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Title: Essays on the Greek Romances
Author: Haight, Elizabeth Hazelton
Language: English
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                               ESSAYS ON
                           THE GREEK ROMANCES


                                   BY
                       ELIZABETH HAZELTON HAIGHT
             _Professor Emeritus of Latin, Vassar College_


                               _NEW YORK_
                        LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.
                             M D CCCC XLIII


                                 HAIGHT
                      ESSAYS ON THE GREEK ROMANCES


                            COPYRIGHT · 1943
                    BY LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO., INC.


                   ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE
                    RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK, OR
                    ANY PORTION THEREOF, IN ANY FORM

                      PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN
                       THE DOMINION OF CANADA BY
                    LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO., TORONTO


                             FIRST EDITION


                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


                                  _To_
                          BLANCHE FERRY HOOKER
                        IN HONOR AND FRIENDSHIP


                            The Publication
                     of this book was made possible
                                 by the
                    J. LEVERETT MOORE RESEARCH FUND
                              IN CLASSICS
                                and the
                        LUCY MAYNARD SALMON FUND
                              FOR RESEARCH
                     established at Vassar College
                                in 1926



                               _PREFACE_


If all the world loves a lover, as the old proverb says, then this my
book should win wide fame. For these Greek Romances of the first to the
fourth century of our era seem still to be singing the immemorial
refrain from the old spring-time song of “The Vigil of Venus”:

  Cras amet qui numquam amavit,
  quique amavit cras amet.

  “Let those love now, who never lov’d before;
  Let those who always lov’d, now love the more.”

At a time when fiction is the most popular form of literature, these
wonderful old Greek stories of love, adventure and worship are half
forgotten and rarely read except by the scholar. Yet here, as in epic,
lyric, elegy, drama, oratory and history, the Greeks were pioneers. In
the second and third centuries they had created four different types of
romance (of love, of adventure, the pastoral, the satiric) which were to
have great influence on French, Italian and English fiction. The student
of comparative literature, the student of the history of fiction cannot
afford to neglect these pioneer Greek novels.

Their appeal, however, should be just as great for the general reader as
for the scholar. For here are stories that mirror the life of the
Mediterranean world in the Roman Empire with all its new excitements of
travel, piracy, kidnapping, the new feminism, the new religious cults.
And through all the different types of romance except the satiric the
Love-God holds supreme sway over the hearts of men. So human, so
vivacious are the love-stories that I offer to my readers Longus’
assurance of profit in his introduction to his Pastoral Romance:

  “I drew up these four books, an oblation to Love and to Pan and to the
  Nymphs, and a delightful possession even for all men. For this will
  cure him that is sick, and rouse him that is in dumps; one that has
  loved, it will remember of it; one that has not, it will instruct. For
  there was never any yet that wholly could escape love, and never shall
  there be any, never so long as beauty shall be, never so long as eyes
  can see. But help me that God to write the passions of others; and
  while I write, keep me in my own right wits.”[1]

My hope in writing on the Greek Romances is that I may lure readers back
to them. My essays aim to be guideposts pointing the way. I venture to
suggest that along with my book readers should peruse at least four
novels of different types for which good translations are available.
These are _Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe_ by Warren E. Blake
(beautiful in English and format) and three volumes of _The Loeb
Classical Library_: _Daphnis and Chloe by Longus_, Lucian’s _True
History_ (in Lucian vol. I) and the Latin novel which combines the
different Greek types into one great synthesis, Apuleius’
_Metamorphoses_. If I can win new readers for these my favorites, my
writing will be as successful as it has been happy!

It is a pleasure once again to express grateful thanks to publishers and
authors who have allowed me to quote material. I am indebted to the
Harvard University Press for its courtesy in allowing me to quote freely
from volumes in _The Loeb Classical Library_; to the Clarendon Press,
Oxford for the use of material from R. M. Rattenbury, “Romance: the
Greek Novel,” in _New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature_,
_Third Series_, from F. A. Todd, _Some Ancient Novels_, from J. S.
Phillimore, “Greek Romances” in _English Literature and the Classics_,
and from _The Works of Lucian of Samosata_ translated by H. W. Fowler
and F. G. Fowler; to Longmans, Green and Co., for the use of a quotation
from F. G. Allinson, _Lucian Satirist and Artist_; to the University of
Michigan Press for the use of Warren E. Blake’s translation of Chariton;
to the Columbia University Press for permission to quote from S. L.
Wolff’s _The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Prose Fiction_; and for
generous permissions for quotations from Professor M. Rostovtzeff and
Professor B. E. Perry.

My writing has been greatly facilitated by the cooperation of the staff
of the Vassar Library, especially of Miss Fanny Borden, Librarian, who
has provided me with a study in the Library, patiently borrowed many
books from other libraries for me and shown unfailing interest in my
work. A constant stimulus to my writing has been the appreciation of my
colleagues and students expressed in invitations to read different
chapters of this volume to the Classical Journal Club and to the
Classical Society. Finally my profound gratitude is due to the donors of
the funds which made possible the publication of these Essays.



                               _CONTENTS_


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
  I. The Greek Romances and Their Re-dating.                           1
  II. Chariton’s _Chaereas and Callirhoe_.                            14
  III. The _Ephesiaca_ or _Habrocomes and Anthia_ by Xenophon of
          Ephesus.                                                    38
  IV. The _Aethiopica_ of Heliodorus.                                 61
  V. _The Adventures of Leucippe and Clitophon_ by Achilles Tatius.   95
  VI. _The Lesbian Pastorals of Daphnis and Chloe_ by Longus.        119
  VII. Lucian and his Satiric Romances: the _True History_ and
          _Lucius or Ass_.                                           144
  VIII. A Comparison of the Greek Romances and Apuleius’
          _Metamorphoses_.                                           186
      Index                                                          203



                               ESSAYS ON
                           THE GREEK ROMANCES



                                   I
                _THE GREEK ROMANCES AND THEIR RE-DATING_


The term “Greek Romances” is applied to long stories in Greek prose,
written from the end of the first to the beginning of the fourth century
before Christ and later imitated by Byzantine writers. It was one of
these last, Nicetas Eugenianus, who prefixed to his own romance a
prelude of verses which described their content:

  “Here read Drusilla’s fate and Charicles’—
  Flight, wandering, captures, rescues, roaring seas,
  Robbers and prisons, pirates, hunger’s grip;
  Dungeons so deep that never sun could dip
  His rays at noon-day to their dark recess,
  Chained hands and feet; and, greater heaviness,
  Pitiful partings. Last the story tells
  Marriage, though late, and ends with wedding bells.”[2]

The subjects listed in these lines are typical of nearly all the novels.
An author selected new names for his hero and heroine and portrayed the
same quest for love and adventure. The young pair always marvellously
handsome fall desperately in love and plight their eternal fidelity in a
sacred oath. Soon they are separated by misadventure or the cruel will
of Fortune and suffer alone every misfortune and temptation, but by
superhuman effort and often by the aid of the gods, they at last emerge
triumphant and chaste and fall in exultation into each other’s arms.

It was just because of this similarity of pattern that it became the
fashion for critics to belittle these melodramas, to emphasize their
similarities, and to disregard their individual characteristics and
enthralling style. Erwin Rohde’s great critical study, _Der griechische
Roman_, was perhaps the first to treat them with the serious
consideration which they deserve. Now Rohde’s theories have to be in
large part rejected because of new discoveries in papyri which have
necessitated the re-dating of the extant novels and adding to their
study fragments of novels hitherto unknown which help establish new
types and give a basis for a new critique.

My own discussion is to be concerned with the novels themselves, their
individual characteristics, their literary qualities, viewed on the
basis of their new dating. For this reason I shall spend little time on
the famous theories of the origins of the Greek Romances and on their
precursors. For my purpose of intensive, literary study it is enough to
present these in outline.

In regard to the origins of the Greek Romances, two special theories
must be mentioned since they have had more vogue than any others. These
are the theories of Erwin Rohde and of Bruno Lavagnini. Erwin Rohde in
_Der griechische Roman_, which first appeared in 1876, recognized two
essential elements in the Greek Romances: stories of love and stories of
travel. He studied the precursors of these two types. He finally
affirmed that the synthesis of the two, the romance, is a direct product
of the rhetorical schools of the Second Sophistry which flourished in
Greece during the Empire. Rohde based his work on the extant romances
and the summaries of Photius (Patriarch of Constantinople, 858-886) and
believing that none of this material antedated the second century of our
era, he constructed his theory that “Greek romance was a product of the
_Zweite Sophistik_, and had no direct connection either with the short
story as represented by the Milesian Tales or with any Greek or
Alexandrian literary form.”[3] W. Schmid in the third edition of Rohde
(1914) summarized in an Appendix the new discoveries and theories after
Rohde’s death.

I omit a résumé of the work of Huet,[4] Dunlop,[5] Chassang[6] and of
Chauvin,[7] all significant in their times, to present a theory which is
now more striking. In 1921 Bruno Lavagnini in a learned monograph, _Le
Origini del Romanzo Greco_, traced the development of the Greek romance
from local legends of Magna Graecia, Greece proper, the Greek Islands
and Asia Minor. He found support for his theory in the titles of many of
them:

  Ἐφεσιακά                        by Xenophon of Ephesus,
  Βαβυλωνιακά                     by Xenophon of Antioch,
  Αἰθιοπικά                       by Heliodorus,
  Κυπριακά                        by Xenophon of Cyprus,
  Ῥοδιακά, Κωακά, Θασιακά         by

a Philippus of Amphipolis, which Suidas mentioned. In his study he took
into account the novelle or short stories which Rohde believed had no
influence on the novel, and studied the Μιλησιακά, the short _Love
Romances_ of Parthenius, the fragment of the _Aitia_ of Callimachus,
_Acontius and Cydippe_. He showed that Rohde had entirely neglected the
important influence of the novella in the Greek romance and had been
mistaken in his insistence on the fundamentally different character of
the two. Rohde claimed that the novella was realistic, the romance
idealistic and hence declared that any derivation of the romance from
the novella was impossible. Lavagnini recognized other influences in the
development of the romance, especially those of satire and of the new
comedy, but he maintained that an essential feature was the historical.
He admitted that in the use of his local legends the events are
projected into an ideal and remote past.

The tendency in the new criticism of the Greek Romances, notably in the
work of Aristide Calderini,[8] is not to seek for any one main source
for their “origins,” but rather to consider all possible precursors in
the field of fiction who directly or indirectly influenced them. Their
name is legion and they appear in the fields of both poetry and prose.
For from the earliest times of Greek literature the art of narration was
in use. Epics presented narratives of war in the Iliad, of adventure in
the Odyssey, of love in Apollonius Rhodius. Drama produced narrative
speeches particularly in tragedy in the role of the messenger. Elegiac
poetry developed subjective-erotic stories, based on myths, or history,
or real life, and written in lyric mood in narratives or letters. Idyls
finally portrayed against a pastoral setting the outdoor loves of
shepherds.

In prose, there are full-grown novelettes combining love and adventure
embedded in the Greek historians: Herodotus’ story of Candaules’
wife,[9] the story of Rhampsinitus’ treasure,[10] the story of the love
of Xerxes,[11] the story of Abradatas of Susa and Panthea in Xenophon’s
_Education of Cyrus_ which Whibley calls “the first love-story in
European prose.”[12] Short stories or novelle in prose are known from
the accounts of the Milesian Tales and from Parthenius’ miniature _Love
Romances_. The Μιλησιακά were written in the second century B.C., by
Aristides of Miletus and a collection of them was translated into Latin
by Cornelius Sisenna who died 57 B.C. Their character was definite: they
were erotic stories of a lascivious type. Their philosophy of life was
that all men—and women—are sinners, and this belief was embodied in
episodes from every-day life. Their amorality was such that the Parthian
Surena was horrified when in the Parthian War of 53 B.C., a copy of the
Milesian Tales was found in the pack of a Roman officer. Other short
local tales, for example those of Sybaris and of Ephesus, shared these
characteristics of realism, irony and disillusion.

Parthenius of Nicaea wrote a collection of short _Love Romances_ of a
very different type. This Greek elegiac poet of the Augustan Age wrote
his _Love Romances_ in Greek prose as a storehouse for his friend,
Cornelius Gallus, to draw upon for material for epic or elegiac verse;
and for this reason he put them forth in the briefest and simplest form
possible. Most of them are unfamiliar stories even when they are about
well-known mythological characters. In many the love tales are set
against a background of war. Short as they are, both their subject
matter and style are significant for the development of Greek prose
fiction.

Moreover, the work of the rhetorical schools must be considered among
the forerunners of the novel, both in Greek and Latin. Although we know
now that the Greek Romances were being written before the time of the
New or Second Sophistry which Rohde postulated to be their origin, still
in the Greek Romances as well as in the _Satyricon_ and in Apuleius’
_Metamorphoses_, there are many illustrations of the influence of the
practice cases of the rhetorical schools. A study of the _Controversiae_
in Seneca the Elder and in the pseudo-Quintilian, a study of _The Lives
of the Sophists_ by Philostratus demonstrates that in these school
exercises where “oratory became a theatrical fiction”[13] lay many first
drafts of a new literary genre, the romance.[14]

It is a pity that Erwin Rohde could not have lived to revise himself his
great work on the Greek Romances in the light of the new discoveries
about them. No scholar has yet arisen equipped with his tremendous
erudition and penetrating criticism to succeed him worthily. Perhaps
indeed the time has not yet come to write a new critical history of the
Greek romance, for at any time added discoveries may demand still
further revision of dates and consideration of types. But at this stage
it is essential to review the new discoveries and to try to estimate
their significance. This outline is based on three important summaries:
the introduction by Aristide Calderini to his translation of
Chariton;[15] the “Appendix on the Greek Novel” by Stephen Gaselee in
the edition of _Daphnis and Chloe_ and Parthenius in _The Loeb Classical
Library_;[16] and the chapter on “Romance: the Greek Novel” by R. M.
Rattenbury in _New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature, Third
Series_.[17]

Most spectacular and important of the new discoveries was that of the
fragments of the Ninus Romance, first published in 1893. They were found
on an Egyptian papyrus, on the back of which are written some accounts
of A.D. 101. The writing of the romance is so clear and beautiful that
it is dated by experts as belonging to the first century B.C. As
Rattenbury says: “The Ninus Romance is therefore the only pre-Christian
specimen of its kind; it is indisputably two centuries earlier than the
earliest of the completely extant romances (Charito), and probably as
much earlier than any of the known fragments.”[18] The remains consist
of two separate fragments with parts of five columns on the first and of
three on the second. Gaselee writes of the content:[19] “in the first
(A) the hero, Ninus, and the heroine (unnamed), deeply in love with one
another, approach each the other’s mother and set forth their love,
asking for a speedy marriage; in the second (B) the young couple seem to
be together at the beginning, but almost immediately Ninus is found
leading an army of his Assyrians, with Greek and Carian allies, against
the Armenian enemy.”

Fragment A is short enough so that we can read Gaselee’s translation of
it:[20]

  Ninus and the maiden were both equally anxious for an immediate
  marriage. Neither of them dared to approach their own mothers—Thambe
  and Derceia, two sisters, the former Ninus’ mother, the latter the
  mother of the girl—but preferred each to address themselves to the
  mother of the other: for each felt more confidence towards their aunts
  than towards their own parents. So Ninus spoke to Derceia: “Mother,”
  said he, “with my oath kept true do I come into thy sight and to the
  embrace of my most sweet cousin. This let the gods know first of
  all—yes, they do know it, and I will prove it to you now as I speak. I
  have travelled over so many lands and been lord over so many nations,
  both those subdued by my own spear and those who, as the result of my
  father’s might, serve and worship me, that I might have tasted of
  every enjoyment to satiety—and, had I done so, perhaps my passion for
  my cousin would have been less violent: but now that I have come back
  uncorrupted I am worsted by the god of love and by my age; I am, as
  thou knowest, in my seventeenth year, and already a year ago have I
  been accounted as having come to man’s estate. Up to now I have been
  nought but a boy, a child: and if I had had no experience of the power
  of Aphrodite, I should have been happy in my firm strength. But now
  that I have been taken prisoner—thy daughter’s prisoner, in no
  shameful wise, but agreeably to the desires both of thee and her, how
  long must I bear refusal?

  “That men of this age of mine are ripe for marriage, is clear enough:
  how many have kept themselves unspotted until their fifteenth year?
  But I am injured by a law, not a written law, but one sanctified by
  foolish custom, that among our people virgins generally marry at
  fifteen years. Yet what sane man could deny that nature is the best
  law for unions such as this? Why, women of fourteen years can
  conceive, and some, I vow, even bear children at that age. Then is not
  thy daughter to be wed? ‘Let us wait for two years,’ you will say: let
  us be patient, mother, but will Fate wait? I am a mortal man and
  betrothed to a mortal maid: and I am subject not merely to the common
  fortunes of all men—diseases, I mean, and that Fate which often
  carries off those who stay quietly at home by their own fire-sides;
  but sea-voyages are waiting for me, and wars after wars, and I am not
  the one to shew any lack of daring and to employ cowardice to afford
  me safety, but I am what you know I am, to avoid vulgar boasting. Let
  the fact that I am a king, my strong desire, the unstable and
  incalculable future that awaits me, let all these hasten our union,
  let the fact that we are each of us only children be provided for and
  anticipated, so that if Fate wills us anything amiss, we may at least
  leave you some pledge of our affection. Perhaps you will call me
  shameless for speaking to you of this: but I should indeed have been
  shameless if I had privily approached the maiden, trying to snatch a
  secret enjoyment, and satisfying our common passion by the
  intermediaries of night or wine, or servants, or tutors: but there is
  nothing shameful in me speaking to thee, a mother, about thy
  daughter’s marriage that has been so long the object of thy vows, and
  asking for what thou hast promised, and beseeching that the prayers
  both of our house and of the whole kingdom may not lack fulfilment
  beyond the present time.”

  So did he speak to the willing Derceia, and easily compelled her to
  come to terms on the matter: and when she had for a while dissembled,
  she promised to act as his advocate. Meanwhile although the maiden’s
  passion was equally great, yet her speech with Thambe was not equally
  ready and free; she had ever lived within the women’s apartments, and
  could not so well speak for herself in a fair shew of words: she asked
  for an audience—wept, and desired to speak, but ceased as soon as she
  had begun. As soon as she had shewn that she was desirous of pleading,
  she would open her lips and look up as if about to speak, but could
  finally utter nothing: she heaved with broken sobs, her cheeks
  reddened in shame at what she must say, and then as she tried to
  improvise a beginning, grew pale again: and her fear was something
  between alarm and desire and shame as she shrank from the avowal; and
  then, as her affections got the mastery of her and her purpose failed,
  she kept swaying with inward disturbance between her varying emotions.
  But Thambe wiped away her tears with her hands and bade her boldly
  speak out whatever she wished to say. But when she could not succeed,
  and the maiden was still held back by her sorrow, “This,” cried
  Thambe, “I like better than any words thou couldst utter. Blame not my
  son at all: he has made no over-bold advance, and he has not come back
  from his successes and his victories like a warrior with any mad and
  insolent intention against thee: I trust that thou hast not seen any
  such intention in his eyes. Is the law about the time of marriage too
  tardy for such a happy pair? Truly my son is in all haste to wed: nor
  needest thou weep for this that any will try to force thee at all”:
  and at the same time with a smile she embraced and kissed her. Yet not
  even then could the maiden venture to speak, so great was her fear
  (_or_, her joy), but she rested her beating heart against the other’s
  bosom, and kissing her more closely still seemed almost ready to speak
  freely of her desires through her former tears and her present joy.
  The two sisters therefore met together, and Derceia spoke first. “As
  to the actual (marriage?),” said she....”

In fragment B the seventeen-year-old warrior is found marshalling his
forces, “seventy thousand chosen Assyrian foot and thirty thousand
horse, and a hundred and fifty elephants,” and at the end beginning the
advance at the head of his cavalry:

And stretching out his hands as if (offering sacrifice?), “This,” he
cried, “is the foundation and crisis of my hopes: from this day I shall
begin some greater career, or I shall fall from the power I now
possess.”[21]

In this Ninus Romance as we have it, the name of the heroine is not
mentioned, but her mother’s name is Derceia and that is a close variant
of Derceto, the name of the divine mother of Semiramis in the usual
legend. So although the type is different from that of the queen of
Babylon, the character is probably hers. It seems evident that this
early novelist was, then, building his romance around historical
characters. Rattenbury points this out and also shows conclusively that
the characteristics of all the other romances are indisputably present
in this early fragmentary story:[22]

  “The impetuous but honest Ninus reappears clearly enough in the
  Theagenes of Heliodorus, and the lovesick maiden of unassailable
  virtue and almost intolerable modesty might be the heroine of any
  Greek romance.”

Ninus pledges his faith as later heroes take an oath. He like them is
the toy of Eros or Aphrodite. In the extant romances,

  “The characters, the treatment, and even the plots are almost
  stereotyped; and yet one difference is observable—a tendency to
  abandon an ostensibly historical background in favour of a purely
  fictitious setting. The relative dates of the authors are by no means
  certain, but the fortunate discovery of papyrus fragments of Charito
  and Achilles Tatius supports the view, probable on other grounds, that
  Charito is to be considered the earliest, and Achilles Tatius the
  latest. It is therefore of interest to notice that Charito, though his
  hero and heroine are creatures of his imagination, introduces some
  historical characters and some historical events; his main story is
  fictitious, but he seems to have been at pains to lend it a historical
  flavour. Heliodorus, somewhat later, presents a picture of a fairly
  definite historical period, but no more; his characters are all
  fictitious and there is no historical authority for the sequence of
  events which he describes. Achilles Tatius degrades romance from the
  realm of princes to the level of the bourgeoisie. His story is frankly
  fictitious, and he evidently had no feeling that romance should be
  related to history.”

Rattenbury goes on to illustrate his theory of the change from the
semi-historical to the purely fictitious romance by a study of the
Alexander Romance and the new fragments of other stories. The
pseudo-Callisthenes Alexander Romance in the oldest version extant is
dated about A.D. 300. But papyrus fragments indicate that a large part
of the material in it goes back to a time shortly after Alexander’s
death. From the evidence of our late pseudo-Callisthenes version which
probably followed tradition it would seem that history was treated as
fiction and little attention paid to the love-story of Roxane which
could have furnished such a lively erotic interest. New fragments of
other romances show other great rulers used as heroes.[23] One is the
Egyptian prince, Sesonchosis, called by the Greeks Sesostris.
Mythological characters too become protagonists in romances: Achilles
and Polyxena; the Egyptian Tefnut, daughter of Phre, the sun-god, who
took her adventures in the shape of a cat wandering in the desert of
Ethiopia. Other fragments run true to the general type of the Greek
Romances in manifesting now this, now that characteristic.

The sum total of all the fragments discovered up to date gives
convincing evidence of two important facts: first, the extant Greek
Romances are only a small part of the output of this genre; second, the
dating of all the fragments places them between the end of the first and
the beginning of the fourth century of our era. The Ninus Romance is the
earliest fragment, Chariton’s the earliest complete romance, that of
Achilles Tatius the latest. On this framework a chronological list of
the extant novels arranged on the basis of proved data and the
probabilities of internal evidence and comparisons, shapes like this:

                             The Greek Romances
        _Date_              _Author_                  _Title_
  I Century B.C.       Unknown               The Ninus Romance (frag.)
  Before A.D. 150      Chariton of           Chaereas and Callirhoe
                         Aphrodisias
  II Century A.D.      Lucian of Samosata    A True History Lucius or
                                               Ass (an epitome of the
                                               lost _Metamorphoses_)
  II-III Centuries     Xenophon of Ephesus   Ephesiaca, Habrocomes and
    A.D.                                       Anthia
  II-III Centuries     Heliodorus of Emesa   Aethiopica, Theagenes and
    A.D.                                       Chariclea
  II-III Centuries     Longus                Daphnis and Chloe
    A.D.
  About A.D. 300       Achilles Tatius of    Clitophon and Leucippe
                         Alexandria
  _Byzantine_
  XII Century A.D.     Eustathius            Hysmine and Hysminias
  XII Century A.D.     Nicetas Eugenianus    Charicles and Drusilla
                                               (verse)
  XII Century A.D.     Theodorus Prodromus   Dosicles and Rhodanthe
                                               (verse)
  XII Century A.D.     Constantine           Aristander and Callithea
                         Manasses              (verse)
  Also known by translation or abstract
  II-III Centuries     Unknown               Apollonius of Tyre (Latin
    A.D.                                       translation)
  II-III Centuries     Iamblichus, a         Babyloniaca, Rhodanes and
    A.D.                 Syrian                Sinonis (abstract in
                                               Photius)
  II-III Centuries     Antonius Diogenes     The Wonderful Things
    A.D.                                       beyond Thule (abstract
                                               in Photius)
  Not before A.D.      pseudo-Callisthenes   Alexander Romance
    300

It is to be observed that from internal evidence Xenophon of Ephesus
probably came before Heliodorus. Longus is _sui generis_, and so stands
apart from the typical genre of the novels; in fact is a unique specimen
of another type, the pastoral romance.

The new discoveries from the papyri with the consequent re-dating of all
known material has given a strong impetus to new study of Greek
Romances; new editions of text with translation are being brought out by
English, French, Italian and American scholars.[24] The introductions to
some of these editions, especially those of Calderini and Dalmeyda, are
the first distinguished literary work in the field since Rohde with the
exception of Samuel Lee Wolff’s monograph on _The Greek Romances in
Elizabethan Prose Fiction_, New York, 1912.

The time has now come for a literary study in English which will make
available foreign criticism and present perhaps some new ideas. I plan
to discuss in successive chapters Chariton, Xenophon of Ephesus,
Heliodorus, Achilles Tatius and Longus, and to suggest something of
their influence. Then I shall take up the Λούκιος ἢ ὄνος attributed to
Lucian and his _True History_ and finally I shall show the synthesis of
the novel of adventure and the true Greek romance of love in the great
Latin novel, Apuleius’ _Metamorphoses_.



                                   II
                  _CHARITON’S_ CHAEREAS AND CALLIRHOE


There are two reasons for beginning a perusal of the Greek Romances with
Chariton’s _Chaereas and Callirhoe_. It is “the earliest Greek romance
of which the text has been completely preserved.” It is “a lively tale
of adventure in which a nobly born heroine is kidnapped across the sea
from Syracuse to Asia Minor, where her beauty causes many complications
and she is finally rescued by her dashing lover.” I quote from Warren E.
Blake whose publication of the Greek text and a literary translation of
it are a monument to American scholarship.

The date of the manuscript of this novel has been proved to be not later
than the middle of the second century A.D., by the recent discoveries of
papyrus fragments of it.[25] Warren Blake comments on the significance
of these discoveries:[26]

  “In view of the complete absence in ancient literature of any certain
  allusion to Chariton, he was long supposed to be the latest of the
  authors of Greek romance, and was dated, purely by conjecture, about
  500 A.D. But by a turn of fortune as truly remarkable as any
  attributed by Chariton himself to that fickle goddess, three scraps of
  his book have been turned up in Egypt during the last forty years. One
  of these scraps was found in company with some business documents
  which date from about the end of the second century of our era.
  Inasmuch as the place of discovery was a small country town to which
  new works of literature would not likely penetrate immediately on
  publication, and since in any case an expensive book is almost sure to
  be preserved longer than day-by-day business papers, we seem quite
  justified in setting the date of publication back some twenty-five or
  even fifty years. Thus it is probable that this novel was written at
  least as early as the middle of the second century, only about one
  hundred years later than most of the books of the New Testament.”

The identity of the author is made known by the first sentence: “I am
Chariton of Aphrodisia, secretary to the advocate Athenagoras.”
Aphrodisia was a town in Caria in southern Asia Minor. Its locality
helps little in expanding the autobiography of the author out of this
one crisp sentence. But the romance itself reveals more of his
personality. His fondness for court-room scenes and his elaborate
descriptions of them are what we would expect from a secretary to a
ῥήτωρ or advocate. His learning is evident from his many literary and
mythological references. And occasionally he steps out of the role of
the impersonal narrator into his own character and speaks in the first
person to his reader. We will come to feel rather sure of his interests
and tastes as we read his πάθος ἐρωτικόν.

Before proceeding to outline the plot of the eight books of this
romance, it will be well to clarify the story by presenting a list of
the characters.

The chief characters are:

  _Chaereas_, the handsome young Greek hero, son of Ariston of Syracuse
  _Callirhoe_, the beautiful young Greek heroine, daughter of
          Hermocrates, a famous general of Syracuse
  _Polycharmus_, a young Greek, the devoted friend of Chaereas
  _Hermocrates_, the general of Syracuse
  _Theron_, a pirate
  _Dionysius_, the governor of Miletus
  _Mithridates_, satrap of Caria
  _Artaxerxes_, king of the Persians
  _Statira_, his wife, queen of the Persians
  _Pharnaces_, the governor of Lydia and Ionia
  _Rhodogyne_, the sister of Pharnaces, daughter of Zopyrus, wife of
          Megabyzus, a Persian beauty.

The minor characters of importance are:

  _Leonas_, a slave-dealer of Miletus
  _Plangon_, a female slave of Dionysius
  _Phocas_, slave and overseer of Dionysius, husband of Plangon
  _Artaxates_, the eunuch of Artaxerxes
  _Hyginus_, a servant of Mithridates.

The list of characters reveals at once a connection of Chariton’s novel
with the Ninus Romance because of the use of historical characters.
Hermocrates, the great general of Syracuse who defeated the Athenians in
the naval battle, 414 B.C., is the father of the heroine and is referred
to repeatedly with the greatest pride. Artaxerxes, the king of the
Persians, appears in person in courts and in wars. Historical events too
are mentioned as if to give a background of reality: the contests
between the Syracusans and the Athenians; the war between the Greeks and
the Persians; the rebellion of Egypt against Persia; the merit of Cyrus
the Great in organizing the army.

Against such a background of plausible reality, the plot develops along
three main lines of interest: love, adventure and religion. The story
begins with the introduction of the radiant young hero and heroine of
Syracuse when they fall in love at first sight at a festival of
Aphrodite. Almost immediately they are married, but their ecstatic
happiness is short, for Callirhoe’s many other suitors, angry at her
choice, plot revenge. They make her husband jealous by false stories of
a lover whom his bride favors, and, by staging a surreptitious admission
to his house of a lover of Callirhoe’s maid, convince Chaereas that his
wife is faithless. In passionate fury he dashes to his wife’s room and
when Callirhoe overjoyed at his unexpected return rushes to meet him, he
kicks her with such violence in the middle of her body that she falls
down, to all appearance dead. Chaereas is tried for murder and pleads
for his own condemnation, but is acquitted against his will by the
appeal of Hermocrates.

Callirhoe is now given a magnificent funeral and buried with much
treasure. The heroine, however, who had only fainted, soon revives, but
while she is bemoaning her sad fate, a band of pirates, led by Theron,
breaks open the tomb, steals the treasure, kidnaps the girl, then sets
sail with all speed for the east. At Miletus, Theron sells Callirhoe as
a slave to Dionysius, a noble Ionian prince. He soon falls in love with
his slave, but learning her story (except the fact that she was already
married which Callirhoe omits) respects her tragic position and woos her
with delicacy and consideration. Callirhoe, on finding that she is two
months with child, decides to accept the advice of the maid Plangon and
marry Dionysius to give her baby a father. Plangon assures Callirhoe
that the child will be considered a premature seven months baby, and she
secures from Dionysius a promise to bring up as his honored children any
sons of the marriage. Book III tells how Chaereas found the tomb empty;
how Theron was captured, forced to tell the truth by torture and
crucified; how Chaereas and his bosom friend Polycharmus went on a
warship to Miletus in search of Callirhoe but were captured and sold as
slaves to Mithridates, satrap of Caria.

Now Mithridates too had fallen in love with Callirhoe on seeing her at
Miletus. On returning to Caria he discovers the identity of his slave
Chaereas just in time to save him from crucifixion because of an
uprising of his fellow-slaves, and tells him that his wife is now
married to Dionysius. Chaereas writes a letter to Callirhoe full of
penitence and of love and Mithridates forwards it by Hyginus, his
faithful slave, adding another letter of his own promising Chaereas and
Callirhoe his aid. Unfortunately these letters fall into the hands of
Dionysius himself and that noble prince, in his mad passion for his
wife, conceals from her the news that Chaereas is alive and makes a plot
for the protection of his own interests. He appeals to Pharnaces,
governor of Lydia and Ionia, who is also in love with Callirhoe, to help
a scheme he has made. Pharnaces thus prompted writes a letter to
Artaxerxes, King of the Persians, accusing Mithridates of trying to
corrupt Dionysius’ wife. The great King then summons Mithridates to a
trial for plotting adultery and sends also for Dionysius and Callirhoe.

The court scene is full of magnificence and surprises. Mithridates has
no fear because in answer to the denunciations of Dionysius he is able
to produce as a witness Chaereas who swears to his innocence and
friendship. Mithridates is acquitted and departs. Then the King
dismisses the court for five days before adjudging whose wife Callirhoe
is to be since now she has two living husbands. Meanwhile he intrusts
the lady for safe keeping to his wife, Statira. Dionysius is torn
between the promptings of passion and reason. Chaereas is in despair at
the possibility of losing Callirhoe again. And Artaxerxes, the King,
like all the other great gentlemen in the story, falls madly in love
with Callirhoe for her beauty.

The King’s passion makes him postpone the court trial a month on the
pretext of a dream which demanded sacrifice to the gods. His eunuch
tries to persuade the heroine to do herself the honor of submitting to
the King’s embraces, but only horrifies and offends her purity. Now
Fortune again takes a hand in separating once more Chaereas and
Callirhoe, for a revolt of the Egyptians is announced, the King must be
off to war, and as usual the queen and her suite go with him. Callirhoe
accompanies the queen by royal orders.

Dionysius of course serves as one of the King’s generals. He has a
crafty piece of news conveyed to Chaereas that in reward for his
faithful service the King had given him Callirhoe. Chaereas, believing
this false story, and no longer caring to live, enlists with the
faithful Polycharmus in the Egyptian army to fight against his rival. He
is allowed to collect an army of three hundred Greeks in memory of
Thermopylae and with them captures Tyre. News of this loss makes the
Persian King so anxious that he decides not to travel with all his
retinue, but to leave the women on the little island of Aradus. Chaereas
who is proving a valiant warrior soon takes the island and discovers
Callirhoe among his captives. Both faint on seeing each other but since
joy never kills, they soon recover and reunited tell all and forgive
all.

Word suddenly comes that the Persian King has defeated the Egyptians and
their King is dead. Chaereas and his men decide to sail home to
Syracuse, but first in response to the plea of Callirhoe Chaereas sends
his prisoner, the queen Statira, back to the King because she had
befriended Callirhoe in her woes. Callirhoe without the knowledge of
Chaereas writes a beautiful and affectionate letter of farewell to
Dionysius, intrusting to him the care of her son. (Dionysius still
believes he is the boy’s father!) The ship of Chaereas is driven by fair
winds to Sicily where Hermocrates and the people of Syracuse receive the
hero and heroine in amazement and joy. Chaereas tells the story of all
their adventures and Callirhoe ends the tale with a prayer to Aphrodite:
“I beg thee, never again part me from Chaereas, but grant us both a
happy life, and death together.”

With this simple outline of the plot before us let us study the way in
which the story is told. Notable first of all are the shifting scenes,
for the action moves rapidly from Syracuse, to Miletus, to Caria, to
Babylon, to the sea, to Tyre, to the island of Aradus and then at last
back to Syracuse after the full circle of adventures. The contrast
between the free Greek city of Syracuse and the oriental kingdoms is
constantly emphasized, but it is the love of adventure for adventure’s
sake that spices the narrative. The settings include, besides
picturesque descriptions of localities, court-room scenes which are full
of contrasts: the murder-trial of Chaereas in Syracuse and the trial of
Theron also; the arraignment of Mithridates for adultery before the
Great King in Babylon. Pageantry of weddings and of religious ceremonies
also enrich the plot.

The characters are painted in bold, rich colors. Hero and heroine are so
beautiful that they can be compared only to great works of art: Chaereas
resembles the pictures and statues of Achilles, Nireus, Hippolytus,
Alcibiades. Callirhoe is now Aphrodite incarnate, now Artemis. Love is
enflamed by their great beauty and enters through their eyes at their
first sight of each other. Chaereas is proud and arrogant because of his
looks and so passionate that he is unrestrained in his anger when he
believes Callirhoe false. The kick which he gave his bride is a blot on
his character which the reader finds harder to condone than Callirhoe
did. She declares that cruel Fortune forced her husband to this act, for
he never before had struck even a slave. He is also so mercurial that he
repeatedly gives way to despair and is repeatedly saved from committing
suicide by his devoted friend and companion, Polycharmus. He appears in
more heroic guise as a warrior when he joins the Egyptians against
Artaxerxes and Dionysius, resolved to die in battle, and wins a great
naval victory. He is generous in sending the captive queen back to her
lord. And he fulfills the ideals of romantic chivalry by declaring to
Callirhoe at the end that she is the mistress of his soul.

Callirhoe like Helen had the gift of fatal beauty so that all men who
saw her fell in love with her and she incurred for a time the jealousy
of Aphrodite. But in spite of every temptation her spirit remained
virginal and she was persuaded to marry Dionysius only to give a nominal
father to her unborn child. She meets misfortune with natural tears, but
with more fortitude than Chaereas shows. And she rules her anger even
when the eunuch of King Artaxerxes makes insulting proposals to her by
remembering that she had been well brought up and as a Greek taught
self-control. She handles difficult situations with a woman’s intuitive
tact as when she writes a consoling farewell letter to Dionysius,
without letting her husband have the pain of knowing of it and its
tenderness. By it she secures Dionysius’ care for the son he still
believes his own. She wins from Chaereas with gentle tact a promise to
send back the captives Statira and the beautiful Rhodogyne to the
Persians. And in meek devotion at the end she essays to win even the
goddess Aphrodite to complete reconciliation.

Polycharmus is a type more than an individual, for he is to Chaereas
what Achates was to Aeneas, the faithful friend who accompanies him
through all adventures. With boyish zeal, he hides from his parents in
Syracuse his plan to go with Chaereas on his search for Callirhoe, but
he appears on the stern of the ship as it sails in time to wave a
farewell to his father and mother. His chief function is to encourage
Chaereas and prevent his suicide. At the end on their return to Syracuse
he is rewarded by being given Chaereas’ sister for a bride and a part of
the spoils of war for a dowry.

Dionysius is a sympathetic and noble character; indeed his sins are all
for love. He is in deep mourning for his dead wife when Callirhoe is
purchased as a slave by his manager. Although he believes that no person
who is not free-born can be truly beautiful, he is overwhelmed with love
at the first sight of Callirhoe. With tactful sympathy he draws out her
story and believes it. He never forces his passion upon her, but woos
her delicately through his maid-servant, Plangon, and is overjoyed when
Callirhoe finally consents to legal marriage for the purpose of raising
a family. Even then in spite of his desire he delays the marriage that
he may do Callirhoe the honor of a great wedding in the city. His
happiness is complete to his mind when after seven months a son is born.
So it is because of his sincere love that when he hears that a Syracusan
warship has arrived to demand Callirhoe back, he commends his slave
Phocas who out of loyalty to his master had persuaded barbarians to
destroy the ship and its crew. Dionysius’ only anxiety is that since
some of the men escaped, Chaereas may still be alive. This last fact he
conceals from Callirhoe and to comfort her for Chaereas’ supposed death
persuades her to erect a cenotaph to her first husband’s memory. Later
when he receives the intercepted letter of Chaereas to Callirhoe, he
faints with grief and fear, but coming to he believes the letter forged
as part of a plot of Mithridates to win the favor of his bride, so he
accuses Mithridates to the Great King. Summoned to Babylon to the trial
he is in constant terror, for “he looked on all men as his rivals”
knowing the devastating effects of Callirhoe’s beauty. When Chaereas is
produced alive in the trial, he argues valiantly for the retention of
his wife with some telling thrusts at Chaereas, but finally when he has
lost his love, he bears his grief like a man, having remarkable
self-control, treasuring Callirhoe’s affectionate letter as true solace,
and devoting himself to her son. Dionysius, as Callirhoe reminds him
once, is a Greek with a Greek education.

Among the orientals, resplendent princes appear often only to be
numbered among the disconsolate lovers of Callirhoe and because of their
passion to assist in furthering the complications of the plot. Such are
Mithridates and Pharnaces. More individualized portraits are painted of
King Artaxerxes and Queen Statira. Oriental magnificence is the aura of
the Great King’s personality whether he appears presiding in the
court-room, or hunting in Tyrian purple with golden dagger and elegant
bow and arrow on his caparisoned horse, or riding to war with his great
army and his retinue: his queen, her attendants, his eunuchs, all their
gold and silver and fine raiment. Yet through this rich setting appears
a wise ruler who takes counsel of his advisers in times of crises,
listens judiciously to evidence in the court-room, and in war follows
the military traditions of Cyrus the Great. But he has his human side:
is influenced by wine, loneliness and the dark, and succumbs to
Callirhoe’s beauty though he is married to a great and subtle queen.
Hoping to win the object of his passion he is not above machinations
with his eunuch who acts as his go-between and with optimistic hope of
success even has Callirhoe taken along with the queen when he goes to
war. Yet when Statira is restored to him by Chaereas’ magnanimity, he
welcomes her warmly although her news that Callirhoe is with Chaereas is
like “a fresh blow upon an old wound.” He appears most human after
hearing Statira’s story of all that happened, for he is filled with
varied emotions: wrath at the capture of his dear ones, sorrow at the
departure of Chaereas, and final gratitude that Chaereas had ended the
possibility of his seeing Callirhoe. Out of his own conflict of
emotions, he breaks gently to Dionysius the news of his loss of
Callirhoe and calls him away from personal sorrow by giving him higher
responsibility in the realm. Artaxerxes is really made to appear in the
novel as the Great King.

