adventures which are eventually reflected in Lucius’
initiation in Met. 11.23, which includes a metaphoric descent into the underworld.
Furthermore, it is one of the places in Greece where necromancy commonly took
place (Ogden 2001, 34ff.), and thus may allude to the themes of necromancy and
magic in the novel, especially for a second-time reader of Met. 1.
rich regions forever preserved in books of even greater richness: The
richness of the Greek lands is topped by the richness and fertility of their literary
outputs, which will last forever: the common motif of perpetuation through poetry,
e.g. Homer//. 6.359; Propertius 3.2.17; Lucan 9.980ff.; Ovidi4m. 2.17f.; Martial
6.64.6f.; etc. This kind of claim is however usually seen towards the end of the
author’s work, not at the beginning (Horace Carm. 3.30). The literature produced
in Greece is held to be even more successful. It is thus not only Lucius, but also the
novel itself which is derived from Greece; its adaptation into Latin contributes to its
own perpetuation.
this is my ancient lineage: A temporal definition of the speaker follows: Lucius’
pride in his ‘ancient lineage’ will be replaced, after his initiation, in the last lines
of the novel by his membership of the ‘most ancient college’ of the priests of Isis
(vetustissimum, Met. 11.30.5).
1.4 1 acquired the Attic language: The speaker identifies himself as a native
speaker of Greek, specifically Attic Greek, which points to Lucius as a speaker,
as he appears to be from Corinth (introd. §9) and studied in Athens, cf. 1.24.5.
Attic Greek, the preferred dialect of Greek-speaking elite culture in this period, is
also the language in which the Greek original by Loukios of Patrai may have been
written (Tilg 2007, 190). Like the novel, a Latin adaptation of a Greek book, the
speaker turns from easily acquired Greek to laboriously learned Latin, a journey
also enacted by Lucius, who in 11.26.1 moves to Rome and learns Latin to plead in
Roman lawcourts.
in the first training of my childhood: Apuleius creates a striking phrase: he
puns with stipendia merere, ‘to serve in the army’, but here the object of merui
(lit. ‘learned’) is linguam, and thus it comes to mean ‘to win, gain’ (Nicolini 2011,
169).
in the Latin city: i.e. Rome; for urbs Latia cf. Manilius 4.661, Statius Silv.
1.4.95 etc.
a stranger to the studies of the Quirites: For a second-time reader who knows

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Met. 11, where Lucius finally migrates to Rome in the service of Isis, the Egyptian
and Roman references of the prologue are significant, especially as the same
juxtaposition reoccurs in 11.26.3, where Lucius is a stranger to the temple of Isis
but a native of her religion, a common contrast (e.g. Livy 21.30; Tacitus Hist. 2.2).
The speaker is proud that as a stranger to both place and language he has acquired
the latter to a great extent. Quirites is the official name of the inhabitants of Rome,
although in Met. it is also used for inhabitants of cities in Thessaly: Met. 2.24.3,
2.27.4	(of Larissa); 3.3.2; 3.5.6 (of Hypata); 8.29.5. Quiritium is to be constructed
with studiorum, but placed poignantly next to indigenam.
I took up and cultivated: In FI. 17.4 Apuleius describes himself in similar
terms: ‘from the beginning of my life I have always been cultivating respectable
studies’ (bonas artes... colui).
with burdensome labour: The pleonasm highlights the huge amount of effort
that has gone into cultivating the Latin language. Lucius describes his efforts in
the Roman lawcourts in similar language {Met. 11.30), and Apuleius himself has
learned Greek with similarly studious labour (Apol. 38.5). Aerumnabilis is rare
(only in Lucretius 6.1231 before Apuleius, who also uses it Met. 8.9.3 and 9.15.6),
and in Met. 1 aerumna and aerumnabilis are used for the sufferings of Socrates and
Aristomenes, and then in the rest of Met. for Lucius’ travails.
with no teacher guiding me: The speaker is a proud autodidact who does
not need a teacher to learn Latin; cf. e.g. also the claims that skills were acquired
although no teachers were present in Ovid Ars 2.479 (for the art of love), Tristia
1.6.23; Martial Spectacula 17.3 (for an elephant’s worship of Caesar); compare
Met. 10.17.5, where Lucius the donkey is reluctant to show off his knowledge of
human eating habits ‘without any human teacher’.
1.5 And look, I start by asking your forgiveness: This polite formula asks for
forgiveness, e.g. in a religious context (cf. Met. 11.23.1, where the prayer is part of
the purification before Lucius’ initiation), but as a captatio benevolentiae Apuleius
uses it often at the beginning of a speech: it requests his audience’s indulgence
in FI. 1.2. In Socr. False Preface fr. 1 (104f.), an improvised speech erroneously
attached in the manuscript tradition to Apuleius’ treatise on Socrates’ daimonion,
Apuleius announces that his audience is more forgiving than when they listen to a
worked-out speech. Accordingly, the formula here evokes (feigned) orality (introd.
§7). It is however not clear what precisely the speaker is asking forgiveness for
his use of language is artistic and skilful, even though the mixture of archaisms,
colloquialisms and idiosyncrasies is somewhat daring and unusual (see introd. §12
for examples of Apuleius’ language).
inexperienced speaker: ‘Unskilled’, as the speaker is not native to Latin: another
captatio benevolentiae and falsely modest apology by the autodidact for his unusual
language. In Met. 6.29.3 rudis is used again as a literary term, to describe a 'simple
story’ (rudis ... historia), in a comically self-referential context about Lucius’ story
becoming a novel. Apuleius’ early readers and some scholars {e.g. Winkler 1985,

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196-99; Graverini 2006, 7ff.; 2007, 12; see introd. §13) see a pun with rudere (‘to
bray’, of an ass, used of Lucius himself braying in Met. 7.13.3 and 8.29.6), as an
anticipation of the novel’s content and the speaker’s recall of his metamorphosis
into a donkey. They point to the similarities with Callimachus’ prologue Aitia 1.30-
2, where Callimachus discusses the Aitia's genre and contrasts the braying of an ass
with the fine chirping of the cicadas, which is the small and perfectly formed genre
he will be pursuing. Apuleius’ prologue-speaker makes the opposite journey, from
the intention of a refined literary work to the mere braying of his donkey. Again, the
meaning of the prologue is fluid and yields more layers of meaning for a second¬
time reader.
this exotic language of the forum: ‘Exotic’ here refers uniquely to the Latin
language, which is ‘exotic’ for the originally Greek speaker (cf. Plautus’ ploy to call
Latin ‘barbaric’ from the Greek perspective of his characters, e.g. As. 11). Forensis
derives from forum {Met. 1.9.4 a lawyer is ‘from the forum’, de foro\ 10.33.1,
forensia pecora are lit. ‘you cattle from the forum’; in 11.28.6 and 30.2 forensis
describes Lucius’ activities as a lawyer in the forum). As Lucius’ move to speak in
the Roman forum in Met. 11 as a lawyer indicates, the forum is a rhetorical-judicious
space. This specifies the prologue-speaker’s new language not only as Latin per se,
but also as the technical terminology of forensic speech (Tilg 2007,170ff.); see also
introd. §13 for historical interpretations.
1.6 this change of speech itself: A much discussed phrase; it indicates that in
addition to the ‘forms and fortunes of men’ {Met. 1.1.2), his language and style
themselves undergo a metamorphosis. Furthermore, it may apologise once again for
the idiosyncrasies of a non-native speaker of Latin (Nicolai 1999), continue the topic
of translation from Greek to Latin (Scobie 1975,75 adloc.), indicate a frequent change
in style and tone (Harrauer and Romer 1985), or set itself deliberately against the ideal
oratory of Quintilian, which distinguishes itself from plays with their frantic gestures
and frequent ‘changes of tone’ {vocis mutationibus; 11.3.183). Apuleius’ novel will
contain features from drama, a style that Quintilian specifically criticises. Tilg 2007,
175ff. shows that ‘change’ (immutatio) indicates rhetorical deviation from the stylistic
norm of normal language, and together with Keulen 2007, 87f. ad loc. assumes this
to be an excuse for Apuleius’ choice of the slightly subliterary Milesian genre and
Apuleius’ stylistic innovations in the novel, e.g. archaisms and poeticisms.
the style of horse-vaulting skill: Desultores are circus riders who jump
quickly between two horses, comparable to modem equestrian vaulting. Given the
pronounced setting of Met. 1 in Thessaly and Lucius’ stress on his horse’s Thessalian
origin (1.2.2), it is interesting to note that the aphippodroma, a kind of competition
of jumping off and onto horses, was specifically practised at Thessalian games,
e.g. in Larissa (Gallis 1988), cf. below on Met. 1.7.5. The phrase was probably
picked by Apuleius for its potential multivalent meanings and equestrian metaphor:
in a story about a donkey, the allusion to a rider switching horses is rather apt.
The phrase may indicate (again) the translation from Greek into Latin, something

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Apuleius discusses vnSocr. ‘False Preface’ b. 5(111-13; see on 1.1.5 for the nature
qf the text), or describe the novel as jumping from one topic to another, i.e. it may
be directed at content (thus Scobie 1975, 75 ad loc., comparing the title of Varro’s
Menippean Satire Desultorius: Περί του γράφεχν). It may also indicate Lucius’
experiencing frequent and quickly changing reversals of fortune, or continue the
discussion of style. These interpretations are not necessarily mutually exclusive:
like a desultor riding several horses, Apuleius here can juggle several meanings at
once (a point also made by HSussler 2005, 59-61).
A stylus is a kind of pen to write on wax tablets, but Apuleius uses it figuratively
for writing {Met. 6.29.3; 8.1.4; 10.8.2) or style {FI. 9.29).
I have sought out: The transmitted accessimus is syntactically unusual, as
accedere usually constructs with ad, not with accusative in this meaning of ‘to
begin a task’. Harrison and Winterbottom 2001, 15, suggest tentatively printing the
early conjectures accersimus or arcessimus (‘to seek out’); the former is accepted
in Zimmerman 2012 and here.
a Grecian story: Graecanicus in Varro L. 10.69-70 indicates originally Greek
words used in Latin, but adapted and with Latinised endings. It can have an added
connotation, possibly relevant here, too, of refinement and style (in FI. 15.8,
Graecanicus describes a statue’s sophisticated style of clothing). It is noticeable that
other novels share this concern for language and translation, e.g. the fragmentarily
preserved Babyloniaka by Iamblichos (summarised by Photios, Bibl.y cod. 94)
describes the Babylonian narrator learning Greek in order to present his Babylonian
tale in that Greek novel (Winkler 1985, 265f.).
Reader, be attentive: you will enjoy yourself!: This address recalls Plautine
comedy prologues, see e.g. Poen. 126, Trin. 22 for greetings to the audience
combined with requests to pay attention, or Plautus As. 13f., with a promise of
pleasure if the audience is attentive (further examples: May 2006, 111). This is the
last instance in the prologue of the various playflil interactions between the roles
of the speaker of a prologue and the author of a written piece of literature on one
side, and the book’s recipient on the other, though this dialogue is taken up again
later in the novel. There the author addresses his readers in more flattering terms, as
thorough, excellent and attentive {lector scrupulosus in Met. 9.30.1; lector optime
in 10.2.4, or studiose lector in 11.23.5). Apuleius’ ideal reader will be rewarded
for his permissible curiosity by the story’s delight, and eventually be prevented
teasingly from dangerous curiosity in Met. 11, when Lucius playfully refiises to lay
out the forbidden mysteries of Isis to the reader (11.23). The promise of pleasure is
picked up again in other programmatic passages and key scenes: the last sentence
of the novel and its second last word, gaudens, correspond to the last word of
the prologue: the novel gives pleasure to its reader, the set of initiations make its
protagonist happy and proud, too (see also Winkler 1985, 216). A similar outcome
ends the inset tale of Cupid and Psyche, as Voluptas ‘pleasure’ is both Cupid and
Psyche’s daughter and the reader’s entertainment and pleasure.

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2
The protagonist introduces himself as the descendant of two important 2nd century
philosophers: the Middle Platonist Plutarch and his nephew, the Stoic Sextus (see
introd. §8). Lucius (as he will turn out to be named) is travelling to Thessaly on
unspecified business through a landscape difficult to negotiate, allows his horse to
rest and feed, and catches up with two unknown travelling companions (one of them
later to be identified as Aristomenes), whose conversation about the fictionality of
stories he overhears.
2.1 To Thessaly: The repetition of ‘to Thessaly' stresses the importance of the
landscape where Lucius will stereotypically soon encounter witchcraft, but, against
expectations, no food (introd. §6.2). Plato’s Socrates in Crito 53e decides not to
flee from his execution in Athens to Thessaly, and will prove an anti-model to both
Lucius and Apuleius’ Socrates whose story makes up much of Met. 1.
the roots of my mother’s family: In a story full of female Thessalian witches
Apuleius stresses the Thessalian connections of his hero’s mother rather than his
paternal Athenian line. This is an apparent Apuleian addition to the original: it is
not important in Onos 1, where Loukios’ business is explicitly called his father’s,
although he very soon makes clear that his real business and intention is to find out
about magic. As far as the plot is concerned, both the paternal business in Onos and
the surprising stress on the maternal line here in Apuleius are red herrings, but may
serve to characterise the protagonist: see introd. §9.
descended from that famous Plutarch and then from the philosopher Sextus,
his nephew: A rather pompous and superabundant way to refer to Lucius’ renowned
literary ancestry and noble status (also referred to in Met. 3.11.1; 15.4). Met. 3.11
Lucius’ (and thus Plutarch’s) family is again called ‘famous’, a justified epithet for
two of the leading philosophers of the time. Contrast Clytius ‘The Famous One’, the
name of the other philosopher mentioned in Met. 1.24.6, who, unknown outside that
passage, seems to be an Apuleian invention. On Plutarch see introd. §8.
who give glory to us: Glory is often linked with Lucius’ aspirations: Met. 2.12.5
(‘my reputation (gloriam) will flourish’) and 11.27.9 (‘glory through his studies’),
11.30 etc.\ Lucius’ desire for a good reputation seems to derive here first from his
family and then turns to making a name for himself through rhetoric in Met. 11.
A slightly different translation is given by Van der Stockt (2012), 169f., who
constructs illic with gloriam nobis faciunt, and interprets this phrase as ‘to be
sure, there as well’, i.e. Plutarch is famous even in Thessaly. This is a problematic
interpretation, as Lucius’ aunt Byrrhaena actually lives in Thessalian Hypata and is
also descended from Plutarch; she thus indirectly substantiates Lucius* claim that
Plutarch has Thessalian connections.
on business: The nature of Lucius’ business remains obscure to the reader (Winkler
1985, 257). In Onos 4 Loukios’ real purpose is the exploration of magic, and any
business he purports to pursue is merely a cover story: Loukios claims quite plainly
that it was his desire to find a witch or something paradoxical, e.g. a human flying

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or turned into stone, i.e. a metamorphosis. Lucius is much more circumspect. This
vagueness in defining Lucius’ business interests continues, see introd. §9. Calonghi
1915,8	reads Met. 2.1 (Lucius marvelling at the magical sights in Hypata) as indicating
that exploring ‘miraculous and rare’ things is the actual business, but this does not
explain Lucius’ vague answers to Pythias in Met. 1.24.7 (26.4f. Lucius’ reply to Milo
is kept equally obscure to the reader) and why in Met. 2.1 he first has to recall that
Hypata is located in Thessaly and a centre of witchcraft. Lucius in Met. 3.19, during
his affair with Photis, seems to have all but forgotten his business. The unique phrase
parallels him with Socrates (Met. 1.7.6), who also travelled because of some business
venture and eventually never gets home, although Lucius briefly sees his family (Met.
11.18.2) and home (11.26.1) before emigrating to Rome. The rephrasing of Onos 1
‘some kind of business deal of my father’s’ continues the playing-down of his father
in favour of his mother in Metamorphoses.
2.2 After I had passed over steep mountains, slippery valleys, dewy pastures,
and cloddy fields...: A rhetorical showpiece (four phrases with identical lengths in
all elements) verbally echoing a rhetorical performance piece in FI. 21 on a traveller
in a hurry still finding time to get off his horse for a chat with fellow travellers
(Marangoni 2000, 47-49); this ostentatiously indicates it as a fictitious, rhetorical
description rather than intended to be realistic or geographically accurate. Other
scenes in Met. feature similar examples of landscape ecphrasis (i.e. a detailed and
vivid description): in Met. 4.6 the narrator interrupts himself to offer his readers a
depiction of the robbers’ cave because it is his duty as a rhetorician; a rhetorical
showpiece of a dangerous and threatening landscape follows. In FI. 10.4 similar
phrases are used to describe the powers of demons which are credited with creating
the ‘steep peaks of mountains’ or the levels of the plains.
The passage runs the gamut of Apuleius’ stylistic versatility from the high to
the low, and moves from three phrases beginning successively with dactylic words
which suggest ‘epic’ to prosaic diction describing an everyday event (De Biasi 2000,
201), which is reflected on the lexical level, too. Ardua with genitive is entirely
poetic until Apuleius (Keulen 2007, 98), but glebosa is used as a technical term
(apart from here only in Pliny Nat. 35.191 and Cassius Felix 39 p. 86), preparing
for the transition to the prosaic element.
I had ... passed: The singular seems to suggest that Lucius travels alone, but he
later turns out to have slaves with him (2.15.5; 31.4; 3.8.7 and 27.4). The number of
Lucius’ slaves inexplicably varies, see Avila Vasconcelos 2009,241. Still, throughout
Met. 1, for a first-time reader, Lucius is apparently alone and without slaves, so the
singular emersi found in F should be retained. Slaves ignored and not mentioned in
the dialogue until they become useful are a feature of Roman comedy, e.g. Plautus
Mil. 78.
Emergo is usually not transitive, but Keulen 2007, 99 gives several examples,
e.g. Manilius 1.116. Robertson 1965 and Zimmerman 2012 cite Valette’s <emensus>
(‘having covered’, i.e. by travelling), Nicolini 2011, 55 argues that the consequent

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paronomasia <emensus> emersi is typically Apuleian. Both in equo vehi and equo
vehi for ‘horse riding’ are found, although Apuleius seems to prefer to omit in,
Met. 8.5; Apol. 76. Hence I print equo with Keulen 2007 rather than in equo as e.g.
Hanson 1989 or Zimmerman 2012.
my pure white horse, a native of the area,: The white horse, which will become
crucial in Met. 11.20 as a token of proof for the Isis priest’s speaking the truth to
Lucius after a dream about his initiation, is actually Thessalian. They were one of
the most famous breeds of horses in antiquity, used for hunting, racing and war,
renowned for their nobility and size (Heliodorus 3.3.3; Petronius 89.58ff., Varro R.
2.7.6). In Met. 10.18.3 Thiasus’ refusal to ride his grand Thessalian horses in favour
of his donkey Lucius is remarkable.
The horse’s whiteness is stressed elsewhere: 7.2.1 it is casually described as
candidus ‘gleaming white’, which is picked up in 11.20.1, where Candidus has
become the horse’s name. Whiteness in Met. 11 becomes associated with Isis (cf.
11.7.5; 9.2; 15.4,20). It was common to name horses after their colour, e.g. Achilles’
horses were called Xanthos (‘reddish brown’) and Balios (‘dappled’) in Homer II.
19.400ff.; one of Thracian Diomedes’ horses was called Lampon (‘shining’), and
white was a sought-after colour for horses. Peralbus, ‘pure white’, occurs first in
Apuleius, e.g. Met. 5.28.2 (a seagull).
Several symbolic meanings attach to the horse. It serves as a foil for Lucius: there
is a link with Lucius himself who is a stranger in Thessaly (like the prologue-speaker
in 1.1.4 a ‘foreigner’ in Rome) but eventually becomes a ‘native’ of Isis’ religion in
Rome (11.26.3). Furthermore it will be fed twice in Met. 1, but Lucius will starve
throughout the book. After his metamorphosis Lucius cuts a laughable figure as a
donkey in the land of horses (O’Brien 2002,29), who is not recognised and not allowed
to feed by this horse. Some see the horse as a reference to Plato’s Phaedrus 246a-b;
247b; 253b-255a (Drake 1968), where in Plato’s myth of the soul a carriage is pulled
by divergent horses. This identification has rightly drawn much criticism as being too
fanciful (e.g. Gwyn Griffiths 1978, 159ff, Tatum 1979, 34).
who, too, was now quite weary: In 1.20.6 Lucius notes that his horse has not
been tired out after all (sine fatigatione; the use of the same rare word equates the
horse’s and Lucius’ tiredness), because Lucius, here more concerned for the horse
than for himself, has walked.
2 J I leapt down onto my feet: After the horse-vaulting metaphor of 1.1.6, Lucius
here quite surprisingly jumps off his horse, turning the metaphor into reality (see
introd. §4.1). Symbolically, too, the novel descends from the lofty heights of higher
genres like epic to lower forms of literature, as will be mirrored e.g. in Lucius’ and
Milo’s inappropriate and comical uses of mythological, tragic or epic intertexts (cf.
below on 1.23.6).
carefully: Here, as in Met. 6.21.3, curiose means ‘carefully, attentively’ (OLD
la), not ‘curiously’ (OLD 2), despite Lucius’ ensuing characterisation as a curious
man (introd. §6.3).

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rubbed off the horse’s sweat with foliage: Lucius repeatedly takes good care of
his horse; As F’s double accusative is awkward (although defended by e.g. Keulen
2007, 102 as the lectio difficilior), Zimmerman 2012 prints Becichemus’ attractive
fronde (‘with a leaf’); horses sweat from their flanks, not from their foreheads. F’s
error could be explained as a misunderstanding of the homonym frons (‘forehead/
leaf). Many other solutions have been proposed, e.g. Haupt’s sudoram frontem
([from the horse’s] ‘sweaty forehead’) or Helm’s sudorem fronte (‘sweat from [the
horse’s] forehead’).
stroked his ears: Recalls the phrase in the prologue Met. 1.1.1 ‘and stroke your
willing ears’ and anticipates 1.7.3, where Aristomenes soothes Socrates through
story-telling. Lucius strokes his horse’s ears and loosens his horse’s bridle to allow
it to relax. This unexpected literal use of a metaphor from the prologue may be
mischievous, as the first character to enjoy the stroking promised in the prologue is
not the reader, but Lucius’ horse (James 1987, 29).
until the... assistance for his belly might ease the discomfort of his weariness:
It is unclear whether the horse is here allowed to graze or to defecate (thus Uria
Varela 1997, 454f.). There are however two thematic reasons to take the phrase
to mean grazing (no Latin parallels exist for the interpretation as defecation, cf.
Keulen 2007, 103). First, horses usually do not wait for their rider to get off to
relieve themselves, and secondly this continues the care Lucius takes for his horse’s
food. Unlike Loukios in Onos 1, Lucius looks after his horse himself (although in
3.27.4	his servant has the task of looking after it). This underplaying of the slave’s
presence also stresses Lucius’ loneliness on arrival in a foreign country more than
the version in Onos.
2.4	with his head turned to his side and down, sought to make his breakfast:
This continues the important topic of food in Met. 1. Adfectare is used for greedy
eating and drinking: Met. 1.19.8 of Socrates drinking greedily, and 10.29.3 of Lucius
as donkey himself eating grass.
breakfast on the hoof: The ientaculum would be taken shortly after sunrise, e.g.
in Met. 1.18 Socrates and Aristomenes will share their last breakfast. The actions
of Met. I comprise one whole day, starting with breakfast in 1.2, the discussion
of lunch in 1.4, and finish with Lucius’ hungry retirement to bed. Ientaculum is a
rare word, e.g. Plautus Cur. 72f. and twice in Martial, apart from here only used
for human food, which continues the assimilation of Lucius and his horse. In Met.
11.24.5	Lucius partakes in a ‘religious breakfast’, receiving religious as well as
corporeal nourishment.
pastures he was passing: Prata quae praeterit is most naturally seen as an
explanatory apposition to the obscure and unusual ‘breakfast on the hoof’. The
alliteration of the Latin enhances the playful pseudo-etymological sound effect
(Nicolini 2011,41).
two fellow-travellers: We will later learn that these two are Aristomenes and an
unknown sceptical companion, who speaks first. In Onos 1, the two companions

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Commentary
Loukios encounters are from Hypata, whereas Aristomenes at least is from Aegium
on the Peloponnese {Met. 1.5.3). This encounter of Lucius with his two unnamed
companions raises further issues of fictionality and unreliability of the stories in
Met., as it is not certain whether the story Aristomenes tells Lucius is the same as
the one he had told his companion. Dowden 2006, 47f. compares the beginning of
Plato’s Symposium, where a conversation is repeated because its first retelling was
deemed inadequate, and as here the reader gets the second retelling. The setting,
with a narrator, a believer and a sceptic, is repeated again in Met. 2.1 If., where Milo
is the sceptic and Lucius again the believer when Pamphile predicts the weather by
looking at her lamp, demonstrating there even more clearly than here, where the
point is a story, Lucius’ fascination with witchcraft and his enthusiastic credulity.
2.5	I listened out for: For hearing as a leitmotif in Met. 1 cf. above on 1.1.1.
When turned into a donkey, Lucius will take immense pleasure and consolation
from overhearing other people’s stories with his long asinine ears (e.g. 9.15.6).
Auscultare is frequent in Apuleius and comedy, and adds comic connotations to the
setting, as in comedy it often introduces eavesdropping scenes, as it does here, cf.
Plautus Am. 300, Bac. 404 (with the same construction), Poen. 822, etc.
a loud cackle: A scornful cackle to express disbelief is a frequent reaction to
stories in Met.: 2.31.1 (the listeners to Thelyphron’s tale), 6.9.1 (the angry Venus
derides Psyche), 8.24.1 (the auctioneer’s audience laughs about Lucius).
Stop it; stop these absurd and monstrous lies of yours: These words mark out
the sceptical companion as someone in whose world there is no space for magic or
the supernatural (Penwill 1990,7). The disbelief here also prepares the reader for the
implausible and nightmarish events in the stories of Aristomenes and Lucius himself.
The first inset tale of the novel is framed by a discussion of the truth of fiction here
and 1.20.2, which repeats the same words. The unnamed first speaker questions the
following tale’s veracity, but his doubts will eventually be proved wrong by what
happens to Lucius: Lucius, too, will encounter witchcraft in his own story which
echoes Aristomenes’ and Socrates’ experiences. His own credibility as a story-teller
who himself retells Aristomenes’ tale is however never independently verified. The
link between lies and fiction in the context of telling tales takes the discussion back
to the issues of fictionality raised in the prologue and Met. 1.2 so far (cf. also introd.
§8). The bickering between the two travellers serves as a motive for Aristomenes to
tell Lucius his story. Given Aristomenes’ often repeated fear of the consequences of
telling negative stories about witches which even implicate him in a crime, it is still
surprising that he volunteers to tell his story to Lucius, a complete stranger.
2.6	1 am generally thirsty for novelty: Despite denying it here, his mere
insistence on asking for the story is a good characterisation of Lucius as a curious
man (introd. §6.3) in this programmatic passage. The metaphor of ‘thirst for
knowledge’ is a common one (in Plutarch’s On Curiosity 518a the curious man
has a thirst for novelty; more examples in Keulen 2007, 110), and the theme of
curiosity is here linked with food and drink (Heath 1982, 59, Cooper 1980, 460).

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Curiosity and greed combine as important leitmotifs to illustrate Lucius’ character
(see introd. §9). A similar phrase is used in PI. 2.16 (243), about the immoral man
imbibing various pleasures, a passage which is also evoked in the description
of the dancing boy, Met. 1.4.4 (Keulen 2003a, 128ff.), and which forms a good
characterisation of Lucius. Lucius’ self-characterisation here makes him an apt
victim for witchcraft and especially the Risus festival in Met. 3, as this festival
for the God of Laughter ‘always flourishes with novelty’ (3.11.3; McCreight 1993,
50). After his transformation, Lucius himself will become a ‘novel spectacle’ that
others wish to see, e.g. Thiasus at Met. 10.16.3, and 7.13.2 Charite reminisces on
the ‘novel spectacle’ of a girl sitting triumphantly on a donkey.
I am not inquisitive: According to Cicero Fin. 5.49 ‘to wish to know everything
is a sign of curious people’ - Lucius obviously doth protest too much here, and
characterises himself clearly as a curious man while denying that he is exactly that,
revealing himself to be an unreliable narrator.
the delightful charm of stories: Another leitmotif of Met., an entertaining
story (as promised in the prologue Met. 1.1) full of delightful tales linking Lucius
with the novels’ reader: ‘Delight’ is frequently a technical term in literary criticism
(e.g. Catullus 1.1). It is again used of stories in 1.20.5, where it closes the frame
narrative for Aristomenes’ story, which by association turns Aristomenes’ tale into a
‘delightful tale’. This is a frequent description for inset tales in Met., cf. 4.27.8 (tale
of Cupid and Psyche), 9.4.4 (tale of the tub), 9.14.1 (‘a good story’; the Miller’s
wife). These tales are ‘charming’ but carry additional meaning in the sense of
reflecting on Lucius’ own experiences. ‘Charm’, iucunditas, too, indicates literary
sophistication, especially in this combination with lepidus (cf. Apol. 94.6).
3
The sceptical speaker who does not believe Aristomenes’ story compares it to a list of
eight cosmic adynata (impossible events, see introd. §8) which are equally unlikely
to be true. Lucius interrupts, asks for its retelling and declares that an audience’s
mere unfamiliarity with a story’s contents or the unlikeliness of its events does not
necessarily preclude it from being true.
3.1 this lie of yours is just as true: The paradox cuts to the issue of reliability of
fiction.
some magic whispering: Introduction of the topic of magic by people on the
road to Thessaly, a country associated with magic and witchcraft. It also picks
up the prologue’s Met. 1.1.1 ‘charming whisper’ with its magical connotations
(magical incantations are often described as a ‘murmur’: Ovid Met. 7.251; Apul.
Met. 2.1.3; Apol. 47; Burriss 1936, 142f). It thus adds further nuance to the readers’
interpretation of the prologue by inviting them to read its metaphors literally (cf.
on 1.2.3). First instance of the onomatopoetic word susurramen, a low, continuous
sound, which occurs again only in Martianus Capella 7.726, an avid reader of
Apuleius, and which was probably coined by Apuleius.

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Commentary
running rivers are turned back on themselves etc.: Rivers standing still or
flowing backwards especially are common adynata in non-magical contexts (e.g.
Horace Carm. 1.29.10-12; Propertius 2.15.33; Ovid Tristia 1.8.1); the phrase is
proverbial. It can indicate bad omens (Cicero Div. 1.78); at Ovid Am. 2.1.23-28 it
is love poetry, i.e. fiction, which can control these adynata. They can also occur in
rhetorical exercises or declamations, e.g. Pseudo-Quintilian Decl. mai. 10.15 which
has a magical theme (van Mal-Maeder 2007,60-2). Single elements of the adynata
in 1.3.1 are found in magical papyri used for binding spells: PGM 7.451 f. instructs
the burial of defixiones e.g. in a river; especially papyri with Egyptian influence may
threaten cosmic interruption, e.g. PGM 34 threatens that the sun would stand still
and the moon be brought down (Gager 1992, 104). Lucian Philopseudes 13-14, too,
catalogues power over the moon and ability to walk over the sea. For a first-time
reader, the list of adynata may seem to have been chosen randomly. For a second¬
time reader, however, this list is ominous, since the feats are similar to the ones
claimed to be performed by witches in the rest of Met., where magic is expressed
in similar terms, as unbelievable influences on the cosmos. Specifically, turning
back rivers is connected with witchcraft and frequent in literary representations of
magic. All of Apuleius’ Thessalian witches, Meroe, Pamphile, Panthia and Photis,
share these powers and are set up as parallels to each other: in 1.8 Meroe will be
said to be able to do all these things, and although we never see her perform any
of this cosmic magic, she has the power to revive Socrates temporarily after killing
him. Pamphile, too, is credited with these powers by Byrrhaena (Met. 2.5) and then
by Photis (3.15.7), and their powers in turn can be paralleled to magical powers as
early as Pseudo-Hippocrates’ On the Sacred Disease 4 and as late as the magical
papyri (Greek Magical Papyri (PGM) 1.120-126: Ruiz-Montero 2007, 4Iff.).
Meroe’s method specifically will be to make the impossible possible through
magic (a metamorphosis of a kind in itself), just like fellow literary witches control
nature, e.g. Medea (Euripides Med. 410; Apollonius Rhodius 3.528L; Ovid Met.
7.199T; Seneca Med. 762; Valerius Flaccus 6.433) or the lesser witches in Tibullus
1.2.46, Ovid Am. 1.8.6, Rem. 257, Lucan 6.473f,Vergil A. 4.487ff and Petronius
134.12.6.
In Met. 11.5 (Isis’ self-revelation to Lucius) and 11.25 (Lucius’ adoration of
Isis), Isis herself will be described as powerful over exactly the things Meroe and
Pamphile are said to command: the cosmos, other planets, the ocean, the elements
and the underworld. Isis however uses her power for benevolent reasons (introd.
§10.2), the witches for a debased form of magic to achieve their sexual satisfaction
and often enough to destroy cosmic order.
the sea becomes sluggish and immobilised: The contrast between 'running
rivers’ and the ‘sluggish sea’ continues to express the impossible and fictional
through an adynaton associated with witchcraft’s ability to invert cosmic order,
e.g. Ovid Met. 7.154. In Petronius 134.4ff. the priestess Oenothea claims similar
magical powers, including the ability to calm the sea (Schmeling 2011, 521). This

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‘binding’ of the sea recalls katadesmoi or defixiones (‘binding spells’), which were
common in ancient magic (see introd. § 11).
the winds9 breath fails into lifelessness: Weather magic: Pamphile’s ability to
predict the weather by staring at her lamp in Met. 2.11.5 is a related feat. Again it
is a common claim for literary witches that on their command winds cease to blow:
Circe in Homer, cf. Odyssey 10.19f.; 12.148f., Oenothea in Petronius 134.10.
the sun is stopped: Ancient witches are generally credited with power over the
planets, frequently so in Apuleius {Met. 1.8.4; 2.5.4; 3.15.7; 3.16.2); cf. Vergil A.
4.489 (a Massylian priestess invented by Dido). Medea especially is commonly
associated with stopping the course of the sun (Seneca Med. 768), but it is also a
sign of the interruption of the proper cosmic order, cf. the sun reverting its course
after Thyestes’ cannibalistic meal (e.g. Seneca Thy. 813fF.). In Petronius 134.15 it is
a symbolism for the witch’s power to interrupt the orderly paths of the cosmos, for
which the Sun god was the guarantor.
the moon is dried out of her dew: Pulling down the moon through witchcraft
is a commonplace, especially attributed to Thessalian witches (Phillips 2002,378f.,
introd. §11). It is their most common boast, and all the witches in Met. 1 are said
to be able to do it, though it is actually never performed in the novel. Being able to
draw dew from the moon, as here, is less common, though other witches are able
to do this, too: Valerius Flaccus 6.445ff., Nonnus Dionysiaca 36.344AF. (Hill 1973,
236f). Drying out the moisture from the moon, the origin of dew (Vergil G. 3.337,
Pliny Nat. 20.1 etc.\ disturbs the cosmic balance between the moist and the dry.
The moisture was used by witches for, amongst other things, enhancing the power
of their drugs, love magic and poison (Keulen 2007, 119). In Met. 11.2.3 the Moon
goddess / Isis is credited with ‘moist fires’ (the moon’s softened light and moisture,
cf. Cicero N. D. 2.50), another contrast between Isis as a benevolent goddess and
the destructive witches.
the stars are torn down: An equally strong term is found in Horace Epod.
5.45, again about Thessalian witchcraft, which tears down both stars and the moon.
The cosmic destruction this would entail is common in description of witchcraft:
Tibullus 1.2.45. Horace Epod. 17.5. Lucan 6.499. Quintilian Decl. 10.15. Forcing
down the stars is listed amongst a catalogue of powers in PGM 1.120-126 (Fick
1985, 136). Again Pamphile is said to be able to commit similar feats, cf. Met. 2.5.4
and 3.15.7.
daylight is taken away and night is prolonged: Witches can replace day with
endless night, the usual time for witchcraft, cf. Met. 3.16.2, where Pamphile needs
night to fall for her witchcraft and accordingly threatens the Sun (Panayotakis 2001,
58Iff.). The power of the witches is now all-encompassing, as this is an obvious
climax, which will be echoed by another group of 8 feats of witchcraft in 1.8.4, the
description of Meroe’s power in similar terms. During his initiation, Lucius will see
the sun shine in the middle of the night in 11.23.6, which turns a magical adynaton
into something Lucius experiences as real under Isis’ influence, but inverts the

108	Commentary}
ominous nature of the witches' dark night into Isis’ benevolent light. Cf. also below
on 1.11.6. and introd. §11.
3.2 Hey, you: Colloquialism, used twelve times in Met. (e.g. 1.13.7; 1.15.1;
1.22.2), and nowhere else in Apuleius. Frequently found in comedy (Plautus Am.
770, Bac. 327, Cas 837 etc., Terence Hau. 369; 550; Eu. 102 etc.) and epistolary
literature (Cicero Fam. 7.11.2.1; 16.17.1.2 etc.).
who told the story previously: Lucius addresses Aristomenes; the phrase is
recalled in 1.4.6.
weave the rest of the tale: Metaphors of weaving are commonly employed for
story-telling (cf. also introd. §5 and above on 1.1.1; 5.16; 9.17; Apol. 61.3 etc.).
In Apuleius it is a metaphor aptly used for writing complicated fiction which may
interlink different stories within the same text.
your thick ears: A common metaphor for being unappreciative of sophisticated
stories (Apul. Apol. 3.11, Gellius 10.3.15 etc.) continues the stress of the first book
of Met. on hearing stories, but here without the expected response of enthusiastic
acceptance. Lucius himself will end up with ‘thick’ ears after his transformation,
and be as stubborn as a donkey, e.g. refusing to listen to any warnings against his
fate (Jacobson 2004, 38).
obstinate heart: Lucius accuses the sceptic of both physical (ears) and mental
(heart) disinclination to listen to stories, a severe criticism within the framework of
the novel and again an indirect characterisation of Lucius as gullible.
reject what may well show itself to be true: Continues the discussion of whether
the story is truthful or fiction. Both the phrase and the idea will be reused in Met.
1.20.1 (Aristomenes’ sceptical companion ‘spits out’ or rejects his disagreement),
which contrasts to 1.2.6 where Lucius is happy to swallow new stories.
3J By Hercules: A mild inteijection, often found in (both Greek and Latin)
comedy and everyday language for emphasis, or to express indignation (as here) or
surprise (as in 1.20.5 when the conversation between Aristomenes and the sceptic is
picked up again, and 1.24.6; cf. Stafford 2012, xxv).
you know rather little to think: A unique phrase, which at first seems to carry its
intransitive meaning ‘to have experience of or skill in; to know’, but then changes to
a transitive construction with accusative and infinitive, which is found only here and
Sisenna hist. 44 (‘to know how to be able to, from experience or knowledge’; both
translations from OLD s.v. calleo). Intransitive callere is archaic, cf. Plautus Mos.
123, Poen. 579 etc. Apuleius uses minus callere in FI. 9.25, ‘I confess that I am less
skilled in the sedentary arts’. Apuleius plays with both meanings, and the change of
construction within the sentence allows the ‘beliefs’ to be at first associated with the
sceptical interlocutor, but then with sceptical people in general, prompting a subtle
unflattering association of the former with the latter group.
most depraved beliefs: The discussion of the nature of fiction raised in this
speech continues and is very negatively charged, as in Cicero Tusc. 4.23 (in a
discussion of the negative influences of the passions); Seneca Ep. 95.4 etc.

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either novel to hear or crude to see or for sure too hard to be captured by
comprehension: An intricate and subtle characterisation of Lucius as a stupid pseudo-
philosopher: As Keulen 2007, 125 points out, this tricolon recalls the philosopher
Empedocles fr. 2 DK (= frg. 8 Inwood) on the relationship between sensory perception
and true understanding through rational reflection, which Lucius here echoes in
phrasing and context. But Keulen does not mention that the Empedocles fragment
and Lucius’ interpretation of its philosophy are exact opposites. Sextus Against the
Logicians 7.122-25 (adversus Mathematicos; the source of the fragment) interprets
the fragment as ‘that the criterion of truth is not in the senses’, followed by the
argument that those who only perceive part, but not the whole, of truth are fallible,
and ‘In this way, these things are neither seen nor heard by men nor grasped with the
understanding’ (Empedocles’ words, Inwood’s translation). Apart from inverting
the word order of hearing and seeing from Empedocles’ fragment, Lucius also says
the absolute opposite to what Empedocles wishes to convey. Empedocles ‘bewails
the very limited understanding of things most men achieve through their senses
[...]. But he promises that an intelligent use of all the sensory evidence available to
mortals, aided by his own instruction, will [...] make each thing clear to us’ (Kirk,
Raven and Schofield 1983,285). Empedocles thus criticises the credulity of people
who believe things on limited perceptual evidence, when the truth can only be
reached on the basis of comprehensive perceptual evidence and thorough reasoning;
by contrast, Lucius criticises the scepticism of someone who is not willing to believe
surprising things that he has heard or seen, on the grounds that they might prove to
be true on reflection. Apuleius speaks highly of Empedocles in Apol 27.1^4 and FI.
20.5. Lucius misunderstands Empedocles’ basic tenets and misappropriates them
to his own end. This is a remarkable faux pas since the fragment was also cited by
Lucius’ ancestor Plutarch in How to study»poetry' (Mor. 17e; also noted in Keulen
2007, 126), the ancestor whose origins Lucius problematically misrepresented as
Thessalian.
explore them a little more carefully: Exploring through seeing and hearing,
i.e. through his senses, also in Met. 5.11.4 (Cupid warns Psyche not to want to
see his face). Another instance of Lucius’ credo in the senses delivering truth, not
only opinion, which is misplaced, as he will be deceived by what he hears and sees
throughout the novel, although he will still credulously believe it.
not only clear to understand but also easy to do: The passage’s stress is
on gathering proof for the existence of phenomena beyond those experienced in
common sensory experiences. Lucius hints at his own intention to experience magic.
Facile factu ‘easy to do’ (Plautus Most. 791, Per. 761 etc.) is a common variation on
a Plautine expression (Nicolini 2011,41, n. 87).
4
Lucius tells two anecdotes as evidence that the improbable can be true: the previous
night he had almost choked on a cheesecake during an eating competition, yet recently
he had seen a sword swallower first swallowing a sword and then a lance, around

no
Commentary
which a young boy was dancing while standing on the man’s shoulders. Lucius then
promises lunch in exchange for Aristomenes’ story. The anecdotes anticipate both the
rest of Met. 1 and the novel as a whole: swords and cheese reoccur e.g. 1.13.4 and 1.19,
as Socrates himself has a sword thrust down his throat, but apparently does not die,
but is eventually killed while swallowing cheese (1.19.7). Thus the episode seems to
anticipate both of Socrates’ deaths. Lucius should understand this as a warning against
believing everything he sees (certainly retrospectively), but his previously displayed
credulity continues here and throughout the novel. As Lucius moves from being a mere
observer to an interpreter, but is naively mistaking trickery for truth when he seems
to believe that the boy is hanging from the spear itself, he characterises himself again
as gullible and incapable of metaphorical interpretation.
4.1 As for me: Boccaccio in his marginal note on Bibl. Laur. 54.32 fol. 18r.
astutely analyses Lucius’ intentions here: ‘Apuleius [i.e. Lucius] begins his own
tale in order to make one of the companions willing to tell what he had begun and
the other willing to listen.’
last night: Apuleius uses both vespera (‘at night’ (ablative): Met. 2.11.5 etc.), and
vesperi (‘last night’ (locative): 1.18.5; 2.6.7; 3.16.2; 3.25.4; 3.26.8). Here however
the ablative must translate as ‘last night’, too, just as in 4.18.5, where the robber
Thrasyleon shows his accomplices the room where the evening before (vespera) he
had seen some silver stored.
wolfing down an only slightly larger piece: The impression here is that the morsel
is rather laige indeed, despite Lucius’ efforts to play down his greed. Swallowing food
as part of a food devouring competition (which betrays the understatement in the size
of the morsel) anticipates Lucius’ interest in food displayed throughout the rest of Met.
1 and prepares his characterisation as a comic parasite (May 2006, 143-81). As an
introduction to Lucius, it makes clear that his eventual metamorphosis into a donkey
is an ‘apt one’ (for the term cf. below on 1.9.1): already in Plato Phaedo 8le it is
suggested that being turned into donkeys is a just punishment for followers of hybris,
gluttony and love for drinking (Schlam 1970,480). For Romans, gluttony, especially at
a banquet, displays ‘ineffective self-management’ (Corbeill 1997, 101), which would
discredit the glutton and make him morally incapable of running for office. Lucius here
seems unaware of dangerously portraying himself as morally questionable, aligning
himself with the pole dancer he describes next.
Contruncare, ‘to wolf down’, is a Plautine verb, before Apuleius found only in
comedy (Bac. 975; St. 554). Socrates in Met. 1.19.6 wolfs down his food in a similar
manner, like Lucius. The other occurences of contruncare in Apuleius (6.31.1 (the
robbers); 9.13.2 (mules)) are also negatively charged with animalistic associations.
polenta cheese cake: A similar piece of food (honeycake made from polenta) is
used by Psyche {Met. 6.18f.) to calm down Cerberus in order to enter the underworld.
Despite several recipes in e.g. Cato Agr. and other Roman authors, polenta is a Greek
dish (Andri 1961, 61 with n. 128, but already noted in Beroaldo 1500 ad loc.),
consisting of pulped roasted barley, here with added cheese, and in its Greekness it

Commentary
111
forms part of the characterisation of Lucius as a parasite. In Horace’s Satire 2.8.23L
(Cena Nasidieni) the gluttonous parasite Porcinus devours cakes whole. Eating a lot
of cheese is comic as well as voracious, cf. Aristophanes Frogs 559, where Dionysos-
Heracles is accused of swallowing a lot of fresh cheese, and Knights 853f. for honey
and cheese sellers; Acharnians 1125. In Plautus Cur. 295 polenta is luxury food,
associated with idle Greeks getting drunk, cf. also As. 33-37. The exact nature of the
cheesecake that Lucius almost chokes on has puzzled Apuleius’ readers (see introd.
§13). Cheese in Met. has negative connotations, often associated with death (e.g. in
9.38.9	an old man cuts his throat with a knife he had just used to cut cheese; here Lucius
almost chokes); it is also associated with magic (Moine 1975,356f.), and may have a
connection to the underworld, as perhaps cheese was a gift to the dead, see Tibullus
1.2.50. Cheese is also a staple of banquets (many examples in Athenaeus bk 4), and
eating and drinking contests are a comic feature. On cheese and its associations with
death and comedy cf. May 1998, Keulen 2000, Aubeiger 2010,115ff. Cheese in Rome:
Andre 1961, 152-4. Caseatus appears first in Apuleius.
in a competition against my fellow diners: Characterises Lucius as a greedy
buffoon: in Plutarch Quaestiones Convivales 2.10.2 (644a), his discussion of best
practice during symposia, Lucius’ relative Plutarch tells people off who eat too
greedily, including cheese.
the softness of the glutinous food: Softness always has a negative connotation,
and here associates the glutinous cheese with the effeminate movements of the
dancer, whose style is described in the same terms (1.4.4). Lucius uses medical
terminology to sound learned: glutinous food is, apart from here, discussed in
medical texts, where it is deemed beneficial (e.g. Celsus De Medicina 3.21.12
against dropsy; 4.12.5 against stomach ulcers), but sometimes to be avoided by the
sick (3.25.3, against elephantiasis; 5.28.4 against St Anthony’s fire; 7.26.2 against
bladder stones).
hanging in my throat and hindering my air passages: The dangerous
consequence of devouring glutinous food: choking on food is a recurrent motif
in Met. 1 - Lucius here is followed by Aristomenes, a cheesemerchant (1.5.5),
feeling unable to eat (1.19.3) and choking on bread. Gellius 17.11.4f. has a similar
discussion of obstructing the windpipe with food (also noted by Keulen 2007, 132);
the passage is medical, engaging with Plutarch’s discussion of Plato’s, Erasistratos’
and Hippocrates’ views on the trachea, indicating that Lucius here continues to
show off with medical terminology. Meacula ‘my air passages’ is not found before
Apuleius, but Martianus Capella 8.8.13 uses the word, which makes the emendation
(F reads mea gula> ‘my throat’) likely and acceptable.
4.2 recently: F’s proximo is usually emended to proxime ‘most closely in time,
most recently’, although F’s reading has been defended as short for proximo die
(Wiman, cf. Hanson 1989) or understood locally (‘most closely’; Magnaldi).
Athens: Lucius was educated there (cf. 1.24.5) and namedrops the centre
of learning, intending to display himself as an educated man, but unwittingly