Statira is no less the queen. She is delighted when her husband suddenly
intrusts Callirhoe to her care, regarding his action as an honor and a
sign of confidence. She encourages Callirhoe with tactful sympathy and
secures needed rest for her, keeping away the curious ladies who hurry
to the palace to call. After a few days Statira can not resist asking
Callirhoe which husband she preferred, but her curiosity is not rewarded
for Callirhoe only weeps. As time goes on Statira’s jealousy is aroused
because Callirhoe’s beauty outshines her own and because she is fully
aware of the significance of the King’s more frequent visits to the
women’s quarters. So when Artaxerxes is preparing to start off for war,
the queen does not ask what will become of Callirhoe because she does
not wish to have to take her, but the King at the end demands her
presence. Apparently Statira never betrayed her jealousy to Callirhoe,
for after Chaereas took captive all the women in Aradus, Callirhoe has
only praise for her kindness to relate to Chaereas and calls Statira her
dearest friend. Her generous happiness in being able to return Statira’s
courtesy by sending her back to her husband wins from Statira a just
encomium: “You have shown a noble nature, one that is worthy of your
beauty. It was a happy sponsorship indeed which the King intrusted to
me.” Callirhoe on parting commends her child to the queen’s care and
secretly consigns to the queen her letter to Dionysius. Statira is still
a subtle enough woman to enjoy telling the King at once on her return
without her rival: “You have me as a gift from Callirhoe.”

Set off against the Great King of the Persians is Hermocrates, the
general of Syracuse who defeated the Athenians. His greatness as an
admiral is matched by his leadership as a citizen. At the trial of
Chaereas for the murder of Callirhoe it is Hermocrates whose generous
plea in his daughter’s name secures from the people a vote of acquittal.
He listens to the wish of the people assembled when they urge him to
marry his daughter to Chaereas. When Theron, the pirate, is captured and
the crowd at Syracuse is milling about him, Hermocrates insists on a
public trial for him in accordance with the laws and after the evidence
is presented it is by a vote of the people that he is condemned. Then
Hermocrates asks the people to vote to send a ship in search of his
kidnapped daughter as a reward for his patriotic services. Callirhoe’s
pride centers in her father no less than in her Greek blood. Her reunion
with her father at the end of the romance is almost as moving as her
restoral to Chaereas. Hermocrates shines forth in untarnished glory as a
patriotic admiral, a leader of thought in a democratic state, and a
devoted father.

The minor parts are painted with less subtlety. Theron, the villain of
the story, is a black-hearted pirate dominated only by gain and
self-interest, ready to save his life at the expense of his
fellow-sailors. Slaves are presented as vivaciously as they are in
comedy. Plangon, the maid of Dionysius, is a shrewd, cunning
opportunist, ready to serve her master’s interests but not without
kindness to the distraught Callirhoe in her plight of pregnancy.
Artaxates, the eunuch of Artaxerxes, is venal, wily, complaisant and
low-minded. As the confidant of Artaxerxes he takes his cues from his
master’s words, and solicits his favor by an attempt to seduce
Callirhoe’s heart for him. As a eunuch, a slave and a barbarian (says
Chariton) he could not conceive that Callirhoe would not yield to the
wishes of the King. When he is unable to persuade her by flattery, he
threatens her with the King’s vengeance. And when her words betray her
love for Chaereas, Artaxates can call her only a poor, foolish girl for
preferring a slave to the Great King of the Persians.

The use of the crowd by Chariton is another link between his romance and
drama, for it often fulfills the function assumed by the chorus in
tragedy, that is, the part of the spectator who comments on the action
and interprets it. It is the people of Syracuse in assembly that
persuades Hermocrates to wed his daughter to Chaereas. The crowd votes
the crucifixion of Theron and attends it. At Miletus the crowd joins in
Dionysius’ prayer to Aphrodite to protect Callirhoe and her son. The
crowd at Babylon is struck dumb with amazement at the radiance of
Callirhoe. And when the Great King is to decide whether Chaereas or
Dionysius is to be her husband, all Babylon becomes a court-room as the
people discuss the rival partners. At the end of the romance, all the
harbor of Syracuse is filled with men to watch the ship come in, and
when Chaereas and Callirhoe are revealed on it, the crowd bursts into
tears. All rush to the theater and demand that there at once Chaereas
tell them his adventures. “Tell us everything,” they keep shouting. They
groan at his misfortunes. They offer prayers for the future of his son.
They shout assent to his proposal to make his three hundred valiant
Greek soldiers fellow-citizens of Syracuse. Indeed the crowd is
constantly the background of the action of the romance.

Various mechanical devices used in the development of the plot show
Chariton’s art of narration. Conversation as any novel demands is
constantly used. Soliloquies are introduced frequently: at some
emotional crisis, Chariton, instead of describing the thoughts and
feelings of his characters, has them burst into speech to themselves.
Callirhoe on hearing of the supposed loss of Chaereas with the warship
laments his death and the destruction of her father’s gallant vessel.
Later beside the Euphrates river when she can no longer see “the ocean
which led back to Syracuse,” she upbraids cruel Fortune for driving her
farther and farther from home. Again, in horror at the proposals of the
eunuch, she laments all her misfortunes and expresses her resolve to die
as befits Hermocrates’ daughter rather than become the mistress of the
Great King. So too Dionysius on the return of Chaereas, after attempts
at self-control, bursts forth with despair and jealousy into a lament
over the imminent loss of his love. At the same time Chaereas, believing
that Callirhoe loves Dionysius and will never return to him from the
wealthy Ionian, utters a bitter lament before attempting to hang
himself.

Letters also are an important means of developing the plot in the Greek
Romances, especially in Chariton. He uses seven letters.[27] Chaereas’
first letter to Callirhoe is an impassioned love-letter with an appeal
for forgiveness and for an assurance that she still loves him. This is a
crucial letter in the plot because it is sent by Bias of Priene to
Dionysius himself who conceals it from Callirhoe. Bias sends a brief
business letter with it. Pharnaces, governor of Lydia, on the
instigation of Dionysius writes a letter to Artaxerxes accusing
Mithridates of trying to seduce Dionysius’ wife. This letter is
important for the plot, because it motivates the trial of Mithridates.
The Great King on receiving it dispatches two laconic business letters
to Pharnaces summoning Dionysius and to Mithridates calling him to
trial. The other two letters do not affect the plot, but reveal the
characters of the senders. These are the letters in Book VIII of
Chaereas to Artaxerxes and of Callirhoe to Dionysius. Chaereas proudly
sends back Statira unharmed as the gift of Callirhoe to the Great King.
Callirhoe with a woman’s intuition comforts Dionysius for her loss by
gratitude for his protection, by assuring him that she is with him in
spirit in the presence of her son whom she intrusts to his care. She
begs him not to marry again, but to bring up the daughter of his first
wife and her own son, eventually marry them to each other and send him
to Syracuse to see his grandfather. She includes a message to Plangon
and ends with an appeal to good Dionysius to remember his Callirhoe. It
is hardly strange that Callirhoe concealed this masterpiece of
epistolography from her jealous husband, Chaereas.

The taking of an oath is often an important feature of Greek Romances.
In Chariton, Dionysius swears solemnly by the sea, by Aphrodite and by
Eros that he will marry Callirhoe according to the Greek laws “for the
begetting of children” and will bring up any child she bears.[28] Dreams
too play their part in the plot. In a dream Dionysius sees an apparition
of his dead wife as she looked on her wedding-day. His slave Leonas
interprets the dream as prophetic of his coming happiness with the newly
purchased slave, Callirhoe.[29] Callirhoe in her sleep sees a phantom of
Chaereas who says to her: “My wife, I intrust our son to you.” This
dream determines her to bring up her baby and so to marry Dionysius.[30]
In Babylon when she is dreading having to appear in court, she has a
dream of her happy wedding to Chaereas in Syracuse. The maid Plangon
interprets the dream as a good omen for future happiness.[31] King
Artaxerxes had a dream of gods demanding sacrifice so he proclaimed a
festival of thirty days throughout Asia. This delayed his decision
between Chaereas and Dionysius, hence was most important for the plot
because wars arose before the court was held and in them Chaereas and
Callirhoe came together.[32]

Apparent deaths are a common device of the Greek novelists and
Chariton’s plot turns on two, the supposed death of Callirhoe from
Chaereas’ blow and her subsequent burial; the reported death of Chaereas
on his warship. Concomitant with such deaths are the unexpected
reappearances which add the element of surprise, so essential for the
characters and the crowd.

Descriptive passages are few and brief in Chariton and are often worked
out in a suggestive simile rather than in a conspicuous purple patch.
Chaereas was as “radiant as a star. The flush of exercise bloomed on his
glowing face like gold on silver.” Callirhoe, recognizing her lover,
became more stately and lovely than ever, as a flickering lamp again
flares up when oil is poured in.[33] Public ceremonies are described at
more length: the funeral procession of Callirhoe,[34] her wedding to
Dionysius.[35] Space is given too to the description of Artaxerxes’
hunt, that favorite ancient sport;[36] to storm at sea;[37] to war.[38]
But all these descriptions are concise in their picturesqueness.

Finally clarity in the narrative is secured by repeated résumés of the
story either by the characters or by the author himself. Callirhoe tells
her tragic tale to Dionysius with such sincerity that he believes it and
honors her as a free-born woman.[39] Polycharmus relates his adventures
with Chaereas to Mithridates and thereby saves his friend and himself
from crucifixion.[40] Chaereas at the end unfolds the whole Odyssey of
his wanderings to the populace in the theater of Syracuse.[41] At the
beginning of Book V Chariton epitomizes all the preceding part of the
novel and at the beginning of Book VIII he recapitulates the preceding
book and reassures his audience about the final book.

  “Furthermore, I think that this last book will be the most pleasant of
  all to my readers, and in fact will serve as an antidote to the tragic
  events of the former ones. No more piracy or slavery or court trials
  or battles or suicide or war or capture here, but true love and lawful
  marriage! And so I am going to tell you how the goddess brought the
  truth to light and revealed the unsuspecting lovers to each other.”

The happy ending which Chariton here forecasts is an essential feature
of a Greek romance. For in this type of literature in which Chariton is
a pioneer, virtue must triumph. The ethics demands that the hero and
heroine must be noble in character as well as in station and that
therefore justice must be done to virtue. The hero we have seen must
possess personal courage and military courage. He must be capable of
emotional devotion, first of all to his lady, then to his friend, and
always to his father. His faults are those of pride, arrogance and
passion and his moments of brutality are condoned by his contemporaries
on account of his passionate temperament. He can be generous to his
foes. He can show pity to the unfortunate. But his sympathies, even when
the type is embodied in as noble a character as Dionysius, are evoked by
the free-born in distress, rarely by slaves. The virtues of the heroine
are first of all chastity, then loyal devotion to parents, husband and
child, pride of family, generosity of spirit and sympathy. She is
capable of resolute decision and heroic action if her chastity is
menaced or her dear ones are in danger. Standards different from our own
best ones appear in the general attitude towards slaves as an inferior
class and in the brutality manifested in the hero’s kick, in executions
on the cross, in torture of witnesses. Cleverness and deception are
traits which are prized more highly than we admit now. The noblest
sentiments expressed are in behalf of liberty and patriotism.

Religion plays so important a part in the romance that it demands a full
treatment. Chariton’s novel is dominated by two cults: the worship of
the abstract goddess Fortune, the worship of the goddess of love,
Aphrodite. At the end of Book I Callirhoe, just after she has been sold
as a slave, in a soliloquy, upbraids cruel Fortune for all her troubles,
for the goddess made her lover her murderer, surrendered her to
tomb-robbers and now has let her be sold as a slave. Again Callirhoe,
when she finds that she is pregnant, reproaches Fortune for letting her
bear a child to be a slave. And on the banks of the Euphrates in another
soliloquy Callirhoe again charges Fortune with all her miseries and
blames her for taking “delight in persecuting one lone girl.”
Mithridates tells Chaereas: “The whims of Fortune have involved you in
this melancholy drama.” Queen Statira, when captured, exclaims that
Fortune has preserved her to see this day of slavery. And the author of
the romance as well as the characters repeatedly attributes to Fortune
the strange and sad misadventures of his hero and heroine. Callirhoe,
Chariton says, “was overcome by the stratagems of Fortune, against whom
alone human reason has no power. She is a divinity who loves opposition,
and there is nothing which may not be expected of her.” Throughout the
romance Fortune seems to be conceived not as blind chance, but as a
baleful goddess, who takes delight in cruelty and torture.

In conflict with her machinations is the power of the goddess of love
whom the young lovers worship. As clearly as in a Greek tragedy
Aphrodite’s influence is predominant throughout the romance. At the very
beginning, Chaereas and Callirhoe see each other for the first time at a
festival of the goddess and immediately fall in love. The end of the
romance is the prayer of thanks which Callirhoe offers to Aphrodite in
her temple at Syracuse. Callirhoe is so beautiful that over and over she
seems Aphrodite incarnate, now to the slave-dealer, Leonas, now to
Dionysius, now to the crowd at the time of her marriage to Dionysius,
now in Babylon. Prayers for aid are constantly offered to the goddess by
Callirhoe, by Chaereas, by Dionysius, by Artaxerxes, and these
worshippers offer their petitions in her temples in Syracuse, in
Miletus, in Babylon, in Aradus and in Cyprus. Her power is acknowledged;
her favor is asked. Chaereas discovers Callirhoe is alive by seeing a
golden statue of her which Dionysius had dedicated in the temple of
Aphrodite near Miletus. Chariton himself in his résumé at the beginning
of Book VIII records the influence that Aphrodite had in his story. When
Fortune was maneuvering to have Chaereas leave his wife behind at
Aradus, all unaware of her presence, “this seemed outrageous to
Aphrodite,” says Chariton, “who, though she had previously been terribly
angered at Chaereas’ uncalled-for jealousy, whereby he had insolently
rejected her kindness after receiving from her a gift more superlatively
beautiful even than Paris’ prize, was by now becoming reconciled with
him. And since Chaereas had now nobly redeemed himself in the eyes of
Love by his wanderings from west to east amid countless sufferings,
Aphrodite felt pity for him, and, as she had in the beginning brought
together this noble pair, so now, having harried them long over land and
sea, she was willing once more to unite them.”

The final consideration about Chariton must be the style of his work.
And first of all the inquiry rises to our lips: how did the secretary of
Athenagoras become so distinguished in the art of narration? Homer, I am
convinced, is the master from whom, as Dante from Vergil, he took his
beautiful style. The romance is rich in literary allusions, but beyond
all others Homer is quoted repeatedly (twenty-four times indeed) and
with great effectiveness. Sometimes a mere transitional phrase is
adopted:

  “while the words were yet on his lips.”[42]

In descriptions the brevity and simplicity of Homer are used with such
nicety that the language often trails off naturally into the very words
of the epic. In the thirty day festival at Babylon

  “the sweet savor arose to heaven eddying amid the smoke.”[43]

Men are pictured fighting and in their close array

  “buckler pressed on buckler, helm on helm, and man on man.”[44]

And as the conflict joined and Chaereas rushed against his enemies, he

  “smote them right and left and there rose a hideous moaning.”[45]

Artaxerxes in his court is compared to Zeus among the assembled
gods.[46] A phantom of Chaereas appears to Callirhoe resembling him

  “in stature, and fair eyes, and voice, and the raiment of his body was
  the same.”[47]

When Callirhoe came into the court-room in Babylon,

  “she looked just as the divine poet says that Helen did, when she
  appeared to ‘them that were with Priam and Panthöos and Thymoëtes ...
  being elders of the people.’[48] At the sight of her, admiring silence
  fell, ‘and each one uttered a prayer that he might be her
  bedfellow.’”[49]

Besides this use of Homeric phrases in descriptions, quotations are
frequently introduced in conversations as if Chariton found only Homer’s
words expressive to convey the thought of one character to another.[50]
But far more important than such uses of Homeric phraseology is the
intensification of emotional coloring by a quotation from Homer at a
crisis of poignant feeling. When Callirhoe’s nurse calls her to get up
for it is her wedding day,

  “her knees and heart were unstrung,”

because she did not know whom she was to marry.[51] When Chaereas is
told that his wife is an adulteress,

  “a black cloud of grief enwrapped him, and with both hands he took
  dark dust and poured it over his head and defiled his comely
  face.”[52]

When Chaereas is determined to set sail in winter in search of his
kidnapped bride, his mother begged him to take her with him and cried in
Homer’s words:

  “My child, have regard unto this bosom and pity me if ever I gave thee
  consolation of my breast.”[53]

When Dionysius suddenly learned at a banquet that Chaereas was alive
from reading his letter to Callirhoe,

  “his knees and his heart were unstrung.”[54]

When Artaxerxes was smitten with love for Callirhoe, he lay awake all
night,

  “now lying on his side, now on his back, now on his face.”[55]

When Chaereas and Callirhoe had their ecstatic reunion on Aradus,

  “when they had had their fill of tears and story-telling, embracing
  each other,

  ‘they came gladly to the rites of their bed, as of old.’”[56]

Enough illustrations of Chariton’s use of Homer have been given to show
the manner of it. Different explanations of Chariton’s constant use have
been advanced. Schmid thinks it is an indication of the influence of the
Menippean satire with its mingling of prose and verse. Jacob believes it
due to Chariton’s desire to make his style poetic. Calderini is more
understanding. He thinks that Chariton, thoroughly familiar with Homer,
quoted him to express worthily some noble thought and that he saw the
peculiar emphasis which a quotation from Homer could give to the
expression of a sudden, violent emotion. He also uses episodes from
Homer (the appeal of Hecuba from the wall to Hector,[57] the apparition
of Patroclus before Achilles,[58] the Homeric τειχοσκοπία).[59] More
than all, his style is usually Homeric in its brevity and simplicity;
and in his use of quotations, of scenes and of style he is the first
example of those relations between epic and romance which became so
important in the mediaeval literature of the west.[60]

Other literary influences are apparent. The Milesian Tales may have
suggested Miletus as the locality for the love-story of Dionysius. The
Ninus Romance is the precursor of the historical element which paints a
background of realism through the use of historical characters, notably
Hermocrates and Artaxerxes, and through allusions to actual wars. Drama
contributed the language of the stage to the description of the action.
And at one crisis when Chaereas, who is believed dead, is produced by
Mithridates in court, Chariton explains:

“Who could worthily tell of the appearance of the courtroom then? What
dramatist ever produced so incredible a situation on the stage? Indeed,
you might have thought that you were in a theater, filled with a
multitude of conflicting passions.”[61] In another passage Mithridates
says Fortune has forced the lovers to enact a very sad tragedy.[62] New
comedy contributed types of characters (particularly the slaves), spicy
dialogue and at least two quotations.[63] The influence of history and
especially of Herodotus is apparent in the use of local history, in
narratives of adventure, in depiction of the adulation of the eastern
sovereign, in the reflection of the great struggle between the west and
the east. The influence of the rhetorical schools is seen in the court
scenes which in both their cases and speeches are strangely like those
of the _Controversiae_ of Seneca and the _Declamationes_ of Quintilian.

All these different literary forces combined to produce a style of
narration in Chariton which is at the same time simple and ingenuous,
yet rhetorical. His startling baroque effects are achieved by just this
variation from simple concise epic narrative with strong Homeric
coloring, to intense dramatic moments of high tragedy, to comic scenes
of slaves’ intrigues, to love passages which before had found expression
only in poetry. Probably Chariton learned the effective use of
parallelism, contrast and surprise from the schools of rhetoric, but he
wields all his various tools with such success that he has carved out a
new form of literature in his prose romance.



                                  III
               _THE_ EPHESIACA _OR_ HABROCOMES AND ANTHIA
                        _BY XENOPHON OF EPHESUS_


  “Let me not to the marriage of true minds
  Admit impediments. Love is not love
  Which alters when it alteration finds,
  Or bends with the remover to remove:

  Love’s not Time’s Fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
  Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me prov’d,
    I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.”

Shakespeare’s famous CXVI sonnet is the lyric _credo_ of those who
believe that love can triumph over adversity, old age and even death
itself. The lines just quoted are the quintessence of lyric romance.

Suppose now that the romantic novel or the modern cinema wishes to
feature this same theme: “True love lasts.” How would either one convey
the idea? I am going to show you by a concrete and melodramatic
illustration. Here is a script for it.[64]

A young Greek who has been seeking over the world his kidnapped bride
has come to Sicily, his resources nearly gone. An old fisherman
Aegialeus gives him hospitality. It is night. The young man and the old
man tell each other their sad love stories. The old man is now speaking:

“I was a wealthy young Spartan and loved a Spartan girl, Thelxinoe. She
returned my love and presently we had, no one knowing it, our heart’s
desire. But my darling’s parents proposed to marry her to another
Spartan. So we fled secretly together and Sparta pronounced sentence of
death on us both. We managed to travel to Sicily. Here we lived in dire
poverty, but in our happiness we forgot all else because we were
together. Soon my dear died, but her body was not buried. I have her
with me and I love her always and I am with her.” After these words he
led Habrocomes into an inner room and showed him the mummy that had been
Thelxinoe. She was old now, but she appeared beautiful to her husband.
“To her,” said he, “I always talk as if she were alive. I sleep here
with her; I eat near her. If I come back tired from my fishing, the
sight of her comforts me. For I do not see her as you do, my son. I see
her as she was in Lacedemon, as she was when we fled. I see the night of
our first love. I see our flight together.”

The young Greek exclaims:

  “O my own dearest love, shall I ever find you even dead? Here to
  Aegialeus the body of Thelxinoe is the great comfort of his life. Now
  I have learned that age sets no bounds to true love.”

This story of the second or third century A.D. might seem too macabre to
be possible if the _New York Times_ of Nov. 12, 1940 had not recorded
such a case at Key West, Florida. Karl Tanzler van Cosel, aged X-ray
technician, had removed the body of Elena Hoyas Mesa from its crypt and
had kept it in his bed-room for seven years. He said he had hoped to
restore it to life. Perhaps Xenophon of Ephesus who wrote this story of
Aegialeus and his mummy had heard some such “true story” which he
embodied in his novel. In any case, he has given us here an illustration
of how the theme “true love is eternal” may be pictured in a realistic
romance. Think how dramatic this scene would be in a movie: the small
inner bed-room of the fisherman’s hut suddenly lighted; the old man
getting his young friend to help him remove the front of the coffin,
then looking rapturously at the mummy inside and reaffirming before it
his life-long love. That is my illustration of the heart of a realistic
Greek romance.

Almost nothing is known about Xenophon of Ephesus who wrote it. Suidas
mentions his romance the _Ephesiaca_ in ten books (instead of the
present eight) and speaks also of a work he wrote on the city of
Ephesus. Xenophon probably was a native of Ephesus, for he shows
intimate acquaintance with many details of the cult of Artemis there.
His date can be given only approximately, but considerable internal
evidence helps us to place him. He imitates certain passages in
Chariton, so he must be later than the second century A.D. Certain
references are very important. He is later than Augustus, for he refers
to the prefect of Egypt and of course there was none until after 30
B.C.[65] He mentions the Irenarch of Cilicia, and this official was not
known before Hadrian.[66] He refers to the Artemision of Ephesus as if
it were at the height of its glory and contemporary.[67] It was pillaged
and burned by the Gauls in 263 and only in part rebuilt. But, as
Dalmeyda points out,[68] these details give us only vague indications of
the date. Until some fragment of papyrus which can be dated is
discovered, we can place Xenophon merely with some probability about the
end of the second century of our era.

The novel itself is simple in language and brief in scope, but
complicated in plot from many kaleidoscopic changes of scenes. There are
so many exits and reentries of the characters that we lose track of
them. The brevity of the narrative, the laconic expressions of emotion
in it have made certain critics maintain the theory that it is only an
epitome of a story, or a kind of scenario written as a preliminary
sketch of a longer work. It seems to me possibly an intentionally short
romance written briefly and simply by an author whose taste was akin to
that of Chariton and who perhaps was intentionally showing a definite
reaction against the verbosity of other novelists.

Partly because of the brevity of the romance a synopsis of the plot has
to be long. So much is crowded into small space, so many rapid
transitions from scene to scene are made, that a full sequential outline
must be given before we can study the significance and color of the
romance. Here then is the plot. The chief characters are:

  _Habrocomes_ of Ephesus, the handsome hero
  _Anthia_ of Ephesus, the beautiful heroine
  _Apsyrtos_, a pirate chieftain
  _Manto_, the daughter of Apsyrtos
  _Moeris_, a Syrian, husband of Manto
  _Lampon_, a goatherd, slave of Manto
  _Hippothoos_, a brigand
  _Perilaos_, a high police official of Cilicia
  _Eudoxos_, a physician
  _Psammis_, a rajah of India
  _Araxos_, an old soldier in Egypt
  _Cyno_, his wicked wife
  _Aegialeus_, a Syracusan who kept a mummy
  _Polyidos_, a captain in Egypt
  _Rhenaea_, his jealous wife
  A procurer of Taras
  _Leucon_, a male slave of Habrocomes and Anthia
  _Rhode_, a female slave, his wife

In Ephesus lived a lad named Habrocomes who was sixteen years old. The
beauty of his person was matched by the nobility of his soul. He had one
great fault, pride. And he scorned Eros as less handsome than himself
and unable to control a man against his will. Eros enraged armed himself
against this arrogant boy. It was the time of the festival of Artemis.
At this festival it was the custom to select fiancés. There was a great
procession of young men and women. Anthia, daughter of Megamedes and
Evippe, led the girls, and she was garbed as Artemis. She was so
beautiful that the crowd forgot handsome Habrocomes though a few
exclaimed: “What a couple Habrocomes and Anthia would make!” Here was
Eros’ opportunity. After the procession broke up and all were attending
the sacrifice in the temple, the two saw each other and were vanquished.

Day by day, night by night love dominated them until both were worn out
by longing. Their parents not knowing what this strange malady was sent
embassies to the oracle of Apollo at Claros. The god diagnosed their
illnesses as the same, needing the same cure; he foretold long suffering
for both, dangerous travel by sea, kidnapping, imprisonment, death and
burial, but he promised final salvation through the goddess Isis and
happy days.

The parents of Habrocomes and Anthia, puzzled and grieved by the oracle,
decided that at least they must use the remedy suggested by the god. So
Habrocomes and Anthia were married, and they did not fear the future
because of their present joy. As time went on, however, it seemed
necessary to the happy pair and to their parents that they should
fulfill the oracle by going on a journey. On the ensuing voyage both
swore mighty oaths (Anthia by Artemis) to be faithful to each other
always. Next they put in at Rhodes for rest. Habrocomes and Anthia hand
in hand visited all the city and dedicated golden armor to the sun-god
in his temple. Then they sailed to Egypt, but the ship was becalmed and
one night Habrocomes had a frightful dream. A giantess clad in red
appeared to him who set fire to the ship, destroyed all the sailors and
saved only himself and Anthia. He awoke in terror and terror became
reality. Phoenician pirates arriving in a great trireme boarded the ship
and drove the sailors into the sea where they drowned. Then they fired
the ship, but took captive Habrocomes and Anthia and bore them off to
the country near Tyre. Corymbos, one of the pirates, became enamored of
Habrocomes; his bosom companion fell in love with Anthia, but before
they could accomplish their wicked designs on them, the chief of the
pirate band Apsyrtos arrived and appropriating the handsome young pair
as part of his booty took them to Tyre.

This was the beginning of worse troubles, for while Apsyrtos was away on
business, his daughter Manto fell in love with Habrocomes and made
advances to him through a slave and a letter. When he refused to satisfy
her desires, for vengeance she accused him to her father of having tried
to rape her. Apsyrtos had Habrocomes flogged, tortured and cast into
prison. Anthia contriving a secret visit to her husband told him she had
been given as a slave to Manto and must accompany her to Syria, where
Manto’s newly acquired husband Moeris lived. The two slaves of
Habrocomes and Anthia, Leucon and Rhode, were sold into a distant land.
Manto to disgrace Anthia as much as possible married her to one of her
humblest slaves, Lampon, a goatherd. But Lampon pitying Anthia on
hearing from her own lips her story respected her and never made her his
actual wife. In Tyre Apsyrtos happened to find the love-letter which his
daughter had written to Habrocomes. Learning from it his unjust
treatment of Habrocomes he released him from prison, gave him his
freedom, and made him steward of his house.

Meanwhile in Syria Anthia’s fatal beauty had inflamed Manto’s husband
Moeris with a mad passion for her. He confided this to the goatherd
Lampon begging for his aid. Lampon to save Anthia went secretly and told
Manto her husband’s designs. Manto in jealous fury ordered Lampon to
kill the woman. In sorrow he told Anthia all and together they planned
that instead of killing her he should sell her as a slave in some remote
district. He managed to hide this transaction and saved her life by
selling her to some Cilician merchants. But their ship was wrecked in a
storm. A few (among them Anthia) came to land on a raft and after
wandering all night in the woods were captured by the brigand
Hippothoos.

Manto meanwhile wrote to her father a letter made up of truth and lies,
saying that the slave Anthia had been so troublesome she had given the
girl to a goatherd and afterwards when Moeris became enamored of the
woman, she had sold both the goatherd and his wife in Syria. Habrocomes
at once started out in search for Anthia and finding Lampon and learning
the true story from him, he set forth for Cilicia.

There, however, Anthia had been in great danger. Hippothoos and his
brigands were about to sacrifice her to Ares, but she was rescued by a
high police official of the district, Perilaos, who captured all the
brigands except Hippothoos. He took her to Tarsus and of course soon
fell in love with her. He offered her honorable marriage, wealth,
children and she fearing his violent passion forced herself to consent
but asked for a month’s delay.

Now Habrocomes riding through Cilicia on his quest met by chance
Hippothoos who begged to be allowed to travel with him. They went into
Cappadocia and there dining together told each other their life
histories, Hippothoos his love of a beautiful lad and the loss of him,
Habrocomes his love for the beautiful Anthia and his loss of her. The
description of Anthia made Hippothoos relate his capture of a fair
maiden and her rescue. Habrocomes, convinced that the girl was Anthia,
persuaded Hippothoos to join him in his search.

But the preparations for the wedding of Perilaos and Anthia were going
on apace, and it would have been consummated had not Anthia found a
friend in an Ephesian physician Eudoxos to whom she confided her
tragedy. She begged him to give her poison so that she might die
faithful. She promised him silver so that he might return to Ephesus.
Eudoxos gave her not poison but a sleeping potion, then hurriedly
departed. The very night of her wedding, in the nuptial chamber, Anthia
took what she believed poison. Perilaos coming to his bride found a
corpse. To do her all honor, the bereft bridegroom had her placed in a
magnificent tomb with splendid funeral gifts.

Robbers broke in the tomb for the treasure just as Anthia awoke. They
carried her off with them to Alexandria. No one else knew she was alive.
Habrocomes heard from an old woman the story of Anthia’s death, of the
pillaging of her tomb and the carrying off of her body. So leaving
Hippothoos he started off alone by ship for Egypt hoping to find the
brigands who had committed such sacrilege. The bandits had already sold
Anthia to a rajah named Psammis, but Anthia saved herself from his
amorousness by telling him that she was a consecrated priestess of Isis
so he respected her.

Habrocomes’ ship missed its course to Alexandria and landed in
Phoenicia. There the inhabitants set upon the strangers and capturing
them sold them as slaves at Pelusium, Habrocomes to an old soldier,
Araxos. This soldier had a hideous and wicked wife Cyno who, falling in
love with Habrocomes, offered to kill her husband and marry him. When he
refused, she herself killed her husband and accused Habrocomes of the
murder. He was sent to Alexandria to be tried. Hippothoos meanwhile had
gathered a new band and in his travels had come to Egypt and made the
mountains near the frontiers of Ethiopia his center for expeditions.
Habrocomes was condemned to death by the Prefect of Egypt, but his
execution was twice frustrated by miracles caused by the Nile river when
he appealed to the sun-god Helios for aid against injustice. So he was
cast into prison.

At this time Psammis started home to India with a great camel train
taking Anthia with him. At Memphis Anthia offered prayers to Isis
begging her aid. As they neared the borders of Ethiopia, Hippothoos with
his band fell upon their caravan and, slaying Psammis and many men,
seized his treasure and took captive Anthia. Hippothoos and Anthia did
not recognize each other.

The Prefect of Egypt, on giving Habrocomes a new hearing, was convinced
of his innocence, freed him and gave him money. So Habrocomes took ship
again and went to Italy to make inquiries there about Anthia. Cyno was
executed.

Anthia was again in danger because of the lust of one of the bandits,
Anchialos. He, while Hippothoos was away, tried to do violence to her,
but she stabbed him fatally with a sword which she had found. Hippothoos
on his return decided, in vengeance for the death of his companion, to
kill her in a horrible way: to put her in a deep trench with two fierce
dogs. But the bandit set to guard the trench from pity secretly conveyed
food to her so that she fed and tamed the beasts.

Habrocomes on arriving at Syracuse in Sicily lived with a poor old
fisherman named Aegialeus who treated him like a son and told him his
own sad love-story. This is the story of the Mummy in the House.
Hippothoos left Ethiopia to go to Alexandria and believing Anthia dead
made no inquiries about her. The bandit left to guard her, now in love
with her, hid in a cave with a good store of provisions until the
caravan had gone, then released Anthia and the devoted dogs. He swore by
the Sun and the gods of Egypt to respect her until she voluntarily came
to his arms, so dogs and all they started on their travels.

The Prefect of Egypt had sent a company of soldiers under Polyidos to
disperse the bandits of whose marauding he had heard. Hippothoos’ band
was broken up; indeed he alone escaped. He embarked on a ship for
Sicily. Polyidos next captured Anthia and her escort. Polyidos although
he had a wife in Alexandria at once fell in love with Anthia and when
they reached Memphis, tried to rape her, but she fled to the temple of
Isis as a suppliant. Polyidos then swore that he would respect her if
she would return to him, saying that to see her and speak to her would
satisfy his love, so she went back to his care. On their arrival at
Alexandria, Rhenaea the wife of Polyidos was nearly insane with jealousy
of the girl her husband had brought home. One day in her husband’s
absence she beat and reviled poor Anthia, then gave her to a faithful
slave with orders to take her to Italy and sell her there to a procurer.
This he did at Taras.

Hippothoos by this time had reached Sicily and was staying at
Tauromenium. Habrocomes at Syracuse in despair planned to go to Italy
and if he found no news of Anthia there, to return to Ephesus. The
parents of the young pair in their anxiety over them had died. The
slaves Leucon and Rhode who had been sold in Lycia had, on the death of
their master, inherited his wealth. They were on their way back to
Ephesus but were staying at Rhodes.

The procurer now forced Anthia to stand in front of his brothel,
magnificently arrayed, to attract customers. When many had gathered
because of her beauty, Anthia feigned a seizure and fell down in the
sight of all in convulsions. Later when she declared to the procurer
that she had had this malady since childhood, he treated her kindly.

Hippothoos in Tauromenium had come into great need. So when an elderly
woman fell in love with him, constrained by poverty, he married her.
Very shortly she died, leaving him all her possessions. So he set sail
for Italy always hoping to find his dear Habrocomes. Arriving at Taras
he saw Anthia in the slave market where the procurer because of her
illness was exhibiting her for sale. Hippothoos, recognizing her,
learned from her lips her story, pitied her, bought her and offered her
marriage. Finally Anthia told him that she was the wife of Habrocomes
whom she had lost. Hippothoos on hearing this revealed his devotion to
Habrocomes and promised to help her find her husband.

Habrocomes also had come to Italy, but in despair had given up his quest
and started back to Ephesus. Stopping at Rhodes on his voyage he was
discovered by Leucon and Rhode, who now took care of him. Next
Hippothoos also arrived at Rhodes, for he was taking Anthia back to
Ephesus. It was the time of a great festival to Helios. At the temple
Anthia dedicated locks of her hair with an inscription:

  “In behalf of her husband Habrocomes Anthia dedicates her locks to the
  god.”

This inscription was seen by Leucon and Rhode and the next day they
found Anthia herself in the temple and told her that Habrocomes was
alive and near and faithful. The good news spread through the city. A
Rhodian carried the word to Habrocomes and he came running like a madman
through the crowd, crying: “Anthia!” Near the temple of Isis he found
her, and they fell into each other’s arms. Then while the people
cheered, they went into the temple of Isis and offered thanks to the
goddess for their salvation. Then they went to the house of Leucon and
at a banquet that night told all their adventures.

When at last Habrocomes and Anthia were got to bed, they assured each
other that they had kept their oaths of faithfulness. The next day all
sailed to Ephesus. There in the temple of Artemis Habrocomes and Anthia
offered prayers and sacrifices; also they put up an inscription telling
what they had suffered and achieved. They erected magnificent sepulchres
for their parents. And they passed the rest of their lives together as
though every day were a festival. Leucon and Rhode shared all their
happiness and Hippothoos too established himself in Ephesus to be near
them.

From this summary of the plot, it is at once apparent that the chief
interests of the romance are love, adventure and religion. The three are
used by Xenophon with almost equal distribution of interest and
emphasis. Two divinely beautiful young people (the lad only sixteen)
fell in love with each other at first sight at the festival of Artemis.
Habrocomes had been too proud of his appearance and in his arrogance had
scorned the beautiful god of Love as his inferior. So Eros brought him
low and made the pair suffer many misfortunes through separation.
However they were married first and through all their troubles they were
true to their oaths of mutual faithfulness. Temptations and adventures
could not nullify their chastity, but their victories were often
superhuman and made possible only by miracles and the aid of protecting
gods. Anthia after a dream of seeing Habrocomes drawn away from her by
another fair lady awoke to utter the belief that if he had broken faith,
he had been forced by necessity; and for herself she would die before
losing her virtue.[69] At the end, when Anthia had proudly recounted the
lovers she had escaped, Moeris, Perilaos, Psammis, Polyidos, Anchialos,
the ruler of Taras, Habrocomes was able to reply that no other lady had
ever seemed to him fair or desirable: his Anthia found him as she had
left him in the prison at Tyre.[70] So hero and heroine shine as types
of perfect virtue. The nobility of the romance, as Dalmeyda points out,
appears not only in the purity of Habrocomes and Anthia, but in a
restrained expression of the sentiments and the acts of love.[71]

The course of this true love was proverbially unsmooth and after the
pair were separated, the plot seesaws between the adventures of hero and
heroine. These are varied, exciting and often closely paralleled. Both
were assailed by amorous lovers, Anthia by at least nine, Habrocomes by
Corymbos, a pirate, by Manto, daughter of the chief of the pirate band,
and by Cyno, the lewd wife of an old soldier. Both were shipwrecked,
Anthia twice. Both nearly met death: Anthia as a human sacrifice, by
taking poison, by being thrown in a trench with fierce dogs; Habrocomes
by crucifixion and pyre. Bandits and pirates captured both. Both were
nearly executed for murder, Anthia for actually killing a bandit who
attacked her, Habrocomes on the false charge of Cyno. Both were sold
into slavery, Habrocomes once, Anthia over and over again. Strangely
enough among their adventures war played little part: the only wars
described are official expeditions against bandits.

From most of these adventures the pair were saved by their piety. Never
did they lose an opportunity of offering prayer, thanksgiving, vows and
sacrifices to the gods. The story begins with the festival of Artemis at
Ephesus at which Habrocomes and Anthia fell in love and ends with their
return to her temple to offer thanksgiving for a happy ending out of all
their misfortunes. At the festival Anthia appeared as the priestess of
Artemis and led a procession of maidens in which she alone was garbed as
Artemis. This may be a symbol of her resolute chastity. Many details of
the worship of the goddess are given which seem based on reality.[72]
Artemis appears not as the Ephesian goddess of fertility, but as the
protectress of chastity and in this function joins with Isis in
safeguarding the purity of the heroine.

Eros is the offended god who undoubtedly in vengeance caused the violent
love of Habrocomes, the separation and the miseries of the unhappy pair.
There are few references to Aphrodite: to her son rather than to herself
is given the function of inspiring love. On the Babylonian baldequin
over the marriage bed of Habrocomes and Anthia there had been woven a
scene in which Aphrodite appeared attended by little Loves and Ares
unarmed was coming towards her led by Eros bearing a lighted torch.[73]
Habrocomes at Cyprus offered prayers to Aphrodite.[74]

The oracle of Apollo at Claros determined the plot by ordering the
marriage of Habrocomes and Anthia and predicting their voyaging, their
separation, their disasters, their reunion. But its clauses are not
sufficiently explained: we are never told why the young bride and groom
and their parents feel they must start out on their fateful journey.
Some think the obscurity is due to Xenophon’s epitomizer. There are
other possible explanations. The action may be an abandoning of
themselves to the will of the gods; or a bold step towards their final
promised safety; or a flight from the city where they had suffered so
much. An oracle is the traditional prelude to a voyage of adventure.
Xenophon uses it, says Dalmeyda, to pique curiosity, to render the
misfortunes of the two more dramatic by the prophecy of them and to
reassure his readers about a happy ending.[75]

In happiness or distress both the young lovers honored the god of the
place in which they found themselves. In the first part of their journey
together they offered sacrifice to Hera in her sanctuary at Samos.[76]
At Rhodes, Habrocomes’ prayer to Helios saved him from crucifixion and
burning through the miracles of the Nile.[77] Perhaps Helios was
rewarding Habrocomes for the golden armor which he and Anthia had
jointly dedicated to him at Rhodes in his temple.[78] This votive had
another certain part in the plot because when Habrocomes returned there
alone to pray near his votive, Leucon and Rhode, who had been reading
the inscription set up near it by their masters, recognized him and
revealed themselves.[79] At Memphis Anthia appealing to the pity of the
god Apis received from his famous oracle a promise that she would find
Habrocomes.[80]

Ares appears only in Xenophon. This is strange when war plays such a
part in the other romances. In the _Ephesiaca_, Hippothoos and his
bandits at the festival of Ares had the custom of suspending the victim
to be sacrificed, human being or animal, from a tree and killing it by
hurling their javelins at it. They were preparing to sacrifice Anthia in
this way when she was rescued.[81]

The other cult which is as important as that of Artemis for the story is
the cult of Isis. Anthia saved herself from Psammis’ advances by
declaring that she was a consecrated priestess of Isis so the rajah
respected her person.[82] At Memphis in her temple, Anthia appealed to
Isis who had preserved her chastity in the past to grant her salvation
and restore her to Habrocomes.[83] To escape Polyidos’ lust, Anthia took
refuge at the sanctuary of Isis at Memphis and again besought the
goddess for aid. Polyidos in fear of Isis and pity for Anthia promised
to respect her.[84] Finally near that temple of Isis Habrocomes and
Anthia found each other and in the same temple they offered prayers of
thanksgiving.[85] Isis thus in the _Ephesiaca_ figures as the
protectress of chastity.

The worship of Isis had been carried to the coast of Asia Minor by
sailors and traders. In the empire both Artemis and Isis had statues in
the Artemesion of Ephesus. The Egyptian cult, purified and penetrated
with moral ideas, seems to belong to the second century A.D. From its
very nature, the goddess Isis becomes as natural a protector of Anthia
as is Artemis.[86] This synthesis of the two goddesses in one
protectress of the heroine is a natural process of the philosophical
thought of the time. In a modern novel or a cinema, better clarity would
be attained for our non-philosophical minds if one goddess, Isis, was
worshipped by Anthia and was the deity of her salvation. Apuleius
achieved just this simplification in his novel by making Isis the one
and only savior of his hero Lucius.

To develop and sustain these three main interests of the story, love,
adventure and religion, the usual devices of a plot are employed. The
setting is cinematic in its many changes: Ephesus, the ocean, Samos,
Rhodes, Tyre, Syria, Cilicia, Cappadocia, Egypt, Sicily, Italy, Rhodes
again, back to Ephesus, and thrown in with the setting are many
geographical details which are often wrong.[87] The characters are
familiar types: the ravishingly beautiful hero and heroine, their
perturbed parents, high officials (Perilaos and Psammis) who take the
place of historical characters, faithful slaves, a wily procurer, a
doctor, pirates, bandits.

Dalmeyda has written a discriminating paragraph on the morality of the
characters.[88] He says that of course all the characters of the romance
do not attain the perfection of virtue of the two protagonists, but
altogether the author shows us a gallery of persons without wickedness
who are sympathetic and who have an air of honesty even in the exercise
of the worst occupations. Manto, who falsely accuses Habrocomes of
having wished to violate her and who has him cruelly tortured, is
motivated by an overwhelming passion. Apsyrtos, her father, chief of the
pirates, shows himself just and generous to the hero when he has
discovered his daughter’s calumny. The slaves are devoted and faithful.
Lampon to whom Manto gives Anthia as his wife is a rustic full of
civility and goodness. The man who traffics in young girls to whom
Anthia is sold shows a noble sympathy when she pretends to be afflicted
with seizures. Hippothoos, a brigand chief, exercises his trade
ruthlessly putting villages to fire and sword; he has a weakness too for
handsome lads; but to Habrocomes he is a faithful and devoted friend. He
renounces his passion for Anthia when he finds she is the wife of his
friend and aids her in every way in her search for Habrocomes. It is
this recognition of some good in every human being that gives Xenophon
his large humanity.

Oracles are given by Apollo at Claros and by Apis in Memphis. Dreams and
visions disturb both hero and heroine. A letter (Manto’s) is important
for the plot. Some conversation is used. A court-room scene is sketched
in, Habrocomes’ trial for murder before the prefect of Egypt.
Soliloquies are frequent since woeful lovers parted must bewail their
lot. Attempted suicides testify to their despair.[89] Résumés of
adventures are helpfully presented by important characters at different
stages in the narrative. And after a hundred hair-breadth escapes,
journeys end in lovers’ meetings as the oracle of Apollo had
reassuringly predicted at the beginning of the romance.

In spite of the use of these conventions, the story has a lively and
compelling interest. We are led to share the admiration and marvel of
the characters themselves. We are moved by the pity which they often
feel. Their piety induces in us reverence. We agree with their
preference for Greeks rather than barbarians. And we admire the romantic
love which maintains faithfulness in the face of death, or outlives
death itself.[90]

The style of this gem of a novel is finely cut, clear and beautiful in
its pure Atticism. Dalmeyda, who follows Rohde and Bürger in believing
the present form of the romance is due to an epitomizer, yet has to
admit that all the “naked simplicity” of the style is not due to the
redactor.[91] This characteristic is so distinctive of the author that
it seems to differentiate him from other writers of romance by giving
his story the air of a popular tale. Sometimes, Dalmeyda continues, the
expression is double, as if in a sort of naive elegance. Words are
repeated awkwardly. Stereotyped formulae are used. The author gives
every person a name even if he appears only once. Love is generally
expressed in conventional terms, which are however intended to suggest
its violent or tragic character. There is even a ready-made formula for
ecstasy (οὐκέτι καρτερῶν or οὐκέτι φέρειν δυνάµενος). But the passion of
Habrocomes and Anthia is expressed differently. At their final reunion
Xenophon describes with force and delicacy their joy which is both
tender and passionate.[92]

Whether “the naked simplicity” of the _Ephesiaca_ is to be attributed to
an epitomizer, to its approach to the genre of a popular tale, or to the
author’s own taste, the romance is certainly characterized throughout by
brevity, restraint and sparcity of decoration. There are so few
descriptions that those of the festival of Artemis and of the canopy
over the marriage bed of Habrocomes and Anthia are notable.[93] The
action is too rapid and varied to allow time for decorative passages.
Instead of being set amid purple patches, it is advanced by a kind of
documentary evidence: two oracles, two letters, one memorial and two
votive inscriptions, all directly quoted,[94] and a reference to an
inscription finally offered as a votive in the Artemesion by Habrocomes
and Anthia giving an account of all their adventures.

Inset narratives, those stories within stories which make pleasing
digressions in other longer romances, are here very few. Hippothoos
recounts his love for the beautiful Hyperanthes and the boy’s untimely
drowning.[95] Aegialeus, the Spartan living with the mummy of his wife,
tells how his love for her has outlasted death.[96] Both these
narratives are colorful, dramatic and poignant from the very qualities
which characterize all the romance. These are brevity, sincerity and
restrained emotion.

The influence of Chariton is clearly seen in Xenophon both in direct
imitation and in qualities of style. When the Phoenician pirates had
kidnapped Habrocomes and Anthia on their trireme and fired their
captives’ vessel leaving many to perish in the sea, an old slave, as he
swam, pitifully called to Habrocomes to save his aged paedagogue or at
least kill him and bury him.[97] In view of the situation this is a
ridiculous appeal, but it is a clear imitation of a passage in Chariton
where, when Chaereas resolves to go to sea to search for Callirhoe, his
father Ariston begs his son not to desert him, but to take him on his
trireme,[98] or to wait a few days for his father’s death and burial.
Anthia, when Manto, the daughter of the brigand chief, demands
Habrocomes’ submission to her passion, begs her husband to save his life
in this way and swears that she will leave him free by killing herself,
only asking from him burial, one last kiss, and a place in his memory.
This is in direct imitation of Chariton and of Chaereas’ words when he
finds Callirhoe married to Dionysius.[99] Here Xenophon is simpler than
his model, for he does not transfer the effective lines from Homer which
Chariton quotes.[100] The burial of Anthia with its rich funeral gifts
resembles the burial of Callirhoe and also the lavish equipment of the
cenotaph for Chaereas.[101] The language of Chariton is adapted for the
lament of Habrocomes in Italy at the failure of his quest and his
renewed pledge of faithfulness unto death.[102]

These clear indications of imitation of detail serve to corroborate the
evidence of general imitation of style. Indeed Dalmeyda sees in the
whole temperament of Xenophon a close affinity to Chariton. Xenophon
introduces the most startling events without fanfare. Characteristic of
his style are accumulated questions, pathetic résumés, oaths,
invocations of the gods, apostrophes of men and of things particularly
of that fatal beauty which the young hero and heroine deplore because of
their misery. Xenophon’s relation to Chariton in all this is
striking.[103]

The plot of the novel has seemed to some critics epic in its
chronological narrative of successive adventures. Others find the
structure a tragic plot with an angry god demanding satisfaction for the
sin of arrogance and the guilty hero involving in his own nemesis the
one most dear to him. It is true that this and other resemblances to
tragedy exist. The story of Manto and her false denunciation of
Habrocomes for an attempt to rape her after she has failed to win his
love goes back to the Phaedra story of Euripides’ _Hippolytus_. The
noble goatherd husband of Anthia finds his prototype in Electra’s
peasant husband in Euripides’ play. The scene where Anthia on her
wedding-night takes poison which proves to be a sleeping potion, to
avoid a new marriage and keep her troth to her lost love seems to be the
antecedent of the poison scene in Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_.

To me, however, this novelette finds its closest affiliation in another
successor. Both the structure and the devices used to arouse emotion
anticipate the modern cinema. This contemporary form of amusement is
such an accepted part of modern life that we hardly need to read the
books about the cinema by Allerdyce Nicoll, Lewis Jacobs, Maurice
Bardèche and others to understand “the Rise of the American Film.”
Personally I go to the movies to escape from routine and from painful
thoughts of our own times. Occasionally I allow myself to be educated
about _Steel_ or _The River_. I prefer to industrial films or films of
social problems like lynching, prison conditions, housing, films with
biographies of great historical characters: Pasteur, Zola, Rembrandt. I
like films set in local history such as _Maryland_ or _Kentucky_ or
_Gone with the Wind_ or _The Howards of Virginia_ or _The North West
Mounted Police_. I have to shut my eyes during the fighting and the
cruelties of _Sea Hawk_ and _All This and Heaven Too_. But I like the
cinematic rapidity of changes of scene, the control by the camera of
space and magnitude, the extension of the time-limit, the fade-ins and
fade-outs which can create fantastic visions, the value of the
flash-back to recall what has been already seen, the concentration of
interest achieved by close-ups.

Many of these devices I recognize in the Greek Romances and especially
in Xenophon of Ephesus. His narrative is as condensed as that of a
scenario with lacunae, abrupt transitions, failures in an adequate
vocabulary of emotion. The local history of Ephesus is emphasized and
depicted. Scenes shift with cinematic rapidity. Hair-raising adventures
succeed each other at an exciting pace. Bandits and pirates achieve
robbery and kidnapping. High police officials or officers like G-Men
perform valiant rescues. Court-room scenes as in many films vie with
shipwrecks in interest. Documents like letters are presented to the
reader’s eye as on the screen. Visions and dreams are made to seem as
real as in fade-ins and fade-outs.

There is a clear morality in the opposition of good and bad characters
and in the final victory of the good. Hero and heroine captivate by
their extraordinary beauty and maintain their chastity and fidelity
against terrific odds. Hence their phenomenal virtue is rewarded by
reunion in the end. Religion often plays a saving part (as on the screen
for example in _Brother Orchid_). The Reader like the audience at the
movie goes away with a sense of having been enlivened, entertained and
vastly improved. For the function of the Greek romance in the second and
third centuries A.D., when the universal rule of the Roman Empire gave
scant scope for great oratory or tragedy under the blessings of an
enforced peace, was to entertain and to edify. The Greek romance
substituted for the adventures of the mind new themes: the excitements
of passion, the interests of travel, and the consolations of religion.
It was lifted out of the ranks of the trivial and the second-rate by its
great central theme: that there is such a thing as true love; that
weighed in the balance against it all the world is nothing; and that it
outlives time and even death.

Our own age in America, bleeding internally from the agony of a war
which it is powerless to end, fearful for its own menaced security,
demands from the cinema not only temporary oblivion and excitement, but
encouragement to believe that love lasts even unto death, that heroes
ride again and are victorious, and that finally, by the help of God, the
right will conquer.



                                   IV
                    _THE_ AETHIOPICA _OF HELIODORUS_


The life of Heliodorus is as obscure as that of each of the other
writers of Greek romance, but in the tradition of his there is a special
point of controversy. Was Heliodorus a pagan novelist or a Christian
bishop? Or by some strange metamorphosis did the writer of the romantic
_Aethiopica_ become in later and staider years the Bishop of Tricca? The
only certain facts are found in the autobiographical sentence which
concludes the romance, that he was a Phoenician of Emesa, of a family
descended from Helios, the son of Theodosius.

It was Socrates who, in the fifth century A.D., stated that the custom
of celibacy for the clergy was introduced in Thessaly by Heliodorus when
he became bishop of Tricca. He added that Heliodorus wrote in his youth
a love-story, which he called _Aethiopica_.[104] Photius in the ninth
century says that he received the bishopric later, that is after writing
the romance. Nicephorus Callistus in the fourteenth century after
quoting the remark of Socrates adds that the _Aethiopica_ created such a
scandal Heliodorus had to choose between his bishopric and the
destruction of his romance so he abandoned his charge, but this is
probably mere embellishment of the story. As Rattenbury points out,[105]
neither Socrates, Photius nor Nicephorus declares that Heliodorus was a
Christian when he wrote his romance, but they imply clearly that he
became a bishop afterwards. And if the author of the romance was a
devout pagan as he seems to have been, that state of mind could have
made possible his conversion to Christianity. This seems a reasonable
explanation of the strong tradition continuing from the fifth century
that Heliodorus became bishop of Tricca.

As to his date, there are some certainties but no exactitude. The Bishop
of Tricca must have lived before Socrates wrote his _Historia
Ecclesiastica_ which covered the period 306-439. There is no external
evidence on the time of the writer of the romance, but from the general
conclusions about the dating of the Greek Romances, he probably wrote
not later than the end of the third century. His native city Emesa was
the birthplace of two Roman Emperors, Heliogabalus (218-222) and
Alexander Severus (222-235). About the middle of the century Emesa was
conquered by Zenobia of Palmyra, but was freed by Aurelian in 272.
Heliodorus may have written in its most flourishing period, 220-240. It
is generally agreed that Heliodorus is later than Chariton who could not
have written after 150 and earlier than Achilles Tatius who wrote about
the beginning of the fourth century.

Rattenbury thinks that a possible reconstruction of Heliodorus’ life is
this. He was born in Emesa in Phoenician Syria. His family was connected
with the cult of the Sun. In his youth, perhaps between 220 and 240, he
wrote a romance in which the influence of the cult of Helios appears,
also the neo-Pythagoreanism of Apollonius of Tyana. It is not impossible
that finally he was converted to Christianity, became bishop of Tricca
and in that office introduced in his diocese celibacy for the
clergy.[106] Calderini has shown with discrimination and perspicacity
that the special characteristic of the _Aethiopica_ is the interest in
philosophy which distinguishes it and its author from Chariton, the
writer of historical romance, and from Achilles Tatius, the writer of
romance tinged with science.[107] A study of the _Aethiopica_ itself
will show how deeply infused the novel is with this religious
philosophical coloring.

Before outlining the narrative, I will give as usual a list of the
principal characters. These are:

  _Theagenes_, the young Greek hero
  _Chariclea_, the young heroine, supposed to be a Greek
  _Hydaspes_, king of Ethiopia
  _Persinna_, queen of Ethiopia
  _Calasiris_, of Memphis, priest of Isis and his sons:
    _Thyamis_, in exile, a pirate captain
    _Petosiris_, priest of Isis
  _Charicles_, priest of Apollo at Delphi
  _Alcamenes_, nephew of Charicles
  _Trachinus_, a pirate
  _Pelorus_, a pirate and officer of Trachinus
  _Cnemon_, a young Athenian, son of
  _Aristippus_, an Athenian, a stupid husband
  _Demaeneta_, the amorous step-mother of Cnemon
  _Thisbe_, the scheming maid of Demaeneta
  _Arsinoe_, a slave-girl, a friend of Thisbe
  _Nausicles_, a merchant
  _Thermuthis_, an officer under Thyamis
  _Oroondates_, viceroy of the Great King of the Persians
  _Mithranes_, viceroy of Oroondates
  _Arsace_, wife of Oroondates
  _Cybele_, the maid of Arsace
  _Achaemenes_, son of Cybele
  _Euphrates_, the chief eunuch of Oroondates
  _Sisimithres_, an Ethiopian Gymnosophist
  _Meroebus_, nephew of Hydaspes

The opening scene of the romance is startling and mysterious. In Egypt,
from a mountain near the mouth of the Nile a band of pirates get a view
of the seashore. They behold a heavily laden ship without a crew, a
plain strewn with dead bodies and the remains of an ill-fated banquet. A
wounded youth is lying on the ground. He is being cared for by a
beautiful young woman dressed in a religious garb which makes her seem a
priestess or a goddess, Diana or Isis. Indeed a divine effulgence
emanates from her. The pirates though at first overawed descend and
collect rich booty. Their captain then courteously conveys the maiden
and the youth to their pirate home. This was called “The Pasture” and
was a sort of island in a delta of the Nile. Some of the pirates lived
in huts made of reeds, some in boats. The water was their fortification.
Their streets were winding water-ways cut through the reeds.

The pirate chief assigned the care of his two captives to a young Greek,
Cnemon, who was his interpreter. The prisoners were overjoyed on finding
their custodian a Greek. He promised to heal the wounds of Theagenes,
who had now revealed his own name and that of Chariclea, and on their
urgent request, he told him his own story.

“I,” he said, “am the son of Aristippus, an Athenian. After my brother’s
death, my father married again a woman named Demaeneta, who was a
mischief-maker. Like Phaedra she fell in love with me, her step-son,
indeed called me her dear Hippolytus. When I repelled her advances she
accused me to my father of attempted rape. He had me scourged. Worse
than that, Thisbe, the maid of Demaeneta, on her mistress’ orders
involved me in an amorous intrigue with herself and later promised to
show me my step-mother with an adulterer. Sword in hand I followed her
to the bed-room and just as I was about to murder her paramour, I found
he was my father. Aristippus charged me in court with attempted
parricide. Only a divided vote spared my life and sent me into exile.
Lately I received news that my father through Thisbe had found out his
wife’s corruption; she had killed herself; and now Aristippus is trying
to obtain from the people his son’s pardon.”

The next day Thyamis the pirate leader although he was warned in a dream
that having Chariclea, he would not have her, announced to his band his
intention of marrying her. She pretended to consent, but asked that
their marriage be postponed until they reached Memphis so that there she
could resign her priesthood of Diana. Thyamis accepted this condition.
Theagenes was horrified until Chariclea explained that this agreement
was made only to secure more time for their plans for safety. A hostile
band of brigands was now seen approaching. Thyamis had Cnemon hide
Chariclea in a secret cave. When the terrible battle began to go against
him, Thyamis rushed back to the cave and killed a woman in the dark whom
he believed Chariclea. In battle he was then taken alive. The victorious
brigands fired the huts on the island but did not find the cave. Cnemon
and Theagenes, who had escaped in little boats, returned to the island.
When Cnemon conducted Theagenes to the cave by its secret entrance, they
found in its dark gloom the body of a dead woman. Theagenes believing it
Chariclea burst into lamentation and planned suicide. But Cnemon took
away his sword, got a torch lighted and found that the woman was Thisbe
and in her dead hand was a letter. They soon found Chariclea alive.

After the first joy of reunion Chariclea wished to know who the dead
woman was. Cnemon revealed that she was Thisbe and related all her
story: how after her plot against him, Arsinoe, a rival courtesan whose
lover Nausicles she had stolen, revealed Thisbe’s machinations against
Demaeneta; how Cnemon’s father was exiled on the ground of complicity
and Thisbe fled. The letter in Thisbe’s hand proved to be to Cnemon, a
petition to save her from the pirates who had stolen her. Just then
Thermuthis, her pirate captor, arrived to reclaim her, only to find her
dead. The sword in her wound proved to him that she was slain by
Thyamis.

Theagenes and Chariclea, Cnemon and Thermuthis now started out in
separate pairs towards Chemmis, a rich city on the Nile, to get food.
The menace of Thermuthis was conveniently removed as he died from the
bite of an asp. Near Chemmis Cnemon met an old man who entertained him
at his home. He proved to be Calasiris, the foster-father of Theagenes
and Chariclea. This he revealed to Cnemon in a long narrative of his own
life: how though a priest of Isis he had gone into voluntary exile to
break off the wiles of a courtesan; how he had sojourned at Delphi,
attending the ceremonies and talking with the philosophers. One,
Charicles, related how in his own travels in Egypt he had had intrusted
to him by an Ethiopian merchant a beautiful child. The merchant had
found her exposed with a bag of jewels and an inscribed fillet. These
too he gave to Charicles making him promise to guard her freedom and wed
her to a free man. He had named her Chariclea and brought her up in
Greece but now, though she was very beautiful, she refused to marry.

Calasiris also described to Cnemon the sacrifice to Neoptolemus offered
by the Aenianians and the Delphic oracle which he had heard there.

  “Delphians, regard with reverential care,
  Both him the goddess-born, and her the fair;
  “_Grace_” is the sound which ushers in her name,
  The syllable wherewith it ends, is “_Fame_.”
  They both my fane shall leave, and oceans past,
  In regions torrid shall arrive at last;
  There shall the gods reward their pious vows,
  And snowy chaplets bind their dusky brows.”[108]

Calasiris at the urgent request of Cnemon described all the ceremonies
attendant on the sacrifice to Neoptolemus: the hecatomb and the other
victims, the Thracian maidens bearing offerings, the hymn to the Hero,
the dance, the procession of the fifty armed horsemen led by Theagenes,
the radiant appearance of Chariclea in a chariot. All this description
was the brilliant setting for the meeting of Theagenes and Chariclea,
for when Theagenes took from the priestess’ hand the torch to light the
sacrificial pyre, in them both the flame of first love was kindled.

The next day Chariclea lay abed very ill in her apartment in the temple.
Calasiris feared it was due to “_fascinatio_.” Calasiris after meeting
Theagenes had a vision in which Apollo and Diana consigned Theagenes and
Chariclea to his care and bade him take them to Egypt. The next morning
Theagenes confessed to Calasiris his love and besought his aid.
Charicles begged him to heal his daughter. This enabled him to talk to
her.

Chariclea recovered sufficiently the next day to attend the contest of
the men in armor and to award the palm to the victor, Theagenes. But her
passion and her illness increased after this second meeting and
Calasiris was again summoned to treat her. Her disease was diagnosed as
love and Calasiris persuaded her father to let him see the fillet found
with the exposed baby. Calasiris was able to read the inscription on it.
It was a letter from her mother, Persinna, queen of the Ethiopians,
revealing that she had borne a white daughter because at her conception
she had been looking at a picture of Andromeda; then fearing the charge
of adultery she had exposed her baby with the fillet and the jewels. All
this Calasiris told to Chariclea. Calasiris then made a plot with her by
which she was to pretend to become affianced to Alcamenes, the nephew of
Charicles, as her foster-father wished. Charicles was delighted although
he was nervous because of a dream in which an eagle from the hand of
Apollo bore his daughter away. He gave her all the jewels.

Then Calasiris persuaded some Phoenician merchants to take him and two
friends on their ship as far as Sicily; and he ordered Theagenes and his
young friends to kidnap Chariclea. She consented to the plan after
Theagenes had bound himself by an oath never to force her love. After
they were off, Charicles roused the city to pursuit of them. Calasiris
after telling of the arrival of the Phoenician ship at Zacynthos
interrupted his narrative to rest. Nausicles returned to the house and
unknown to the others had brought Chariclea with him.

(Here the author himself gave a résumé of the adventures of Theagenes
and Chariclea from the time they parted with Cnemon. In the cave the
lovers had a long talk and made an agreement as to what they would do in
case fortune again separated them: they would inscribe on temple,
statue, herm or boundary stone, Theagenes the name Pythicus, Chariclea
Pythias; the direction in which each departed; to what place or people;
also the time of writing. For recognition if they met disguised they
decided to use as signs Chariclea’s ring and Theagenes’ scar from a
boar. Their watchwords were to be a lamp for her, a palm-tree for him.
They sealed this covenant in kisses, then left the cave taking
Chariclea’s sacred robes, her bow and quiver and her jewels.

Soon they met an armed band and were taken prisoners. The commander was
Mithranes, an officer of Oroondates, viceroy of Egypt. Nausicles had
persuaded him for pay to make this expedition to the island in search of
his Thisbe. Nausicles on seeing Theagenes and Chariclea cleverly
pretended that Chariclea was Thisbe, the object of his quest. Mithranes
demanded Theagenes as his prize and despatched him to Oroondates as a
fine youth for service with the Great King.)

The next day Calasiris and Cnemon heard all Nausicles’ story from
himself, saw Chariclea and made a plan to ransom Theagenes. After
Nausicles had celebrated a sacrifice in the temple of Hermes, the god of
gain, Calasiris on request continued his narrative of the voyage from
Delphi. At Zacynthos a deaf old fisherman Tyrrhenus gave them lodging.
The Tyrian merchant who won the victory at the Pythian games now sued
for Chariclea’s hand. Tyrrhenus discovered an ambush of pirates waiting
for the Phoenician ship to sail. Calasiris without revealing this
persuaded the Tyrian captain to sail that night. The pirate crew under
Trachinus pursued them and engaged them in a terrible battle so finally
the Phoenicians had to surrender. Trachinus demanded marriage with
Chariclea and she deceitfully promised her hand if he would spare
Calasiris and “her brother” Theagenes. With difficulty the pirates
maneuvered the boat to land near the mouth of the Nile. Trachinus told
Calasiris that he proposed to marry Chariclea that day. Calasiris,
ingenious as ever, persuaded him to let Chariclea go on the ship to
attire herself for the wedding and be left undisturbed there. Calasiris
then plotted with Pelorus, second in command of the pirates, telling him
Chariclea loved him. Pelorus since he had been the first to board the
Phoenician ship demanded, as his right of first choice of the booty, the
girl. A terrible battle ensued in which Trachinus was killed, Pelorus
wounded by Theagenes and put to flight and Theagenes badly wounded. In
the morning Egyptian pirates arrived and carried them both off.
Calasiris had spent his days mourning for them until this present
recovery of Chariclea.

The next day Calasiris, Cnemon and Nausicles set out to find Theagenes.
An acquaintance informed Nausicles that Mithranes had sent his troops on
an expedition against the men of Bessa, commanded by Thyamis, because
they had stolen a captive Greek youth. So Nausicles and his friends
returned to Chemmis and told all to Chariclea. Nausicles gave a farewell
dinner-party since the season favorable for navigation compelled him to
sail for Greece. Cnemon after a struggle with himself decided to go with
him and was permitted to marry his daughter, Nausiclea.

Calasiris and Chariclea disguised as beggars started for Bessa to seek
Theagenes. Near Bessa they found many corpses lying on the ground. An
old woman told them there had been a battle between Mithranes’ forces
and the men of Bessa in which the men of Bessa had been victorious and
Mithranes had been killed. The victors had now set out to Memphis
against Oroondates. The old woman had lost her son in battle. That night
Calasiris and Chariclea secretly watched her magic rites by which she
raised him to give her news of her other son. The shade also revealed
that there were two witnesses to her wicked necromancy; that Chariclea
should be happily reunited with Theagenes and that his own mother would
meet her death by the sword. This soon happened, for she fell on an
upright sword on the battle-field.

Calasiris and Chariclea arrived at Memphis just as Thyamis and his
brigands began a siege of it. The people of Memphis in the absence of
Oroondates consulted the queen Arsace about the wisdom of going out to
attack the enemy. Thyamis had been driven into exile by the slanders of
his brother Petosiris who swore there was an amour between Thyamis and
Arsace. Petosiris had then succeeded his brother in the priesthood of
Isis. Arsace after looking at the enemy from the wall ordered a single
combat between Thyamis and Petosiris to decide the war. In this combat
Petosiris was forced to flee. As he was running around the city walls
the third time, Calasiris arrived and saw the combat between his two
sons that an oracle had foretold. Rushing between them he ended the
contest.

Chariclea discovered Theagenes and suddenly threw her arms about him.
Her hero disgusted at her beggar’s rags threw her off and did not
recognize her until she whispered: “Pythias, have you forgotten the
torch?” Then he took her to his arms, while Arsace and the other
watchers on the wall marvelled at the scene as though it were on the
stage. So peace was made by the father and the lovers were reunited. All
went to the temple of Isis. Calasiris restored his son Thyamis to the
priesthood.

Arsace had fallen madly in love with Theagenes on seeing him twice and
confided this to her aged maid, Cybele. This maid on going to the temple
of Isis to offer prayers for her mistress learned that Calasiris had
died there during the night and that no one except the priests could
enter the temple for seven days on account of the funeral rites.
Thereupon Cybele craftily secured permission to entertain the two young
Greeks who were staying there in Arsace’s palace and took them home.
When they found that they were in the palace, they became suspicious for
they had noticed the queen’s interest in Theagenes the day before. So at
Chariclea’s suggestion, Theagenes said they were brother and sister.
Cybele went to Arsace’s apartment to tell her all, locking the guests in
their room. In her absence, her son Achaemenes came home, listened at
their door and from their talk and from a glimpse at Theagenes realized
that this was the very youth who had been taken from him by Thyamis.

As the days passed, Arsace tried to win the love of Theagenes first
through subtle allurement, then through open confession of her passion
and at last through domination. Achaemenes finally told Arsace who they
were so the queen informed Theagenes that they were now her slaves as
they had been the captive slaves of Mithranes and he must obey her. Then
in the presence of Cybele Theagenes promised himself to Arsace on
condition that she would never give Chariclea to Achaemenes, who had
demanded her. He confessed that Chariclea was not his sister but his
fiancée. On hearing this Achaemenes rode away to inform Oroondates of
all.

Oroondates was engaged in a campaign against Hydaspes, King of the
Ethiopians, who had got possession of Philae. On hearing Achaemenes’
report Oroondates despatched his eunuch Bagoas with fifty horsemen to
Memphis to bring Theagenes and Chariclea to his camp. He sent two
letters to this effect to Arsace and to his chief eunuch. Achaemenes he
kept with himself.

In Memphis Thyamis had been unable to procure the release of the young
Greeks from Arsace. Moreover the frustrated queen had begun to try
imprisonment and torture on Theagenes. When he was still obstinate,
Cybele advised getting rid of Chariclea to free his heart and she
prepared to poison the girl. Fortunately a maid exchanged the goblets.
Cybele herself drank the poison and expired, but with her last breath
she declared Chariclea had murdered her. So Arsace threw the girl into
the prison where Theagenes was and had her tried. In the court-room
Chariclea pleaded guilty, for this was the plan that she and her lover
had agreed on in the prison, that they might die together. The Supreme
Council ordered that she be burned alive. Chariclea was saved by a
miracle, for the flames on the pyre refused to touch her person. Arsace
then consigned her again to prison on the ground that she was a witch.

In prison, Chariclea and Theagenes had a long talk about the
dream-visions they had each seen. To each Calasiris had appeared and
given a metrical prophecy. To Chariclea he had said:

  “Bearing Pantarbè, fear not flames, fair maid,
  Fate, to whom naught is hard, shall bring thee aid.”

And to Theagenes:

  “From Arsace, the morrow sets thee free—
  To Aethiopia with the virgin flee.”[109]

Chariclea interpreted these oracles to mean that her jewel, the
Pantarbè, was protecting her; and that on the next day they would be
freed from Arsace and go to Ethiopia.

Meanwhile Bagoas arrived at Memphis and Euphrates on receiving the
letter of Oroondates sent Theagenes and Chariclea off secretly with
Bagoas. On their journey they received first the news that Arsace had
killed herself and second that Oroondates had gone to Syene. Later on
the way they were seized by a band of Troglodite Ethiopians who took
Bagoas and the two Greeks to their king, Hydaspes. He planned to save
them as victims to be sacrificed to the gods.

Hydaspes was besieging Syene. Oroondates had got inside the city before
the blockade and was directing the defense. But Hydaspes used a new
weapon against him, inundation. His army dug a great trench around Syene
with earth-works encircling it. This trench he connected with the river
Nile by a long canal, fifty feet wide, banked by high walls. When the
works were finished, he cut away the embankment between his canal and
the Nile and let the river in. Syene became an island city and the
pressure of the water on the walls threatened inundation. So Oroondates
and the people of Syene had to sue for peace. This was granted, and
Hydaspes built up again the embankment between his canal and the Nile
and proceeded to drain off the water.

During the festival of the overflowing of the Nile Oroondates and his
army slipped away in the night, bridging the mud swamps about Syene by
planks, and went to Elephantine, which revolted with him against
Hydaspes. In the new battle Hydaspes was again victorious and took
Oroondates prisoner, but the Ethiopian was a generous conqueror and sent
Oroondates back to be again viceroy of his province.

Hydaspes on his way home stopped two days at Philae and from there sent
home letters announcing his victory to Persinna and the Gymnosophists.
Persinna recalled a dream that she had brought forth a full-grown
daughter and interpreted the daughter as this victory. The people
assembled for the celebration at the island city of Meroe and according
to their traditions demanded human sacrifice of foreign captives of war.
The prisoners now underwent the test of chastity by ascending the altar
of fire and of course Theagenes and Chariclea passed the test.

The Gymnosophists through their leader Sisimithres refused to witness
human sacrifice and foretold that this one would never be consummated.
Chariclea begged them to stay and hear her case. (She had recognized
Sisimithres’ name as that of the one who had given her to Charicles at
Catadupa). Chariclea declared that she was a native, not a foreigner,
and produced her fillet and her jewels, among them the mystic ring,
Pantarbé. Sisimithres narrated his part in her story. Hydaspes was
puzzled over how he could have a _white_ child, but Sisimithres
explained that Persinna at the time of conception had fixed her eyes on
a picture of the naked, white Andromeda. When the picture was brought in
as evidence, Chariclea’s resemblance to its Andromeda was found
startling. Moreover a birthmark of a black ring around Chariclea’s arm
attested her black blood.

The people now refused to have Chariclea sacrificed, but the fate of
Theagenes still hung in the balance. Chariclea begged that if he were to
be sacrificed, she might perform the deed. (Apparently she planned to
carry out a kind of suicide pact.) Hydaspes thought his daughter was
insane and sent her into a tent with her mother while he received
ambassadors and their gifts of victory. His nephew Meroebus brought a
mighty athlete. Hydaspes as a joke gave him in return an elephant, but
also promised him the hand of Chariclea. The Axiomitae presented a
giraffe, an animal so strange that it terrified some of the natives.
Moreover, one bull and two horses broke their fetters and dashed madly
around the inside of the circle of guards. Theagenes mounted another
horse, pursued the bull, wore it out and finally downed it. The
enchanted spectators now demanded that he be matched with the champion
Meroebus. Him too he vanquished. Oroondates crowned Theagenes as victor,
but nevertheless prepared to sacrifice him.

At that moment ambassadors from Syene arrived with a letter from
Oroondates. He begged that a young woman captive be sent to him with her
father who was one of the ambassadors. This was Charicles. He recognized
Theagenes and accused him of having stolen his daughter at Delphi.
Theagenes revealed that Chariclea was the one demanded. Sisimithres told
the rest of the story. Chariclea rushing out of the tent begged
Charicles to forgive her elopement. Persinna told Hydaspes that she had
learned that Chariclea was betrothed to Theagenes.

Sisimithres speaking not in Greek but in Ethiopian for all the people to
hear ordered Hydaspes to submit to the will of the gods who had saved
the two young lovers and who did not approve of human sacrifice and
exhorted him to end human sacrifices forever. So Hydaspes asked the
people to observe the will of the gods and to sanction the marriage of
Theagenes and Chariclea. This they did. Then Hydaspes consecrated the
two as priest and priestess of the Sun and the Moon and on their heads
he placed the mitres which he and Persinna had worn as symbols of their
offices. Thus was fulfilled the oracle:

  “In regions torrid shall arrive at last;
  There shall the gods reward their pious vows,
  And snowy chaplets bind their dusky brows.”

Then a great procession escorted them to Meroe there to fulfill the more
mystic parts of wedlock.

In this brief re-telling of Heliodorus’ long story, certain striking
features of his structure appear. Geography and ethnography are
important as in the other novelists. The eastern basin of the
Mediterranean is the center of the adventures, the district which for
centuries was the scene of the conflict for power between many nations.
As in Xenophon, many geographical details are given, often with little
accuracy.[110] As Maillon points out, imagination and fantasy falsify
the historical and geographical allusions. Heliodorus gathers everything
that can satisfy the taste for the strange and the marvellous. At a time
when the critical spirit was so little developed in the historians, a
writer of romance would naturally produce marvellous narratives and
vague descriptions. Heliodorus confuses the Ethiopia of Herodotus with
that of the Ptolemies and imagines an Ethiopian empire which did not
exist during the domination of Egypt by the Persians.[111] As in
Chariton, the superiority of the Greeks over the barbarians is part of
the author’s faith.

In the development of the plot Heliodorus makes his set more unified,
less cinematic than Xenophon had done. The scene of action lies almost
entirely in Egypt with a shift to Ethiopia for the final climax. This
Egyptian set is to be sure varied by different local scenes: the Nile,
an island village in its delta, towns such as Chemmis, Memphis, Syene
and Philae, the battle-fields of Bessa and Elephantine, but nearly the
whole plot develops in Egypt. The exceptions are in the sub-plot
presented in Cnemon’s narrative of his life-history which is laid in
Athens, and in Calasiris’ long account of his visit to Delphi. These
however are clearly set off as insets in the unity of the Egyptian
scene.

The plot itself is an original combination of epic and dramatic
structure. The other writers of Greek romance begin at the beginning
with a detailed account of the hero and heroine, their family, their
background. Heliodorus in true epic style plunges us _in medias res_
with his startling opening scene of a seascape where a ship rides at
anchor, treasure-laden but not manned, where the shore is littered with
the remains of a banquet, but strewn with corpses, where a young man
lies wounded with a beautiful maiden dressed as a goddess ministering to
him. The reader is as amazed and puzzled at the sight as are the pirates
who are peering down from the hills.

Another epic part of the structure is that the narrative of events does
not proceed in a straight line but zigzags back and forth while a new
arrival contributes his part to the development of the plot, or the
author himself gives a retrospective résumé of past events to explain
the present. Calasiris’ long narrative is the best illustration of this
resumptive method but Cnemon, Achaemenes, Sisimithres and Charicles all
contribute their share of résumés.[112] In general, Heliodorus uses
résumés with great effect to clarify his complicated plot. Sometimes he
merely suggests a summary of events (V. 16, 5); sometimes he gives a
full succinct recapitulation of events (II. 14, 1-2); sometimes his
heroes recount their adventures to complain of them (V. 11).[113]

Many episodes too are taken from Homer. The games in Delphi in honor of
Apollo are indebted to those given by Achilles in honor of Patroclus.
The τειχοσκοπία where Arsace on the wall of Memphis watches the combat
in the plain recalls Helen on the walls of Troy. The duel there between
Thyamis and Theagenes is like one of the Homeric single combats. In it
Theagenes’ pursuit of Thyamis around the walls owes something to the
pursuit of Hector by the swift-footed Achilles. The scar of Theagenes
which is to be a sign of recognition was surely suggested by Odysseus’.
The scene where the old woman evokes her dead son on the field of battle
imitates the Homeric Νέκυια.[114]

Even more prominent than his debt to epic poetry is Heliodorus’ use of
dramatic structure. All the usual devices of Greek tragedy appear.
Indeed the plot centers on the recognition of the young Greek heroine as
the white Ethiopian princess by the tokens exposed with her in babyhood:
her jewels, her mystic ring, her lettered fillet. This dramatic device
of an agnorisis or recognition is multiplied by Heliodorus for repeated
situations: the recognition of Chariclea in beggar’s rags by Theagenes
through her watchword, the identification of Charicles as her
foster-father and of Sisimithres as the noble Greek who found and saved
the exposed child.

No less important is the usual Greek peripeteia, or reversal of fortune,
for hero and heroine are repeatedly reunited only to be separated anew;
together or separately they are rescued from one catastrophe only to be
plunged into a worse danger. Calasiris’ long narrative resembles not
only the minstrel’s songs at the court of Alcinous of old far-off divine
events, but also the messenger’s speeches in tragedy wherein events too
horrible or too complicated to be presented on the stage are told with a
realism which starts the imagination. The mechanism of a parallel
subplot is employed in Cnemon’s life-story. The letter in Thisbe’s dead
hand is indebted to Phaedra’s in Euripides’ _Hippolytus_. Cybele,
Arsace’s maid, owes much in her character of confidant to Phaedra’s
nurse though she is more cynical and familiar. The crowd takes the place
of the chorus, now demanding human sacrifice in the name of tradition,
now releasing Chariclea from it through pity, now approving of the
appeal of the noble Gymnosophists in the name of the gods to abolish the
immolation of human victims. The _deus ex machina_ is supplied by these
very gods of the Gymnosophists, Helios, the Sun, and Selene, the Moon,
celestial symbols of pure deities of space and time conceived in the
philosophical mind.

Against this structure of drama the characters move as though on a stage
and even through the stylized formulae of dramatic conventions usually
attain individuality and vitality. Maillon seems to me undiscriminating
when he speaks of them all as general types, not individuals, as
marionettes who can talk, lament and complain, but are without
life.[115] Even characters that fall into general groups may as in real
life have distinguishing traits and in the list of characters certain
are unforgettable personalities.

The hero Theagenes is of course supremely handsome and physically
strong. He is also as Wolff says spectacularly courageous but easily
discouraged.[116] He has to be kept from suicide by Cnemon. He has to be
cheered by Chariclea. And his Lady Fair is the resourceful partner in
emergencies who whispers to him “Call me your Sister” or invents means
of recognition in case of separation or makes a plot to share with him
his fate be it life or death. She demands too when they start off on
travels together that her lover swear a sacred oath to respect her
virginity. Indeed her leadership deserves the tribute given Dido, _dux
femina facti_. As Calderini notes, cleverness and deception were valued
traits in those times and both she displayed.[117] But she guarded her
chastity even from her dearest and her courage never failed. On the
battle field she can shoot her arrows. She is surrounded by a divine
aura of radiant beauty that illuminates her holy garb.

The real hero of the romance is her father, the Ethiopian King Hydaspes,
whose qualities she seemed to have inherited. He is the type of the good
king, but beyond that he is very human. He has his humor so that when
his nephew presents him with a gigantic athletic champion he smilingly
gives him in exchange an elephant. He is generous to a defeated foe,
freeing Oroondates and restoring him to his office so that the viceroy
makes obeisance to him and calls him the most just of mortals. He
follows tradition in preparing to offer to the gods foreign captives as
human victims, but when convinced by the Gymnosophists of the
inappropriateness of such sacrifice he leads his people to the right
decision about abolishing it and happily crowns his daughter and her
lover as new priests of a purified worship.

Persinna his queen is a type of frustrated motherhood, timid enough to
expose at birth her beautiful white baby for fear of the charge of
adultery, but when her daughter is restored to her she glows with ardent
parentalism and interprets Chariclea’s wishes to her husband.