112	Commentary>
unmasking himself as someone who gullibly watches street entertainers there
outside its institutions of learning.
in front of the Stoa Poikile: The 5th century Painted Porch north of Athens’
agora: its pictures, as decribed by Pausanias 1.15.1-3, contained mythological and
historical battles, including centrally the Ilioupersis (The Sack of Troy) or portraits
of Aias the Locrian and Kassandra. As Aias was well known as a spear thrower
(Homer //. 2.527), placing a spear swallower in front of this picture programme
allows Apuleius to go from the sublime to the ridiculous, a frequent ploy in Met. For
the pictures of the Stoa see Stansbury-O’Donnell 2005. Keulen 2007, 133 assumes
the location is chosen because it is the seat of the Stoa (as the place where Zeno
taught Stoicism), but Lucius’ statements on fate e.g. in Met. 1.20.3 are too vague
to display adherence to one specific philosophical school; the Stoics’ sophisticated
philosophical theory of fate cannot really be classified as ‘superstition’ (see Cicero
Div. 1.126), with which Keulen associates it. Lucius’ ancestor Sextus (1.2.1) was
probably a Stoic, and the associations of the Stoa Poikile with Stoicism may be
again used to point out the contrast between gullible Lucius and his philosophical
ancestor (introd. §8; 9).
I saw with my very own two eyes: The eyes are not very reliable witnesses in
a novel where appearances deceive, although both Lucius and Aristomenes keep
invoking their eyes in this function. Generally Roman thinking valued seeing over
ail other senses (Varro L. 6.80), but Lucius continuously fails to interpret what he
sees correctly, e.g. the Actaeon statue in Met. 2.4 (Slater 1998,26; introd. §6.3). On
the problem of eyewitnesses: May 2007 and note above on 1.3.3. Geminus indicates
a pair, often of body parts (in plural), used of e.g. nostrils in Vergil G. 4.300; feet in
Ovid Fast. 5.432, and is here used emphatically to boost his credibility - Lucius has
two witnesses, as it were.
a wandering performer: A low-class wandering artist, whose repertoire may
include, amongst others, dancing, juggling, snake charming, animal tricks and
imitations. Habinnas in Petronius 68.6 admits his boy was educated by wandering
performers (i.e. not properly at all), a sign of his crudeness. Lucius shows off
his gullibility and naivety, especially as performers are proverbial for deceptive
artfulness and as notorious tellers of lies. See also Met. 1.1.6: the prologue’s
acrobatic metaphor is here repeated literally. The same term is applied to travelling
magicians at the time (Dickie 2001, 225f.), and it is clear that the gullible Lucius
sees some ‘magic’ trick performed. This act is followed by even more incredible
feats, all of which will allow Lucius to believe them to be true, but which constitute
a warning to leave magic and trickery to the experts. On wandering performers most
recently: Montiglio 2005.
a really sharp cavalry sword: The Roman spatha was originally carried by
auxiliaries, between 70 and 90 cm long (thus longer than the gladius), which would
make the performance a veiy impressive feat. The (all unconfirmed) records for the
longest swords swallowed (by very tall performers!) at www.swordswallow.com/

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113
records.php stand between 63 and 83cm. Their length is restricted by the distance
between throat and the bottom of the stomach, as sword swallowers sink swords
through the throat into the stomach, once the gag reflex has been suppressed. As
Apuleius reuses motifs throughout Met., the spatha anticipates the sword of the
Roman soldier who acquires the donkey Lucius from the market gardener in 9.40f.,
who also carries a knotty staff and has to ‘quietly swallow the insult’ (9.41.1) of
having been beaten and disarmed by an unarmed opponent and is thus revealed as a
braggart and mere showman, too.
with a deadly tip: The sword’s deadliness suggests the realistic danger of
the performance, and forms a warning to Lucius not to meddle with trickery and
magic that he does not completely understand. The stereotypical phrase elsewhere
describes real daggers used by robbers in Met. 4.26.7 (in an emendation) and 8.2.4.
Cf. also Seneca Ep. 82.21; Silius Italicus 2.260; Tacitus Hist. 3.85 etc.
4J a tiny donation: The performer’s poverty makes it necessary to perform for
money, but in 1.4.6 Lucius himself discusses payment for Aristomenes’ tale, thus
aligning himself and Aristomenes with the performer and his audience, and the
street performance with storytelling.
hunting lance: A lancea was a long throwing javelin with a thong in the middle,
and c. 2 to 2.5m long. In 8.5.4 venabulum (hunting spear) and lancea (lance) are two
seemingly different objects. On swords and lances cf. Elton 2007.
4.4	And look: Expression of astonishment, here as in 1.26.1 part of the vivid
visualisation of the scene; also in 1.17.1, to change the direction of the reader’s
focus. 21 times in Apuleius, only in Met., indicating colloquialism and immediacy.
Also, ecce is often found in comedies at the entrance of new characters (Heine
1962, 74).
where the shaft... rises up from his gullet, near the back of the man's head:
The translation of the whole passage is problematic. Given the natural meaning
of occipitium as ‘back of the head’ (e.g. Cato Agr. 4.1.7, Plautus Aul. 64), and the
position the sword swallower is in, with his head thrown back to open up the throat,
the description must mean that the dancer appears behind the head, on the shoulders of
the sword swallower, dancing around the shaft of the lance without putting too much
weight on the lance itself. The swallower must hold on to the shaft with his hands
to reduce movement. Putting the weight of a dancing boy onto a swallowed lance is
impossible, and it appears that he is standing on the sword swallower’s shoulders while
pretending to put his weight on the lance. The trick may just be possible, although
still very dangerous to the swallower. That Lucius is taken in by the performance and
believes the boy is actually climbing on the lance itself is clear from his comparison
of the dancer to Asclepius’ snake in the following sentence. Ingluvies is used of the
human throat in Met. 1.16.5 and twice for that of a snake-like ‘monster’ in 5.17.3 and
5.26.3 (Cupid’s, in the deceitful descriptions of Psyche’s sisters who want her to believe
that the ‘snake’ will swallow her alive). If both occipitium and ingluviem were parts
of the weapon (as Molt 1938,46 argues, although there are no parallels), Lucius’ use

114
Commentary
of anatomical terminology in this context would be wilfully obscurantist and a break
with his previous use of medical language.
beautiful to the point of effeminate softness ... to the amazement of all of
us present: On softness as a theme cf. above (1.4.1). The effeminate performance
fascinates Lucius. By using similar words, Apuleius implicitly compares Lucius ’ cheese-
devouring performance at the symposium with that of the boy, but Lucius is unable to
mirror the boy’s dexterity, and thus is effectively characterised negatively. Dancing in
public is a grave misconduct for Romans and associated with effeminacy and passive
homosexuality (e.g. Lucilius 33; Pliny Pan. 33.1; enervo = ‘castrate’ in Augustine De
Civitate Dei 6.7). In court Apuleius describes his elderly enemy Herennius in Apol.
74.7	in similarly negative and effeminate terms (exossis and enervis) as an aged and
despicable pantomime act, dancing with unrefined softness. There Apuleius purports
not to have seen the performance himself (so as not to be associated with watching and
enjoying pantomime), whereas Lucius enjoys the boy’s performance unreservedly, and
praises him enthusiastically. In literary criticism comparison with pantomime indicates
disapproval (cf. Quintilian Inst. 9.4.142, enervem). Lucius is here an uncritical and
gullible observer, unreliable in his judgement.
The usual form of the adjective is enervis (used in Apol. 74.7; PI. 2.16), and
uniquely here follows the first declension (enerva).
4.5. the god of medicine: Apuleius composed various works in praise of the
healing god Asclepius (see FI. 18.37, Apol. 55.8, Socr. 15 (154)), in both Greek
and Latin, and poetry and prose, all now lost. The Asclepius transmitted under his
name is probably not by him, although it is possible that Apuleius was a priest of
Asclepius (FI. 16.38 with Hunink 2001, 168 ad loc.). Isis, too, is associated with
the image of a snake curled around her arms, e.g. on the fresco from the Pompeian
Temple of Isis, or the 2nd century AD Isiac procession on a relief now in the Vatican
Museum (Witt 1971, plate 30). When Lucius, taken in by the performers’ tricks,
imagines the small boy as a snake winding his body around the lance, he makes an
inappropriate association with a deity. This strengthens the reader’s assessment of
Lucius’ unreliability as a narrator, and throws an uncomfortable light on his Isiac
initiation in Met. 11.
The dancing-boy episode, too, can be seen as a plot summary of the novel
(Hofmann 1997, 156ff), especially in its comparison with Asclepius, as a healing
cult god appears at its end, just as Isis at the end of Met., and Isis and Asclepius are
associated with each other through the latter’s identification with Osiris and the
shared snake imagery.
knotty with half-pruned little twigs: A significant attribute of the god, cf. Paulus
Diaconus Fest. p. 110: ‘Asclepius has a knotty stave (bacillum ... nodosum), which
signifies the difficulty of his art’, but knottiness is also the general characteristic of
staves used as weapons in Lucius’ donkey universe: Met. 6.30.3 Lucius as donkey is
hit with a ‘knotty cudgel’ by a robber, and 9.40f. Lucius’ owner beats up a soldier with
a similar stave. On Apuleius’ fondness for .se/w-compound words see introd. § 12.

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115
noble snake: Snakes do not invariably have negative connotations in Met., where
they can associate with healing gods like Asclepius or Isis (Met. 11.3.5) and Serapis,
cf. Fick-Michel 1991, Hofmann 1997, 160. Generosus (‘noble, thoroughbred’), a
positive characteristic, is also used of animals in Met. 4.13.6 (she-bears and other
animals to be employed in the amphitheatre) and 10.18.4 (Thessalian horses), and
of Lucius himself in 1.23.3.
clinging there in fluid embraces: His fluidity is the term of comparison for the
boy’s dance and the slithering snake of Asclepius. Although lubricus is especially
frequent for snakes (FI. 6.5 with Hunink 2001, 90 ad loc.), the concept of fluidity
of form and meanings is used frequently in Met. 1 (1.2.2 and 1.6.4). Similarly, the
children dancing a Pyrrhic dance in 10.29.4 in a prelude to a pantomime are moving
fluidly and in complicated rounded circles (in orbem rotatum flexuosi; multinodas
ambages). In the pantomime itself, with its notions of metamorphosis and fictionality
(May 2008), the dancer representing Venus dances with fluid spine movements
(10.32.3). Given the association of pantomime performance with literary criticism,
the boy’s fluid movements may indicate the novel’s fluid and metamorphic nature.
4.6	come on, please: A comic colloquialism, Cedo tu in Apol. 63.5 (with Hunink
1997, ii, 167 ad loc.) is the usual address to his assistant. Cedo in Plautus: Aul. 157;
Ps. 891; Mil. 226; Men. 639; cf. also Met. 1.8.5. Sodes is colloquial comedy word,
often in Plautus and Terence, but an archaism at the time of Apuleius. It is often
combined (as here) with the imperative.
go through it again: By Lucius’ asking Aristomenes to tell the tale again,
Apuleius may be scripting into the novel the concept of a second-time reader,
who should look at Met. a second time with hindsight (cf. introd. §4.3). In 2.20.7
Byrrhaena asks Thelyphron to ‘go through his tale again’ (fabulam ... remetire),
again for Lucius’ benefit.
I alone will believe your tale instead of him: When Aristomenes’ story is
finished, gullible Lucius indeed believes the story as promised (1.20.5). On an
abstract level, his declaration ‘I alone’ may here indicate that the reader will not
believe the story to be truthful, although later within the novel’s universe it will turn
out to be ‘true’.
the next tavern we approach on our journey: In Met. 1.15,1.17.2 and elsewhere
(Plautus Poen. 268) taverns are disreputable establishments; the companions
however part from Lucius before he reaches the nearest tavern. The dative with
verbs of going or coming indicates directions to a place, see e.g. Caesar B. G. 3.80.1,
Sallust Histories 4.27.
I will make you share my meal: The phrase is possibly wilfully ambiguous,
leaving it open whether Lucius will actually pay for any food for his companions,
or whether his mere presence at their dinner, parasite-like, will pay for the story on
its own: Keulen 2007, 143 notes that ‘the notion of sharing does not match Lucius’
gluttonous character’. The reason for this contradiction may lie in Lucius’ clever and
ambivalent use of the verb participare (May 2006, 149-51), a Plautine word. It can

116
Commentary>
translate as ‘to cause to participate in’, as in Met. 9.33.3. This would indicate that
Lucius is intending to pay for his fellow travellers' lunch, but the accusative needed
for this meaning is missing here (although it could conceivably be inferred from
tibi). Without accusative, it can simply translate as ‘join in' (cf. 9.24.2), indicating
Lucius is not promising to pay for everyone’s lunch. For another possible ambiguity
see on 1.13.7.
This is the reward paid down for you: Lucius’ attitude towards paying for
entertainment recalls the dancing boy, but the three companions will not share a
meal, so Aristomenes crucially will never get paid for his tale, in plain contradiction
to the proverb occasionally associated with the novel’s title: assem para et accipe
fabulam auream (‘give me a penny and get back a story worthy of gold’; Pliny Ep.
2.20.1	(see introd. §4.4). Sophocles Ichn. 44 Apollo makes a similar promise of
reward.
5
Aristomenes swears a solemn oath his story is true, and explains he is a travelling
salesman buying and selling foodstuffs for taverns, who travelled to Hypata to buy
fresh cheese, but was thwarted by a wholeseller, and went to the baths instead.
5.1	But he: We later find out in 1.6.4 that the speaker is called Aristomenes.
a fair and square deal: Colloquialism, indicating acquiescence; but Aristomenes
and his companion will not share a meal with Lucius in 1.21.1. It is more positively
used in 11.18.3 (where it expresses Lucius’ reaction to receiving gifts from his
family). Cf. also Plautus Cur. 65, Terence Hau. 788; Cicero Att. 1.1 A etc.
I will embark on the tale that 1 had started: Aristomenes begins to tell the
story again that he had started before Lucius joined; it is not clear if he is telling
the same tale, or how far he had got in his telling of it, but 1.3.1 suggests that he
at least got to the point where he describes the witch’s powers, a point in the story
he reaches again in 1.8.4. Ί will embark’ (exordiar) equates Aristomenes with the
speaker of the prologue (1.1.2 exordior), as these are the only two instances of the
verb in Met. (it also occurs in Socr. 3 (124); exordium (‘introduction; preface’)
occurs seven times in Met.). Like the prologue-speaker, Aristomenes has a few false
starts and initially seems to omit essential information, e.g. his name (see on 1.5.3),
and sets his exordium here at mid-dialogue.
I will swear au oath to you: This archaic verb (deierare) for a most solemn
oath, cf. Plautus Cos. 670; Rud. 1336; Terence Eu. 331 etc., reoccurs elsewhere
in Apuleius’ Met.: cf. 1.10.4 or 6.15.5 (Cupid reminds Psyche that humans’ most
solemn oaths are (as here) by the gods, but the gods’ by Styx).
the Sun, this <all->seeuig god: A conventional oath, as the sun is often called
upon as an incorruptible eyewitness for verification (Aeschylus Supp. 213; Met. 2.22;
3.7). Aristomenes, too, throughout the story relies, wrongly, on the Sun to reveal the
truth, cf. on 1.18.1. Magical events usually take place at night, and witchcraft is
associated with darkness (introd. §11): thus not only is the sun not present when the

Commentary
117
witchcraft happens, but it is also commonly under the power of witches (see Met.
1.3.1), which makes the sun an unfortunate witness in this particular circumstance;
in 2.22.2 it is claimed that witches could easily cheat the eyes of the Sun. This
raises questions about Aristomenes’ truthfulness. In 3.7.2 Lucius evokes the Sun as
his witness during the Risus festival just when he himself has given a deliberately
fictitious version of the events of the previous night. Especially for a second-time
reader, both Aristomenes’ and Lucius’ appeals to the Sun raise questions of their
stories’ fictionality, and possibly links to witchcraft: in Ovid Met. 7.160fF. Jason
swears marriage to the witch Medea by the all-seeing Sun - an oath which he will
subsequently break. Cf. Panayotakis 2001, 581fF., May 2007.
The sun is omnituens in Mund. 29 (355) where it translates παμφαής, a poeticism
(Pasetti 2007, 134fi), all of which makes the presence of Leo’s generally accepted
addition omni- more likely. For a second-time reader, the phrase may also evoke
associations with Isis’ consort Osiris, who is called πολυόφθαλμος, ‘many-eyed’,
in Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride 10 (355a), and who has some solar associations in
Met. 11.24.4 (see also Plutarch Isid. 51-2 (372)).
true and proven facts: The claim to tell the truth about things he himself has
established to be true is repeated in 1.14.3. In 5.17.3, Psyche’s sisters use it to give
credibility to their lies, and Aristomenes’ insistence on telling the truth here may
also indicate that he protests too much.
5.2 and you will not doubt me any longer: Addressed to both the sceptical
companion with his doubts about Aristomenes’ veracity and to Lucius, whose
willingness to believe the story to be true will be strengthened by this.
the nearest town in Thessaly: Hypata indeed is the first city across the border
in Thessaly from the south (Keulen 2007, 148). Lucius will reach it in Met. 1.21.2,
but never makes enquiries about Aristomenes’ story (but cf. below on 1.5.2). F
reads Thessaliam, explained by Helm as an apposition, but Beroaldus (followed by
e.g. Zimmerman 2012) prefers the adjective Thessalicam also found elsewhere in
Apuleius (e.g. 1.25.3) and printed here.
on everybody’s lips: The stress on orality in the prologue and its compromised
veracity here has retrospective consequences for the reader’s perception of the
novel as a whole as entirely fictitious. Some other instances of the phrase in Met. are
not entirely trustworthy as verifications, either: twice in Cupid and Psyche (5.28.4,
rumours about Venus’ reputation, and 6.8.1, Mercury acting as personified Rumour;
cf. Marangoni 2000, 72f.).
what occurred in full view: Rumour is the source of the story as well as its
verification, but again Aristomenes undermines his own story with his insistence
on this kind of source. Lucius’ reaction again stresses his gullibility: this confident
claim should raise Lucius’ doubts, although this phrase is frequently used in Met.
by characters who ‘insist on telling the true facts’ (Keulen 2007, 150), e.g. in 8.1.4
(messenger on Charite’s death); 9.30.2 (Lucius on his credentials as eyewitness).
None of the events in the story however actually happened ‘openly’, so Lucius

118	Commentary
would be hard pressed to make enquiries even if he ever had attempted to confirm
Aristomenes’ story in Hypata.
S3 But first, so that you know from what country I come and who I am:
The setup and language recall the prologue 1.1.2f., where the speaker (almost)
answers the question about his identity with his geographical origin but omits his
proper name. This again makes Aristomenes like the prologue-speaker (cf. also
above on 1.5.1). A similar introduction of a character (Thiasus), but with name and
background, and reported by Lucius in third person, occurs in 10.18.1. See also
8.1.4	(messenger speech on Charite's death) for a similar introductory phrase.
F’s text poses two asyndetic questions, but answers only the latter. Castiglioni’s
addition Aristomenes sum (‘I am Aristomenes’) to answer quis sim is followed
e.g. by Keulen 2000, 311 and 2007, 151 ad loc. and printed by most editors, e.g.
by Zimmerman 2012. Rossbach, on the other hand, deletes [qui sim] to avoid the
discrepancy between question and answer (printed e.g. by Hanson 1989). Similar
questions in Met. result in the character being named, e.g. 10.18.1 (Thiasus). Plautus
Poen. 993-96 gives name and origin (Hanno from Carthage) after the same question.
Others (Brotherton 1934, 43, Harrison 2002, 41, Bitel 2006) have argued against
the supplement If Aristomenes is not named here, the first appearance of the name
is in 1.6.4 in a dialogue with Socrates, which in many ways anticipates the ‘natural’
naming of Lucius in dialogue with Pythias in 1.24.6. Furthermore, the question
‘who am I?' does not necessarily mean ‘what’s my name?’, and the prologue reveals
much about the speaker, but crucially not his name. There may be a good reason for
Apuleius, who is intent on ‘speaking names’, to hold back the name until his readers
have found out something about the character. Parallelisms between Aristomenes
and Lucius are neater when Aristomenes sum is not supplied.
I am from Aegium: A small town in the Peloponnese in Achaia, east of Patras on
the Gulf of Corinth, and thus a place close to where the hero of the Greek original,
Loukios of Patrai, apparently comes from (Lucius is from Corinth), whereas in
Onos Aristomenes’ unnamed counterpart is from Hypata itself. Aegium is a suitable
town of origin for the cheesemerchant, as Aegium’s prosperity was due to wholesale
traders (negotiatores, cf. on 1.5.5; Bingen 1954,82-85). The name is etymologically
related to αΐξ ‘goat’, a main source of milk for cheese. Aristomenes will never return;
in 1.19.12 he settles in Aetolia.
with honey and cheese and tavern merchandise of this kind: Trading these
has some comic connotations: cf. Aristophanes Knights 853f., Menander Perikeir.
284f. Both foods are often associated with each other as food for entertainments,
cf. Menander Methe 24 K-A in Athenaeus 4.146d-e, and for cheese above on 1.4.1.
In Apul. Met. 3.18.1 Pamphile uses both honey and cheese as magic ingredients,
following e.g. Circe in Homer Od. 10.234ff. Milk, honey and wine were used in
necromancy (Od. 11.23ff., Heliodorus 6.14fi); the acquisition of a magical ‘assistant’
(parhedros) required milk and honey (PGM 1.1-42). Milk mixed with honey formed
libations to the dead and to the chthonic gods. Thessaly is not renowned in antiquity

Commentary	119
for cheese or honey (although Attica is, cf. Antiphanes 177 K-A; Keulen 2000,
Slater 2007, Auberger 2010).
Caupona in Apuleius, as in late antiquity, usually means ‘female innkeeper’ (in
that meaning before Apuleius only in Lucilius 128); it can also mean ‘inn’; here
either translation is possible.
through Thessaly, Aetolia and Boeotia: Etymologically related to cows (cf.
Ovid Met. 3.10-13), Boeotia, ‘Cowland’, situated in south-eastern central Greece
and renowned for its agricultural produce, is a good place to go for a cheesemonger
(Michalopoulos 2006,170). Aetolia’s economy in central Greece, too, mainly relies
on agriculture and sheep (Strabo 8.8.1; Livy 33.7.13).
5.4	Hypata, the city which is more powerful than all Thessaly: Lucius is not
interested in Hypata’s socio-economical prominence, only in its association with
witchcraft (with which Larissa is associated as well, cf. Socrates’ adventure in Met.
1.7	and Thelyphron’s in 2.21). Hypata was the most important city in Thessaly in
the second century AD, and chosen here perhaps also because of the Greek pun
(Harrison 2002, 42): ύπάτη = ‘the best’, also reflected in Byrrhaena’s proud praise
of the city in 2.19.5, where she also uses pollemus, ‘we excel’. Cf. Heliodorus 2.34
for a similar etymologising description of the city (Michalopoulos 2006, 170). For
antepollei cf. also 7.5.2 (‘Haemus’ standing taller than the robbers), a verb only
found in Apuleius.
fresh cheese of fine flavour: Caseum recens is the technical term for fromage
frais, made for quick consumption (Plautus Poen. 367; Varro R. 2.11.3; Apul. Met.
8.19.1). Cheese of this kind does not last long in the Greek climate, so it is not clear
that Aristomenes has much business sense, given the travelling times involved.
at a rather advantageous price: Lucius’ experience of prices in Hypata’s food
market in Met. 1.24f. will be very different.
in order to buy it all up: Praestinare, a typically Plautine word, continues the
comic characterisation of Aristomenes: Plautus Capt. 848 (for fish), Epid. 277, Ps.
169 (fish): cf. Shanzer 1996, 452; May 2006, 152f. In 1.24.5 Lucius will emulate
Aristomenes by going shopping for food (fish), using the same word.
5.5	I started out on the left foot: Aristomenes retrospectively tries to rationalise
his bad luck and indicates that his journey ended unhappily and subjected to magical
events: starting a journey (or stepping over a threshold) with one’s left foot is considered
unlucky (Seneca Ben. 2.12.2, Vitruvius 3.4.4; Petronius 30.6: the entrance slave exhorts
guests to use their right foot to cross the threshold, also the lucky foot in Petronius
33, cf. Met. 2.14.6; 6.26.1, and 1.21.1). The left hand side is generally considered
potentially harmful (Wirth 2010). This idea is inverted in augury and magic, where
the left is the preferred one (Abt 1908 199 (273)ff; introd. §11).
Lupus the wholesale merchant had bought it all up:4 Wolf, a speaking name,
indicates the greed of the man who has bought all cheese and bagged all the profit
(Hijmans 1978, 109ff). Metaphorical wolves in Met. are usually greedy (3.22.6:
sexually voracious Thessalian women; 5.11.4: Cupid calls Psyche’s sisters perfidious

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Commentary
she-wolves), cf. Krabbe 2003, 5. It should be noted, though, that Aristomenes was
planning on doing exactly the same, and does not see himself as greedy. Wolves are
not really known for liking cheese, and unfortunately the well-known fable about
the Fox who cheats the hungry Wolf to believe that the moon reflected in a well is
a cheese is much later (593 Perry and 669 Perry; first attested in Petrus Alphonsi,
Disciplina clericalis, 11 th/12th century AD, cf. M. 500 Adrados).
Lupus’professional title is quite specific: the negotiator (‘wholesaler’) is a resident
businessman, whereas the mercator (Aristomenes’job) is only a travelling salesman
and of lower rank (Keulen 2007,158). Consequently, the hurrying Aristomenes has
obviously no chance against the resident Lupus. Again Aristomenes’ business sense
should be questioned.
just as the evening star was rising: An archaic phrase, cf. Atta com. 24, Apul.
Met. 2.13, also with commodum ‘just as’.
I started out for the baths: Bathing before dinner is common practice, cf. below
on 1.23.8.
6
Aristomenes finds his old friend Socrates, whom he and his family believed dead,
sitting outside the baths in a decrepit state and tragically mourning the vicissitudes
of his fortunes.
6.1	my old friend Socrates: Contubernalis, literally ‘tent mate’, indicates people
living under the same roof or intimate friends, thus a very emotional term (Lendon
2006). Their friendship goes back a long time, see 1.6.2.
He was sitting on the ground: A gesture of defeatist self-abasement, like a beggar.
half-dad in a torn cheap cloak: The unusual language indicates that literary
associations should be made here instead of simply seeing Socrates as a run-down
beggar. It is specifically Apuleian: rags in literature are associated with mourning
and tragedy, and even comicality, cf. below on 1.6.4. In Crito 53d Plato’s Socrates
speculates on his disguise in shabby clothes if he had escaped to Thessaly, where
he would spend his time fawning and enslaved (May 2006, 130ff.). In 1.14.2
Aristomenes himself will be metaphorically naked. Palliastrum is not found before
Apuleius, but also used in FI. 14.6 for the ragged coat of the Cynic Crates; it describes
the Greek cloak worn by philosophers and actors on stage in Roman comedy (the
so-called palliata, from pallium), but in a more contemptible, diminutive, form.
Semiamictus appears only in Apuleius; also in 7.5.3 (the false brigand ‘Haemus’
only half hides his body in rags) and 9.30.3 (the ghost, see introd. §11).
in his pallor, reduced to a miserable gauntness: Socrates’ wretchedness becomes
his standing epithet (miser) from his first mention here to his burial in 1.19.1, where
his gauntness is stressed again; he is also called a ‘miserable spectacle’ in 1.6.5,
calls himself‘wretched’ and ‘miserable’ (me miserum; miser) in l .7.5 and 1.7.9, and
complains about his ‘miserable plundering’ in 1.7.7. He is called ‘wretched’ (miser,
misellus) by others in 1.13.3, 1.13.6, and 1.19.11. It sets him up as a passive victim

Commentary	121
of witchcraft; both witches are called ‘good’ {bona) as a contrast, see 1.7.10, 1.13.2
(Panthia) and 1.13.6 (Meroe).
Socrates’ deadly pallor, ostensibly caused by neglect and starvation, could also
be a sign of sickness like that experienced by lovers in elegy or comedy who were
mistreated by their mistresses; the evil stepmother in 10.2 displays ‘disfiguring
pallor’ out of unfulfilled love for her stepson (Mathis 2008,200; Hindermann 2009,
172f.; Keulen 2007, 162f. adds unhealthy-looking philosophers). Consequently,
Aristomenes in 1.8.1 readily assumes that Socrates is unhappily in love with Meroe.
This first assumption will prove wrong; deceptive appearances are a leitmotif in
Met. Instead, Socrates’ ‘disfigurement’ turns out to be due to witchcraft, another
recurrent theme: in 1.6.3, Socrates’ wife is also ‘disfigured’ by grief. Their fate
is comparable - although she remarries, as Aristomenes eventually will - and
already a kind of metamorphosis. Cf. also 1.9.3 and 1.9.4 for more obvious uses of
deformare for metamorphosis into a frog and a ram. Lucius, too, transformed into a
donkey by magic, describes himself as ‘disfigured’ (8.23.6 because of ill treatment);
in 11.6.4 he requires retransformation from Isis who promises to save him from his
‘disfigured appearance’, a promise made good when Lucius’ ‘disfigured and beastly
appearance’ disappears after eating roses (11.13.3).
Deformity and disfigurement are also associated with ghosts: 9.30.3 (the female
ghost), 8.8.6 (Tlepolemus’ ghost is pale and disfigured). At the end of the book,
Socrates will be first a kind of revenant and then dead ‘for real’, so his pallor and
deformity here anticipate what will happen to him (Panayotakis 1998, 124).
Fortuna: Socrates sees himself as Fortune’s tragic victim, an outcast, cf. introd.
§10.3.
at the crossroads: Crossroads are connected with witchcraft, as they are
associated with Hecate Trivia ‘Hecate of the crossroads’ (Apol. 31.9). Worship
of Hecate was prominent in Thessaly as Hecate Enodia (Sophocles fir. 535),
who protected entrances. Witches tend to deposit parts of corpses at crossroads
for magical purposes (Petronius 134.1, Phaedrus 1.27.11). This bodes badly for
Socrates, who still seems to be under Meroe’s spell.
6.2	my friend Socrates: A term of endearment and positive politeness (Dickey
2002, 341), again repeated by Aristomenes in 1.11.1 to express his concern for his
friend. Cf. also 1.24.6, where Pythias addresses his friend Lucius in similar terms
after a long time apart.
what is this? What a sight! What a scandal!: Rhetorical questions and
exclamations with repetitions of the same words at the beginning of clauses (anaphoric
polyptoton) in gradually lengthening phrases express a gradual realisation of events
also in 3.9.7, after Lucius detects the Risus festival 'bodies’ to be wineskins.
at your home you are mourned and lamented: This stress on Socrates’ lost home
is a common theme in the novel, a loss caused in the early books by exposure to magic
(Socrates in 1.6 and 1.9, Aristomenes in 1.19, Thelyphron in 2.30). It anticipates the
fate of Lucius (introd. §4.1). On Socrates’ family see below on 1.6.3. The premature

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Commentary
ritualistic lament before burial is a bad omen for Socrates: a similar phrase is used in
2.27.2	during a ritual funeral procession (of the dead Thelyphron). Socrates will again
be wept over (defletum), by Aristomenes, at his burial in 1.19.11.
your children have been given guardians by the decree of the provincial
judge: The assignment of guardianship (tutela dativa) is a legal requirement: the
relevant magistrate appoints guardians for children below the age of puberty who
become sui iuris after the death of their father and are without any other guardian.
At Rome, this magistrate was a praetor, and in Achaea, the Roman province of
mainland Greece, the provincial governor. After Hadrian, four iuridici (judges in
charge of assigning guardians to children under age) were created in Italy (147
AD; re-established by Marcus Aurelius; Historia Augusta Hadr. 22.13, Antonin.
11.6). Aristomenes gives a slightly different title from the official one (iuridicus
provinciae), perhaps to characterise him as lower class. Notably, this office is found
only in the imperial provinces, and Achaea is under senatorial governance, and there
is no evidence for iuridicus Achaeae in the inscriptions.
In Apuleius’ own family, his wife’s children by her first marriage had become
wards of their grandfather because of their minority (Apol. 68; see also Met. 1.6.3
on the wife’s remarriage).
63 funeral services: F’s reading ferialibus is usually emended to feralibus, cf.
feralibus officiis in Met. 9.30.7; both phrases mean ‘last rites’, but in 8.7.4 Apuleius
writes officiis inferialibus (a word only found here). Both emendations are possible,
although feralibus requires a smaller intervention into the transmitted text and is
already printed in the 1469 editio princeps.
your wife ... has disfigured herself with her sorrow and everlasting grief:
Women become disfigured because of grief, not least because of ritualistic
mourning gestures involving lacerating their cheeks. For disfigurement as a motif
of metamorphosis cf. on 1.6.1. On similarities between the wives of Socrates in
Plato and Apuleius see introd. §10.1. This is the first of many women in Met. who
mourn, here probably genuinely, whereas mourning is a mask e.g. for the wife in
Thelyphron’s story in 2.23.7, and her continued beauty is an implicit give-away of
her feigning grief Similarly, Socrates’ leaving behind his children echoes Plato’s
Socrates: Crito argues (in Crito 45d) that if Socrates goes into exile, he can bring up
his children. Neither Socrates nor Aristomenes ever sees theirs again.
she has cried her eyes out almost to the point of catching blindness: The
sentence is a novel expression for a trite commonplace, with captivitas as an
unusual and unique expression for blindness (captus oculis means ‘blind’: Cicero
Tusc. 5.117, Vergil G. 1.183; Livy 22.2.11 etc.).
by her very own parents: The doubling of the pronoun here as in 1.10.3 (suis
sibi) is not infrequent in Apuleius (e.g. Met. 4.32.1; 7.13.6 etc.), a sign of his
archaism, and frequent in Roman comedy cf. e.g. Plautus Am. 269, Capt. 5, Terence
Ad. 958 etc.
her household’s misfortune: The distress in the house, a recurrent theme, here

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specifically evokes tragedy; in Horace Ars 103 infortunium is used to describe the
tragic fates of Telephus and Peleus. Apuleius is fond of the phrase and the tragic
image, cf. Met. 8.1.2 and 8.15.1 (Charite and Tlepolemus); 9.23.5 (the miller); 9.31.1
(the farmer and his three sons); 10.5.3 (in a Phaedraesque tragedy); and see 5.12.5
(Cupid warns Psyche not to ruin her house, husband and unborn child). Psyche’s
sisters claim insincerely in 5.14.4 that Psyche’s pregnancy will bring good fortune
to their ‘house’. Infortunium in comedy is often paratragic, e.g. Plautus Am. 286,
451,1034; Bac. 364, 595.
joys of a new marriage: There is little contemporary evidence on how missing
persons were declared dead and remarriage of the bereaved was permitted, but
Apuleius’ description may be following usual practice. Socrates has been absent for
a while: ten months is the minimum mourning phase, and he has clearly been absent
longer than that (cf. 1.7.6; the timespan he spent with Meroe is unspecified but has
to be lengthy). Compare also Apuleius’ own situation in life, as Pudentilla, a widow,
was urged by her family to remarry and settled on Apuleius (his version of the story:
Apologia 68-73; see also above on 1.6.2); remarriage of widows of childbearing
age was encouraged in Greece (Demand 1994,26) and the norm in Rome (Treggiari
1991, 501). Cf. also the literary precedent of Odysseus’ parents-in-law pressing
Penelope to remarry in Homer Od. 19.14If.
looking like a ghost: Socrates when still alive already looks white like a ghost-to-
be, and when he dies he reverts to exactly that kind of look in 1.19. In 9.31.1 a man
is possessed by a ghost {larvatus) and killed in a scene reminiscent of Socrates’ fate
(introd. § 11). A larva for Apuleius is an especially ugly looking and dangerous ghost:
Apuleius defines the differences between Lares and Larvae (which are both Manes
or spirits of the dead) in Soc. 15(152), where the Lar familiaris is the peaceful ghost
of a departed human and guardian of a house, and larvae are souls of no fixed abode,
wandering as a punishment for evil deeds committed while alive. In Apologia 61-64
Apuleius is accused of owning a ghastly statue fabricated for himself, which he says
was wrongly described as ‘emaciated... and quite horrible and ghostlike’ {macilentam
... prorsus horribilem et larualem; Apol. 63.1). He delivers a mock curse against his
accuser Aemilianus in Apol. 64, listing all sorts of harmful ghosts from the underworld,
where the list culminates in larvae, possibly making them the most dangerous of all:
‘the appearances of the dead whatever shades {umbrarum) they are, whatever spectres
{lemurum), whatever spirits {manium), whatever ghosts {larvarumY (Apuleian ghosts:
Winkler 1980, 162f, Felton 1999, 15fi, Keulen 2007, 168).
This anticipation of Socrates’ ultimate fate is reflected in the language: although
simulacrtm is since Lucretius the technical term for eidolon, an empty image of a
real person, looking like him but only a copy, this use is relatively rare in Apuleius
(in 8.12.3 Thrasyllus is a shadow of himself). Instead, Apuleius uses it most often
for statues, mostly of gods: Apol. 42.21 (statue of Mercury); 61.18, 63 and 65
(statues of gods, specifically Mercury), 2.4.10 (statue of Actaeon), 3.27 (twice of
a statue of Epona); 4.29.2 and 32.2 of statues of Venus and Psyche being mistaken

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Commentary
for Venus; 8.25.4; 8.30.3; 9.10 .4 (statue of the Dea Syria); in Met. 11 it is variously
used of Isis, Osiris etc. Socrates becomes a memorial to himself before a memorial
is needed. Eventually, however, his grave will remain unmarked, leaving this
makeshift simulacrum here his only marker, but cf. below on 1.7.1.
6.4	Aristomenes: The speaking name means ‘with the best strength of spirit’;
Apuleius also puns on the name twice in 1.12.7 and 2.1.2, where Aristomenes is
called ‘good counsellor’ and ‘excellent comrade’ {comes optimus) respectively.
Despite his grand name, Aristomenes is actually weak and a coward, and
retrospectively it becomes clear that he did not give good advice to Socrates. In
recent scholarship, Apuleius’ Aristomenes has increasingly been associated with the
historical hero Aristomenes of Messene, whom the oracle of Delphi named the best
of the Greeks, cf. Pausanias 4.6-32 (Jordan 2004, Connors and Clendenon 2012).
The similarities are meagre: Aristomenes’ vision of Tartarus in 1.15.5 is one of
many in Met. and does not require explanation as the Messenian’s alleged descent
into the Underworld; the Messenian had his heart inspected posthumously, but it is
Socrates, not Aristomenes, whose heart is pulled out in 1.13, and which appears to
be normal (unlike the Messenian’s, which was hairy, a sign of courage (Pliny Nat.
11.185)). Aristomenes’ lack of courage would have to be explained as an inversion
of the story (on the issue of the Messenian’s hairy heart cf. Heath 1998, Ogden
2004). A historical character is not a requirement to understand Apuleius’ joke; if
one were needed, there are also other, so far unexplored, candidates. For example,
Aristomenes the writer of Old Comedy and rival of Aristophanes (K-A 2, 562-68)
and author of the play Goetes ‘Magicians’ (frr. 5-10 K-A) and other plays, the
fragments of which prominently feature discussions of food and breakfast.
It is clear that you know nothing: The question and accusation of ignorance is
especially frequent in Met. 1, cf. also 1.15.2 and 3 (doorkeeper to Aristomenes, and
then Aristomenes to the doorkeeper); 1.22.2 (Photis to Lucius), setting the scene for
a novel about a man searching knowledge but not necessarily finding it during his
travels (see Lucius’ rare insight in 9.13.5 that he has not become wiser but acquired
more knowledge). It may also be a funny inversion of the real Socrates’ claim to
know nothing (e.g. Plato Apologia 2Id, Meno 80d), as the rebuke to Aristomenes
here implies that Apuleius’ Socrates has knowledge - about suffering (cf. also
on 1.7.6). He styles himself on characters from high literature who are suffering
victims of Fortune, e.g. Odysseus or Aeneas in epic, and especially tragic figures.
Comedy, too, uses the idea of Tyche-Fortuna, and its protagonists blame fortune’s
vicissitudes, cf. e.g. Menander frr. 322 K-A, 681 K-A, 853 K-A; Philemon fr. 178
K-A, Plautus Rud. 501 etc. (May 2006, 320-22). Keulen 2007, 169f. argues that
Apuleius portrays Socrates here as a superstitious man, but as the events show,
Socrates is less superstitious than prophetic, and his claims about his misfortune
are entirely justified. The tragicomic characterisation of Socrates here is a pattern
repeated throughout Met., where other characters, e.g. Charite or Psyche, who also
function as substitute personae for Lucius, are portrayed in a similar fashion (May

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2006, 209ff.; 265fF.). Neither are superstitious, but genuinely tragic characters,
whose fate undergoes a metamorphosis of genre.
Ne is here the archaic-Plautine particle, not unlike the Greek ναί, usually found
in front of a personal pronoun (as here: tu, ‘you’), cf. Plautus Pers. 427; Ter. Hec.
799 etc.
the slippery twists, unsteady onslaughts and changeable reversals of our
fortunes: An increasing tricolon; in Met. 11.15.3, a programmatic passage, the Isis
priest summarises Lucius’ experience as a donkey in similar terms, as the ‘twisted
and slippery slopes’ (ambages reciprocae) of Fortune; this again associates Lucius
and Socrates. Socrates here starts a series of military metaphors (cf. e.g. incursiones
in Caesar Gal. 5.1; 5.21 etc.; Seneca Epist. 67.14), which are often associated with
Fortuna, e.g. Met. 5.5.2 and 5.11.3, cf. also on 1.7.1.
he covered his face ... down to his groin: This gesture of reverent shamefulness
may be associated with the real Socrates (introd. § 10.1), but here it goes very wrong:
this Socrates is thwarted by his garment and accidentally makes a bad situation worse
- Apuleius’ Socrates tries to be as dignified as his Athenian namesake, by trying a tragic
gesture of veiling for shame, but suffers the fate of a man who is let down by the real
world, in the form of his threadbare cloak, and unwittingly displays everything from
his legs to his navel. Socrates’ shabbiness also recalls that of Odysseus in diguise (Od.
13.428-38), who also elsewhere covers his head in shame in Od. 8.83-6 (see Hunter
2012, 244). His cloak itself has comic and mimic associations (centunculum = made
from rags; the tattered coat of the mime in Apol. 13, see below), a typical mix of genres
in Met., which turns Socrates’ appearance into tragicomedy (May 2006,13 Iff; tragic
connotations of rags: cf. on 1.6.1). The real Socrates was famous for looking quite
slipshod in Athens, wearing no shoes and only a simple woollen garment (tribon),
cf. Plato Symposium 220b; Xenophon Memorabilia 1.62. Socrates’ intentions are the
opposite of the boorish type’s shamelessness in Theophrastus 4.7 who pulls up his
cloak intentionally (compared by Keulen 2007,173).
6.5 this miserable spectacle of distress: Spectacle, and the theatricality connected
with it, is a leitmotif in Met. (May 2006, 129ff, Graverini 2007, 177ff.) and here part
of Socrates’ self-stylisation as a tragic character. In the novel, spectacles are often
negatively charged and best to be avoided, and ‘miserable spectacles’ evoke pity in
observers and readers for their deadly consequences, cf. 4.20.5 (Thrasyleon tom apart
by dogs); 8.17.3 (runaway slaves attacked by dogs). For ‘suffering’ as a key term for
the fates of Socrates and Aristomenes anticipating that of Lucius: introd. §5.
I ... took him by the hand: Aristomenes is the one who actively initiates
Socrates’ escape and manhandles him into action; in 1.17.7 Aristomenes again has
to help Socrates up. Lucius is treated similarly by others, see on 1.26.2.
7
Aristomenes makes Socrates run away to an inn, takes care of him, and gets him to
tell his story: after a business trip, Socrates is waylaid by robbers and taken in by the
innkeeper Meroe, who first uses him sexually, then takes away all his belongings,

126	Commentary
and finally makes him work in menial jobs. His description of his fate shows some
worrying similarities to Lucius’.
with his head covered: The expression is used to indicate shame (cf. on 1.6.4)
and sadness (e.g. Curtius Rufus 4.10.34.3), but overwhelmingly for veiling in a
religious context (e.g. Cicero Dom. 124.4; Livy 1.18.7.1 etc.), all of which sits
uneasily with Keulen’s (2007, 176) interpretation as Socrates being an imitation
of Plutarch’s character of the defeatist superstitious man (On Superstition 7). In a
w ider context, though, veiling one’s head is a gesture of mourning, even of the soon
to be dead (cf. Tibullus 1.1.70f., Suetonius Jul. 82 (Caesar’s death)), so that this
gesture here also anticipates Socrates’ death at the end of the book. By contrast, it is
notable that the real Socrates unveils his head in Plato Phaedo 118a when he feels
his death approaching.
Let, oh let: The melodramatic reduplication (geminatio) shows Socrates’
emotional distress, also in 1.8.2 (again Socrates speaking), 2.28.3 and 6.10.6
(dramatic requests are similarly emotionally charged); cf. Plautus Aul. 713; Per.
591, Terence Eu. 834.
let Fortuna enjoy for longer that trophy which she herself has hung up: For
Fortuna as a leitmotif see introd. § 10.3. Fortuna here is a powerful divinity in receipt
of a tropaeum, a monument of the spoils taken from fugitive enemies, usually made
of a wooden post with a horizontal bar, on which trophies could be hung, e.g.
helmets and arms of the enemy (for that meaning cf. e.g. 10.25.5 and 31.6). The
place of its erection became sacred to the gods of war. In Roman representations,
often male and female prisoners kneeling or sitting next to the tropaeum were part of
its iconography, and Socrates here seems to see himself as both the trophy stand and
Fortuna’s prisoner beside it in a tableau of defeat. Fortuna is portrayed as victorious
e.g. in Petronius 101.1, where her role is comic (Schmeling 2011, 399); cf. also
above on 1.6.3.
7.2	I took off one of my two garments and ... covered him: A gesture with
complex associations throughout the novel: Aristomenes’ action inverts Meroe’s
after Socrates has fallen amongst the robbers, as she had taken his last garment off
him. In 1.19.11 contego is used once again by Aristomenes for Socrates’ burial. Like
the veiling, this ‘covering’ thus anticipates both Socrates’ burial and Lucius’ fate: in
11.14.3 the Isis priest will likewise order the naked Lucius newly retransformed into
his human form to be covered with a linen garment, and one member of the procession
obeys, throwing his outer garment over Lucius. See also below on 1.7.10; lacinia
occurs 26 times in Apuleius, twice in 1.7 (where it unusually indicates the whole
garment) and once in 1.23.1, where it has its usual meaning ‘edge of garment’.
to the baths: Aristomenes begins to offer typical ingredients of guest-friendship
to Socrates (introd. §6.1), including a bath, also a necessity for the filthy Socrates.
Just as Aristomenes’ trip to the baths is interrupted by unexpectedly meeting an old
friend, Lucius in 1.24 first heads to the baths only to meet Pythias out of the blue,
and have the bath afterwards. Lavacro trado, unique to Apuleius, recurs twice, in

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127
both cases used for Lucius in rites of passage: in 11.1.4 (Lucius cleanses himself in
the sea before praying) and 11.23.1 (Lucius washes before an initiation). Psyche,
too, is given a bath when she arrives in Cupid’s palace in 5.2.3 and offers one to her
sisters in 5.15.1. Both Socrates and Psyche are alter egos for Lucius. At the same
time, this last bath of Socrates anticipates his funeral: in 9.30.7, the miller killed by
the ghost, whose description shows some echoes of Socrates, is given his last bath
before his funeral. Plutarch On Exile 4 (600b), as Keulen 2007, 176 notes, describes
how to “make a stand against Fortune” in a way found in comedies. The advice is
to seek ‘fire, a bath house, a cloak, a roof’, which is exactly what Aristomenes does
for Socrates.
7.3	an enormous layer of filth I scraped off with great effort: Roman bathing
customs involved covering the body with oil and scraping it off with a strigil.
Apuleius continues to establish multiple parallels between Lucius, Aristomenes and
Socrates: the cleaning of Socrates recalls verbatim Lucius’ refreshing of his horse
(1.2.3). Lucius will also feed his horse twice in Met. 1 (1.2 and 24), as Aristomenes
feeds Socrates twice (here and 1.19).
The transmitted eluviem ‘the washing away (e.g. of filth’), printed e.g. by
Hanson 1989, has no real parallel in the required meaning ‘filth’, and was emended
to illuviem (‘the state of being unwashed, filthy condition, dirt’) by Oudendorp,
followed by Hildebrand, and printed e.g. by Keulen 2007 and Zimmerman 2012,
followed here.
led him to an inn ...: Hospitium occurs five times in Met. 1, indicating the
importance of the hospitality motif in the book (introd. §6.1). Here it means ‘inn’, as
in Petronius 91.3 and 95 (Schmeling 2011, 389), whereas in Met. 1.21.8 and 25.6 it
is used in the wider sense of house or lodgings. In 1.22.7 and 23.6 it indicates Milo’s
hospitality.
I revived him with a bed, filled him with food, relieved him with drink, and
soothed him with stories: Not much alcohol is needed for the emaciated Socrates
to appear somewhat drunk in Met. 1.11. Wine and food form part of a typical
hospitium scene, so Aristomenes’ intentions are correct, although the execution
may be exaggerated. There is no need to assume this to indicate excessive wine
drinking (Keulen 2007, 182). For the contrast with the real Socrates’ ability to hold
his drink see introd. §10.1. Story-telling becomes part of the relief Aristomenes
has in mind for Socrates, another aspect of hospitium, and, as often the case in
hospitality narratives, we hear only the guest’s, Socrates’, story, not Aristomenes’.
Similarly Lucius, once turned donkey, will find consolation in words and stories; cf.
also above on 1.1.1 (the reader’s ears) for stories having a soothing effect.
7.4	Soon there was an effortless inclination for chatting and joking and there
was clever banter, soon sparkling wit: Gradual building up of different kinds
of banter and joking. Cicero De Oratore 2.218 defines ‘banter’ (<cavillatio) as wit
equally distributed throughout the conversation, and the more mordant ‘wit’ of
dicacitas as short and sharp. In 2.19.3 (Byrrhaena’s dinner entertainment) a similar