The characters in the sub-plot (Cnemon’s story) are less clearly
delineated than those in the main narrative. The story serves however
not merely to introduce Thisbe, who is useful for the main plot, but
anticipates and prepares for certain main characters. Aristippus the
betrayed husband, Demaeneta the wanton wife, Thisbe the corrupt maid and
Cnemon the coveted youth parallel Oroondates, Arsace, Cybele and
Theagenes himself.

The far east opens up before us under the shadow of the Great King of
the Persians. He never appears, but his viceroys, their lieutenants,
their eunuchs work his will with the complete subservience which their
act of obeisance symbolizes. Oroondates is a good fighter, but he is
ready to desert secretly the city of Syene, which he has been defending,
before terms of surrender had been concluded, to start another war in
the name of the Great King. His will conveyed by letters must be law to
his eunuch or his wife. This arbitrariness when imitated by his eunuch
Euphrates becomes sadistic tyranny over prisoners given to his care.

Arsace his wife finds her escape in intrigue and amours.[118] Highly
over-sexed she stops at nothing to satisfy her passion as her wanton
fancies shift from one desired lover to another. She has no mercy for
Theagenes when he is obdurate or for Chariclea when she finds she is the
object of Theagenes’ affections.

Cybele her maid abets her machinations and her lust. Though her position
as confidante recalls Phaedra’s nurse in the _Hippolytus_, her character
reproduces all the venality, cunning and complaisance of the maids in
new Attic comedy. Torture and murder are natural tools for success in
her eyes and when she is hoist with her own petard, she dies asserting
that she has been poisoned by the innocent girl whom she had hoped to
make her victim. Arsace with her Cybele is a complete foil for the
purity and loyalty of Chariclea.

The most interesting among the upright characters in the play are the
priests: Calasiris, high-priest of Isis in Egypt, Charicles, priest of
Apollo at Delphi, Sisimithres, the Greek Gymnosophist. They are
consecrated to service, devoted to worship. They are men of the world
extending their knowledge by travel and talk. Calasiris on his visit to
Delphi spent his days in philosophical discussion of religious rites and
the meaning of the gods of Greece and of Egypt. Charicles is a
humanitarian who educates the little waif Chariclea as his own daughter.
Sisimithres dares withdraw from the human sacrifices proposed by a great
king and people and by his personal authority converts them from such
abominable customs to a purer conception of deity and of worship.
Calasiris in his role of interpreting the events of the story and
solving its problems, in his clear philosophical interests probably
represents Heliodorus himself.[119]

To return to the structure of the romance, the plot with such borrowings
from epic and dramatic poetry, with such characters, some types, some
highly individualized, moves forward in a manner that resembles the
modern cinema. There is no carefully interwoven plot such as tragedy
presents, for example in _Oedipus Rex_. Rather there is a progression of
episodes, each a clear picture in itself, all after many involutions and
evolutions falling into an orderly narrative. Rattenbury thinks that
after Heliodorus’ original beginning which secures the interest and
sympathy of the reader through his curiosity he fails to maintain the
interest throughout. The long retrospective narrative of Calasiris
becomes monotonous. The reader is irritated by the postponement of the
denouement after he as well as the hero and heroine knows the secret of
Chariclea’s parentage. Maillon, however, finds in Heliodorus a great
talent for narration. After the impressive opening scene, he says, from
narrative to narrative, from description to description, one is led
slowly but without ennui to the grandeur of the final chapters. The
variety of the episodes does not detract from the unity of the narrative
because we keep returning to Theagenes and Chariclea in whom we have
been interested from the first.[120]

To me personally the defects in the romance lie not in the long
narrative of Calasiris or in the early revelation of Chariclea’s
identity, but in the excessive use of descriptive passages. Planned
though they undoubtedly are to satisfy the craving of the age for a
knowledge of the novel and the strange, or to give local color, they
retard the development of the story. Often they are prolix and difficult
because of an unfamiliar vocabulary and a complicated sentence
structure. There are many such passages: descriptions of natural
phenomena (the island city in the delta of the Nile, the straits at
Calydon); of curious animals (crocodile and giraffe); of operations of
war (a naval battle, the siege of Syene, the duel of Thyamis and
Petosiris); the religious ceremonies at Delphi. These vary greatly in
clarity and effectiveness, but in general they tend to be verbose and to
retard the narrative. Such descriptions are however one of the
conventional features of the Greek romance. And with all Heliodorus’
originality in plot, in his tripartite structure of epic, dramatic and
cinematic features, he employs all the usual devices of Greek romance.
These are oracle and oath, résumés, conversation and rhetorical
speeches, letters and soliloquies, meditated suicide and apparent death,
dreams and epiphanies. But Heliodorus makes these conventional devices
integral parts of his plot.

The oracle given by the Pythian priestess at Delphi early in the story
motivates the plot until the very end when its meaning is explained and
its prophecy fulfilled. The oath which Chariclea requires of her lover
early in her travels protects her chastity through all the intimacies of
palace apartment and prison dungeons. Résumés of events given several
times by Cnemon, by Calasiris in his long narrative, by Charicles,
clarify and facilitate the plot.[121] Conversation is used constantly on
the battle field or in the boudoir, in palaces, in dungeons. Turn over
the pages of Heliodorus’ Greek as you would a modern novel and test how
often the pages are broken and enlivened by talk. Rhetoric colors some
of the longer speeches, but in the court-room scene (the trial of
Chariclea for poisoning Cybele) the procedure is described but the
speeches are not quoted.

Letters are as important as oracles for the development of the plot. The
letter of Persinna inscribed on the fillet exposed with her child
furnishes the indisputable evidence for the recognition of Chariclea.
The letter in Thisbe’s dead hand is of prime importance in the sub-plot
in announcing to Cnemon the death of his wicked step-mother. Business
letters of Mithranes to Oroondates, of Oroondates to Arsace and to the
eunuch Euphrates, of Hydaspes to the Supreme Council of Ethiopia and to
his queen Persinna furnish documentation for the march of events. The
letter of Oroondates to Hydaspes in the last book prepares the way for
Charicles’ final explanation of his relation to his foster-daughter and
his own recognition of Chariclea.

Soliloquies reveal emotional states and meditated suicide. At Chemmis
one night Chariclea left alone yields to despair and vows that if she
learns Theagenes is dead, she will join him in the shades. An apparent
death nearly precipitates tragedy when in the dark of the cave the body
of Thisbe is mistaken for that of Chariclea. Theagenes bursts into
despairing lamentation and proposes suicide. But Cnemon foreseeing this
has filched his sword and presently the light of Cnemon’s torch reveals
the truth and there ensues a happy reversal of fortune.

Among all these usual features of the plot a new importance is given to
dreams and epiphanies. They are peculiarly significant because of their
bearing on Heliodorus’ philosophical and religious interests. Some
motivate minor events or simply create atmosphere. Thyamis in the night
before the battle with another band of brigands had a vision of Isis who
gave Chariclea to him with the mystic words: “Having her, you will not
have her, but you will be unjust and will kill the stranger. And she
will not be killed.” At first Thyamis, interpreting the dream in
accordance with his own wishes, thought it meant that he would murder
her virginity, but she would live. Then when the battle went against
him, he changed his interpretation and to save Chariclea from his foes,
killed her (as he thought) in the cave. So Thisbe’s death is explained.
Another dream of little importance is Chariclea’s in which a wild
looking man appeared and pierced her right eye with his sword. Opposing
interpretations are given by Theagenes and Cnemon. The epiphanies,
however, which are vitally significant for the plot all foretell the
final fortunes of the hero and the heroine. To Calasiris Apollo and
Diana appeared, the god leading Theagenes, the goddess Chariclea, and
intrusted them to him. Diana too bade him consider the pair as his
children and take them to Egypt when and how the gods should decree.
Charicles too dreamed that an eagle flew from the hand of Apollo, seized
Chariclea and bore her away from Delphi to a land of dark forms.
Calasiris again had a vision, this time of Odysseus, the great
traveller, who demanded sacrifices and presented Penelope’s blessing on
Chariclea. Calasiris after his death himself appeared simultaneously to
Chariclea and Theagenes, telling the heroine that the Pantarbè jewel
would protect her, and telling the hero that he would be freed from
Arsace and take his Lady to Ethiopia. Hydaspes, when the prisoner
Chariclea is brought before him, recalled a dream that a full-grown
daughter was born to him and the face of this dream-girl was
Chariclea’s. This prepared him for the real recognition of her identity.
Now the validity of these apparitions is sometimes questioned: are they
dreams or visions? The author comments that desire often prompts
favorable interpretation. He has Hydaspes’ officers tell him that the
mind creates for itself fantasies which seem to foretell future events.
He has the optimistic Chariclea encourage Theagenes to trust in the gods
and interpret Calasiris’ prophecies as beneficent. But all the same
Heliodorus motivates his plot by this popular belief in dreams and
epiphanies.

This structural element fits in with the religious-philosophical
coloring of the whole background. Dreams and epiphanies, miracles and
necromancy are partial manifestations of a deep-seated interest in cults
and philosophies that is a phenomenon of the times. There is a long
description of the festival of Neoptolemus at Delphi with its pageantry,
sacrifices, hymn, dance, libations and the lighting of the pyre. It is
here that Theagenes and Chariclea meet and at first sight fall in love.
Nausicles the merchant must sacrifice to Hermes, god of trade. The
festival of the overflowing of the Nile is celebrated in Egypt. And
among the Ethiopians the first fruits of victory in war are offered in
the form of sacrifice of human captives to their gods. The most
prominent cults are those of Apollo-Helios of Delphi, Egypt and Ethiopia
and of the Egyptian Isis. These are savior gods to whom mortals offer
petitions for salvation.

Opinions differ as to whether the representation of the cult of Helios
is the usual conventional religious background of a Greek romance or
whether it is the author’s glorification of the cult of his native city
with which he and his family had some official connection. At the
antipodes in criticism are Rattenbury who perceives only the usual
religious conventions and Calderini who thinks the unique feature of the
_Aethiopica_ is its rich philosophical coloring.[122] All would agree on
marked influence in Heliodorus of Neo-Pythagoreanism and the teachings
of Apollonius of Tyana as recorded by Philostratus.[123] Maillon in his
preface gives this discriminating summary of his own position towards
Heliodorus’ philosophical interests. He says that the Pantheon of
Heliodorus does not contain many deities. He refers to the gods under
the Neo-Pythagorean name of οἱ κρείττονες. Calasiris whose role is most
important may well represent the author’s state of mind. This priest of
Isis practices a large eclecticism. He goes to Delphi and divides his
time between the service of the temple and theological discussion. He
worships especially one god, Apollo of Delphi, Helios of Emesa. Apollo
directs the drama of his story, Helios crowns it in Ethiopia. One sees
in Heliodorus the intention of simplifying and unifying mythology and of
bringing back religion to its eastern and Egyptian origins. Instead of
wishing to discredit pagan stories, he treats them philosophically to
make them acceptable to an age which was becoming emancipated and more
severe and to a new faith which wished to reconcile the philosophical
tradition and the sense of the divine and the mysterious.

Neo-Pythagoreanism was a curious attempt to found a religion which would
satisfy both the critical spirit and the people. At the beginning of the
third century appeared _The Life of Apollonius of Tyana_, a magician and
a disciple of Pythagoras. Philostratus takes his hero to the Orient,
Ethiopia, Greece, Rome. He writes a real romance. And that of Heliodorus
recalls it often. Both authors show the same admiration for the
Gymnosophists, the same distinction between magic and theurgy. Both
Apollonius and Calasiris are opposed to impure sacrifices. The story of
the magical Pantarbè jewel appears in both Philostratus and Heliodorus.
Calasiris like Apollonius is a model of Pythagorean asceticism.
Apollonius defends himself about working miracles and lets a doubt
appear about his theurgic powers. Calasiris shows in daily life a common
wisdom and reserves for exceptional cases an appeal to great demons.

In the _Aethiopica_ dreams play a more important role than the demons.
Communications with the invisible world are constant, but only
exceptional human beings who have had long experience in divine matters
and a life mortified and purified by expiation know the mysteries of the
invisible world.

This paraphrase of Maillon’s paragraphs shows how completely logical is
the conclusion of the romance where the noble Gymnosophist Sisimithres
persuades the king of the Ethiopians and his people to renounce human
sacrifice and accept the divine blessing on the loves of Theagenes and
Chariclea.

  “At length Hydaspes said to Sisimithres, ‘O sage! What are we to do?
  To defraud the gods of their victims is not pious; to sacrifice those
  who appear to be preserved and restored by their providence is
  impious. It needs that some expedient be found out.’

  Sisimithres, speaking, not in the Grecian, but in the Ethiopian
  tongue, so as to be heard by the greatest part of the assembly,
  replied: ‘O king! The wisest among men, as it appears, often have the
  understanding clouded through excess of joy, else, before this time,
  you would have discovered that the gods regard not with favour the
  sacrifice which you have been preparing for them. First they, from the
  very altar, declared the all-blessed Chariclea to be your daughter;
  next they brought her foster-father most wonderfully from the midst of
  Greece to this spot; they struck panic and terror into the horses and
  oxen which were being prepared for sacrifice, indicating, perhaps, by
  that event, that those whom custom considered as the more perfect and
  fitting victims were to be rejected. Now, as the consummation of all
  good, as the perfection of the piece, they show this Grecian youth to
  be the betrothed husband of the maiden. Let us give credence to these
  proofs of the divine and wonder-working will; let us be fellow workers
  with this will; let us have recourse to holier offerings; let us
  abolish, for ever, these detested human sacrifices.’”[124]

A few words must be said on the style of Heliodorus. It is predominantly
literary, but extremely varied. He uses Homer almost as much as Chariton
does. His adaptation of Homeric episodes has already been
described.[125] A discussion of Homer and his parentage between
Calasiris and Cnemon is introduced in the style of the rhetorical
schools.[126] Descriptions as well as episodes owe much to Homeric
coloring, witness the epiphany of Odysseus.[127] But above all the
language itself is almost as rich in quotations from Homer as is
Chariton’s.

Often reminiscent phraseology betrays quotations in solution. Frequently
too very famous phrases are quoted directly. Calasiris greets Nausicles
with that best of all wishes: “May the gods give you your heart’s
desire!” Nausicles reminds Calasiris that the gifts of the gods are not
to be despised. The maid Cybele assures Arsace that soon Theagenes will
desert Chariclea for her, exchanging bronze for gold.[128] Emotional
crises are described or expressed in Homer’s words. Arsace’s
sleeplessness has the same manifestations as Achilles. Cnemon upbraids
Chariclea for her pessimism about Theagenes’ fate in the words of
Agamemnon to Chalchas. And Chariclea when she is questioned by
physicians as to the cause of her illness only keeps repeating:
“Achilles, Peleus’ son, noblest of Greeks!” as though only the
apostrophe uttered by Patroclus could describe her dear Theagenes.[129]
These are but a few illustrations of Heliodorus’ constant use of Homeric
diction.

No less did he use the language of the theater.[130] We have already
seen how much his plot owes to the structure of Greek tragedy. From
drama he took also a vocabulary of pungent metaphors to describe the
progress of events in his story. Repeatedly the action is referred to as
a tragedy.[131] And certain scenes by their wording imply a recognition,
a _deus ex machina_, a prologue and a change from tragedy to comedy.
These may, as Calderini suggests, be reminiscences of contemporary plays
now lost, which readers of the time would recognize.[132] Certainly
structure and language of the romance attest Heliodorus’ deep interest
in the theater.

The third striking element in the diction of Heliodorus is the
rhetorical. He often uses all the artifices taught in the schools:
alliterations, antitheses, set phrases. He loves the grand style. A
speech, even one uttered by his charming heroine, is an opportunity for
pomposity. He uses in excess that fine writing for descriptive passages
which the schools taught and he scatters throughout his narrative pithy
truisms or _sententiae_ which were part of the capital of the
rhetorician.

But these lapses into over-refined phrases, laborious symmetry and
decorative rhetoric are less of a barrier to a modern reader than is his
syntax. His sentence structure in general is not paratactic as is so
much of Chariton and of Xenophon, but complex. Moreover these complex
sentences are often exceedingly long with a kind of agglutinative
accumulation of participial constructions that demands re-reading for
comprehension. Yet he can be simple and pellucid in rapid narrative and
emotional crises as the final Book shows. And it is just because much of
his narrative is so exciting that we fall into resentful criticism when
Homer nods in dull drowsiness.[133]

Although we cannot date the _Aethiopica_ more exactly than somewhere in
the third century (probably in the first half), the romance reflects in
general the life of the times in which Heliodorus lived. The east daubs
its brilliant colors upon the story as the power of oriental rulers
impinges on the life of the Greeks. The absolutism of the Great King of
Persia is the model for minor courts of viceroys and their queens who
demand of their subjects and captives the obeisance that they must
render to their Super-Ruler. Military officers and eunuchs are the
descending steps in this hierarchy of tyranny.

Adventures center in war and travel. Cities and tribes revolt. Heroes
must display military virtues. Merchants, priests and women travel
widely, braving the dangers of storms at sea and of attacks by pirates.
Women have found a new freedom and are leaders in courage and endurance
as the story of Chariclea shows. Women take part in banquets and
religious ceremonies as well as in adventures. Romantic friendship
between men and admiration of young men’s beauty are a counterpart of
the famous relation between Hadrian and Antinous. Slaves and captives
may become court favorites or be subjected to indignities, imprisonment,
torture.

The times are characterized too by an eager search for the new, the
unfamiliar, by scientific curiosity, by an interest in art. So
descriptions of strange countries and peoples, accounts of strange
adventures and sights are part of the novelist’s stock in trade. He
describes vividly the island city in the Nile’s delta, its water-ways
through the reeds, its cave refuge with its secret entrance; or he gives
a technical account of the engineering processes by which a city is
besieged by threat of inundation; or he pictures such a curiosity in the
animal world as a giraffe. Works of art are featured with admiring care:
Theagenes’ embroidered robe and its clasp, Chariclea’s robe and its
girdle, the amethyst ring with its carved scene, the painting of Perseus
and Andromeda, nude, shining, chained to the rock.

And part of the picture of the times centers in man’s quest for new
values for life itself. Ethical standards for conduct are weighed and
emphasized in contrasts between Greeks and barbarians. Aspiration
towards the higher life is portrayed in the worship of the gods and its
ceremonials and in the philosophical discussions in which the priests
take part. The Gymnosophists and Calasiris share a large humanity.

The primary interests of the romance, however, far outweighing its
philosophy and its adventures, is love. Once more two enchanting young
people meet at a festival of a god, fall in love at first sight, plight
their troth, accompany each other through world-wide adventures,
preserve their faith and their chastity and for their piety are at last
united in perfect happiness. Theagenes and Chariclea join Chaereas and
Callirhoe, Habrocomes and Anthia, Clitophon and Leucippe, Daphnis and
Chloe in the undying annals of true love. And the reader closes
Heliodorus’ novel with Cnemon’s comment:

  “I am at feud with Homer, father, for saying that love, as well as
  everything else, brings satiety in the end; for my part I am never
  tired either of feeling it myself, or hearing of its influence on
  others; and lives there the man of so iron and adamantine an heart, as
  not to be enchanted with listening to the loves of Theagenes and
  Chariclea, though the story were to last a year?”[134]



                                   V
                THE ADVENTURES OF LEUCIPPE AND CLITOPHON
                          _BY ACHILLES TATIUS_


“Every romance,” says Aristide Calderini in writing of the Greek novels,
“represents successively a new advance or a new type in its genre. Now
the closest affiliation is with history, now with pastoral poetry, now
with philosophy. While certain common elements persist, the general
pattern of the whole changes; often the content is varied; often the
limits.”[135]

The variation within this new form of literature is richly illustrated
by the novel we are now to study, the one which was probably written
last of the extant Greek Romances as Chariton’s was the first. This is
_The Adventures of Leucippe and Clitophon_ of Achilles Tatius.

We know little of the author. Suidas, the lexicographer of the tenth
century, wrote his brief biography:

  “Achilles Statius” (note the incorrect form of the name ‘Tatius’) “of
  Alexandria: the writer of the story of Leucippe and Clitophon, as well
  as other episodes of love, in eight books. He finally became a
  Christian and a bishop. He also wrote a treatise on the sphere, and
  works on etymology, and a mixed narration telling of many great and
  marvellous men. His novel is in all respects like that of the other
  writers of love-romances.”[136]

Now though Suidas used earlier material and essayed accuracy, two
statements in this biography are manifestly incorrect. There is nothing
whatever in the romance to indicate that Tatius was ever a Christian and
the story about his conversion and bishopric probably duplicates the
similar tradition about his predecessor, Heliodorus, who was identified
with a bishop of Tricca who bore his name. Moreover Tatius’ novel is
very different in many particulars from all the romances which are now
known. And it is these contrasts rather than the similarities which make
him in our studies so excellent a foil for Chariton.

The date of about A.D. 300 is probably right for the novel because the
author seems to imitate the style of certain romancers of the third
century and because a recently discovered papyrus fragment[137] shows
that for palaeographical reasons this earliest manuscript could not have
been written later than the first half of the fourth century. This
evidence about the lateness of Achilles Tatius we shall find borne out
by a deterioration in style from Chariton’s simplicity to an
over-elaboration and exaggeration and a change in spirit from sincerity
to ironic parody.[138]

One important reason for knowing Achilles Tatius is “his contributions
to Elizabethan prose fiction and, through this, to the making of the
modern novel.”[139] The first Greek text was not published until 1601
but before this he was made known to the sixteenth century by
translations in Latin, Italian and French. And in 1597 the first English
translation, that of William Burton, appeared. Todd succinctly states
his resulting influence:

  “With Heliodorus, though in less measure, he furnished structure and
  material for Sidney’s Arcadia, and thus was among the influences that
  formed the novels of Richardson and Walter Scott; of Greene, as Dr. S.
  L. Wolff puts it, he was the ‘first and latest love’; in Lyly himself,
  and not only in him, we recognize Tatius as one of the sources of
  English Euphuism.”[140]

My plan in taking up Achilles Tatius is first to analyze briefly his
plot and then summarize its similarities to _Chaereas and Callirhoe_ and
the other Greek novels. Then I shall discuss more in detail the unique
features in Tatius and his special characteristics.

An epigram in the Palatine Anthology, attributed to Photius, patriarch
of Constantinople, but by some to Leon the philosopher gives a bird’s
eye view of the story.[141]

  “The story of Clitophon reveals to the eyes, as it were, a bitter love
  but a virtuous life. The very virtuous life of Leucippe puts all in
  ecstasy, (for the story tells) how she was beaten and shorn of her
  hair and clothed pitiably, and—the greatest point—having died three
  times she endured to the end. And if you too wish to be virtuous,
  friend, do not consider the side issues of the plot, but learn first
  the outcome of the story, for it joins in marriage those who love
  sanely.”

For the expansion of this epitome it is necessary to have before us a
list of the many characters in the romance.

Chief characters:

  _Clitophon_, a Greek of Tyre, son of Hippias
  _Leucippe_, daughter of Sostratus of Byzantium, the uncle of Clitophon
  _Clinias_ of Sidon, cousin of Clitophon
  _Chaereas_ of Pharos, a fisherman
  _Melitte_, a woman of Ephesus
  _Thersander_, the husband of Melitte
  _Callisthenes_ of Byzantium
  _Calligone_, the half-sister of Clitophon

Minor characters:

  _Sostratus_, of Byzantium, father of Leucippe
  _Panthea_, his wife
  _Hippias_, a Tyrian, father of Clitophon and Calligone
  _Charicles_, the _amicus_ of Clinias
  _Menelaus_, an Egyptian
  _Sosthenes_, the bailiff of Thersander
  _Satyrus_, a slave of Clitophon
  _Clio_, Leucippe’s chambermaid, in love with Satyrus
  _Charmides_, an Egyptian general
  _Gorgias_, an Egyptian soldier

For the plot I condense Phillimore’s well-written summary.[142] The
author begins with a description of Sidon. He has reached Sidon in his
travels and is touring the city, looking at the temples. He describes a
painting of Zeus and Europa, also a statue of Eros. He was reflecting on
the Eros: “Think of such a brat being lord of earth and sea!” When a
young man near testifies to Eros’ power which he has felt, the author
invites him to tell his story. In a Platonic scene under a plane-tree
near a stream they sit down.

The stranger, Clitophon, a Greek of Tyre, tells his story in the first
person. Clitophon has been unwillingly betrothed at nineteen to his
half-sister, Calligone. Now his uncle, Sostratus, writes that he is
sending his daughter Leucippe and her mother from their home in
Byzantium to Tyre for safety during a war. Clitophon at once falls in
love with Leucippe. He makes his cousin, Clinias, his confidant. Clinias
is sympathetic because he had a tragic love affair with a youth who was
killed by a fall from a horse which Clinias gave him. (Here is
introduced a purple patch on the driving accident.)

Encouraged by Clinias, Clitophon makes love constantly. Various scenes
of his wooing, for example a garden, are described in detail. Finally
the lovers elope, find a ship at Berytus, embark and start to
Alexandria. They meet an Egyptian fellow-passenger, Menelaus. There
comes a great storm. Hero and heroine are cast on shore at Pelusium near
the temple of Zeus Casius. Enter black brigands. Soldiers rescue
Clitophon, but Leucippe is kidnapped. Clitophon joins in an attempt to
save her, but it is baulked by a deep, impassable canal between the
rescuing party and the ten thousand brigands. Across it Clitophon
watches the bandits perform a human sacrifice by disembowelling the
victim before an altar. It is Leucippe. The body is put in a coffin.

The next day the canal is diked and crossed. Clitophon resolves to die
on Leucippe’s body, but suddenly he meets his slave Satyrus and
Menelaus, both saved from the wreck, who assure him that Leucippe is
alive. On the coffin being opened, she comes out—“Gashed open and minus
all viscera.” But the murderers had been deceived by a sheepskin full of
animal entrails attached to her and by a stage sword which never
penetrated her body. Clinias too was saved from the wreck. Now a
punitive expedition under Charmides, the Egyptian, starts, but
unfortunately he falls in love with Leucippe and has a philtre given her
which drives her insane. On her recovery they go to Alexandria. There a
new rival, Chaereas, abducts Leucippe. Clitophon pursues on a ship of
war, but has to endure seeing Leucippe beheaded on the deck of the
enemy’s vessel. Clitophon recovers the head from the sea and gives it
burial.

Six months later Clitophon meets Clinias again. Clinias who had been
home in Sidon reports that “the cruel parent had actually betrothed the
loving cousins” so Clitophon and Leucippe might have married in peace.
Clitophon who naturally believes Leucippe dead is pursued by Melitte, a
lovely, wealthy and amorous widow of Ephesus. He finally yields to her;
they are betrothed in the temple of Isis and are to be married when they
reach Ephesus. On their arrival, Melitte drives Clitophon around her
great estates. There he has the overwhelming surprise of encountering
Leucippe who is working in the garden as a miserable slave. This
difficult situation is made more complicated by the sudden reappearance
of Melitte’s husband, Thersander, who had been falsely reported drowned
at sea. Thersander beats up Clitophon as an adulterer with his wife and
has him imprisoned.

Sosthenes, the bailiff of Thersander, interests his master in Leucippe,
so he tries to seduce her, but unsuccessfully. Clitophon in prison is
told a false story that both Leucippe and Melitte are faithless to him.
Clitophon resolves to denounce Melitte as an accomplice in a plot for
the murder of Leucippe and then to die. He is tried for adultery and
self-confessed murder, but Clinias foils his attempt by telling the
whole truth in court. Sosthenes departs, leaving Leucippe free.
Leucippe’s father, Sostratus, by good fortune arrives in Ephesus on a
sacred embassy just in time to assist his daughter. The trial of
Clitophon is resumed in a long court scene in which finally Thersander
challenges Leucippe and Melitte to tests of chastity by the magic pipes
of Pan and the magic spring of Rhodopis. Both pass the ordeals.
Thersander, since everything is going against him, for his slave,
Sosthenes, has been captured and will be forced to confess the truth,
flees. Sosthenes confesses. Clitophon is acquitted. Leucippe tells her
whole story: how the bandits beheaded another woman dressed in her
clothes to prevent Clitophon from following; how a quarrel over her
arose among them in which Chaereas was slain; then she was sold by the
other pirates to Sosthenes, who bought her for Thersander. Sostratus
then relates the secondary romance of Callisthenes and Calligone. The
novel ends with a happy reunion of all at Tyre where prayers and
sacrifices are offered in behalf of the lasting felicity of Clitophon
and Leucippe, of Callisthenes and Calligone.

Such is the story which Phillimore characterizes as “a breathless
succession of improbable incident.”[143] The settings move with the same
cinematic rapidity which Chariton employed: from Sidon to Berytus, to
the sea and shipwreck, to Pelusium and Alexandria, to Ephesus and the
great court scene, to Byzantium and back again to Tyre.

In one point particularly the structure of the plot differs from
Chariton’s and indeed from the plots of all the other Greek Romances.
The author in the beginning hands over the story to a narrator, the
hero, Clitophon, who then tells the events in the first person. Very
soon, however, the reader has forgotten this device: so many other
characters are given the floor to relate their own tales. And at the end
the author too has forgotten this beginning, for Clitophon does not
round up his narrative with a polite farewell. He does not even explain
how he happened to be at Sidon where he started the tale. And the author
does not express his appreciation of the entertainment Clitophon has
given him.[144]

The chief interests of the romance are again love, adventure and
religion. There are two love-stories of primary interest instead of one.
Yet the bulk of the plot turns on adventure rather than on sex or
worship. And delight in adventure adds to the typical travellers’ tales
a flaming curiosity which demands description of many strange novelties.

In general the technical devices common to all the romances are used.
There is much conversation. There are many soliloquies. Clitophon
upbraids himself for swerving from Calligone to Leucippe.[145] Later he
bemoans Leucippe’s fate when she has been kidnapped by the blacks.[146]
Leucippe, sold as a slave, laments her whole sad love-story while
lustful Thersander is eavesdropping outside the door.[147] Clitophon, on
hearing in prison the false story that Leucippe has been murdered by
Melitte, voices his horror over her death and over the fact that he had
kissed her slayer.[148] These soliloquies are employed to reveal the
intense feelings of hero and heroine at emotional crises.

Three letters are used. The first is a brief business letter which
serves to develop the plot, for in it Sostratus writes to his brother
Hippias that he is sending his daughter Leucippe and his wife Panthea to
him for safe-keeping until the war between the Byzantines and the
Thracians is over.[149] The other two are love-letters. One is
Leucippe’s to Clitophon telling him that she has been sold as a slave,
begging for ransom money, wishing him happiness in his coming nuptials
with Melitte, and assuring him she is still a virgin. The other is
Clitophon’s answer declaring that he has “imitated her virginity, if
there be any virginity in men,” begging her not to judge him until he
can explain all, but to pity him.[150] Leucippe’s letter is found by
Melitte and helps motivate the plot in its emotional aspects, for it
works Melitte up through jealousy and despair to such passionate ardor
that she persuades Clitophon to sleep one night with her.[151]

Oaths are not important in the structure of the plot. Once Leucippe
swears to her father by Artemis that she has told him a true story about
being still a maid.[152] Dreams are frequent and are significant. Four
are reported which are vital factors in the plot. Clitophon’s father
dreams that while he is conducting the wedding ceremonies of his son and
Calligone the torches are extinguished. This dream leads him to hasten
the marriage so distasteful to Clitophon and it would have been
consummated at once had not Calligone been kidnapped by Callisthenes
under the impression that she was Leucippe.[153] Then Clitophon had
persuaded Leucippe to let him spend the night with her and with the aid
of Satyrus was already in her bedroom. Leucippe’s mother who had just
had a dream that a robber with a naked sword was playing the part of
Jack the Ripper with her daughter, rushed in and interrupted the
amour.[154] Later on, Leucippe and Clitophon on the same night have
similar dreams. A goddess appears and warns each that their love must
not be consummated until the goddess decks the bride and opens her
temple to the bridegroom. This apparition makes them postpone the rites
of Aphrodite.[155] In Book VII Sostratus, Leucippe’s father, sees in a
dream an apparition of Artemis who tells him that he will find Leucippe
and Clitophon in Ephesus. He goes to Ephesus then on a sacred embassy
and finds that Artemis does not lie.[156]

This tendency to a repeated use of the same device for forwarding the
plot is seen in greater extravagance and exaggeration in the use of
apparent deaths. Leucippe is supposed to meet violent death three times,
twice before the eyes of her lover, once in vivid narrative told to him
in prison. First she is sacrificed by brigands by being disembowelled
before an altar. Second she is beheaded on the deck of a ship by black
pirates and her head tossed into the ocean. Third she is murdered by an
assassin hired by Melitte.[157] In the first two cases ghastly details
make the executions seem real, but Leucippe always survives and
reappears with a plausible but exotic story. Surely in this exaggeration
Achilles Tatius is using thinly veiled satire of the device of
improbable reappearances in the Greek romance.

The same exuberance appears in the use of the forensic speeches, of
long, mythological narratives and of wordy descriptions. All these will
be considered in the study of the style of the romance. Two more
technical devices of the plot must be mentioned here: the use of résumés
and the usual happy ending. Book VIII is crowded with résumés: Clitophon
tells all his adventures to Sostratus and the priest of Artemis.
Leucippe relates to Sostratus how the pirates decapitated another woman
in her place. Finally Sostratus relates to his daughter and to Clitophon
the romance of Callisthenes and Calligone.[158] The romances of both
pairs of lovers, Clitophon and Leucippe, Callisthenes and Calligone, are
concluded by happy weddings. And among the leading characters only
Melitte suffers final disappointment. Achilles Tatius ironically grants
her at least one memorable embrace on a prison floor!

The character drawing is much less elaborate than the plot. While plot
and counterplot of the two romances interplay, the young hero Clitophon
and the beautiful Leucippe are more or less conventional figures who
move glamorously, weeping, fainting, dreaming, voyaging, through
preposterous adventures. But Callisthenes, the secondary hero, is far
more interesting than Clitophon because his character shows startling
development. And Melitte, though she plays the part of temptress, is a
great human creation.

In Book II Callisthenes first appears as a wealthy orphan, who is
notoriously dissipated and extravagant. Wishing to marry beauty and
having a strange streak of romanticism he asked Sostratus for the hand
of the beautiful Leucippe although he had never seen her. Rejected by
Sostratus as a suitor because of his bad reputation he plotted vengeance
in his willful and violent way. He journeyed to Tyre, saw Calligone at a
festival, mistook her for Leucippe, fell in love at first sight, hired
some gangsters to kidnap her and sailed off with his prize.[159]
Callisthenes does not reappear until in the end of Book VIII Sostratus
tells the story of his reform.[160] On the voyage Callisthenes found
himself madly in love with Calligone, revealed to her that he was no
pirate but a wealthy Byzantine noble, offered her honorable marriage and
a large dowry, and promised to respect her chastity as long as she
desired. At Byzantium, love transformed him so that he appeared
courteous, virtuous, self-controlled. He showed great respect for his
elders. He was no longer extravagant, but became philanthropic. He gave
large contributions to the state. He trained for military service and
won distinction in actual warfare. In this changed guise he secured
Sostratus as an advocate to persuade Hippias to give him the hand of
Calligone, whose chastity he had scrupulously respected. Eros thus
salvaged Callisthenes and then rewarded him.

Melitte the widow of Ephesus is the most elaborately drawn character in
the romance. There is even a long personal description of her: she is as
beautiful as a statue with skin like milk, cheeks roses, hair thick,
long, golden, and about her the radiance of Aphrodite. Clitophon admits
he saw her with pleasure. Indeed she is so magnetic that the kisses she
was pleased to bestow on him stirred him.[161] She knew what she wanted
and how to get it. During four months she had to woo Clitophon though
she was rich and young and her husband has been lost at sea. Finally
since Clitophon was convinced that Leucippe was really dead, he yielded
and agreed to marry her, though on condition that they should not be
united until they arrived at Ephesus. She was as passionate as Clitophon
was cold. On the ship she made ardent love to him while he begged her to
philosophize on love’s nature. After Clitophon secretly received
Leucippe’s letter, he had to pretend illness to postpone the fulfillment
of her desires. Then Melitte sent for her so-called Thessalian slave
Lacaena (really Leucippe) and begged her to concoct a philtre that would
arouse Clitophon’s feeling. She is very outspoken about the fact that
Clitophon seems made of iron or wood; that indeed she seemed to love a
statue.[162] And she had the ability to express to Clitophon every
feeling she had without inhibition and in most picturesque language. At
her wedding breakfast in Alexandria she punned merrily about the
postponement of their union. “I’ve heard of a cenotaph but never before
of a cenogam.”[163] The bellying sail on the ship she compared to a
pregnant woman’s body; indeed she converted the whole ship into symbols
of marriage.[164] She also compared herself to thirsty Tantalus standing
by a river but not allowed to drink. She could match Clitophon’s
arguments and his quibbles did not deceive her: “You are playing the
sophist, dearest!” she commented. When from the discovery of Leucippe’s
letter to Clitophon and her husband’s safe return she knew that she had
lost Clitophon, she visited him secretly in prison and poured out on him
all her wrath and all her passion. Her denunciation of him as eunuch,
hermaphrodite, senile nonentity shifted to adoration; and passion
finally concentrated into so ardent and well argued an appeal for one
embrace that she was victorious. Clitophon admitted ironically that love
had taught her rhetoric and that he was vanquished, so he gave the
remedy to a sick soul and even on the prison floor enjoyed her![165]

Melitte was no less subtle and plausible in the speech in which she made
her peace with her enraged husband Thersander: Clitophon was only one of
many refugees whom she aided in memory of her husband lost at sea;
indeed she had helped Clitophon to find his wife.[166] When Thersander
challenged her by the ordeal of the water of the Styx, Melitte at once
accepted the test on a quibble because her husband had demanded from her
an oath that she had not fulfilled the rites of Aphrodite with the
stranger _during the time while he himself was abroad_. And it was just
that unfortunate stipulation which makes her last appearance in the
romance unforgettable. She is led out of the water of the Styx by the
judge, proved by indisputable ordeal a chaste woman! Achilles Tatius has
won his readers by this time to rejoice in Melitte’s vindication. For
besides charm and cleverness he has given her humanity and generosity.
She was always merciful to her slaves and was kindness itself to
Lacaena-Leucippe.[167] After she had won her desire, she contrived the
escape of Clitophon from prison dressed in her clothes, and financed by
her. She did not even forget the jailer, but gave him money to go away
for a time to avoid punishment.[168] Clitophon omitted in his final
narrative of his adventures his succumbing to Melitte[169] but he had
the grace to admit to himself her charms.

It is clear that in the ethics of the romance there is a new point of
view. Achilles Tatius is definitely less idealistic than Chariton in his
treatment of the erotic theme. As Rattenbury has pointed out:

“Achilles Tatius seems to have felt that the fetish of chastity in the
average romance was absurd, and tries to humanize romance by creating
characters that are reasonably, not unreasonably, moral.... Leucippe
comes through safe and sound, it is true, but it was by good luck rather
than by good intention.” Clitophon is chaste as far as men can be and
succumbs to Melitte only once. “Achilles Tatius,” continues Rattenbury,
“did not exactly parody his predecessors, but it is suggested that by
attempting to humanize romance he not only showed up the absurdities of
the usual stories, but was also responsible for the overthrow of the
literary form.... Achilles Tatius seems to have been to Greek Romance
what Euripides was to Greek Tragedy. He broke down the conventions, and
drove the essential and permanent elements to seek refuge elsewhere. The
erotic element did not die, but found an outlet in ‘Love-Letters,’ a
contemporary literary form of which Aristaenetus was an exponent in the
fifth century, but the idealized love story of a superhumanly modest
hero and heroine vanished, and Greek Romance hibernated until it was
revived some centuries later by the Byzantine writers.”[170]

Not inconsistent with Tatius’ slightly ironic treatment of amours is his
emphasis on the virtue of pity and his tendency to introduce long
philosophical discussions of conduct or the nature of love. Clitophon’s
story moves an Egyptian general to pity, tears and aid, for

  “When a man hears of another’s misfortune, he is inclined towards
  pity, and pity is often the introduction to friendship; the heart is
  softened by grief for what it hears, and gradually feeling the same
  emotions at the mournful story converts its commiseration into
  friendship and the grief into pity.”[171]

In the midst of Thersander’s attempt to rape the weeping Leucippe, there
is a long digression on tears and the pity they arouse.[172] Clinias
appeals to the court not to put to death “a man who deserves pity rather
than punishment.”[173] Leucippe, disguised as a slave, begs Melitte as a
woman to pity a woman and to pity one once free, now through Fortune’s
will a slave.[174]

Tatius has presented also in Callisthenes a picture of a noble young
hero who was converted from the wildness of youth to self-control,
respect, patriotism and service by chivalrous love.[175] And this
portrait of Callisthenes becomes an embodiment of an ideal latent in the
philosophical discussions of love which flavor the romance. “Love,” says
Clitophon, “inspired by beauty enters the heart through the eyes.”[176]
Later Clinias tells Clitophon that he is greatly fortunate in being able
to see his lady, for when eyes of lovers meet, the emanations of their
beauty wed in a spiritual union that transcends bodily embrace.[177]
Clitophon, wooing Leucippe in a fair garden, discourses to her on the
power of love over birds, creeping things, plants, even iron which
responds to the magnet, over water (for Arethusa and Alpheus wed).[178]
To cheer up Menelaus and Clinias on ship-board and divert them from
their sorrows, Clitophon starts a philosophic discussion on love of
women compared with love of men, untranslatable in its openness.[179]
Menelaus takes up the cudgels for the love of men, probably much to
Clinias’ satisfaction for he had previously denounced to his dear
Charicles the love of women who, if they love, kill and had arraigned
for his indictment Eriphyle, Philomela, Sthenoboea, Chryseis, Briseis,
Candaules’ wife, Helen, Penelope, Phaedra, Clytemnestra![180]

The worship of the kiss is featured in an enchanting story of a magic
charm breathed on the lover’s lips[181] and a fantastic assertion that
if a maiden’s kiss is stolen, the maid is raped.[182] Moreover a code of
love is presented, almost as detailed as Ovid’s _Ars Amatoria_, in
instructions given by Clinias to Clitophon,[183] by the slave Satyrus to
Clitophon,[184] by Clitophon in discussion with Menelaus.[185] A
delightful part of this Art of Love is telling the Lady love-stories,
for all womankind is fond of myths.[186] Magic too plays its part in the
technique of love, for incantation works a charm for a lover;[187]
philtres may bewitch the indifferent;[188] and ordeals test
chastity.[189]

Closely akin to the philosophical discussions of love, its power, its
art, its magic is the worship of Aphrodite, the mother of Eros. Yet
there are few references to her cult. Her dominance is hinted:
initiation into love makes Aphrodite the most powerful of gods.[190]
Melitte wishes to have her nuptials on the sea, for Aphrodite is the
sea’s daughter and she wishes to propitiate her as the goddess of
marriage by thus honoring the sea, her mother.[191] Clitophon at the end
of his separation from Leucippe prays to Lady Aphrodite to forgive the
long delay in their union, for it was due to no insult to her and he
begs her blessing on their marriage.[192] The story of the ordeal by the
water of the Styx[193] is a merry tale of rivalry between Artemis and
Aphrodite for a young girl’s worship in which Aphrodite made young
Rhodopis break her oath of chastity but Artemis changed her into a
spring in the very cave where she lost her virginity. Yet Achilles
Tatius presents no such deep-seated reverence for the goddess of Love as
that which permeates Chariton’s romance.

Artemis of Ephesus is rather the deity who dominates Tatius’ story. She
appears in dreams to the heroine and to Leucippe’s father.[194] In her
name Leucippe rebukes Thersander for insulting a virgin in the city of
the Virgin Goddess.[195] Sostratus arrives at Ephesus as the head of a
sacred embassy in honor of Artemis and so finds his daughter.[196]
Leucippe has taken refuge in the temple of Artemis and in that temple at
last she and Clitophon are reunited.[197] Here the villain of the piece
Thersander brutally attacks Clitophon.[198] Thersander’s lawyer in court
makes insulting slanders about the fact that Clitophon and Leucippe
probably defiled the temple by an amour there.[199] But Artemis is
proved to be no liar, and there is implicit recognition of her
protection of Leucippe though Achilles Tatius does not end with
thanksgiving to her. Her cult forms an objective background of religious
tradition for the action. No deep religious feeling for her is
manifested.

There is no more aspiration to god in the other cults which are
mentioned incidentally: of Apollo, Hercules of Tyre, the god of the
lower world, Pan. And the cruel goddess Fortune is berated only
occasionally. Superstition recognizes omens in the world of nature: the
eagle stealing the sacrifice, the hawk pursuing the swallow.[200]
Oracles are respected.[201] And the ordeals of Pan’s pipes and the
Styx’s water receive general credence. Festivals to the gods are
celebrated.[202] But religion seems rather a matter of scrupulous regard
for ritual than communion with god or relief to the soul.

As we compare the romances of Chariton and Achilles Tatius we find that
not only has the main interest shifted from love and worship to
incidents and adventures. An even greater change has come about in the
style. Homeric simplicity has given way to rhetorical elaboration.
Tatius may well have been a ῥήτωρ as the scholiast Thomas Magister
states, for his whole style is dyed in the rhetoric of the schools and
the speeches delivered in the various lawsuits in the plot are
masterpieces of rhetoric.

Among his acknowledged literary debts, however, he credits most to epic,
for he quotes Homer once[203] and alludes to him five times[204] and he
refers to Hesiod twice.[205] The messenger speeches in tragedy
undoubtedly suggested the slave’s dramatic narrative of the death of
Charicles in a riding accident.[206] Both the New and the Old Attic
Comedy contributed much to his humor: the New in the comic literary
contest of the slaves Conops and Satyrus who deride each other under
cover of fables;[207] and the Old in the Aristophanic priest of Artemis
who “was no poor hand at speaking, and as good at quip and gibe as the
plays of Aristophanes.”[208] But the training of the rhetorical schools
outweighs all other influences. About half of Books VII and VIII is
devoted to the trial of Clitophon for adultery and self-confessed
murder. The court sits in Ephesus with a jury and a presiding judge, but
their functions are vague. The prosecution speaks first, Thersander and
his ten lawyers, whose speeches fortunately are not reported. Clitophon
answers them by a false narrative accusing himself of the murder of
Leucippe and involving Melitte. Clinias gets the floor and tells the
true story: that Clitophon desires only to die, that he deserves pity
rather than condemnation and must be regarded as insane.

In the wild confusion that follows, Thersander’s counsel shouts for a
sentence of murder, Melitte offers her slaves to be questioned on her
innocence and demands that her husband produce Sosthenes who is probably
the murderer. Thersander in a long speech answers Melitte’s challenge
about Sosthenes with the result that the presiding officer pronounces
sentence of death on Clitophon but postpones Melitte’s case. Clitophon
is just on the point of being tortured for evidence when the arrival of
a sacred embassy to Artemis postpones the case of Melitte and the
execution of Clitophon.

Only after the work of the embassy is finished is the case resumed. Then
Thersander speaks first, demanding the execution of the sentence. He
condemns the priest who has released Clitophon and says he has usurped
the function of giving refuge to criminals which belongs to Artemis. He
adds foul personal abuse. He presents a second charge against Melitte
for adultery and a third against his slave girl Leucippe and her father.
The priest in his reply deserves the epithet “Aristophanic” which he has
won, for he pays Thersander back in his own coin of abuse only clothing
it in the wit of Aristophanes with all his double-meaning of words, his
biting attack. And his own arguments point the irony of the situation:
Thersander clapped Clitophon in jail before he was allowed to defend
himself. He charged him with murdering Leucippe but the young lady is
alive!

Sopater, counsel for Thersander, next hurls insulting invective at the
priest and whitewashes his noble client who has been betrayed by a
faithless wife. Thersander then presents a formal challenge to Melitte
and Leucippe to prove their chastity and on their acceptance of it, the
court adjourns. Next day all reassemble at the cave of Pan and the
spring of the Styx. The ladies are proved innocent. Thersander flees and
then is sentenced to banishment. Clitophon—and Melitte—are acquitted.

This summary of the procedure of the court in Ephesus shows what
opportunity Achilles Tatius made for presenting the rhetorical speeches
which he cherished. They are many. They are full of specious argument,
personal attack, appeal to the emotions, attempted pathos which becomes
bathos and genuine ἦθος. The speakers are true to type: the impassioned
lover, the leal friend, the haughty, imperious, lustful noble, his
sophistical lawyer, the Aristophanic priest. Such agonistic scenes must
have entertained the reader of the time as much as they did the author.
Actually this same favorite rhetorical style is also assigned to the
characters in private life: Melitte in her impassioned speech to
Clitophon in prison talks like a sophist, for Eros teaches even
arguments![209]

Long mythological narratives are another feature of Tatius’ style. The
sight of a painting makes it necessary for him to relate the whole story
of Procne and Philomela to Leucippe.[210] The stories of the origins of
the two ordeals to prove chastity are told with equal detail. The
discovery of wine is elaborately related in the Tyrian version on the
occasion of the festival of Dionysus.[211] These are a few out of many
illustrations.

Descriptive writing is employed as much as, perhaps more than, forensic
or narrative. Indeed the purple patches almost overbalance plot,
conversation and oratory. Works of art, setting for scenes, natural
phenomena, the wonders of the world are introduced in highly colored
digressions which are clearly the ekphraseis which the students of
rhetoric were taught to compose and deliver.

Achilles Tatius apparently was enamored of wall-paintings. He describes
with gusto five and alludes to another. The subjects of all are myths.
Two are familiar types in the frescoes found at Pompeii: Perseus and
Andromeda, Achilles in women’s clothes among the daughters of King
Lycomedes. One description of a painting opens the romance, a votive
painting of Europa in the temple of Astarte at Sidon.[212] Sidon is the
first word of the novel and this story is introduced as a tribute to the
city where the first scene was laid, for the stemma on the coins of
Sidon is Europa on the bull, pictured almost as Tatius presents her. The
picture is described in vivid detail even to the flowers in the meadow
and the shifting colors of the sea. Posture and garb of Europa are
vividly sketched in words for he sees her “seated on the bull like a
vessel under way, using the veil as a sail.” The keynote of the picture
and the point of its application for Tatius is the little flying Eros
who leads the bull and laughs back at the transformed Zeus. “Look,” said
Clitophon, “how that imp dominates over land and sea.” A young man
standing by exclaims that he too has suffered much from love. These
exclamations are the point of departure for the recounting of love
adventures.

In Book III there is an equally long description of a painting by
Evanthes in the temple of Zeus Casius.[213] The subjects are Andromeda
and Prometheus and they seem to have been paired because both were
chained to rocks, menaced by beasts and rescued by Argive heroes,
Perseus and Hercules. Design, color, emotion are all described vividly
and charmingly, but there is no point in the introduction of the
paintings. The description of them is simply a purple patch of fine
writing.

In Book V the description of a painting in a studio depicting the rape
of Philomela had “a hidden significance.”[214] The whole story was
represented: “the rape of Philomela, the violence employed by Tereus,
and the cutting out of her tongue ... the tapestry, Tereus himself, and
the fatal table.” Ugly realism, terror, insane laughter characterize the
treatment. The hidden meaning is that the sudden sight of the picture is
a bad omen threatening disaster which makes Clitophon postpone his
journey to Pharos. The delay gives him a chance to tell the whole story
of Philomela to Leucippe, for all women love myths.

Small works of art also are described lovingly and minutely: a
rock-crystal goblet carved in a grape-vine,[215] a jewelled
necklace.[216] These enrich the setting as scattered flowers enrich the
backgrounds of Renaissance tapestries. It is as though Achilles Tatius
like Corinthian potters or Renaissance artists had such an _horror
vacui_ that empty spaces in design were intolerable and interstices had
to be crowded with beautiful small objects. This is due in part to an
observant eye that saw and recorded detail. The specific and the graphic
are his tools for clarity. The story of the attempted amour of Clitophon
and Leucippe is vivified by a plan of the house as clear as the drawn
plans in many modern detective stories.[217] The garden in which
Clitophon’s love-making is once set is described elaborately with its
porticoes, trees, vines, flowers, spring and birds.[218] The storm at
sea in its violence and coloring is as lurid as a Turner, and its
effects on the shipwrecked passengers are described with a true
psychology of terror and panic.[219]

The long description of the storm is justified by the vital significance
of the shipwreck for the plot, but what of the write-ups of the wonders
of the world which are constantly introduced? The beautiful description
of Alexandria with its pharos is brief and pardonable as this was the
birthplace of the author. But only the love of novelty of the times and
bad taste seem to explain the perpetrations of wordy descriptions of the
Nile, the phoenix, the hippopotamus, the elephant and the
crocodile![220] The romance at times tends to become a natural history.
Wolff becomes so out of patience with “the damnable iteration” of
irrelevancies in _Clitophon and Leucippe_ that he can hardly calm
himself to analyze them in suggestive groups: irrelevancies of plot, of
characterization, of setting, of science and pseudo-science. The only
justification for such irrelevancies Wolff finds in “a common basis with
paradox. Both defeat expectation.... In both its phases,—irrelevancy and
paradox—this element of _the unexpected_, prominent in the form as in
the matter of the Greek Romances, deserves attention. To turn aside to
the irrelevant; to strain suspense by retarding the expected outcome; to
introduce by the way—all unlooked for—as many bizarre, ironical,
paradoxical situations and dazzling phrases as possible; and finally to
‘spring’ an issue which is itself a surprising combination of
opposites—all these would seem to be consistent results of adopting the
unexpected as the principle of the genre.”[221]

After all this is said in criticism of Achilles Tatius’ exuberant style
and unlimited digressions, we go back to his fundamentals: a clear plot,
living human beings, vivid settings for them, and exciting adventures.
Achilles Tatius knew his age and for its disillusions he wrote with
ironic tolerance of human frailty and for its weariness he emphasized
the excitement of adventure and the stimulus of the unexpected. To me
his successes chalk up to a longer list than his failures and I end with
Phillimore:

  “What a strange thought—that an Alexandrian with the names of Achilles
  Tatius (what a pair!), atticizing _con furore_ in the reign of
  Diocletian, should write a story which delighted the Byzantine Middle
  Ages and can still be read with interest and amusement!”[222]



                                   VI
               THE LESBIAN PASTORALS OF DAPHNIS AND CHLOE
                              _BY LONGUS_


The very title of Longus’ romance shows a new departure. These Lesbian
Pastorals in four books form the only pastoral romance in Greek that is
extant. Compared with the other romances that of Longus is unique in
type, characters, setting and structure. Theocritus is the pervading
influence. Most of the leading characters are not nobles but serfs. Even
the young hero and heroine are brought up as shepherds until at the end
they are recognized as children of the great. City life plays little
part in the plot. The changing seasons make the set. Only a few
adventures disturb the serenity of the hills and pasturelands: an onset
of pirates, a local war and (of course!) the usual kidnappings. Country
gods are worshipped. The music of Pan’s pipes is the accompaniment of
the story.

Of the author we know nothing. Longus “is not mentioned by any other
writer before the Byzantine age, and himself mentions no historical name
or event.”[223] From internal evidence of his novel we see that he knew
Mytilene well; he was familiar with Greek and Roman literature and with
works of art; he had received a sophist’s training in the rhetorical
schools. He wrote probably in the second century A.D., before Achilles
Tatius.

The early editions and translations show why Longus was so influential
in Elizabethan England and indeed in the modern European literatures.
The first edition of the Greek text was published by the Junta Press in
Florence in 1598, but before that the romance had received its first
printing in Amyot’s French translation in 1559 and in the first English
translation by Angell Daye in 1587. This “earliest English version”
which was dedicated to Queen Elizabeth was more of an adaptation than a
translation. Its title-page demands perusal:

  “Daphnis and Chloe excellently describing the weight of affection, the
  simplicitie of love, the purport of honest meaning, the resolution of
  men, and disposition of Fate, finished in a Pastorall, and interlaced
  with the praises of a most peerlesse Princesse, wonderfull in
  Maiestie, and rare in perfection, celebrated within the same
  Pastorall, and therefore termed by the name of The Shepheards
  Holidaie. By Angell Daye. Altior fortuna virtus.”

The title-page of the 1657 translation by “Geo. Thornley, Gent.” was
dubbed “Daphnis and Chloe a most sweet and pleasant pastoral romance for
young ladies” and it too bore a Latin motto: “Humili casa nihil
antiquius nihil nobilius.—Sen. Philos.”

It is this delightful old translation which J. M. Edmonds “revised and
augmented” in his version for _The Loeb Classical Library_ and in his
introduction there Edmonds says that this seems to have been George
Thornley’s only publication. He was a sizar in Christ’s College and
received his Bachelor in Arts from the University of Cambridge. It is
this translation of Edmonds-Thornley which I shall use in my quotations.

Longus wrote a Prooimion to his romance which reveals the occasion and
the purpose of his writing. While hunting in Lesbos he saw in a fair
grove of the Nymphs a painted picture which told a tale of ancient love.

  “There were figured in it young women, in the posture, some of
  teeming, others of swaddling, little children; babes exposed, and ewes
  giving them suck; shepherds taking up foundlings, young persons
  plighting their troth; an incursion of thieves, an inroad of armed
  men.”

And on studying the painting Longus says:

  “I had a mighty instigation to write something as to answer that
  picture. And therefore, when I had carefully sought and found an
  interpreter of the image, I drew up these four books, an oblation to
  Love and to Pan and to the Nymphs, and a delightful possession even
  for all men. For this will cure him that is sick, and rouse him that
  is in dumps; one that has loved, it will remember of it; one that has
  not, it will instruct. For there was never any yet that wholly could
  escape love, and never shall there be any, never so long as beauty
  shall be, never so long as eyes can see. But help me that God to write
  the passions of others; and while I write, keep me in my own right
  wits.”

With this delightful prayer, our humorous nympholept Longus begins his
story. We must now outline briefly his four books of Pastorals.

The characters are:

  _Daphnis_, a young goatherd
  _Lamo_, foster-father of Daphnis
  _Myrtale_, foster-mother of Daphnis
  _Chloe_, a young shepherdess
  _Dryas_, foster-father of Chloe
  _Nape_, foster-mother of Chloe
  _Dorco_, an oxherd
  _Philetas_, an aged shepherd and a famous piper
  _Lycaenium_, a city chit married to a swain
  _Dionysophanes_, lord of the manor
  _Clearista_, his wife
  _Astylus_, his son
  _Gnatho_, a parasite of Astylus
  _Lampis_, a herdsman
  Tyrian pirates
  Young nobles of Methymna

In Lesbos near Mytilene there was a great estate of a great noble. On it
once strange things happened for a goatherd Lamo found a fine baby boy
being nursed by a she-goat. Purple was his cloak and near him was a
little golden sword with an ivory handle. Lamo and his wife Myrtale
reared the child and named him Daphnis. Two years later another shepherd
Dryas found in a cave sacred to the nymphs and carved with pictures of
them a baby girl being nursed by a sheep. And beside her were little
possessions, a girdle embroidered in gold, gilded shoes, golden anklets.
Dryas and his wife reared the child and named her Chloe. These are our
hero and heroine.

Now when Daphnis was fifteen and Chloe thirteen, one night both Lamo and
Dryas had the same dream. The nymphs of the cave appeared and gave
Daphnis and Chloe to a certain little winged boy with bow and arrow who
touched them with an arrow and ordered that Daphnis tend a flock of
goats and Chloe a flock of sheep. Their parents were disappointed that
they too were to become herdsmen, for they had given the children a good
education, but they offered sacrifice in the cave to the Boy and obeyed.

The year was at the spring. Birds were singing, lambs gamboling, flowers
blooming. The children too sang and danced together and made garlands of
flowers for the Nymphs. All their joy and work they shared. But into
this paradise came danger. Trap-ditches had been set to catch a
marauding wolf and into one, as he pursued a he-goat, fell Daphnis. He
was drawn up all bloody and must needs wash in the cave of the Nymphs.
Chloe as she washed his back thought she had never seen any-one so fair
or touched anything so soft. Love began here though she knew it not.

Another danger menaced. Dorco an oxherd who had helped draw Daphnis from
the pit fell in love with Chloe (he was a full-grown lad) and when he
could not get her by gifts, he and Daphnis held a contest of words for
beauty and Chloe was umpire. When their speeches were finished, Chloe at
once gave to Daphnis her prize—a kiss—and that kiss made Daphnis fall in
love though he did not know what love was.

Defeated Dorco next appealed to Dryas for Chloe as a wife, but Dryas
rejected him. Then he tried a base trick. He dressed up in a wolf-skin
and hid near the spring where the beasts watered, hoping to meet Chloe
alone there. This he did, but the sheep-dogs caught him first and would
have killed him had not Chloe and Daphnis saved him. They thought
Dorco’s disguise was only a game, for they never dreamed of rape in
their innocence.

So through spring and summer Daphnis and Chloe tended their flocks and
played the pipes together. But in the autumn Tyrian pirates descended on
the shore to raven. They wounded Dorco and stole his cows and kidnapped
Daphnis. Dorco dying gave his pipe to Chloe for one kiss at last and
bade her pipe his cows off the ship. And the cows on hearing the call of
the pipe jumped overboard and swam ashore with Daphnis charioted between
two holding to their horns. The boat was upset and the pirates who were
all in armor drowned. Daphnis and Chloe went to poor Dorco’s funeral.
They dedicated his pipe to the Nymphs. They cheered their flocks who lay
mourning for Daphnis on the hills. And all went on as before except that
Daphnis’ heart ached,—why he did not know.

Now (in Book II) came the time of vintage. These charming children
helped pick the grapes, tread the wine-press, fill the vats with the new
wine. That work done, back to their flocks went Daphnis and Chloe. There
old Philetas met them and sitting down told them a bright story of how
Eros had appeared to him in his garden, a little winged boy flitting
birdlike from tree to tree. And Philetas tried to teach the children who
Eros was and what was his power, for Philetas had loved Amaryllis in his
youth. But though Philetas as a wise _praeceptor amoris_ instructed them
thus: “There is no medicine for love, neither meat, nor drink, nor any
charm, but only kissing and embracing and lying side by side,” the
children did not understand his teaching and played this game of love
without fulfillment. And as they exchanged childish kisses, disaster
again broke upon them.

Some young nobles of Methymna put in at the shore in a gallant boat to
make holiday, fishing and hunting with their dogs. When a country fellow
stole the rope that tied up their ship, they carelessly made another of
green withes. Then their dogs while hunting frightened Daphnis’ goats
and drove them down to the shore and some finding no other fodder ate up
the green cable. At that a strong wind off shore blew the boat out to
sea to the great rage of the young Methymnaean owners. They beat up
Daphnis in a fight with the peasants in which they too were wounded and
prosecuted him in court, but Philetas was the presiding judge and
acquitted the goatherd of any wrong. The incensed young nobles made
their way home by land and persuaded Methymna to avenge their injuries
by sending a fleet to the land of Mytilene in an unannounced war. The
army plundered and devastated and right from the sacred cave of the
Nymphs kidnapped Chloe. But such sacrilege was not to be unavenged by
the gods and the Nymphs appearing in a vision to distraught Daphnis
assured him that Pan would protect their votary. And indeed Pan sent
awful omens to the Methymnaeans: the sound of the clashing of unseen
weapons; the sight of ivy sprouting on the horns of Daphnis’ stolen
goats and of a crown of pine placed on Chloe’s head while all her stolen
sheep howled like wolves. And the sea had its marvels: anchors stuck,
oars broke, while a strange military piping filled the air. Finally Pan
appeared to the admiral and demanded the return of the maid stolen from
the altar of the Nymphs and the return of her herds and flocks. So the
terrified commandant put about and restored Chloe to the land. What a
story she had to tell Daphnis! What sacrifices and libations the rustics
offered to Pan and the Nymphs! Philetas too arrived to help them. Lamo
told them the story of the invention of Pan’s pipes which a Sicilian
goatherd had sung to him. And on his own great pipes Philetas played the
different calls for the herds and the song of Dionysus. Daphnis and
Chloe acted out Lamo’s story of Pan and Syrinx. The next day back to
their flocks went the children and they talked now of their love for
each other and took mighty oaths of faithfulness for life and death,
Chloe swearing by the Nymphs, Daphnis by Pan. But since Chloe knew Pan
for an amorous and faithless god, she made Daphnis take a second oath by
the trusty goats that he would match her faithfulness with his.

Now (in the beginning of Book III) war enters the story, for the
Mytilenaeans were incensed at the actions of the Methymnaean fleet and
sent a land expedition under Hippasus for reparations. But this war was
conducted in a manner worthy of the golden age without ravaging of
country, with speedy offer of satisfaction, with cordial adjustment of
terms.

Winter now arrived, more bitter than war to Daphnis and Chloe. Their
flocks were shut in folds; they were secluded in their separate
farm-houses. But while Chloe learned to spin and found no comfort,
Daphnis built a plan on hope. Braving the snow he struggled to a bird
center near Chloe’s home, as if he went fowling. Yet when he had reached
his goal and snared many birds, he dared not approach the farm-house for
lack of excuse. But Dryas chasing a dog who had stolen some meat rushed
out-doors, met Daphnis and brought him home.

Chloe in her glad surprise gave him a kiss; and all made him welcome.
Daphnis was persuaded to spend the night to celebrate with them on the
next day their sacrifice to Dionysus. In the morning the lovers found a
few moments alone in which to renew their troth, and after that Daphnis
came often thither through the winter months.

Then spring came; the flocks were once more sent to pasture. Daphnis and
Chloe crowned their gods with flowers and honored them with piping. They
watched the goats mate and wished to mate too, but knew not how. A city
woman, Lycaenium, married to a swain, heard their childish talk and
being half enamored of Daphnis undertook to complete Philetas’
instruction in the art of love and having had experience she taught him
all. But he put off using his new knowledge. Instead he told Chloe the
story of Echo.

Many suitors now wooed Chloe, and Daphnis in despair told Myrtale, his
foster-mother, how he too longed to wed the girl, but his suit seemed
hopeless until to desperate Daphnis once more the Nymphs appeared and
told him where to find a purse of money that had been cast ashore from
the Methymnaean ship. With the three thousand drachmae in it he won over
Dryas and Nape, who in turn persuaded his father and mother to accept
the match. But Lamo wished the marriage postponed until the lord of the
manor arrived in the autumn to give his consent. Now that they were
affianced Daphnis and Chloe waited happily. Daphnis plucked for Chloe a
golden apple that hung unplucked on top of a tree, the best of all, a
symbol of the victory of love. And in return he received a kiss more
precious even than an apple of gold.

Now (in Book IV) with the autumn and the vintage the lord Dionysophanes
was coming with his wife Clearista to inspect his estate. Lamo’s pride
was the beautiful garden he had made, so it was a major disaster when a
rejected suitor of Chloe, churlish Lampis, devastated it for spite. Lamo
besought Astylus, son of Dionysophanes, to appease his father’s wrath
and this he did.

Astylus had a rascally parasite Gnatho with him who tried to corrupt
Daphnis, but in vain; so hoping for the future he persuaded Astylus to
induce his father to take Daphnis back to the city as his son’s servant.
At this menace Lamo decided he must reveal Daphnis’ origin so he brought
out the tokens he had found with the child. They proved that he was the
son of Dionysophanes and Clearista, exposed by them when they were young
and thoughtless and had too many children. So the young shepherd was
transformed into a prince and almost forgot Chloe. Indeed while he was
celebrating she was carried off by Lampis, the herdsman. Gnatho, seeing
Daphnis’ despair, to reinstate himself, dashed off and rescued Chloe
just in time. Now her foster-parents produced her tokens and her
nobility too was assured. All went to Mytilene to find Chloe’s parents.
The Nymphs and Eros appeared to Dionysophanes in a dream and Eros bade
him to make a great marriage feast and there to display Chloe’s tokens.
This he did and by them Chloe too found noble parents. But Daphnis and
Chloe chose to have a country wedding and went back to the fields to
their rustic friends.

Indeed most of their lives they lived there in the simple way of
shepherds, worshipping the Nymphs, Pan and Eros, possessing great herds
of sheep and goats, and for food liking best of all apples and milk.
There they had a son and daughter whom a goat and a sheep nursed;
Philopoemen and Agelaea were their names. They made the cave into a fair
shrine, set up statues there, raised an altar to Eros the shepherd and
gave to Pan the soldier a temple to dwell in instead of a pine. All this
was long afterwards. Now they had a rustic wedding. The shepherds played
their rude pipes for their Hymenaeus. Daphnis and Chloe slept no more
than the birds that night and Chloe then first learned that all their
love-making in the wood was only the play of children.

This brief epitome of the plot shows its simplicity and its coloring.
The scene is pastoral and a unity of place is observed which
distinguishes the romance. All the action takes place in the country
near Mytilene. Only for the episode of the search for Chloe’s parents do
the characters move to the city and their sojourn there is short.[224]
The main events of the plot are the double exposures, the adoption and
the recognitions of Daphnis and Chloe and their common life as
shepherds. The plot contains the usual features of a romance but
virtually all are adapted to the pastoral tone and there is a change in
their relative importance. The chief interests are the same as in the
other romances: love, adventure, religion. But love is in its
springtime: it buds and blossoms in the lives of two innocent children
as the eternal miracle of nature.[225] The adventures are for the most
part simple country disasters: Daphnis falling into a trap-ditch set for
a wolf; a fair garden wantonly destroyed by a jealous rival. There are
to be sure two kidnappings, but the rescues are speedy and magical.
Daphnis is saved from the Tyrian pirates by the music of a shepherd’s
pipe. Chloe’s return by the Methymnaeans is compelled by Pan himself.
Even war is conducted with noble generosity and given a peaceful
solution as if in a golden age.

Adventure indeed plays a far smaller part in the romance than does
religion. Worship is heartfelt and a part of life. The gods honored are
deities naturally worshipped in the country: the Nymphs, Pan, Dionysus
and Eros. They are ever-present.

Longus in his Preface says that he made these four books as a votive to
Eros, the Nymphs and Pan. The baby girl was exposed, nursed by a sheep
and found by a shepherd in the cave of the Nymphs.[226] At critical
moments in the lives of the hero and heroine the Nymphs appear in
visions to guide or save. In Book I Lamo and Dryas, the foster-fathers,
had the same dream the same night: they saw the Nymphs consign Daphnis
and Chloe to the care of a young winged boy who touched both with the
same arrow and bade each tend the flocks.[227] After Chloe was kidnapped
by the Methymnaeans from the very cave of the Nymphs, the three
goddesses appeared to Daphnis in a vision by night and told him not to
fear, for Pan of the pine-tree would rescue the maid.[228] Again when
for his poverty Daphnis saw that Chloe was to be betrothed to some
richer suitor, the Nymphs appeared and told him where to find a purse of
silver.[229] Finally Chloe’s noble parentage was discovered by the
direction of the Nymphs and Eros who appeared to Dionysophanes in his
sleep and bade him make a wedding feast in Mytilene and at it pass
Chloe’s tokens about to all the guests.[230]

Such solicitous and tender care had been won by Daphnis and Chloe
through devotion. Out on the hills in the morning first of all they
saluted their gods. They gathered flowers to crown their statues. They
made them gifts of grapes and apples or of pipe. They sacrificed to them
kids and lambs, and to the Nymphs and Pan they offered constantly their
prayers and vows. In the cave of the Nymphs Chloe swore to share life
and death with Daphnis. Under the pine Daphnis swore by Pan that he
would not live a single day without Chloe.[231]

Eros is a less familiar god to the children, but through Philetas’
instruction about the merry flying boy they come to be his
votaries.[232] Dionysophanes gives all praise for the care of the
children to the united protection of Pan, the Nymphs and Eros.[233] The
betrothal takes place before the statues of the Nymphs.[234] And all
their lives Daphnis and Chloe worshipped the Nymphs, Pan and Eros for
their very present help in time of trouble.[235] This was no formal
ritual: it was a vital faith offered with clean hands and a pure heart.

The worship of Dionysus also entered into the life of the whole
countryside. The song of the God of Wine is played by Philetas and
danced by Dryas. The festival of Dionysus is celebrated by the sacrifice
of a ram, a feast, libations poured by ivy-crowned worshippers. In the
garden of the great estate of Dionysophanes there are an altar and a
shrine to the god, and the temple had paintings about the life of
Dionysus: Semele his mother, the sleeping Ariadne, the binding of
Lycurgus, the rending of Pentheus, the conquered Indians, the
transformed Tyrians, Pan piping to those treading the wine-press and to
those dancing.[236] On the first day after he arrived at his estate
Dionysophanes made sacrifice to this god for whom he was named along
with the other rural deities, Demeter, Pan, the Nymphs.[237] And Daphnis
for his happiness dedicated his bag and cloak to Dionysus, to Pan his
whistle and his pipe, to the Nymphs his crook and milk-pails.[238] The
god of the vintage must always have his share of honor in the country.

So because the gods are omnipresent in country life, religion is as much
a part of the set of the romance as is locality. For the monotony which
might result from the single background of the great estate near
Mytilene in Lesbos is varied not only by descriptions of fair garden,
pastures, trees, hills, seashore, but by the mystic vicinity of the cave
of the Nymphs, the pine-tree of Pan, the grapevine of Dionysus and over
all the unseen flying Eros shooting his darts.

With such a setting, naturally the order of events follows the seasons.
In spring the story begins when the lad of fifteen and the girl of
thirteen are sent out to tend the flocks in meadows and on hills. Summer
brings the adventures of the trap-ditch and the Tyrian pirates. Autumn
has its vintage and the menace of the Methymnaean roisterers. Winter
houses and separates the lovers until Daphnis makes bold to go fowling.
Spring returning, Daphnis finds a purse and wins his shepherdess’ hand.
Summer passes in tending the flocks and making love. Then as autumn
again brings the vintage the lord of the manor comes to his estate.
There follows the recognition of Daphnis as his son and soon Chloe is
found to be as noble. The weather is still fair, so after a royal feast
in the city, the wedding is celebrated in the country for their hearts
were rural.

Indeed the characters are for the most part country wights: the worthy
foster-parents, Chloe’s suitors, Philetas the wise old herdsman. They
are all serfs and Daphnis and Chloe were given pastoral names by their
foster-parents to make them seem truly theirs. They are noble slaves
full of hospitality and kindness. When corruption menaces and brings
temptation, it comes from the city. Lycaenium is a young bride from the
city. Gnatho is a city parasite. Astylus, the son of Dionysophanes,
although he is a great-hearted youth who pities Lamo for the destruction
of his garden and welcomes his newly found brother Daphnis with open
arms, shows the effects of city life by making his boon companion the
worthless parasite Gnatho whose only thoughts were of eating, drinking
and lechery. Dionysophanes is nobler than his son: though gray-haired,
he is still tall, handsome, able to wrestle with young men, and though
wealthy he is good. Indeed some virtue must be attributed in this
fairy-story even to the villains. Dorco who tried to rape Chloe makes a
beautiful end by giving her his pipe and teaching her how to call the
cattle and Daphnis back from the raiders’ ship. Gnatho redeems himself
by rescuing Chloe from her second kidnapping. And even Lampis, the rough
herdsman, was deemed worthy of forgiveness and invited to the wedding.
Daphnis and Chloe are brave, beautiful and virginal. Chloe keeps her
chastity to the end. Daphnis sins but once, to learn what love is that
he may teach his maid.

Dalmeyda has pointed out another striking feature of the plot beside the
unity of place and the strictly pastoral coloring. This is its two-part
division of which the first might be entitled “the search for love” and
the second “the marriage of Chloe.” The first part ends with the lesson
of Lycaenium, the second with the country wedding.[239]

Within this two-part division and the unified pastoral scene, the usual
devices are employed for the pattern of the romance, conversation,
soliloquies, oaths, court-room speeches, happy ending, but all are
simplified to a country standard. Typical of what I mean is the
breath-taking conversation that the lovers secure alone after their
winter separation, λόγων ὁµιλία τερπνή.[240]

“Chloe, I came for thy sake.” “I know it, Daphnis.” “’Tis long of thee
that I destroy the poor birds.” “What wilt thou with me?” “Remember me.”
“I remember thee, by the Nymphs by whom heretofore I have sworn in
yonder cave, whither we will go as soon as ever the snow melts.” “But it
lies very deep, Chloe, and I fear I shall melt before the snow.”
“Courage, man; the Sun burns hot.” “I would it burnt like that fire
which now burns my very heart.” “You do but gibe and cozen me!” “I do
not, by the goats by which thou didst once bid me to swear to thee.”

The soliloquies too are as artless and simple as this talk. At some
emotional crisis the youngsters bemoan to themselves their lot. Chloe,
falling in love with Daphnis when she sees him bathe in the cave of the
Nymphs, laments the pain in her heart that is worse than a
bee-sting.[241] After Daphnis has been recognized as the son of the
great Dionysophanes, Chloe weeps at being forgotten, is sure Daphnis is
breaking his oath of faithfulness and bids him farewell since she will
surely die.[242] Daphnis makes moan more often. When the kiss of Chloe
has set him on fire, he complains that his heart leaps up; his soul is
weakened; he will waste away with his strange malady.[243] Over the
sleeping Chloe he murmurs a soft rhapsody.[244] Shut in alone by winter
he takes counsel with himself on what excuse to end their
separation.[245] And when he hears that Lampis has carried Chloe off, he
seeks solitude in the garden and rails at his bitter loss.[246] Even the
court-room speeches in the prosecution of Daphnis by the Methymnaeans
for the loss of their ship are reduced to short and simple arguments
since a herdsman sat as judge.[247] The trial of course ends happily for
Daphnis as must inevitably the whole story. Of all the love romances
this springtime love in the country is the most joyous.

As we read this pastoral romance, the unknown author becomes to us a
real personality. His delight in the country is spontaneous and real. He
is a cultured person with genuine appreciation of art, music and
literature. Their influence enriches his story. Longus in his preface
tells how a painting which he chanced to see in the grove of the Nymphs
gave the inspiration for the writing of his novel, for the painting
pictured a history of love and he longed to write something that would
correspond to the picture. Paintings again he mentions in his
description of a shrine of Dionysus, paintings telling all the myths of
the god.[248] The images of the Nymphs in the cave are described
carefully by him: cut out of the rock they were, feet unshod, arms bare
to the shoulders, hair falling on their necks, their garments belted, a
smile in their eyes.[249] A statue of Pan stood under his sacred pine
until at the end Daphnis and Chloe built him a shrine.[250] Over and
over these representations are referred to as symbols of very present
gods.

The music that fills the romance is the sound of the shepherds’ pipes
and the voice of song. Daphnis makes a pipe of reeds and teaches Chloe
how to play on it.[251] So well did she learn that on Dorco’s pipe she
could call the cattle back from the raiders’ ship.[252] When spring
brought them out-doors, both Daphnis and Chloe challenged the
nightingales with their piping and the birds answered.[253] Philetas the
old herdsman outdid all in playing on the great organ-pipe of his
father. He played special strains for cows and oxen, for goats, for
sheep. He played too the melody of Dionysus and to it Dryas footed the
dance of the vintage. Daphnis too played on Philetas’ pipe a love-song
and danced with Chloe the story of the origin of the pipe, Pan’s wooing
of the maid Syrinx.[254]

Daphnis displayed his art for his own father and mother, before he was
recognized as their son, to do them pleasure. He blew the call of the
goats; he blew their soft lullaby; he blew their grazing tune; he blew
the alarm for a wolf; he blew the recall. And the goats responded to all
his different strains.[255] After the wedding the shepherds piped the
bride and groom to bed and sang outside their door a rude, harsh song,
no Hymenaeus, but such as they were wont to sing when with their picks
they broke the earth.[256] For country people sang at all their tasks:
the boatman on the river,[257] the herdsman in the pastureland.

More pervasive than all other influences in the romance is the literary.
Theocritus colors the whole story. There are a few reminiscences of
Bion[258] and Moschus,[259] but it was the Sicilian goatherd par
excellence who instructed Longus as he did Lamo in his story.[260]
Calderini shows the various traces of the inspiration which Longus
received from the Alexandrian idyl. There is a continuous alternation of
descriptions of nature with descriptions of emotion all composed with a
certain serenity and restraint. The pain is not too violent; the
descriptions of nature are not too detailed or pedantic. There are many
special similar motives: the descriptions of paintings and statues; the
fear and the protection of Pan and the Nymphs; the vengeance of Eros on
those who scorn him; the young lovers who frequent the gymnasia and the
palestra; love which is born on the day of a festival; the woe of love;
the violent, brutal love of a scorned shepherd; the patron who lives at
a distance.[261] The pastoral name Daphnis is taken from the ideal
shepherd of Theocritus and Vergil. Pastoral setting and pastoral
narrative have the flavor of Theocritus. Episodes are identical: Chloe
plaits a tiny cage for a grasshopper as did the young lad carved on the
bowl of ivy-wood.[262] Daphnis and Chloe as they sit kissing each other
on the hill see a fisherman’s boat passing on the sea and listen to his
song.[263] So in Theocritus lovers on the land embracing look out at the
far distant sea.[264] But above all, Longus saw as Theocritus did that
in the lives of herdsmen lay true romance, and while Theocritus sang his
short lays, closely affiliated with the mimes in their use of the comic,
Longus lifted the love of goatherd and shepherd to the realm of pure
fiction by idealization and tenderness. His originality was in making
young love grow with the seasons to maturity. The name of his heroine,
Chloe, a young green shoot, is symbolic of this growing life.[265] His
awareness of his unique contribution to romance perhaps appears in his
title: _The Lesbian Pastorals of Daphnis and Chloe_.

Sappho too was known and cherished by Longus. There is a possible
reminiscence in the description of Daphnis turning paler than grass in
its season.[266] There is a sure reminiscence of Sappho’s hyacinth on
the mountains crushed by the feet of the passing shepherds in Lamo’s
pity for his flowers trodden down by a marauder.[267] And to Sappho
Longus owes the climax of Daphnis’ wooing at the end of Book III when he
pulls “the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,” saved by
Fortune for a shepherd in love, and putting it in Chloe’s bosom makes it
a symbol of her beauty and his prize.[268]

Drama too had a definite influence on Longus, indeed the word δρᾶµα or
δραµατικόν is applied to these romances by Photius.[269] The two
recognition scenes in which Daphnis and Chloe find parents through the
tokens placed with them when they were exposed as babies are copied from
tragedy. New Comedy furnished at least three characters to the romance,
Gnatho the parasite, Sophrone the nurse who exposed the baby
Daphnis[270] and the city wench, Lycaenium. Elegiac poetry furnished
Philetas, the father perhaps of erotic elegiacs. Echo repeating the name
of Amaryllis suggests Vergil.[271] And Ovid perhaps contributed three
names: Astylus, Dryas and Nape.[272] The influence of the rhetorical
schools is slighter than in the other romances, but appears in the
court-room scene with its speeches and in the use of parallelism and
contrast. Parallelism, as Calderini says,[273] includes all the plot of
the romance and proceeds from the number and selection of the characters
to the variety of the secondary episodes and to the description of the
smallest details. Daphnis and Chloe are both exposed, both rescued by
shepherds. Both are kidnapped. An attack on Chloe is made by Dorco, on
Daphnis by Gnatho. Chloe touches Daphnis when he is bathing and falls in
love. Daphnis kisses Chloe and his heart rises to his lips. Astylus, the
city son of Dionysophanes, is sophisticated, Daphnis is virginal. The
oath of Daphnis is matched by the oath of Chloe. On and on proceeds this
balancing. And the parallelism appears not only in plot, but in details
of phrase and sentence structure: balanced rhythmical phrases set off by
rhymes or alliterations; bipartite or tripartite periods, elaborate in
their rhetorical structure. Sometimes indeed Longus’ Pastorals seem
written in modern verse, indeed they are written in poetic prose.[274]

Out of all these interests in art, music and literature and beyond them
Longus has created a style peculiarly his own and suited to his pastoral
romance. His sentence structure is simple and paratactic. His
comparisons are drawn from the life of shepherds. Chloe is as restive as
a heifer.[275] Dorco claims he is as white as milk but Daphnis says
Dorco is as red as a fox.[276] Daphnis and Chloe run about like dogs
freed from their leashes.[277] Chloe plunders from Daphnis’ mouth a bit
of cake as though she were a young bird being fed.[278]

Description and narration are as vivid as these little similes. We are
made to see Daphnis at his bath: his hair black and thick, his body
sun-burned dark as though colored by the shadow of his hair;[279] the
coming of spring with flowers covering the valleys and the mountains,
bees humming, birds warbling, lambs gamboling; the vintage scene with
the peasants all busy in the vineyard with the wine-presses, the
hogsheads, the baskets, and the grapes;[280] the winter landscape with
the deep snow, the rushing torrents, the ice, the laden trees;[281] the
country wedding with the feast on beds of green boughs before the cave
of the Nymphs, the songs of the reapers and the vintners, the dancing to
the pipes, the goats sharing the feast, the bridal procession with its
piping and singing.[282]

Longus’ art of narration is employed as skillfully as are his
descriptions. This art appears not only in the pattern of the whole
romance, but in the skillful use of stories within the story to
diversify and enliven the longer narrative. After the feast of Dionysus,
the old men, their tongues loosed with wine, fell into reminiscence and
told tales to each other:

  “how bravely in their youth they had administered the pasturing of
  their flocks and herds, how in their time they had escaped very many
  invasions and inroads of pirates and thieves. Here one bragged that he
  had killed a wolf, here another that he had bin second to Pan alone in
  the skill and art of piping.”[283]

That last was Philetas, the wise old shepherd who told Daphnis and Chloe
the story of the gay little Eros whom he had found playing in his garden
flying like a nightingale from bough to bough of the myrtles, a lovely
story with a point for Philetas’ _ars amatoria_.[284] The other inset
stories are mostly short myths. So Daphnis tells Chloe how the mourning
dove was once a maid, very proud of her singing and by her song alone
she kept the cows she tended near her in the wood. But a shepherd lad
rivalled her music and piped off eight of her finest cows to his own
herd. And the girl in despair prayed to become a bird. The gods
consented and left her that sweet voice so still she calls the cattle
home.[285]

At the feast of Dionysus Lamo tells a myth which a Sicilian goatherd had
sung to him, a tiny tale of how the girl Syrinx fleeing Pan’s embraces
was changed into a reed and then made by Pan into his pipe, with reeds
of unequal lengths to symbolize their ill-matched love.[286] All these
stories are very short and simple, bits of folk-lore such as peasants
might relate at their feasts or in the open.