128
Commentary>
list appears in a similarly sympotic context: ‘soon laughter was plentiful, the jokes
were free and banter (cavillus) everywhere’. The syntax, with the turning point
in the cum inversum clause (‘when he drew...'), marks the sudden change from
comical banter into Socrates’ tragic behaviour, which starts again as soon as he
begins to speak. The incongruity between the actions, described by Aristomenes
with his more comic outlook and lexicon, and Socrates’ more tragic words, adds a
comic dimension (May 2006, 132-39).
F’s transmitted timida ‘timid’ is problematic (although printed by e.g. Robertson
1965 and Hanson 1989; defended by Augello 1977,29 as an oxymoron), as dicacitas
= wit is quite the opposite of ‘shy'. Humanists printed tinnula (‘ringing, jangling;
sparkling’, also in Zimmerman 2012 and here), which Beroaldo found in a now lost
manuscript. Others have emended, e.g. Keulen 2007 who prints mimica ‘mimic’
and sees a climactic progression in the conversation from hesitation to all out
clowning, but in the parallel passage Met. 2.19.3 (see above) there is not necessarily
a noticeable climax.
he drew from his innermost heart a torturous sigh, and repeatedly struck his
forehead savagely with his right hand: A melodramatic gesture: the phrase recalls
Viigil’s ghost of Hector appearing to Aeneas (Vergil A. 2.288), but undermines the
allusion with a possibly Plautine word for ‘sigh’, suspiritus (Plautus Cist. 56, Mer.
114, Tru. 600, instead of the epic gemitus; Sandy 1997, 252; Keulen 2007, 187),
adding a comic touch to Socrates’ ghostly fate. Socrates’ clenched hand pressed to
the chest is a very dramatic gesture, e.g. of remorse (Quintilian Inst. 11.3.104).
7JS Wretched man that 1 am: Socrates is melodramatic in his language and
intentions, but perhaps not quite tragic in their execution, cf. his displaying of his
genitals (1.6.4). Me miserum features regularly in tragedy: Ennius 180 Jocelyn
{Hecuba), Pacuvius trag. 264 Ribbeck {Niptra) etc., but also in comedy: Afranius
409 Ribbeck, Plautus Aul. 721, Terence An. 646 etc. See on 1.6.1 for the repeated
portrait of Socrates as ‘wretched’.
the pleasure of quite a famous gladiatorial spectacle: This sits uneasily with
the tragedy evoked by Socrates, again contrasting comic action and melodramatic
tone with his tragic self-portrait. ‘Pleasure’ {voluptas) is a loaded term in Met. ', used
of gladiatorial games in 4.13.2 and 4.14.1, cf. also 10.35.1, but also of sex, 1.8.1
in connection with Socrates. Interest in gladiatorial games throws further light on
Socrates’ self-portrait here: although popular with all classes, they were regarded by
the elite as a low class entertainment {e.g. Horace Ep. 1.18.19); in Petronius 45.4-7
the detailed discussion of gladiatorial games characterises the speakers’ boorishness
(Ewigleben 2000, 131).
Larissa was the prosperous capital of the Thessalian League. There were two
different types of games at Larissa; the Eleutheria (held every four years and which
were open to foreigners), and annual local games. The games included, amongst
other competitions, aphippodroma, specifically Thessalian horse mounting
competitions, important enough to be represented on Larissan coins, and gladiatorial

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games. Gallis 1988 has an image of the inscription on SEG 32.605, the tombstone
of the gladiator Phoibos killed in Larissa’s gladiatorial games in the second half
of the second century AD. Both Socrates and Lucius are interested in spectacles
but become spectacles themselves, apt metaphorical metamorphoses for both. On
Apuleius’ Socrates as an anti-Socrates and anticipation of Lucius see introd. §10.1.
7.6	as you know very well: Another indication that Socrates and Aristomenes
are close friends and knew of each other’s travel plans beforehand (cf. on 1.6.1);
Socrates’ assertion that Aristomenes knows something well may again be poking
gentle fun at the real Socrates’ famous claim to ignorance, cf. on 1.6.4.
in the tenth month I returned home much wealthier: On the importance of the
timespan see above on 1.6.3.
Larissa Loukios lies to Hipparchos in Onos 3.4 that he plans to go to Larissa,
a town very much associated with witchcraft in Met.: Thelyphron’s encounter with
witchcraft is also set in Larissa (2.21.3). Lucius makes no such statement to Milo.
For Larissa see also above on Met. 1.7.5.
in some pathless valley full of crevasses I was beset by some gigantic robbers:
Lucius moves through a similar landscape in 1.2.2, but instead of encountering
robbers he meets Aristomenes and his companion. Inimical landscapes are often
infested by robbers, e.g. 4.6 (the robbers’ cave is described in similar terms; De
Biasi 2000, 21 Of.), repeatedly in Met. 8. Likewise, Apuleius’ robbers are always
gigantic: in 3.5.2 a robber has a ‘large body’; in 2.32.2 Lucius invents robbers with
similar features; Tlepolemus deceives the robbers to accept him as their chief in 7.5
because of his impressive physique (robbers in Met. : Dowden 1993; Riess 2001).
7.7	a certain innkeeper called Meroe, an old woman, but still quite sexy:
Female innkeepers were quite frequent and had a bad reputation, often associated
with prostitution (McGinn 1998, 53-58). Meroe’s speaking name evokes merum,
undiluted wine; for a possible pun with merus cf. on 1.8.6. Meroe likes to drink
(1.10.3), and drinking undiluted wine is unseemly, which agrees with her sexually
charged character; cf. Mero, a masculine form given to Nero explicitly to evoke
his drinking habits in Suetonius Tib. 42. In ancient literature, old women are often
said to drink (refs in May 2006,260ff.), and equally often are associated with loose
morals and especially witchcraft. Compare Oenothea, an old woman with a speaking
name in Petronius 134.13ff.: ‘wine goddess’, or ‘she whose goddess is wine’, thus
Schmeling 2011, 519. In literature, old women like to drink, cf. e.g. Dipsas in Ovid
Am. 1.8.1-2. Just like other literary witches, for example Horace’s Canidia, the
witches in Roman elegy, Melitta and Bacchis in Lucian’s Dialogues of Courtesans
4 or Simaetha in Theocritus’ Idyll 2, Meroe is of questionable morals. Dickie 2000,
581 groups these literary women together as soon-to-be prostitutes or prostitutes
who have no qualms in using love magic. Roman witches are invariably old, e.g. the
Thessalian witch Erictho in Lucan; cf. Horace Epod. 5.98; S. 1.9.30; Ovid Rem. 254.
Meroe’s portrait is thus primarily a literary one. Socrates’ subsequent enslavement
to Meroe as her lover has been seen as an elegiac servitium amoris (‘enslavement to

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Commentary»
the beloved’) to an aloof and grasping mistress, a sexually dominant older woman,
to the extent that he later will sell all his meagre belongings for her (1.7.10; Mathis
2008, Hindermann 2009, 2010). Despite her age, Socrates succumbs to Meroe’s
(magical?) attractions (although Tatum 1969, 494 is rather harsh in partly blaming
Socrates for his situation for finding Meroe attractive to start with).
Another possible link is with Isis, through Meroe, the capital of Ethiopia and an
important temple site for the Isis cult (Juvenal 6.522T). In Met. 1.8.8 Meroe makes
Ethiopians fall in love with her. This would turn her into an anti-image of Isis as
much as Socrates is an anti-Socrates. Apuleius perhaps wants all these negative
interpretations of the name to sit next to each other. On the name most recently:
Michalopoulos 2006.
In Greece old women were allowed to move about outside the houses more
freely, as they were deemed to be beyond sexuality, which makes Meroe, an elderly
business woman, even more remarkable since she is still sexually voracious.
Scitula ‘sexy’ appears only in Plautus and Apuleius, usually for pretty young
girls and only here for an old hag (who is sensitive about her age and appearance,
cf. Met. 1.9 and 1.12.2): Met. 2.6.7 it is used of Photis, in 5.25.5 Cupid calls Psyche
puella scitula; in both cases the men are strongly attracted to the women. In 10.30.5
the adverb describes ‘Paris’ moving gracefully in a pantomime. Erotic attraction
also plays a role in 3.15.8 where it describes the kind of young man Pamphile is
attracted to, and in 7.21.2, where attractive women are all supposedly threatened by
Lucius the donkey’s alleged randiness.
the reasons for my long travels, my anxiety to return home, and my miserable
plundering: At the beginning of this hospitium relationship everything is still going
to plan. Enquiries by the host to the guest about their journey are normal, but by
delaying Socrates against his will, Meroe falls foul of proper hospitality just as
Calypso initially delays Odysseus against his will (cf. 1.12.6; Fernandez Contreras
1997,109). When the host demands more of the guest than is allowed by the rules of
hospitium, hospitality goes wrong, and especially where the host does not allow her
guest to leave. For similarities in Socrates’ and Lucius’ experiences of hospitality
see introd. §6.1.
7.8	She began to treat me more than kindly: A loaded phrase: in 10.17.2 Lucius
the donkey uses humane (‘kindly’) consciously to describe his master treating him
not like a donkey but feeding him human food.'Here it ironically anticipates Meroe’s
less than kind (and less than humane) treatment of Socrates and the witch’s ability
to transform humans into animals.
[diuturnae et dum]: An obvious dittography, excluded by all editions, and left
untranslated.
7.8	a gratis dinner, gratefully received,: For Socrates, sex and food are equally
important, as the construction (both nouns depend on adplicat) makes clear. Socrates
is pleased for two reasons, namely as an impoverished traveller receiving a free
meal, and as someone already a little attracted to his hostess before the magic is

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131
applied. He also is indebted to her, and because he is unable to pay the innkeeper
for board and food, he may not feel able to refuse her. Both pleasures will be short¬
lived, as Meroe makes him work for his upkeep and takes his last clothes from him,
and he now wishes to escape from her influence and finds himself unable to do so
for reasons he will explain in Met. 1.9. Word games such as the anaphora of grat¬
are favourite rhetorical tools for Apuleius in Met. 1 (introd. §12).
excited by lust: ‘Lust’ urigo, first found here and in 8.29.4 (also negatively, of the
randy priests of the Dea Syria), indicates inappropriate sexuality; similarly Pamphile
in 2.5.8 ‘bums forever in lust’ (uritur) for young lovers. Literally ‘itching’, urigo is
a very negatively charged technical term in medicine, e.g. Vegetius Mulomedicina
3.52.1.
7.9	from that one single act of sex I contracted an aging and pestilential wife:
Meroe is seen as old, disease-bringing and insalubrious: a medical metaphor (cf. e.g.
10.33.3,	where the real Socrates is killed by the ‘harmful juice of that pestilential
plant’, herbae pestilentis suco noxio), continued in contraho ‘contract’ (cf. below).
Socrates is apologetic; the medical imagery displays the flipside of the common
idea of love as an irresistible illness: Meroe becomes a disease against which there
is no defence. On love sickness in the novels: Luchner 2004, 229-40. One single
act of sex puts Socrates under the witch’s power, a motif shared e.g. by Homer Od.
10.339-468, where Odysseus does not only refuse drink and food from Circe, but
also intercourse, in order to avoid falling under her spell and being transformed into
an animal like his men (Schlam 1992, 69).
F’s con contraho is either a dittography with con to be deleted (e.g. A and editio
princeps, followed by e.g. Keulen 2007, Zimmerman 2012 and here), making
annosam ac pestilentem (i.e. Meroe) its object, or con has to be supplemented
to form the object of contraho, e.g. as consuetudinem (‘sex’, Van der Vliet),
coniunctionem (‘relationship’, Hanson 1989) etc., or emended into another word,
e.g. cladem (‘calamity’, Helm). Treating Meroe as the object who can be contracted
like a marriage and a disease requires the least intervention in the text and forms a
striking metaphor.
7.10	those garments: The only thing that Socrates had left that belonged to him.
Again he anticipates the fate of Lucius, who first gets clothed by the Isis initiates
after his immediate retransformation in Met. 11.14.3 (cf. on 1.7.2), and then has to
sell his clothes in 11.28.3 for an initiation, just as Socrates first loses most of his
clothes to the robbers, and then the rest to Meroe, just to be covered again with
half of Aristomenes' clothes. Losing one’s clothes thus symbolises the losing and
regaining of one’s humanity and independence (Schlam 1978,96, Van Mal-Maeder
1997, 102, Keulen 2007, 197).
the good robbers: Bonus in Met. 1 gradually becomes more ironic, sinister and
sarcastic, describing the witches in 1.7.10, 1.13.2, 1.13.6 and 1.15.6, and is used
again ironically of robbers in 4.8.9 (Roncaioli 1963).
working as a sack-carrier: Saccarii are sack-makers and -sellers and the men

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Commentary
who loaded and unloaded cargo ships in the ports (Digest 18.1.40.3). Socrates’
working as a porter again anticipates Lucius who will carry sacks as a donkey (van
derPaardt 1978, 83).
my good wife and evil Fortune: Sarcastic use of the normal term for wives; uxor
is used in its regular meaning in 1.6.3 (Socrates’ wife) and 1.9.5 (wife of Meroe’s
lover); Pamphile is Milo’s uxor e.g. in 1.21.6, 1.22.7 and 1.23.1, but Meroe is not
Socrates’%wife’. As a legal term, it indicates the marriage between two freeborn people,
which clashes directly with Socrates’ portrait as Meroe’s slave and entails the same
sarcasm found in ‘good’, which is intended to correspond with the following ‘evil
Fortune’ and compares Meroe unflatteringly with the ‘good robbers’ who had at least
left Socrates some clothes. Greek gamos does not necessarily mean ‘marriage’, but
can be any kind of sexual union, as also in the context of magical papyri, where the
goal of binding spells seems to be erotic union between sexually available partners
rather than marriage, cf. Dickie 2000, 570f. Lucius on the other hand wants to keep
his host Milo’s marriage intact and not try to seduce Pamphile (2.6.6), i.e. Apuleius
avoids this mixing of categories of wives and lovers.
The chapter ends as it began by blaming the ‘evil’ goddess Fortuna, a literary
rather than religious motif, cf. Plautus Rud. 501; May 2006, 322.
8
Socrates reveals that Meroe is a witch with cosmic powers, who can make the whole
world fall in love with her. Aristomenes is sceptical. Ominous links with the ghost
in Met. 9 (see introd. §11) and Lucius’ fate continue, especially through associating
Meroe w ith Isis.
8.1	By Pollux: Pol is archaic and comic (in Plautus predominately used by men,
and in Terence by women), and almost disappeared after Varro (Ullman 1943-44,
87-89), especially in the combination pol quidem, e.g. Plautus Bac. 394, Terence
An. 459 etc. Its initial position in the sentence characterises Aristomenes’ reply to
Socrates’ melodramatic speech as comic-bathetic, an attempt to undercut Socrates’
tragic histrionics (May 2006, 135).
to suffer the worst: The expression foreshadows Socrates’ deadly fate. In 9.14.2
it is used of the miller who dies at the end of his tale through the hands of the
ghost evoked by a witch on behalf of his unfaithful wife, with many thematic and
linguistic overlaps.
you preferred the pleasure of Venus and a hoary whore to your home and
children: As in 1.7.5, ‘pleasure’ is entirely negatively charged. The infidelity of
Apuleius’ Socrates to his wife is the first of many adultery plots in the novel, and
is thus programmatic of its portrait of marriage. It also anticipates Lucius’ fate,
whose lifestyle of ‘servile pleasures’ is condemned by the Isis priest in 11.15.1.
Although Lucius studiously tries to avoid amorous connections (nexo ... Venerio)
with Pamphile in 2.6.6, he enters into an affair with her servant Photis. Voluptas
Veneria occurs only here, in 4.27.7, and before Apul. only in Cicero Tusc. 4.68.

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Scortum scorteum is a pseudo-etymological pun, a type of word game of which
Apuleius is very fond (introd. § 12); here the accumulation of alliterations has a comic
effect. Scortum ‘whore’ is very negatively charged for ‘prostitute’, more pejorative
than e.g. meretrix (cf. Terence Hau. 104f.). In 8.1.5 Thrasyllus is characterised
negatively as nobly bom, but drinking and spending his time with prostitutes
(scortis). For the first time a word describing leathery material is used of a human;
the etymology of scortum as derived from corium ‘hide, skin’ was widely accepted.
Hides were hit and kneaded to make leather, and the joke here explicitly connects
Meroe with the basest aspects of her alleged profession. Similarly, pellicula, Tittle
skin’, was a term for prostitutes in Atellane farce (Varro L. 7.84; Mencacci 2005).
Lar ‘home’, literally the protective guardian spirit of a specific house and
household (cf. on 1.6.3), stands here for the whole home and family, which is a
recurrent motif in Met. Many characters have to leave their home behind because
they have succumbed to witchcraft, which destroys this link. Lucius in 3.19.6
experiences a similar fate, as he swears to abandon his home (larem) for Photis,
turning into a victim of witchcraft similar to Socrates in Met. 1.6, Aristomenes in
1.19.12, and Thelyphron in 2.30.9.
8.2	he moved the finger nearest to his thumb to his mouth: He puts his forefinger
on his mouth in a rhetorical and theatrical gesture to command silence (Juvenal 1.160,
Pliny Nat. 33.1), but the gesture may also evoke mystery religion; it was associated with
Harpocrates, the child of Isis and Osiris, symbolically sucking his thumb, originally as a
sign for the god’s extreme youth, though it was later thought the god was asking for the
silence required for the mystery cults: Ovid Met. 9.692; Plutarch IsicL 68 (378c). This
would anticipate Lucius’ initiation into magic in Met. 3.15 and then into the mysteries
of Isis in Met. 11; cf. also below (gestures: most recently Aldrete 1999, 182).
Be quiet, be quiet: Socrates is fond of reduplication, see 1.7.1. The expression
itself is found primarily in comedy: Plautus Cur. 156; Per. 591; Terence Eu. 834
(and Pseudo-Quintilian Decl. 6.8), giving a possible comic connotation to Socrates’
absurd position. The phrase may also recall and parody the ritual request for silence
at the start of mystery initiations (cf. above).
looking around for means to make our conversation safe: The sentence is
very theatrical, reminiscent of comic eavesdropping scenes to ensure that no one
overhears or watches a secret conversation (Plautus Mil. 955; Mos. 472fi; Trin.
146-51). In Plato Theaetetus 155e, the real Socrates tells his interlocutor to look
around to ensure no (metaphorical) uninitiate is listening. Apuleius’ Socrates here
wants to ensure that Meroe does not listen in; although he does not see her, and she
is not physically present, she still finds out that he has told Aristomenes about her,
see below on 1.12.3 and 5.
that divine woman: A rather respectful reference to Meroe, induced by fear: divinus
here means ‘magical’, as in 3.19.4 divinae disciplinae\ 1.8.4 and 9.29.4, where the
witch is called divini potens (‘with power over the divine’), and in Greek magical
papyri (Pap. Par. 160; Berol. 1.127, 299, 317, 322 etc.) where magic is called ιερά,

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Commentary
‘divine’. The epithet links witchcraft with prophecy (cf. Cicero Div. 2.5.14 etc.), and
witches are called divinae e.g. in Horace S. 1.9.30. For a second-time reader the epithet
gains another, more literary, meaning, since Meroe, through mythological examples,
identifies herself with goddesses in Met. 1.12 (Hecate, Selene and Calypso).
do not contract some harm against you with that unguarded tongue of
yours: Socrates is cautious in a speech where he is about to reveal her powers
as a witch, although he uses the same word that in 1.7.9 associated Meroe with
disease. Noxam contrahere occurs again in Apuleius in 11.21.6 and 23.5, both in
connection to possible transgressions to be avoided during Lucius’ Isis initiations,
which associates Meroe and Isis.
83 That powerful woman and inn-keeping queen: Aristomenes’ potens
(‘powerful’, echoed in Socrates’ answer: divini potens) is an ironic response to
Socrates’ awed semi-divine description of Meroe. ‘Queen’ is a title of respect, even
divinity, cf. Met. 11.2.1 for the Moon goddess in Lucius’ first prayer; Iuno in 6.4.2
and importantly Isis in 11.5.1 and 11.26.3 carry regina as cult titles.
8.4 A witch ... with power of the divine: Socrates finally lets the cat out of the
bag, and describes Meroe’s powers in cliches already encountered in 1.3.1. Saga,
etymologically associated with wisdom and cleverness (sagacitas, thus a ‘wise
woman’) is a common term for a witch (e.g. Cicero Div. 1.31.65; 2.63.129; Tibullus
1.2.42). It is also used in 2.21.7 (generally on witches), and Apol. 31 (to define
Agamede, Medea’s cousin, in Homer//. 11.740f. as a witch). Socrates’ awed answer
echoes feminam divinam (but here genuinely meaning ‘divine’) as a direct reply to
Aristomenes’ sceptical potens. The description of Meroe’s divine powers anticipates
the witch who calls up the larva in 9.29ff. (see introd. §11).
to pull down heaven and to hang up the earth, to solidify fountains and
to wear away mountains, to raise ghosts and to bring down gods, to switch
out stars and light up Tartarus itself·: The general adynata from 1.3.1 are now
attached to Meroe and witchcraft and more clearly associated with magic. Both
lists contain eight powers, which results in superficial correspondences, but this list
excels the first, as Meroe’s powers stretch beyond nature, over gods and ghosts, too.
Apuleius here lists cliches especially associated with a number of witches, mostly
Thessalian, or Medea or Circe from mythology, but at times portrays his witches’
impact as stronger and more menacing than that of their predecessors. This list is
also more clearly arranged into four groups, with each of two powers correlating but
contradictory (the heavens are lowered, the earth is raised etc.).
The phonic echoes and parallelisms intensify the appearance of magical incantations
and give the impression of total chaos. Meroe, Pamphile and Isis share similar cosmic
powers, cf. on 1.3.1. Though Socrates attributes them to Meroe, in this novel none
of the witches who allegedly can make nature bend to their wills succeed in forcing
a single lover to stay with them. Instead they have to take refuge in punishing them,
castrating them, etc. Love magic was however believed to be quite powerful in the
ancient world, with some interesting exceptions (see above on 1.3.1).

Commentary
135
The first pair inverts the cosmic levels of up and down. Pulling down the heavens
is a more generalised, but also more threatening and encompassing version of Met.
1.3,	where the planets and stars are tom from the sky.
The next pair inverts the order of hard and soft in a variation of the magic in 1.3
immobilising the sea, but durare is also used of magic in Met., e.g. in 2.1.4 (humans
metamorphosed/hardened’ into stones) and Lucius’ skin hardening into bristle when
he turns into a donkey in 3.24.4. Dissolving mountains has no equivalent in 1.3.1.
The third pair, which again has no equivalent in Met. 1.3, inverts life and death,
heaven and hell, and is associated with magic, cf. 2.28f. (the dead Thelyphron is
conjured by the Egyptian priest Zatchlas). It forms another link between Meroe the
anti-Isis and Isis, who in 11.5.1 is called Queen of the Shades (regina manium).
Apuleius defines the Shades {Manes) in Socr. 15 (152f.) as those who had become
gods for leading good lives, and includes Isis’ consort Osiris, whom she raised from
the dead, in their number. Whereas Isis brings order to the cosmos, Meroe as anti-
Isis throws it into chaos. More generally, Manes are the spirits of the dead and
associated with the Underworld (CIL 10.2936), in contrast with the gods above.
Cf. also above on 1.6.3. Raising the spirits of the dead was in the Greek context
not necessarily negative in literature (e.g. Homer, Od. 11; for details see below
on 10.3; Odysseus’ ‘ditch’ is mentioned by Apuleius as an example of magic in
Apol. 31) and the real world (e.g. at the Thesprotian oracle), though e.g. Heliodorus’
necromancing witch in Aethiopica 6.14f. is equally negatively charged In Roman
literature necromancy is progressively negative in its depiction. The Thessalian witch
Erictho’s necromancy in Lucan 6.419-830 is clearly lurid and transgressive. Being
able to force the gods to bend to the magician’s will is common in ancient magic
(e.g. in 3.16.2 Pamphile threatens the sun for not disappearing quickly enough; Pap.
Lond. 125.10ff.; Theocritus 7.106ff.), usually through naming the deity, see Abt
1908 44-50 (118-24). Infimare ‘to bring down’ occurs first here and in Apul. Socr.
4 (127), in contrast there, too, to sublimare ‘to raise’.
The last pair inverts darkness and light, echoing 1.3.1 where the stars are tom
out, but again Meroe is stronger than the adynata in 1.3 anticipate, as she can put
out the lights of the stars altogether, cf. also 2.5.5, the powers of Pamphile, who
can sink the light of the stars into the deepest Tartarus. Tartarus is notably gloomy
and dark (Hesiod Th. 720ff.), and normally the place of punishment for the worst
mythological evildoers (e.g. Vergil A. 6.542ff.). For Apuleius, though, Tartarus is
more genetically the home of the dead (Socr. 5 (129)), and in Met. 6.17.1 it is
Tartarus where Psyche is compelled to go and where the shades of the dead (manes)
reside. Isis, too, illuminates Acheron, another word for the Underworld, in 11.6.6,
and tramples Tartarus under her feet in 11.25.3. Aristomenes in 1.15.5 uses the image
of staring into Tartarus to express his utmost despair after having been exposed to
Meroe’s harmful magic, thus making this claim of her ability at least a ‘reality’.
8.5	remove that tragic curtain and fold up that comic backdrop: The siparium
is a small theatrical curtain, which is pulled up when the acts are changed or which

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Commentary
hides parts of the stage facade, whereas the aulaeum is a laige drop curtain which is
lowered at the beginning and raised at the end of comedies and tragedies. Its removal
therefore indicates the end of a theatrical performance, here used metaphorically (the
phrase recurs in its literal sense in 10.29.5: see May 2006, 122f. for the theatrical
connotations in both instances). Aristomenes asks Socrates to stop being such a drama
queen and to use non-tragic, ordinary language. Despite Socrates’ predilections for
tragic language, the plot he finds himself part of moves from a mime plot, with a
man scared of his sexually voracious lover who then breaks into his bedroom to take
revenge, to fleeting happiness after a false death, and finally to tragic death and exile
of the protagonists. Socrates’ story with its reversals of fortune is therefore a precis of
the plot of Metamorphoses as a whole, and a warning to Lucius.
The future imperatives could be solemn, but in the paratragic context of theatre
evoked here they recall comic language, cf. also 1.24.2. The paratactic oro with
imperative (as here and in 1.21.4, to indicate a request or a question, see OLD s.v.
If) is comic and colloquial, cf. Plautus Am. 923 etc.
8.6 making men fall in love with her madly: Interestingly enough, the general
description of love magic as powerful does not tally at all with the description of
Socrates’ reaction to her: he tries to flee from her. On love magic and its problematic
effectiveness see introd. §11.
Indians and Aethiopians (both kinds), and even Antipodeans: The four
peoples denote the world’s periphery (e.g. Herodotus 3.106.1, Strabo 1.2.28).
Meroe’s influence over them gives her cosmic and erotic powers a spatial dimension.
Apuleius in FI. 6; 15.16-18; Mund. 6 (301), 7 (302), 26 (348); PI 1.3 (186) sees
the Indians as noteworthy for living far away beyond the Persians and near the
surrounding Oceanus. Indian snakes (also in FI. 5) appear on Lucius’ Isiac cloak in
11.24.3.	Aethiopians were thought to have settled both in Africa and Asia; Homer
Od. 1.22-4 locates both sets as έσχατοι άνδρων ‘the most remote of men’. In Apul.
Met. 11.5.3 Isis is known by the inhabitants of ‘both Aethiopias’. Meroe is also the
capital of Aethiopia (Vasunia 2001, 47-53, Parker 2008, Finkelpearl 2012). This
again creates a link between the witches and Isis. Anticthones are the inhabitants of
the temperate zone in the Southern hemisphere opposite to ours: Pomponius Mela
1.4; 1.54, Pliny Nat. 6.81.
Occasionally a link between dark skin and sexual desire is made, e.g. Aeschylus
Supp. 785-805. At Horace S. 2.814f. a Roman woman’s desire for dark-skinned
lovers is lampooned, which suggests this desire was considered an oddity.
idle matters of her art and mere trifles: Folia, literally ‘leaves’, are insubstantial
and inconsequential (Ovid Am. 2.16.45 compares the words of girls with leaves);
leaves were also used for magic, e.g. PGC 24a; Theocritus 2. There may also be an
erotic subtext: nugae merae is used in Plautus Cur. 199 and Poen. 348 disrespectfully
of other people’s female lovers; Cicero Att. 6.3.5 is more general, of men. There is
a possible pun on merus (‘mere’) and her name Meroe.
in plain sight of several people: Meroe is so powerful that she does not need

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137
to hide her witchcraft, though magic is usually practised without witnesses (Met.
2.29f.; in 9.29f. the witch and her ghost act without witnesses) or under the cover of
darkness, cf. above on 1.5.1. Eyewitnesses do not ensure truthfulness and credibility,
cf. on 1.4.2 and 1.9.6.
A reads in conspectu, F in conspectum. The former is printed by almost all recent
editions, e.g. Keulen 2007, Zimmerman 2012, the latter by e.g. Hanson 1989. In
conspectum would require a verb of movement, whereas in conspectu gives the
more natural meaning ‘in plain sight’, especially when followed by a genitive, cf.
e.g. Bellum Hispanicum 40.4 or Caesar Gal. 7.80.
9
Socrates lists Meroe’s magical feats; they offer insights into the rationale and
mechanisms of human to animal metamorphosis.
9.1	Her lover: The emphatic word order ostensibly foregrounds love magic, not
the cosmic magic featured in 1.8.4.
he had dared to make advances: Usually temerare describes stark violations of
contracts (marriage, sacrilege, also sexual violence etc., Adams 1982, 199). Meroe
seems to consider herself to be the victim of a breach of ‘contract’ between her lover
and herself.
she turned with a single word: In 2.5.7 Pamphile, too, allegedly enacts her
magical metamorphoses ‘in one single moment’. In fact, her own transformation
into an owl takes long and meticulous preparation, and we can never verify Meroe’s
instantaneous metamorphic skills. Verbum ‘word’ can indicate a magical incantation,
cf. Horace Ep. 1.1.34; Tibullus 1.5.43; Lucan 6.446 etc.
9.2	that beast, when it fears captivity, frees itself from its pursuers by biting off
its testicles: Beaver genitalia were believed to be the source of castoreum, a glandular
secretion from their castor sacs, widely used in ancient medicine (Pliny Nat. 32.29-31).
Beavers were therefore killed for their genitalia, and it was commonly supposed that
they castrated themselves when cornered to avoid this (Phaedrus 28.1; Pliny Nat. 8.109;
Juvenal 12.34. etc.); the belief is reflected in the etymology of castor (from castrare,
‘to castrate’, Servius' commentary on Georgies 1.58). Genitalia is ambiguous (penis or
testicles, or both), although the plural is clearly used to indicate testicles in Met. 7.23.2.
The metamorphosis is therefore aptly vindictive: the lover will slice off the part of his
body that has offended Meroe. Panthia likewise suggests castration as a punishment
for Socrates in 1.13.2; this accords with the sexually rapacious and violent nature of
the witches in Met. Castration is a serious threat to Lucius, the victim of witchcraft,
and one he dreads very much, during his time as a donkey (7.23-26: a punishment for
alleged lechery); in these cases the castration is prevented, though he is referred to as
a gelded horse (8.23.6) and a castrated ram (8.25.1).
[because he had lusted after another woman]: Leo rightly deleted the phrase
as a gloss erroneously integrated into the text; it does not add anything to 1.9.1
‘because he had dared to make advances to another woman’.

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Commentary
9J A neighbouring innkeeper: The only male innkeeper in the story, and
uniquely not a love but a business rival. Meroe practises not only love magic, but
also the rather common cursing magic meant for business rivals, but goes beyond
the usual binding spells (Gager 1992, 151-74) by metamorphosing her rivals into
appropriate animals (see introd. § 11).
transformed: Deformare ‘to transform, disfigure' connects the punishment
with the changes in both Socrates and Socrates' wife in 1.6.1 and 3, which are also
ultimately a consequence of witchcraft.
a frog: Frogs were proverbial for garrulity (Isidore Orig. 12.6.58), conceit
or pretentiousness (Phaedrus 1.24; Horace S. 2.3.314ff., Petronius 74.13), and
degradation (Petronius 77.6). Their voice is considered as harsh, loud (onomatopoetic
croaking: Varro L. 5.78) and annoying (Aristophanes Frogs 226ff.). In Ovid Met.
6.340ff. Lycian farmers are turned into frogs for refusing to give Leto a drink,
muddying the water by swimming in it. Other people, too, were transformed into
frogs, either by Leto, Demeter or Persephone, whom they stopped from drinking water
from a pond (Antonius Liberalis 35, Probus on Vergil G. 1.378). Unlike the Lycian
farmers, the landlord in Apuleius is entirely innocent. Though still encouraging his
customers to drink with his croaking, he accidentally makes the leftovers of his
wine undrinkable by stirring up the dregs: another apt metamorphosis, see below.
Frogs: Gartner 2009; in magic: Pliny Nat. 32.9.
that old man swims around in a vat of his own wine ... submerged in its
dregs: The dirty and filthy dregs, in the worst part of the vat, are what usually
remains behind once everything else has been drunk (Cicero Brut. 69.244), and the
frog’s frantic swimming stirring up the dregs makes the wine undrinkable. Meroe
has successfully got rid of her rival and his business. In Met. 9.34 wine bubbling in
its vats, and a frog jumping out of the mouth of a dog who himself is then attacked
and killed by a ram, are some of the bad omens that warn an estate-owner of coming
peril. Helm emended F’s accusative to dolio ‘in a vat’ after comparison with Met.
2.29.3	and 5.17.4, where innatare ‘to swim around in’ takes the ablative, followed
by Zimmerman 2012 and here. Robertson 1965, Hanson 1989 and Keulen 2007
keep dolium, although only Vergil G. 2.451 undam ... innatat ‘to swim around in
water’ has the accusative in this meaning {OLD lb).
officious croaking: Although the frog’s transformation has stopped him from
being a successful innkeeper, he still makes his officious and attentive noises of
old. Roncus, an onomatopoeic Grecism, is here uniquely used of frogs; as it usually
describes snoring humans, the human turned frog still makes a human-like sound.
As opposed to the beaver metamorphosis, it becomes clear from this episode that
humans transformed into animals by witches lose their human voice, but still retain
their human mind. This anticipates Lucius’ fate when he himself has become a
donkey but also retains his reason (3.26.1).
9.4	Another man from the forum ... because he had spoken against her:
Mostly the binding spells relating to court cases ask for the opponent to be tongue-

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139
tied (Gager 1992, 116-45, whereas Meroe wishes her opponent to be constantly
bleating inffectively. Aristomenes should take note, since he had insulted her in
1.8.1.
and now he conducts his cases as a ram: Lawyers are often associated with
sheep (Petronius 39.5); in Met. 10.33.1 Lucius calls lawyers ‘cattle from the forum’
(forensia pecora) to describe their stupidities, Artemidorus Onirocritica 2.12
links sophists and teachers with sheep. Additionally, sheep are considered fearful
and stupid. Again the metamorphosis is apt and preserves the lawyer’s human
characteristics of litiginousness and stupidity in his animal form, using a verb
(causas agere - ‘to conduct one’s cases’) specifically associated with his human
activities.
9.5	The wife of a lover of hers, because the woman had uttered some witty
insult against her: This is probably another lover than the one mentioned (and
metamorphosed) previously, and the offence comes from his wife, not from Meroe’s
lover himself.
some witty insult: In 1.12.5 Meroe accuses Socrates of slandering her in
language that echoes his words here, as if she had heard him; Socrates’ punishment
will be considerably harsher, though, than the slanderous wife’s.
big with advanced pregnancy: A similar combination is used in 10.23.3 (again
of a visibly pregnant woman), and sarcina alone in 5.12.2, where it is the weight of
the unborn child itself. Cf. also 4.14.5, the bulk of a female bear.
sealing her womb and holding back the baby inside: This alludes to the
ancient medical concept of a ‘closed womb’: magical knots were associated with
preventing childbirth, the reason why knots were frowned upon in the temple of
Lucina, the goddess of childbirth: Ovid Fast. 3.257. Closing the woman’s womb is
another apt punishment, as she could not keep her mouth shut, and mouth and womb
are closely connected to each other in ancient thought, cf. Hippocrates, Diseases of
Women 2.137 etc. (for ancient gynaecology see King 1998). Apuleius was interested
in gynaecology, using the latest medical knowledge about wombs in his defence
as one of the reasons for his and Pudentilla’s marriage: Apol. 68.2-69.1. Meroe is
furthermore associated with Lamia, a child-devouring monster, in 1.17.5.
9.6	as everyone reckons: Another verification formula does not make this feat
any less incredible.
that poor woman: In Met. 1 at least, misellus describes victims of magic, cf.
1.13.3	(Meroe uses it sarcastically and contemptuously of the soon to be dead
Socrates); 1.19.11 (of the dead Socrates). Lucius, too, is addressed as miselle in
2.7.7	by Photis when she warns him off playfully, which is anticipatory of Lucius’
fate as a victim of magic at her hands.
just as if she were about to give birth to an elephant: Elephants were often
believed to be pregnant for ten years and thus used proverbially for tasks that took
a long time (Pliny Nat. praef. 28; Nat. 8.28; Plautus St. 168f. Achilles Tatius 4.4),
although Aristotle thought their pregnancy lasted either 18 months or three years

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Commentary
(Arist. Historia Animalium 6.27.578a 17-24; in reality it takes a still impressive
22 months). Elephants were generally not bred in captivity but caught alive, which
may have aided the misapprehension. Human pregnancy was thought to last ten
months (Plautus St. 159f„ Terence Ad. 691); thus Meroe turns months into years.
Five- and three-year pregnancies mentioned in Epidaurian inscriptions (possibly
perimenopausal pregnancies) were magically healed overnight by Asclepius during
the women’s incubation in his temple (Hippocrates Nature of the Child 30). Here
the stress is on the weight the woman has to carry: elephant embryos were thought
to be the size of a calf: Aristotle De Generatione Animalium 4.5.773b. (Pregnancies:
see Dillon 1997, 189-92; Demand 1994, 93f.; King 1998, 107).
10
Meroe takes revenge on a whole town and exiles her main accuser to a foreign
country. She takes on even more features from literary witches, especially Medea.
She uses binding spells and ghosts after tomb offerings in a ditch to seal up an
enemy’s house (Ogden 2001, 146).
10.1	As these things happened again and again: F has quae cum subinde,
followed by most modem editors, who assume an ellipse of fierent or a similar
word, as e.g. in Met. 4.26.6f. mater ... spem ... propagabat, cum inruptionis subitae
gladiatorum impetus ... ‘My mother was planting hope, when a sudden attack of
gladiators (happened/occured) ...’, or Tacitus Ann. 4.20.3 (Keulen 2007, 222).
Indignation: ‘Righteous anger’ is a rhetorical tool. Cicero Inv. 1.100 defines it
as a passage through which ‘great hatred ... is excited against a certain person’. It
is used by the prosecution to achieve the conviction of the accused. One of several
rhetorical-judicial terms in this section.
stoning: Stoning also occurs as popular punishment in 2.27.7 (the crowd calls
for Thelyphron’s widow to be stoned), and 10.6.3 (a father asks for his older son to
be stoned for killing his younger son). Here however it is not a spontaneous act but
formalised justice, reflecting the very rare Greek judicial punishment especially for
crimes against the community and religion (Herodotus 9.5; Plutarch Quaestiones
Graecae (300a); Xenophon HG 1.2.13; Aelius Aristides Panathenaicus 227D).
Stoning, too, is threatened in Athenian drama as popular vengeance where the whole
community was harmed: Aeschylus Agamemnon 1616, Myrmidones; Euripides, IA
1349f., Tr. 1039-41 (Helen), Orestes 442; Sophocles Ant. 35f., Oedipus in Euripides
OC 435 wishes for it, etc. It is used to execute a magician or demon in Philostratus
Apollonius of Tyana 4.10. In Greek poetry and comedy community-led purification
can be through stoning the outsider: Aristophanes Acharnians 280f., 295; Clouds
1508. In the Roman world, stoning is not a legal punishment. In Cicero Ver. 2.1.19
and Dom. 12 it is spontaneous and outside the law, more associated with the mythical
past. It is mentioned in Roman comedy, perhaps a Greek inheritance: Plautus Poen.
528, Laberius com. 94 Panayotakis (stoning: Rosivach 1987, Robinson 2007).
10.2	just as that famous Medea: A witch and the granddaughter of the sungod

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141
Helios with similar powers to Meroe. After helping Jason to get the Golden Fleece
and causing the death of his uncle Pelias, the King of Iolcos in Thessaly, by magic,
Medea is deserted by Jason for King Creon of Corinth’s daughter. In Euripides’
Medea, Medea takes revenge on the royal family and Jason by first asking Creon for
one day’s delay before going into exile (cf. below), and using this reprieve to murder
Creon’s daughter and her own sons by Jason before escaping. The comparison is
apt, as Medea is especially linked with Thessaly (through Jason); Keulen 2007,
225 however finds it out of proportion, as Meroe (until now in the story at least)
has not killed anyone yet. But metamorphosing people into animals causes them
considerable damage; like Medea, Meroe will soon be deserted by her lover {Met.
1.12), and the comparison bodes ill for Socrates and ultimately for Lucius. In some
ways Meroe is however specifically cast as different from Medea, who refrains from
sexual intercourse before using magic (Ovid Met. 7.239), a common prescription
(Abt 1908, 38 (112)); Meroe, on the other hand, seems not bound by any purity
rules, fictional or real. Medea herself is exiled and alone when she murders Jason’s
household, Meroe exiles other people. Although this comparison here is specifically
from tragedy (cf. on 1.10.2), Apuleius frequently uses mythological examples for
comic effect (see also next note), e.g. 10.14.7 (a comic comparison between two
squabbling brothers and Eteocles and Polyneices, brothers who kill each other in
battle). Thelyphron in 2.26.8 inappropriately compares himself to Orpheus. The
discrepancies here leave both tragic and comic outcomes open, but Socrates’
association of Meroe with Medea implies associating himself with Jason, with
possible tragic consequences for himself.
for a truce of one small day: Medea asks Creon for the delay of one single
day in extant Medea tragedies, cf. Euripides Med. 355 and 947, and Seneca Med.
288 and 295. The diminutive diecula, ‘one small day’, itself is comic: Plautus Ps.
503; Terence An. 710 (and Varro discussing comedy, L. 11.12), Cicero Att. 5.21,
and three times in Apuleius, including 7.27 where Lucius the donkey is about to be
slaughtered - but the death of a young boy gives him one day’s reprieve; a possible
allusion to a lost Ennius or Accius Medea tragedy: Mattiacci 1994.
burned down his whole house and his daughter together with the old man
himself with the flames from her circlet: The burning of the whole house is not in
Euripides {Med. 378 she rejects the idea of burning the bridal chamber), but in Ovid
Met. 7.394L, Seneca Med. 147, 885f. etc. (the whole house). The ‘flames from her
circlet’ shoot out from the crown Medea poisoned and sent to Creon's daughter, and
bum her alive (Euripides Med. 1186f., Seneca Med. 572f.). Creon himself is burned
to death by them, too, exactly like his daughter, in Euripides Med. 1213-19, as he
instinctively takes hold of her. On the destruction of a whole household as a motif
cf. above on 1.6.3.
10.3	carried out necromantic spells to form a ditch: Witches split the earth
for magical purposes, mostly love magic and necromancy: Ovid Met. 7.243L
(Medea), Am. 1.8.18, Rem. 253f; Tibullus 1.2.45L The motif of ditches used for

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Commentary
necromancy goes ultimately back to the Nekyia of the Odyssey (11.24ff.; cf. Statius
Theb. 11.63) and also plays a role in literary depictions of witches: e.g. Heliodorus
6.14f. (Egyptian witch), Lucan 6.510ff. (Thessalian witch Erictho). In Met. 2.5.4
Pamphile, who shares many characteristics with Meroe, is described as ‘mistress
over all sepulchral spells'. This type of incantation, devotio, is specifically linked
with magical murder and binding spells, cf. 9.29. In 7.14.2 Lucius recalls his
transformation into a donkey as a ‘dire curse\diras devotiones; the same phrase is
used for magic in 9.23.2). For this breakdown of natural boundaries see also 1.8.4,
for necromancy see introd. §11.
Devotiones procurare (‘to carry out spells’) is a unique phrase, but compare e.g.
Cicero Div. 2.25 rebus divinis procuratis (‘having carried out religious rites’; see
OLD lb s.v. procuro). In with the accusative here indicates a goal or result, cf. also
Met. 3.24.3 in avem ... gestiebam (T tried to become a bird’). For suis sibi see above
on 1.6.3.
as she herself told me recently when she was drunk: Socrates claims to be a
trustworthy eyewitness and explains how he gets to know of events that he was not
privy to. The parenthesis itself is thus another verification formula: Meroe carelessly
reveals the truth about this damning tale while bragging about it drunkenly (see
above on 1.7.7). The magic may have become swifter and more easily performed in
its retelling, cf. comm, on 1.9.1.
shut up everyone in their very own houses with the silent force of supernatural
powers: An example of her control over the gods announced in 1.8.4; like the old
witch in 9.29, Meroe forces the gods to obey her will, as does Pamphile in 3.15.7
(icoguntur numina), see also 1.11.2. A similar phrase is used in a magical context
in Met. 3.18.3 (‘the invisible force of constrained supernatural powers’; caeca
numinum coactorum violentia). Silence during prayers leads to suspicions of magic
in Apol. 54.
Meroe is obsessed with doors and borders (Keulen 2007, 229); the motif
anticipates the futility of Aristomenes’ locking himself and Socrates firmly in their
room in the inn: doors locked by magic here anticipate and invert the magical
unlocking of the doors in 1.11.7.
no bars could be broken, no doors torn out, and not even the walls themselves
be breached: A gradation from the small locks to the large walls, with phrases
used in Apuleius and others to express violent attempts (often by robbers: Tibullus
1.10.54; Statius Theb. 10.553; Cicero Ver. 2.4.52; Iustinian. Dig. 47.18.1) to break
into a house. Here the influence of magic precludes the use of physical force. In
Met. 4.10.1 robbers breaking into a house decide not to force the door in order to
avoid any noise. Lamachus then tries to lift the bar through the keyhole. In 9.18.2
Philesitherus intends to bribe Myrmex with gold to tear open the doors. In 3.5.2
Lucius describes the wineskins trying to break into Milo’s house in similar terms to
here. For the appearance of the door and its details see below on 1.11.5, for further
similarities between robbers and witches see on 1.11.7.