Much of the whole narrative is colored by a humor that is as playful and
tender as the spirit of Philetas’ merry child Eros. In the vintage scene
both Daphnis and Chloe are beset with childish jealousy at the
attentions that each other receives.[287] The author’s humor plays
around them from the time when they first herded their flocks together
to the day of their rural wedding. And the plot is set with humor, which
as Wolff observes, turns on “the incongruity between the children’s
innocence and the piquancy of their experiments.”[288]

It is not strange that Longus’ Pastorals with all their charm of plot,
setting and style were the forerunners of much later literature. Todd
has a paragraph which is a sign-post to the line of his successors.[289]

  “Longus invented the pastoral romance, and his influence is found
  throughout the pastorals of the modern European literatures: already,
  perhaps, at the end of the fifteenth century, in the _Arcadia_ of the
  ‘Neapolitan Virgil’ Jacopo Sannazaro; in the _Aminta_ of Tasso, in the
  _Astrée_ of D’Urfé, in the _Gentle Shepherd_ of Ramsay, in the _Paul
  et Virginie_ of Saint-Pierre, and in other writings almost countless.”

S. L. Wolff’s elaborate study of _The Greek Romances in Elizabethan
Prose Fiction_ analyzes in detail Longus’ influence on Robert Greene in
_Manaphon_ and _Pandost_ and Shakespeare’s use of Longus in the pastoral
setting, the hunt scene, the exposure motif in _The Winter’s Tale_.
There is rich material still left in the study of the Greek Romances for
the young scholar working in Comparative Literature. By them, by all
students of literature _Daphnis and Chloe_ deserves to be read and
reread. For Longus, just as Theocritus did in the Idyl, immortalized in
the realm of fiction the loves and woes of shepherds.

It is strange that a pastoral romance of such honest and simple charm
should have played a dramatic part in a melodrama of the early
nineteenth century. Yet it did, for it almost caused an international
literary warfare; it almost had a French officer shot for desertion; and
it created serious political complications for him with the Bonaparte
family.

Paul Louis Courier (1773-1825) led a bizarre life as a vine-grower, an
officer in the artillery, a liberal pamphleteer, a member of the Legion
of Honor, a prisoner in Sainte-Pélagie, a traveller, a poet, a
Hellenist. Throughout his checkered career, he anticipated Byron in his
romantic passion for the antiquities, the ruins, the beauty of Greece.
In 1811 he wrote from Rome: “The fact is that I wish before I die to see
the lantern of Demosthenes and drink the water of the Ilissus.”

It was this passion combined with his disgust at the butcheries of
Wagram that made him forget that he was a soldier so that in 1809,
though he was the head of a squadron of artillery, he slipped out of
military life and in Italy devoted all his time to those literary
studies to which before he had given his leisure.

Reared in the country (at Méré in Touraine), he had early become
fascinated with the pastoral romance _Daphnis and Chloe_ and now he was
determined to work on a Thirteenth Century Greek manuscript of it which
was in the Laurentian Library. After some difficulty he obtained
permission from the librarian, Francesco Furia, and his work started
happily. It was to meet with the greatest success and the greatest
disaster. Courier, amateur that he was, discovered that the Laurentian
manuscript contained the text of the great lacuna in Book I (cc. 12-17).
These chapters were lacking in all other manuscripts. Furia who had
worked for years on the manuscript, which was in parts nearly illegible,
had never noticed these hitherto unknown chapters. They contain the
episode of Daphnis tumbling into the trap-ditch, Chloe’s falling in love
with him thereafter, and the contest of Daphnis and Dorco for Chloe’s
kiss.

Close on Courier’s great discovery followed a most unfortunate episode,
for after carefully copying the new chapters Courier obliterated them by
a black ink stain. It was natural that the jealous Furia should believe
that Courier had intentionally upset his ink-pot over them. Courier
himself in a letter to Renouard declared that inadvertently he had used
as a marker some paper which was soaked in ink on the under side, and
that made the blot.

The rage of Furia might itself have hindered the publication of
Courier’s discovery and now a political complication arose as a new
obstacle. Since the fame of his work was spreading, Elisa Bonaparte, the
sister of Napoleon, wished to have Courier’s publication dedicated to
her and the prefect of Florence, the Baron Fauchet, announced her
gracious wish at a formal dinner-party! Courier, who by now hated all
Bonapartes, cut his Gordian knot by rushing out at Florence a Greek
edition in fifty-two copies before the French edition which he was
publishing at Paris appeared in 1810. The deed was done and neither
Furia nor la Bonaparte could undo it.

The fame and scandal of Courier’s work of course came to the ears of the
Ministry of War and orders were sent to General Sorbier, commandant of
the artillery in Italy, to demand from Courier explanations of his
absence from his squadron. Fortunately the general accepted Courier’s
affirmation that he had never thought of deserting so that the Hellenist
escaped being shot then, but fate pursued him.

On April 11, 1825, the body of Paul Louis Courier was found in a wood
near his country home at Véretz. He had been assassinated. It was long
believed that this was a political crime, “a kind of epilogue of secret
vengeance in party politics” as Edmond Pilon puts it.[290] It might also
have been the revenge of a philologist. Actually the shooting was the
result of an embroglio with certain servants on his estate. Courier in
1814 had married Mlle Herminie Clavier, who managed his estate in his
absence. She seems to have betrayed him both in business matters and
affairs of the heart so that Courier separated from her and made new
plans for the management of the estate. Five years after the murder the
Department of Justice found that the assassins were certain servitors of
Courier who had been dismissed because of their connivance with Madame
Courier in her iniquities. Courier, whose dearest dream had been the
pastoral life of Daphnis and Chloe, escaped the dangers of war and of
prison only to be shot in the country he loved for petty personal spite.

Paul Louis Courier would, I am sure, have been happy to have part of his
fame rest on his precious new chapters of the Pastorals, and to know
that his beautiful translation of their four books lives on in one new
edition after another.



                                  VII
_LUCIAN AND HIS SATIRIC ROMANCES: THE_ TRUE HISTORY _AND_ LUCIUS OR ASS


  “Lucian of Samosata [was] surnamed ‘The blasphemer,’ because in his
  dialogues he alleges that the things told of the gods are absurd....
  He was at first an advocate in Antioch, but, having ill success in
  that, he turned to the composition of discourses, and his writings are
  innumerable. He is said to have been killed by dogs, he having been
  rabid against the truth. For in his ‘Life of Peregrinus’ he attacks
  Christianity and, wicked man, blasphemes against Christ himself.
  Wherefore for his madness he suffered meet punishment in this life,
  and hereafter with Satan he will be inheritor of the everlasting
  fire.”[291]

This is the meagre biography by Suidas of the great satirist who through
nearly all of the second century held up the mirror of his frankness to
reflect images of the Greek and Roman world. Suidas’ misrepresentation
of Lucian’s allusions to the Christians and his fanciful picture of the
sophist’s end vilify much of this traditional vita. From Lucian’s own
writings more facts may be assembled.

Syrian by birth, he wrote in Greek and became a master of an Attic prose
style. As a boy he was apprenticed to a sculptor uncle, but quickly left
work with his hands for work with his tongue, studied rhetoric and
oratory, practiced as an advocate at Antioch, became a professional
sophist and travelled in Asia Minor, Macedonia, Greece, Italy, Gaul;
about A.D. 165 settled at Athens where he lived twenty years, then near
the end of his life took an official post in Egypt under the Emperor and
wrote an Apology for so doing. Suidas’ description of his writings as
“innumerable” seems justified by the eighty-two prose works extant to
say nothing of two mock tragedies and fifty-three epigrams, now
considered spurious.

Though the great bulk of Lucian’s writings consists of Platonic and
satiric dialogues, he enters into the scope of this book as a writer of
the satiric or parody romance. For two of his writings, the _True
History_ and _Lucius or Ass_, establish for us this new type of Greek
romance. His _True History_ is a parody of all travellers’ tales from
Odysseus’ to such as those of Antonius Diogenes in _The Wonderful Things
beyond Thule_. Probably this work of Lucian had more literary influence
than any of his other writings. His other romance, of which we have only
an epitome, _Lucius or Ass_, is, I believe, a parody of the romance
motivated mainly by religion. Its greatest value in its present
syncopated form is that it outlines a contemporary Greek counterpart of
the famous Latin novel, Apuleius’ _Metamorphoses_, and furnishes us with
a touchstone for testing the pure gold of Apuleius’ originality.

Before, however, we can discuss Lucian’s art of narration in his two
romances, we must reconstruct from his own writings his literary
autobiography and his conceptions of his literary art. Only then when we
have met the critic self-criticized will we be competent to appreciate
his brilliant imaginative flights in his novels.

A dangerous temptation at once assails any one who starts to write on
any subject connected with Lucian. That is to attempt to cover the whole
field of his life and works because of the brilliancy of the many-sided
facets of his genius. A forcible deterrent is the fact that a masterly
appreciation of _La vie et les œuvres de Lucien_ has already been
written by Maurice Croiset in his _Essai_[292] which in richness and
style alike is worthy of its great theme. All subsequent studies of
Lucian are inevitably founded on M. Croiset’s appreciation.

Gildersleeve, following Croiset, pointed out that Lucian’s life must be
reconstructed from his own writings. And this within the scope of a
brief essay Gildersleeve did brilliantly for English readers fifty years
ago.[293] From another angle I am attempting to do this same thing now
in order to make us acquainted before we read his stories with Lucian
the story-teller.[294]

Lucian’s early life is pictured in a brief speech called _The Dream_.
This was probably delivered in his native Syria on his return after his
European lecture-tour which made him famous as a Sophist. In a whimsical
mixture of fact and fancy he describes his choice of a career. As a
young lad when he had just finished school, Lucian was apprenticed to
his mother’s brother, a sculptor, to learn to be “a good stone-cutter,
mason and sculptor.” On his first day he struck a slab of marble so hard
that he shattered it. Whereat his uncle gave him such a violent beating
that he ran home to his mother for comfort. That night he had a vision.
Two women were struggling to get possession of him. They were vastly
different in appearance and in the appeals they made to him, for they
were Sculpture and Education. Sculpture, unkempt, speaking haltingly and
like a barbarian, told Lucian that if he came to her, he would live
well, have strong shoulders, would never go abroad, but would gain such
fame as surrounded Phidias, Polyclitus, Myron, Praxiteles. Education in
her turn assured him that even if he became a famous sculptor, he would
be only a mechanic, living by his hands; she herself has much more to
offer him.

  “If you follow my advice, first of all I shall show you many works of
  men of old, tell you their wondrous deeds and words, and make you
  conversant with almost all knowledge, and I shall ornament your soul,
  which concerns you most, with many noble adornments—temperance,
  justice, piety, kindliness, reasonableness, understanding,
  steadfastness, love of all that is beautiful, ardour towards all that
  is sublime; for these are the truly flawless jewels of the soul.
  Nothing that came to pass of old will escape you, and nothing that
  must now come to pass; nay, you will even foresee the future with me.
  In a word, I shall speedily teach you everything that there is,
  whether it pertains to the gods or to man.”[295]

Moreover, he will dress with distinction, will speak with eloquence.
Finally he may became as famous as Demosthenes or Aeschines. He must
recall that Socrates left sculpture for philosophy.

Lucian on hearing these two appeals gave himself to Education, who then
took him in a car with winged horses and from the air showed him the
cities and peoples of the world. After this vision she clothed him
suitably and returned him to his home. Lucian says he has told this
dream “in order that those who are young may take the better direction
and cleave to education, above all if poverty is making any one of them
faint-hearted.”[296]

Now although this choice of Lucian is based on the choice of
Hercules[297] and although facts are clothed in fantasy, the picture of
Lucian’s early apprenticeship may well be true, for the boy’s delight in
modelling little figures of wax seems to forecast Lucian’s life-long
interest in sculpture and other art forms.

The next crisis in Lucian’s literary life is depicted in _The Double
Indictment_, a dialogue composed when the author was forty. In it Lucian
appears in court to answer two charges: one of the rhetoricians, for
giving up speech-making and essay-writing; the other of the
philosophers, for using their sacred Platonic dialogue for satire.
Lucian’s trial takes place on the Areopagus with Justice presiding, but
the dialogue opens in heaven with a long complaint by Zeus about the
hard life of the gods especially his own, no time for anything. Hermes
who is listening tells him frankly that there are many complaints among
mortals on earth because of the slowness of the law courts. Zeus then
sends Hermes down to proclaim a session and orders Justice to preside at
it.

At this court, after various cases have been wittily disposed of, the
Syrian is called to face two indictments: Oratory versus the Syrian for
neglect, Dialogue versus the Syrian for maltreatment. Oratory first
relates how she found the plaintiff as a lad wandering in Ionia,
speaking with a foreign accent, dressed as a Syrian. She educated him
and at his eager request married him although all his dowry was
wonderful speeches. Next she had him made a citizen and then went
travelling with him to Greece, Ionia, Italy and Gaul. As he became
famous, he grew indifferent to her, for he was enamored of a bearded
man, Dialogue, said to be the son of Philosophy. Now he no longer makes
speeches, but has a strange way of using short questions. She sues him
for desertion. The Syrian replies that all her facts are true, but there
are others; she lost her modesty, made up like a courtesan, flirted
indiscriminately with many lovers. So he separated from her and went to
live with a respectable gentleman, Dialogue. The Syrian won the case.

Next Dialogue pleaded. His dignity, his cosmic thoughts, his tragic mask
have all been stolen from him. He has been forced to associate with
Jest, Satire, Cynicism, Eupolis and Aristophanes, “terrible men for
mocking at all that is holy and scoffing at all that is right,” finally
too even with Menippus. He has been transformed into a monster not
homogeneous but Centaur-like. The Syrian in reply showed the benefits
which he had bestowed on Dialogue: he taught him to walk like a man, to
clean up, to smile, to be yoked with Comedy. Dialogue resents that the
Syrian will not indulge in endless arguments on subtle themes. The
Syrian declares that he has not taken off Dialogue’s Greek cloak and put
him into barbarian garb: Dialogue is still dressed in his native Greek
costume. The Syrian was unanimously acquitted much to the delight of the
audience. This mock-trial picturesquely portrays Lucian’s change from
writing the philosophical dialogues in the style of Plato to the satiric
dialogue, influenced successively by New Attic Comedy, Menippus and Old
Attic Comedy.[298] Lucian here is writing an Apology for the new style
of satire-dialogue which he created.

With similar wit but in various modes Lucian in other pieces satirizes
now Rhetoric, now Philosophy. An illuminating series of such dialogues
is _The Professor of Oratory_, _Nigrinus_, _Philosophies for Sale_, _The
Fisherman_.

In _The Professor of Oratory_ ironic advice is given to a young man on
how to become an orator and a sophist. The quest is noble and the way to
success is not difficult. The Lady Rhetoric sits fair and desirable on
the top of a high mountain attended by Wealth, Fame and Power. Thither
two roads lead. One is a narrow, steep and thorny path, the other an
easy slope amid flowers and fountains. Two guides will present
themselves to you. One, vigorous and manly, will point out to you the
hard way in the footprints of Demosthenes and Plato and will tell how
severe the training must be for their followers. He will wish, the
simpleton, to make you model yourself on the past.

The other guide is a pretty gentleman, daintily groomed and perfumed,
with an alluring smile and a honey voice. He will tell you that you can
become such an orator as he is if you carry as equipment ignorance,
boldness, shamelessness; if you dress in bright, diaphanous robes and
always carry a book! Your course of study will be the memorizing of a
few stock words, a few learned references for ornaments of your
discourse. He will teach you a high singsong chant and the art of always
beginning with stories from the Iliad.

Your fame will be secured by a well-trained chorus of applauders in your
audiences and by slanders of all your rivals. In private life you must
live fast with dice, wine and women, so you come to be talked of as a
deuce of a fellow, and amours will increase your income. Thus you will
be fitted to be the bridegroom of Rhetoric by driving furiously the
winged chariot of which Plato wrote. Your adviser is already getting out
of your way, for he was defeated when once you chose the primrose path.
This picture of _The Perfect Rhetorician_ has been thought by some
critics to be a personal satire of the contemporary lexicographer
Pollux. However that may be, it is certainly a satire of any
pseudo-professor of rhetoric who bases oratory on cheap externalities
and superficial training.

At another time Lucian was to satirize pseudo-philosophers as he had
rhetoricians, but once, perhaps in the beginning of revolt against
rhetoric, he chose to picture a noble type in the dialogue on Nigrinus,
a philosopher unknown except through Lucian. His great tribute to
Nigrinus may be set as a companion piece to the mocking praise of _The
Perfect Rhetorician_. The dialogue is prefaced by an introductory letter
in which Lucian tells Nigrinus that he is not carrying owls to Athens in
offering him this book as if to display his use of words, but he is
sending it in thanks for Nigrinus’ words. In the dialogue itself one man
relates to another how by talking with Nigrinus he was made free instead
of a slave, poor instead of rich. For Nigrinus praised philosophy and
the freedom it gives and ridiculed what men in general exalt: wealth,
fame, power, honor. Nigrinus praised Athens because there Poverty and
Philosophy are foster-brothers; there life is free, noble, harmonious.
Rome is the city for those who love wealth and luxury, wine and women.
The Romans have given themselves over to the pleasures of the senses and
have every means of gratifying them. So Nigrinus in Rome leads a life of
retirement, conversing with Philosophy and with Plato, reflecting on the
ridiculous rich, the parasites, the pseudo-philosophers, the
will-hunters, the gourmands, the frequenters of the circus and the
baths. No wonder men come to him for healing.

The tribute to Platonism here, the tribute to Epicurus in _Alexander the
False Prophet_,[299] might tempt readers to affiliate Lucian with one or
the other of these philosophical schools. But as if to forestall being
labelled, in the spirit of Horace’s famous line

  nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri,[300]

Lucian turns his satire on all the leading creeds of the time in his
_Philosophies for Sale_.

Zeus orders an auction of philosophies. Hermes acts as crier and
auctioneer. The buyer questions each person who is put up for sale on
his knowledge, on his creed, on his use. A Pythagorean is put up first
by Hermes who asks: “Who wishes to know about the harmony of the world
and re-birth?” The Pythagorean attempts to expound to the buyer the
catharsis of the spirit, the need of music and of geometry, the flux of
the cosmos, the divinity in numbers, the transmigration of souls. An
Italian bought him for a brotherhood in Magna Graecia for ten minas.

A Cynic is next displayed, dirty, morose, ready to bark at everyone. He
declares that Hercules is his model and that like Hercules he is a
militant reformer, working to clear the world of filth. He declares that
he will teach his purchaser to discard luxury, to endure hardship, to
drink only water, to throw his money into the sea, to reject all family
ties, to live in a tomb or a jar. So he will feel no pain even when
flogged and will be happier than the Great King. He will be bold,
abusive, savage, shameless. For such a life no education is necessary.
The Cynic is sold for two obols.

The third called is the Cyrenaic, who appears clad in purple and crowned
with a wreath. Hermes announces that his philosophy is the sweetest,
indeed thrice blessed. As the Cyrenaic is too drunk to answer questions,
Hermes describes his virtues: he is pleasant to live with, congenial to
drink with, a companion for amours, and an excellent chef! There was no
bid for him!

Next two are put up together, the one who laughs and the one who cries.
The first explains his laughter on the ground that all men and all their
affairs are ridiculous; all things are folly, a mere drift of atoms. The
weeper pities men because their lives are foreordained and in them
nothing is stable; men themselves are mere pawns in the game of eternity
and the gods are only immortal men. No one bids for the pair.

An Academic next advertises his wares as a teacher of the art of love,
but claims that this love is of the soul, not of the body. He affirms
that he lives in a city fashioned by himself, where wives are held in
common, fair boys are prizes for valor, and realities are ideas, visible
only to the wise. He was bought for two talents.

A pupil of the laugher and the drunkard is now offered for sale, namely
Epicurus. The mere description of him as more irreverent than his
teachers, charming, fond of good eating, sells him for two minas.

The sad philosopher of the Porch is now announced by Hermes who
proclaims that he is selling virtue itself and that the Stoic is “the
only wise man, the only handsome man, the only just man, brave man,
king, orator, rich man, lawgiver, and everything else that there
is.”[301] His talk about himself is full of hair-splitting dialectics
and subtle explanations of why man must devote himself “to the chief
natural goods ... wealth, health, and the like”[301] and go through much
toil for much learning. In spite of all this he is bought for twenty
minas.

The Peripatetic is also sold for twenty minas because he knows
everything but the Sceptic brings in only one mina because he knows
nothing! The auction ends with the announcement by Hermes of another
sale the next day of plain men, workmen, tradesmen.

Inevitably this ironic treatment of the great philosophies of Greece
produced a storm of criticism. This was answered by Lucian in an apology
of sorts under the title _The Resurrected or The Fisherman_. In it the
satirist under the pseudonym of Frankness faces his accusers. For up
from the dead, led by a militant Socrates, come to Athens Empedocles,
Plato, Aristotle and other phantoms to execute worthy dooms on the worst
of maligners. Frankness by rhetoric and argument averts stoning or
crucifixion and secures a fair trial, presided over by Philosophy, who
is attended by Truth, Investigation and Virtue. After Diogenes makes the
speech for the prosecution, Frankness replies in defense of himself—and
Lucian! He wins a unanimous verdict for acquittal by his claim that he
auctioned off, not the great philosophers who now prosecute him, but
base impostors who imitate them. Syllogism now acts as herald and calls
from Athens to court all the philosophers to defend themselves.
Frankness by promising largess secures a crowd of them, Platonists,
Stoics, Peripatetics, Epicureans, Academics. When Philosophy announces
that they are to be tried as impostors by herself, Virtue and Truth,
they all disappear in wild rout. To get them back, Frankness now becomes
a fisherman and, with bait of gold, hooks and hauls back the craven
cheats. The head of each school disowns his imitators and the discarded
are thrown down over the cliffs. Finally Philosophy dismisses the court
with an injunction to Frankness to keep investigating philosophers in
order to crown the true and brand the false.

The genial tone of _Philosophies for Sale_ has entirely vanished in the
essay on _The End of Peregrinus_. The influence of New Comedy and of
Menippus with their ironic raillery is superseded by Aristophanic
denunciation. Bitter mockery, cruel derision are loosed upon one creed,
the Cynic. Lucian directs his vituperation against the Cynic philosopher
Peregrinus, whose career had been meteoric. In his early life he was
converted to Christianity, and even went to prison for his faith. Later,
beliefs of India so possessed him that he immolated himself at Olympia
just after the Olympic games of A.D. 165. Such self-sacrifice by
cremation had been consummated at Susa by Calanus before Alexander the
Great and by Zarmarus after initiation into the mysteries at Athens in
the presence of Augustus.

Lucian saw only one possible interpretation of Peregrinus’
self-sacrifice, desire for notoriety, but there have been many critics
of this motivation as Harmon points out:[302]

  “Lucian believes himself to be exposing a sham, whose zeal was not at
  all for truth but only for applause and renown. Many notable modern
  critics, including Zeller, Bernays, Croiset, and Wilamowitz, dissent
  from his interpretation, discerning in the man an earnest seeker after
  truth; for to them thirst for glory is not an adequate explanation of
  his final act.”

The piece is written as a letter to Cronius who is marked as a Platonist
by the formula of greeting εὖ πράττειν. Lucian begins with the fact of
Peregrinus’ self-imposed death and at once ascribes to him the motive of
love of notoriety. This, he says, is proved by the fact that Peregrinus
selected for the time of his suicide the Olympic festival, which draws
great crowds. Lucian knows that Cronius will have a good laugh at the
foolishness of the old man so he will write his friend just what he
himself saw as he stood near the pyre.

His method is clever. First Theagenes a Cynic proclaimed in the streets
of Elis the glory of virtue and the glory of her follower Proteus
(Peregrinus) and announced that Proteus was about to leave this life by
fire in the manner of Hercules, Aesculapius, Dionysus and Empedocles.
Theagenes’ justification of the deed went unheard because of the noise
of the crowd, but another orator (clearly Lucian) stepped forth and made
a speech reviewing Peregrinus’ career. Beginning with Democritean
laughter he narrated the life of Proteus accusing him of adultery as a
youth in Armenia, of corrupting a boy in Asia, of strangling his own
father, of becoming a Christian in Palestine, of resigning all his
property in Parium on the Hellespont, of practicing the ascetic life in
Egypt, of seeking notoriety in Greece by denouncing Herodes Atticus for
his aqueduct at Olympia and later recanting. Finally, says Lucian, this
Proteus has announced his intention of cremating himself. The motive is
love of fame though he claims that he wishes thus to teach men to
despise death and endure torture. He plainly hopes that myths and a cult
will arise around his memory. Indeed Theagenes has quoted a prophecy to
that effect, but Lucian can match that oracle with another which orders
all the Cynic’s disciples to imitate him even to the last leap into the
flames.

After these speeches, Lucian was on hand when the pyre was kindled at
Harpina near Olympia shortly after midnight. As an eye-witness he saw
the pyre in a pit six feet deep, Peregrinus in the dress of a Cynic
bearing a torch, men lighting the fire, how then Peregrinus stripped to
his old shirt and after crying: “Spirits of my mother and my father,
receive me with goodwill,” leaped into the flames to be seen no more.
Even when the other Cynics stood about the pyre in silent grief, Lucian
felt no sympathy, but taunted them brutally, and actually got into a
broil with them before he departed to meditate on how strange the love
of fame is. Lucian had to tell the story of Peregrinus’ death over and
over until to amuse himself, he invented a vulture that he saw flying
from the flames to heaven, crying: “I have left the earth, I am going to
Olympus.” And this invention of his became part of the growing myth
about the hero.

  “So ended (wrote Lucian) that poor wretch Proteus, a man who (to put
  it briefly) never fixed his gaze on the verities, but always did and
  said everything with a view to glory and the praise of the multitude,
  even to the extent of leaping into fire, when he was sure not to enjoy
  the praise because he could not hear it.”[303]

Lucian concludes with anecdotes about Peregrinus sea-sick, in a fever,
having eye-trouble and trying to cure fever and correct vision as though
Aeacus in the lower world would care about either ailment. He was simply
furnishing Democritus with more cause for laughter. This heartless
ridicule of the Cynic’s action takes no account of the psychology of
fanaticism or the hysteria of martyrdom. Croiset points out that
Lucian’s insensitivity to all mysticism must be viewed with the
knowledge that the satirist believed Peregrinus was a sham and that he
was unveiling an impostor. Lucian’s consistent worship of veracity and
frankness then explain his derisive attitude towards the apotheosis of a
pretender.[304]

The savagery used in exposing a false philosopher was turned by Lucian
upon a religious fraud, Alexander of Abonoteichus. The piece is a letter
to a friend, Celsus, written after A.D. 180, ten years after Alexander’s
death. Lucian’s account gives almost all we know of this Alexander
although his existence and influence are attested by gems, coins and
inscriptions. The letter, however, as Croiset points out, contains more
satire than history, for it does not attempt to distinguish scrupulously
between the false and the true; rather it presents in lively anecdotes
and personal reminiscences a satiric portrait of an historical
prophet.[305] Cumont has commented on the unique features of
Abonoteichus’ version of the worship of Aesculapius: the giving a
serpent a human head and calling it the god incarnate; the issuing of
oracles and advice instead of using incubation or dealing particularly
with healing.[306]

Lucian exposes all Alexander’s shams and corruptions. He describes his
handsome appearance and education, his cleverness in purchasing a tame
serpent and in selecting the site of Abonoteichus for his oracle. He
describes the installation of the serpent, the invention of the human
head for it, the exhibition of it, the methods of giving oracles, the
prices, the publicity, the “autophones,” cunningly contrived to issue
from the serpent’s mouth, the spread of his fame even to Italy. Lucian
pictures too the perils that menaced any critics of the oracle, the
burning of the sayings of Epicurus, the personal danger to himself.
Lucian was advised by the governor of Bithynia and Pontus not to
prosecute Alexander for his attempted murder so after the prophet’s
death he wrote this account to honor Epicurus and to present the truth
to thinking minds. Personal revenge then as well as horror at religious
fraud motivated this biography. Lucian, who derided Epicureans in
_Philosophies for Sale_, chooses now to revere their founder!

One of Lucian’s greatest works bears the title _Parasites for Pay_. It
was written and undoubtedly read to the public in the last part of his
life before he went to Egypt. It is not only very distinguished as a
satire,[307] but in it as Gildersleeve points out[308] “his
sensitiveness for Greek honor, for the honor of the people as well as
for the honor of the literary class, manifests itself in a way to do
infinite credit to Lucian’s heart.” Harmon calls it “a Hogarthian sketch
of the life led by educated Greeks who attached themselves to the
households of great Roman lords—and ladies.”[309]

The satire is in the form of a letter addressed to a friend Timocles who
is thinking of taking such a post. The case, says Lucian, is the same
for philosophers, grammarians, rhetoricians, and musicians. The motives
which apparently led men to accept such positions are poverty and
pleasure, but their recompense is small and they have no share in the
luxury that dazzled them. They overwork; their expenses in clothing and
tips eat up their stipends. Moreover their humiliations are incessant.
The first dinner given in their honor brings the strain of observing
proper etiquette. Next morning the conference about salary disappoints
all hopes by the pittance offered. But a man sells himself and never
afterwards can feel free or noble: he is a monkey with a chain around
his neck. For he was not engaged to discourse on Homer, Demosthenes,
Plato, but because it looks well to have a distinguished Greek
philosopher with a long beard and a flowing robe in his master’s suite.
The day’s routine of service is exhausting and humiliating, and the
philosopher’s rivals for his lord’s favor are a gigolo, a dancing
master, an Alexandrian dwarf who recites erotic verses. The night’s
sleep is shattered by meditations on lost freedom and present servitude.

Such is life in the city, but a trip to the country is worse.
Thermopolis had to hold his lady’s puppy for her in the jolting carriage
and the miserable little dog kept licking his beard for relics of
yesterday’s dinner and finally laid a litter of puppies in the
philosopher’s cloak. Other services of the parasite include listening to
the rich man’s literary compositions and delivering a lecture on
philosophy to the lady while her hair is being dressed or at the
dinner-table. And in the midst of a discourse on virtue a maid brings
her a letter from a paramour which she answers at once with a yes.

In time, envy and slander or the disabilities of old age cause the
parasite’s downfall and he is discarded on the rubbish heap. Such a
career can best be depicted in a symbolic painting of a hill on whose
summit golden Wealth resides. Hope, Deceit, Slavery help the traveller
start on the ascent. But Toil then escorts him on. And finally Old Age,
Insolence and Despair lead him until he is ejected by a hidden back
door, naked, deformed, ruined. Repentance meeting him cannot save him.
Timocles is urged before making his decision about the post offered him
to meditate on this picture and on Plato’s famous words: “God is not at
fault; the fault is his who maketh the choice.”[310] This essay alone
would justify Croiset’s great tribute to Lucian’s independence of
thought: “among his contemporaries Lucian stands alone as an
intelligence of a remarkable force and independence which nothing could
tame.”[311]

It was natural that, when later Lucian accepted a post in civil service
in Egypt, he should anticipate reminders of his essay on _Parasites for
Pay_ on the part of his friends and foes. His _Apology_[312] answers
their imaginary criticisms of his inconsistencies. It is written in the
form of a letter to a friend. Lucian assures this Sabinus that he knows
Sabinus enjoyed his recent essay on Parasites, but now must be full of
amazement at his friend’s accepting a salaried post in Egypt. He
imagines receiving an epistle from Sabinus to this effect:[313]

  “The difference between your precept and practice is infinitely more
  ridiculous; you draw a realistic word-picture of that servile life;
  you pour contempt on the man who runs into the trap of a rich man’s
  house, where a thousand degradations, half of them self-inflicted,
  await him; and then in extreme old age, when you are on the border
  between life and death, you take this miserable servitude upon you and
  make a sort of circus exhibition of your chains. The conspicuousness
  of your position will only make the more ridiculous that contrast
  between your book and your life.”

Lucian in reply suggests various lines of self-defense: the compulsion
of Chance, Fate or Necessity; admiration of his patron’s character; the
drive of poverty, brought on by old age and ill health. But he rejects
all these pleas. His real defense is the difference between being a
parasite and slave in the house of a rich master and entering civil
service to work for the state. Lucian explains the dignity and the
responsibility of the post he has accepted in the service of the
Emperor.

  “What better use can you make of yourself than if you join forces with
  your friends in the cause of progress, come out into the open, and let
  men see that you are loyal and zealous and careful of your trust, not
  what Homer calls a vain cumberer of the earth?”[314]

Even this brief review of the writings which make up Lucian’s literary
autobiography shows the conflicting forces which strove for dominance
over his life. Sculpture and the Education of a Sophist first contended
for his favor and his choice of the orator’s training never destroyed
his life-long interest in art. Oratory which secured his service soon
disillusionized him because of her cheap followers. Plato and his
philosophical dialogues for a while controlled his mind and style, but,
satire proving stronger in him than reflective thinking, he created a
new form of dialogue allied to Comedy and Menippus for his medium of
comment on the world. This form and the epistle he used for satirizing
sophistry and oratory, philosophy and religion, always pointing out the
counterfeit and the sham and distinguishing them from the tested gold of
verities. This same sort of touch-stone he applied in his _Apology_ to
his own life to vindicate his maintenance of personal freedom. The
traveller, the sophist, the satirist, now become civil servant of the
Emperor, admits no chain about his neck.

As regards his literary art he has revealed that his main ideals are
frankness, truth and freedom. In his works he establishes warm human
contacts with his hearer or reader. His Greek style achieves a pure
Attic simplicity of expression and by it, as Croiset says,[315] he
clothes abstract ideas in words which give them body and form. The main
qualities of his style, spirit and imagination, unite in the effective
descriptions and narrations which fill his works. His wealth of ideas
found expression in realistic details noted with keen observation and
assembled in realistic series to give vitality to his prose.

One work by Lucian is a specific treatise on writing and peculiarly
significant for his literary autobiography. That is the essay on _How
History Should Be Written_. It was composed as a letter to a friend
Philo in the time of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus. The occasion was
the sudden spawning of a whole shoal of would-be historians after the
Roman victories in the war with the Parthians (A.D. 165). Outraged by
these scribblers, Lucian sets forth his thoughts on the True Historian.

Since the barbarian war began, says Lucian, everyone is writing history.
It is just as when an epidemic of madness at Abdera made all the people
chant tragedies. It recalls too Diogenes, who, when Corinth was in
danger of a siege from Philip and the citizens were hurrying defense
measures, kept rolling his jar up and down hill that he might seem as
busy as the rest of the world. Lucian’s advice will include the faults
of historians which are to be avoided, the virtues to be cultivated.

History must not be written as panegyric. History must not be written as
poetry. Among the faults of contemporary historians are lack of taste,
over-abundance of details, purple patches, inaccuracies about facts.

  “There are some ... who leave alone, or deal very cursorily with, all
  that is great and memorable; amateurs and not artists, they have no
  selective faculty, and loiter over copious laboured descriptions of
  the various trifles; it is as if a visitor to Olympia, instead of
  examining, commending or describing to his stay-at-home friends the
  general greatness and beauty of the Zeus, were to be struck with the
  exact symmetry and polish of its footstool, or the proportions of its
  shoe, and give all his attention to these minor points.”[316]

Indispensable qualities of the ideal historian are political insight and
ability in writing. His “one task is to tell the thing as it
happened.”[317] He will be “fearless, incorruptible, independent, a
believer in frankness and veracity; one that will call a spade a spade,
make no concession to likes and dislikes, nor spare any men for pity or
respect or propriety; an impartial judge, kind to all, but too kind to
none; a literary cosmopolite with neither suzerain nor king, never
heeding what this or that man may think, but setting down the thing that
befell.”[317] Thucydides fulfills this ideal.

In diction and style, the marks of the true historian are frankness and
truth, lucidity and simplicity. The preface should be in proportion to
the subject. “The body of the history ... is nothing from beginning to
end but a long narrative; it must therefore be graced with the narrative
virtues—smooth, level, and consistent progress, neither soaring nor
crawling, and the charm of lucidity.” “Brevity is always desirable.”
“Restraint in descriptions of mountains, walls, rivers, and the like, is
very important.” If a speech is introduced, “the first requirement is
that it should suit the character both of the speaker and of the
occasion.” “It may occasionally happen that some extraordinary story has
to be introduced; it should be simply narrated, without guarantee of its
truth, thrown down for any-one to make what he can of it.” The historian
should write not for the present, but for eternity. He should hope to
have said of himself: “This was a man indeed, free and free-spoken;
flattery and servility were not in him; he was truth all through.”[318]

Gildersleeve was probably right in calling the _True History_ “a comic
sequel to a brilliant essay entitled ‘How to write History.’”[319] The
traditional manuscript order which places the _True History_ after _How
History Should Be Written_ seems so aptly prompted by Lucianic irony.
For this romance in two books is not history at all and has nothing of
Lucian’s primary requirement for history, that it should be true! It is
a work of pure imagination, one of the earliest accounts of fictitious
voyages and as such is part of the great tradition from the Odyssey to
_Gulliver’s Travels_.[320] Lucian’s preface explains both the nature of
the piece and his reasons for writing it.[321]

The _True History_ like many good stories is told in the first person by
Lucian himself. The author, moreover, preludes and interrupts the
narrative to get in direct touch with his reader. In his introduction,
he states that his purpose in writing is to furnish to students some
reading that will give relaxation, but at the same time “a little food
for thought.” The story is bound to charm, Lucian thinks, because of the
novelty of the subject, the humor of the plan, the plausible lying
involved and the comical parodies of such authors as Ctesias, Iambulus,
and Homer in his Odyssey. Lucian confesses to being a liar with the best
of them, but affirms that his lying is unique in being honest because he
admits it.

  “Be it understood, then, that I am writing about things which I have
  neither seen nor had to do with nor learned from others—which, in
  fact, do not exist at all and, in the nature of things, cannot exist.
  Therefore my readers should on no account believe in them.”[322]

In spite of this confession, Lucian here and there in his story tries to
create an atmosphere of veracity by protestations of it. As he never saw
the Corn Sparrow forces or the Crane Knights, he does not venture to
relate the marvellous and incredible stories told about them.[323] When
he describes the magic mirror over a well in the Moon which furnished
him television of his family and country he says that disbelievers by
going there will find he tells the truth.[324] In the Island of the
Wicked, Lucian finds all liars, both those who had told lies on earth or
written them, among the latter Ctesias and Herodotus. “On seeing them,”
he says, “I had good hopes for the future, for I have never told a lie
that I know of.”[325] The last sentence of the romance is: “What
happened in the other world I shall tell you in the succeeding
books.”[326] This, a Greek scholiast comments, is the greatest lie of
all!

Now after having seen what a wag Lucian is from his own words, we must
decide how we are going to take him. Are we to seek in him relaxation
and entertainment (the gift of all true romance) or are we going to
marshal our “little learning” to meet his and study all his sources, his
parodies of historians and philosophers, or search for allegories in his
fantastic worlds? The happy way will be along the path of the golden
mean. Gildersleeve put up a sign-board to it and inscribed directions
for future travellers.

  “To enjoy the show properly, it is far better for the reader to give
  himself up to this play of Lucian’s fancy than to endeavor to unriddle
  whatever satire of contemporary literature may lie concealed in its
  allegory.... There may be profound meaning in the war which breaks out
  between the Sunburghers under Phaêthon, and the Moonburghers under
  Endymion, which begins with the attempt of the Moonburghers to found a
  colony on the desert planet of Lucifer, and which ends with the
  victory of the Sunburghers, Lucifer being declared common property and
  the vanquished compelled to pay an annual tribute of ten thousand
  _amphoreis_ of dew. But so elastic are all such allegories that they
  can be stretched to fit anything, and the war of these Heliotes and
  Selenites would answer to describe the conflict between orthodoxy and
  rationalism, and Lucifer would stand for the coming man. But how much
  better to look with childish interest on the marshalling of
  Horsevultures and Chickpeashooters and Garlickfighters and
  Flea-archers and Wind-runners, and to watch the huge spiders spin
  their web from the moon to Lucifer.”[327]

So after realizing that we too may visit the Isles of the Blessed and
the Wicked, may soar up to Aristophanes’ Cloudcuckooland or dive under
the sea in the brother of Jonah’s whale, or see Sinbad’s roc, let us
begin at the beginning. Let the lights go out and the curtain go up. Let
us watch breathlessly an ancient Walt Disney fantasy rush across the
screen. The very names of countries and peoples add to the excitement as
the panorama unrolls. And so vivid are Lucian’s descriptions that as in
all good movies soon we find ourselves participating in his adventures.
Having set out from the Pillars of Hercules with fifty men on a good
ship, on the eightieth day we come to a wooded island. Here huge
footprints and an inscription reveal that Hercules and Dionysus were
here before us. And no wonder, for this is the Isle of Wines:
grape-vines produce springs of wine, springs feed rivers, rivers produce
fish that eaten make people drunk. And there is a species of vine that
is half grape and half lady like Daphne turning into a laurel and the
kiss of the Vine-woman brings intoxication and her embrace is a prison.
We lost two of our men to that captivity.

As we set sail, a whirlwind lifted the ship and she became a hydroplane,
sailing through the air for seven days and seven nights. The island
where then we landed proved to be the Moon. Endymion is the King so of
course he spoke Greek and we at once joined his forces for he had a war
on with the Men of the Sun, whose King is Phaethon. It was all about
which should colonize the Morning Star. Our fellow Moonites were as
strange as their names: Vulture Knights, Grass Plumes, Pea Shooters,
Garlic Warriors, Flea Bowmen, Wind Aviators, Corn Sparrows and Crane
Knights. And Phaethon’s Heliotes were as fantastic: Ant Knights,
Mosquito Aviators, Dance Aviators, Stalk Mushrooms, Dog-faced Knights,
Cloud Centaurs. A fierce battle we had and the Men of the Sun won
because they cut off light from the Moon so Endymion surrendered. We saw
strange marvels in our stay on the Moon: how men are the child-bearers;
how their clothing is made of glass or bronze; their eyes are removable;
they have a mirror over a well in which they can see what happens in far
distant lands.

As we voyaged onward, we came to many other countries: to the Morning
Star which was just being colonized, to Lamp Town where among the
inhabitants Lucian found his own Lamp which gave him news of home, to
Cloudcuckooland which Aristophanes described so truthfully. But after
such interesting scenes, disaster fell upon us. A monstrous whale bore
down upon us and in a trice swallowed us, ship and all.

When we recovered from our terror, we found that life inside a whale is
confined but not impossible. We discovered an island where we beached
our boat. The whale opened his mouth once an hour so we could mark time
and get the points of the compass. And we soon met other men there, a
Cypriote called Scintharus and his son. Scintharus told us about the
other inhabitants of the whale, who were savage barbarians, and always
ready to attack them. We thought best to join Scintharus in subduing
these enemies, but the fight was fierce for there were scores of these
Lobsters, Crabhands, Tunnyheads, Seagoats, Crawfish Coots and Solefish.
After our victory, we lived fairly well in the whale for a year and
eight months. In the ninth month, we saw through the teeth of our
monster the most terrifying battle, a sea-fight between men riding on
huge islands each of which carried about one hundred and twenty.

In spite of seeing such dangers outside, we decided finally that we must
escape from our prison. We used fire as a weapon, set the forest at the
tail-end aflame and after twelve days found that the whale was going to
die. Just in time we propped open his mouth with huge beams and the next
day when he expired, out we went on our good ship and felt once more the
wind in our sails. Fair weather did not last long. A terrible northern
gale descended and froze all the sea to a depth of six fathoms.
Scintharus, who was now our ship-master, saved us by directing us to
excavate a cave-home in the ice. In it we lived for thirty days,
building a fire and cooking the fish we cut out of the ice. When food
gave out, we dug out the boat and sailed over the ice as though it were
the sea until on the fifth day we came to open water. Now we kept coming
to various islands. We got water at one and at the next one milk, for
this island had grapes whose juice was milk, and its earth was cheese.
It was easy to subsist there! Next we passed the Isle of Cork where the
city is built on a cork foundation and the men have feet of cork so that
they can run over the waters as they will, buoyed up by their own
life-preservers!

Happiest of all our stays was that on the Island of the Blessed. Here it
is always spring. Every month the vines yield grapes and the trees
fruit. It is a land flowing with milk and wine. Glass trees furnish
goblets which fill automatically at the banquet. Baked loaves of bread
are plucked from trees. Beside the table are two springs, one of
laughter, one of joy, and with draughts from these the banqueters start
their revels. Famous men dwell there. I saw Socrates surrounded by fair
young men arguing with Nestor and Palamedes. Plato preferred to live in
his own Republic. The followers of Aristippus and Epicurus were
considered the best of companions, but Diogenes the Cynic had reformed,
married Lais and taken to dancing. The Stoics had not yet arrived for
they were still toiling up the steep hill of virtue. Conversation with
Homer was one of the greatest pleasures, especially as he settled the
matter of his birthplace by declaring himself a Babylonian and solved
the Homeric question by affirming that he had written all the lines
attributed to him. Beside literary talks, there were games for the Dead.

Even the Island of the Blessed could not be free from wars, for the
Wicked invaded it and had to be expelled by force. Homer wrote a new
epic on the fight of the dead heroes. The Island had its scandals too
all due again to Helen. For she bewitched Scintharus’ son and tried to
elope with him, but was caught. That episode caused our expulsion from
the Island of the Blessed. Before we left, Homer wrote a couplet for
Lucian which he had carved on a stele of beryl and Odysseus secretly
gave him a letter for Calypso.

We touched at the Isle of the Wicked and at the Isle of Dreams, where we
slept thirty days and next we put in at Ogygia. Lucian read Odysseus’
letter before he delivered it to Calypso and found he had always
regretted leaving her! For Odysseus’ sake, Calypso entertained us
royally.

Next we fell into danger from the Pumpkin Pirates and the Hardshell
Pirates and the Dolphin-Riders, but we escaped them all. One night we
ran aground on the marvellous and mighty nest of a king-fisher. And a
little further on in the sea we came to a forest of rootless trees which
we could not penetrate. There was nothing to do but haul the ship up to
their tops and take “a forest cruise” across. More marvellous still we
had to cross a water-chasm on a water bridge, a river-way between two
water precipices. After that we came to the Isle of the Bellowing
Bullheads, men like Minotaurs, and had some skirmishes with them. And
then we came to an Island of Fair Ladies who wished to take us to bed
with them, but Lucian discovered that they all had ass-legs and that
they ate strangers when they had cozened them to sleep. So we departed
in haste. At dawn we saw the land which is on the other side of the
world from ours and there we were shipwrecked. What happened there will
be another story.

This review of the two books of Lucian’s _True History_ reveals at once
its startling differences from the other Greek romances of the early
Empire. Romantic love does not figure in it. Religion has little or no
place in it. Adventures are its bones and sinews. These adventures
though described realistically are all figments of the imagination,
explorations of the Wonderful Things beyond Thule as much as those of
Antonius Diogenes must have been. The coloring of the pictures is an
amazing mixture of realism and fantasy. The veracity of sense
impressions almost converts doubting Thomases. Lucian comes to seem no
mean rival of Herodotus, the Father of Lies. Only occasionally some
satiric laughter betrays him.

It is perhaps easier for twentieth century readers to accept his wonders
than it was for his contemporaries of the second century. Science has
developed so many of his imaginative forecasts. The monstrous footprints
of Hercules and Dionysus might be rock-prints of dinosaurs. The plunging
whale is a submarine. His ship lifting from the ocean to sail through
the air has become the hydroplane. His island galleys bearing one
hundred and twenty men each are our battleships. The Cloud Centaurs who
fight in the air are our aviators. Arctic explorers have lived in huts
made of ice-blocks. Ice-sailing is a recognized winter sport. Clothing
is made not of glass or bronze, but of cellulose and steel. Removable
eyes suggest spectacles, contact lenses and field-glasses. The
Cork-footed Men must have resembled surf riders. And the magic mirror
over the well anticipated the perforated sphere of television.

But his contemporaries had the advantage of us in recognizing Lucian’s
sources and parodies more readily than we can. For us, Antonius
Diogenes, Ctesias and Iambulus are lost. Yet Photius records that the
romance of Antonius Diogenes, _The Wonders beyond Thule_, was the chief
source of Lucian’s _True History_. So many, however, are the sources
which Lucian used to forward his avowed purpose of furnishing relaxation
accompanied by some learning, that scholars have busied themselves for
years tracing parallels with Greek and Latin authors.[328] Allinson
remarks wisely: “In general, it seems safe to conclude that Lucian
regarded the writings of predecessors and contemporaries as an open
quarry from which he first built up his own style and then picked out
material to imbed, with an artist’s skill, in the parti-coloured mosaic
of his satire.”[329]

Some idea of Lucian’s parody of his sources may be gained, even though
Antonius Diogenes is lost, from his incidental flings at great Greeks
and from his constant references to Homer which are a mixture of
admiration and irony. So when he saw Cloudcuckooland he remembered
Aristophanes the poet, “a wise and truthful man whose writings are
distrusted without reason.”[330] On the Island of the Blessed he did not
find Plato for he preferred to live in the city of his imagination under
his own constitution and laws. Yet he might well have been in Elysium
for the inhabitants are most Platonic in sharing their wives.[331] The
solemn treaty which ended the wars between the Men of the Sun and the
Men of the Moon has a comical resemblance to the treaty between Athens
and Sparta which Thucydides records though it is signed by Fireman,
Hotman, and Burner, by Nightman, Moonman and Allbright.[332]

Herodotus comes in for more imitation, for he furnishes stories of ants
bigger than foxes,[333] of dog-headed men,[334] of men who feed on
odors,[335] of a feast of lanterns in Egypt,[336] of a floating
island,[337] of the sea freezing,[338] of a breeze that bears the
perfume of Arabia.[339] But when Lucian solemnly imitates these
exaggerations, we feel he has his tongue in his cheek and our suspicion
is confirmed when he consigns Ctesias and Herodotus to the limbo of
Liars in the Island of the Wicked.[340]

Lucian’s treatment of Homer shows his most genial irony. In his preface
he makes Homer’s Odysseus the guide and teacher of all historians of
imaginary travels, Odysseus “who tells Alcinous and his court about
winds in bondage, one-eyed men, cannibals and savages; also about
animals with many heads, and transformations of his comrades wrought
with drugs,” and with such marvels “humbugged the illiterate
Phaeacians.”[341] But in the Island of the Blessed, Homer is the shade
in whose talk Lucian most delights. Homer indeed is most affable in
discussing all the literary problems of his epics, especially since he
had just won a lawsuit in which Thersites accused him of libel, through
the aid of his lawyer Odysseus.[342] Homer as a shade is still writing
for when there was war in heaven, he produced a new epic about the
battle of the shades of the heroes,[343] which Lucian unfortunately lost
on the way home, and on Lucian’s departure Homer composed a
commemorative epigram which described him as dear to the blessed
gods.[344]

Lucian introduces Homer’s characters into his scenes. Achilles is one of
the most honored heroes on the Island of the Blessed, serving as joint
judge with Theseus at the Games of the Dead.[345] Helen is the leading
lady in the court-room scene where Rhadamanthus had to decide whose wife
she should be in Elysium. She has forgiven Stesichorus for saying she
caused the Trojan War.[346] But she creates a new scandal by trying to
desert Menelaus again in an elopement with Scintharus’ son.[347] Calypso
on receiving Odysseus’ letter from Lucian’s hand weeps as she reads that
he always regretted giving up his life with her, and then with true
feminine curiosity asks how Penelope is looking now and whether she is
as wise as Odysseus used to boast. Lucian made such replies as he
thought would gratify her![348]

Minor episodes are reminiscent of the Odyssey. Rhadamanthus gives Lucian
a talisman of mallow as Hermes gave Odysseus the moly.[349] To the Land
of Dreams Lucian must erect four gates in place of Homer’s two, one of
horn, one of ivory.[350] And the Singing Sirens that tried to beguile
Odysseus have been metamorphosed into fair young ladies in long chitons
which conceal the legs of she-asses.[351] But whatever changes are made
in the source-material taken from the Odyssey, Lucian’s gentle raillery
does not hide his admiration of great Homer. He gives the lie to the
myth that Homer was blind.[352] And in the contest of the poets at the
Games of the Dead in the Island of the Blessed, he ironically makes
Hesiod the victor though he affirms that in truth Homer was by far the
best of poets.

Lucian’s style in his _True History_ illustrates many of his own
criteria for writing history. The short preface is in proportion to the
short two-book _True History_. The narrative is concise, rapid, lucid
and shows consistent progress, one event following naturally and quickly
upon another without extravagant use of details. The few speeches are
short, lively and suited to the character of the speaker. The
descriptions are realistic and pointed. Extraordinary stories are told
simply with an appearance of veracity.

A few typical elements of the Greek Romances appear in the _True
History_. There is a suggestion of a court-room scene where Rhadamanthus
judges Helen’s accomplices in escape. One letter is inserted, Odysseus’
to Calypso, for the purpose of ironic satire of Homeric characters. An
inscription on bronze is discovered and a laudatory couplet in hexameter
is composed and inscribed on stone. But love and religion, the commonest
themes of the Greek Romances, are eliminated from this tale of
marvellous adventures.

Satire though this story is, it ranks easily first among imaginary
voyagings both in fantasy and style. In his narration Lucian pours all
his spirit, his liveliness of observation, his brilliant imagination,
his vivacious wit. His own enjoyment in his facile, marvellous
inventions is contagious. As he rushes his breathless readers over the
earth, through the air, under the sea, as he introduces us to
innumerable natural phenomena and monstrous beings, he convinces us that
this world of fantasy is a real world. He has made many others wish to
record similar travels, for the _True History_ is the model of all those
imaginary voyages with which Rabelais, Cyrano de Bergerac, Swift,
Voltaire and others amused their contemporaries. No work of Lucian found
so many imitators as this.[353]

The readers of Lucian’s _True History_ on finishing it feel that they
have drunk with him more from his eternal springs of joy and laughter
than from his irony, in fact that his irony gives only a few drops of
angostura bitters to the heady cocktails of his wit. And at the end the
readers of this romance are ready today to salute the shade of Lucian as
Andrew Lang did:[354]

  “In what bower, oh Lucian, of your rediscovered Islands Fortunate are
  you now reclining; the delight of the fair, the learned, the witty,
  and the brave?...

  “There, among the vines that bear twelve times in the year, more
  excellent than all the vineyards of Touraine, while the song-birds
  bring you flowers from vales enchanted, and the shapes of the Blessed
  come and go, beautiful in wind-woven raiment of sunset hues; there, in
  a land that knows not age, nor winter, midnight, nor autumn, nor noon,
  where the silver twilight of summer-dawn is perennial, where youth
  does not wax spectre-pale and die; there, my Lucian, you are crowned
  the Prince of the Paradise of Mirth.”

It may seem anti-climax to turn from the _True History_ to Lucian’s
other romance, the _Metamorphoses_, for the second exists only in an
epitome by another hand. Since however this epitome is included in all
the best manuscripts and has been proved conclusively by B. E. Perry to
be a condensation of an original _Metamorphoses_ by Lucian on the basis
of spirit, vocabulary, syntax and phraseology, we must try to form some
idea of this other romance.[355]

As the _True History_ is a satire of travellers’ tales, this epitome,
_Lucius or Ass_, is primarily a satire of magic and magic rites. Just as
in the _True History_ not only epic poets and historians were parodied,
but philosophers came in for their share of ironic comment, so in
_Lucius or Ass_ satire is directed not merely against magicians, but
also against corrupt priests and frail women. The satire is of the
earth, earthy, very near the folk-story from which it may have
originated. _Lucius or Ass_ is Everyman in his credulity, gullibility
and bestiality. The only heroines in his murky world are a witch-woman
and a corrupt maid. This epitome has two great values: it gives us some
idea of Lucian’s lost _Metamorphoses_, and hence affords a basis for
comparison with Apuleius’ great Latin novel _Metamorphoses_. It will
prove convenient I hope, to have a rather full outline presented here in
English for purposes of discussion and comparison. This Greek _Lucius or
Ass_ like the _True History_ is written in the first person, but Lucius
of Patrae, the hero, not the author, is the narrator. In my brief
résumé, I have found it clearer to write Lucius’ account in the third
person.

Once upon a time on a journey to Thessaly Lucius inquires of some fellow
travellers whereabouts in the city of Hypata a man named Hipparchus
lives, for he is carrying a letter of introduction to him. On his
arrival he stays at Hipparchus’ house. Only his wife and a maid
Palaestra lived with him. On his host’s inquiring the object of his
travels, Lucius says he is on his way to Larissa. He conceals the fact
that he is searching for women who deal in magic. While walking around
the city, he meets an old friend of his mother named Abroea, who warns
him against the wife of Hipparchus because she is a witch. Lucius,
delighted with this news, returns to Hipparchus’ house and in the
absence of his host and hostess makes love to Palaestra with the purpose
of persuading the maid to acquaint him with her mistress’ magic powers.
At the close of a night of revel, Lucius persuades Palaestra to show him
her mistress at her magic rites.

A few nights later Palaestra fulfills her promise by leading Lucius at
dead of night to the door of her lady’s bedroom where through a crack he
can watch her proceedings. She mutters to her lamp. She strips. She rubs
her naked body with ointment from a little box. Gradually she is
transformed into an owl and flies away to her lover. Lucius then
prevails upon Palaestra to let him attempt the same transformation. By
ill luck the maid brings him the wrong box of ointment so that he is
changed not into a bird, but into an ass. Palaestra soothingly assures
him that the antidote is simple, just a meal of roses, and if her
dearest will pass the night quietly in the stable, in the morning she
will gather the flowers and recover her Lucius.

But this simple plan gangs a-gley, for in the night robbers raid the
house, secure much booty and to carry it steal also the horse and the
real ass of Hipparchus and Lucius. So the man-ass, heavily burdened, is
driven to the robbers’ home. One old woman is their care-taker. Several
days later the robbers return from one of their forays bringing in as
booty a young woman whom they have kidnapped. Later on in the absence of
the brigands the girl tries to escape riding on the ass, but both are
captured by the robbers. On their return, they find that the old woman
in terror has hanged herself.

The robbers plan a dreadful punishment for the culprits: to kill the
ass, disembowel him and sew the girl up alive in his paunch to die by
slow torture. But before they achieve this horror, a company of soldiers
arrives, captures the whole band and carries them off to a magistrate.
They had been conducted to the robbers’ den by the fiancé of the girl.
He now escorts her home on the honored ass Lucius.

After the wedding of the happy pair, the bride persuades her father to
reward the ass her benefactor so he is to be turned out into pasture
with the she-asses. But the servant to whom the care of the ass is
intrusted wickedly takes him home and makes him labor first in a mill,
then carrying fagots on a steep mountain, where a cruel driver mistreats
him. In the midst of his sufferings, news comes that the bride and groom
have been drowned on the seashore. So since their new masters are dead,
the servants all flee, taking the ass with them. They sell him in a city
of Macedonia to a eunuch priest of a Syrian goddess. In his life with
the priests, Lucius is so horrified by their impure practices that he
brays loudly in protest. The noise brings up some passing peasants who
go off to tell the village the obscenities they have witnessed. The
priests have to flee for their lives, but first they nearly kill the ass
by beating him for his braying.

Lucius is in danger of his life again at the house of a rich man where
they stop. For the servants who have lost the meat of a wild ass which
was to be the dinner (the dogs stole it), plot to kill Lucius and serve
up his flesh. He saves himself only by running away from the cook. The
priests are now arrested because they are found in possession of a
golden phiale which they stole from a temple, and the ass is sold to a
baker. In the mill Lucius is so worn down by the hard work that he is
sold as worthless to an old gardener. On the way to town, this gardener
has a quarrel with a soldier and nearly kills him so the gardener and
the ass have to go into hiding. Stupid Lucius betrays their hiding place
by putting his head out of an upper window to see what is going on.
Captured he is given to the soldier, but he soon sells him to a cook.
Now Lucius fattens on good food by surreptitious filching of choice
portions which the cook and his brother had reserved for themselves. By
a little detective work the brothers discover that the thief is the ass.
They show him eating men’s food to their master, who promptly buys the
ass, has a servant train him to act like a man (easy lessons for
Lucius!) and exhibits him for admission fees. A woman buys a night with
him and has intercourse with him.

Then his master purposes to exhibit him couched with a woman (a
condemned criminal) at a public festival. The scene is all set when some
one comes up to Lucius and the woman at the banquet table bearing, among
other flowers, roses. At last the ass has his meal of restorative
flowers and becomes once more Lucius. He appeals to the magistrate for
protection against those who cry he is a magician and must be killed. He
informs the governor that his name is Lucius, he has a brother Gaius,
both have the same two other names; that he himself is a writer of
stories and his brother is an elegiac poet and a good prophet. The
magistrate believing his story gives him hospitality. Lucius’ brother
comes to take him home, but first Lucius thought it fitting to call on
the woman who had given him her love when he was an ass. He is chagrined
to find that as a man he has no charm for her! He sails with his brother
to Patrae and there sacrifices to the gods who have saved him.

No other work attributed to Lucian has aroused greater controversy than
_Lucius or Ass_. All the literature about it is reviewed in Ben Edwin
Perry’s epoch-making book _The Metamorphoses Ascribed to Lucius of
Patrae_, which conclusively proves that _Lucius or Ass_ is an epitome of
Lucian’s _Metamorphoses_, made by another writer. Perry analyzes
Photius’ description of the lost Greek _Metamorphoses_ with its theory
of the three versions of the ass-story,[356] and proves that Photius’
one mistake was in thinking that the name Lucius of Patrae referred to
an author of a third _Metamorphoses_, which was probably the original of
Lucian’s and Apuleius’ stories: Lucius of Patrae in _Lucius or Ass_ is
the hero-narrator, not the author. Perry then with convincing logic
reconstructs the probable content of the _Metamorphoses_ of which
_Lucius or Ass_ is an epitome and with the same irrefutable reasoning
discusses the nature of this original Greek novel. The basis of it was a
folk-lore story of a transformation. The style was plain, the narrative
rapid, the tone ironic. The narrator keeps the character of the hero of
the adventures and never identifies himself with the author. The
character of the hero is that of “an unique clown” with an absorbing and
credulous interest in strange phenomena especially transformations. The
final proof that the _Metamorphoses_ was satirical is “the simple fact
that the _Eselmensch_ is a litterateur and an investigator of marvels.”
“The generic title shows that the author regarded his story as a kind of
commentary on the subject of metamorphoses, and writers who interested
themselves in such things.”[357]

This author, “second century Atticist, humorist, and satirist,” can be
none other than Lucian himself, for the Greek _Metamorphoses_ is
Lucianic in type, is a relaxation from serious work as is the _True
History_; it shows the same satire of credulity that other works of
Lucian (for example the _Alexander_) did; and it is colored by the same
ironic humor. The epitome contains a striking Lucianic element although
this is overlaid by philological errors. Perry also analyzes
resemblances and differences between the reconstructed _Metamorphoses_
of Lucian and Apuleius’ novel, but this discussion I shall reserve for
the next chapter.

_Lucius or Ass_ is valuable in proving that Lucian wrote not one but two
romances; that in both he developed a new type of romance, the satiric;
that in each he maintained the same great qualities which mark his other
writings: the quest for truth, intolerance of fraud and credulity; keen
observation and realistic description; condensation, rapidity, clarity;
dramatic irony. The two romances also show more than any other of
Lucian’s writings his brilliant imaginative powers.

A postscript to this discussion of Lucian’s satiric romances may well
include an account of a novel in miniature which appears in one of his
dialogues. Writing in the second century he was of course thoroughly
familiar with the conventional type of the Greek romance. Though this
statement might be accepted _a priori_, certain evidence of it is
furnished by his insertion in his _Toxaris_ of an epitome of a Scythian
romance of love and adventure. The _Toxaris_ is a Platonic dialogue
written probably about A.D. 165, in Lucian’s period of transition from
purely rhetorical writings to those of moral or religious satire.[358]
In it a Greek Mnesippus and a Scythian Toxaris discuss friendship each
giving five illustrations of famous instances in his own country. The
longest one related is a Scythian romance told by Toxaris.[359]
Rostovtzeff has shown that Lucian probably had in his hands a Greek
romance with a Scythian background, for papyri fragments furnish
incontrovertible evidence of a similar Scythian romance in Greek dating
from the second century A.D.[360]

The story as told by Lucian is melodramatic. It relates the devotion of
three Scythians, Macentes, Lonchates and Arsacomas, who had pledged to
each other friendship for life and death in the old Scythian way of
shedding some of their blood into a cup and quaffing it together. Now
Arsacomas, who had gone on a mission to Leucanor, king of Bosporus,
there fell madly in love at first sight with his daughter Mazaea. At a
banquet when suitors were bidding for the hand of the princess with
proud lists of their possessions, all Arsacomas could boast of was his
two fair, brave friends. The Bosporans laughed him to scorn and the girl
was awarded to Adyrmachus, who the next day was to convey his bride to
the land of the Machlyans.

The outraged Arsacomas rushing home told his friends how he and their
friendship had been ridiculed and the three as one man planned immediate
vengeance. Lonchates promised to bring Arsacomas the head of Leucanor.
Macentes was to kidnap the bride. Arsacomas was to stay at home and
raise an army on the ox-hide for the war that would surely follow. All
proceeded according to schedule. Arsacomas slew an ox, cut up and cooked
the meat, spread the hide on the ground and sat on it with his hands
held behind him. This is the greatest appeal for aid possible for a man
who desires to secure help for vengeance. His friends and kinsmen coming
accepted each a portion of the meat, set right foot on the hide and
pledged as much aid as he could. So a goodly army was raised.

Lonchates went to Bosporus, pretending he had come as a friend to offer
aid against Arsacomas’ planned invasion. King Leucanor alarmed by the
news of an imminent Scythian attack was lured alone into the temple of
Ares to take a secret oath of friendship with Lonchates. There Lonchates
murdered him, cut off his head and escaped with it under his cloak
before the guards outside knew what had happened.

Macentes too used subterfuge, for hurrying to the Machlyans he reported
King Leucanor’s death, said falsely that the Bosporans called Adyrmachus
as his son-in-law to be their king, and offered while Adyrmachus rode at
full speed to them, to escort after him his bride Mazaea in the
wagon-train, for she, he claimed, was a relative of his own. This plan
worked so smoothly that Macentes, when night came on, took Mazaea from
her carriage, put her on his horse with himself and galloped off with
her to Arsacomas. The horse dropped dead at the end but the kidnapped
bride was delivered. Then all three friends united in the battle against
Adyrmachus, slew him on the field, and by nightfall had won a victory.
The next day peace was negotiated. Such are the deeds of daring which
Scythians perform for their friends.

In the papyrus fragments a lady in distress is weeping and lamenting in
the tent of a general Eubiotus. He clears his tent because of her woe,
hears her declare that she wishes she had never seen Eraseinus
(apparently her lover) and prevents her attempted suicide by wresting
her sword from her. She then tells Eubiotus that she is not the Amazon
Themisto though she is so disguised, but a Greek girl Calligone. Here
the fragments end. The only points in common with Lucian’s story are the
geographical background and the name Eubiotus (in Lucian the
illegitimate brother of Leucanor and an aspirant to his throne),[361]
but both stories as Rostovtzeff points out look to history for
characters and setting as the Ninus Romance did.

In the _Toxaris_ the coloring is only quasi-historical through the
mention of names of kings and their lineage: the story is not history,
but an historical novel. And the connection of the Scythians with the
Sarmatians, the Alans, the Maeotians and the Bosporans corresponds only
in part with their actual relations at the time. The Sauromatians are a
relic of the past; the Alans represent actual conditions in the time of
the author. The geographical coloring is likewise only partly
historical. The picture of the Scythians even with its tendency to
idealization represents the people fairly. They are nomadic, poor, with
a free democratic political organization without kings, and they are
warriors. Their gods are the sword and the wind. Their customs are
primitive. They make war on their neighbors and have special relations
with the Greek states on the Bosporus and Olbia and visit those on the
south side of the Black Sea.

Lucian in composing his _Toxaris_ probably had in hand a Greek romance
with a Scythian background, containing certain historical and
ethnographical material. This he worked over making his story represent
what his public then knew or could know of the Scythians and their
neighbors. The discovery of the papyrus fragments of the Calligone novel
confirms this thesis.[362] The type of the _Toxaris_ story and the
papyrus story is the same. Both were love romances, though in each the
erotic motif is subordinated to adventure. The interest of the age in
the unfamiliar, the strange is manifested in the selection of Scythia
for the background.

Lucian’s narrative is intensely exciting as well as picturesque and
although it is only a miniature story it gives us an idea of another
love romance of a wild type with a king’s head cut off for vengeance, a
bride kidnapped on horseback and an army raised on the ox-hide. The
whole _Toxaris_ indeed, as Croiset remarked,[363] with its ten anecdotes
furnishes rich examples of Lucian’s art of narration.



                                  VIII
    _A COMPARISON OF THE GREEK ROMANCES AND APULEIUS’_ METAMORPHOSES


Apuleius, the author of the greatest ancient novel extant, might, if he
had chosen, written his book in Greek instead of Latin. Though he was
born in North Africa (at Madaura) he was educated in Athens as well as
Roman Carthage and Rome, indeed was completely bi-lingual. The letter
from his wife produced as evidence in his trial for having won her
affections by magic was in Greek. And private correspondence
demonstrates fluency in the language even more than does the fact of his
translation of a work by Plato and his Latin style richly colored by
Greek syntax and vocabulary.

Some reader may now ask as Apuleius anticipated: “Who is this man?”[364]
So I must refer all to my other writings about him and briefly
characterize him here for the uninformed.[365] Apuleius was born about
A.D. 125 in the Roman colony of Madaura where his father was a leading
citizen and official. He was educated at Carthage, Athens and Rome, was
certainly bi-lingual and probably tri-lingual as he must have known
Punic as well as Latin and Greek. Returning to Africa, he practiced
successfully the art of a sophist, giving public discourses, many of
them impromptu. Specimens of these are extant in a collection of
extracts from his speeches called the _Florida_. He married a wealthy
widow, mother of a university friend at Athens, and was promptly sued by
his in-laws for having gained her hand by magic practices. The brilliant
speech in which he defended himself at Sabrata against their charges,
the _Apologia_, is extant and constitutes his autobiography. St.
Augustine called him a Platonist and he did indeed try to convey Plato’s
ideas to his contemporaries in works on _The God of Socrates_, _Plato
and his Doctrine_ and other lost writings. His fame when he was alive
rested on his oratory and it was so great that he was honored by statues
and made priest of Aesculapius at Carthage. But his undying glory comes
from his novel, the _Metamorphoses_. The date of its composition is
uncertain as indeed are most of the dates of his life. He lived from
about A.D. 125 to A.D. 171, that is, in the time of Antoninus Pius and
Marcus Aurelius. He was therefore a contemporary of Lucian and may have
met him as Walter Pater imagines in _Marius the Epicurean_. What
concerns us here is his novel and its relation to the Greek Romances.

The _Metamorphoses_ of Apuleius is a long story written in eleven books.
It is an ego-romance with Lucius a Greek acting as narrator and hero.

  “The plot is simple. The hero Lucius who is greatly interested in
  magic is enabled by the aid of the maid-servant of a witch to achieve
  transformation. But a mistake in the use of the unguents changes him
  not into a bird as he had planned, but into an ass. Although he knows
  that the antidote is a meal of roses, he is kept by Fortune from
  securing release through long months and meets various adventures
  until at last through the aid of the goddess Isis Lucius the Ass
  becomes again Lucius the Man.”[366]

The similarity of this plot to that of the Greek _Lucius or Ass_ is
apparent at once. But its unique differences caused by diversification
of anecdotes and long additions become clear as we read the narrative.

Lucius in the beginning was travelling in Thessaly riding his white
horse over the high mountains when he fell in with two other travellers.
One of these as they rode on together related a horrible story of how
his friend Socrates saw a companion murdered by a witch. The scene of
the story was set in Hypata, the very city to which Lucius was going.
And the narrative of it by its effect on Lucius reveals all his
credulity and curiosity about witchcraft.

Lucius was entertained at the house of Milo to whom he brought a letter
of introduction and soon he learned from a relative in Hypata, named
Byrrhaena, that Milo’s wife Pamphile was a witch. Hypata was full of
stories of marvellous happenings and soon Lucius heard another of these
thrillers at a dinner-party given by Byrrhaena. It was the story told by
a guest Tlelyphron of how he watched a corpse for pay and thereby
suffered mutilation of his face by a foul beldam. It was on the way home
from the party that Lucius, jittery and drunk, fought his fatal battle
with three bold robbers who afterwards, at his trial for murder at the
Festival of Risus, god of laughter, were proved to be wine-skins!

Now Lucius was determined to investigate magic rites by personal
experience so he made ardent love to Pamphile’s servant Fotis until the
enamored girl consented to let him peer through a crack in the door of
Pamphile’s bed-room and see her mistress transform herself into an owl.
This marvel witnessed, nothing would satisfy Lucius but to attempt a
similar transformation. Unfortunately Fotis gave him the wrong unguent
for the necessary lubrication of his body and he became not a bird, but
an ass! The careless maid swore that the antidote was simple, merely a
meal of roses, and if he would quietly spend the night in the stable, in
the morning she would bring him a breakfast of the flowers.
Unfortunately before dawn robbers arrived, pillaged the house and stole,
along with Lucius’ own horse and Milo’s ass, Lucius the ass to carry the
plunder. This was the beginning of a long series of adventures for the
man-ass before he could achieve re-transformation.

In the robbers’ hide-out in the mountains Lucius heard the robbers tell
three fine stories of their brave chieftains. There too he saw a band of
robbers bring in a captive beauty Charite and heard her piteous tale of
how she was kidnapped on her wedding-night for ransom. To cheer this
weeping girl the old woman who cooked for the robbers told in their
absence the story of Cupid and Psyche.

An old wives’ tale she called it, but Apuleius lifted the folk-tale to
the realm of the Olympian gods by making it the love romance of Venus’
son Cupid and Psyche, a mortal maid. Venus herself was the cruel
step-mother who tried to separate the lovers and set all sorts of
impossible tasks for Psyche. But the heroine triumphed over every task
by the aid of Cupid’s minions on earth and in air. Finally the king of
heaven, Jupiter himself, called Psyche to his high throne to receive the
gift of immortality and summoned all the great gods and goddesses to
celebrate her nuptials with the god of love himself.

This happy love romance diverted Charite only briefly, but soon her
lover disguised as a robber came and rescued her and after causing the
destruction of all the robber band carried her away with Lucius to
safety. Charite’s story, however, unlike Psyche’s was not to end
happily. For after her marriage to her Tlepolemus, a former suitor
Thrasyllus because of jealousy made way with her husband in a boar hunt,
pretending his death was an accident. Later when the villain was making
ardent love to the widow, the shade of her husband appeared and
recounted his murder at the hands of his friend. Charite by subtle plans
was able to put out Thrasyllus’ eyes for vengeance and then stabbed
herself over her husband’s tomb. Thrasyllus in repentance starved
himself to death.

Lucius the Ass again left to the mercy of Fortune had a series of
degrading adventures which tended to make him a pessimist. He witnessed
the obscene orgies of a lewd band of Syrian priests. He heard four
naughty Milesian Tales of corrupt women: “The Lover under the Tub,” “The
Baker’s Wife,” “The Sandals under the Bed,” “The Fuller’s Wife.” These
Milesian Tales of triangular sex episodes are succeeded in the novel by
another group of tragic stories which stir deeper waters. The first is a
record of the terrible oppression of the poor by an arrogant young
nobleman and how three fine young brothers who went to the defense of
the poor family lost their lives in a noble cause. Then follows a tragic
story of an amorous step-mother and her attempt to poison her
unresponsive step-son. And finally comes the awful narrative of five
murders committed by one sadistic woman. Book Ten concludes with the
plan to display Lucius the ass in obscene union with this condemned
criminal at a public exhibition. To avoid this horror, Lucius ran away
from Corinth to the sea-shore at Cenchreae and there found his
salvation.

For lying asleep on the sea-shore that night he had a vision in the
moonlight of the goddess Isis. In all her refulgent beauty she told him
of herself and gave him hope. For she assured him that at the spring
festival of the launching of her sacred vessel she would give him
certain aid. And indeed it was at that festival in the midst of all its
brilliant pageantry that the priest of Isis offered the ass a garland of
roses and munching them he became man again. No wonder that after that
Lucius had only one desire: to serve his savior.

Night after night he had new visions of the goddess and under the
direction of her priest he fulfilled all the arduous preparations for
the initiation into her rites. Finally one night left alone in her
temple he was vouchsafed that mystic experience which only the elect may
achieve, death, rebirth, revelation.

  “I approached the borderland of death, trod the threshold of
  Proserpina, was borne through all the elements and returned; at
  midnight I saw the sun shining with a brilliant light; I approached
  the gods of the nether and the upper world and adored them in person
  near at hand.”[367]

After such exaltation Lucius consecrated himself forever to the service
of Isis. Soon going to Rome he continued his worship at her temple there
and by her direction was twice initiated into the mysteries of the god
Osiris though the expense was great for “this poor man of Madaura.”
Under the blessing of Osiris he prospered greatly as an advocate in the
Roman Forum and finally under the god’s direction he was allowed to
become one of the Pastophores or high-priests of the cult. So ends his
metamorphosis and the novel.

Let us now return to the beginning. In the first chapter Apuleius
announced that he is telling a Greek story. The main outline of his plot
is indeed identical with that of the Greek _Lucius or Ass_, which as we
have seen, is an epitome of the Greek _Metamorphoses_ by Lucian.
Apuleius’ novel is clearly later than Lucian’s because of rich and
notable additions to the plot of the epitome _Lucius or Ass_. These
additions are Milesian Tales, the Cupid and Psyche story and the great
eleventh book portraying the worship of Isis, who redeemed Lucius from
ass to human shape.

The change in the tone of telling the whole story is significant for
while the earthy character of the original folk-tale occasionally
appears and there are recurrent glimpses of Lucianic wit and satire,
Apuleius’ _Metamorphoses_ is neither a comic romance nor a satire as
Lucian’s clearly was. Apuleius wrote a serious novel, a sort of
Pilgrim’s Progress of the Ass-Man in his quest for knowledge of marvels.
Whereas Lucian through satire degraded a simple folk-tale, Apuleius
exalted it by making the journeyings of Lucius a search for the
spiritual meaning of life. His hero walks alone. The love romance in his
story, the Cupid and Psyche tale, starts with the Platonic conception of
the relation of Eros and Psyche, Love and the Soul, and therefrom is
lifted to the realm of the Olympian gods. And finally the
retransformation of Lucius is no chance event, but a salvation wrought
out by the mystic worship of Isis.

The subjectivity infused in the plot by these additions is enhanced by
the fact that the hero-narrator Lucius is identified with the author,
implicitly at first in the Preface and in incidental comment of author
to reader; in the last book by the identification of Lucius with “the
poor man of Madaura” so that the whole narrative becomes personal
experience. This fact involves another difference from the structure of
the Greek love romances. The action of these love romances, as Riefstahl
points out,[368] is a “closed” one: in the misfortunes which threaten
the lovers through Fortune, they must always remain faithful to each
other and stout-hearted in order to be re-united. So the circle of the
action is “closed,” for it is a great cycle in the life of the hero
which places him at the end just where he was in the beginning. The
action in Apuleius is “open,” for the hero is bound and pledged to
nothing. He goes through his adventures with a light heart. He does not
need to prove his faith to any one. He does not need to stand up to a
test or even to remain true to himself. He must needs wander, but there
is no set purpose in his journeyings. His sufferings are as spiritual as
corporeal. He is aware too of the misery of others in the world. And in
profound despair he must beg divine aid.

It is absurd to compare the plot of the whole novel with the typical
pattern of the Greek love romances and Fotis with their heroines as
Riefstahl does.[369] The only great human love-story in Apuleius’ main
plot, that of Charite, is a tragedy. It is like the Greek Romances in
being a story of high life and in this too is unique among Apuleius’
novelle. But it is utterly different from the Greek love romances in
structure and tone. The only parallel to them is to be found in the
inset story of Cupid and Psyche. Here the tale is of two young lovers
unhappily separated by the cruelty not of Fortune but of a greater
goddess, Venus herself. And only after the hard testing of one of the
pair, this time the lady, are the two lovers reunited. Thus the
conventional happy ending of the plot is achieved. But for the author’s
philosophical mind such a beautiful story must start with a touch of
Platonic symbolism in the very names of the lovers, Cupid and Psyche,
and must be concluded in high heaven, for only among the immortals may
such perfect happiness be won forever.

From this account of Apuleius’ _Metamorphoses_ it is already clear that
his great novel is a synthesis of various types of Greek Romances. Its
closest parallel is in the Greek _Lucius or Ass_, for the bare outline
of the plot of the first ten books is like that of the Greek work. But
all recent research tends to prove that Lucian’s original
_Metamorphoses_ was satiric in character, therefore very different in
tone from Apuleius’ serious work. So although they share the
characteristics of a romance of adventure, with stories of magic and of
robbers forming principal episodes, the motivation and the aim of the
two romances are utterly different. This difference is emphasized by
Apuleius’ two longest and most startling additions to the plot, the
love-story of Cupid and Psyche and the story of Lucius and Isis.

Apuleius writes a love romance like the Greek only in the story of Cupid
and Psyche. For the episode with Fotis is a sex-story of convenience and
the Milesian Tales added to the plot of _Lucius or Ass_ carry out this
Fotis-motif of sex and lechery.[370] The one long love-story of human
beings, Charite’s story, is indeed a love romance of a noble lady and
her noble lord, but it is a complete tragedy in episodes, tone and
ending. Only the Cupid and Psyche story is the true type of Greek love
romances.