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10.4	encouraging each other they cried out in unison: This is a group decision,
swore most solemnly: See 1.5.1. The phrase can also be found in Terence/fee. 771.
they themselves would not lay hands on her: Before Apuleius the phrase
occurs only in Plautus As. 570, where, too, it describes a most solemn violation of
the sacred. Cf. also Apul. FI. 1.1 for a similar notion of sacrilege.
bring help and rescue her: Literally, ‘to bring rescuing help’, a very Apuleian
combination; cf. the following phrases, very similar in meaning: 3.26.3 salutares ...
suppetias, 5.5.5 opem salutarem, 7.27.8 auxilium salutare.
10.5	propitiated in this way: A religious term, used e.g. of the god Risus
(‘Laughter’, 2.31.2; 3.11.4) or related to Cupid (5.22.7,6.1.2), but also employed by
Apuleius to indicate (misguided) worshipping of pseudo-goddesses: Meroe (here),
Photis by Lucius (2.10.5), Psyche falsely as Venus (4.29.4), the character of Venus
in a pantomime (10.32.2). In Met. 11 the term is then linked with the worship of Isis
(related words six times in Met. 11: 2.2, 9.4, 26.3 etc.).
set the whole town free: Instead of being condemned to death for witchcraft,
the witch herself, in inversion of the legal situation, ‘absolves’ the whole city (legal
term: Elster 1991, 150). Importantly, Meroe takes revenge on the whole town, not
only on the person who harmed her (cf. above on 1.10.2). This is a stark warning
to Aristomenes not to help Socrates escape, as he will be punished, too, and, like
the instigator here, will end up as an exile (in 1.12.7 Meroe rightly blames him for
Socrates’ flight).
the man who was responsible for that assembly she transported: In Plato R.
578e Socrates gives a fictitious example of a man transported away from his society
by the gods, who would be compelled to fawn on some of his own slaves and to free
them, even though he did not want to (Smith and Woods 2002, 190).
in the dead of night: In Met. the phrase is ominous: in 2.25.2 (nominative) it
describes the time of night where a witch transformed into a weasel haunts Thelyphron,
and in 6.30.1 (genitive) the time of night when ghosts usually haunt people, whereas
in Apul. Socr. 18 (159f.) it stresses the stealthiness of the Trojan Horse’s nocturnal
assault. Literally ‘un-timely night’; Macrobius Sat. 1.3 defines it as time ‘unsuitable
for conducting business’, Varro L. 6.7 and 7.72 as the ‘time during which nothing
happens’. Virgil Georgies 1.247 associates it with silence (intempestasilet nox) and in
Aen. 12.846 intempesta Nox is ominously personified as the mother of the Dirae (see
on 1.18.5). Intempestus alone is negatively charged, too, as ‘unseasonable, unhealthy’
etc., see OLD 2. Although found in other texts in other cases (first in Ennius Ann. 102;
107 = 33; 160 Skutsch), nocte intempesta is first documented in this form in Accius’
Brutus (Fraet. 41 Ribbeck = 675 Dangel) and then in prose (e.g. Cicero Ver. 2.9.94
etc., Livy 37.14,40.9 etc.) and poetry (e.g. Lucretius 5.986).
together with his whole house, that is, with walls and the floor itself and the
entire foundation: The focus is on the house's physical inpenetrability for anyone
but witches: first Meroe ensures that no one could leave it, and now the complete
house and its surroundings are again subjected to her magic power and in their

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Commentary
entirety transported out of its city to a foreign country. The family and servants are
included in the physical object.
away to the one hundredth milestone: Lapis here stands for the more precise
miliarium ‘milestone’ to mark the distance of one Roman mile (c. 1,5km), cf. Nepos
Art. 22.4. Apuleius uses the same phrase in Apol. 44.6 to indicate a similarly vague
but sufficiently great distance.
on the highest top of a nigged mountain and because of that without water:
‘The highest top’ is a poeticism used elsewhere of mountain tops, e.g. Olympus in
Apul. Socr. 8 (140); Met. 4.35.2, 10.30.1. Its ruggedness is a sign of the place’s
loneliness and unsuitability for civilised human habitation (but see next note). Cf.
also 1.2.6, 4.6.3 (‘rather rugged rocks’, in the description of the robbers’ cave),
8.15.5 (‘rough ridge’ infested by dangerous wolves). The absence of running water,
which is usually available in a locus amoenus (or ‘pleasant place; see below on
I.	18.8), contributes to the portrait of its opposite, the desolate locus horridus.
10.6	the close-built houses of its inhabitants did not offer enough space for
their new guest: Apuleius surprises the reader - we would have assumed that the
barren mountain top would be a place of solitude. ‘New guest’ indicates guest-
friendship (cf. Vergil A. 4.10, Statius Silv. 1.5.60 and 3.2.123; Servius’ commentary
on Aeneid 11.93 etc.) with all its duties and rewards, which is denied here, symbolised
by the absence of water (drink and bath) and the placing of the ‘new guest’ outside
rather than welcoming him into the community.
she threw down the house in front of the city gate: There is no parallel in
ancient witchcraft for this particular feat. In hospitium arrangements new guests
often have to wait outside until asked inside (Reece 1993, 15f.), but Meroe’s
victim seems permanently placed as an outsider; this could be seen as metoikia,
an immigrant’s settlement in a city without acquiring its citizenship. By dropping
the house outside the gate, Meroe places it outside the community, signifying
the inhabitants’ continued outsider status. Note that Milo and Pamphile placed
themselves voluntarily outside the Hypatan community by living physically outside
Hypata’s walls: 1.20.6 and 1.21.3.
11
Aristomenes is rattled by Socrates’ story, barricades the door with his cot and tries
to keep guard through the night, but finally falls asleep. Suddenly someone breaks
through the door and topples over Aristomenes’ bed.
II.	1 Strange ... and indeed quite dire things: This recalls 1.1.2, the novel’s
programmatic statement: Socrates’ tales of witchcraft are part of the prologue’s
announced stories of wonder. Lucius also calls Aristomenes’ story ‘strange’ (mira)
in 1.20.4, and uses the same term again in 2.1.1 when Lucius sets out to explore
Hypata, hoping for magical encounters, and in 2.6.5 (i.e. for stories about magic),
all of which establishes magic as an important leitmotif of the novel. Mira memoras
is a Plautine phrase, expressing amazement, still in agreement with Aristomenes’

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more comic attitude, cf. Plautus Am. 616, 1105, 111 7f., Epid. 553, Men. 1104.
Conversely, in Met. 1.18.4 Aristomenes, relieved to see Socrates awake, happily
attributes the events of the night to a ‘dire’ nightmare. Saevus is often associated
with (bad) Fortuna in Met.: 2.13.2, 5.9.2, 7.16.1, 8.24.1, 11.12.1 etc.
my friend Socrates: For a second time Aristomenes expresses his concern for
his friend with this endearment, cf. 1.6.2.
11.2	In short... with no little anxiety, or rather fear: The new sentence here
brings Aristomenes’ sudden change of mind, stressed by the litotes (understatement
with double negation); although he still jokes about the situation and uses a wide
range of comic words, he is sufficiently worried to barricade himself and Socrates
inside their room.
you have not thrown a mere pebble but a lance of fear at me: An untranslatable
wordplay; compare 1.20.6 for a similarly comic and urbane effect: originally,
scrupulum indicates a ‘pebble in a shoe’, which later acquired the meaning ‘anxiety’
(Terence^*/. 228, Ph. 954; Sisenna hist. 124. Cicero Clu. 76 etc.), used by Apuleius,
too: Met. 6.26.5, 9.33.6, 11.27.11, Apol. 77.3. Lancea (sc. iniecta) is metaphorically
used to indicate that trouble is anticipated (Plautus Mos. 570). There is also a literal
meaning here, anticipating Socrates’ violent death.
that old woman would use some help from divine powers: Meroe’s constant
characteristics are her advanced age (see 1.7.7, verified in 1.12.2) and her ability to
bend the will of the gods to her own, cf. above on 1.10.3.
get to know of our conversation here: The conversation (with the deictic istos)
echoes the dialogic structure of Met. 1.1.1 (‘this tale/conversation’, sermone isto)
and 1.2.6. Aristomenes indicates that both of them are in danger because both
participated in the conversation.
11.3	let us go to rest as quickly as possible and ... as far away as possible:
Aristomenes’ anxiety manifests itself. Travelling at night is inadvisable, cf. 1.15.
They cannot leave the inn before daylight without raising the doorkeeper’s suspicion.
Antelucio occurs only in Apuleius: 1.15.1,9.15.1 andhere,where the unique combination
with noctis stresses even more the unusually early time for their planned departure.
11.4	good old Socrates: More affectionate and less sarcastic than the use of
‘good’ in 1.7.10.
worn out by unaccustomed wine-drinking and unending tiredness: In his
inability to hold his drink, Socrates is the opposite of Meroe, who is a habitual
drinker, and especially of Plato’s Socrates (see introd. §10.1 and Met. 1.7.3).
Although story-telling is tiring (cf. Lucius’ experiences with Milo in 1.26.6), it
is especially the mental and physical ordeal of living with Meroe which brought
Socrates to the state he is in.
already fast asleep and snoring loudly: It becomes clear in 1.15.4 that
Aristomenes is the only person awake in the inn. It is initially because of drink
and then of magic that Socrates does not wake up during the violent attack that
follows. In 2.22.3 Thelyphron, too, is overcome by magically induced sleep, so

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that the witch can steal his body parts. Socrates sleeps all the way through, and
in 1.17.1 it is only the doorkeeper’s intervention which wakes him up. ‘Snoring’
instead of mere ‘sleeping’ here functions as a comic characterisation (Plautus As.
872; Horace S. 1.3.18). In Met., being ‘fast asleep’ (sopitus) is often associated with
drunkenness, or danger from death or magic: in 3.5.5 the drunken Lucius seems to
hear a ‘robber’ (a magically animated wineskin) threaten everyone in Milo’s house
who is sopitus. In 4.18.4, the robbers kill the sleeping (sopiti) guardians of the
house into which they break. In 5.26.4 Psyche watches Cupid sleeping (sopitum)
just before she tries to kill him, and in 6.20.2 Psyche puts Cerberus to sleep on her
way to the Underworld.
11.5	But I shut the door and fastened the bolts, and even placed my cot behind
the pivots and pushed it tightly against the door, and placed myself on top of it:
Aristomenes turns the bedroom into a fortress, using all locking systems available
in antiquity, although this becomes clear only gradually. In domestic houses, doors
were often batten doors where the door leaves are vertical wooden planks, held
together with horizontal or diagonal cross members, surrounded by two posts or
jambs (postes); and whereas entrance doors usually have two wings, interior doors
could have either one or two wings. As is necessary here for Aristomenes to be able
to barricade himself, Roman doors open to the inside (Pliny Nat. 36.112). They turn
on two pivots (cardines) which were placed into metal sockets (foramina; Vitruvius
10.6.3)	in the door sill and the lintel and were often the weak points when doors
were broken into (Plautus Am. 1026, As. 388). Every door wing is closed with two
bolts (pessuli), one each into sill and lintel, which offered resistance to attempts to
push the door open from the other side. Wooden or iron bars (sera or repagula) were
placed into sockets on each side of the doorway (Ovid Am. 1.6.24-56). Locks were
also attached to the doors, which could only be opened with keys, cf. Met. 1.14.7.
The bolt part of the lock itself is also confusingly called pessuli: the keys were
inserted from below to open the lock’s bronze or iron pessuli. Aristomenes locks
the pessuli on the door’s valve, puts a bar across (cf. on 1.11.7 and 14.1), locks the
door with a metal lock (1.14.7), and pushes a bed against the pivot, to strengthen the
door’s weakest part (doors: Walsh 1983; locks: Gaheis 1930).
Aristomenes stresses his position on the bed as part of his defences set up against
the witches, but already in the next sentence his situation becomes inverted. That his
careful preparations come to nothing is not unexpected when pitted against witches
who can lift whole houses for hundreds of miles (1.10). This (futile) barricading
against witchcraft has a comic atmosphere: pessulus is regularly found in the comic
writers (e.g. Plautus Aul. 103f., Cist. 649; Cur. 147ff; Terence Hau. 278 etc.) but
not in classical Latin; foris in the singular is comic (Plautus Am. 496; Bac. 833;
Terence Ad. 264). The diminutive grabattulus ‘cot’ occurs only in Apuleius Met. 1
and 2, and increases the impression of comic dinginess (Aristomenes’ and Milo’s)
associated with a grabatus ‘cot’. For Cicero Div. 2.63.129 and Seneca Ep. 18.7 a
grabatus is the symbol of poverty. As here, it is often a rope bed (Lucilius 251; in

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Petronius 98 Giton clings to the webbing of a grabatus). Adducta fore ‘shut the
door’ occurs only here and in 9.30.4, indicating an important mirror scene of murder
and witchcraft (see introd. §4.1 and 11).
For F’s ungrammatical cardine, both emendations, cardinem or cardines, are
possible, and doors usually have two pivots per valve. Aristomenes pushed his bed
against the lower pivot. If the door has two valves, the plural would be appropriate
here. Cf. also Met. 9.30.6 for the singular, and 1.11.7 and 3.5.2 for the plural.
11.6	At first, for fear, 1 stayed awake for a little while: Witches are unsurprisingly
not part of the usual list of things which keep people awake with fear (metu) in Horace
S. 1.1.76-8 (‘evil thieves, fires, their slaves’), but fear (metus) is again associated
with Aristomenes three times in Met. 1.19 and becomes his main characteristic from
now on.
about the third watch or so: The night is divided into four watches of roughly
three hours; the third watch is the three hours after midnight, and the ‘right’ time for
apparitions and ghosts, cf. Met. 3.3.5, where Lucius mistakes magically animated
wineskins for robbers, and both Aristomenes and Lucius (at the end of bk 2) believe,
wrongly, that robbers are trying to break in during the third watch. On nocturnal
magic see introd. §11.
1 closed my eyes a little: Similar phrases indicate that the person has fallen
asleep in Met. 4.25.1 (Charite wakes up after a fitful sleep in the robbers’ cave to
tell her nightmare) and 11.3.2 (Lucius wakes up on the beach before Isis appears
to him). This suggests falsely that the following is a dream, though it turns out
to be stark reality and the consequence of dabbling with witches, and essentially,
unknown to Aristomenes, a necromancy (Panayotakis 1998, Hunink 2006, Slater
2007). For important divergences from ‘normal’ dreams cf. on 1.12.3.
11.7	1 had just fallen asleep when suddenly...: Note the ease with which the
witches crash Aristomenes’ careful and time consuming precautionary arrangements,
echoing the ease of Meroe’s previous feats (1.9). Cf. also 1.16.6 (a rope breaks) and
1.19.9 (a sponge rolls out) for equally quick and unexpected interruptions to events.
The door crashes down with a similar phrase to that describing its restoration in
1.14.1	(also starting with commodum ‘just when’). This ring composition indicates
the witches’ sudden disruption of normality and its reinstatement after they leave.
attack heavier than you would have thought robbers capable: Robbers are
several times compared to witches in Met., cf. 1.14.5. The wineskin episode (2.32;
May 2007) features bewitched wineskins, believed to be robbers by a sozzled Lucius,
banging very loudly on Milo’s door. Robbers usually would have reason to remain
quiet, and the robbers in Met. 4.10.1 deliberately do not break down a door to avoid
the noise. Instead, this is a violent and probably noisy event, cf. Vergil A. 7.62If.
(Iuno breaks a door when knocking), Seneca Dial. 5.35.3 for noisy knocking. Lucius’
knocking on Milo’s door causes Photis’ complaint in Met. 1.22.2, where even normal
door knocking is perceived as noisy. An association between supernatural powers and
robbers is invited by some robbers themselves as scare tactics, namely when they dress

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up as ghosts in the middle of the night (4.22.5; also a theme in Lollianus Phoenikika)
to make their raids easier and terrify their victims.
The noisy attack on the door also plays with motifs from hymns, elegy, comedy
and mime: usually doors are asked to open up quietly so as not to wake up the other
occupants of the house, cf. Ovid Am. 1.6.49T, Propertius 1.16.26, but here nobody
wakes up, despite the din. The scene is also an inversion of the exclusus amator motif
from elegy: here the excluded mistress breaks open the door to reach her (ex-)lover,
instead of the excluded elegiac lover pining for his mistress inside. Meroe will pick up
this motif when she complains to her sister about being neglected by her lover (Met.
I.	12.4-6; Mathis 2008). As a lover entering an ‘unfaithful’ partner’s bedroom this
scene resembles an invertedparaklausithyron (a lover’s lament outside his mistress’
locked door), similar to Propertius 4.8, where Cynthia breaks into Propertius’ room,
a loud and physical event, surprising after Propertius 4.7 where Cynthia’s ghost
appeared to Propertius in his sleep. In Petronius 16.1-2 Quartilla, too, breaks into
the room where Encolpius and his friends are resting, in a scene inspired by mime,
which often features the noisy opening of doors. In adultery mimes, it is usually
the husband who comes home to find his wife in bed with another man (lit.: May
2006, 136fi). Cynthia, Quartilla and Meroe here also parody the noiseless magical,
spontaneous opening of doors on the approach of divinities (Homer II. 5.749 and
8.393; Euripides Ba. 448; Keulen 2007, 45; Schmeling 2011, 45f.). On Meroe and
Panthia as anti-Isises see introd. §11.
the door was unbolted, or rather knocked to the floor, its hinges broken and
thoroughly ripped out: The door here falls on the floor and topples over the bed,
and in the next sentence the bed itself is knocked over. On sera or repagula as bars
across the doorway see above on 1.11.5. To unbolt a door (reserare): Met. 1.14.7
(cf. Plautus Per. 572 for iron bars; Ovid Am. 1.6; Ars 2.636). Bars are used to lock
bedrooms, too, in Met. 9.2.6 and 9.5.3.
II.	8 My cot, rather short anyway, missing one foot and rotten: The bed begins
its gradual personification or animal ‘metamorphosis’ (‘foot’; see also 1.12.2),
which culminates in 1.16, Aristomenes’ address to his cot. Beds are often props in
mime, where furniture breaks for comic effect, cf. Petronius 136.1 (Oenothea falls
off a broken chair), a vivid and comic scene, which sits well with Aristomenes’
comic attitude to the situation until now. In mime, it is usually the lover who hides
under the bed, cf. Met. 9.26.4 and Petronius 97.4f. (Giton hiding from Encolpius’
aggressive rival). Here Aristomenes, the one who had ‘lured’ Socrates away from
Meroe, finds himself in the adulterer’s position under the bed (mime: Panayotakis
1995, 131; Bechtle 1995). The diminutives grabattulus and breviculus stress the
ramshackle state of the bed.
rolled out of it and thrown to the ground: Aristomenes is quite literally thrown
off by his bed, which is associated with a buckling horse through literary allusions:
excussum humi is a rather pleonastic reference to Vergil A. 11.640 (a man is thrown
off his horse); cf. also Met. 8.5.8, where Tlepolemus* horse throws (deuolvit) its

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master onto the ground; contrast the old woman carefully rolled out of her bed by
robbers in 4.12.3 (lectulo suo devoluta), and 1.16.6 where devolvere (not evolvere)
again is gentler. Apuleius uses excutere to describe being woken up suddenly from
bad dreams: 1.17.3,4.27.4; 8.9.2 (Socrates and Charite).
it fell back upside down, covered and hid me: The bed falls down on
Aristomenes and presses him down, but also shields and covers him at the same
time. A comic situation; the inverted legs now point upwards.
12
Aristomenes overhears the two witches Meroe and Panthia discussing their revenge
on Socrates. Meroe portrays herself as his victim and uses quite inappropriate
mythological examples to make her point.
12.1	certain emotions naturally display themselves through their opposites:
Aristomenes here reflects on the surprising phenomemon that seemingly antithetical
effects are possible. Affectus, πάθος, is ‘an emotional state caused by the process
of becoming aware and at the same time interpreting something (for example
as fearful), which in turn causes certain bodily reactions’ (Brills New Pauly s.v.
‘Affects’ [Ebert]). Aristomenes here specifically feels fear, one of the most often
discussed affects, e.g. in Aristotle Rhetoric 2.5; the Stoic Zeno identifies fear as one
of the four major affects (SVF 1.211; his treatise On Affects is lost), and overcoming
them is Stoic doctrine.
as tears quite often come from happiness, thus even in that excessive fear
1 could not contain my laughter: Tears of joy are frequent: in 11.1.4 Lucius is
both glad and has his face covered in tears. In 8.7.1 Thrasyllus cries tears of joy
for Tlepolemus, whom he had killed, but tries to deceive Charite with his tears;
see also Longus 4.22L, Plautus Capt. 419, Terence Ad, 409, Livy 5.7.11. They may
be ‘trite’ as a concept (thus Keulen 2007, 250; Schmeling 2011, 372 on Petronius
89.16ff), but are employed functionally here by Apuleius. Aristomenes is not
merely expressing amazement at inappropriate tears during happiness, his statement
is more complex. He attempts to explain his hysterical laughter at a moment of the
highest fear. Compare 4.27, where the old woman discusses dream interpretation
through opposites, where weeping in dreams forecasts joy (cf. Artemidorus,
Onirocritica 2.60). In Achilles Tatius 5.3.7 and 5.5.8, too, fear is combined with
nervous, hysterical laughter (after Philomela and Procne offered Tereus the body of
their slaughtered child to eat). A mix between tragedy and comedy is a characteristic
of Metamorphoses generally and the tale of Aristomenes in particular (May 2006,
132ff.).
quite often: Saepicule is only found in Apuleius, Met. (seven times) and Plautus
Cas. 703. The diminutive strikes a comic and hence probably emotionally distanced
note. In Plautus the adverb is used as a means to irony (Pasetti 2007, 21).
I had been made a tortoise out of Aristomenes: A similar image occurs in 9.26.4,
where a tub covers an adulterer like a tortoise shell in a scene again reminiscent

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of adultery mimes. Here the metaphorical animal metamorphosis anticipates both
Lucius' fate at the end of the Risus festival inasmuch as he feels himself transformed
into a statue (3.10.2) and, even more, the (real) metamorphosis of Lucius into a
donkey. On mirror scenes see introd. §2.4. As Socrates' helper, Aristomenes might
have feared a ‘real' transformation into an animal, as e.g. the lawyer, innkeeper and
lover in 1.9 experienced. This is however not going to happen, nor is the killing
of Socrates without an animal transformation anticipated. In magic, the tortoise is
apotropaic, including against the evil eye, although it is usually considered of little
worth or even harmful. It is notoriously slow (Plutarch Moralia 1082e, Plautus Aul.
49), making it an unusual ‘metamorphosis’ for someone who has been constantly
running quickly from place to place, cf. e.g. Met. 1.5.3, and who is constantly fleeing
(1.11.4, 1.12.7, 1.14.6, 1.19.12). But in Zeno’s second paradox (Aristotle Physics
239b 14 ff.) the tortoise can never be outrun by Achilles because it started the race
earlier (Apuleius mentions Zeno and his famous paradoxes in Apol. 4). Aristotle
Parva Naturalia 479a3-7 thinks that tortoises whose heart had been removed would
not die, which is significant as Aristomenes watches his friend’s heart being pulled
out in 1.13.6; he may anticipate the same fate for himself, but then sees his friend
apparently survive the attack.
12Λ thrown right down to the ground: Aristomenes is now hiding under both
door and cot. From being merely on the ground (humi; 1.11.8, 12.7 and 14.2), he
goes even further down: Keulen 2007, 252f. argues convincingly for F’s infimum
(‘to the bottom’, as an adverb, cf. Charisius Ars Grammatica 391.22) to explain
that Aristomenes is not only on the floor, but metaphorically already underneath
it, in the Underworld which he imagines encountering in Met. 1.15.5. Infimum is
printed e.g. by Keulen, Zimmerman 2012, Hanson 1989 etc. Molt 1938, however,
prefers the grammatically less difficult emendation in infimum ‘onto the ground’;
Robertson 1965 and Helm print in fimum ‘into the dirt’, but there is no indication
that the room is dirty.
I was watching out... with the corner of my eyes: A consequence of Aristomenes’
tortoise-like prone position; the phrase may also provide a link with Lucius’ own
animal metamorphosis and curiosity, cf. 3.2.3, where Lucius, led to his trial at the
Risus festival like a sacrificial victim, looks up from the comer of his eye. In 3.25.1
Lucius, just transformed into a donkey, looks at Photis in a similar way, and in 6.28.2
Lucius the donkey tries to kiss Charite riding on him by twisting his neck back. The
same phrase is used when the donkey sticks his head out of the window in curiosity
in 9.27.2. Finally, in 11.12.2 the donkey approaches the priest whose garland will
retransform him into a human, with his body twisted like Aristomenes’ here.
my clever cot: Aristomenes personifies his cot (see also 1.11.8), through the
human and animal characteristic of ‘resourcefulness’ (see OLD s.v. sollertia for the
personification; for animals cf. Plutarch On the Cleverness of Animats, De Sollertia
Animalium).
two women of rather advanced age: Surprisingly for the reader and Aristomenes

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it is two women who enter (note the word order), not the robbers, as we were lead
to expect. Having two witches appear has narratological advantages, as this allows
Aristomenes to overhear their discussions and understand the rationale of their
actions. Without Panthia’s presence, Aristomenes would only have seen a woman
enter the room and kill Socrates, without confirmation from her own mouth that she
is Meroe. Furthermore, it offers a mirror scene (introd. §2.4) for Milo’s house, where
Lucius, too, will in effect meet two witches: Pamphile and Photis. Mulier ‘woman’
is a more neutral term than anus (‘old woman, hag’); Aristomenes is speaking here
as the ‘experiencing Γ and observer who does not know yet that this is Meroe, and
is thus more polite than before (contrast 1.8.1 and 1.11.2, where he speaks of her in
unflattering terms). On Meroe’s age cf. above on 1.7.7.
12.3	One of them carried a lighted lamp, the other a sponge and an unsheathed
sword: The woman carrying the lamp will turn out to be Panthia. The witches carry
three ominous objects. In 3.21.4 the lamp is a means of magic, and Pamphile whispers
magic words to her lamp before her own transformation; in 2.1 If., Pamphile uses
a lamp to predict the weather. Given that Meroe seems to know what Socrates and
Aristomenes talked about (see below on 1.12.8), the presence of a lamp here may
indicate her faculties of divination, cf. PGM 5.1-53; 5.55-69. Divination by lamps
also has some links with necromancy (Ogden 2001, 193-95), which adds to the
ominous feeling here. Lamplight attracts ghosts (Pliny Ep. 7.27), and torches are
associated with the Furies (used for the two witches in 1.19.2), Hecate, and funerary
processions (Felton 2007, 91). As lamps are cult objects in the Isiac religion (Met.
11.9f.), their presence also reinforces the continued identification of the witches as
anti-Isises (introd. §11). During the lychnapsia, a festival for Isis seeking her lost
spouse at night, lamps are carried: Witt 1971, 92; 122.
In 1.13.7 the sponge will be used to stanch Socrates’ wound. The ‘naked’ sword
(a common phrase: 4.26.7; 7.6.4; 8.13.2; 10.31.5) gives the witches masculine
features: symbolically, death (Thanatos) carries a sword (Euripides, Ale. 74-6), and
the sword is a most unfeminine weapon (Loraux 1987, especially 7-30). Witches,
who habitually kill men (e.g. Canidia in Horace Epod. 5), visibly invert society’s
gender rules.
So equipped they stood around Socrates who was fast asleep: The first of
four occurences of habitus ‘state, form’ in Met. 1, see 20.2 (Lucius); 21.7 (Milo),
24.7	(Pythias), all of which point to styles of dress or outfit, from which conclusions
about the person’s status could be drawn. A figure standing over a sleeping person is
the classical stance of a dream apparition (e.g. Homer 11. 2.20ff.). Here importantly
Aristomenes describes people standing around Socrates, not himself. There are also
uniquely two figures, not the single figure common in dream apparitions. These
discrepancies already set the scene apart from the usual dream, which makes
Aristomenes’ wish to believe (1.18.2) that he has merely dreamt these events
problematic.
12.4	The one with the sword: It becomes clear from the conversation that this is

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Meroe (cf. 1.13.3). Aristomenes here continues to be the observer and ‘experiencing
Γ, working out the plot as it happens.
sister Panthia: It is unclear whether the women are really sisters or whether
this is an affectionate term between women of similar age, cf. Dickey 2002, 359
and Met. 1.13.2, where Panthia addresses Meroe as ‘sister’. Compare 1.17.4 where
it is clear that Aristomenes and Socrates are not brothers, despite the use of frater
‘brother’ for their relationship. ‘Panthia’ is probably a form of Panthea, literally
‘The All-Divine’, although the meaning ‘The Demonic One’, which may have Isiac
connotations as a cult title, is a possibility (Gwyn Griffiths 1978, 143), associating
Panthia, like Meroe, with Isis. Meroe herself is called divina ‘divine’ in 1.8.2. See
on 1.12.2 for Panthia’s function as a helper figure.
the dear Endymion: This identification starts a series of mythological examples
which compare Meroe with a goddess (note that Socrates himself had likened her to
Medea in 1.10.3). Endymion is the youthful lover of the Moon goddess Selene, who
was granted eternal youth and sleep. The first time Selene sees the young shepherd he
is asleep, too (Catullus 6.5, Propertius 3.15 etc.), but there are important differences
between the myth and Socrates’ story: Endymion is usually portrayed as a beautiful
young boy, something which Socrates, who has wife and children and at this time
is emaciated and pale, is not. Selene and Endymion had a long lasting and loving
affair (50 children: Pausanias 5.1.4). Socrates’ current sleep is not everlasting, but
induced by too much alcohol. Meroe is not driven by love to visit her sleeping
lover like Selene, or (1.12.5f.) Calypso who helps her lover to leave her as the gods
commanded her to do. As this mythological comparison is quite inappropriate, it
has a comic effect (May 1998, 143, on Met. 10.15). Keulen 2003a, 126 considers
that Meroe here identifies Selene with Hecate (identified specifically in magical
texts). This is again an inappropriate comparison, as Hecate is usually considered a
virgin. Apuleius, however, iuxtaposes the goddesses, but does not identify them in
Apol. 31.9 in a list of magical deities. Instead, he identifies Luna-Selene as one of
the intermediate powers or daemones in FI. 10.1.
my Catamite: An Etruscan form of the name Ganymede found in Plautus
Men. 144 and Accius 653b Ribbeck, apparently without the connotations of
passive homosexuality it carries later. Beloved of Jupiter, the most beautiful of
mortals (Homer II. 20.231-5), and another young man desired by the gods, who
was abducted from his family to be the gods’ cup-bearer. Again there are obvious
discrepancies between the beautiful boy from mythology and the run-down ugly
Socrates (Babo 2000, 488). But in both myths the relationship is quite unequal:
the boys are passive and the gods and goddesses the active lovers. Socrates’ self-
portrait as a victim is here reinforced by Meroe, who feminises Socrates and takes
over masculine connotations herself, a monstrosity in Roman eyes. ‘Ganymede’ also
appears in 11.8.4 (in the Isiac procession, represented by a monkey in a Phrygian
outfit, carrying a golden cup).
made fun of my tender age: Meroe wishes to portray herself as the victim of

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Socrates’ aggression. Her age and looks are, however, not why Socrates wants to
leave her (he still describes her as old but sexy in 1.7.7), it is her actions. Elsewhere
in Apuleius aetatula ‘tender age’ is used non-ironically of young boys (Apol. 2; Met.
11.15.1	(of Lucius himself)) and young girls (Met. 7.9.5; 10.31.2), or both together
(Met. 10.29.4). It may be a Plautinism, cf. Caecilius com. 153, Plautus Cist. 49,
Most. 217 etc., usually of young girls (Pasetti 2007, 29).
12.5	poured disdain: F apparently has ta erased, and all editions print subterhabitis
found in φ, a word that occurs only here.
maligned me with slanders: The reader and Aristomenes know from Socrates’
narrative of her previous reactions (Met. 1.9) how badly Meroe takes to being
slandered. It is not completely clear how Meroe knows that Socrates has revealed
everything to Aristomenes, as he takes some precautions against being overheard in
1.8.2, but Socrates attributes magical powers to her. Still, Meroe does not only know
Aristomenes’ name but also the content of the men’s conversations when they thought
they were alone: that Socrates plotted his escape from her, and that Aristomenes was
the escape’s instigator. She calls Socrates’ disrespectful descriptions of her ‘slander’
(probrum, repeating his use of the word in 1.9.5). She also punishes his ‘past wit’,
possibly picking up previously heard words (see below on 1.12.8). Thus it appears
that the witches have been able to ‘listen in’ via magic and divination (see on 1.12.3
for possible means).
arranged his escape: Socrates, she thinks, planned his escape from her. Although
Aristomenes may be guilty only by association, she uses similar phrases for both
men’s ‘crimes’: here fitgam instruit (Socrates), in 1.12.7 fugae huius auctor (‘the
author of that escape’: Aristomenes).
12.6	deserted ... cunning of an Odysseus ... Calypso-like: In the third
mythological example, Meroe continues her inappropriate self-representation as a
goddess, here of the loving Calypso deserted by Odysseus (Homer Od. 5.1-269).
The dangerous Circe, who turns men into animals, would be a more appropriate
character for Meroe to compare herself to (Harrison 1990a, 194f.). Unlike Odysseus,
Socrates does not return home to his wife, but stays forever away from her; nor
is Socrates an Odysseus reluctantly released by a sad Calypso, but someone who
needs a friend to push him towards wishing to escape. Meroe asks whether she
should weep forever like Calypso or rather kill Socrates, setting herself up either
as the proverbial victim of a man who has left her, or a proactive killer (Lateiner
2009, 288). Her tears, like those of Thelyphron’s widow in 2.23.6f., 24.2 and 26.3
would be false, not driven by real grief. In the event, she will decide on the latter
option, i.e. killing her ex-lover, but without shedding any false tears. Meroe here
purposefully stages herself as more loving and caring than she is, and as guiltlessly
abandoned by her lover. Ironically, though, her refusal to let Socrates go recalls
the breaking of the laws of hospitality, of which she is guilty, just as Calypso is, by
delaying Socrates’ journey and keeping him with her against his will. Especially
close is the situation in Petronius 97.6, where Encolpius hides his lover Giton under

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the bed from Ascyltus, in a scene inspired by Roman mime and also compared,
inappropriately, to Odysseus’ cunning invention, the Trojan Horse.
As before (1.12.4), Apuleius prefers the Latin term Ulixes over the Greek
Odysseus, which he never uses, even when explicitly referring to the Odyssey
(Ulixes in 2.14.1; 10.33.2; Soc. 18; 24; Apol 31.7 (after quoting Horn. Od. 4.229f.
in Greek); 40.4 (after mentioning Homer); 55.6; 57.4; 89.4). ‘Cunning’ is a standing
epithet of Odysseus, cf. Od. 1.1, and in Latin Seneca Tro. 522f., 613f.; cf. Hyginus
Fab. 141.2 (astutia). In Met., as here, astu is often used sarcastically or negatively:
3.10.1	(after revelation of the wineskins), 4.12.5 (an old woman deceives a robber),
5.17.1	(the sisters deceive Psyche), 9.7.6 (a woman’s adulterous wiles), 9.8.6 (the
deceitful priests of the Dea Syria), positively only of Tlepolemus and Charite: 7.6.3
(conspiracy against Plotina’s husband), 8.2.4 (positively, of Tlepolemus), 8.9.5 and
8.14.1	(both positively, of Charite).
stretching out her right hand: As Meroe is holding a sword and a sponge, the
gesture here appears rather threatening. It is generally an indication of friendliness,
often of hospitality, e.g. 1.17.4 (Milo offers his right hand to Lucius), 11.25.2 (Isis).
In 9.38.4 the gesture is however hostile, as the right hand holds a weapon and needs
to be held down.
12.7	this good counsellor Aristomenes ... the author of that escape:
Aristomenes is the main instigator and enabler of Socrates’ flight, and Meroe here,
quite insightfully, recalls 1.11.3 (Aristomenes’ suggestion they should escape
together). A similar phrase is equally sarcastically used in 5.24.5 (of Psyche’s
sisters, giving treacherous advice), and 1.7.10, but here bonus consiliator is also
a bilingual pun on his name, see above on 1.6.4. Lucius picks up on this wordplay
when he calls Aristomenes ‘my excellent comrade’ (comes optimus) in 2.1.2. For a
possible anticipation of Lucius’ own fate in 6.31 cf. below on 1.13.2.
very close to death, lying underneath the cot and observing all of this:
Aristomenes is ‘guilty’ of being an eyewitness in this first of several passages stressing
his credibility as an observer of Socrates’mutilation and death, cf. 1.13.5; 14.4; 18.1;
19.1.	Eyewitness claims of this nature, used for verification, are, however, problematic
in Metamorphoses (May 2007). Subcubare ‘to lie underneath’ is also used in 9.26.4
of an adulterer in hiding, who, like Aristomenes, resembles a tortoise, cf. 1.12.1.
thinks that he will get away unpunished: Although Aristomenes escapes
unharmed after the wet treatment of 1.13.8, he believes in 1.15.6 that he could be
crucified for allegedly murdering Socrates. Even though he is spared death, his self¬
exile from his wife and family (1.19.12) will be his permanent punishment.
these insults against me: Cf. e.g. nostra contumelia ‘insult to us’ in 5.10.6, or
tuas inquisitiones ‘search for you’ in 6.8.6, for the unusual construction with the
possessive pronoun instead of objective genitive.
12.8	1 will make sure that he later - no, soon - no, right now - feels sorry:
Meroe works towards a climax of immediacy from the future to the here and now,
followed by a similar climax (below), where the movement is from the past to the

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present. Both notions culminate in an immediate and present threat to Aristomenes.
Meroe seems to make her mind up about his punishment on the spot, and decides
on instant justice.
Faxo, a future tense, is archaic (and legalistic), but used by Apuleius eight
times, e.g. in Met. 1.25.4. There is a single occurrence offaxo ut in Plautus As. 897,
whereas facio ut is the normal construction in classical Latin.
his past wit and present curiosity: She refers to witticisms as e.g. 1.8.1. In 1.7.4 the
conversation between Aristomenes and Socrates is described as ‘wit’ (<dicacitas), and
in 1.9.5 Socrates narrates that a lover’s wife had slandered Meroe ‘wittily’, dicacule;
another sign that all their conversations were magically overheard by Meroe. The
accusation of curiosity is not as justified as e.g. against Lucius in 3.21 observing
Pamphile’s metamorphosis, or the warning ecphrasis of Actaeon’s ‘curious glance’ in
2.4.10, since Aristomenes did not plan to look at Meroe. Like Actaeon, however, he
will be punished for looking; Meroe’s speech is the starkest warning yet for Lucius
not to observe witches performing magic from a hiding place, something he will do
in Met. 3. See 1.2.6 for Lucius’ character as a curious man.
13
Despite Panthia’s suggestion to kill Aristomenes, Meroe decides to leave him alive
so he can bury Socrates, whom they kill in a perverted sacrifice. Before the witches
leave, they void their bladders over the prostrate Aristomenes.
13.1	wretch that 1 was: Aristomenes now realises that he himself will be a victim
of witchcraft; thus he transfers Socrates’ epithet ‘wretched’ (miser, cf. above on
1.6.1)	to himself for the first time (used again in 1.17.7).
I broke into a cold sweat, my insides were shaking and shuddering: He is
physically shaking with fear as the consequence of the emotions felt in 1.12.1. Cold
sweat from fear is a commonplace: Vergil A. 3.175, Ovid Met. 5.632; Pliny Nat.
29.90, Seneca Tro. 487 etc., and in Met. 2.30.8 (Thelyphron after the discovery
he has been mutilated) and 10.10.1 (a slave in panic). In 11.7.1 seeing Isis makes
Lucius experience joy and fear at the same time, and he sweats (but not cold sweat).
For the intensity of the physical reaction cf. 1.18.7, where Socrates’ knees are
shaking, and Vergil A. 3.29f. (Aeneas’ reaction on seeing the portent of Polydorus’
bleeding tomb, with verbal parallels: ‘an icy horror shook my limbs, and my blood
ran cold with fear’; mihi frigidus horror / membra quatit gelidusque coit formidine
sanguis).
cot, unsettled by my trembling,: Sucussus ('jolting’) is attested only in tragedy
before Apuleius, in Pacuvius trag. 257f. Ribbeck (cited in Cicero Tusc. 2.48),
Seneca Oed. 570; Thyest. 696. It is used again in 3.21.4 when Pamphile transforms
herself into an owl.
dancing in pulsating motion over my back: The personification of the cot
continues (palpitare ‘to pulsate’ is almost exclusively used of the body parts of
living creatures), as it begins to ‘dance’ when the shaking transmits itself from

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Aristomenes to the bed. Elsewhere beds dance in erotic contexts: Photis warns
Lucius that she can make the bed shake for him in 2.7.7. See also Catullus 6.10f.;
Ovid/fm. 3.14.26; Juvenal 6.21f.; Petronius 98.4.
13.2	the good Panthia ... sister: Aristomenes calls her ‘good' out of sarcasm (cf.
on 1.7.10) as well as using the euphemism for reasons of taboo (Burriss 1931). See
on 1.12.4 for the address as ‘sister’.
pluck this one apart first like Bacchants, or bind his limbs and cut off his
manhood?: Panthia suggests two options here - either to dismember Aristomenes
(and presumably use his body parts for magical purposes, introd. § 11), or merely to
castrate him. Lucius the donkey is himself threatened with castration (see above on
1.9.2	and below), and several times with dismemberment: by robbers for attempting
to flee together with Charite in 6.31 (note that Aristomenes is accused of having
instigated Socrates’ flight in 1.12.5; for further similarities between robbers and
witches see above on 1.11.7), and in 8.31.4 (to substitute for a lost meal).
Baechatim ‘like Bacchants' is a word that occurs only here and has a Plautine
flavour (Pasetti 2007, 92). referring to Dionysiae ritual: caught up in divinely
inspired enthusiasm, Bacchants tear apart living creatures, and often eat them
raw (Euripides Ba. 735). This continues the tragic connotations of the scene.
Aristomenes, consequently, is likened to Pentheus, the cousin of the god Dionysos,
who spied on the mysteries of the Bacchants and was tom apart alive by his own
mother Agaue in a Bacchic frenzy (Ba. 1125ff.). This constitutes another warning to
Lucius, who in Met. 2.4 will see a statue of Actaeon, who is tom apart by his dogs
as a consequence of his curiosity. Pentheus and Actaeon are cousins (their mothers
were daughters of Kadmos and Harmonia). The Plautus-inspired word, however,
undercuts the serious and potentially tragic threat. Similarly, it is incongruous and
therefore comic that the women are deliberating whether to act like Bacchants
rather than being driven into a frenzy by a god’s overwhelming power against their
will like Agaue. In a metaphorical sense, baechatim recalls a Greek proverb found
in Diogenian. 3.74 and 4.10 (Aristophanes fr. 922 Kock, cf. Wealth 1024) γραΰς
καπρώσα και βακχεύουσα, which indicates that some old women do the wrong
things at the wrong time of life, i.e. dancing in a frenzied way, going wild after men
and getting drunk. This is a good description of Meroe. Apuleius is fond of proverbs
(though only one fragment of his De Proverbiis is extant).
Virilia are literally the male organ, but perhaps thought of as testicles; most
occurrences of the word are in contexts of castration (Adams 1982,69-70).
13.3 her name in fact fitted Socrates9 stories: Aristomenes has now worked
out, perhaps from the threats to himself and his manhood, the accusations and
verbal echoes (cf. above on 1.12.5), that this must be Meroe. Previously he had
not identified her (1.12.4). This aside confirms that Aristomenes believes all of
Socrates’ stories so far are ‘fact’ {reapse), which themselves are intended to prove
the truthfulness of Aristomenes’ narrative. On the implied warning to Lucius and
the novel’s verification through Aristomenes’ story see introd. §5.

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bury the body of that miserable wretch with a little earth: Soil will play an
important role again in 1.19.11 (note verbal echoes) at the end of the tale, when Socrates
is indeed buried* Even a handful of earth satisfies the correct rites of burial, which are
necessary for Socrates’ soul to pass into the afterlife correctly and stop his ghost from
returning - compare Antigone symbolically, but ritually correctly, burying her brother
with a handful of dust (Sophocles, Ant. 256). Even strangers should bury a corpse if
they find it to avoid pollution. Aristomenes first (wrongly) suspects Meroe of planning
an even more ignominious end for him (cf. on 1.15.6), but even for witches the burial
of their victims is important in order to avoid revenants haunting them (introd. §11).
Meroe is not interested in a proper and dignified funeral, but a ritual protection of
herself and Panthia from vengeful spirits. Allowing Aristomenes to survive is therefore
entirely in Meroe’s own interest.
Misellus, here expressing contempt and scorn, recurs in 1.19.11 (Aristomenes
buries Socrates’ body). It was used in 1.9.6 of the woman condemned to prolonged
pregnancy by Meroe, and in Met. 1 is associated with victims of witchcraft
Contumulo incorporates the word for grave or burial mound (tumulus), and its other
occurrences with humo (Ovid Tristia 3.3.32, Ibis 462, Martial 8.57.4) always have
the connotation of burial. Meroe makes it clear to Aristomenes that she requires him
to bury Socrates. (Burial: Parker 1983, 44ff., Felton 1999, 10; Griffith 1999, 29ff.
and 169).
13.4	turned Socrates’ head to the other side, and sank the whole of the sword
up to the hilt into him through the left side of his throat: That is, into the front
of the neck above the collarbone or the throat. She turns Socrates’ head to his right
side, which indicates that the choice is deliberate, perverting the imagery of sacrifice
(see introd. §11). The scene is full of epic language and allusions (see introd. §2.4).
Meroe apparently kills Socrates, although to the reader’s and Aristomenes’ surprise
he wakes up the next morning, just to die again when drinking from the river. For
the revival of dead bodies, often for necromantic purposes, including cutting the
victim’s throat, see introd. §11.
13.5	caught the burst of his blood carefully in a little leather bag: For blood
in magic and the stealing of organs for magical purposes see introd. §11. Sanguis
is the red blood of living persons, whereas in 1.19.9 Socrates’ remaining blood is
called cruor ‘spilled blood’ - it is clear from the large eruption of blood that this is
the moment Socrates dies (Mencacci 1986). Aristotle considered the heart the seat
of the soul and the body’s vital force (De Partibus Animalium 2.1 647a 24-31),
and since Herophilos of Alexandria it was already known that it is the heart that
pumps the blood around the body. Apuleius’ observation on the blood flow here
and in 1.19.9, where Socrates dies for the second time, is medically correct, and
the language, too, is medical (sanguinis eruptio, ‘burst of blood’, cf. e.g. Celsus De
Medicina 7.3.2, Pliny Nat. 24.136; 29.46; Scribonius Laigus 62; 105; 46, 47, 77
etc.). Aristomenes watches professionals at work, skilfully dissecting this victim as
possibly many others before him.

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not a single drop was anywhere to be found: Blood as evidence of crime:
4.11.2	(the robbers bind up Lamachus’ mutilated arm to avoid being traced through
drops of blood; see below on 1.13.7 for further parallels), Petronius 137.12 (of
killed geese).
I saw with my very own eyes: Aristomenes repeatedly stresses his status as
eyewitness as verification, especially as no evidence (e.g. blood) will remain of
the witches’ intervention to corroborate his version: see Met. 1.4.2 for a similar
emphasis, and above on 1.12.7.
13.6	not to deviate... from the ritual of the sacrifice: This cynical and perverted
ritual of tearing out Socrates’ heart is modelled on the haruspex’ inspection of the
internal organs of sacrificial victims (probatio victimarum), cf. Cicero N.D. 2.24,
Seneca Thy. 155i.,Phoen. 159f..Dial. 5.\4.2 = DeIra3.14.2. Aristomenes continues
the use of technical terms to distance himself emotionally from the horrible events:
victima is the technical term for sacrifice, cf. Met. 4.29.4 (sacrifices for Venus).
1 believe: Aristomenes attempts to rationalise the events; cf. 1.17.3, where
the surprisingly revivified Socrates says T believe’ to account for the doorkeeper
breaking into their bedroom.
good Meroe: The juxtaposition of ‘wretched’ and ‘good’, the standing epithets
of Socrates and Meroe respectively, highlights that the two witches, both called
bona in this chapter, victimise both men, both called miser (see below).
inserted her right hand through that wound all the way to his insides,
searched around, and pulled out my poor comrade's heart: This is the same
hand with which she had previously pointed at Aristomenes in a threatening manner
(1.12.6). Having his heart pulled out is the only part of his ordeal Socrates seems to
remember (1.18.7). Again Aristomenes uses a technical term for the inspection of
the organs of a slaughtered victim (scrutari), cf. Ovid Met. 15.136L, Lucan 6.629
(during a necromantic episode), Seneca Oed. 372. On witches removing internal
organs from their victims see introd. §11. Especially the heart is desirable to witches:
Plautus Bac. 27; Ovid Fast. 6.137ff. and 159-62, Petronius 63.8. Jordan 2004,262f.
associates this sacrifice with the myth of Aristomenes of Messene (see above on
1.6.4).
my poor comrade: On Aristomenes* use of contubernalis and miser for Socrates
see above on 1.6.1.
he poured out, since his throat had been cut open by the impact of the
weapon, a sound, or rather an inarticulate rasp, through the wound, and
bubbled out his life-breath: Socrates’ death rattle, cf. 10.28.4 (the last breath of a
dying woman), combines known (Met. 9.38.7 gulam sibi exsecuit, ‘he cut out his
throat’, of a successful suicide) and unique phrases based on an intricate wordplay
for Socrates’ life substance ‘bubbling’ away (rebulliret). Here, as well as in 1.18.7,
spiritus indicates both ‘breath’ and ‘spirit’; animam ebullire ‘to give up the ghost’ is
used colloquially in Petronius 42.3 (Seleucus’ speech) and 62.10, and Seneca Apoc.
4.2	(Claudius’ death). Rebullire is, however, unique to Apuleius and has a negative

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undertone, also in 5.26.5 (the bubbling flame harms Cupid); 9.34.2 (wine bubbles as
a result of black magic), and the unusualness of the expression makes it even more
striking and sinister.
13.7	Panthia stanched the wound where it was gaping widest with the sponge:
Fresh sponges (see above on 1.12.3) were used to cleanse and close wounds
(Dioscurides De Materia Medica 5.134; Pliny Nat. 31.47). A sponge soaked in cold
water was applied to the chest against shock (Aristophanes Frogs 483, with Dover,
1993, 255 ad loc.), and in Met. 8.18.7 sponges soaked in vinegar are used to reduce
swellings on bruises. A magical interpretation is possible, too: Thelyphron’s ears
and nose are similarly replaced by a witch with wax models in 2.30.6, and Erictho
stuffs blood, stones and a mysterious fish into the corpse she uses for necromancy
(Lucan 6.666-76).
F writes spongiam, and Keulen 2007, 274 defends it as a double accusative (but
see above on 1.2.3 fronde). This is awkward, whereas the instrumental ablative found
in φ (in a later hand) and de Buxis, printed e.g. by Hanson 1989 and Zimmerman
2012, can be paralleled from Met. 4.11.2. There offulcio, a rare technical word found
in Apuleius, and Ps. Apul. Herb., occurs again in a similar context of stanching a
wound and stopping it from bleeding so that perpetrators would not be caught.
Hey you: Colloquialism, see on 1.3.2.
sponge, born in the sea, make sure you travel there through a stream: This
foreshadows the ending in 1.19.9, where Socrates leans towards a river and dies for
good, as a magic formula and command to entice the sponge to return home. Cave
plus subjunctive is found frequently in Met., always as a direct address following,
as here, heus (2.10.2; 2.18.3; 2.23.3; 8.26.4). If a negative command is intended,
Apuleius inserts ne\ thus here a positive command to the sponge to ensure it falls
out of Socrates’ body must be meant. Other scholars see a negative warning in
cave (‘make sure you do not cross...’) and associate it with the events in Plato’s
Phaedrus evoked in Met. 1.18 and 19 (see on 1.18.8). Although grammatically
Apuleius is consistent, it is still possible that here he deliberately plays with the
phrase’s fluid meaning and wants a first-time reader to see mainly the command of
the magic formula urging the sponge to fall out, and a second-time reader, having
seen Socrates sit down near a plane tree, to notice the allusion to Plato (Positive
command: Frangoulidis 1999,382 and 2001,26; negative command: Van der Paardt
1978, 83, De Biasi 2000, 219f. with n. 97, Mattiacci 2001, 85If.).
Nascor (‘to be bom’) can be used of plants (e.g. Pliny Nat. 2.211) as well as
animals. The nature of the sponge was a matter of debate in antiquity; Aristotle
leaves the question open in De Partibus Animalium 4.5.681 a 1 Of., but in Historia
Animalium 1.1, 487b9—11; 5.16, 548bl0—15 he classifies sponges correctly as
animals (cf. also Pliny Nat. 9.146, 148 and 31.47). Apuleius, interested in fish
and marine life (passages in Harrison 2000, 65ff.), would have known it to be an
animal.
13.8	they both together: The transmitted ab*euna (F, a letter was erased between

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b and e), changed in φ to abeunt by a later hand, makes no sense, as the witches
do not depart now but proceed to punish Aristomenes. Rohde's emendation ambae
una is palaeographically plausible (printed e.g. by Keulen 2007, Zimmerman 2012
and here) and offers the least intervention in the text. The resulting archaism and
wordplay (contrasting ambae ‘both’ and una ‘together’, derived from unus = ‘one’)
describes the witches as acting in unison.
removed my cot, squatted with legs apart over my face, and discharged
their bladders: The ramshackle bed offers no resistance to the witches who had
effortlessly moved it before when breaking down the door. The witches’ voiding
their bladders is described in a squeamishly technical way (vesica ‘bladder’ as in
e.g. Celsus De Medicina 3.12.6, Seneca Ep. 82.12; Petronius 27.6 etc.). The urine
serves here primarily as a magical confinement spell to stop Aristomenes from
moving, cf. Petronius 57.3 (a circle of urine around a person is believed to prevent
them from escaping) and 62.6 (a circle of urine around his clothes helps a man to
become a werewolf and human again afterwards), cf. Watson 2004, 653. Urination
can also be punishment for adulterers (Horace S. 1.2.44), and for telling lies (Horace
S. 1.8.37ff.). The witches express their contempt for Aristomenes, and as such this
may be another anticipation of Lucius’ own humiliation during the Festival of
Laughter.
the wetness of their filthy urine: Apart from the moral outrage shown in Met.
8.29.4	(against the despicable priests of the Dea Syria), the superlative spurcissimus
‘most filthy’ in Apuleius is entirely associated with urine: Apol. 6 (Spanish custom
to brush their teeth with urine), and Met. 1.17.5. Mador ‘wetness’ has a similar
connotation of filth: before Apuleius it is only found in Sallust Hist. 4.16, where it
is also associated with water and sewage (but used again for water in Met. 7.18.1).
14
As the witches leave, the room is magically restored to its previous condition. This
leaves behind a confused and frightened Aristomenes, who sees the absurdity of his
situation in metaphors of death and rebirth. In the end, he decides to flee from the
inn as soon as possible.
14.1 Just when they had passed the threshold: As soon as the witches cross
the metaphorically and magically important threshold, the magic reverses itself and
becomes undone (see introd. §10.2 for the importance of thresholds in the novel).
This is the first of three instances of evadere (‘to escape’) in this chapter; here it is
the witches who escape, then Aristomenes first in a rhetorical dialogue with himself
envisages others accusing him of having escaped death (1.14.5), and then plans to
escape from the inn himself (1.14.6).
back... back... back... back: The anaphora of re· is not pleonastic, but vividly
stresses the fact that everything broken so abruptly is fixed again by an apparent
complete restoration of normality.
the doors rose back up again undamaged to their previous state: the pivots

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settled back into the bolt-holes, the bars returned back to the posts, the bolts ran
back into the locks: The phrase is a detailed inversion of the breaking down of the
doors in 1.11.7. Foramina (‘bolt-holes’) are sockets in which the door pivots sit, cf.
above 1.11.5, not to be mistaken for the keyhole, also calledforamen in 4.10.2; claustra
‘bolts’ are parts of the lock, see Gaheis 1930. Repagula are door bars placed across
doors on the inside, cf. above on 1.11.5 (bars are used to lock doors e.g. in Plautus
Cist. 649; Cicero Ver. 2.4.94, Cicero Div. 1.70; Ovid Met. 5.120). Normally, the door
bars are movable, and postes (‘posts’) to which the repagula return, are not. Even if
the postes here were stiles and not the jamb, it would not be the natural reading of the
scene to assume the bar would be up again before the stiles which complete the door,
as the point here is the magical restoration of normality. Thus F’s reading postes ad
repagula is emended in most modem editions (e.g. Hanson 1989, Zimmerman 2012)
by moving the preposition ad to govern postes, as here; Keulen 2007, 280 however
defends F’s reading as depicting the unusual world of witchcraft.
14.2 even now stretched out on the ground: Aristomenes’ position has not changed
even after the witches have left (cf. 1.12.2), a possible outcome of the witches’
confinement spell (see on 1.13.8). Aristomenes continues to resemble Socrates in his
position of dejection and nudity (cf. 1.6.1), and he will emulate him further when later
he never returns home to his family (1.19.12; cf. on 1.13.1 for another convergence
between the two). Aristomenes becomes a substitute Socrates for the one killed. His
unchanged position on the floor is an indication that the witches really were there, and
this was not a nightmare. A warning to Lucius, see introd. §5.
lifeless, naked, cold: Aristomenes experiences what is a regular outcome of a
witch’s magic, and has undergone a symbolic death, alternating with rebirth imagery:
inanimis, a variant of inanimus, has a double meaning, as it may mean ‘deprived of
breath’ (as used of Thelyphron in 2.25.6 who was put to sleep by a witch’s magic),
but also ‘inanimate’, cf. 11.1.2; PI. 1.8 (196). The winds under the influence of
witches’ magic in 1.3.1 are inanimes; Aristomenes freezes in the cold of the night,
as he is covered in sweat (1.13.1) and urine, but in 2.30.3 the dead Thelyphron can
hardly move his ‘cold limbs’ as a sign of death.
soaked in piss: In Apuleius’ time, lotium (used here and 1.18.6 ) is more
colloquial than the technical urina (used in 1.13.8 ), cf. Isidore Orig. 11.1.138.
as if just recently delivered from my mother’s womb: Aristomenes is helpless
like a newborn baby (for the phrase: Pliny Nat. 7.56, Gellius 3.16.21, the latter with
‘er’ utero). Newborn babies were washed in urine (Cato Agr. 157.10; Pliny Nat. 20.83;
Soranus 2.12 (81). 1 rejects this custom), then placed on the ground (Soranus, 2.10
(79). 1); see Watson 2004,654. Edere is used again of giving birth in Met. 10.23.3 .
rather half-dead: Aristomenes is as filthy and terrorised by witches as Socrates
was when he first met him, and resembles Socrates, sitting half-dressed (1.6.1) as
the tropaeum to Fortune (1.7.1) in his immobility. For Apuleius’ predilection for
semi-compounds see introd. §12.
my own survivor and posthumous child: He has metaphorically died and is

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reborn as his own posthumous child, i.e. a son bom within ten months of his father’s
death, according to the laws of the Twelve Tables 4.4. The imagery anticipates
Lucius’ metaphorical death and rebirth as part of his Isiac initiation in Met. 11.
a candidate for the fated cross: The cross was in use as an execution tool
during Apuleius’ time not only for slaves but also for the lower classes (to which
a majority of the novel’s characters belong, including, apparently, Aristomenes).
It is also attested since Cicero (Verr. 2.5.72) for non-Romans and free provincials.
Aristomenes refers to this feared punishment again in Met. 1.15.6; even after his
‘death’ and ‘rebirth’ he feels bound to die again an immediate and brutal death. The
punishment for the higher classes was exile, and effectively this is what Aristomenes
will voluntarily ‘condemn’ himself to by living away from home in Aetolia (1.19.12).
The robbers in Met. 4.11 quite realistically fear crucifixion, and in 10.7.7 a slave
is called cruciarius, ‘destined for crucifixion’. In 3.9.3 Lucius himself, though not
a member of the lower classes, is threatened fraudulently with crucifixion at the
Risus festival - as it turns out, this is part of the festival’s comic play-acting. Again
similarities between Lucius’ future fate and Aristomenes are highlighted (cf. next
note. Slavery and the law: Robinson 2007, 105f.; Avila Vasconcelos 2009).
143 What wiU become of me when it is revealed in the morning that he had
his throat cut?: Aristomenes is afraid of being wrongly accused of murdering
Socrates; he still fears this in 1.19.4. He is right to be afraid, cf. 1.15.4, where
the doorkeeper voices exactly this suspicion. He starts an emotional monologue
in the shape of a declamation (on declamations delivered in first person narratives
and involving magic see van Mal-Maeder 2007, 103; 124). This anticipated false
accusation foreshadows Lucius’ during the Risus festival for a crime everyone except
him knows he has not committed (Met. 3.3: killing three men with his sword), and
for the robbery in Milo’s house (Met. 7.1). Iugulare has the general connotation of
violent slaughter (Plautus St. 581), but Socrates’ throat (iugulum) has indeed been
cut; here and below (1.14.5) it still has both meanings, but the doorkeeper will be
using it in the wider sense (1.15.4), unwittingly scaring Aristomenes even more into
fearing to be punished for cutting Socrates’ throat.
The question with instrumental ablative quidfiet me ‘what will become of me?’
is archaic and colloquial, cf. Plautus Mos. 1166, Terence Hau. 715, Cicero Fam.
14.4 etc.
The future perfect indicative paruerit (lit. ‘when it will have been revealed’)
logically preceeds the action offiet. The two future indicatives vividly indicate that
Aristomenes considers his fate to be real and certain, in which case a perfect tense is
regularly used; ubi frequently takes the indicative, cf. Plautus Ps. 664 ubi prandero,
dabo operam somno (‘When I have eaten, I will sleep.’), Sallust Cat. 1.6 etc.
To whom will I seem to be saying things resembling the truth, though I am
conveying the truth?: This is a frequent concern in a novel portraying unlikely
events, and in legal proceedings (e.g. Cicero Part. 34; 44 etc.). Lucius makes a
similar appeal to the reader to believe his description of the Isis initiation’s power

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163
in 11.23.6, ‘for it is true’ (quae vera sunt). Aristomenes here imagines his defence
speech against the accusation of murder, and has to admit the argument from
plausibility is not very likely to help him, as witchcraft is in itself implausible;
see the sceptic’s attitude in Met. 1.3. Apuleius himself successfully undermines his
opponents’ arguments about his involvement with witchcraft in the Apologia by
denying its verisimilitude (Apol. 58: non est verisimile). Lucius has similar concerns
to Aristomenes during the Risus festival. He fears that the weight of the plausible
accusation will lead to his condemnation, although he is innocent (3.4.4 ‘although
he might speak the truth’, vera; his words echo Aristomenes’ here). In 3.8.6 one
of the prosecuting magistrates during the Risus festival argues that Lucius should
be interrogated under torture, because the events are so unlikely (nec enim veri
simile est). In 3.4, Lucius’ self-defence during the Risus festival raises a problem
for the second-time reader’s willingness to believe Aristomenes here, as Lucius
after claiming to speak the truth proceeds to tell a tall tale of lies (see also on 1.5.1).
Within the novel’s universe, we will find out, Aristomenes’ narrative is indeed ‘true’
{vera), as many of his experiences anticipate those of Lucius (who, of course, as the
ultimate narrator of the novel, is in control of Aristomenes’ story). The story of the
novel as a whole thus rehabilitates the at first incredible story of Meroe’s sponge.
Although the novel itself of course is fiction, Aristomenes’ story prepares the reader
to believe Lucius’ even more incredible tales.
The text transmitted by F is printed by e.g. Hanson 1989, Keulen 2007 and
Zimmerman 2012 whereas Helm, Robertson 1965 etc. print (p’s proferens (a
confusion often found in these manuscripts).
14.4	You could at least have called out for help: Aristomenes now imagines
entering a fictional dialogue with a likely accuser, a sermocinatio (cf. Quintilian
Inst. 9.2.31 and Apul. Apol. 26 with Butler and Owen 1914, 69 ad loc.).
you, such a big man, were incapable of standing up to a woman?: The
fictitious interlocutor stresses that a strong vir (etymologically related to vis,
‘strength’) should be able to fend off a mere ‘woman’, mulier (Santoro FHoir 1992,
186f.).
A human being is butchered before your own eyes: This insistence on women
using a specifically masculine way of slaughtering the victim with a sword (see
above on 1.12.3) makes Aristomenes’ defence even less likely. For the stress on
Aristomenes as an eyewitness cf. above 1.12.7.
14.5	why ... Why: The anaphora supports the imaginary accuser’s convincing
and pathos-driven rhetoric.
the same band of robbers: Latrocinium translates as ‘band of robbers’ rather
than as ‘robbery’ here, as the imaginary accuser is weighing categories of people
as likely murderers rather than assessing the deed itself. Aristomenes continues to
compare the witches to robbers, cf. above on 1.11.7.
did their savage cruelty spare an eyewitness: The phrase occurs only here
and in Quintilian Inst. 9.3.48, but saeva is also used of the cruel deeds of Meroe in

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1.11.1.	This question is picked up and answered in 1.15.6, where Aristomenes thinks
he has been spared (pepercisse) for a worse death out of cruelty (saevitia). This kind
of unselective violence is elsewhere in Met. attributed to a rabid dog, which in 9.2.2
attacks hunting dogs and pack animals (saevitia; pepercisse). Aristomenes will refer
to his cot as his only eyewitness in 1.16.2, ironically refusing to be himself the sole
eyewitness to the events.
you could indict them for their crime?: Lucius, too, fears that he might be
murdered by robbers, once he has been recognised as a possible eyewitness to their
crimes in 3.29.7. Getting rid of an eyewitness is however not the witches’ ultimate
reason, which Aristomenes never realises, as they require a ritual burial for their
victim (see above on 1.13.3). The legal language is also found in Cicero Clu. 186
and Ovid Met. 6.578 (Philomela’s weaving as an indication of Tereus’ crime), and in
Met. 7.2.2 (Lucius’ ‘flight’ as ‘proof’ that he robbed Milo’s house), 8.9.3 (Thrasyllus’
crime).
because you evaded death, return to it now: His imaginary interlocutor has
turned into the judge and condemned him to death.
14.6	1 kept turning this over and over again in my mind, and night began
to turn into day: Aristomenes goes over the same thoughts again and again; once
more, the choice of words anticipates Lucius’ trial during the Risus festival in
3.1,	where Lucius obsessively ‘again and again’ contemplates his own trial. Nox
ibat in diem (lit. ‘Night began to go into day’) is a unique phrase, aptly chosen as
Aristomenes himself is unable to go away, although he is obsessed with fleeing (cf.
above on 1.12.1 and 14.1).
just before daybreak: It is strictly speaking still night and thus too early for
travelling, cf. 1.15, where Aristomenes’ wish to leave before daybreak makes the
doorkeeper suspicious. On anteluculo see introd. §12.
to take to the road, although with fearful steps: The fearful steps are metonymic
for his fear; in 1.19.12, after Socrates’ death, he flees ‘fearfully’ (trepidus) into
voluntary exile. See also on 1.17.8.
14.7	I grabbed my little sack: Aristomenes, a travelling salesman, should have
considerable luggage with him. In 1.17.8 viam capessere (‘to take to the road’) is
associated with picking up a ‘little sack’ (sarcinula). Lucius, too, travels with one
in 1.23.7 and 11.26.1 (on his journey to Rome), and a group of pack animals and
people pick up their ‘little sacks’ and ‘take to the road’ in 8.21.2. Again Lucius’
fate is anticipated by Aristomenes’. Sarcinula is especially frequent in the novels
(Petronius 3x, Apul. 5x).
after inserting the key 1 pulled back the locks: Unlike the witches, who can
open and close the door immediately, effortlessly, and apparently noiselessly,
Aristomenes has to undo the locks painstakingly (compare above on 1.11.5). The
pessuli ‘locks’ here are part of the locking mechanism, as in 9.20.4.
these excellent and faithful doors: Aristomenes now ironically personifies the
door, as he has been personifying his bed; and although he does not liken it directly

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165
to the witches (by calling it bona or the like), he still associates the door with them
through similar enough adjectives, used sarcastically. For another personification of
a door see below on 1.22.2. Aristomenes will use the same ironic adjective {fidelis
‘faithful’) of the doorkeeper in 1.17.4. Most instances of fidelis in Met. are either
ironic or misleading: e.g. 4.7.4 the robbers’ scared housekeeper, who will soon
commit suicide in fear of them, addresses them as ‘my most trusty {fidelissimi)
saviours’; in 9.17.3 the faithless Myrmex is known for his fidelitas, and in 10.24.3
a slave involved in a murder plot is called fidelis.
doors, which had been unbolted of their own free will at night, opened with
difficulty only and very reluctantly then with repeated insertions of their very
own key: The phrase stresses that it is really the right key for the door, gives the door
a certain personality again, and contrasts the witches’ effortless opening of the door.
Aristomenes instead needs several attempts in his nervousness; inserting a Roman
key can be quite a difficult process (Gaheis 1930). Aristomenes exaggerates: strictly
speaking the door had not opened up out of its own will, as it was the witches who
pushed it open. He also repeats ‘at night’ as a contrast to the approaching morning
(1.14.6). ‘With difficulty only and very reluctantly’ is used e.g. in Plautus Poen.
236, Seneca Ep. 118.17; Valerius Maximus Memorabilia 6.9.14 etc. (all with the
positive aegre only); it is notably picked up again in 1.19.10, when Aristomenes,
nervous and terrified, barely manages to drag Socrates’ body away from the river.
15
Aristomenes’ attempt to flee is thwarted by the inn’s doorkeeper, who refuses
to open the front door. The doorkeeper makes some throw-away remarks about
Aristomenes’ wish to flee before sunrise because he might have cut his friend's
throat. This sends Aristomenes into despair.
15.1	where are you?: See 1.17.1 for the doorkeeper asking Aristomenes exactly
the same question; the two mirror each other’s language, e.g. in this chapter ignoras
(in 2 and 3) ‘don’t you know’.
Open the tavern gates!: Aristomenes has left the bedroom, but now needs
to leave the inn; double doors {valvae ‘gates’) are usually used of palaces or
temples {e.g. Cupid’s palace in 5.1.6), but also in Propertius 4.8.51 (where Cynthia
gate-crashes her lover’s party to find him unfaithful; the grand word is attached
incongruously to a disreputable inn (cf. 1.4.6) for comic effect.
The doorkeeper was lying on the floor behind the tavern door and even now
still half asleep: A doorkeeper sleeping on the job is a literary topos: Ovid Am. 1.6.4f.,
Propertius 4.5.48. Plautus’ doorkeeper Leaena is, like the doorkeeper here, described as
semisomna (‘half asleep’) in Cur. 117, a status at times associated with drunkenness:
Curtius Rufus 83.8; Phaedrus 4.16; Quintilian Inst. 4.2.124; Seneca Dial. 10.14.4. The
doorkeeper’s prone position echoes Aristomenes’ in 1.14.2 when he realises he is still
trapped under the bed after the witches have vanished. Aristomenes is surprised that the
doorkeeper is still asleep despite the noise the witches made when entering and leaving.

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Commentary
but does not discuss that Meroe and Panthia managed to enter the inn, apparently
unhindered by the doorkeeper. In 1.15 Aristomenes suspects the doorkeeper is too
drunk to notice. The situation here is an inverted paraklausithyron, as Aristomenes
begs to be let out, not in, like the usual excluded lover of elegy or comedy (see on
1.11.7; James 1987,49; Keulen 2007,468-71).
15.2 the roads are infested with robbers: A theme introduced in 1.7.6, where
Socrates is robbed by bandits, and picked up in 2.18, where Photis warns Lucius
against young men ‘infesting’ public places; 2.32, where Lucius naturally assumes
that the creatures outside Milo’s house at night must be robbers; and 4.18, where
Thrasyleon’s robbers make sure to move around at night and kill the guardians of the
house they are about to plunder. Although the doorkeeper has obviously not heard
the witches breaking into the house, it is ironic that it is robbers; so often associated
with witches in Met. 1, whom he fears here (see above on 1.11.7), perhaps a sign of
the witches’ involvement in causing his slumber with a confinement spell. Socrates,
too, has some vague memories of what happened when he was asleep, cf. 1.18.7.
at this time of night: It is suspicious to wish to travel at night when it is dangerous,
cf. above on 1.14.6. Hoc noctis is an adverbial accusative plus partitive genitive,
just as 1.15.5 illud horae or 6.12.2 istud horae (‘at that moment’), or Plautus Am.
154, Cur. 1 etc.
even if you have some kind of crime on your conscience and, to be sure,
wish to die: The doorkeeper’s refusal to let Aristomenes leave is farcical. Ironically,
Aristomenes at this point only wishes to flee, but the doorkeeper seems to plant the
idea of suicide (here from a bad conscience) into his head. In 1.19.12 Aristomenes
uses the same construction to talk about the same deed, the death of Socrates.
I am not such a pumpkin-headed fool that I would die for you: An allusion to
the stock characters of the stupidus or bald mimus calvus acting as the fool in mime,
cf. Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis (‘Pumpkinification’) deriding the Emperor Claudius.
Pumpkins are used metaphorically in Petronius 39.12 for fools. The doorkeeper
claims he is not a stupidus, but his behaviour belies this claim, as he misreads the
situation. His reaction is unexpected, as his task at an inn is usually to keep danger
out, not the guests shut in. A doorkeeper’s life can be in jeopardy (see above), and he
reacts this way here as he does not want to die accused of a possible crime he has not
committed (Effe 1976,366ff.; other scholars see the scene as illogical, e.g. Shumate
1996, 71-74). Being falsely accused of murder is a running theme of the novel, cf.
1.14.3	for Aristomenes’ fears, or Met. 3 for Lucius. During the Risus festival trial,
Lucius deems himself innocent as he fought against the wineskins in self-defence,
but still fears the trial in the Hypatan theatre for murder.
15.3	Daylight is not far off: It is still dark; he agrees with Aristomenes’ observation
in 1.14.6.
what can robbers take away from a traveller who is in complete poverty:
In Met. the traveller is always portrayed as a powerless victim of stronger, lawless
powers, a fate that Lucius will share while he is a donkey (Schmidt 1979, 173ff.).

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Or don’t you know, you idiot: Aristomenes maliciously echoes the doorkeeper's
ignoras (1.15.2) countering an accusation of ignorance about the danger of thieves
with one of stupidity about the likelihood of robbers robbing a poor man. In 1.6.4
Socrates accused Aristomenes of ignoring the vicissitudes of Fortune, and in 1.22.2
Photis accuses Lucius of being the only one ignorant of Milo’s lending practices.
Aristomenes makes it clear that he does not accept the doorkeeper’s declaration that
he is not a stupidus or fool.
a naked man cannot be stripped, not even by ten wrestlers: Most other
instances of the proverb (Plautus St. 92, Seneca Ep. 14.9, 57.13; Juvenal 10.22,
cf. Plautus As. 92 etc.) make robbers the thieves and none specifies numbers. Here
Aristomenes stresses the violent image but plays down any associations with robbers
by making them wrestlers, who despite their strength could not complete the task.
Cf. Persius 4.39 for five athletes given a difficult task they cannot do. For the rise
in numbers compare the inflation from two to twelve normal people needed to lift
stones hoisted by single heroes between Homer 11. 12.445f. and Vergil A. 12.897-
900. Aristomenes used another proverbial expression with nudus before (1.14.2),
and is very aware that he himself is underdressed, since he has given one of his two
garments to Socrates, who himself had been robbed of his own clothes (1.7).
15.4	he rolled onto his other side, still worn out and half asleep: Aristomenes
cannot see the doorkeeper and must guess this action from any indistinct sounds he
hears. He assumes that the doorkeeper is half drunk and lying on the floor outside
the door, and accuses him of typical drunkenness. In 1.17.4 he calls him ‘drunk’
outright (for marcidus ‘worn out’ associated with drunkenness, cf. e.g. Seneca Suas.
6.7; Med. 69; Statius Silv. 1.6.33). In 1.17.3, unexpectedly waking up, Socrates calls
himself marcidus, implying that he had drunk too much before - which he had, cf.
1.11.4. In Λ/ei., marcidus is often associated with drinking and sexual exhaustion
(especially Photis’ and Lucius’, 2.17.4; 3.14.5; 3.20.4; compare Psyche in 5.22.3),
or once for a drug-enduced sleep in 10.11.3. Semisopitus ‘half asleep’ occurs only
here, but cf. 1.11.5 (Socrates) on the dangerous connotations of sopitus in Met. ; the
description now links the doorkeeper with Socrates, as both are apparently asleep
and drunk and possibly under the somniferous influence of witchcraft. Thelyphron
is also put to sleep (2.25.5) by the witches about to steal the corpse’s body parts.
you didn’t slit the throat: Dramatic irony: the doorkeeper, so obtuse to anything
else that has happened, uses the verb iugulare in its wider meaning of‘slaughter’; he
cannot know that Socrates has indeed had his throat cut in 1.13.4. The doorkeeper
now expresses exactly the kind of suspicion that Aristomenes was afraid of in
1.14.
that fellow traveller of yours, with whom you stopped here so late: The
doorkeeper reveals the reason for his suspicion of Aristomenes: they arrived close
to night time, and now one of them wants to leave again while it is still night.
taking your refuge in flight: The half-asleep doorkeeper displays some uncanny
insight, as this is exactly what Aristomenes, true to form, is planning.

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15.5	I remember that at that moment the earth gaped wide open and I saw
the depths of Tartarus and in it the dog Cerberus hungering ravenously for
me: The vision of Tartarus and Cerberus exemplifies Aristomenes’ changed attitude
to poetry (contrast on 1.8.5), with which he responds to Socrates’ talk of death.
The poetic description of the earth gaping wide (cf. e.g. Vergil A. 4.24, 8.243-46;
Seneca Oed. 582f. for terra dehiscente) is here used poignantly for Aristomenes’
own situation as a victim of witchcraft: witches split open the earth themselves for
necromancy, Meroe herself has power over Tartarus (cf. above on 1.8.4) and used a
ditch in 1.10.3 to lock her victims into their houses. Aristomenes indirectly blames
Meroe for his predicament and likely death.
As Aristomenes paints his memories vividly while at the same time distancing
himself emotionally from the experience (‘I remember’), he now realises that his
usual method of avoiding danger, flight, is cut off for him, leaving him no way to
save himself; ‘flight’ is a characteristic word for Aristomenes (cf. on 1.11.3). There
is no profound psychological change in Aristomenes here (although Keulen 2007,
299 claims it), as his fears of death and unjust punishment have been obvious before
(1.14). He sees exactly the place, Tartarus, the magical manipulation of which (cf.
1.8.4f.) he had believed to be impossible. He now is convinced of the magical power
of witches. Other passages in Met. where characters face death often refer to the
Underworld, cf. 3.9.8 and 3.10.3 (Lucius emerges from the ‘land of the dead’ after
realising the Risus festival trial is not real), 6.17 (Psyche is confronted twice with
descending into Tartarus and therefore death before another route is suggested);
7.7.4	(a robber melodramatically escapes the jaws of Orcus), 7.24.1 (Lucius barely
escapes a death sentence he likens to the shades of Orcus). On Tartarus as the home
of the souls of the dead (manes) see above on 1.8.4. Contrast Lucius’ metaphorical
voluntary descent into the Underworld to ‘Proserpina’s threshold’ during his Isiac
initiation in 11.23.6. Cerberus is the guard dog of the Underworld, often depicted
with three heads (e.g. in 3.19.2; 4.20.2), who ensures that no one enters or departs
from the Underworld unallowed. He is naturally found in Psyche’s katabasis in
6.19.3, living up to his stereotypical representation as barking fiercely but in vain
at the souls of the dead who he cannot harm any more. Like Psyche, Aristomenes is
still alive and thus in danger of being hurt by the hungry, ferocious dog.
15.6	spared my throat not out of mercy, but out of cruelty had reserved me for
the cross: Aristomenes here imagines a death similar to that of Socrates, on iugulari
cf. on 1.14.3 and 1.18.1. As in 1.14.2, Aristomenes assumes that he will be crucified
for murder, probably under Lex Cornelia de sicariis et veneficis (‘Cornelian law
against assassins and poisoners’; Summers 1970, 515f.).
16
Aristomenes leaves the inn’s ‘gates’, on the other side of which the doorkeeper is
lying, and returns to his bedroom with his friend’s body. He attempts to commit
suicide by hanging himself from a rope taken from his cot. It breaks, and he tumbles
onto the floor, together with the body of Socrates.

Commentary
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16.1	I returned to my bedroom and began to deliberate with myself about a
sudden kind of death: Though unsuccessful, Aristomenes’ suicide sets a pattern for
the novel; a man trying to hang himself aims for an ignoble death without honour,
but Aristomenes does not have a real choice of means (see introd. §6.4 on suicide).
It is not immediately clear how much time passes during Aristomenes’ deliberation
(the imperfect tense of deliberabam can cover a considerable amount of time), and
whether consequently the sun has risen by now, cf. also below on 1.17.1.
16.2	Fortuna did not supply me with any other death-bringing tool than
the cot: Fortuna is characterised as a bad and malevolent influence throughout
Aristomenes’ tale, cf. introd. §10.3. For the contrast of the 'death-bringing’ with
‘the life-saving’ weapon see on 1.16.3. This is a military image (also in Quintilian
Decl. 289.3), and not an appropriate description for the rickety cot. Reality will
catch up with Aristomenes.
Well now, my cot, most dear to my heart: The phrase is a parody of Sallust
Jug. 14.22 ‘well now, brother, most dear to my heart’ (iam iam frater animo meo
carissume). The ironising discrepancy between the highly emotionally charged scene
in Sallust and Aristomenes’ comic attempted suicide is typical of Apuleius. The
pathos-laden address in Sallust concerns the betrayal of Adharbal and his brother
by their adopted brother Jugurtha, while Aristomenes is afraid of being accused of
fratricide (cf. 1.17.4). Apuleius’ preference for archaism displays itself here.
Addresses to beds are intertextually charged: e.g. Greek tragedy (Sophocles Tr.
920ff.; Euripides Ale. 177-80 is an emotional address to Alcestis’ marriage bed) and
love poetry (Catullus 61.111; Propertius 2.15.2; Ovid£/?. 10.55 (Ariadne)). Greek
novels feature sentimental addresses to beds: Cleitophon’s attempted suicide, too,
is preceded by a dramatic monologue (Achilles Tatius 3.16f; Effe 1976, 369). For
Chariton cf. on 1.16.3. Cf. also Ovid Am. 1.6. and Dido’s pathetic address to her and
Aeneas’ bed in Vergil A. 4.659. Many such addresses to beds are followed by suicide
(Dido) or death (Alcestis), intrinsically linked with the love the bed has witnessed
(Finkelpearl 1998, Mattiacci 1993). Aristomenes’ bed has seen nothing of the kind,
which makes the allusion inappropriately comic. This is the final personification of
the ramshackle cot, which started in 1.8. The only witness of Aristomenes’ innocence,
personified yet unable to speak for him, then becomes the tool for his suicide attempt.
Cf. 1.11.8 on the bed as a stage prop. In Petronius 94.8 a bed (grabatus) is also
considered as a tool for suicide by hanging in a scene inspired by mime.
Comic, too, is this direct address to the bed as a parody of prayer, with epithets
and relative clauses that contain its aretai or ‘virtues’. The address in the second
person is typical of the ‘Du-Stil’ of prayer. This is continued by solum ‘alone’ below,
which invokes the specific and unique powers and virtues of the deity addressed.
who have suffered together with me so many trials and tribulations: The
phrase fits the highly emotional and tragic context, but adds comicality through the
farcical situation: exanclare ‘to suffer’ occurs often in combination with aerumnae
(‘distress’, for which see above on 1.1.4 and 1.6.2; 8.1.1; cf. Ennius seen. 103

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Commentary
Jocelyn = 102 Vahlen2), or labores (Met. 6.4.3; 11.12.5; 11.15.1; cf. Pacuvius 290
Ribbeck; Cicero Luc. 108; for both cf. Lucilius 1083). It is an archaism, cf. also
Plautus St. 273 and Met. 7.6.5; 7.11.3, 11.2.4. It also recalls Odysseus, the much
suffering epic hero (see Hunter 2012, 245).
as my accomplice and spectator: For a similar combination of accomplice and
eyewitness, cf. Rhetorica ad Herennium 2.7, Apul. Apol. 42. See above on 1.14.5
for the problem of eyewitnesses.
16J whom alone I can summon as a witness for my innocence: The voiceless bed
invoked as a witness to speak for Aristomenes is comic and bound to fail. ‘Witness for
innocence’ is a legal phrase, cf. Cicero Flac. 64; Livy 9.26.13, and cf. Met. 7.25.8 for
an appeal to a similarly futile witness (the speechless donkey is invoked to testify).
the saving weapon: The adjective salutare (lit. ‘life-preserving, healthy’) is often
the opposite of ‘death-bringing’ mortiferum (Cicero Leg. 2.13; Celsus De Medicina
8.4.21; Seneca Ep. 121.19), but here ironically both mean the same: salutare can be a
euphemism, occasionally linked with death, as in collegium salutare for burial clubs,
cf. the more common vitalis for ‘dead’ (see 1.19.2). Apuleius exploits both possible
strands of meaning. Compare Chariton 5.9.10, where the rope as the instrument of
suicide is addressed in a similar manner, as an instrument of victory and salvation
(see Mattiacci 1993, 266f. and introd. §6.4). The paradox shows the absurdity of
Aristomenes wanting to escape one death by another. In fact, had his suicide been
successful, the bed would not have been deemed a witness of his innocence as he
hopes for, but his suicide would have appeared as proof of his guilty conscience.
I am heading for the Underworld: A euphemism for suicide, cf. 6.29.7, where
Psyche is asked why she is hurrying (festinas) to Orcus (similar: 6.31.3). See also
Calpurnius Flaccus Deci 29; Tacitus Ag. 44.5; Ann. 4.28 for similar euphemisms.
16.4 1 proceeded ... into the noose: The long and detailed description and syntax
enhances the suspense.
rope with which the cot was woven together: Loosening the cords which hold
up the mattress leaves the impression that the already ramshackle bed may become
very unstable, which is misleading to some extent, cf. below on 1.16.6.
a small beam which projected from underneath the window towards the
other side: Roman windows were usually high up and looked towards the inside of
the courtyard rather than the outside. The window is probably too small or too high
up to escape through - or it could be blocked (Plautus Mil. 379). A beam (tigillum
is a rare word) is also used in 9.30.7, where the miller, apparently killed by a ghost,
hangs dead from a rafter. For other similarities between the miller and Aristomenes’
tale see introd. §11.
Altrinsecus must here mean ‘pointing to the other side’, i.e. from the window
into the room. It is an archaic word from comedy, in itself deflecting anticipation of
a serious threat to Aristomenes’ life emerging. It occurs five times in Met.: cf. 1.21.4
(again in connection with windows and in a comic setting), but before Apuleius
only in Plautus (Mer. 977, Mil. 446, Ps. 862, Rad. 1158).

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forced the other part of the rope tightly into a knot,... climbed onto the cot,
raised myself up for death, and placed my head into the noose: Sublimare 'to
raise up’ elsewhere in Met. is used concretely of flying: 3.21.6 (Pamphile becomes
a bird); 5.16.1 (Zephyrus lifts Psyche’s sisters), or in 1.8.4 ominously of raising the
dead from the Underworld to the land of the living. Aristomenes here intends to
head in the opposite direction, to the underworld; he literally raises himself from
the ground he is constantly associated with (1.11.8; 12.7; 14.2); cf. Accius trag. 576
Ribbeck ex humili sede sublima euolat (‘he(?) flies up high from a lowly seat’).
As Keulen 2007, 310 also notes, four out of five instances of the diminutive
funiculus in Met. describe scenes of suicide attempts by hanging (1.16.4; 6.30.7;
8.22.5; 8.31.2), once funis (1.16.6) is used for the same rope. Apart from Apuleius,
the word mostly occurs in agricultural writers.
16.5	1 pushed back with one foot the prop on which 1 was supported: The
image of Aristomenes precariously balancing on one leg on top of the cot, kicking
at it with his other foot, is farcical in its impracticality.
the rope should tighten around my throat and cut off the function of my
breath: Obstructed airways form a motif linking Lucius, Aristomenes and Socrates
in Met. 1: in 1.4.1 Lucius’ choking on a cheesecake is described as hindering his
air passages; in 1.19.3, Aristomenes again almost chokes (on bread); Socrates in
1.18.7	lacks breath and seemingly chokes on cheese. Most editions print officia, de
Buxis’ and (p’s correction of F’s officio (Met. 2.4.9 agitationis officium ‘function of
movement’, 2.29.3 vitae officia ‘functions of life' seem to offer good parallels for
officia). Other emendations have been tried: e.g. Jacobson 2004, 38 suggests the
reading ostia ‘opening’ as more natural with discluderet; the singular is considered
a possibility e.g. by Hanson 1989. Robertson 1965 doubtfully considers <officinam
ab> officio (lit. ‘the workshop from its function’).
16.6	suddenly: A long build-up of tension in a long sentence is followed by a
sudden reversal of fortune, and the quick succession of dramatic events prevents
the successful suicide. Speediness in action and changes of fortunes are leitmotifs in
Met.; Cf. also 1.11.7 and 1.19.9 for similar changes.
the rope, rotten anyway and old: For once, Apuleius does not use the
diminutive for rope, but adjectives to indicate the ramshackle nature of the prop,
which recalls its initial description in 1.11.8. Aristomenes’ carefully planned
suicide fails because of the low quality of his equipment, a comic motif (May 2006,
138ff), but unexpectedly it is the rope, removed from the bedframe, and not the
bed itself (‘rotten’in 1.11.8) that breaks. If the bed had broken once kicked (1.16.5),
Aristomenes would be dead.
I fell back down from the height and collapsed on top of Socrates ... and
together with him was rolled down onto the ground: Yet again he rolls onto
the ground (devolvor), echoing evolvere from 1.11.8. Superruere ‘to collapse
on top’ occurs only here and 2.26.3 (the dead Thelyphron’s wife throws herself
over his body); in both cases living humans are thrown on top of corpses who

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Commentary
will subsequently come alive temporarily. Here Aristomenes does not realise that
Socrates is still ‘alive’, and so has to add the horror of pollution through a corpse
to his fear of the doorkeeper and false accusation before the law. Nevertheless,
the image of the two friends rolling on the floor wrapped up in their bedding has
a comic aspect, and furthermore will lead the doorkeeper to suspect a homoerotic
entanglement.
17
The doorkeeper bursts into Aristomenes’ room. Socrates wakes up unexpectedly
and berates the intruder. Overjoyed, Aristomenes kisses and hugs his friend, who
pushes him away, as Aristomenes stinks of urine. Socrates seems oblivious to the
night’s events. They pay and leave the inn.
17.1 And look: Cf. above on 1.4.4.
at precisely that moment: Here and 2.20.3 (witches interrupt funerals, again
in the mirror story of Thelyphron, see below) are the only occurrences of the exact
phrase, but compare 7.2.1, 9.24.1 and 9.34.2 (during supernatural omens), as well
as Suetonius Tib. 14.4 and Seneca Ep. 77.13.
the doorkeeper burst in, shouting at the top of his voice: In Petronius 94.8f. a
lodging-house keeper breaks into Encolpius’ room immediately after his attempted
suicide in a similarly farcical scene, which may be a parody of idealised Greek
novels (Schmeling 2011, 386f.). It is unclear whether Apuleius echoes Petronius
here (introd. §2.2) and likely that both authors are inspired by mime. Breaking
into a room is against the normal behaviour of doorkeepers. The unannounced and
violent entrance here echoes the witches and anticipates the sudden entrance of
the magistrates at the beginning of Met. 3; they come and arrest Lucius for the
‘murder’ of what then turn out to be wineskins, again associating the experiences of
Aristomenes and Lucius (Sandy 1973,234). Furthermore, the scene is very similar
to 2.26.3, where Thelyphron wakes up from a sleep induced by witchcraft and later
finds out that the corpse he has been paid to guard has woken up. On mirror scenes
in Met. see introd. §4.1, on the tale of Thelyphron introd. §5. The rare introrumpere
(‘to burst in’, Caesar Gal. 5.51.3 in a siege context, then again in Gellius) is used
here and in 2.26.3 for sudden entrances into a room after a night of witchcraft that
is about to be exposed.
Where are you, who were in such an excessive hurry in the middle of the night
and now are snoring, all wrapped up: The doorkeeper has a point, as Aristomenes
wanted to leave before dawn, and he reacts with sarcasm as both Aristomenes and
Socrates are on the floor after the collapse of Aristomenes’ bed, apparently wrapped
up intimately together in the bed’s blankets. Socrates was the one snoring before
(1.11.4). As Aristomenes is awake and thus does not snore, the doorkeeper either
mistakes the noise of Aristomenes’ crashing on the floor for snoring, or this is the
first indication that Socrates is not quite as dead as hitherto assumed. Even if the
doorkeeper were able to distinguish the two men wrapped in their bedding, it would

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173
not have been possible for him to distinguish through a closed door which of the
two had been screaming to be let out before. There is no evidence anywhere else
that the doorkeeper mistakes Socrates for Aristomenes here because of a possible
facial resemblance (considered by Keulen 2007, 315). Even if Aristomenes is not
immediately visible, as he is now covered by the bed, the question asked by the man
who has kept him locked up in the tawdry inn against his will is comic (cf. Plautus
Aul. 268, Cas. 963 etc.; Terence Eu. 472 for similar questions), and a repetition of
Aristomenes’ question to the doorkeeper in 1.15.1.
Seneca was fond of the phrase alta nocte ‘in the middle of the night’ and the first
to use it, together with Lucan 6.570f. {Med. 729, Tro. 197; Dial. 6.26.3). In Met.
2.25.2	the phrase seems to indicate a time relatively early in the night Either way, the
doorkeeper clearly exaggerates, though the exact time of day is debatable. Aristomenes
said in 1.14.6 that dawn was beginning, whereas the doorkeeper assumed it was still
night in 1.15.2. It is not clear how much time was spent by Aristomenes deliberating
his suicide, see on 1.16.1. On the importance of night time cf. introd. §11.
17.2	I do not know whether he was roused because of our fall or because
of that man’s dissonant screeching: Aristomenes’ claim of ignorance serves to
stress the instantaneousness of their fall to the ground together and the doorkeeper’s
interruption, as well as to verify his story - he does not claim to know for sure what
he cannot know, making what he does tell Lucius more credible. The same negative
description of the doorkeeper’s shouting is used in 3.29.4 of the donkey’s braying,
and in 8.26.2 of the excited squeals of the Dea Syria’s priests.
roused ... Socrates got up first: Completely unexpectedly, Socrates wakes up
from apparent death. The ‘apparent death’-motif is another key theme in Met. and
a kind of metamorphosis (of fortune; Tatum 1972,308f.); apart from Socrates here,
whose ‘resurrection’ will turn out to be short-lived, Thelyphron’s corpse in Met. 2.29
similarly revives temporarily with the help of an Egyptian priest. The realisation of
Lucius in 3.9 that he will not be condemned to death at the Risus festival is expressed
in terms of returning from the kingdom of Proserpina and Orcus. His alter ego
Psyche is resurrected from an ‘infernal and truly Stygian sleep’ (6.21.1) by Cupid,
just as Lucius will descend into the Underworld and gain a second life as part of
his initiation into the Isiac mysteries in 11.23. It anticipates the story in 10.12 of the
young son of the evil stepmother, who is given a sleeping potion instead of poison
and wakes up after having been buried, to be reunited with his family (Nethercut
1968, 116). The fact that Socrates at this stage is actually dead or a revenant turns
the following discussion into a kind of necromancy (introd. §11). For Platonic
associations with death and metempsychosis see introd §10.1. The quick-moving
action prevents Aristomenes from expressing any astonishment at his friend’s
miraculous resurrection, as the presumably dead Socrates is quicker to get up than
Aristomenes (possibly still affected by the witches’ binding spell). Apuleius here is
deliberately ambiguous about Socrates’ status: he uses two words he associates on
the one hand with someone waking up from a deep sleep (experrectus, a participle

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Commentary
of expergiscor ‘to wake up'; thus in 11.1.1 and 11.20.2; the alternative participle
expergitus is used for Thelyphron’s waking up in 2.26.2 after a nocturnal encounter
with witches, but also in a wider sense in Apol. 43; Met. 2.14.5 and 4.22.5), and on
the other hand with the resurrection of the dead: in 2.30.4 die living Thelyphron
ignarus exsurgit ‘rose up unwittingly’ when called by the witches, and the dead
Thelyphron’s corpse ‘rose’ in 2.29.2: adsurgit cadaver.
It’s not without reason that all guests despise these tavern-keepers: Socrates
seems to mistake the doorkeeper for the innkeeper; he is not a reliable witness of
events. Innkeepers have a bad reputation, see above on 1.5.3. Socrates’ litotes is
picked up in 1.18.4 by Aristomenes in a similar truism, where he makes a trite and
sentendous statement about nightmares caused by overindulgence. The parallelism
is enhanced by two emendations: here the text of F (ne-inmerito) and of the later
hand in A (nec-inmerito) has been corrected by Rossbach to non-inmerito; in 1.18.4
again a correction for F’s ne is required.
173 that curious fellow: Curiosus is negatively charged; Socrates accuses the
doorkeeper first of curiosity, then of worse. On curiosity in Met. see introd. §6.3.
when he rudely burst in: This echoes the doorkeeper in 1.17.1 exactly (irrupit
... introrumpit).
I believe with the intention of nicking something: Socrates makes unreasonable
and false accusations of theft against the doorkeeper. Socrates’ confusion and
irritability is apparently due to his being woken up from a deep sleep, but see
introd. §11 on the issues of necromancy and the veracity of Socrates’ speech. The
doorkeeper had himself previously (1.15.2) mentioned robbers. Socrates’ echoing
of previous language indicates that he must have been dimly aware of some of the
events taking place when he was ‘dead’ asleep.
Staying at an inn has its dangers, cf. the similar situation in Cicero’s De Inventione
2.14, where an innkeeper kills one of two travel companions at night and manages
to implicate the survivor in the murder. A similar episode in Div. 1.57 involves
the dream apparition of the victim of a murderous innkeeper to his friend. Other
stories include innkeepers being robbed or indeed robbing their guests (Petronius
62.12 with Schmeling 2011, 259). Declamations may have contained similar tales
for future orators to practise on (Smith and Woods 2002, 175-80, van Mal-Maeder
2007, 124).
shook me with his mighty shouting out of a very deep sleep, although 1 was
really quite worn out: In 1.15.4 Aristomenes describes the doorkeeper as groggy
and half asleep. Socrates, oblivious to what has happened, was clearly drunk the
night before, and seems to attribute his sorry state to too much alcohol and deep
sleep. Aristomenes will not contradict him - at this moment he may believe that
Socrates’ ‘murder’ was a nightmare (an assessment which will only change once
Socrates reports his own matching ‘dream’, see below on l. 18.7). Socrates’ apparent
oblivion to the preceding noise that Aristomenes’ (and his own) fall and the doors
have made may be the first indication that something is wrong with him. Deep sleep

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175
and death can be indistinguishable (e.g. Cicero Tusc. 1.97; Livy 41.4; Seneca Ep.
66.43; Death and Sleep are brothers, cf e.g. Homer //. 16.682). The phrase may
therefore reflect something more sinister. Charite in 4.27 wakes up frightened from
a prophetic dream in a similar conflation of death and sleep.
17.4	happy, swiftly, and drenched with unexpected joy: Aristomenes seems
to be happier about the discovery that he cannot be indicted for murdering his
companion than about Socrates’ unexpectedly healthy state. Similarly ‘drenched’
in joy are Thelyphron in 2.26.5 and Myrmex in 9.19.4 - both men’s happiness will,
like Aristomenes’, be short lived. In 1.18.6 Aristomenes is accurately described as
‘drenched’ in urine. Conversely a young man is ‘drenched in harmful anger’ in
10.25.1; apart from Apuleius, gaudio perfusus occurs also in Livy 26.50.9. Laetus
atque alacer ‘happy and swiftly’ is elsewhere in Met. only used of Lucius: 3.29.6 (the
donkey keen to eat roses); 11.1.4 (Lucius purifies himself for prayer), though not an
uncommon combination, before Apul., e.g. frequently in Cicero (for Aristomenes
anticipating Lucius’ fate see introd. §5).
my most trusty doorkeeper: The address as fidelissime ‘most faithful’ is as
ironic as Aristomenes’ previous description of his bedroom door as ‘excellent and
faithful’ (probae et fideles) in 1.14.7.
my friend [and my father and] and my brother: Aristomenes’ hyperbole is
driven both by his relief that his friend is apparently fine and his desire to talk up
his proof of innocence. Frater is used affectionately rather than of a real relative
in a list, culminating in ‘brother’, in 8.7.2 (Thrasyllus on Tlepolemus); in 9.7.3 the
cuckolded husband calls his wife’s loverfrater. In 2.13.6 Diophanes’yfater may be
related or a close friend (see also on 1.12.4). Frater is used for ‘men not too distant
in age’ (Dickey 2002,327, see above on 1.6.1, whereas pater indicates a distinct age
difference (Dickey 2002, 120-22 lists some rare hyperbolic exceptions). There is
unlikely to be much age difference between them. Aristomenes uses comes ‘friend’
of Socrates again in 1.18.1, 19.5 and 11. The combination frater seu comes is used
in Petronius 9.4 by Giton to describe the problematic relationship between him,
Encolpius and Ascyltus, with comes indicating less intimacy than frater, which can
have an erotic subtext (Schmeling 2011, 28 ad loc.\ and which therefore may be a
particularly unfortunate turn of phrase here. It reinforces the doorkeeper’s possible
conclusions on what he sees, namely two men entangled in an apparent erotic
embrace in the same sheets on one overturned bed. The doorkeeper is ignorant of
what really motivates Aristomenes’ extraordinary behaviour, so in his point of view,
Aristomenes’ exaggerated assertion of innocence has to appear as a rebuke to him
for his accusation, not as a celebration of a lucky escape.
Pater ‘father’ can be affectionate, cf. Petronius 98.8 (Giton flatteringly to
Eumolpus, with Habermehl 2006, 309 ad loc. for parallels), Plautus Capt. 238.
The examples cited as affectionate terms by Keulen 2007, 320 to defend et pater
meus however still contain a noticeable age difference and are from comedy’s
inverted Saturnalia atmosphere, where a master names a slave his father or patron.

176
Commentary
It is never used in that meaning in Apuleius. See also below on 1.21.4 for kinship
terminology used for non-related persons with a clear age difference. Zimmerman
2012, Robertson 1965 and this edition accept Salmasius’ deletion of etpater meusf
Hanson 1989 and Keulen 2007 include the phrase in their texts.
whom you falsely accused me of having murdered last night when you were
drunk: Cf. 1.15 for previous accusations that the doorkeeper was drunk. Also
see 1.18.2 on Aristomenes’ own experiences and those of Socrates: Aristomenes
himself admits he was so inebriated that his judgement on the experience seems to
have been clouded by the wine, and he now accuses the doorkeeper of the same.
Nocte "last night' picks up the doorkeeper’s alta nocte, again stressing the affinity of
night and murder in the story. This is the only instance of calumniae "slander’ and
related words, frequent in Apologia, in Met.
1 embraced Socrates and tried to kiss him: Before Apuleius, deosculari "to
kiss’ only occurs in Plautus, always in erotic contexts: Cos. 136,453,454,467. This
eroticism continues the (very mild) homoerotic subtext of the scene. In Apuleius
it is erotic only twice: Met. 2.10.6 and 2.16.2 (Lucius and Photis), and more often
describes a one-sided kiss of an inanimate object: in 3.24.2 Lucius kisses the
container of the magic ointment, in 4.11.6 a robber the sword he uses for suicide.
In 2.26.3, a mirror scene to here (also with amplexus), his wife embraces the dead
Thelyphron. Aristomenes’ kiss at first indicates exuberant emotions, as in 1.24.5
(Pythias kisses a more passive Lucius in friendship) and 2.28.3 (Thelyphron’s
relative kisses the priest’s hand in supplication), but in the end turns out to have
been the one-sided kiss of a dead, inanimate object.
17.5 stunned by the stench of that filthy liquid: Importantly, Aristomenes
realises that he is indeed covered in urine (for which humor is a euphemism: Seneca
Dial. 4.3.2), and that he believes it was the witches’, not his own, urine that drenched
him. For the association of spurcissimus ‘most filthy’ with urine in Apuleius see
above on 1.13.8.
those Lamiae had stained me: The mythological Lamia (Leinweber 1994, 77)
went mad when the jealous Hera killed her children by Zeus, and spent the rest of
her existence devouring children. Abhorrent and filthy Lamiae (Aristophanes Wasps
1177, 1035 = Peace 758) feature in old wives’ tales as malevolent spirits who eat
small children. Scholiae on Wasps 1035 identify the Lamia as an ugly old woman.
All Lamiae are however capable of appearing beautiful and seductive when planning
to devour a future husband after marriage (Philostratus, Life of Apollonius 4.144L),
showing obvious parallels to Meroe’s seductiveness despite her age (cf. 1.7.7). This
comment with its connotations of pollution (miasma) indicates that even here, where
Aristomenes as the ‘experiencing I’ is unsure about Socrates’ state, he still believes
the witches were indeed present and humiliated him, and not that he had wet his own
bed. Aristomenes the ‘narrating Γ knows what happened. Psyche’s cruel, envious
and childless sisters in 5.11.5 are denounced as Lamiae (Cupid speaking); in 1.19.2
Aristomenes calls the witches ‘Furies’. In Horace Ars 340 lamiae is used of witches.

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177
shoved me away violently: Socrates reacts understandably strongly to the
inexplicably euphoric embrace of his urine-soaked friend.
17.6	Get off:	is an exclamation from comedy (Plautus/fm. 310; 580\Bac. 73
etc., cf. Apul. Socr. 5(131) apagesis). Socrates all of a sudden uses a comic register
and becomes the comic character; a metamorphosis after the happy awakening from
the apparent death he is entirely unaware of (May 2006, 139f.).
bottom of a latrine: Here used literally, but in 9.14.3 it is a metaphor for a
despicable woman, and in PI. 1.13 (207) for a despicable place.
he began to inquire good-humouredly into the reasons for this stench: The
obvious solution would be that Aristomenes had been unable to hold his urine in
his drunken stupor (Panayotakis 1998, 122). The nuances of comiter range from
‘pleasantly’, ‘courteously’ to ‘good-humouredly’; given the ambivalence of their
relationship and the unpleasant physical circumstances, comiter here is probably less
enthusiastic than in 1.24.5 (Pythias embraces Lucius affectionately) and more like
1.26.1,	where Lucius declines Milo’s invitation politely and unenthusiastically.
17.7	miserable as I was: Aristomenes has many reasons to feel miserable - he
reeks of urine and is the butt of his friend’s jokes. He is also still wet, polluted and
under the spell of witchcraft. For the association of miser with victims of witchcraft
in Met. 1 see above on 1.6.1, and on Aristomenes as a victim see 1.13.1.
I improvised some absurd joke: See 1.2.5 and 1.20.2 for the connection of
absurdity with lying and fiction, and with inventive joking in 10.16.7; all examples
indicate scepticism about the ‘absurd’ things said and Aristomenes’ awareness that
his joke is weak and unbelievable. Just as in 1.7.4, Aristomenes does not reveal
the joke itself. Ex tempore is used twice in Apuleius’ ‘False Preface' \o Socr. (fr. 1
(103) and fr. 4 (108); see on 1.1.5 on the nature of the ‘False Preface *) to stress, as
here, the speeches’ improvisatory nature.
towards a different subject of conversation: Aristomenes never shares the
content of his dream with Socrates, and instead uses an obvious distraction technique
to avert attention from what he might wish to think of as a nightly ‘accident’.
took his right hand: Cf. 1.6.5, where Aristomenes gives Socrates a hand to help
him up, and 1.26.2, where Milo pulls Lucius to his table with gentle force (see there
for further parallels).
17.8	1 picked up my little satchel: On the satchel see above on 1.14.7.
18
Socrates does not seem to have any obvious scars, and happily jokes about having
had a dream in which he was mutilated. Although Aristomenes tries to reassure
himself that he, too, only had a nightmare, Apuleius’ choice of words is deliberately
vague and often ominous, thus indicating that there is more to the events of the
previous night than a mere nightmare brought on by too much drink. They leave the
inn and later sit down for breakfast.

178
Commentarγ
18.1 We had already travelled some way: The prosaic phrase (Cicero Att. 6.5.1,
Fin. 3.48; Rhetorica ad Herennium 4.69, Gellius 16.8.16) recalls Met. 1.2.4, where
Lucius encounters Aristomenes and the sceptic early in the morning. It is followed
by one in highly poetic language.
when everything was illuminated by the rising of the radiant light of day:
It becomes clear now that they still left before daybreak, earlier and more hastily
than would be normal for ancient travellers. Aristomenes again demonstrates his
reliance on imperfect visual perception (cf. his statement in 1.5.1 on the all-seeing
sun). The language suggests the men have successfully left past events behind: the
intended contrast between epic sunrises and the sordid events of the previous night
gives a false feeling of closure and happy ending typical of Met. (Harrison 2000,
246f., Harrison 2003), followed then by more unexpected endings after the apparent
closure. Several books in Met. start with a new dawn; iubaris exortu is tragic-epic
for the rising sun (e.g. Pacuvius trag. 347 Ribbeck; Vergil A. 4.130, but also in
Columella 10.294; Suetonius Aug. 94.4). It is also used in 2.1.5 (Lucius, newly
woken up in Hypata, exuberantly hopes for a miracle), 4.4.1 (the donkey starts on
a new journey), 8.30.2 (the Dea Syria priests flee before sunrise). ‘Everything was
illuminated’ is used frequently at the beginning of books, in 7.1.1 (the Sungod’s
chariot illuminates everything), 11.2.3 (the Queen of Heaven illuminates the world).
In Apol. 16.12 it is used to illustrate Apuleius’ openness to scrutiny.
I ... kept staring: Apuleius here uses arbitrari in its Plautine meaning of
‘observing without being observed’, cf. also 3.21.3; Plautus Capt. 290, Epid. 695,
Aul. 607. The meaning more contemporary to Apuleius’ own times (‘to consider’)
is used in 1.20.3.
carefully and attentively: Harrison 2006, 60 here reads, with one of Helm’s
doubtful suggestions, curiose et sedulo to add a conjunction to the transmitted
curiose sedulo. Zimmerman 2012 emends, again inspired by Helm, to curiose
sedulo<que>, which has the same meaning and is followed here. Both adverbs occur
in asyndetic combinations with others (Met. 3.16.4, 5.8.3, 6.2.1), and in 7.1.6 both
words are used in coordinated sentences. Although very close in meaning, curiose,
usually ‘carefully’, here still has the added meaning of curiosity, whereas sedulo
(3.3.3, 3.20.2) ‘carefully’, an archaising and comic word (Van der Paardt 1971,41),
stresses Aristomenes’ painstaking and earnest attention.
my friend’s throat: When Socrates wakes up, the condition of his throat becomes
the centre of attention, with iugulum and related words occurring four times in 1.18.
After the exuberance in Aristomenes’ declaration of his affection for Socrates (and
realisation that he will not be arrested for Socrates’ murder) in 1.17.4 he has now
returned to the more neutral term ‘friend’.
the place where 1 had seen the sword plunged in: The choice of words, similar
to 1.13.4, recalls the witches’ cutting of Socrates' throat in their perverted sacrifice
and reinforces that Aristomenes actually ‘saw’ it happen but cannot detect any
evidence for it now.

Commentary
179
18.2	You are mad: Vesane is poetic, as the vocative before Apuleius occurs mostly
in epic poetry (Statius Thebaid 3.627; 5.663; Valerius Flaccus 5.673; Propertius
3.12.7	etc.). The insult is often used, as here, as part of a warning against people not
doing the right thing by a person with superior knowledge (Dickey 2002,363).
buried in your cups of wine: He blames the cups again in 1.18.5 below. Poculo
... sepultus ‘buried in your cups’ is a unique expression, but vino sepultus ‘buried
in wine’ is epic and ominous, here as in 7.12.4 (the robbers are drunk with wine,
but will soon be killed by Haemus/Tlepolemus). ‘Buried’ is anticipatory of their
real deaths: Vergil A. 2.265 (the Trojans’ death after the night of the Trojan horse),
A. 3.630f. (Polyphemus), or Ilias Latina 730 (Rhesus). Note also ‘buried in sleep’
(somno) in Lucretius 5.974; another variant in non-epic literature: ‘in undiluted
wine’ (mero) in Ovid Rem. 806; Propertius 3.11.56; Petronius 89.56.
a really bad nightmare: If a dream or nightmare is caused by too much drink, it
does not have any meaning: Cicero Div. 1.60; Artemidorus Onirocritica 1 p. 3,18-21
Pack; Plato Λ. 571c. On dreams in Met. 1 cf. above on 1.12.1; dreams form important
guidelines for the readers about events in Met. (Carlisle 2008). Aristomenes prefers
the easy option to interpret Socrates’ apparent liveliness, instead of thinking it might
be the work of Meroe, who is able to raise the ghosts of the dead (1.8.4). For the
phrase see also 1.8.1 and below 1.18.4.
18.3	Socrates is untouched, healthy and unhurt: Similar lists in Apuleius are
linked with magic: in Apol. 43 a boy allegedly used for prophetic magic is ‘healthy,
unharmed, talented, beautiful’ (puer sanus, incolumis, ingeniosus, decorus), and
in Met. 2.24.3, a list (including, like here, ecce) occurs in the context of witches
harming and physically dismembering bodies, where a corpse’s physical integrity
is proof for the absence of witches’ interference. Socrates is apparently sanus, as
opposed to Aristomenes, who addresses himself as its opposite, vesane, in 2 above
(cf. Apol. 80 sanam an insanam, ‘healthy or mad’).
Where is the wound, the sponge? Where, finally, is that scar so deep, so fresh?:
Apuleius follows the three adjectives with three nouns. Both the wound and the sponge
used to close it off (see on 1.13.7 for medical uses of the sponge in wound healing)
should be visible. Aristomenes juxtaposes fresh and healed wounds to indicate the
situation is completely incredible. A scar would have taken much longer to develop than
a few hours, cf. 6.21.2 where the scar covering Cupid’s wound indicates the passing
of time. The tricolon moves from something likely to something unlikely to be seen,
and the absence of all three convinces Aristomenes that he has had a nightmare. Both
alia ‘deep’ and recens ‘fresh’ are associated with vulnus (altus: Celsus De Medicina
5.26.35a; Petronius 136.7; Silius Italicus 9.155; recens: Cicero Ver. 2.2.187; Celsus
De Medicina 5.19.22; 5.20.1 a; 5.26.20a; 7.15.2 (with sponge as treatment)), but only
recens with cicatrix ‘scar’ (Celsus De Medicina 5.18.28; 5.28.17c; Petronius 113; 9;
Scribonius Largus 26.9).
The text follows F but tidies up the question marks (with most modem editions);
no changes or additions are required.

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18.4	It’s not without reason that trustworthy doctors maintain that people
swollen with food and booze have vicious and oppressive dreams: Although
Aristomenes previously stressed that Socrates and perhaps the doorkeeper were drunk,
he now considers the possibility that he himself has overindulged in food and drink like
a glutton. This kind of swelling is unhealthy: also in 2.31.4 (Lucius is ‘swollen with
drink1 after Byrrhaena’s dinner), 7.27.3 (the donkey distends his belly with food); cf.
Quintilian Inst. 2.10.6 (quadrupeds). It is Aristomenes’ turn to be sententious, and he
echoes Socrates’ equally trite remark in 1.17.2. It was a widely known commonplace
in antiquity to assume that overeating and -drinking would cause nightmares (refs in
Panayotakis 1998, 117ff.). Caelius Aurelianus On Chronic Diseases 1.3.55f. argues
that too much food and drink, the feeling of heaviness and sweating, and the feeling
of choking are all signs of nightmares, but in Met. these feelings have connotations
of prophecy, a sign that there is more to the dream than just drink: cf. 4.27.1, where
Charite calls her prophetic dream ‘most vicious’, saevissimo; cf. Tibullus 1.5.13f.
(nightmares and witchcraft) and Seneca Here. F. 1082f. for ‘vicious’, and Cicero Div.
1.4	for ‘rather oppressive’ (graviora) dreams.
Trustworthiness is a key concept for doctors in Met., cf. 10.8.2, where a doctor is
associated with fidus, although as an honest and capable doctor he is an exception. In
10.25.2	a different doctor is more stereotypically associated with ‘known perfidy’.
Distrust of doctors was rife in Rome, and doctors in Met. are usually incompetent:
in 10.2 they fail to diagnose the obvious, and in 10.25 sell poison intended to kill
(Panayotakis 1998, 124). For further ironic uses of the word fidelis see above on
1.14.7	and 17.4.
18.5 did not restrain myself sufficiently from the cups: A definite understatement;
Aristomenes admits tacitly that he has drunk quite a lot and agrees with the doctors’
sentiments.
last night... a rough night: ‘Rough night’ is a conventional phrase: Cicero Att.
10.8.7; Plane. 101.2, Calpurnius Siculus Eel. 3.46, Valerius Flaccus 2.291. Again
the stress is on the nocturnal experience; cf. above on 1.4.1.
brought me dire and wild visions: The choice of words here strengthens the
idea it has all been a dream: optulere ‘to bring’ is used of a dream in 9.31.1, which
reveals to a woman her father’s horrible fate: he has been killed by a ghost. Also
used of dreams in Vergil A. 4.557, [Seneca] Oct. 116, Annius Florus Epitome 2.17
(imago se optulit ‘a vision presented itself’). Similarly, imago in Met. frequently
indicates night visions, both dangerous (8.9.3, Charite) and more benign (11.13.6,
of Isis). In 4.27.5 the old woman advises Charite that night dreams (imagines) often
show the opposite to what will happen (May 2006, 252-55; 260).
The language is ambivalent: Aristomenes describes the witches, too, in similar
terms in 1.19.2, where he also calls them Furies. Dirus is often used of magic
and witchcraft: 2.22.3 (magical incantations); 2.29.4 (invocation of the Dirae or
Furies in a priest’s declaration of power over a corpse); 7.14.2 (Photis’ magic) and
9.23.2	(an adulteress’ curses); 9.29.3 (a ghost about to murder a husband).The other

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181
instances of truces imagines, Livy 5.2.9 (imago = semblance, appearance) and Pliny
Pan. 52.5 (imago = image), are not to do with dreams.
I still believe: See on 1.19.2
spattered and polluted with human blood: As the witches caught every drop
of blood that Socrates had lost, Aristomenes is telling an untruth; instead, he is
spattered with urine, verified by Socrates’ comments, see 1.17.6. He seems to be
fishing for information from Socrates, trying to find out what he remembers from
the previous night. He uses cruor, ‘cloned blood’, not sanguis (for the difference
see above on 1.13.5). The nuance here at first appears not to be crucial, but it will
turn out to be so in 1.19.9, where Socrates only loses a ‘little blood’ (cruor). It
functions as a marker to anticipate Socrates’ death (Keulen 2007,334), just as blood
is spattered as a bad omen in 9.34.2. Impiatum points to pollution, cf. 3.3.9 (an
accused defiled by so many murders), 9.1.1 (‘polluted’ hands of a man about to
kill the donkey). Aristomenes touched Socrates when both tumbled on the floor in
1.16.6, enough to catch pollution (see above on 1.13.3).
18.6	He smirked: Ridere in Met. often indicates sarcasm, and can be perceived as
threatening or exclusive, e.g. during the Risus festival (May 2006, 183ff.; laughter
in Met.: Schlam 1992,40f.).
But you are not doused in blood, but in piss: Socrates had questioned
Aristomenes about the cause before, and still assumes that Aristomenes had wet
his bed, cf. above on 1.17.6L The language reflects the move from the sublime to
the ridiculous: sanguine perfiisus ‘doused in blood’ is a frequent and thus easily
recognisable poetical phrase, often in epic contexts: Vergil G. 2.510; A. 11.88;
Lucan 8.375; 10.74; Propertius 3.3.45; Ovid Met. 1.157 etc. By contrast, ‘doused in
piss’ is a unique combination of the words. For the dousing cf. 1.13.8, and for the
colloquial nature of lotium see 1.14.2.
I myself had a dream, too, that I had my throat cut: Apuleius plays with
the concept of double dreams as harbingers of truth in ancient thought and creates
a paradox: importantly, Socrates had a similar ‘dream’ to Aristomenes, which
secretly should confirm to Aristomenes that his experience overnight was true.
Either they both had the same nightmare, which in itself proves its truthfulness, or
the experience was real. Double dreams that will come true feature frequently in
the novels: Achilles Tatius 4.1.5, Longus 1.7-8 (the couple’s parents); Heliodorus
8.11	(Charikleia and Theagenes), 9.25 and 10.3 (Charikleia’s parents); Petronius
104.If. (Lichas andTryphaena), cf. Panayotakis 1998,128; 1995,150; Habermehl
2006, 387. The double dreams in Met. 11 are straightforward announcements
dealing with Lucius’ Isiac initiations: in 11.6.3 Lucius and the Isis priest Mithras
share a dream sent by Isis about Lucius’ remetamorphosis, cf. also 11.13, followed
by another two double dreams anticipating Lucius’ subsequent initiations (11.22
and 27; most recently: Frangoulidis 2012). Dreaming about having one’s throat cut
like a sacrifice (on the murder’s sacrificial nature see above on 1.13.4 and introd.
§11) is actually a sign of good luck for all men, cf. Artemidorus Onirocritica

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Commentary
2.51, with May 2006, 254f., but Socrates’ experience will turn out to be not a
lucky dream, but dreadful reality temporarily believed to be a dream {somnium,
putavi). Apuleius plays with his audience’s expectations: the murder was real and
ominous.
18.7	believed that my heart itself was torn out of me: Socrates seems to have
some memory of what has happened in 1.13.
even now I am out of breath: The feeling of pain he had in his sleep has given
way to one of general weakness. There is also dramatic irony and intentional
word play, as Socrates has indeed lost his breath because of the witches, where he
emphatically breathes out his last breath; see on 1.13.6 for the various meanings of
spiritus. He currently thinks he is still breathless because of a nightmare. Cf. 8.6.6
(Charite’s spiritus fails after discovering her dead husband) for a similar double
meaning of‘life’ and ‘breath’. Deficior can have a double meaning, too, i.e. ‘fainting’
(Panayotakis, 1998, 120f; 124). The two meanings are however linked, see 5.22.3
(Psyche’s faint is death-like). In 1.19.1 deficientem ‘wasting away’ describes the
start of Socrates’ second death.
my knees are shaking, I stagger when I walk: The shaking knees could be
a sign either of a hangover or of his blood loss and death. Apuleius keeps up the
suspense, and also associates Socrates here with both Aristomenes (cf. 1.13.1) and
Lucius, especially as in 2.31.4 staggering is a sign of Lucius’ overindulgence in drink
(cf. Columella 10.1.1.309, Ovid Met. 3.608L). In 4.4.2,6.30.5 and 7.20.3 Lucius the
donkey totters (titubanti gradu). Michalopoulos 2006 takes these obvious signs of
weakness as a pun on a pseudo-etymologisation of Socrates’ name (σώς= ‘healthy,
κράτος = strength, with Socrates appearing as the opposite of his name).
I crave some food to warm my spirits again! Warming Socrates’ spirits with
food has worked before in 1.7.3. Here it indicates dramatic irony, as Socrates’ dead
body is probably cooling down, and eating food will contribute to his second death
instead of restoring him as previously. Cibatus occurs also in 1.24.3 and 9.5.5, PI.
1.16 (214) and Hermagoras fr. 7 (again in the context of serving delicious food).
18.8	Look: Apart from the prologue (1.1.5), this is the first of many instances of
the exclamation en in Met. (25 times; in Met. 1 also in 19.8; 22.7; 23.5), always in
direct speech.
breakfast is prepared and ready: Aristomenes hopes to return to apparent
normality with breakfast (for which cf. on 1.2.4), and prepares the food quickly, as
he is speaking.
1 lifted my satchel off my shoulder: The mantica (a rare variant of the sarcinula
used in 1.14.7, also in Lucilius Fr. Inc. 1207; Catullus 22.21, Persius 4.24; Horace
S. 1.6.106) was made out of leather and carried, as here, over the shoulder, so that
parts of it hang over shoulder and back. In taking down his satchel he incongruously
imitates an epic phrase in a very non-heroic context: umero exuere ‘to lift off one’s
shoulder’ is normally used of weapons (sword: Vergil A. 9.303; quiver: Ovid Met.
2.419) or cloaks (Statius Theb. 6.835ft, cf. Silv. 5.2.67).

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Let’s sit down next to that plane tree: The plane tree introduces the stereotypical
locus amoenus or ‘pleasant place’ (De Biasi 2000, Mattiacci 2001) near water. Apuleius
in Mund. 36 (369) discusses the usefulness of a plane tree to drinkers to whom it
offers shade, referring to Vergil G. 4.146. Importantly it evokes the beginning of Plato
Phaedrus 228e-230e, see introd. § 10.1, but Apuleius’ Socrates will die and be buried
here. Retrospectively, a second-time reader recognising the link with the Phaedrus
will re-read the witches’ address to the sponge (see above on 1.13.7) as foreshadowing
Socrates’ death near a river, as Plato’s Socrates refuses to cross a river until he has
placated the god of Love out of fear of the consequences. Apuleius here humorously
runs through some Platonic topoi and good-naturedly pokes fun at them. In Phaedrus
229c-230a, Plato’s Socrates deflects Phaedrus’ question about the truthfulness of
mythological creatures and stories; Apuleius ’ Socrates and Aristomenes experience the
potency of witchcraft and witches associated with mythological creatures in a setting
similar to Plato’s. Plato’s locus amoenus shows evidence of human hands (230b8; cf.
Montiglio 2000, 94.), whereas Apuleius’ landscape is utterly desolate and devoid of
human intervention. In a wider sense, a locus amoenus became a topos in the study
of poetry. It is an idealised and beautiful landscape, e.g. Horace Carm. 2.11.13, Ars
17, Petronius 131, where nevertheless terrible things may happen, as often in Ovid,
e.g. Met. 3.407-508, where the beautiful landscape is the setting for both Narcissus’
and Echo’s metamorphoses. Apuleius’ landscape here, too, shows few anomalies to
indicate that something terrible will happen (cf. 1.19.7), unlike the descriptions of
definite loci horridi in Met. 4.6fF. or 6.13ff., where the landscape already indicates its
hostility (Schiesaro 1985). Still, some scholars point out the danger of the landscape
here: Nethercut 1968,111 f. associates rivers in Met. with death. Psyche in 6.12 almost
kills herself in a locus amoenus (again marked pointedly by a plane tree’s roots drinking
from a river).
19
Socrates eats some of Aristomenes' food, and it quickly becomes clear that something
is amiss, with connotations of death and the Underworld. When Socrates is thirsty
and attempts to drink some water from the river, the sponge dislodges itself from
his chest, he keels over and dies. Aristomenes buries Socrates’ body and becomes
an exile, living in constant fear.
19.1	I, too, took some food from the same satchel: With the pronoun in its
stressed front position Aristomenes points out that he took the same food, and
therefore that it must have been the witches’ magic, not the food, which killed
Socrates. Aristomenes, however, ate only very little.
I watched him stuffing himself greedily: The notion of greed (avide/avidus) for
food and drink repeatedly underlies Socrates’ behaviour: three times in this chapter
(also 1.19.7 and 8; Keulen 2007, 341). Avidus with drinking is found elsewhere in
Met.: 4.7.3 (an old woman), 8.11.3 (of Thrasyllus drinking hastily and carelessly),
and with eating in 6.31.1 (robbers), 11.13.2 (Lucius eats roses). Socrates' greed is

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Commentary
ominous, and prepares his ‘second death’. His appetite, and Aristomenes’ feeding
of it, foreshadows the ritual of ‘feeding’ the dead, whose emaciation suggests and
causes that greed. Grave offerings to the Greek dead included honey, milk, water and
wine (see on 1.4.1; Homer Od. 11.27ff. in the Nekyia), and the dead are occasionally
called ευδειπνοι, ‘well-feasted’ (e.g. Aeschylus Ch. 483f.). Unknowingly,
Aristomenes feasts his dead friend lavishly with food also offered to the souls of
the departed. Apart from here, Apuleius seems to associate essitare ‘to eat’ with
animals: in 7.27.3 the donkey is accused of repeated overeating (essitando), and in
10.16 he frequently entertains his master by eating food (essitabam), and in 9.36.4
dogs devour (essitare) cadavers.
wasting away with a rather more intense gauntness and paleness of boxwood:
Gauntness characterised Socrates during their first meeting (1.6.1). Then and now
they think food would be the medicine against his visible weakening. Retrospectively,
his gauntness and paleness also anticipate his resemblance to a larva or ghost, cf.
9.30.3, where a ghost displays ‘pallor of boxwood and gauntness’ (lurore buxeo
macieque), see introd. §11. Buxeus is commonly associated with death and ghosts.
Similarly, pallor is often the colour of ghosts, cf. 8.8.6 (Tlepolemus’ ghost), but
also of illness (e.g. Psyche in 5.25.5 and a woman in 10.2.6 are sick with love; on
the story see below) or deadly fear (e.g. 8.21.3, after seeing a man-eating snake; in
10.10.1	a man is grasped by ‘deadly pallor’ when his crime is found out). In 1.18.3,
where Aristomenes describes Socrates as healthy and unharmed, he only comments
on his possible wounds or scars, and not on his facial colour. Revenants have
corporeal faculties and could speak, which explains Socrates’ physical presence,
ability to eat and to change his complexion (revenants: Felton 2007, 98). See on
1.18.7	for the double meaning and translation of deficere.
19.2	so much had his lifeless colour changed his appearance: The striking and
purposely ambiguous phrase must be construed as a euphemism, as here it means
‘deadly pallor’, not‘colour of life’. Vitalis means ‘deadly’in e.g. vitalia=grave clothes,
cf. Petronius 77.7 and 42.6 (vitali lecto = funerary bed), Seneca Ep. 99.22, possibly a
colloquial use (Schmeling 2011, 166); cf. also salutare ‘saving, helpful’ in 1.16.3.
out of fear was I recalling the image of those night-time Furies: Metus ‘ fear’ is a
key emotion for Aristomenes (in 1.11.6 he remains awake at night ‘out of fear’), and
in 1.19 he subsequently fears discovery (19.4) and the witches (19.12). Aristomenes
has also constantly been portrayed as having a vivid imagination, and calling the
witches Furies continues their supernatural portrait from 1.17.5 (as Lamiae) and
1.18.5	(dirae). Etymologically connected to furere ‘to rage’, the Latin Furies are
proverbially wild equivalents of the Greek Erinyes, goddesses of vengeance, often
portrayed with snakes instead of hair and carrying torches (the witches carry a lamp:
1.12.3). Aristomenes is now willing to accept Socrates’ portrait of his situation as
tragic; Furies wreak revenge e.g. in Aeschylus Eumenides. Cf. Horace S. 1.8.44f.
for the witches Canidia and Sagana as Furies. The name is also used for Psyche’s
evil sisters in 5.12.3.

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185
193 that first bite of bread I had taken...: Aristomenes labours the point how
small the bite actually was (frustulum occurs only here, but compare frustatim (cut
into bite-size pieces, three times in Met.), and frustum in 6.11.2, again of bread).
Food sticking in his throat and nearly suffocating him recalls Lucius’ experience
with the cheese polenta in 1.4.1, but there the bite was rather large despite Lucius
trying to downplay its size. Here it is Socrates who eats a large piece of cheese, but
both Aristomenes and Lucius almost die because something sticks in their throat.
Mediae fauces (‘the middle of the throat’) is associated with epic death scenes where
weapons hit the throat (Ilias Latina 977; Lucan 6.239), and in Met. has associations
with death and the Underworld (6.14.2; 7.7.4), rendering this scene ominous, too.
could neither move down nor come back up again: Remeare ‘to return’ has
some connotations of the ‘apparent death’ motif in Apuleius, noticeable here for a
second-time reader. It is used e.g. in 6.19.5, 10.11.3, and in 11.23.6 in this meaning,
see on 1.17.2 for details and context. It can also indicate a simple return, e.g. 6.11.1
(Venus returns from a banquet).
19.4	the very lack of fellow travellers made my fear mount: Aristomenes is as
always concerned about witnesses; in 1.5.1 he calls upon the Sun as a witness, in
1.14.3 he asks who will believe his story, and in 1.16.2 he can only appeal to his bed
as his witness. The absence of eyewitnesses for his innocence, Aristomenes fears,
will result in him being accused of Socrates’ murder. Commeantes ‘fellow travellers’
at times has Underworld associations in Met., e.g. 6.4.1; 6.17.1, and echoes remeare
in 1.19.3 which, too, has infernal connotations. In 6.18.5 Apuleius uses commeantes
for the dead; in Apol. 64.1 Apuleius calls Mercury the ‘go-between of the upper and
the lower gods’, superum et inferum commeator. For the importance of fear in 1.19
see on 1.19.2.
19.5	For who would ever believe ...: Aristomenes, dramatically, invites Lucius
(and the reader) to see his predicament: if Socrates disappears and/or his body is
found, enquiries will reveal who his travelling-companion was, and it would be
natural for the one survivor out of two to come under suspicion (cf. above on 1.17.3).
Aristomenes is fond of rhetorical questions, cf. 1.14.3. Lucius, however, believes
him without a doubt (see next note), as he announced in 1.4.6.
one of two companions: Cf. the similar phrase in 1.2.4, where Lucius joins
as the third and states that he will believe Aristomenes’ stories. For Aristomenes
calling Socrates comes ‘friend, companion’, see above on 1,17.4.
19.6	as soon as he had wolfed down enough food, he began to feel unbearably
thirsty: Eating large amounts of cheese naturally causes thirst. Socrates’ thirst
is furthermore motivated within the plot by his uncertain status. Ghosts need
nourishment, amongst other things with water and milk, the food of the dead, cf.
on 1.19.1. Usually, detruncare means ‘to cut pieces from’, but here functions as a
variant of contruncare (employed in 1.4.1 of Lucius’ devouring a large chunk of
cheese); again the parallelism between the characters bodes badly for Lucius.
19.7	a good part of the best cheese: Aristomenes is a cheese dealer; he offers

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Commentary
the best to his comrade and makes sure that his audience knows the cheese is not to
blame for Socrates’ subsequent demise. Columella 7.8.2 notes that the best cheese
has as little rennet and as much milk as possible. Cheese was a normal ingredient of
a Roman breakfast (Martial 13.31).
not very far from the roots of the plane tree: The locus amoenus in 6.12.4 also
features a plane tree standing close to water, for the setting see above on 1.18.8.
{Haud...) longe ‘(not...) far off’ is here used for the first time in Latin as a preposition
with accusative (OLD 2a), apparently in analogy to prope (‘near’) which, too, is
used both as adverb and preposition with accusative.
a gentle stream was gliding lazily, like a peaceful pool in appearance, rivalling
silver or glass in its colour: The description of the locus amoenus, of which a river
is a typical element (cf. also 4.4.3; 8.18.7), serves as retardation, in an allusion to
Vergil A. 8.86ff. with verbal echoes, where the Tiber calms its waters for Aeneas.
Here the pathetic fallacy is lulling Aristomenes into a false sense of security: there
is no indication that a horrible event is in store in this beautiful landscape; in this
Apuleius’ treatment resembles that of Ovid in his Metamorphoses, where violence
erupts in a beautiful setting without warning (Hinds 2002). The scene anticipates
another warning to Lucius against dabbling in magic: 2.4.9 (Actaeon’s statue
reflected in the ‘gentle waves’ in Byrrhaena’s atrium; De Biasi 2000,221). Drinking
from the idyllic river enacts the witches’ command to the sponge to travel through
a ‘stream’ {perfluvium) and seals Socrates’ death.
Roman glass was either white or green, therefore an apt comparison for water;
cf. Plato Phaedrus 229b, Theocritus 22.37f. for water compared to glass in a locus
amoenus (Schiesaro 1985, 212). The setting of Cupid’s palace in 5.1.2 displays a
similar locus amoenus, with a ‘spring transparent with glassy moisture’ {vitreo latice).
Water is likened to glass in e.g.Vergil G. 4.350, A. 7.759; Ovid Met. 4.355 etc. It is
compared to silver in Met. 4.6.4 {undas argenteas near the robbers’ cave); cf. Homer
II. 2.753; Ovid Met. 3.407 (as a silvery mirror for Narcissus; for parallels see above
on 1.18.8).
19.8	Fill yourself up with the milky liquid of this spring: Given the command
to the sponge in 1.13.7 to cross a river, Aristomenes’ suggestion to Socrates to
drink from one ominously implicates him in Socrates’ second death. The unique
comparison with milk is somewhat surprising after the previous stress on the water’s
clarity, but milky liquid is appropriate to Socrates’ situation. Milk and water are part
of the libations poured for the dead, and cult objects in Isis worship. The sound
effect {latice ... lacteo) may have played a role, too: Nicolini 2011,41 with n. 83.
He got up: The first hand of F first wrote, then deleted, ille after adsurgit, a
correction followed by most editors, e.g. Zimmerman 2012.
waiting a little to find a more level edge of the river bank: In Plato Phaedrus
230c Socrates is glad about a grassy slope to rest his head on when he lies down.
The description of the river’s edge is poetic {e.g. Ovid Ep. 5.27, Fast. 2.222, Met.
1.729; 5.598), before Apuleius only once found in prose (Curtius Rufus 7.9.5). In

Commentary
187
Apul. Met. it features in 2.14.2 (in a rather poetic description of a sea storm) and
4.2.6	(in a description of a typical locus amoenus).
he got down on his knees: Oblivious to the witches’ curse, Socrates bends down
to drink. Lucius when a donkey, to prove he does not have rabies (or ‘hydrophobia’),
bends down and drinks similarly greedily in 9.4.1 (with verbal echoes).
19.9	He had as yet hardly brushed the water’s moist surface with the tip
of his lips: Just the tiniest touch of the lips suffices for the witches’ curse (see on
1.19.7), to come to fruition. On the contrast to Plato’s Socrates see introd. §10.1.
Apuleius uses extremis labiis in a wider sense in 9.23.1 (the only other occurrence
in Latin), when an adulterer’s drinking is interrupted when the husband returns
unexpectedly.
Ros ‘moisture’ in Met. is often associated with typical loci amoeni (4.2.5; 4.17.3;
4.31.4), but also with magic, cf. 3.18.1 and 23.8 (both instances with fontanus,
thus ‘spring water’ as a magical ingredient), and in 6.13.5 it describes the deadly
connotations of the waters of Styx.
the wound in his throat gaped open into a deep hole: A somewhat dispassionate
description in medical language. Dehiscere ‘to gape open’ is commonly used, in
Apuleius as well as in poetry, of the earth splitting (1.15.5), but also occurs in medicine
(bones in Celsus De Medicina 8.1.26), although the combination with vulnus is unique.
The phrase recalls 1.13.7, the description of the gaping wound. Pator ‘hole’ before
Apuleius is used only in medical texts (Scribonius Largus 46f., in connection with a
sponge used to stop a nosebleed). Apuleius uses it four times in Met.
that sponge rolled out of him suddenly, and only a little blood accompanied it:
The sponge enacts Panthia’s command (1.13.7). It was never far from Aristomenes’
mind, e.g. in 1.18.3 he wonders about the sponge’s whereabouts. The lack of gushing
blood now indicates that Socrates has been dead ever since the cutting out of his
heart (Mencacci 1986, 28ff.), when he became a revenant. The witches had caught
most of his blood in a small leather bag, and the little that remains is called cruor
(spilled or drying blood, cf. 1.18.5). Sponge and blood reconfirm for Aristomenes
that the witches really had appeared in the inn at night and killed Socrates.
19.10	his lifeless corpse: Cf. 9.37.6 for a similar description of lifelessness as
death, and contrast 4.4.5, where exanimatum merely means ‘breathless, exhausted’.
The related adjective has a similar range of meaning: in 4.26.8 Charite is breathless
(exanimem) with fear, and in 2.30.5 the living but sleeping Thelyphron acts like a
lifeless ghost (exanimis), whereas in 9.30.7 and 10.28.4 exanimis is used of corpses.
In 10.5.2 it is deliberately vague, as the apparent corpse is not, in fact, dead and will
come to life again in 10.12. For similar word games cf. above on 1.13.6 and 1.14.2.
The same ambivalence may be intended here: the exact definition of Socrates’ state
is left unclear by Apuleius, who never applies any of the usual Latin terms for ghosts
to him (Felton 1999, 28). Only a second-time reader gets the ultimate clarification
of his ghostlike nature when the same words are used in the description of the ghost
(larva) in 9.29f.; see introd. §11.

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Commentary
fallen head over heels into the river: The verb cemuare is an archaism;
Apuleius uses a related word, cernulus ‘head first’, in 9.38.10 (a man dramatically
cuts his throat with a knife and falls head first on the table), a mirror scene with
further verbal echoes of 1.19.
Apuleius uses the vivid present indicative (instead of the more frequent perfect
indicative, cf. Plautus Persa 594 etc.) with paene, to show this is exactly what
happened where paene is enough to express the unreality of the situation. Unusually, the
conditional clause (nisi) also has an indicative instead of the more common subjunctive,
a colloquialism Apuleius repeats in 4.21.4f. nisi quidam lanius ... despoliavit latronem
'but a certain butcher ... stripped the robber’ (with adversative nisi).
with difficulty and painfully: A constant characteristic of Aristomenes, cf.
1.14.7	(he unlocks the door with difficulty) and 1.7.3 (he has to look after Socrates
for the first time, ‘with difficulty’).
19.11	I wept over my poor friend for a while and covered him with sandy soil
forever: Socrates is now mourned for the second time (cf. 1.6.2, where his family
erroneously mourns him for dead), and less elaborately than the first time. Meroe’s
plan to spare Aristomenes so he can bury his friend has worked out. Aristomenes
is still worried about being caught, although burying Socrates is not suspicious as
such: the burial of a corpse even accidentally stumbled upon is expected (see above
on 1.13.3). The nature of Socrates’ proper burial indicates it is an act of kindness
as well as self-preservation (Aristomenes’ as well as the witches’, see introd. §11).
Apuleius’ ‘sandy soil’ seems to allude to Ovid Rem. 579-608, where Ovid advises
lovers to avoid solitary places but always have a friend with them. Phyllis in 596
lies on sandy soil (in harenosa ... humo) weeping for Demophoon, and then hangs
herself. A friend, Ovid says, would have stopped her from doing it. In Apuleius, the
friend cannot stop the death but at least provide a proper funeral.
Misellus can be a euphemism for the dead (though not always in Met., cf. above
on 1.9.6): see Petronius 65.10, Catullus 3.16 (on a dead sparrow; cf. Schmeling
2011, 272). Sempiterna is either a neuter plural adjective functioning as an adverb
(‘forever’, cf. Plautus Aul. 147 sempiternum) in contrast with pro tempore ‘for a
while’, thus stressing the contrasting timescales, or (less likely) an adjective with
vicinia (i.e. ‘in the stream’s eternal neighbourhood’).
19.12	shaking and exceedingly terrified for myself, 1 fled: Aristomenes continues
his flight from the consequences of witchcraft (cf. 1.14.6) and resumes his errant
lifestyle (cf. 1.5.3). He takes over and imitates Socrates’ role, e.g. by voluntarily
exiling himself and thus imposing upon himself the usual Roman punishment for
murder, although he has not committed one. He also anticipates Lucius’ fate as a
voluntary exile. Metuens is the third mention of fear in 1.19, which does not leave
Aristomenes even long after the actual event of Socrates’ second death.
through distant and trackless wastelands: An image of desolation and
lawlessness, cf. the similar landscape in 1.7.6 where Socrates was robbed; in his fear
of the witches, Aristomenes risks being attacked in the wilderness. The similarities

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189
between robbers and witches continue, cf. on 1.11.7. See also 3.28.6,4.27.2 (Charite
calls for her husband through ‘trackless wastelands’), 8.30.2 (the priests of the Dea
Syria flee to a desolate area) for a similar pathetic fallacy.
as if I were a man guilty of the murder of a human being: Aristomenes almost
exactly recalls the doorkeeper’s unwitting suggestion he might be guilty of a crime
(1.15.2: tibi conscius), which he by now has internalised (conscius mihi),
left behind my own country and home, and embracing voluntary exile: Just
like Socrates in 1.6 and 8.1, and Thelyphron in 2.30, Lucius receives yet another
warning not to dabble with witches at the risk of exile, and in Met, 11 he turns away
from his old life and interest in witches and pretty girls to a life devoted to Isis and
Osiris in his exile in Rome. Aristomenes’ exile is mainly from his family, though
his lifestyle, and his trade route, has not changed very much. Exposure to witchcraft
results in pollution, which in itself can lead to exile (Parker 1983, 123; 222ff.),
which might contribute to Aristomenes’ reluctance to return home.
I now live in Aetolia, having taken a new wife: Aristomenes has now done
exactly what he had criticised Socrates for in 1.6, by exiling himself from his
home where he is presumably mourned for dead by his wife, and remarrying in
a foreign country. Aristomenes’ decision to remarry must indicate that he sees his
previous marriage as annulled. Exile dissolves Roman marriages, as marriage is
only possible between two full Roman citizens, and exile deprives Aristomenes of
any legal position he may have held. For a Roman marriage unusually not dissolved
by exile cf. the remarkable (and entirely made up) story of Plotina in 7.6ff. Before
his ‘exile’ Aristomenes had already travelled to Aetolia, a large region in central
Greece, see 1.5.3. It is odd that he now choses to approach Hypata again, despite his
fear of witches, while he incongruously remains an exile from his real home Aegae.
Van Thiel 1971,1, 53 sees this as proof of an Apuleian addition to the original plot.
20
Aristomenes’ travelling companion still does not believe his story, but Lucius
reaffirms both his willingness to believe implausible tales and his delight in stories
offering entertainment and distraction. The repetition of similar words from the
tale’s introduction in 1.3 uses ring composition to signal the episode’s closure.
20.1 This was Aristomenes’ story: Lucius does not report his reaction immediately
after the first tale has ended.
that companion of his, who from the very beginning had rejected his story:
The scepticism of the unnamed companion from 1.2 frames the whole story and has
not been changed by it, just as Lucius’ credulity has not, either. Respuebat 'to reject’
(the opposite of accipere ‘to accept’ in Apol, 90) picks up 1.3.2 tu ... respuis. Sermo
‘story’ is frequently a programmatic word, e.g. in 1.2.5; 2.6 and 3.2, in the tale’s
introduction and frame.
with stubborn incredulity: Cf. 1.3.2 for a similar phrase at the beginning of
Aristomenes’ tale. Incredulitas is an Apuleian neologism.

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20.2	Nothing is taller than this tale, nothing more absurd than that lie: The
accusations of lying and absurdity, as well as the words used, are repetitions from
1.3.1	and 1.2.5 respectively, see also 1.17.7 for Aristomenes creating an ‘absurd’
lie to distract Socrates. The ring composition closes an unlikely and incredible
tale which will be verified for a second-time reader by Lucius’ own experiences in
Hypata; the debate here ostensibly centres on whether belief in magic is justified,
but it also covers the nature of fiction itself, a leitmotif of Met., discussed e.g. in the
prologue (see introd .§7 and 8). Fabula ‘tale’ here indicates that the sceptic judges
the story to be fictitious; fabulosus, too, often doubts a story’s credibility, cf. e.g. the
judgement of Pliny Nat. 11.232 (a tale about witches is fabulosum’) or 33.8, where
the story of Prometheus is fabulosa, but that of Midas even more so; cf. 1.4.6 for the
variety of meanings of the word (May 2006, 124ff. and 141).
a gentleman, as your dress and your bearing demonstrate: Throughout his
experiences in Hypata, Lucius’ character is judged according to his handsome
appearance, the irony of which will become apparent after Lucius has turned into a
quadruped, when his behaviour will often be interpreted as that of a typical donkey,
again simply because of his appearance. This starts soon after his transformation
in 3.27. Ornatus *a gentleman’ is a compliment (‘endowed with good qualities’)
usually found in the superlative, cf. e.g. Apol. 62, but also, as here, in the positive:
Apol. 101.6 Corvinius Celer, vir ornatus. For habitus see on 1.12.3. The meanings
of both words merge, both refer to the appearance of a person, though habitus
focuses on their dress, habitudo on their actual physical appearance from which
conclusions can be drawn about their status and character: 1.23.3 (Milo discusses
Lucius’), 2.13.1 (Milo enquires about the Chaldean’s appearance to find out more
about his character), 2.8.1 (Lucius discusses Photis’). They are coordinated here
probably because of Apuleius’ predilection for word games; the same pairing occurs
only once more in Latin, in 9.39.2 (of a Roman soldier).
20.3	1 believe nothing to be impossible: This picks up the sceptic’s nihil ‘nothing’
from the previous sentence in a programmatic statement. The idea that nothing is
impossible is Lucius’ firm belief, and a repetition of 1.3-4. The reader, at the moment
perhaps inclined to be sceptical, is invited to discard any doubts and rationalism for
the time being and accept the reality of ghosts and witches once Lucius becomes
the main actor of the story. Lucius continues to be the credulous opposite of the
sceptical interlocutor, e.g. in 2.12, where Lucius’ belief in Diophanes’ integrity
is corrected by Milo: the man is a charlatan. In 9.13.5 Lucius still has not much
wisdom, but wide knowledge (minus prudentem, multiscium), and he is naive and
credulous throughout the rest of the novel. He also never questions Aristomenes’
motive for telling his story to a complete stranger near the town where the witches
he tries to escape from live, despite possible damaging consequences for himself.
whatever the Fates decree, that in its entirety happens to mortal men:
Fatum indicates inevitability in Lucius’ belief system, cf. e.g. 4.3.1 (‘entangled’
(implicitus) in his fate, after experiencing some mishap), 10.2.3 (blaming Fate

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191
for a woman’s character) and 10.13.1 (Lucius feels tossed about by Fate). Keulen
2007, 365 associates this with a Stoic philosophical system, but the expression
seems to be a manner of speaking; Apuleius alternates Fate and Fortuna to indicate
metamorphoses of fortune throughout the novel. Fortuna instead of Fate is held
responsible in a similar fatalistic notion in 9.1.5. Fate is blamed e.g. in 5.22.1 ‘the
cruelty of Fate’, 9.38.4 ‘through iniquity of Fate’; cf. Mel· 7.6.5; ApoL 96; PI 1.10
(201). For the philosophical background of this kind of determinism cf. e.g. Fry
1984, 147f. (on Apuleius) and Frede 2003 (on Stoicism). If Lucius’ vague belief in
determinism is to be taken seriously throughout the novel, then Isis may be seen as
behind all events in Met. (Drews 2012, 130).
20.4	For you and I and all men experience: Lucius moves from himself and
the speaker to humanity in general; the all-encompassing statement includes the
reader who is drawn in as part of the majority. The self-depiction of Lucius as the
vanguard of naivety continues in 1.20.5. Usu venire ‘to occur in one’s experience’ is
also used mApol. 16.12 and 50.3; compare Socr. 19 (164). The infinitive continues
the accusative-with-infinitive construction of the previous sentence and is still
dependent on arbitror ‘I believe’ (cf. Keulen 2007, 366fi).
wonderful and almost impossible things: For the connotations of the wonderful
and strange cf. on 1.11.1; infecta = ‘undoable’, thus ‘impossible to do’.
when told to some ignoramus: Lucius both in 1.3.3 and here associates
scepticism with lack of sophistication and offends the interlocutor (Graverini and
Keulen 2009, 209).
20.5	But 1 for my part believe this man ... and also keep in mind my gracious
thanks for him: More than simply believing the story, Lucius is entranced and
grateful. Gratas gratias ‘gracious thanks’, an expression of exuberance, is only
found in Apuleius, here and in 9.13.5 (cf. also 10.32.2), and the meaning is
interchangeable with gratias egi ‘I gave thanks’. A similar phrase occurs in Plautus
Poen. 133f. (grates gratiasy but the text may be corrupt).
by Hercules: See on 1.3.3.
he distracted us with the charm of such a delightful story: This picks up again
the promise of enjoyment of the prologue (1.1). The tales within the novel provide
just this kind of entertainment (in 4.27.8 the story of Cupid and Psyche is described
as ‘delightful narrations and old wives’ tales’, in 6.25.1 Lucius describes it as a
‘pretty little story’, bella fabella).
Used elsewhere for tragic and comic tales alike, lepidus (‘delightful’) is a
remarkably insensitive description for Aristomenes’ harrowing tale: there is a
notable lack of appropriate reaction to the horror of the story, an approach that will
be repeated throughout Met., compare e.g. the reaction to Thelyphron’s story of his
mutilation through witches, which causes the audience to laugh (2.31). On Lucius’
misreading of the story and consequences for assessing his character see introd.
§9. ‘Charm’ and ‘delight’ are key literary concepts in Met. (see on 1.1.1; 1.2.6),
especially festivitas ‘charm’, both in its rhetorical origin and in its importance

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for the novel, cf. Cicero Inv. 1.27, Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.13. Gellius 10.3.4
connects it with comedy (May 2006, 141).
Passing time pleasantly is important in Met., but although the old woman who
tells the story of Cupid and Psyche wishes to while away Chari te’s time and comfort
her, her story is also a warning for Lucius just as the story of Aristomenes was. The
old woman, too, uses avocare (To distract’: 4.24.3 and 27.8).
I came to the end of a harsh and lengthy road without toil or tedium: Lucius
feels that the story has indeed done what he had imagined it would do in 1.2.6,
i.e. alleviate the hardships of the journey with delightful entertainment, picking up
aspritudinem ‘harshness, steepness’ from the story’s introduction (the nature of the
road has not changed). This also looks forward to 1.23.8, where Milo’s judgement
of Lucius’ long journey takes account of his real tiredness, which gives the lie to
Lucius’ pleasantry here. Crucially during Lucius’ experience as a donkey, hearing
stories alleviates his own pain and suffering, even though in 3.29.1 Lucius the
donkey is exhausted by a similarly lengthy journey over steep mountain summits
(montis ardui vertice et prolixo satis itinere).
20.6 this good mount of mine: Lucius refers to his horse in similar terms in 3.26
(twice) and 7.3.5, and the robbers call it his ‘white mount’ (candidum vectorem)
in 7.2.1. It is also Apuleius’ term for a horse in Apol. 21 and FI. 21.4; cf. also Met.
1.15.4	for convector as ‘travelling companion’.
up to this city gate here: They have just arrived at Hypata, as anticipated in
1.5.2. Lucius nevertheless makes sure in 1.21.2, when he asks an old woman about
the city’s identity.
not on his back but on my ears: This is a programmatic passage, afrer Lucius
had stressed the importance of hearing stories (1.2) and castigated those not
listening to stories with open mind and ears (1.3.2). Aristomenes’ story has fulfilled
the prologue’s promise of delights to the listener and Lucius’ requirement in 1.2
(James 1987,42). Apuleius also jokes with the reader here, as it is unclear whether
Lucius was riding or on foot during the telling of the tale after dismounting in 1.2.3,
and it is not clear whether he has mounted his horse again. His horse is part of the
audience of this tale, which anticipates Lucius’ fate as a donkey, when he himself
will happily listen to many tales in silence. The idea that good stories make journeys
easier is commonplace: Plato Phaedrus 227d, Vergil Eel. 9.64.
A similar antithetical joke is made in 1.18.6. Compare also Socr. 19 (165), where
credulous people think ‘not with their mind but with their ears’ (non animo sed
auribus).
21
Lucius splits from Aristomenes and his friend and reaches Hypata. He asks an old
woman for his host Milo’s house. She describes Milo as a miserly moneylender
living outside Hypata’s city walls in pretended poverty. Lucius’ prospects of a bad
reception in Milo’s house raise issues of ancient hospitality (introd. §6.1).

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21.1	This was the end of our conversation and our shared journey:
Conveniently, both end at the same time, but in the parallel scene in Onos 1 the
travel companions share some food, before taking Lucius to Hipparchos’ house. The
sharing of food promised as a reward for the story (see above on 1.4.6) never happens
in Apuleius, thus not emulating the parallel story of travelling companions meeting,
sharing food, and perhaps sleeping quarters, as Aristomenes and Socrates do in 1.7
(Keulen 2007,371). The importance of Lucius not getting any food but stories is set
up for the rest of the book, in a clear Apuleian change from the original.
both my companions went off to the left towards the nearest little farmhouse:
Aristomenes does not quite enter Hypata with Lucius, although he apparently has not
learned anything from his previous encounters with witches in that place. Still, he
may be about to engage again in the cheese trade, as his rural destination indicates:
villula occurs five times in Met. (3.29.5; 7.19.4; 10.4.4; 10.24.3), the same frequency
as villa, which indicates laiger country houses. Laevorsum ‘to the left’ is an Apuleian
neologism, only found here and in FI 2.9. Both the veib (abierunt) and the transmitted
noun (comites) are plural; the adjective uterque should be emended to correspond with
them, as has been done e.g. by Keulen 2007, Zimmerman 2012 and here.
21.2	1 on the other hand: Ego vero occurs here for the third time in Met. 1 (cf.
1.11.5	and 20.3), always to refocus attention on the speaker. Lucius now at last
becomes the main character in his own story, instead of merely retelling those of
other people.
to the first inn 1 spotted on approach: See 1.4.6 for the same phrase with the dative
(ingressuiprimum ... stabulum, used to emend F’s ingressus by Elmenhorstius). F’s
transmitted participle ingressus would result in an awkward description of the order
of events, making Lucius first enter and only afterwards spot the inn. The emendation
results in a phrase that reminds the reader of Lucius’ broken promise to share food with
his fellow travellers. The ablative ingressu (printed by de Buxis) is also grammatically
possible, but weakens the parallels. Instead, he will be joking alone with the innkeeper
and then miss out on food at Milo’s house. This scene prepares Lucius’ character as a
problematic guest. Inns could be positioned outside town walls (and kept by old ladies,
cf. below and Plautus Ps. 658f.% I am stopping outside the gate (devortor extra portam)
... at the third inn, with that old woman ... Chrysis (in tabernam tertiam, apud anum
illam ... Chrysidem). Milo’s house, too, has a setting reminiscent of Roman comedy
(May 2006, 156-80), which is prepared here.
inquired from some old woman innkeeper: Although the following chapters
from here to the end of Met. 1 run parallel to the story of Onos (with the exceptions
of the Pythias story and Milo’s exaggerated stinginess: Van Thiel 1971, 1, 63-67),
Apuleius makes one important change: Lucius questions an old woman, an innkeeper,
for directions to Milo’s house. In Onos Loukios asks his travel companions, a
possible indication that the tale of Socrates was an Apuleian addition to the original
(methodology of interpolation: Sandy 1970, 469). If Lucius had learned anything
from Aristomenes’ story he would be careful, but his story now repeats in many

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Commentary
ways that of Socrates. The old woman is deliberately invented by Apuleius to be
similar to Meroe, who is also an aged innkeeper talking to a lonely traveller (cf.
1.8.3). A similar scene with an old lady occurs in Petronius 6.4-7, where Encolpius
has lost his way to his hotel room and asks directions from an old woman, who
promptly directs him to a brothel. Intertextuality is possible (introd. §2.2). Apuleius’
old woman may be an inversion of Homeric hospitality scenes which often feature
polite and helpful young maidens (for examples see introd. §6.1). Additionally, he
uses imagery from the character of the prologue-speaker from comedy (May 2006,
157ff.). Anus and its derivatives are generally very negatively charged, see on 1.7.7,
and all these associations were applicable to Meroe. Here they create a red herring.
Apuleius deliberately misleads his readers.
Hypata: Both Aristomenes and Lucius travel there (1.5.4) and encounter witches.
Lucius makes sure that he is in the right place for his business, although it is unclear
what it is. For Lucius’ uncertainty about the exact locality see 1.20.6.
21J Milo, one of your first citizens: The change of character and name from
Hipparchos in Onos to Milo is probably due to his primarily comic characterisation
as a miser reminiscent of Plautus’ Euclio in Aulularia (May 2006, 161-6). A real
Hipparchus Hypatensis is recorded in Inscriptiones Graecae IX (2) 5 and 14 (Scobie
1975, 121), but this is unlikely to be the reason for the change.
She smiled: The old innkeeper is trying to be charming and flirtatious with
Lucius, again echoing Meroe’s tactics before she ensnared Socrates.
Milo is regarded as the first man here, because he lives outside the city
boundaries and the whole town: The old woman wilfully misunderstands Lucius,
pretending that his question is about the first place to reach when approaching
Hypata, and punning on primus (‘first’) and primoris (‘first citizen’; Nicolini 2011,
56). Living outside the city walls is, however, unusual for a leading citizen, as this
suburban area is technically not part of the urbs, but of the continuous occupation
outside the city walls (Goodman 2007, 26; 14-16), where not all laws pertinent
to the city automatically apply. Meroe had previously dumped the house of her
enemies, who were locked up inside it, outside city walls (1.10.6), with probably
detrimental consequences to their status. In Onos 1 Hipparchos lives in a little house
with a garden ‘near the city’, but there is no indication of any isolation from society.
For Milo’s wife Pamphile, however, it is appropriate to live outside the city walls,
indicative of her life as a witch and outsider from society (Lucan’s Erictho, e.g.,
lives in the wilderness). The pomerium is a strip of land surrounding a city’s walls,
especially Rome’s, but the term is used more widely by Apuleius of Greek cities in
FI. 19.2 and Met. 9.9.5. The conversation in Plato’s Phaedrus takes place in a locus
amoenus outside the walls (£ξω τείχους), as Apuleius notes in Socr. 19 (164; extra
pomerium). The Phaedrus allusion may again associate Lucius’ with Aristomenes’
experiences (cf. above on 1.18.8), especially as Lucius in 2.1 sets out to explore
Hypata and encounters a locus amoenus of his own. It includes trees surrounding
the pomerium. Then Lucius imagines this landscape filled with witchcraft.

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21.4	Joking aside... most excellent mother: "Mother’is a respectful address often
used for older relations and friends; in 2.3.5 Lucius addresses his aunt Byrrhaena as
parens (the title is repeated twice in 3.12), and in 3.7.3 Lucius calls Milo parentem
... meum, but here it is used in a wider sense respectfully by a younger to an older
person who is not related, cf. 4.26.1 (Cbarite addresses the robbers’ old housekeeper
as mi parens); see on 1.17.4. Unlike Encolpius in Petronius, Lucius does not fall for
the joke but recognises it as such and dismisses it, wishing to show himself as an
urbane but serious person who understands the old woman’s jest and comicality.
please For the imperative with oro see above on 1.8.5.
where he is from and in which house he dwells: The old woman picks up
Lucius’ choice of words (1.21.5), and Milo himself unwittingly repeats it in 1.23.5.
It associates Milo’s house with a hostel (deversorium) which puts up guests. A
similar question is used in 4.9.2 (the robbers discuss which houses are best to rob,
and then decide on that of Chryseros, who shares some similarities with Milo, cf.
on 1.21.5). See also on 1.5.3 for cuiatis; the word with its links to the language of
Plautine prologues and its type of questions functions as a genre marker, associating
Milo’s house with the topsy-turvy world of Roman comedy.
Do you see ... those windows at the very end, which look out towards the
town, and on the other side the door which looks back out onto the nearest
alleyway: It is hard to imagine that both windows and the door are visible at the same
time to Lucius and the old woman, since they apparently look in opposite directions.
The description of the alleyway (angiportus) and the windows may denote them
as comic markers, as both are not necessarily visible in comic stage directions,
but talked about e.g. in prologues (May 2006, 157ff., Marshall 2009, 55). Milo’s
house is generally portrayed as resembling households from Roman comedy. Like a
comedy’s prologue-speaker, the old lady indicates the inhabitants of the houses, the
characters, and the setting of the scene. Although her description possibly does not
do justice to Milo’s house, it influences the gullible Lucius enough to assume that
she is right and Milo is stingy. Lucius nevertheless decides to stay with him rather
than the old innkeeper (perhaps having for once heeded the warning against female
innkeepers in Aristomenes’ tale; van Mal-Maeder 1995, 109).
See also 1.16.4 for altrinsectds, in the connection with a window, and 3.17.3 and
5.2.1,	both in the combination with aedium% to describe the layout of houses.
21.5	Milo ... amply stuffed with money and exceedingly rich, but a man with a
bad reputation for extreme avarice and the most contemptible stinginess: Milo’s
miserliness is described in forcefully exaggerated expressions, which, at least in
Lucius’mind, will become reality. It is comical and grotesque, much worse than that
of Hipparchos in Onos 1.5. Lucius believes her, and first jokingly (1.21.8), and then
rudely (1.26.7) comments on Milo’s character. In 2.11.4 he calls him bonus, perhaps
ironically, although Lucius* and the reader’s assessment of Milo’s character fluctuates
between these opposites, especially after the Risus festival incident (see below). Milo
is characterised slightly more benevolently by Lucius at times, with frugality (a Roman

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Commentary
virtue: parsimonia: 1.24.1) and asceticism (abstinentia: 1.26.1), and functions as a
contrast to Byrrhaena, who is a generous, albeit still problematic, host. Avaritia is a
frequent negative character trait in satire (Zimmerman 2006,93).
Milo will be echoed again in the nummularius (banker) Chryseros in 4.9, with
some verbal overlaps (e.g. sordidus); sordes combines the concept of filthy squalor
with meanness and stinginess. Both try to hide their riches by living in apparent
poverty and segregated from society, and finally both fall victims to robbers (see
on 1.23.6). All other instances in Latin of nummatus ‘stuffed with money’ are
constructed with bene (Cicero Agr. 2.59; Fam. 7.16.3; Horace Ep. 1.6.38; cf. also
nummatior in Met. 1.7.6). Milo is here described as an instance of the Greek type
of the φιλάργυρος (cf. Onos 1.5) as reflected in the Roman comedy stock types of
misers and moneylenders (May 2006, 161-66), who are miserly for the sake of it.
As opposed to vir (1.21.8, in Lucius’ reply), homo here indicates contempt (Keulen
2007, 381 f.).
21.6	He constantly lends out capital on interest with gold and silver as
security: The technical terms make Milo a professional moneylender (Quintilian
Decl. min. 3.11.9; Suetonius Ves. 1.3, c. 5 times in Justinian Dig.). Arrabo (‘down-
payment’, a Greek loan word) is archaic, mostly found in Plautus and Terence (Rud.
44, Mil. 957 etc., Terence Hau. 603 etc.), and then again in the archaists. Gellius
notes it is a ‘sordid word’ (17.2.21), which in Apuleius is used only here, by a rather
Plautine character denouncing her neighbour.
locked up in a tiny house and always anxious about his brass! It is in the
old innkeeper’s interest to let Milo’s house appear as inhospitable as possible,
in the hope of getting Lucius’ custom for herself (Keulen 2007, 379; Van Mal-
Maeder 1995, 105ff). The old woman’s Plautine language (e.g. ampliter, arrabone,
habet, ancillulam; May 2006, 165f.) is echoed by Lucius in 1.22.6 and Milo’s own
words in 1.23.6. Milo’s house, despite its description here and Milo’s deprecatory
statement, is quite large: Lucius’ chamber is large enough for him and Photis, and
Milo’s stables contain several animals, not a sign of poverty. On Lucius’ assessment
of Milo’s character cf. above on 1.21.5.
Being locked up is programmatic for Milo and his house: Milo, living outside the
city walls, is a recluse, as is shown by his closed house, which Photis needs to open in
1.22 and 2.32 (during the wineskins episode, cf. also above on 1.21.3). On the other
hand, he seems involved in the Risus festival, which indicates some interaction with
other Hypatans. Chryseros (see on 1.21.5) again parallels Milo in his reclusiveness,
as he lives ‘alone and solitary, content with a small but sufficiently fortified house’
(solus ac solitarius, parva sed satis munita domuncula contentus: 4.9.6).
Aerugo ‘brass’ is literally ‘copper rust’, metaphorically ‘money’, cf. Juvenal 13.61,
but also especially amongst the satirists it is used for ‘jealousy’ (Martial 2.61) and
‘avarice’ (Horace Ars 330; cf. also the association offerrugo ‘iron rust’ with Envy in
Ovid Met. 2.798), which may be part of the woman’s negative propaganda.
Although he has his wife as a companion of his calamity: The unmarked term

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for ‘wife’ here gives no indication of Pamphile’s extraordinariness; it is remarkable
that the old woman, keen on depicting Milo’s household in the worst possible
colours, does not add the fact that Pamphile is a dangerous witch and keen on young
men like Lucius. Although Milo does not seem to know about his wife’s witchcraft,
other Hypatans do: a barber seems to suspect Pamphile and Photis when the latter
tries to steal hair from his shop (3.16). Comes ‘companion’, used for wives sharing
their husband’s fate (Livy 40.1.45) or Laodamia (Ovid Am. 2.18.38; Trist. 1.6.20),
draws the promiscuous Pamphile in a misleadingly positive light. F has cum uxore
etiam... comite habeat, which was changed by a later hand into uxorem... comitem,
printed by most modem editions.
21.7	he does not keep any servants except one Kittle slave-girl: At first sight
this appears to be true as Photis opens the door, takes care of Lucius, and does the
cooking in the house (2.7), but in 3.28 Milo appears to have many more slaves,
cf. also 2.15.5; 4.9. Single-slave households would be rather unusual for a man of
Milo’s riches, as it is unusual even for poor Romans (cf. Juvenal 3.166; Norden
1912, 71). Here it is an indication of the comic environment, as misers from Greek
and Roman comedy often only have one single female slave (May 2006, 163).
Although ancilla is used as the feminine of servus by Apuleius (Avila Vasconcelos
2009, 223), ancillula strengthens the sense of allusion to Roman comedy (Pasetti
2007, 27; it indicates a comic stock type, cf. Quintilian Inst. 11.3.112). Half of all
occurences of the diminutive ancillula in Latin are in comedy.
he ... walks around in the dress of a beggar: See also 1.12.2 and 1.20.2 for
habitus, which is used at times to indicate dressing up in order to deceive, cf.
Porphyrio’s commentary on Horace, Ars 95 (Peleus and Telephus) and Servius’
commentary on Aeneid 1.242 and 2.44 (Odysseus); the phrase suggests that Milo is
disguising his wealth.
21.8	1 broke into laughter: Lucius responds to the old woman with a smile and
similar jokes to her own, displaying himself to be urbane and good-natured.
My friend Demeas: In Onos 2 the friend is called Dekrios or Dekrianos and
described as a sophist, a characterisation completely absent from Met. Apuleius
changes the name to Demeas, a name frequently found in Greek New and Roman
comedies for old men (Menander, Dis Exapaton, Samia, Misoumenos; Caecilius,
Syracusii; Terence, Adelphoe). Evidence for real-life Dekrianoi is collected by Van
Thiel 1971,1,36 n. 91, but it is unlikely that their existence prompted the change.
advised me kindly and thoughtfully: Lucius expresses his sarcasm through a
clever wordplay, as a conflation of consulere with dative (‘to look after') and with in
aliquem (%to take a decision against someone’; Keulen 2007, 386). Lucius displays
himself again as a witty entertainer able to distort words and meanings; cf. above
on 1.4.6, and 11.29.3 for the same construction, where Lucius begins to suspect the
priests of Isis of not having dealt with him plainly.
he recommended me to such a man: ‘Recommendation’ is a key term for the
relationship between Milo and Lucius, here and 1.22.8 (Milo to Lucius), 1.24.1

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(Lucius). In 7.1.5, where the robber falsely accuses Lucius of having tried to
ingratiate himself with Milo (<conciliaverat), it has a more negative connotation.
as I was about to set out on my journeys: Lucius' status as a traveller in foreign
parts is constantly stressed: 1.24.7, 1.26, 2.12.5, 2.18.4, 3.1.4, 3.3.9 and again in
11.28.1; it makes him an outsider, which is held against him in his mock trial at the
Risus festival in 3.3, and which makes his submission to Milo’s guest-friendship a
necessity. It associates Lucius with other victims of witchcraft who are referred to
as travellers: Socrates (1.7.6) and Thelyphron (2.21.7).
to fear neither a cloud of smoke nor kitchen smells: Nidor here and in ApoL
57 (also with fumus, in a comic context of a parasite smelling food prepared from
some distance away) is the smell of roasted meat; its absence indicates the lack of
cooking in Milo’s household and thus of proper meals, which is what Lucius now
expects, and which will eventually come to pass. In Met. 3.7, however, Lucius finds
Photis cooking a meat stew. Lucius here falls in line with the old woman’s comic
characterisation of Milo through lack of cooking smells, cf. Plautus’ Euclio in Aul
300f. (‘he constantly cries for heaven and people to witness ... if any smoke gets out
of his house from his hearth-beam’ (de suo tigillo fumus si qua exit foras); Shanzer
1996, 451; May 2006, 162). In 2.24, no food is provided for Thelyphron, as the
master of the household has died. In other Met. passages, nidor is an unpleasant
smell: 3.18.4 (of burnt goat hair); 4.3.10 (diarrhoea); 8.22.7 (a torture victim covered
in honey to attract ants). The phrase is, however, unique. Usually two words are
coordinated: fumus and nebula e.g. in Lucretius (3.428; 430; 436; 6. fumus and
nidor e.g. Cicero Pis. 13; Pliny Nat. 12.81; 20.158.
22
Lucius knocks on Milo’s door and is answered by Photis. She eventually introduces
him to Milo, who accepts Lucius’ letter of recommendation from Demeas of Corinth
and offers his hospitality.
22.1	1 walked a little further and approached his entrance, and began to
knock: This begins a comic door-knocking scene (May 2006, 159-61). In what
follows, verbal parallels between this scene and the inset story of Socrates and
Aristomenes in the inn (e.g. see below on 1.22.2 and 5) form a specific warning to
Lucius, which he again promptly ignores.
his firmly bolted door: Petronius 97.7 is the only other instance of oppessulare
‘to bolt’ before Apuleius, who uses it twice in this chapter (cf. 1.22.5) and in 9.30.6
in another door-knocking scene, where slaves pummel the door to ask their master to
come out.
shouting loudly: Vocaliter is first found in Apuleius (here and possibly in 9.30.6,
but the text is uncertain); the Latin word indicates that Lucius shouts loudly (thus
e.g. Molt 1938, 101 ad loc., May 2006, 159 and here) rather than that he knocks
loudly on the door (Keulen 2007, 390). After Apuleius it is used in Tertullian Adv.
Prax. 3 p. 230.19 for people shouting.

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22.2	a young girl came out: This is Photis, who will move to the foreground in
1.23 and 24. Later Lucius will enter into an erotic relationship with her and use her
to experience magic. Her first introduction by diminutives (ancillula, adulescentula)
is not unfriendly, and offers only a small indication yet of her importance to the
later story. Adulescentula ‘young girl’ is a particularly comic diminutive (before
Apuleius only in Plautus and Terence, once in Varro fi*. Non. p. 550), usually of
pretty young girls, and continues to set a comic atmosphere (Pasetti 2007,27; cf. on
1.21.7). Photis’ opening of the door seems to confirm the comic motif that Milo has
only one slave. It is unusual for a young woman to expose herself to the dangers of
the outside world (an important plot element e.g. in Menander’s Dyskolos/Grouch).
Theophrastus 28.3 stresses that only courtesans would open doors in person. When
later Lucius plans to have an affair with Photis, her forwardness here is a good sign
that she might be willing.
Hey you: Typical for comedy, see on 1.3.2. The scene in Onos is reasonably
close to Met. 1.20-24, but this exchange is an apparent Apuleian addition with no
equivalent in the Greek text.
who have been beating our door so energetically: Another comic note in the
door knocking scene, as verberare is often used of people, e.g. slaves, being beaten
(OLD s.v. 3); Photis personifies the battered door as a slave (see also on 1.14.7,
where Aristomenes, too, personifies a door), a notion found e.g. in Plautus As. 386f.,
where the slave calls a door his fellow slave (fores conservas) and requests it not to
be beaten (verberarier).
in what form do you desire to borrow?: Photis is Lucius’ equal when it comes
to wordplay: the question addresses the practicalities of borrowing money, but
also anticipates Lucius’ metamorphosis into another species. The ambiguity of sub
qua specie (‘under what appearance’: OLD s.v. species 7, or ‘with what security’:
OLD s.v. 19) supports the pun found in mutari (‘to undergo metamorphosis’) and
mutuari as intentional: literally mutuum indicates the amount of money to be loaned
(mutuum accipere = ‘to borrow something'; Norden 1912,180); in 3.18.4 bewitched
wineskins ‘borrow’ (mutuantur) human breath.
Lucius is driven by desires, e.g. his wish to explore magic, so cupis ‘do you
desire’ is apt, although Photis cannot know her sentence to be so prophetic. Cf.
also the similarly portentous use of cupis in 1.15.2, where the doorkeeper asks
Aristomenes whether he wishes to die. A second-time reader will notice that it is
Photis, who will turn Lucius into the shape he does not desire (into a donkey instead
of an owl), who asks this question (Winkler 1985, 188L; Keulen 2007, 391).
are you the only one who does not know that we do not allow any collateral
apart from gold and silver?: Questions about the interlocutor’s ignorance are
frequent in Met. 1, see on 1.6.4 or 1.15.2. Generally, Photis’ correct use of technical
terms shows her to be a moneylender’s capable slave.
22.3	Give me a better omen than that: A variant of melius ominare (Plautus
Rud. 337, Cicero Brut. 328, Vergil G. 3.456; Keulen 2007, 392). The reference to

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Commentary
ill omens anticipates a fate for Lucius similar to that of Socrates. Cf. 1.5.5 for a
similarly negative feeling on door steps.
if I might find your master inside the house: Lucius joins in with Photis’ comic
parlance. As in 2.7.1, offendere ‘to find' is comic, cf. e.g. Plautus Am. 613.
what is the reason for this interrogation?: Neither Photis nor the reader or
Pythias (1.24.7) will ever get an answer to this.
22.4	I bring a letter for him: This letter of recommendation appears here for the
first time, although it was mentioned before in Onos (1.4, and then again in 2.2, the
corresponding sentence to this one here). It seems less important here than in Onos
where Hipparchos sees it before admitting Loukios into his house. Its existence is
common knowledge in Met. 1.1.5 in the robbers’ report, where it is deemed a forgery
(for which there is no evidence). Keulen 2007, 394 assesses Lucius’ attitude to be
‘not sincere’ and sees this as evidence to characterise him as a flatterer or parasite
on his mission to flatter a patron for food and his inheritance. It is, however, not at
all clear that Lucius is intentionally out to deceive Milo, but rather he behaves like
a problematic guest once invited and becomes an unwitting, naYve parasite (May
1998; 2006, 143-156). Despite being a naturally distrustful person, Milo offers
Lucius his hospitality before actually reading his letter of introduction.
Demeas of Corinth: For Demeas see above on 1.21.8, for Corinth as Lucius’
possible hometown see introd. §9.
Wait for me just here: Comic language: the archaic imperative opperimino is
found only in Plautus True. 197 and here, the same form with a different verb in
Plautus Ps. 859; Epid. 695.
22.5	bolted the door again and made off inside: The repeated stress on bolting
doors recalls Aristomenes’ unhappy experiences with locked doors (e.g. 1.11.5).
See on 1.22.1 for the rare oppessulare ‘to bolt’. In Plutarch That we ought not to
borrow 3 (828f.) a moneylender’s standard behaviour is to shut the door in the face
of would-be borrowers (Keulen 2007, 389); again Photis shows herself to be her
master’s capable slave.
F’s transmitted text needs emendation; Helm’s capessit (‘she took herself';
cf. Plautus Rud. 179 quo capessit) is a possibility, but Apuleius’ usual term, as
Zimmerman 2012 notes, is facessere (a conjecture by Philomathes). She draws
attention to parallels in 2.15.4, 2.24.3; 4.20.1 etc.
He asks you in: Rogare in the context of hospitality is a technical term ‘to invite
as a guest’ (sc. ad convivium, ‘to the meal’, cf. also 1.26.1; May 2006, 151). The
word is an important marker of guest-friendship (introd. §6.1) and thus repeatedly
occurs in the relationship between Milo and Lucius (also in 2.11.4; cf. 3.12.2 for
Byrrhaena’s invitation to Lucius in similar terms).
22.6	I took myself inside: The same phrase is used in the roughly parallel scene
in 2.2.3, where Lucius will encounter Byrrhaena, his second host in Hypata.
I ... found him reclining on a rather short cot, and only just starting his
dinner: The cena is the main and most formal meal for Romans, the time of which

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201
gradually moved from mid-day to, as here, the early evening. The short couch
(exiguo ... grabattulo) recalls both the old woman’s exiguo lare ‘tiny house’ (1.21.6)
and Aristomenes’ dingy cot, again inviting comparison between the inset tale and
Lucius’ fate. Smallness becomes a leitmotif for Milo, see also 1.23.4. The furniture
in Onos 2.3 is also small and insignificant, but at least the bed provided for Lucius is
big and stable enough for Lucius’ and Photis’ love-making in 2.15. Milo will ignore
the proper rules of hospitality (introd. §6.1).
F writes accumbantem, emended by Robertson 1965 to accumbentem (followed
by e.g. Zimmerman 2012 and here). Both words mean ‘to lie down to table’, but
Apuleius uses accumbere in this meaning six times in Met.
22.7 His wife was sitting at his feet: This is the dangerous witch Pamphile,
introduced, like her servant Photis before, in an unobtrusive way. Her name translates
both as ‘loved by all’ and, fittingly, ‘loving all’. Pamphile gives the appearance of a
good wife, and Milo seems oblivious to her magical skills (and infidelities: see 3.15
for her nymphomaniac tendencies), as he e.g. laughs incredulously at her prediction
of the weather in 2.Ilf., a feat of magic that Lucius again takes very seriously.
In Greece, only men lay down to dinner, and respectable women did not attend,
whereas in the imperial period in Rome women attended mixed banquets. Although
Milo’s dinner parties are provincial, still Pamphile’s attendance in 2.Ilf. indicates
that the household follows traditional and old-fashioned Roman customs, in which
according to Valerius Maximus 2.1.2 married women sat whereas their husbands
lay down to dinner. This was certainly the case in the time of Augustus. Already in
Valerius’ own (who sees this as evidence for the decline of morals) and certainly in
Apuleius’ time, both sexes lay down for dinner together.
Lying down together indicates an erotic relationship: Roller 2003, 399 finds
evidence for married women lying down to dine with their husbands, always as a
public display of a legitimate relationship. In 8.8.8 Charite’s dead husband warns
her not to lie down at table in a new marriage (sc. with his murderer), showing
that reclining together at meals is entirely possible in Apuleius’ time as a sign of
intimacy between husband and wife. Pamphile’s sitting rather than lying down, and
her subsequent leaving of the room (l .23.1), thus may indicate Milo’s pretensions to
old-fashioned and out-dated morality as well as his stinginess in providing sufficient
dining furniture.
Her behaviour implicitly states that Pamphile is chaste, which she turns out not to be.
Pamphile’s ostentatious propriety will influence Lucius’ decision not to try to interfere
with Milo’s marriage (2.6.6). Pamphile does not have to leave the room because of
the tiny size of the dining room (thus Walsh 1995,151). The room is large enough for
all three later, when Lucius quite happily has dinner with Milo and Pamphile in 2,11,
where Milo and Lucius lie down and Pamphile leads the conversation (although it is
not clear whether she lies down or sits). The table is yet again small and the dinner
insufficient in 3.13.1 (after the Risus festival episode). In Onos 7 Hipparchos’ wife is
absent from the parallel scene to 2.11, following Greek custom, where women were

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Commentary
banned from symposia. Byrrhaena in 2.18ff. is also present at her own banquet, but
Loukios never seems to have dinner with Habroia (Byrrhaena’s equivalent) in Onos
(women and banquets: Bradley 1998, Dunbabin 2003).
an empty table was placed before them: Mensam (ad)ponere is the normal
term for ‘setting the table' (cf. Met. 10.16.3, FI. 6.10; Plautus Men. 212; Cicero
Att. 14.6.2 etc.). To Lucius, the empty table in front of his host seems to confirm
the old woman’s description of Milo. In Onos 2.3 the table is also empty, although
Hipparchos is about to start dinner. As it is customary to remove tables after courses
and bring in new ones for the next course, an empty table at the start of a meal should
indicate that either Milo is between courses, or will indeed only eat from an empty
table, i.e. nothing at all. In FI. 6, however, when describing Indian gymnosophists,
Apuleius seems to imply that some time may pass between setting a dinner table
and serving food, as ‘before food is served’ (ubi mensa posita, priusquam edulia
adponantur) these wise philosophers hold conversations about ethics. Lucius will
get neither food nor pleasant philosophical education at Milo’s table.
Keulen 2007, 399f. compares Heracles’ hosting by Molorchus in Callimachus’
The Victory of Berenice (Aetia 3, frr. 54-60j Harder) and Encolpius’ in Petronius
135ff., where the dinner guests are frustrated, too, albeit for very different reasons,
as well as Callimachus’ Hecale. There are some important differences in each
author’s execution of the hospitality scene, though: Hecale, an old lady, serves
Theseus (who was on his way to Marathon to slay the bull) a rustic but carefully
prepared and described meal; Molorchus, too, eventually serves a meal to Heracles.
Lucius gets no food at all. For other occurrences of the Hecale motif in literature
and Milo’s direct reference to it see below on 1.23.6. Apuleius also plays here with
notions of hungry parasites from comedy, whose dinner expectations are thwarted
(May 1998; 2006,146ff), and with Lucius’ gullibility, as he allows the old woman’s
biased characterisation of Milo to influence his understanding of Milo’s dinner
arrangements. In this context, the possible association of Lucius and Hercules is
interesting, as Hercules in comedy or satyr play (also in Euripides Alcestis) is often
portrayed as a greedy devourer of much food (e.g. craving pea soup in Aristophanes
Frogs 63; see Stafford 2012, 105-17).
pointed at it and said ‘Look, this is our hospitality1: As in many Homeric
hospitality scenes, Lucius’ arrival coincides with a time of feasting, and Milo points
out to Lucius that he understands the principle of guest-friendship (hospitium), but
an empty table is not boding well.
Monstratus ‘pointing’ ocurs only here, 5.28.9 and in Ausonius; all three instances
are in the ablative.
22.8 After he had read It quickly: The formalities of guest friendship are quickly
and unceremoniously dispensed with in this ‘inhospitality’ scene.
I am grateful to my friend Demeas, who has recommended such a great
guest to me: Ostensibly, this is a straightforward echo of Lucius’ sarcastic phrase
in 1.21.8 “My friend Demeas ... recommended me to such a man”. The only other

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203
occurrence of tantus hospes ‘such a great guest’, in Ovid Met. 8.570 (Archelous and
Theseus), is significant, as Lucius’ father’s name is Theseus (1.23.6). There is no
need to see any possible homoerotic connotations of conciliare here (thus Keulen
2007, 402, comparing Petronius 127, ‘to provide someone with a sexual partner’),
or of Milo’s request that Lucius take his wife’s place at his feet in 1.23.1.
23
Milo offers Lucius a seat and a bed, but no food.
23.1	he ordered his wife to get up, and ordered me to sit down in her place:
It is unclear whether Pamphile only gets up or leaves the room entirely. Milo’s
equivalent in Onos 2 (Hipparchos) does not require his wife, who is sitting next to
him, to leave, and there is no indication that he sends her out of the room, although
this might have been lost to the epitomisation. See above on 1.22.7 for the cultural
associations of wives attending dinner. Providing a seat, often the seat of honour, for
the visitor is an important element of hospitality (introd. §6.1).
Here and 9.22.6 iubet is a technical term for a dinner invitation (cf. also Petronius
21.6	with Schmeling 2011, 64), but Lucius is ordered to sit at Milo’s feet, further
indication that only one couch may be standing in the triclinium instead of the usual
three.
1 was now hesitating because of my sense of modesty: Lucius is now being the
polite guest. ‘Modesty’, verecundia, is one of Lucius’ self-characterisations before and
after his metamorphosis; it is used again by Milo about Lucius in 1.23.3, and again
Lucius is modestly hesitant in 1.26.2. In 7.22.1 lies told about his behaviour as a donkey
offend his ‘modest silence’ (verecundum silentium), and in 4.23.1 he is proud of his
‘ass’s modesty’, perhaps as an indication that his character is the same before and after
metamorphosis (and thus not a pretence put on as a tactic here to ingratiate himself
with Milo, as Keulen 2007,409 argues). The other person in Met. who is verecundus
is the doomed father of three in 9.35.2. Elsewhere verecundia is noticeable for its
absence: the two cooks lose it specifically in 10.14.7 when they accuse each other of
stealing food, and in 2.17.2 Photis lacks verecundia in her impersonation of Venus
when seducing Lucius. It is a characterisation that Apuleius claims for himself as he
associates his own verecundia with his addressee’s modestia in FI. 17.
he grasped the fringe of my garment and pulled me down: This is bad
hospitality, as Milo does not touch Lucius (he will do so later in 1.26.2; Fernandez
Contreras 1997, 119). Cf. 2.13.4 (a young man grasps the false prophet Diophanes’
coat, lacinia) and Plautus As. 587, Petronius 100.5, Suetonius Cl. 15.3 for similar
instances. Here the edge of the garment rather than the entire one is meant (for
which see above on 1.7.2). Before Apuleius this meaning is possibly only found
in Petronius 12.6 (Walsh 1978, 22, although Schmeling 2011, 38 there interprets
lacinia as vestis, i.e. the whole garment).
23.2	Sit down here ... I sat down: The second time Milo requests Lucius to take
a seat. Lucius passively submits to Milo’s insistent command.

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out of fear of robbers we cannot provide any seats or even any sufficient
furnishings: The motif of robbers is reintroduced here; Lucius will remember this in
2.32.3 when he fights the wineskins outside Milo’s house believing them to be robbers;
robbers indeed break into Milo’s house in 3.27.7 and steal Lucius turned donkey.
Robbers present a danger not only for Milo, but generally in Lucius’ world (1.7,1.11.7,
1.14.5, 1.15.2f. etc.). Robbers are not feared in Onos, where Hipparchos is generally
more agreeable and less farcical and miserly, but in both novels the robbers’ presence
is generically determined, and attempts to defeat them are usually doomed (robbers
in the Greek novels: Achilles Tatius 3.9, Heliodorus 5.22 etc). Chryseros similarly
refuses to have adequate furniture because of his fear of robbers, and in 4.9f. sleeps
in dirty rags on top of his gold sacks (further similarities with Milo: see on 1.21.5).
It is odd that Milo’s main worry about robbers is their apparent ability to steal dining
room furniture, since normal triclinium couches would provide lying down space
for three persons and therefore are rather massive. In the event, it is not furniture but
unsurprisingly Milo’s gold and quadrupeds that are stolen in 3.28.
233 I would guess already from that handsome appearance of your body
and that utterly maiden-like modesty of yours that you are the offspring of a
noble family: Milo’s reference to Lucius’ ancestry recalls 1.2.1 on Lucius’ origins,
where Lucius defines himself via the maternal line; Milo is more general here, and
soon he reveals Lucius’ father’s name as Theseus; in 2.2.8 generosa probitas ‘noble
behaviour’is also used to describe Lucius through his mother, and in 2.2.9 Byrraena
uses ‘handsome’ speciosus of Lucius again in a mirror scene to this one. In Socr. 23
(175) Apuleius notes that to call someone generosus is a compliment to the parents,
and continues in Socr. 24 (176f.) to cite Accius trag. 520 Ribbeck parva prodite
patria ‘offspring of a small country’, a phrase similar to the one Milo uses here.
Demeas seems to affirm Lucius’ good birth in his letter.
Lucius’ good looks may be detrimental: in Apuleius’ trial for magic a by-line
was to accuse him of physical beauty (Apol. 4), and worryingly, Byrrhaena warns
Lucius in 2.5 of Pamphile’s predatory nature as soon as she sees ‘a handsome young
man’. But Lucius’ constant description as physically attractive lays a false trail;
in the event Pamphile does not appear to be interested in Lucius’ charms at all.
For habitudo as physical beauty and part of Lucius’ characterisation see 1.20.2, for
his appearance and ancestry see introd. §9. Lucius characterises himself to Photis
in 3.19.5 as someone who has always despised embraces with respectable women
{matronalium amplexuum), perhaps an indication that hitherto he has indeed been
of ‘maiden-like’ modesty (cf. Onos 11 for an even stronger expression of this notion
of indifference to female allure).
23.4	my friend Demeas also announces this in his letter: This kind of character
reference may be used in real letters of recommendation: Fronto, ad Verum 1.6.7 (p.
111.14 van den Hout) praises the subject’s ‘modesty’, verecundia.
beg you not to spurn the smallness of our little hovel: In the following, Milo
will remind him of Hecale’s hospitality for Theseus, see on 1.23.6; again Milo insists

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on the same action twice (cf. 1.23.2), making any attempt at resistance by Lucius
futile. The diminutive gurgustiolum is only found in Apuleius, but was rediscovered
from his texts in the Renaissance (see introd. § 13). Even gurgustium is a rare word
(Cicero Pis. 13.3 for a cheap tavern; N. D. 1.22) and has negative connotations as
a pauper’s house of humble dimensions and sordid/shadowy character. Apuleius’
use of the diminutive makes the hovel even shadier; gurgustiolum occurs again
in Met. 4.10.4 in a very similar context (Chryseros pretending to be poor; see on
1.21.5	and 23.2). Milo’s extremely negative portrayal of his home may be fishing
for compliments rather than a true depiction of the house’s state.
23.5	that adjacent bedroom over there will be a worthy little shelter for you:
The bedroom is close, accessible from the dining area, but not as small as Milo
makes out. It is big enough for the love scenes between Lucius and Photis in Met.
2. Offering a bed for the night, usually in the portico immediately near the front
door, is key to proper hospitality (Reece 1993, 32), and for once Milo does not
disappoint Lucius. Again, no mention is made of Lucius’ slaves and their sleeping
arrangements, although in the corresponding scene in Onos 3 Palaistra specifically
prepares a mattress for Loukios’ slave.
In 11.22.4 the only other combination of cubiculum and receptaculum appears in
a religious context, as the room of a priest (Egelhaaf-Gaiser 2000,449). Cubiculum
describes a temple in 11.17.1, but so far in Met. 1 it has previously been used only
of Socrates’ and Aristomenes’ room (1.16.1), making their fate another unheeded
warning for Lucius. Receptaculum is commonly used in military contexts to describe
a shelter or a place of retreat (Cicero Pis. 11, Pliny Nat. 10.100).
Look: The connection et in the transmitted et ecce awkwardly splits adiacens
and illud cubiculum; Liitjohann’s palaeographically plausible emendation en ecce
(cf. 1.1.5) echoes Milo’s deictic gesture.
Be sure to enjoy your stay with us: A similar phrase in 2.19.5 (Byrrhaena to
Lucius) is another indication of a mirror scene, and of an unwitting rivalry between
Milo and Byrrhaena as Lucius’ hosts. See also above on 1.21.4f. for deversari ‘to
dwell’ used by both Lucius and the old woman talking about Milo’s house. The
paratactic fac plus subjunctive is colloquial, and frequent in Apuleius, e.g. Met.
2.18.5	fac sine cura sis, ‘make sure not to worry’; 2.23.8; 6.7.4 {fac ... matures,
‘make sure you hurry’)
23.6	you will make our house bigger with your reputation: In the equivalent phrase
in Onos 2 it is Loukios’ ‘forbearance’ (άνεξικάκως), not reputation, that will increase
the house’s name. Dignatio (also ‘esteem, respect, status') is used in Met. 11.21.8 and
29.4, of the gods favouring Lucius with allowing him to undergo initiations.
a shining example: Prophetic and ominous: in Met., specimen is often a physical
spectacle, e.g. 2.4.5 (ecphrasis of Actaeon), 4.29.2 (Psyche), 11.17.5 (Isis; cf. also
11.1). In Met. 3, Milo will take part in turning Lucius into a public spectacle during
the Risus festival.
content with a rather small house: Milo unwittingly echoes the old woman's

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description of the house (1.21.6) and anticipates the fate of Chryseros (4.9.6, see
on 1.21.5) who hides his riches in a ‘small little house’ (parva ... domuncula). Like
Milo’s house eventually, his is plundered by robbers who assume that4 larger houses’
are more easily conquered.
you ... emulate the virtues of Theseus, who shares his name with your father,
and who did not spurn the humble hospitality of the old woman Hecale: Whereas
Theseus stayed with Hecale, Lucius did not in the end stay with an old woman. Milo
hopes Lucius will be, like Theseus in Callimachus’ Hecale, an exemplary guest, but
Lucius previously only emulated his dinner companions in an undignified eating
competition (aemulus; 1.4.1). On Callimachus’ Hecale and its links with guest-
friendship in this scene see introd. §6.1. The highly literary intertext of the epyllion
(a short hexameter poem with un-heroic themes) is comically misrepresented and
misused, with Milo styling himself as Hecale. Inspired by his father’s name, Lucius
becomes a comic and debased version of Theseus, who, unlike the mythological
hero, will not receive any food from this miserly host. This is the second time Milo
asks Lucius not to spurn (aspernari) his small house (cf. 1.23.4). In the end it is not
the size of the house, but Milo’s character that Lucius despises, see 1.26.7.
Theseus was king of Athens. Lucius has links to Athens as well as Corinth, if
the letter indicates this correctly. This tallies with 1.1.3 where the prologue-speaker
mentions Corinth and Athens as places of his origin and suggests his identification
with Lucius.
23.7 his little maid ... Photis: Photis is again described with a diminutive, cf.
1.21.7; the repetition ensures the recognition that this is the girl who opened the
door earlier. She has a speaking name with many meanings: ‘Hottie’, as she warns
Lucius to stay away from her foculum (‘brazier’, a bilingual pun) in 2.7.7, or ‘Light’
(Greek φως, interpreted as the wrong light, opposed to the true light of Isis (Krabbe
1989,136ff). This corresponds to Lucius’ name, which means ‘light’ in Latin (from
lux), and which may misleadingly indicate a close bond between the two. ‘Lucius’ is
the Latin version of the protagonist’s name in the original (Loukios). De Smet 1987,
618f. argues rightly that both meanings are intentionally present at different parts
of the novel. The name is found in inscriptions, and the ending in -is indicates the
slave names of Greek and Roman comedy (Sandy 1997, 248; Keulen 2007, 418).
The girl in Onos is called Palaistra, a more obviously speaking name: ‘Wrestling
School’ is a metaphor used for a brothel in Plautus Bac. 66 and Terence Ph. 484. The
love-making between her and Loukios in Onos 6-10 is also decidedly more athletic
than Photis’ and Lucius’ in Met. 2.16ff, and extended metaphors fashion Palaistra
as Loukios’ wrestling teacher. Lucius’ and Photis’ love-making, on the other hand,
is full of comic and elegiac metaphors, and their relationship, although mostly
utilitarian for Lucius, is also based on mutual attraction (Hindermann 2009).
store them: The phrase is a close translation of its equivalent in Onos 2; a
command is given, and its execution reported in similar words in Met. 1.24.3; Milo
is dominating the scene.

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23.8 from the store-room: Usually promptuarius is an adjective: Apol. 54.8
e cella promptaria ‘from a room serving as storage’; Plautus Am. 156 quasi e
promptaria cella (‘as if out of a storage room’, metaphorically for prison), where,
like here, it indicates a store-room.
oil for rubbing and towels for wiping and everything else necessary for
the same purpose: Again Lucius’ fate recalls that of Socrates through a very
unusual phrase and a similar context (baths; cf. 1.7.3). Although he listens to both
Aristomenes and Milo, Lucius does not take in the repeated warnings to avoid
witchcraft. Keulen 2007, 419 (with examples) notes that other uses of cetera usui
‘necessary for the purpose’ specifically indicate food. Milo implicitly restricts the
term to bathing utensils and thus poignantly does not offer Lucius any food.
bring The transmitted imperative profers (instead of the more common form
profer) is paralleled in 2.6.6 aufers and 6.13.5 defers.
lead my guest to the nearest baths: Rich Romans usually offer the use of their
private baths to their guests in the countryside; middle and lower class townhouses
have no bathing facilities. It is an indication of Milo’s status that he apparently has
no bath house of his own, or perhaps of how he wishes to appear to his neighbours
and Lucius. As one of the ‘leading citizens’ [primores, see on 1.21.3) of Hypata
he should have the capacity to expand his house built outside the city walls. The
absence of private baths allows the mirror scene to develop closer parallels to
Aristomenes’ hosting of Socrates in 1.7. Aristomenes was on his way to the baths
in Hypata (1.5.5) when he encountered Socrates and therefore witchcraft, again
offering an ominous paradigm for Lucius. Bathing before dinner is normal; in Met.,
also in 4.7.5 (robbers), 3.12.5 (Lucius after the Risus festival trial and before dinner
with Milo, see below), 8.29.2 (the priests of the Dea Syria). The usual time for
bathing is between two and three in the afternoon (Martial 10.48). Lucius' refusal
to accept a bath from Milo makes him a bad guest (introd. §6.1). The guest’s bath
is usually provided by female servants [Od. 4.49 etc.), here Photis. For Lucius,
though, the decision to redirect her efforts tactfully to looking after his horse rather
than himself (1.24.1) so that he can secretly buy his own food may appear the more
natural decision. Producere ‘to lead’ is used again in 3.12.5 (again Milo and Lucius
use public baths) and 11.23.1 (as a preparation for initiation).
he is quite tired from his difficult and lengthy journey: Lucius constantly
stresses how tired he is in bk 1, see 1.26 (twice). The language here recalls the
description of the landscape in 1.2.2 and belies his elegant claim in 1.20.5f. that
hearing Aristomenes’ story has taken his tiredness away.
24
Lucius asks Photis to look after his horse’s needs and sets off to the food market and
the baths alone. He buys himself some fish for dinner and encounters his old friend
Pythias, Hypata’s aedile.
The Pythias episode shares some similarities with the meeting of Socrates and
Aristomenes as well as the Byrrhaena/Habroia episode in Met. 2 and has been seen

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Commentary
as an Apuleian addition. As Loukios shares a meal with his host in Onos, he has
no need to go food-shopping. The episode creates interesting links with Lucius’
initiation into the Isis mysteries in Met. 11 through possible parody of Isiac rituals
as well as continuing the comic atmosphere of Milo’s house in Hypata.
24.1	reflecting upon his character and frugality: For Romans, parsimonia
‘frugality’ is a traditional virtue (Konstan 1983, 35); in Apul. Apol. 95 parsimonia
is a positive characteristic of Sallust’s language. Cf. Plautus Trin. 1028f. for a wish
to return to the good old days associated with parsimonia. Lucius is willing to play
lip service to Milo's thriftiness to ingratiate himself In the comic setting of Milo’s
house, however, Milo’s parsimoniousness can be associated with greed for money
for its own sake which underlies the comic plot e.g. in Plautus’ Aulularia. A certain
general manipulative selfishness is manifest in Lucius’ calculations (ratiocinans),
but evidence for positively evil intentions is thin (although Keulen 2007, 422
attributes obsequious flattery and malevolent motives, possibly legacy hunting, to
Lucius). Lucius seems more naive, an unintentional flatterer: cf. also on 1.22.4.
wanting to recommend myself more closely to Milo: On 'recommendation’ as a
catch phrase for Lucius’ and Milo’s relationship, see 1.21.8. Lucius plays up to Milo’s
stinginess by ostentatiously denying his own needs, which is surprising, given that we
first meet him as a prolific eater (1.4.1). He will however shortly attempt to indulge
himself with expensive seafood, as he has concluded that there is not much chance
of a good meal out of Milo. Ironically the ultimate goal of the parasite’s flattery and
obsequiousness, food and dinner, will elude him during the whole of bk. 1, although
he makes providing himself with dinner his top priority. Lucius keeps up this kind of
obsequiousness in matters to do with eating when he is a donkey, cf. 10.16.4 (Lucius
keeps eating food to entertain his master although he is already ‘quite well stuffed’),
and becomes the flatterer and comic parasite of the scene (a consistent characteristic
of Lucius: May 1998; 2006, 143-56). Interestingly, Lucius there does the opposite
from here: he devours as much human food as possible to please his master, with the
successful result that the master calls him his parasite. By contrast, here Lucius seems
to win Milo over by voluntarily forgoing his claim to his host’s food.
I don’t need any of these things, as they accompany me on my way everywhere:
Lucius’ toilet kit would contain strigils to scrape off the oil from the body, flasks
with oil or perfume, and a sponge. On oil flask and strigil as accoutrements of the
comic parasite see e.g. Plautus Per. 123ff, Pollux 17 and 18, with May 2006, 147;
as bathing essentials Yegtil 2010, 12f. Lucius speaks the truth, and he goes on to
have a bath after his immediate ill-fated trip to the food market.
24.2	this is of the highest importance to me: Contrast Lucius’ change of mind
in 11.26.3,where his daily prayers to Isis become of the highest importance to him
(praecipuum... studium).
Photis: The plain address here indicates the lack of romantic attachment, which
will soon change once Lucius has decided to seduce her (2.7 etc. he calls her ‘my
Photis’, Photis mea\ Dickey 2002, 281). Furthermore, her owner is also listening,

Commentary	209
and seducing his property might not be the best action for an ostentatiously tactful
guest.
take these few coins here and buy hay and barley for my horse, who carried
me swiftly: Lucius constantly takes good care of his horse, descending in 1.2.3
to ease the horse’s tiredness, cf. his joke in 1.20.6. Perveho ‘to carry’ is used of
quadrupeds in Met. 6.28 (Lucius the donkey), and Socr. 23 (173; horse). Hay
and barley are recommended fodder for horses, e.g. barley in Aristotle Historia
animalium 573b 10-11; 595a 28-29; 595b 6-10; Varro R. 2.7.7 and 2.8 recommends
both for equines; Charite orders the donkey Lucius to be given both in 7.14.4 to
spoil him. Again a diminutive {nummulis) is used in connection with Photis, but
also functions as an indication of the parsimony Lucius feigns - he gives her only a
few small coins to provide for his horse. On hospitality for horses and consequences
for Lucius’ assessment of Milo’s hospitality see introd. §6.1. For the archaic future
imperative emito ‘buy’ cf. above on 1.8.5.
24.3	I myself headed for the baths: In Onos 3 Loukios has no trouble going to
the baths after giving Palaistra some money for the horse; it is Apuleius who turns
Milo’s and Lucius’ relationship into a fraught parody of hospitality. As Lucius heads
to the baths, only to encounter unexpectedly an old friend (Pythias) in 1.24, he
echoes the experiences of Aristomenes exactly, cf. on 1.7.2.
I made for the food market: Lucius is characterised here as a wastrel and
parasite in search of a rare and expensive culinary treat, in stark contrast to the
persona he ingratiatingly presents to Milo. Buying fish is a literary trope from
comedy {e.g. Plautus Capt. 474), where parasites, a characterisation that Lucius is
frequently given, buy it as a luxury product (Davidson 1993, 54).This comic touch
supports the textual emendation to cuppedinis (F writes cupidinis, a later hand in
φ has cupedinis; subsequent occurrences of the word have been tacitly changed
in the text). In Apol. 29.6 Apuleius uses cuppedinarius ‘seller of delicacies’, a
rare word, in a scene associated with Roman comedy {cuppedia: Plautus St. 714,
cuppedinarii: Terence Eu. 256). The Forum Cuppedinis was a food market in Rome,
no longer extant in Apuleius’ time. It is either an alternative name for the macellum
(grocery market), or a specific pan of the forum in Rome, and Forum Cupidinis is
either a nickname or a mistake for it (both terms are associated by Varro L. 5.146;
Richardson 1992, 164). Either way, this is a striking Romanisation of a provincial
market. Lucius is not intimidated by this one unpleasant encounter, as he visits the
same market again in 2.2, when he meets Byrrhaena. He again forgets the example
of Aristomenes, who had headed to Hypata’s markets in 1.5.4 for unsuccessful
cheese trading. Keulen 2007, 427 compares Lucius’ actions here with that of the
Theophrastian shameless man {Characters 9), who goes shopping without regard
for his reputation. Given that Lucius has not had food all day, this judgement is a bit
harsh.
24.4	some sumptuous fish displayed for sale: Piscatus (‘fish as caught’, OLD)
is a Plautine word, used twice in the same chapter to stress the comic situation, cf.

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Commentary
Plautus Mos. 66f, 729, 730; Rud. 299; 911; Turpilius com. 22, Pomponius com. 119
(May 2006, 152f.). Fish may be a sign of riches and indulgence in Greek comedy.
In Rome luxuriousness is more associated with the consumption of meat, whereas
comedy maintains the high price of fish as a luxury. Lucius’ expedition therefore
evokes a comic atmosphere. In his own trial for witchcraft, Apuleius himself had
been accused of buying fish for exorbitant sums of money, allegedly for magical
purposes (Apol. 29; cf. Abt 1908 66 (140)ff. for the use of fish in magic, and p.
39 (113) for the occasional prohibition of eating fish for magicians, e.g. Pap. Ber.
1.290). His defence was that he did not eat them but dissected them for scientific
reasons. For fish and its symbolism for Isis see introd. §10.2 and below on 1.25.4.
Opiparis, 'sumptuous’, is applied to dinners and another comic word found mostly
in Plautus and Apuleius (Met. 10.13.6). Interestingly, Cicero in Off. 3.58f. tells an
anecdote about the banker (<argentarius) Pythius (see below on 1.24.5 for the name’s
possible significance) duping the knight C. Canius with the help of piscatores and a
sumptuous (opipare) dinner, during which the fishermen threw down fish at the feet
of Pythius. Cicero’s language, too, is generally Plautine and comic.
he set [sc. the price] at one hundred coins ...for twenty denarii: One nummus
(i.e. sestertius) is a fourth of a denarius (cf. 9.31.3). Lucius negotiates a 20%
discount. Prices in the novel are unreliable because of their use for comic effect,
and the price of this fish is very high when compared with the more modest prices
in contemporary Egypt (a twentieth of Apuleius’ price, or less). This inflation is
reminiscent of comedy with its exaggerated prices for fish. Cf. e.g. Achamians
885, Diphilus, Emporos 32 K-A, where the price of fish is their weight in silver,
Eupolis Kolakes 160 K-A etc., e.g. Plautus Aul. 373f., Bac. 96fi, Capt. 474, Men.
273, Mos. 67, Terence Eu. 256f. Prices in Met. are often exaggerated: compare the
discrepancies between 17 denarii for the donkey in 8.25.6 and the 20 paid here for
the fish dinner. In 2.13.4 Diophanes’ fee of one hundred denarii is astronomical.
In 10.17.1 the cooks are paid 44 denarii by their grateful master for their donkey
Lucius, which is signposted as a high amount. Finally, in 9.6 five denarii for a large
empty jar are another astronomical sum (Duncan-Jones 21982, 248-51, Fick 1985,
133fi, Davidson 1993, 55fi, Pailler 2004, 120).
Cf. 1.5.4 for the Plautine nature of the food-shopping (praestinare) and the
association of Lucius with Aristomenes in that scene.
24.5	Pythias: The male name is typically Pytheas (Scobie 1975 emends
accordingly), e.g. Pliny Nat. 34.52. For Pythius in Cicero Off. 3.58f. see on 1.24.4.
Pythias is usually a female slave name in comedy, cf. Turpilius 188 Philopator (in a
list of courtesans), Terence Eunuchus, Horace Ars 238 (where Pythias is an example
of a generic comedy name). A comic intertext is likely, given the use of comic
language throughout the scene; officious aediles feature in Plautine comedy, see
below on 1.24.8. Other explanations of the name include a link with the philosopher
Pythagoras, as Pythagoreans refuse to eat fish (Krabbe 2003, 15 and 156), or
associating Pythias with Pythia, the prophetess of Apollo, as a religious reference to

Commentary
211
Lucius’ future with Isis (thus Grimal 1971,344f., Plaza 2006, 73, see also below on
1.25.4). See Zimmerman 2006, 94f. and Keulen 2007, 436 for elements of Roman
satire in Pythias’ character.
fellow student of mine in Athens in Attica: Athens is Lucius’ place of study, cf.
1.4.2.	Apuleius, too, studied in Athens and after some time away met an old friend
from university (Pontianus) again while passing through Oea on a journey, with
far reaching consequences (introd. §1.1). Athenas Atticas is comic: Plautus Epid.
502, Mil. 100 and 451 etc.9 and frequent in Apul., cf. FI. 18.15. It is notable that
Lucius did not attempt before travelling to Hypata or now that he has met Pythias
to claim guest-friendship with his old friend (nor with his aunt Byrrhaena whom he
encounters in Met. 2), but takes a letter of recommendation to the stranger Milo.
Pythias, crucially, here also does not offer hospitium to Lucius (whereas Byrrhaena
does). He also will turn out to be a liability, and as Lucius is surprised at his role
as a magistrate he obviously has not kept in touch. The scene has no equivalent in
Onos. Repetitions in the Byrrhaena sequence may be signs that the Pythias scene
is an Apuleian addition to the original, and characteristic of the troubled hospitality
Lucius experiences in Hypata throughout his stay. Describing Pythias as a fellow
student allows Apuleius to lay another false trail, as during the previous encounter
of old friends (Socrates and Aristomenes) the friendship ends in death. In some
ways Lucius is about to repeat their fate, although with less dire consequences (see
below on 1.24.6).
after all this time: An adverb is required before multum; Apuleius writes aliquam
multum in 5.26.1 and 11.26.1, which makes Colvius’ correction to aliquam here
likely (printed e.g. by Zimmerman 2012). Hanson 1989 and Keulen 2007 print F’s
aliquantum; in 1.18.1 Apuleius uses aliquantum as adverb, and in 1.19.1 aliquanto
(but neither with multum).
rushed up upon me, embraced and kissed me fondly: Cf. 1.17.4 for a similar
emotional outburst amongst friends (with verbal echoes). Here it anticipates 3.24.2,
where Lucius embraces and kisses the box of ointment like an old friend (amplexus
ac deosculatus).
24.6	My dear Lucius: The first time we hear Lucius’ name, introduced 'naturally’
during an episode where his own experiences and his function as a narrator become
central (rather than, as until now, as a passive and gullible narratee of stories). For
the name's meaning see on 1.23.7. It may anticipate Lucius’ initiation into the ‘true
light’ of Isis in Met. 11 (Isis has a cluster of luc- words associated with her: 11.2; 5;
6; 9; 10; 22). On late naming of characters in the novel see on 1.5.3.
by Pollux ... by Hercules: Two typically comic exclamations: other than in
1.8.1	(the meeting of Socrates and Aristomenes), the mild oath pol indicates surprise
rather than invective, but is a marker for the comic context of the scene, together
with hercules. See also on 1.3.3.
our teacher Clytius: Another 'speaking name’, literally 'the famous one’, from
κλυτός, cf. Latin inclitus, which is what Lucius calls, amongst others, Plutarch in

212
Commentary
Met. 1.2.1 and his own family in 3.11.1. The name is very rare, and no philosopher
or rhetor of the name is known. It is perhaps a nickname; in 9.17.1 the councillor
Barbarus is nicknamed Scorpio, because of his sharpness. Students tend to give
their teachers nicknames; calling their teacher ‘famous’ might characterise Pythias
as urbane; some nicknames discussed in Heath 2004, 40f. include e.g. ‘Marathon’
for Ptolemy of Naucratis (Philostr. VS 595). Apuleius names a brother of Priam in
Socr. 18 (161) as Clytius, and there may be a link between the names of Lucius’
father Theseus and his teacher. Klytios, the son of Antiope and Eurytos of Oechalia,
brother of Iphitos, was, according to some ancient sources, a (rather undistinguished)
Argonaut, together with Theseus (Hyginus Fab. 14; Scholia to Apollonius Rhodius
list both, although Ap. Rhod. 1.100 specifically notes Theseus' absence; Plutarch
Theseus 29.3 considers Theseus’ presence in the expedition). The name is an
emendation by Seyffert, accepted by all modem editions.
Magister ‘teacher’ is an imprecise term; here it must describe a professional
teacher of rhetoric or law (cf. Cicero De Orat. 1.52), though it can also indicate a
schoolmaster (Cicero De Orat. 1.244) or even a mere paedagogus (slave looking
after infant boys; e.g. Plautus Bac. 152).
24.7 what is your reason for this journey?: Similar questions are asked in 1.7.7
(Socrates) and 1.26.4 (Milo asking Lucius); Pythias will not get a straightforward
answer, which leaves the reader, too, still in the dark about Lucius’ reasons for
travelling to Hypata.
You will know tomorrow: An odd reply: Lucius was not planning to meet
Pythias (with whom he had lost touch, and of whose presence and rank in Hypata
he was oblivious), but now seems to suggest impulsively meeting up again the next
day, but never follows this through: after the fish fiasco he may have decided to stay
clear of Pythias for the rest of his time in Hypata. The events of his second day in
Hypata are equally unplanned: Lucius goes to the market again, but then encounters
Byrrhaena, goes to her house, chats up Photis and sleeps with her after a dinner
with Milo (2.1-17). We can only assume that his mysterious ‘business’ (1.2.1) never
comes to pass. Pythias, too, will never find out.
what is this?: Cf. 1.6.2 (asked of Socrates).
1 am happy your prayer has been granted: Elliptical, i.e. ‘I congratulate you
on attaining your ambition’, with genitive of thing wished for (OLD 3a).
you have attendants and rods of office and the outfit that utterly fits with
the role of a magistrate: Lucius recognises his friend’s rank by his ostentatiously
carried status symbols. Lixa here uniquely indicates an attendant to a magistrate (cf.
1.25.4; its usual meaning is camp follower, often with negative connotations). If those
here are thought to be the ones carrying the virgae (cf. below), then they are lictores,
attendants to senior magistrates. There is some epigraphic evidence that municipal
aediles (who had the same tasks as the Roman aediles) were allowed two lictors with
fasces: the tombstone of the aedile L. Severius Severinus in Nemausus from the first
half of the second century AD (C1L 12.3273), displays two fasces; see also the tomb

Commentary
213
of C. Vestorius Priscus in Pompeii (Schafer 1989,389 = Cl4) from 75/6 AD; both died
in their early twenties, having achieved aedileships. Lictors may have accompanied
aediles in larger cities like Formiae or Arpinum. Virgae are thin sticks attached to
the fasces (Schafer 1989,200ff.) or held in the lictor’s right hand, but are not official
emblems of power. The day after Lucius’ encounter with the wineskins, he is collected
and brought to court by two lictors {Met. 3.2.1). Here the process in the small town
Hypata is described as if the courtroom were in Rome, but Elster 1991 rightly warns
against taking Apuleius ’ portrayal of legal proceedures at face value. For habitus ‘ state,
bearing’ see 1.12.3; 1.20.2,1.21.7, where it also identifies outer appearance.
24.8	I am administering food supplies and pricing ... and serve as aedile:
Suetonius CL 18.1 indicates that there was an official department, Urbis annonaeque
curae, to supply com to a city or an army; annona usually means the supply or price
of com; looking after the prices of the market was part of an aedile’s office (Cicero
Leg. 3.7; Tacitus Hist. 4.38). Pythias will turn out to act not like a law-abiding
magistrate, but a perpetrator of wanton violence and cruelty. Aediles have some
negative connotations in Plautus. Rud. 372f., St. 352f., Capt. 823 (cf. also Epid.
25f., on praetors rather than aediles) indicate that in comedy pompous behaviour
is compared to behaving like an aedile, reproducing perhaps connotations of its
Greek equivalent agoranomos ‘market clerk’ (agoranomoi: MacDowell 1971,
313; Fick-Michel 1991, 117; Keulen 2007, 438). In Plautus Mil. 727-30 a good
agoranomos sets the prices of the goods in the market. In Alexis’ Phaedo 249 K-
A an agoranomos is imagined to stop Callimedon from buying too much fish (cf.
Amott 1996,706-8 on the fragment; Davidson 1993,61; 1997,188L). In Athens his
tasks include enforcing the law against fraud in the markets, checking the quality
of all products except com, and collecting sellers’ taxes (see Athenaion Politeia
51.1	and Plato Laws 849a-50a, 917b-f for a comprehensive list). Ath. Pol. 10.177
indicates he is entitled to punish offenders on the spot by pillorying them. According
to Laws 917b-c he has to ensure that no haggling takes place, and 917c-d indicates
that traders may be beaten if they swear a false oath on the quality of their wares.
Of course, it is the fish that is beaten in Apuleius, not the fishmonger, but this may
indicate that a severe law lies behind Apuleius’ comic representation. Apuleius here
evokes less a Greek magistrate than a Roman official, as his aedile is accompanied
by lictors.
Gerere may indicate acting theatrically, cf. 11.8.2 (a man dressed up as a soldier
in an Isiac procession: see May 2006, 324-27 for the theatrical implications of
that scene), cf. Stich. 353 aedilitatem ... gerit; but it is possibly a technical phrase,
used without negative connotations in Servius’ commentary on Aeneid 6.861.5 on
Marcellus.
to purchase: Obsonare is a comic word, cf. Plautus Capt. 474; Men. 220
(<opsonium\ usually for buying food, especially fish, cf. Apol. 29.6 (May 2006,
87-92).
I tried to decline: Abnuere, ‘to nod dissent’, is a gesture of refusal, cf. Apol. 48,

214	Commentary
76, 100; Met. 2.27.7; 4.13.1; 6.6.1. In Met. 1.21.2 its opposite adnuere indicates
agreement.
24.9	that rubbish?: Comparable derogatory terms are used of fish in 1.25.1:
nugamenta ‘junk' (a comic neologism); Apol. 34.7 quisquiliae ‘waste’. The archaic
word occurs before Apuleius only in Novius com. 88 R. and Caecilius com. 251,
and two rather theatrically rhetorical passages in Cicero, Sest. 94 and Att. 1.16.6.
Petronius 75.8 (Trimalchio) uses the neuter plural form.
I could hardly ... wrest them away from the fishmonger for twenty denarii:
The only other piscator in Met. appears in the pseudo-theatrical procession of
Isis (11.8), a metafictional and self-referential summary of the novel as a whole
(May 2006, 324-27). The phrase is graphic, and inconsistent with Lucius’ previous
description of the financial transaction as seemingly unimportant in mere subordinate
clauses. Extorquere is used in Apol. 67 for a financial transaction, in Apol. 93.6 of
a promise (about, amongst other things, financial arrangements); in Met. 5.6.4 and
8.7.6	it describes a long winded process of begging.
25
Pythias has Lucius’ fish destroyed because of their high price. This is the closest
Lucius gets to enjoying food throughout the whole of Met. 1, just to have his hopes
for dinner thwarted once again.
25.1	he ... grabbed my right hand: In Homeric hospitality, the host takes the
visitor by the right hand (e.g. Od. 1.121), but Pythias does not offer hospitality
and only continues the series of troubled or interrupted guest friendships Lucius
experiences in Hypata. Although Milo will eventually offer his hand to Lucius
(to pull him towards his empty table once again, 1.26.2), he notably first touches
Lucius’ clothes, not his body, in 1.23.1.
led me back into the food market: This scene is often compared to Petronius
12-15, where the advocati nocturni (night policemen) enter to restore order. Pythias
here is a comic figure, primarily interested in maintaining his authoritative stance.
Although the forum or market itself does not feature on the comic stage, references
to action taking place in the forum, including the buying of fish, abound in comedy,
cf. on 1.25.3.
this junk?: For nugamenta ‘junk’ see on 1.24.9.
25.2	I pointed out a little old man to him: The fishmonger is a little old man
{seniculus is found only here), and is thus easily cowed by Pythias. He recalls
possibly a stock character from comedy, found in Plautus Rudens, mimes and farces.
The fisherman on a Lipari vase which Panayotakis 2010, 332f. cites as a possible
image from a mime of Sophron is an old man with white hair.
he was sitting in a corner: This follows normal customs for retailers selling their
wares (Dicaeopolis in Aristophanes Acharnians 837f.; Menander Perikeiromene
284; Plato R. 2.317c etc.; Amott 1996, 382). This motif is comically inverted in
The Melting Pot, a play by the comedy writer Alexis (frg 131, 5-6 K.-A, cited in

Commentary
215
Athenaeus Deipn. 6.226c; Keulen 2007,445f.) for an absurd new ‘law’ that forced
fishmongers to serve their customers standing up to avoid bartering, a clear comic
invention. Even if this strange law were real, the punishment of the customer rather
than the fishmonger does not follow the rules.
he immediately barked at him with a rather harsh voice: Cf. 3.16.4 for
increpare (Photis is shouted at by a barber who suspects her of stealing hair), and
for vox aspera (‘harsh voice’), a rhetorical phrase, cf. e.g. Cicero Orator 150;
Quintilian Decl. min. 333.16; Curtius Rufus 7.1.22.
in accordance with the official powers of an aedile: Aediles do not carry the
imperium claimed here (Summers 1970, 521), only the lesser magistrate’s power
potestas. Lucius hints at Pythias’ presumptuousness, which is in keeping with his
consistently pompous characterisation.
Well now: Cf. 1.16.2 for the same reduplication (iam iam), an archaic
expression.
25.3	spare my friends or any of our guests at all: The gradation here moves
from individuals linked though amicitia ‘friendship’ in its personal as well as socio¬
political dimension to the more general and ritualised guest-friendship between
individuals who not necessarily know each other; both systems are characterised
through reciprocity, which is noticeably absent in Lucius’ exchanges with his
friends and hosts.
you mark up worthless fish with such high prices: Abuse of fishmongers
is traditional in Greek Middle and New Comedy (Nesselrath 1990, 291-6). For
example, Alexis 204, 3f. K-A and Antiphanes 145 K-A feature complaints about
fishmongers’ extortionate prices, Amphis 30 K-A about the fish’s poor quality, and
Antiphanes Neaniskoi 164 K-A about the paltry size of the fish. In Plautus Capt.
807-26, a parasite complains loudly about fishmongers. On the price of fish, see
above on Met. 1.24.4. Indicatis ‘you mark up’ here repeats 1.24.4; Lucius and
Pythias are echoing each other.
the flower of the Thessalian region: On Hypata’s importance in contemporary
Thessaly see above on 1.5.4 and 2.19, Byrrhaena’s praise of her home town. Flos
with a genitive refers to the pick of the class, its ‘flower’, e.g.ftos poetarum (Plautus
Cas. 18); Asiae (Juvenal 5.56); Italiae (Cicero Catil. 2,24 etc.).
equivalent of a craggy wilderness: In Pythias’ rant Hypata undergoes a
metaphorical metamorphosis from a flourishing city into a lonely wilderness, because
its inhabitants disobey the rules of hospitality (rules which indeed are broken often
enough in Met. 1). This sets the scene for 2.1, where Lucius imagines magic and
metamorphosis to be omnipresent in Hypata, where nothing is as it seems.
costliness of your groceries: Edulia ‘groceries’ is used e.g. in Apul. Apol. 29
(food bought from cuppedinarii ‘delicatessen sellers’, cf. on 1.24.3) for the purpose
of eating it - rather than using it for magic), FI. 6 (see above on 1.22,7), and several
times in Met. in comic contexts discussing food (5.3.3; 5.15.1; 6.28.6; 10.13.3;
10.16.3).

216
Commentary
25.4	But not with impunity: Apuleius drives the idea of the interfering magistrate
to its comic conclusion: the aedile comically purports to punish the fishmonger for
overpricing his goods, but the real victim of his ire is Lucius, whose loses both
his dinner and his money (1.25.6). On comic aedilesfagoranomoi see on 1.24.8.
‘Not with impunity’ recalls here specifically and ominously Met. 1.12.7T, where
the witch’s threat to Aristomenes is also followed by faxo (... paeniteat ‘I’ll make
sure ... he’s sorry’).
evil people must be summarily punished: As in 5.30.2 (Venus to Cupid),
the reference is to the right of coercitio, the ‘authority of Roman magistrates to
intervene where they judged the public order had been violated by citizens and non¬
citizens, restricting their rights and exercising sovereign power.’ (Brill's New Pauly
s.v. coercitio [Gizewski]).
He poured out my basket in our midst and ordered his official to step on the
fish and crush all of them with his feet: A much debated scene: it may be inspired
by comedy, cf. Plautus Capt. 807-26, where the parasite Ergasilus complains about
bad quality fish sold in the forum and threatens the fishmongers with his shopping
basket, effectively playing the role of an aedile (Shanzer 1996,447ff; May 2006,
152ff.). The fish-trampling is also often seen less probably as a cryptic allusion
to Met. 11 with reference to Plutarch, On Isis and Osiris 358b, 363f. where the
phallus of the dismembered Osiris is fed to fish (introd. §10.2). The fish-trampling,
according to this theory, is then a symbolic Egyptian reference for the destruction
of the enemies of the gods (Ra and Horus), inflicting much religious punishment on
the fishmonger (extensive bibliography in Keulen 2007,449, who also lists possible
Pythagorean associations). This is problematic: the forum is not really a sacrificial
space. A (reconstructed) episode from the Life of Aesop 37, 39 and 44 has Aesop
bring vegetables home for his master’s wife to cook, but she tramples them on the
ground (Winkler 1985, 284). In 9.35.4 a rich young man tramples his neighbour’s
crops in spite (fruges ... obterendo, note the same word); no Isiac connections have
been claimed for that scene.
25.5	Satisfied with the severity of his character: The phrase has a positive,
moralistic connotation, cf. 1.23.6 for the similar construction contentus lare parvulo
‘content with a rather small home’. In Tacitus Ann. 13.2.1 severitate morum indicates
Roman strength of character. Severitudo instead of severitas, however, suggests a
Plautine atmosphere, as before Apuleius it occurs only in Plautus Epid. 609.
25.6	I was taken aback and completely dumbfounded by his actions:
Dumbfounded silence is Lucius’ normal reaction in shock and wonderment, cf. 2.7.4
(on Photis’ seductive appearance); 3.9.8 (on revelation of the wineskin bodies), and
elsewhere in Met. it is only used only of his alter ego Psyche in similar situations:
5.2.3	(when seeing Cupid’s riches for the first time), and 6.10.4 (at one of Venus’
tasks). Cf. also 1.8.2 for a similar reaction. Obstupidus is archaic, before Apuleius
only in Plautus Mil. 1254, Pacuvius trag. 53 Ribbeck, and Gellius 5.1.6.
25.6	I ... retreated to the baths: Lucius picks up where he left off in 1.24.3,

Commentary
217
when he had set out to the baths before being distracted by his need to purchase
food. Lucius has gained nothing for his efforts since then.
the useful advice of my wise fellow student: For this use of ironic sarcasm
to characterise people see e.g. above on 1.7.10. Validus here means both ‘having
legal authority’ and ‘bold’ (Keulen 2007, 452). Again Lucius is punning. The only
other instance of a consilium validum (in 5.10.6) is not straightforward, either, as
Psyche’s sisters plan to give her bad advice. Although Lucius has seen through
Pythias’ pretentiousness, he continues to act nicely, anxiously keen to uphold his
own social status. He lets Pythias get away with his foolish actions and swallows
his humiliation without public comment, just to make disparaging remarks behind
Pythias’ back to the reader. He has a similar treatment in store for Milo in 1.26.7.
Prudentia ‘wisdom’ is an important motif in Met., a moral virtue, based on e.g.
Cicero Fin. 5.16 which defines it as the ‘art of living well’, here used ironically and
never attained in the first ten books of Met. (Graverini 2012); cf. also 10.33.3, where
Plato’s Socrates is a real exemplar of the virtue, an ‘old man of divine prudentia’.
I was deprived both of my money and my dinner: See introd. §6.2.
after I had bathed I took myself back to Milo’s house and thereafter to my
bedroom: On bathing before dinner see on 1.23.8. Compare 8.29.2 and especially
9.24.1	for a similar phrase (lauti cenam petebamus, ‘having had a bath we headed
for dinner’).
26
Milo makes the tired Lucius sit with him and questions him relentlessly, before
finally allowing him to retire, still without dinner. The scene is a doublet of 1.23f.
(with 1.26.1 abstinentia ‘abstinence’ (below) further qualifying Milo’s previous
parsimonia ‘frugality’ in 1.24.1), another indication that the Pythias episode is
an Apuleian addition. Milo continues to be a problematic host, disregarding and
abusing the laws of hospitality.
26.1	And look: Compare the equally sudden interruption by a slave with a dinner
invitation from Byrrhaena in 3.12.2 (with verbal parallels: et ecce ... rogat te ‘and
look,... she asks you in’), which Lucius, that time successfully, declines (see introd.
§2.4 for mirror scenes).
the maid Photis: As above in 1.24.2, the description does not show any erotic
attraction Lucius might feel for her, which is especially significant, since it is not
within her owner’s hearing. This shows that his decision to seduce her in 2.6.6
(where he calls her ‘servant’, famula) is primarily practical in nature, once he has
discovered her and Pamphile’s involvement in magic.
Your host asks you in: For rogare as a technical term cf. on 1.22.5.
expert in Milo’s asceticism: Abstinentia here means ‘not eating’ (whereas in
10.34.5, shortly before Lucius’ retransformation, it is used of sexual abstinence).
It is used in a similar way in Met. 11.19.3 for Lucius’ initiation into the Isis cult,
where he worries about the difficulty of abstaining from certain foods (but not all

218
Commentary
foods!) and sexual encounters. Although not for Lucius in Met. 1, abstinentia is
generally a positively charged word, especially in De Platone, where it is associated
with pudicitia and patientia (‘modesty’ and ‘patience’) and the opposite of cupido
and desiderium (‘longing’ and ‘desire’; PI. 2.3 (224); 2.6 (229); 2.20 (247); 2.21
(250)). Lucius sees himself as a ‘good reader’ {cognitor) of Milo’s character {OLD
la; cf. Socr. 16 (156), where the daimon is the individual’s most intimate cognitor).
He plays along with Milo, trying to live up to the parsimonious host’s expectations
by being abstemious himself in order to flatter him, and thinks that he will not get
dinner anyway. Lucius continues to use expressions which can be interpreted either
positively or negatively, cf. on 1.4.6; this is at variance with what Lucius really feels
about Milo, whom he finally calls ‘rancid’ (below).
courteous excuse: Lucius is smoothly polite. See on 1.17.6 for the variety of
meanings of comiter, 1.24.5 for a similar use to here.
discomfort of my journey: Lucius uses vexatio twice in 1.26 to describe the
exhaustion caused by his travels, see 1.26.6. In 4.17 the robber pretending to be a
bear is allegedly tired from the ‘vexations’ of his journey.
not with food but with sleep: The obvious contrast to the story of Aristomenes
and Socrates with its stress on eating, drinking and sleeping (Keulen 2007,455) may
raise concern about Lucius’ fate in Hypata. Cf. the repetition of the phrase in 1.26.7.
26.2 When he heard this, he came himself, put his right hand in mine and
began to drag me along gently: Photis relays Lucius’ refusal, and Milo himself
shows up to press Lucius into attending his dinner party. Both Lucius and Milo are
polite on the surface; ‘gently’ {clementer) here corresponds with Lucius’ previous
‘courteously’ {comiter), but Milo’s pulling along of Lucius becomes typical: cf.
3.10.3 (iniecta manu ... dementi violentia, ‘with gentle force’) and 3.12.5, where
Milo gently manhandles Lucius away after the Risus festival. For Aristomenes
taking Socrates by the hand twice see 1.6.5 and 1.17.7. The gestures in either case
show that Milo and Aristomenes are dominant. For adorior with infinitive ‘to set to
work’ see OLD 3b.
while I hesitated, and while 1 resisted modestly: The anaphora and increasing
lengths of the cola intensify the polite struggle between the two. For a similar
repetition of dum, although with participles, cf. 9.32.2, where it enhances the
contrast between a hard-working gardener and the leasurely donkey.
263 I was now obeying his stubbornness against my will: Lucius’ obedience
to Milo stresses the power imbalance between them, turning Lucius less into an
honoured guest than into a client, or worse, the parasite who has to suffer abuse
from his patron in order to get a meal. Lucius as donkey is called a parasite in
10.17, where he also has to ‘obey’ his patron. In Onos, Loukios and Hipparchos
share a good meal and sweet old wine, the situation in Apuleius is thus deliberately
more farcical and stresses Lucius’ lack of success. Obstinatio ‘stubbornness’ is
found only in prose, e.g. elsewhere in Apuleius in 2.20.6 (Thelyphron is ‘confused
by everyone’s stubbornness’, in a similar context of persuasion used to keep him

Commentary
219
attending a dinner party and entertaining everyone with his story) and 10.26.5
(of a murderess, with strongly negative connotations). Lucius cannot resist the
combination of physical force and verbal persuasion. Obstinatio, too, recalls the
introduction of Aristomenes’ story; in 1.3.2 and 20.1 Aristomenes’ unnamed travel
companion is twice called ‘obstinate’.
that cot of his: Readers, recalling Aristomenes’ story, are meant to anticipate the
worst.
Is our friend Demeas in good health?: Questioning the visitor is natural, but
subject to the rules of hospitality. Milo breaks these, as he does not allow reciprocity
or exchange of information, but one-sidedly interrogates his guest (introd. §6.1). For
the only other instance of the question in Latin cf. Apol. 44.7 (sarcastic enquiries
about a sick slave-boy’s health).
How is his wife? How are the children? How are the slaves?: The order of
Milo’s questions, from wife down to slaves, suggests an inappropriately intrusive
interrogation, reaching even down to the lowly members of Demeas’ household.
There is no indication that the household slaves were very dear to Demeas, a rich old
man with several slaves like Menander’s Demeas in Sarnia; but, though vernae are
often close to the family, as slaves bom as part of the household, it is not necessarily
the case that Milo (or Lucius) had any close or friendly encounters with them (Avila
Vasconcelos 2009, 137). Their inclusion in Milo’s conversation, instead, shows the
rude intrusiveness of the questions. The move from the inner circle to the periphery
of acquaintances continues in the following sentence, and reaches its climax with
the provincial governor (praeses), the person whose position is most remote from
Demeas. Anaphora of quid is one of Apuleius’ favourite rhetorical devices in his
speeches for heightened rhetoric and emotional intensity: examples include Apol.
46, 79, 102; FI. 3; Met. 4.34.3, 10.2.7, 11.15.3. Here Milo’s questions lack verbs,
indicating their curt insistence. Keulen 2007,458 suggests that the fact that Demeas
is married with children, whereas Milo is apparently childless, may indicate the
reason why Lucius moves on from Demeas to Milo: as a legacy hunter wishing
to ingratiate himself with the rich patron in hope for future money. But there is no
evidence that Lucius is driven by primarily financial motifs throughout the novel,
and his gullibility and naivety make any kind of planning of this kind unlikely.
I told him each single thing: Lucius is an obliging entertainer, although he still
does not get his part of the bargain, a meal. For similar phrases cf. Met. 8.14.1; Ovid
Ep. 6.39; Pliny Nat. 35.23; Quintilian Inst. 4.286.
26.4	the reasons for my journey: Again we do not hear what Lucius’ business
and reasons for travel are. Compare 1.7.7 for a similar scene of bad hospitality,
where Meroe questions Socrates about the reasons for his own journey and then
detains him.
26.5	when I had run through these properly: Lucius’ replies seem to clarify the
purpose of his travels for Milo at least, while Lucius the narrator still does not give away
to the reader any information about his background and connections to Demeas.

220
Commentary
he then enquired about my country and its leading citizens, and finally
about its governor: A variant on the anaphora of the previous sentence. This time
Milo widens his enquiry from Demeas’ family to all people of his own rank (cf.
1.21.3,	where Milo is one of the primores of Hypata). Finally, the climax of Milo’s
questioning is the person whose position is most remote from Demeas. The governor
is also evoked in 9.39.5, where praeses is a rather unspecific term for the proconsuls
and imperial legates in charge of a province. Since Tacitus Ann. 6.41 it indicates the
governor of a province. Milo’s question makes it clear that in the second century
Thessaly belongs to the province of Macedonia (Bowersock 1965,282), and that he
is here asking about the governor of Achaea, who is placed in Corinth in 10.23.2 and
28.3.
in most minute detail: For scrupulosissime in Apuleius cf. Apol. 26.8; Met. 5.8,
9.42, 10.16. The adjective also appears in 3.3.5 and 9.30.1 (the reader is ‘attentive
to detail’, scrupulosus).
26.6	he realised: Lucius, dropping off to sleep and incapable of giving coherent
answers, has ceased to be a source of entertainment and intelligence to Milo, who
finally allows him to go to bed.
after the discomfort of such a cruel journey: See above on 1.26.1.
1 was also tired out by the string of stories: Met. 1 begins (1.1.1) and ends on
this image of a series of stories stitched together. In 2.15.1 Lucius has learned his
lesson: desperate to meet up with Photis and resenting Milo’s relentless string of
tales, he feigns to be still exhausted because of his journey, and retires to his room.
The choice of similar words links the events: Milo wants a repeat performance,
this time with Lucius listening, but is unsuccessful. Lucius’ exhaustion here will
be repeated many times throughout Met.: somnolentus ‘sleepy’ is first found in
Apuleius, also in 8.12.5 and 10.26.6; defectus ‘weakened’ is often, though not
exclusively, used of Lucius (4.4.2; 9.12.1) and his alter ego Psyche (5.22 (twice),
5.25.4; 6.1.2).
stopped talking in the middle of my words, and in my weakness was vainly
prattling vague fragments of words: Lucius, so far good with words, is now
reduced to a haltering stammer, too incoherent and tired to imitate and use the word
games that have characterised him throughout Met. 1.
finally he let me go to sleep: Again this is a possible inversion of Homeric
hospitality, where the quality of the provision of food and entertainment is usually
so generous that a guest reminds his host of the time to go to bed (e.g. in Od. 3.333L
Athena-Mentor needs to remind Nestor; Reece 1993, 31). The phrase is Apuleian,
cf. Met. 2.15.3, 3.13.1 and 5.4.1.
26.7	that rancid old man’s: Lucius is still inspired by the old woman’s initial
negative description of Milo in 1.21. Lucius here criticises Milo’s lack of proper
hospitality, a possible inversion of the customary blessing. In a comic dimension,
Lucius as parasite expresses secretly to his reader/audience what he really thinks
about his host while still being outwardly nice to him; compare the revealing

Commentary
221
deprecatory asides to the audience by the parasite Artotrogus while flattering his
master Pyrgopolynices in Plautus Mil. 19-24.
chatty and starving dinner party: It seems that Milo will eventually take up
his responsibilities as a host and feed Lucius. Roman satire often describes a dinner
party gone wrong (e.g. Horace S. 2.8, the Dinner of Nasidienus) but associates
boorish dinner hosts with providing too much and pretentious food (cf. Petronius’
Dinner ofTrimalchio). The absence of food, however, especially for a disappointed
parasite out for a free meal, is a motif from comedy (May 1998; 2006,143^-156).
In the mirror scene in 2.15 Milo will do the all talking, receiving Lucius’ criticism
for it, but here loquax ‘chatty’ refers less to Milo who asks shortish questions than to
Lucius who unwillingly has to provide detailed answers.
weighed down with sleep not food: This repeats the phrase Lucius uses
before this story-telling session (1.26.1); the ring composition stresses that Milo’s
hospitality has gained Lucius precisely nothing. Loukios in Onos 3.3, however,
enjoys a meal with good wine, which makes this change and addition by Apuleius
even more striking. The phrase is unique, though somno gravatus is found in epic
(Vergil A. 6.520 (Deiphobus), Ovid Met. 5.658, Valerius Flaccus 2.568) and prose
(Livy 25.24.6 vino somnoque; Pliny Nat. 10.137; 33.27; 33.156), and for cibo
gravatus cf. Livy 1.7.5. Lucius' fate will thus be different from Socrates’, who ate
well but slept badly, see also 1.18.4 for people that are ‘swollen with food’ (cibo ...
distentos) sleeping badly.
having dined on stories alone: Lucius’ pursuit throughout Met. 1 has been to
get a decent dinner. He has not managed this, and goes to bed hungry (introd. §6.2).
Fabulis may be a pun on fabuli (beans) and fabulae (stories), a good Plautine joke
(Keulen 2007, 26), cf. Plautus Poen. 8 ‘you who haven’t eaten, eat your fill of
stories/beans’ (saturifitefabulis), where the play itself becomes the food for Plautus’
audience, thus recalling a Plautine prologue at the end of a book in Met. Note the
ring composition with the repeat of the prologue’s fabula in the last sentence of Met.
1. Talking is no longer an adequate substitute for food, as it had previously been for
Lucius, e.g. when he climbed the hills to Hypata on his ears (1.20.6).
I returned to my bedroom and surrendered myself to my desired sleep: His
retiring turns out to be much less straightforward than Lucius describes here. He fills
in more details in 2.6: Photis took him to his room, tucked him in and flirtatiously
kissed him good night. Although he is too tired to respond, he will recall her
attentions later when they become useful, and when it is narratologicaliy appropriate
to mention them, i.e. after his decision to seduce Photis. Given his exhausted state,
the description in 2.6 unsurprisingly indicates a certain one-sidedness to Photis*
flirtation.

INDEX
adynata 27, 34, 66-67, 72-73, 105-107;
135
Apologia 1, 36
apparent death 4, 5, 7, 32, 94, 110, 157,
173,185
Apuleius, life 1,33,36,122-123, 139
archaism 3,6,41-43
Aristomenes 10, 22, 31-32, 64-65, 104,
117-119, 124, 149,168,188-189
Aristomenes, name 124,154
Aristomenes, story 8-10, 14-18,68-85
bathing 19,68-71, 86-89,116,120,126-
127,144,207-209,216-217
burial 39-tO, 84-85,122,157, 188
comedy 4, 7, 21, 23-25, 42^*3, 95, 99,
101,104,108,110-111,115,118-120,
124-125, 127-128, 133, 135-136,
140-141, 145-146, 149, 152, 156,
170, 175, 177, 193-200, 208-210,
213-216,221
cosmic magic 37, 66-67, 72-73, 132,
134-136; 142
Cupid and Psyche 6, 11-12, 34, 49, 92,
99,113,176,191
curiosity 11,16,22,64-65,76-77,79-80,
99,104-105,150,155-156, 174
De Deo Socratis 97-98,177
Demeas 8, 19, 84-87, 90-91, 197, 200,
202,204,219
donkey 11, 21, 24, 46, 97-98, 104, 108,
110,156
doorkeeper 78-81,165-167, 172-173
dream 82-83, 151,174, 179-181
Egypt 13-14,24, 34,64-65,93-94
epic 6-7, 18-19, 101-102, 107, 112, 118,
124, 128,131,135,151,153-154,157,
167, 170,178-179,181-182,185,194,
214,220-221
Ethiopia 33,72-3, 94, 130, 136
eyewitness, reliability of 21,27, 112,117,
136-137,142,154,158,162-164,170,
174, 178, 185
Festival of Laughter, see Risus festival
fish 21, 35, 39, 88-9, 119, 159, 207, 209-
210,213-216
food 10, 17, 19-21, 35, 47, 66-7, 70-1,
82-3, 88-91, 103, 110-111, 114-115,
118-119,127,130,180,182-183,185,
201-202,208,215-218,221
foreshadowing 10, 16, 35, 110, 113, 126—
127,131-132,150,162,168,172-173,
196
foreshadowing see also mirror scenes
Fortuna 10, 35-36, 67-71, 80-81, 126-
127, 132
Gellius 3,42
ghosts 12,39-40,68-69,72-73,123,147,
157, 184, 187
horse 19-21, 24, 64-65, 88-89, 98, 102-
103, 128,192,209
hospitality 18-20, 126-128, 130, 144,
153-154, 194, 198, 200, 202-203,
205-207,211,214,217,219-221
inset tales 14-18,27,92,104, 116, 191
Isis 10, 13-14, 20, 24, 30, 33-36, 106,
114,130, 133, 135, 151, 181,216
Lamia 80-1, 139, 176
locus amoenus 32,144,183,186-187,194
loss of home 122, 133
Loukios 8,15.100,104, 118
Lucius, character 5, 16-17, 21-22, 25,
27-30, 32, 45, 95-96, 100, 105, 109-
111, 125, 190, 204,216, 220
Lucius, name 206, 211
magic 11, 17, 28, 36-41, 66-7, 105-108,
133, 136, 151, 157, 160, 179

Index
223
medicine 111, 114, 131, 139-140, 157-
158, 161,179-180, 187
Meroe 14, 16, 18, 33-34, 37-38, 40-43,
70-71, 74-79, 94, 106, 121, 125-126,
130-143, 145, 148, 151-157, 168,
176, 188, 194
Meroe, name 30, 31, 33, 94, 129, 136,
156
Metamorphoseis 8, 15-16, 94, 96,118
metamorphosis 11, 14-15, 24-26, 36,41,
94, 98, 110, 121-122, 125, 129, 137-
140, 148, 150, 177, 199,215
Milesian Tales 5-6,14,24,44,64-65,92
Miller’s wife 12,37,40, 123,127, 170
Milo 8, 10-12, 18-20, 84-91, 102, 104,
132,144,146,151,154,190,192-197,
201,204-208,217-218
mime 5, 7, 125, 136, 148, 150, 154, 166,
169, 172,214
mirror scenes 9,18,43,172
necromancy 18, 37-38, 41, 74-5, 119,
135,141-142,147,174
Odysseus 15, 18-19, 76-77, 107, 123,
125, 130-131, 135, 142, 153-154
Onos 8, 15, 46, 100-101, 103, 118, 194-
195, 199-206,209,218
Pamphile 10-11, 34, 36-37, 39, 41, 84-
87, 95, 104, 106-107, 118, 130-132,
134-135, 137, 142, 144, 151, 155,
171, 194, 197, 201,203,206
pantomime 13,29, 114-115, 130,143
paraklausithyron 148,166
Petronius 4-6, 19, 106, 172, 194, 214
Photis 8,10-11.14,16,19,37,39,84-87,
90-91, 94, 101, 106, 130, 132-133,
139, 143, 147, 151, 156, 166-167,
176, 190, 196-200, 208,221
Photis, name 206
Plato 2, 25-27, 30-33, 93, 100, 104, 120,
122, 124, 126, 159, 183,186,194
Plutarch 15, 22, 26-29, 33, 36, 64-65,
100, 109, 111, 126-127, 150,200
prologue 4,6,9-10,23-26,44-45,64-65,
92-99, 112, 144, 191
Pythias 21, 28-29, 35, 88-89, 210, 212-
213,216
reader, first vs second time 10, 13,24-26,
30,34,40,99,106,115,134,183,190,
199
reception 44-49
revenants see ghosts
Risus festival 10-11, 117,196
Rome 1,5, 13, 33,96-97, 101-102, 122-
123,126,180,189,194,201,209-210,
212-213,215-216
sacrifice 38-39, 76-77, 157-158
Sextus 26-29,64-5,100,112
slaves 101,132, 162, 197,199,205,219
Socrates, character 10, 15, 17, 31-33,
38-39,45, 68-85, 120-121, 125-126,
152-153,167
Socrates, name 182
Socrates, philosopher 30-33, 122, 124—
126
spectacle 17,68-71,105,125,128-129
spells 36-37, 74-75, 106-107, 138, 140,
142,160-161, 166,173
sponge 76-77, 82-83, 151, 159, 179,
186-187
style 3,41-43,46,98
suicide 22-23,80-81, 169-171
Thelyphron 10, 17, 38, 146, 172-173,
175
Thessaly 10,21,28,31,38,4<M1,64-65,
68-69, 88-89, 97-99, 100-102, 107,
117, 119,128-129
tortoise 66-7,94, 149-150,154
tragedy 7, 35,42-43, 120, 123-125, 128,
135-136, 141, 149, 155-156, 169,
178, 184
Underworld 11, 32, 34-35, 96, 72-73,
78-81, 106, 111, 123-124, 135, 150,
168, 170-171, 173,183,185
witchcraft 22, 26, 44, 48-49, 100, 106-
107,133-134,140-143,146,197
witches 10-12,14,16-17,33,39-40,72-
73,106.129,147,180, 184

Aris & Phillips Classical Texts
Apuleius: Metamorphoses or the Golden Ass: Book 1
Apuleius' Metamorphoses or The Golden Ass, our first complete Latin novel, tells the
story of Lucius, a young man turned into a donkey by magic because of his unfettered
curiosity. After many adventures he is finally saved by the goddess Isis, whose
follower he becomes. The famous first book of the novel introduces the protagonist’s
character, his interest in magic and his gullibility, but also important themes of the
novel such as metamorphosis from man into beast. Lucius listens to stories about
magic and witchcraft told to him on his journey to ancient Thessaly and narrates them
to the reader. A substantial part of the first book accordingly concentrates on the self-
contained tale about a certain Socrates and his unhappy experiences with murderous
Thessalian witches. Apuleius himself had been put on trial for allegedly using erotic
magic to make his future wife fall in love with him, a theme which also appears in
Metamorphoses 1. Throughout the novel, Apuleius portrays Lucius as an unreliable
first person narrator and thus implicates the reader of the novel in the same character
fault that drives its protagonist: curiosity.
This new edition of Book 1 presents the Latin text with a modem translation, substantial
introduction and accompanying notes.
Regine May is Lecturer in Latin Literature in the Department of Classics at the
University erf- Leeds and the author of Apuleius and Drama: The Ass on Stage (Oxford
2006) and numerous articles on Apuleius and the ancient novels.
Further titles in the Arts & Phillips Classical Texts series include:
Ovid:
Amores II (Booth)
Ovid:
Metamorphoses (four volumes) (Hill)
Longus:
Daphnis and Chloe (Morgan)
Lucian:
A Selection (McLeod)
Augustine:
De Civitate Dei (multi-volume) (Walsh)
Plutarch:
Malice of Herodotos (Bowen)
Plutarch:
Life of Cicero (Moles)
Propertius:
Book I (Baker)
Seneca:
Four Dialogues (Costa)
Seneca:
17 Letters (Costa)
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