The third great interest in the Greek Romances besides adventure and
love was religion. To this Apuleius gave a new emphasis and a new
importance. In the center of his novel in the inset story of Cupid and
Psyche he pictures the old familiar Olympian gods in their conventional
mythological characters, but as realistically and with as implicit a
satire as Lucian used in his “Dialogues of the Gods.” Venus is a very
jealous and cruel step-mother. Jupiter is a lusty, amorous, irresistible
king. Cupid is at first undutiful, mischievous and wanton. The story of
Lucius and Isis is, however, a serious story of a great religious
experience. Through prayer, visions, priestly instruction, ceremonials,
initiation and communion Apuleius becomes one with the goddess to whom
he is to devote the rest of his life. The worship of Isis is pictured
spiritually from the depths of experience by Apuleius who according to
his own statements had actually been many times initiated in her
cult.[371]

Throughout these three parts of Apuleius’ novel with their successive
emphasis on adventure, love and religion, virtually all the conventional
devices of the Greek Romances are employed. In the stories of adventure
there are rapidly shifting scenes, though in a more limited spatial
area. The Greek love romances lie according to the time of their action
in the geography of the colonies of great Greece or within the
boundaries of the hellenistic-oriental world from Byzantium to Egypt,
from Sicily to Babylon. The action is carried out through long sea
voyages, varied with storms and shipwreck. The wide world, the spatial
separations are overcome only through the faithfulness of the lovers.
The Ass-story takes place in narrower compass, in old Greece between
Patrae, Hypata and Corinth. To Lucian’s geographical set Apuleius adds
Rome. In these two versions of the Ass-story all the life of mankind is
represented concretely and in close perspective. The action concerns
little people living in one locality or for purposes of trade taking
short journeys hither and thither on land.[372] Other conventional
devices in Apuleius’ stories of adventure are the introduction as
important characters of robbers and robber chieftains, narratives with
emphasis on external events, descriptions like that of the robbers’
cave.

In the love-story of Charite the interest centers in a lover and his
lass; both are persons in high life, both are faithful. A dream
furnishes an apparition of the dead husband. But the villainy of a
treacherous friend makes the story a tragedy involving murder and
suicide. The story of Cupid and Psyche, true to the type of the Greek
love romance, starts with a religious beginning, the worship of a mortal
girl Psyche as the goddess of love; is motivated by a Greek oracle;
describes at length the proving of the heroine in tasks imposed by the
will of an unfriendly deity; depicts Psyche’s apparent sleep of death;
and finally consummates a happy ending for the lovers through a saving
god, who is Cupid the hero himself. A pastoral note which affiliates the
story with _Daphnis and Chloe_ is introduced by the presence of the
friendly god Pan, who acts as a wise old adviser and comforter to Psyche
in her great despair. And the conventional use of _excursus_ creates a
new pictorial character in brilliant descriptions of Venus charioted
over the sea, of the Palace of Cupid, of Cupid asleep, of the wedding
banquet of the lovers.

In the story of Lucius and Isis in Book Eleven, many of the conventional
devices of the Greek Romances appear: dreams, epiphanies, religious
festivals, a _dea ex machina_. So in Chariton Aphrodite and Fortune
contend for the control of the lovers; in Xenophon of Ephesus Artemis
and Isis are the two saving goddesses; in Heliodorus Apollo and Isis are
prominent though the philosophies of the Gymnosophists and of the
Neo-Pythagoreans have a share in the plot; in Achilles Tatius Artemis
reigns supreme; in Longus Pan and the Nymphs guide the destinies of the
young lovers. The difference in Apuleius is that the whole quest of the
hero is for some meaning in life and when magic, adventure, mythology
and human amours can not supply it, he finds through conversion a union
with a mystic goddess who sublimates his emotion and absorbs his life
into her service.

The greater subjectivity of the Apuleius’ romance as compared to the
Greek Romances is attained by the aloneness of the hero, his quest and
its implicit meaning, his individual satisfaction. This subjectivity is
intensified by the complete adoption of the ego-narrative. Far more
attention is paid by Apuleius than by the Greek romancers to the
narrator and to his point of view in telling the whole romance. Achilles
Tatius was afterwards to attempt the use of this device of narration in
the first person, but he soon lost sight of the narrator in the
narrative and even at the end he never let him reappear. Lucian adopted
completely the _ich-roman_ form, but, as far as can be known, without
rich characterization of the teller. Apuleius uses to the full the
advantage of having a man-ass as narrator, for his composite hero has a
duplex view-point of man and animal and displays a double humor, of man
and beast. All this keeps the hero-narrator before our eyes and we
become ever more and more interested in the effect of the events
narrated on his inner life and on his final solution of life.

Riefstahl points out that in the Greek love romances there is some
striving after subjectivity in the presentation of external events. The
possibility of expression is not yet rich, but by soliloquies, by
descriptions of emotions, by reflections on events expressed in γνῶµαι
the romancers are working from objective to subjective presentation of
their material. The soul is treated as an individual entity separated
from the body and contrasted to it. On this foundation in the love
romances rests the inner structural arch of spatial separation and
spiritual fidelity. The relation of the objective and the subjective
creates somehow the scale on which all these romances take their place.
The love romances are at the objective end of the scale, the older ones
particularly, dynamic events holding writer and reader spell-bound. In
Longus a peaceful atmosphere is created because there are few exciting
events, little travel, only the study of the development of love in two
adolescents in a quiet pastoral setting, but the expression is not
adequate. Longus senses the dual conception of Eros, in man and in
nature, for the love of the two young shepherds is set in the teeming,
growing life of the outer world, but he does not develop fully this
subtle implication. Achilles Tatius inclines toward the subjective
direction through his attempted use of the ego-narrative. But the
fullest subjective treatment is found in Apuleius. In Achilles Tatius as
in Apuleius, the aim of the hero is a µυστήριον but with him it is the
µυστήριον of love; in Apuleius it is the _sacrorum arcana_.[373] The
powerful cosmic force of love appears only in Apuleius and there it is
embodied in the personality of Isis. The goddess describes herself to
Lucius as “the natural mother of all things, mistress and governess of
all the elements, the initial progeny of worlds, chief of the powers
divine, queen of all that are in hell, the principal of them that dwell
in heaven, manifested above and under one form of all the gods and
goddesses.”[374]

The whole story of Apuleius pictures, according to Riefstahl, the
striving of the individual towards the All. The cosmic Eros has taken
the place of the ancient Greek Eros, who was a terrible power, often
identified with the blind, cruel Τύχη. To this cosmic Eros Apuleius has
given the name of Isis.[375] Riefstahl to be sure pushes too far his
theory of an underlying philosophical content in Apuleius, representing
the romance “as an artistic unit ... and as an issue of the writer’s
intellectual interests and personality,” “ein künstlerisch gestaltetes
Anschauungsbild der existenziellen Lebensgrundlage des
Neuplatonismus.”[376] Yet he does point out astutely the fundamental
difference in Apuleius which makes his _Metamorphoses_ another distinct
type of romance, the subjective philosophical.

A word now in retrospect. By the end of the second century A.D., this
new genre of literature, the romance, had developed to full stature.
Already besides the author of the Ninus romance, Chariton, Lucian and
Apuleius had written their stories, and perhaps also Xenophon of
Ephesus. The different types of romance were already established: the
historical romance, the love romance with its secondary interests of
adventure and religion, satirical romance, the subjective philosophical
romance. The pastoral was soon to be added. That is, in the second
century of our era, a new type of literature was created, a type which
was to be the most popular in the modern world.[377]

It is strange to find that so distinguished and perceptive an historian
as Rostovtzeff in his histories of Rome does not recognize the
significance for the early empire of this new literary form. In
describing the second century, he writes:[378]

  “Except for the troubled reign of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Empire
  under the Antonines enjoyed profound peace, broken only by distant
  wars on the frontier. Within the empire life appeared to be, as it had
  been in the first century, a steady forward movement for the diffusion
  and enrichment of civilization. The creative power of Rome seemed to
  have reached its zenith. There was, however, one disquieting symptom:
  after the brilliant age of the Flavians we note an almost complete
  sterility in literature and art. After Tacitus, and after the artists
  who worked for Trajan ... the decades that followed failed to produce
  a single great writer or a single notable monument of art....

  “Even before the time of war and pestilence in the reign of Marcus
  Aurelius, we mark in the whole of intellectual life not merely a pause
  but even a backward movement. The only exception is a revival of Greek
  rhetorical prose, perfect in form but monotonous in substance. Its
  chief representative is the sophist and rhetorician, Aristides, and
  his best work is his _Panegyric_ on Rome. The _Dialogues_ of Lucian
  are witty and interesting; he was a sceptic and a humorist who mocked
  all ideals both new and old. In the West there are only two names to
  be quoted, that of the satirist Juvenal, a gloomy and bitter observer
  of the dark side of human life, and that of Pliny the Younger, a
  shallow orator and a brilliant representative of the epistolary style.
  The rest both in Greece and in Italy are writers of handbooks,
  text-books, and of miscellaneous collections of entertaining stories
  for the amusement and instruction of the reader.”

Rostovtzeff’s omission of all reference to the Greek Romances (even to
Lucian’s) and to Apuleius shows how completely they have been
disregarded. Yet for a picture of the social life of the second and the
third centuries and of the psychology of the men of the time the Greek
Romances and Apuleius are a revelation.

The Roman empire had checked both political activity and oratory, indeed
the orator had been succeeded by the rhetor in Greece and Rome. In the
unified Mediterranean world trade had developed greatly and travellers
had followed traders from one country to another, among them the
lecturing sophists. The new lands visited had their curiosities and
splendors so travellers’ tales multiplied with descriptions often worthy
of a natural history. Men, diverted from the aims of personal ambition
which military conquest or a democratic state had afforded, now sought
release and excitement in the personal relations. Women achieved a new
freedom and a new importance. The emotional life came to have a new
interest and this led to the development of the prose romance.

From the east came, with rich material resources, a wealth of new ideas,
a mingling of superstition, magic, religion and philosophy. Just as
man’s emotions were turned inward so was his thought. The greatest new
adventure became the quest for a solution of life itself. The romances
of the early empire whatever their type reflect the age: its craving for
excitement, its desire for adventure, its dread of brigands, its
curiosity about the new, its interest in art, its wish for fulfillment
of emotion in romantic love, its awareness of unsolved mysteries in man
and the universe. With even the partial re-dating of the Greek Romances
all sorts of subjects open up for investigation such as the apparatus of
religion in the use of oracles, dreams, epiphanies; the interest in
works of art; the new position of women. At any time in the future new
fragments of romances may be discovered, or new dating of some of the
old ones may be made possible. But even now while archaeological
discoveries are suspended and publication of new editions is delayed, we
may read and re-read these amazing old stories and see what escape
literature was in the second and third centuries. The Greek Romances
have much to tell us of the psychology of their authors, their
characters, and their readers. They have a deep human value.

  “Homo sum: humani nil a me alienum puto.”



FOOTNOTES


[1]Translated by George Thornley, revised by J. M. Edmonds, in _Daphnis
    and Chloe by Longus_ in _The Loeb Classical Library_.

[2]By Stephen Gaselee, “Appendix on the Greek Novel,” in _Daphnis and
    Chloe_ in _The Loeb Classical Library_, New York, 1916, pp. 410-11.

[3]R. M. Rattenbury in _New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature,
    Third Series_, Oxford, 1933, p. 211.

[4]P. D. Huet, _Traité de l’origine des Romans_, 1671.

[5]J. Dunlop, _The History of Fiction_, Edinburgh, 1816.

[6]A. Chassang, _Histoire du roman ... dans l’antiquité grecque et
    latine_, Paris, 1862.

[7]V. Chauvin, _Les romanciérs grecs et latins_, 1864.

[8]_Caritone di Afrodisia, Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe_, romanzo
    tradotto da Aristide Calderini, Torino, 1913.

[9]Her. I. 8-12.

[10]Her. II. 121.

[11]Her. IX. 108-13.

[12]L. Whibley, _A Companion to Greek Studies_, Cambridge, 1916, p. 155.
    For a discussion of these stories and the novelle see E. H. Haight,
    _Essays on Ancient Fiction_, New York, 1936.

[13]Alfred Croiset and Maurice Croiset, _An Abridged History of Greek
    Literature_, translated by G. F. Heffelbower, New York, 1904, p.
    517.

[14]H. Bornecque, _Les Déclamations et les Déclamateurs d’après Sénèque
    le père_, Lille, 1902, p. 130.

[15]_Caritone di Afrodisia, Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe_, Aristide
    Calderini, Torino, 1913.

[16]New York, 1916.

[17]Oxford, 1933.

[18]_Op. cit._, pp. 212-13.

[19]_Op. cit._, p. 385.

[20]_Op. cit._, pp. 387-93.

[21]_Ibid._, pp. 397-99.

[22]_Op. cit._, pp. 219-23.

[23]_Op. cit._, pp. 223-254.

[24]See Notes.

[25]_Pap. Fayûm_, London, 1900, I (pp. 74 ff.) and _Pap. Oxyrh._ 1019
    (vol. VII. 1910, pp. 143 ff.), both of the early III century, found
    in 1906 and 1910.

[26]Preface to _Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe_, Ann Arbor and
    London, 1939. Throughout this chapter I use this translation of
    Chariton by Warren E. Blake and the Greek text edited by him,
    _Charitonis Aphrodisiensis, de Chaerea et Callirhoe amatoriarum
    narrationum libri octo_, Oxford, 1938.

[27]IV. 4, 7-10; IV. 5, 8; IV. 6, 4; IV. 6, 8 (2 letters); VIII. 4, 2-3;
    VIII. 4, 5-6.

[28]III. 2.

[29]II. 1.

[30]II. 9.

[31]V. 5.

[32]VI. 2.

[33]I. 1.

[34]I. 6.

[35]III. 2.

[36]VI. 4.

[37]III. 3.

[38]VII. 4.

[39]II. 5.

[40]IV. 3.

[41]VIII. 7, 8.

[42]VII. 1 = _Il._ X. 540.

[43]VI. 2 = _Il._ I. 317.

[44]VII. 4 = _Il._ XIII. 131.

[45]VII. 4 = _Il._ X. 483.

[46]V. 4 = _Il._ IV. 1.

[47]II. 9 = _Il._ XXIII. 66-67.

[48]V. 5 = _Il._ III. 146.

[49]V. 5 = _Odys._ I. 366. See also IV. 7 = _Odys._ XVII. 37; VI. 4 =
    _Odys._ VI. 102.

[50]II. 3 = _Odys._ XVII. 485, 487; IV. 1 = _Il._ XXIII. 71; IV. 1 =
    _Odys._ XXIV. 83; VI. 4 = _Odys._ XV. 21; VII. 2 = _Il._ XXII.
    304-5.

[51]I. 1 = _Il._ XXI. 114.

[52]I. 4 = _Il._ XVIII. 23-25.

[53]III. 5 = _Il._ XXII. 82-83.

[54]IV. 5 = _Il._ XXI. 114.

[55]VI. 1 = _Il._ XXIV. 10-11.

[56]VIII. 1 = _Odys._ XXIII. 296.

[57]III. 5 = _Il._ XXII. 82-83.

[58]II. 9 = _Il._ XXIII. 66-67.

[59]V. 5 = _Il._ III. 146.

[60]Aristide Calderini, _Caritone di Afrodisia, Le avventure di Cherea e
    Calliroe_, Torino, 1913, pp. 154-58.

[61]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 159-60; V. 8.

[62]IV. 4.

[63]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 163-64.

[64]Xenophon of Ephesus, _Ephesiaca_, V. 1.

[65]III. 12; IV. 2.

[66]II. 13, G. Dalmeyda, _Xénophon d’Éphèse, Les Éphésiaques_, Paris,
    1926, p. 33, n. 1.

[67]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xiii-xiv.

[68]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xii-xv, xxxviii-ix.

[69]V. 8.

[70]V. 14.

[71]Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxiii, for example in the love-story of
    Aegialeus, V. 1, 4, for the climax: καὶ ἀπηλαύσοµεν ὦν ἕνεκα
    συνήλθοµεν.

[72]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xvi-xviii; Calderini, _op. cit._, p. 85.

[73]I. 8.

[74]V. 10.

[75]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xxiv-xxv.

[76]I. 11.

[77]IV. 2.

[78]I. 12.

[79]V. 10-11.

[80]V. 4.

[81]II. 13; III. 3.

[82]III. 11-12.

[83]IV. 3.

[84]V. 4.

[85]V. 13.

[86]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xvi-xviii.

[87]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 120-25.

[88]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xviii-xxiv.

[89]Calderini, _op. cit._, p. 113.

[90]See the story of the old Spartan and his mummy, V. 1.

[91]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, p. xxvii.

[92]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xxviii-ix.

[93]I. 2; I. 8.

[94]I. 6, V. 4; II. 1, II. 12; III. 2, I. 12, V. 11.

[95]V. 15.

[96]V. 1.

[97]I. 14.

[98]Chariton, III. 5. See Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, p. xxx.

[99]II. 4. Chariton, V. 10.

[100]_Iliad_, XXII, 389-90; Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, p. xxix.

[101]III. 7; Chariton, I. 6; IV. 1.

[102]V. 8; Chariton, V. 10.

[103]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xxxii-iii.

[104]For this introduction to Heliodorus I am largely indebted to the
    edition of _Les Éthiopiques_ edited by R. M. Rattenbury. T. W. Lumb,
    J. Maillon, Paris, vol. I, 1935; vol. II, 1938. For the _Testimonia_
    see _Heliodori Aethiopica_ by Aristides Colonna, Rome, 1938, pp.
    361-72.

[105]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I, ix-xi.

[106]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I, xiii-xv.

[107]Aristide Calderini, _Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe_, Torino,
    1913, pp. 176-77.

[108]II. 35, translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, in _The Greek
    Romances of Heliodorus, Longus, and Achilles Tatius_, London, 1855,
    pp. 61-62. It is impossible to reproduce in English the Greek’s
    hidden references to the names of Chariclea, Famed-for-her-Grace,
    and of Theagenes, the Goddess-Born.

[109]Translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, _op. cit._, pp. 196-97.

[110]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 118-25.

[111]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I,
    lxxxviii-ix.

[112]Calasiris in II and III; Cnemon in I, II and VI; Achaemenes in
    VIII; Sisimithres and Charicles in X.

[113]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, II, 87, n. 1.

[114]IV. 3, _Il._ XXII. 108-897: VII. 4-6, _Il._ III. 88-244 and _Il._
    XXII. 136-436; V. 5, _Odys._ XIX. 392-94; VI. 14, _Odys._ XI.

[115]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I,
    lxxxix-xcii.

[116]S. L. Wolff, _The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Prose Fiction_, New
    York, 1912, pp. 150-52.

[117]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 106-7.

[118]Arsace is not an historical character.

    “Le personnage féminin d’Arsacé semble bien être de l’invention
    d’Héliodore, mais il se peut qu’il se soit souvenu, en créant son
    nom, d’Arsacés, le fondateur de l’empire des Parthes, et des
    Arsacides, ainsi que d’Arsamés, grandpère de Darius (Hér. I, 209).
    D’après Suidas (s.d. Θεοκλυτήσαντες) Darius avait une fille nommée
    Arsamé.”

    R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, II, 113, n. 1.

[119]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I,
    lxxxv-viii.

[120]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I, xviii-xx.

[121]“Héliodore pratique avec une réelle habileté l’art des suspensions
    et des retours. L’unité du récit n’est jamais compromise.”

    R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, II, 37, n. 3.

[122]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I, xx-xxi and
    lxxxv-viii; A. Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 176-77.

[123]See _The Cambridge Ancient History_, Cambridge (Eng.), 1934, X,
    506-11; 1936, XI, 700-1; Philostratus, _The Life of Apollonius of
    Tyana_ translated by F. C. Conybeare in _The Loeb Classical
    Library_, 2 vols. New York, 1912.

[124]Translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, _op. cit._, p. 259.

[125]p. 78.

[126]III. 12-15.

[127]V. 22, _Odys._ XIII. 332, XVIII. 66-70, _Il._ XIX. 47-49.

[128]V. 11, _Odys._ VI. 180; V. 15, _Il._ III. 65; VII. 10, _Il._ VI.
    235-36.

[129]VII. 9, _Il._ XXIV. 3-12; VI. 5, _Il._ I. 106-7; IV. 7, _Il._ XVI.
    21.

[130]J. W. H. Walden, _Stage-terms in Heliodorus’s Aethiopica_, in
    “Harvard Studies in Classical Philology,” V (1894), 1-43.

[131]V. 6, II. 11, I. 3, II. 4 and 23, VI. 12, IX. 5, VI. 14.

[132]X. 12, VII. 6-8, VIII. 17. Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 159-63.

[133]On the style of Heliodorus, see Maillon in R. M. Rattenbury, T. W.
    Lumb, J. Maillon, _op. cit._, I, xcii-xciii.

[134]IV. 4. Translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, _op. cit._, p. 81.

[135]Aristide Calderini, _Caritone di Afrodisia, Le Avventure di Cherea
    e Calliroe_, Torino, 1913, p. 191.

[136]From the introduction to _Achilles Tatius_ with an English
    translation by S. Gaselee, in _The Loeb Classical Library_. The
    translations used in this chapter are from this volume.

[137]GH in Grenfell and Hunt, _Oxyrhynchus Papyri_, X, 135, no. 1250.

[138]R. T. Rattenbury, _New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature:
    Third Series_: Oxford, 1933, pp. 254-57.

[139]F. A. Todd, _Some Ancient Novels_, Oxford, 1940, p. 33; S. Gaselee,
    _op. cit._, pp. xv-xvi.

[140]F. A. Todd, _op. cit._, p. 33; S. L. Wolff, _The Greek Romances in
    Elizabethan Prose Fiction_, New York, 1912, pp. 248-56.

[141]Pal. Anth. IX. 203.

[142]J. S. Phillimore, “The Greek Romances,” in _English Literature and
    the Classics_, Oxford, 1912, pp. 108-15.

[143]J. S. Phillimore, _op. cit._, p. 115.

[144]S. Gaselee, _op. cit._, p. 455.

[145]II. 5.

[146]III. 10.

[147]VI. 16.

[148]VII. 5.

[149]I. 3.

[150]V. 18-20.

[151]V. 25-27.

[152]VIII. 7.

[153]II. 11-17.

[154]II. 23.

[155]IV. 1.

[156]VII. 12, 14. Compare also the dream in I. 3.

[157]III. 15; V. 7; VII. 3-5.

[158]VIII. 4-5, 15-17.

[159]II. 13, 15-18.

[160]VIII. 17-18.

[161]V. 11, 13.

[162]V. 22.

[163]V. 14.

[164]V. 16.

[165]V. 25-27.

[166]VI. 9-11.

[167]V. 17, 22.

[168]VI. 1-2.

[169]VIII. 5.

[170]R. M. Rattenbury, _op. cit._, pp. 256-57.

[171]III. 14.

[172]VI. 7.

[173]VII. 9.

[174]V. 17.

[175]VIII. 17-19.

[176]I. 4.

[177]I. 9. Compare V. 13.

[178]I. 16-18.

[179]II. 35-38.

[180]I. 8.

[181]II. 7-8.

[182]IV. 8.

[183]I. 10.

[184]II. 4.

[185]II. 37.

[186]V. 5.

[187]II. 7-8.

[188]IV. 8-10, 15-17, V. 22, 26.

[189]VIII. 5-7, 11-14.

[190]II. 19.

[191]V. 16.

[192]VIII. 5.

[193]VIII. 11-12.

[194]IV. 1; VII. 12.

[195]VI. 21.

[196]VII. 12.

[197]VII. 12.

[198]VIII. 1-3.

[199]VIII. 1-3, 5, 10.

[200]II. 12; V. 3.

[201]II. 14.

[202]II. 2; V. 2; VI. 3-4.

[203]II. 36.

[204]I. 8; II. 1, 15, 23, 34.

[205]I. 8; IV. 4-5.

[206]I. 12.

[207]II. 20-22.

[208]VIII. 9.

[209]V. 27.

[210]V. 5.

[211]II. 2.

[212]I. 1-2.

[213]III. 6-8.

[214]V. 3-5.

[215]II. 3.

[216]II. 11.

[217]II. 19.

[218]I. 15.

[219]III. 1-5.

[220]IV. 11-12; III. 24-25; IV. 2-3, 4, 19.

[221]S. L. Wolff, _op. cit._, pp. 202-11.

[222]J. S. Phillimore, _op. cit._, pp. 115-16.

[223]F. A. Todd, _Some Ancient Novels_, London, 1940, p. 35.

[224]G. Dalmeyda, _Longus, Pastorales (Daphnis et Chloé)_, Paris, 1934,
    pp. xxi-xxii.

[225]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, p. xxiv, “un des plus grands charmes de son
    roman est le cadre de nature, et l’intime union du décor et des
    personnages: dans ce sol plaisant et fertile, les deux héros
    semblent avoir leurs racines comme de jeunes plantes.”

[226]I. 4-5.

[227]I. 7.

[228]II. 23.

[229]III. 27.

[230]IV. 34.

[231]II. 39.

[232]II. 4-7.

[233]IV. 36.

[234]IV. 37.

[235]IV. 39.

[236]IV. 3.

[237]IV. 13.

[238]IV. 26.

[239]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xxvii-xxxi.

[240]III. 10.

[241]I. 14.

[242]IV. 27.

[243]I. 18.

[244]I. 25.

[245]III. 6.

[246]IV. 28.

[247]II. 15-17.

[248]IV. 3.

[249]I. 4; II. 23.

[250]II. 23-24; IV. 39.

[251]I. 10 and 24.

[252]I. 30.

[253]III. 12.

[254]II. 35-37.

[255]IV. 15.

[256]IV. 40.

[257]III. 21.

[258]Cp. II. 4 with Bion IV.

[259]Cp. I. 18 with Moschus I. 27.

[260]II. 33. See on the bucolic tradition, Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, p.
    xxiii with n. 4.

[261]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 169-70.

[262]Theoc. I. 45-56.

[263]III. 21.

[264]Theoc. VIII. 53-56.

[265]Horace is the only other ancient writer who uses the name Chloe, C.
    I. 23; III. 7, 9, 26.

[266]I. 17, with Courier’s excellent emendation of the ms. χλόης (for
    χλόας) to πόας, Sappho 2.

[267]IV. 8, Sappho 94.

[268]III. 33-34. Sappho 93.

[269]J. M. Edmonds, _Daphnis and Chloe_ in _The Loeb Classical Library_,
    p. xi, n. 1.

[270]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xxxiv-v.

[271]II. 7, Vergil _Ec._ I. 5.

[272]J. M. Edmonds, _op. cit._, p. ix.

[273]Calderini, _op. cit._, pp. 145-47.

[274]Dalmeyda, _op. cit._, pp. xxxviii-xlii.

[275]I. 13.

[276]I. 16.

[277]II. 2.

[278]III. 20.

[279]I. 13.

[280]II. 1-2.

[281]III. 3.

[282]IV. 37-39.

[283]II. 32.

[284]II. 3-6.

[285]I. 27.

[286]II. 34.

[287]II. 2.

[288]S. L. Wolff, _op. cit._, p. 162.

[289]F. A. Todd, _op. cit._, p. 64.

[290]Paul-Louis Courier, _Les Pastorales de Longus ou Daphnis et Chloé_,
    traduction de Messire Jacques Amyot revue, corrigée, complétée et de
    nouveau refaite in grande partie, Paris, 1925, _Preface_, p. xxii.
    See also _Bibliographie_.

[291]Suidas, as quoted in the _Enc. Brit._ XIV. Vol. 14, p. 460.

[292]Maurice Croiset, _Essai sur la vie et les œuvres de Lucien_, Paris,
    1882.

[293]Basil L. Gildersleeve, _Essays and Studies_, Baltimore, 1890.

[294]For a concise tabular classification of Lucian’s works, based on
    Croiset’s arrangement, see H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _The Works
    of Lucian of Samosata_, 4 vols. Oxford, 1905, I, xiv-xviii. To be
    specially noted are the influences in definite periods of the
    rhetoricians, of philosophy, of New Comedy, of Menippus, of Old
    Comedy.

[295]Translated by A. M. Harmon, in _Lucian_, in _The Loeb Classical
    Library_, III, 223, 225.

[296]Harmon, _op. cit._, III, 231, 233.

[297]Xenophon, _Memorabilia_, II, 1, 21.

[298]See M. Croiset, _op. cit._, Chap. II.

[299]C. 47.

[300]Horace, _Ep._ I. 1, 14.

[301]Harmon, _op. cit._, II, 487, 495.

[302]Harmon, _op. cit._, V, 1.

[303]Harmon, _op. cit._, V, 47-49.

[304]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, pp. 140-43, 188-92.

[305]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, p. 82.

[306]F. Cumont in the _Mémoires couronnées de l’académie de Belgique_,
    Vol. XL (1887), summarized by Harmon, _op. cit._, IV, 173.

[307]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, p. 131.

[308]Gildersleeve, _op. cit._, p. 327.

[309]Harmon, _op. cit._, III, 411.

[310]Harmon, _op. cit._, III, 481.

[311]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, p. 176.

[312]Teubner text, I (1896), 319-27; H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _The
    Works of Lucian_, II, 27-34.

[313]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _op. cit._, II, 29.

[314]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _op. cit._, II, 33.

[315]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, p. 303.

[316]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _op. cit._, II, 123, C. 27.

[317]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _op. cit._, II, 128-29, CC. 39, 41.

[318]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, _op. cit._, II, 133-35, CC. 54-61.

[319]Gildersleeve, _op. cit._, p. 316.

[320]See Philip Babcock Gove, _The Imaginary Voyage in Prose Fiction_,
    New York, 1941.

[321]A secondary Preface to Book II may be found in _Babble Beforehand:
    Dionysus_. In it Lucian speaks of a literary novelty he is producing
    under the influence of Dionysus and Silenus, an old man’s lengthy
    babbling.

[322]I. 4. The translations of the _True History_ are from A. M. Harmon,
    _Lucian_, I, 247-357 in _The Loeb Classical Library_.

[323]I. 13.

[324]I. 26.

[325]II. 31.

[326]II. 47.

[327]Gildersleeve, _op. cit._, pp. 318-19.

[328]See E. Rohde, _Der Griechische Roman_, Leipzig, 1914, pp. 204-209;
    242-50, 260 ff.; C. S. Jerram, _Luciani Vera Historia_, Oxford,
    1887, I, 120 and _passim_; H. W. L. Hime, _Lucian the Syrian
    Satirist_, London, 1900, app. pp. 91-95; F. W. Householder, Jr.,
    _Literary Quotation and Allusion in Lucian_, New York, 1941.

[329]F. G. Allinson, _Lucian Satirist and Artist_, Boston, 1926, p. 123.

[330]I. 29.

[331]II. 17 and 19.

[332]I. 20, Thuc. V. 18.

[333]I. 16, Her. III. 102.

[334]I. 16, Her. IV. 191.

[335]I. 23, Her. I. 202; IV. 75.

[336]I. 29, Her. II. 62.

[337]I. 40, Her. II. 156.

[338]II. 2, Her. IV. 28.

[339]II. 5, Her. III. 113.

[340]II. 31.

[341]I. 3.

[342]II. 20.

[343]II. 24.

[344]II. 28.

[345]II. 22.

[346]II. 15.

[347]II. 25-26.

[348]II. 35-36.

[349]II. 28, _Odys._ X. 302-306.

[350]II. 33, _Odys._ XIX. 562-67.

[351]II. 46, _Odys._ XII. 37-200.

[352]II. 20.

[353]See M. Croiset, _op. cit._, C. XII, “La fantaisie chez Lucien”; and
    F. G. Allinson, _op. cit._, _passim_.

[354]Andrew Lang, _Letters to Dead Authors_, New York, 1893, pp. 53-54.

[355]Ben Edwin Perry, _The Metamorphoses Ascribed to Lucius of Patrae_,
    Princeton, 1920.

[356]_Bibl. Cod._ 129, Migne.

[357]B. E. Perry, _op. cit._, pp. 52-55.

[358]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, p. 48.

[359]Harmon, _op. cit._, V, 101-207.

[360]M. Rostovtzeff, _Seminarium Kondakovianum_, II, 135-38, Prague,
    1928; _Papyri Greci e Latini_, VIII. No. 981. For a different point
    of view see F. Zimmermann, “Lukians Toxaris und das Kairener
    Romanfragment” in _Philologische Wochenschrift_, 55 (1935), 1211-16.

[361]R. M. Rattenbury, “Romance: the Greek Novel” in _New Chapters in
    the History of Greek Literature, Third Series_, pp. 240-44.

[362]M. Rostovtzeff, _Scythien und der Bosporus_, Berlin, 1931, I,
    96-99.

[363]M. Croiset, _op. cit._, p. 51.

[364]Quis ille? _Met._ I. 1.

[365]E. H. Haight, _Apuleius and his Influence_, New York, 1927; “The
    Myth of Cupid and Psyche in Ancient Art” in _Art and Archaeology_,
    III (1916), 43-52, 87-97; “The Myth of Cupid and Psyche in
    Renaissance Art,” “The Vassar College Psyche Tapestries,” in _Art
    and Archaeology_, XV (1923), 107-116; “Apuleius’ Art of
    Story-Telling” in _Essays on Ancient Fiction_, New York, 1936.

[366]From E. H. Haight, “Apuleius’ Art of Story-Telling,” in _Essays on
    Ancient Fiction_, New York, 1936, p. 152.

[367]_Met._ XI, 23.

[368]Hermann Riefstahl, _Der Roman des Apuleius_, Frankfurt am Main,
    1938, pp. 83-84.

[369]Riefstahl, _op. cit._, p. 85.

[370]For an account of Aristides and the Milesian Tales see L. C.
    Purser, _The Story of Cupid and Psyche as related by Apuleius_,
    London, 1910, Excursus I.

[371]_Apologia_, 55, 56.

[372]Riefstahl, _op. cit._, pp. 84-85.

[373]_Met._ XI. 22.

[374]S. Gaselee, _Apuleius the Golden Ass being the Metamorphoses of
    Lucius Apuleius_, in _The Loeb Classical Library_, XI. 4.

[375]For Riefstahl’s whole theory of “Apuleius und die griechischen
    Liebesromane” see _op. cit._, pp. 82-95.

[376]See the review of Riefstahl’s work by H. W. Prescott in _A.J.P._,
    61 (1940), pp. 115-17.

[377]To complete the list of different types of novels, we might add the
    realistic novel of low life, Petronius’ _Satyricon_. Since its
    affiliations are with the Menippean satire and not with the Greek
    Romances, I have omitted any study of it here. See E. H. Haight,
    _Apuleius and his Influence_, pp. 7-8; “Satire and the Latin Novel”
    in _Essays on Ancient Fiction_, pp. 86-120. For a recent review of
    the literature about the _Satyricon_ and a brilliant
    re-interpretation of it see Gilbert Highet “Petronius the Moralist”
    in _T.P.A.P.A._, LXXII (1941), 176-94.

[378]M. Rostovtzeff, _A History of the Ancient World, Volume II. Rome_,
    Oxford, 1927, pp. 239-41. Yet see pp. 181-85 for Rostovtzeff’s
    knowledge of the Greek Romances.



                                 INDEX


                                   A
  Achilles, 11, 20, 35, 78, 90, 115, 173
  Achilles Tatius, 10, 11, 12, 13, 62, 63, 95-118, 120, 196, 197,
          198
      _Clitophon and Leucippe_, 95-118, list of characters, 97-98
  Aeschines, 147
  Aesculapius, 155, 187
  _Aethiopica_, 61-94
  Africa, 186, 187
  Alcinous, 79, 173
  _Alexander Romance_, 11, 12
  Alexandria, 45, 46, 47, 95, 99, 101, 117
  Allinson, F. G., ix, 172, 175
  Amyot, Jacques, 120, 143
  Andromeda, 75, 93, 115
  Antioch, 144
  Antonius Diogenes, _The Wonderful Things beyond Thule_, 12, 145,
          170, 171, 172
  _Apollonius of Tyre_, 12
  Apollonius of Tyana, 62, 88, 89
  Apparent deaths, 100, 103-4, 196
  Anthia, 12, 38-60, 93
  Antinous, 92
  Antoninus Pius, 187
  Aphrodite, 8, 10, 16, 20, 21, 26, 28, 31, 32, 33, 51, 103, 107,
          110, 196
  Apis, 52, 55
  Apollo, 42, 51, 55, 67, 68, 78, 82, 86, 87, 88, 111, 196
  Apollonius Rhodius, 4
  Apuleius, viii, 6, 13, 54, 145, 186-201
      _Metamorphoses_, 176, 180, 181, 186-99
      _Cupid and Psyche_, 186, 189, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196
      _Apologia_, 187, 195
      _Florida_, 187
      _Plato and his Doctrine_, 187
      _The God of Socrates_, 187
  Aradus, 19, 20, 32, 35
  Ares, 44, 51, 53, 183
  Aristaenetus, 108
  Aristides, author of _Milesian Tales_, 5, 194
  Aristides, author of _Panegyric_ on Rome, 200
  Aristippus, 169
  Aristophanes, 113, 149, 166, 167, 172
  Aristotle, 153
  Armenia, 156
  Artemis, 40, 42, 51, 53, 103, 111, 112, 113, 196
  Asia Minor, 14, 15, 53, 144
  Astarte, 115
  Athenagoras, 15
  Athens, 77, 151, 153, 155, 186
  Augustine, Saint, 187
  Augustus, 40, 155
  Aurelian, 62

                                   B
  Babylon, 10, 20, 26, 29, 32, 33, 34
  Bardèche, Maurice, 59
  Berytus, 98, 101
  Bessa, 70, 77
  Bias, 27
  Bion, 135
  Bithynia, 158
  Blake, Warren E., viii, 14
  Bonaparte, Elisa, 142
  Bonaparte, Napoleon, 142
  Borden, Fanny, ix
  Bornecque, H., 6
  Burton, William, 96
  Byron, Lord G. G. N., 141
  Byzantium, 98, 101, 105, 195

                                   C
  Calderini, Aristide, 4, 6, 13, 35, 36, 51, 54, 63, 76, 80, 88, 91,
          95, 135, 136, 137
  Callimachus, 3
  Callirhoe, 12, 14-37, 57, 93, 97
  Callisthenes, pseudo-, _Alexander Romance_, 11, 12
  Calydon, 84
  Calypso, 169, 170, 173, 175
  Cappadocia, 45, 54
  Caria, 15, 20
  Carthage, 186, 187
  Cenchreae, 190
  Chaereas, 12, 14-37, 57, 93, 97
  Charicles, 1, 12
  Chariton, viii, 6, 7, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14-37, 40, 57, 58, 62, 63,
          90, 91, 95, 96, 108, 112, 196, 199
      _Chaereas and Callirhoe_, 14-37, list of characters, 15-16
  Chassang, A., 3
  Chauvin, V., 3
  Chemmis, 66, 70, 77, 85
  Chloe, 12, 93, 119-43
  Christianity, 61, 62, 95, 96, 144, 154, 156
  Cilicia, 40, 41, 44, 54
  Cinema, 58, 59, 60, 83, 84, 101
  Clarendon Press, viii
  Claros, 42, 51, 55
  Clitophon, 12, 93, 95-118
  Colonna, Aristides, 61
  Constantinus Manasses, _Aristander and Callithea_, 12
  _Controversiae_, 6, 36
  Conversation, use of, 27, 84, 101, 114,  133
  Conybeare, F. C., 88
  Corinth, 162, 190, 195
  Cornelius Gallus, 5
  Cornelius Sisenna, 5
  Courier, Paul Louis, 137, 141-43
  Court-room scenes, 18, 20, 23, 26, 36, 55, 59, 85, 100, 101, 111,
          112-14, 133, 134, 137, 148, 149, 174
  Croiset, Alfred, 6
  Croiset, Maurice, 6, 146, 149, 157, 158, 160, 162, 175, 182, 185
  Ctesias, 164, 165, 171, 173
  Cumont, F., 157
  Cyprus, 32
  _Cyrano de Bergerac_, 175
  Cyrus the Great, 16

                                   D
  Dalmeyda, G., 13, 40, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 128,
          132, 135, 137, 138
  Daphnis, 12, 93, 119-43
  _Daphnis and Chloe_, 119-43
  Daye, Angell, 120
  Deaths, apparent, 17, 29, 45, 84, 97, 99, 100, 103, 104
  _Declamationes_, 36
  Delphi, 66, 69, 76, 77, 78, 82, 84, 86, 87, 88
  Democritus, 157
  Demosthenes, 141, 147, 150
  Descriptions, use of, 29, 84, 114-17, 136, 138, 139, 174, 195, 196
  Diana, 64, 67, 86
  Diocletian, 118
  Diogenes, 154, 162, 169
  Dionysus, 114, 126, 129, 131, 134, 139, 155, 166, 171
  Disney, Walt, 166
  _Dosicles and Rhodanthe_, 12
  Dreams, 18, 28, 29, 43, 50, 55, 59, 73, 84, 85, 86, 87, 89, 103,
          111, 122, 129, 196
  Drusilla, 1, 12
  Dunlop, J., 3
  D’Urfé, Honoré, 140

                                   E
  Edmonds, J. M., viii, 120, 137
  Egypt, 15, 16, 40, 41, 43, 45, 46, 47, 54, 64, 66, 67, 69, 77, 82,
          86, 87, 145, 156, 158, 160, 195
  Elephantine, 74, 77
  Emesa, 61, 62, 88
  Empedocles, 153, 155
  Ending, happy, 2, 30, 49, 50, 55, 60, 93, 104, 128, 133, 189, 192,
          193, 196
  _Ephesiaca_, by Xenophon of Ephesus, 38-60
  Ephesus, 5, 40, 41, 42, 45, 47, 48, 49, 53, 54, 99, 100, 101, 103,
          105, 106, 111, 112
  Epicurus, 153, 158, 169
  Epiphanies, 67, 73, 84, 85, 86, 87, 103, 125, 196, 201
  Eros, 10, 28, 42, 49, 51, 105, 110, 115, 122, 124, 127, 128, 129,
          130, 131, 136, 139, 140, 192, 198
  Ethiopia, 11, 46, 47, 73, 77, 85, 86, 87, 88
  Ethiopians, 68, 72, 73, 74, 77, 79, 80, 87, 89
  Euphrates, 27, 31
  Eupolis, 149
  Euripides, 58, 79, 108
  Eustathius, _Hysmine and Hysminias_, 12
  Exposures, 66, 68, 75, 122, 127, 128, 137

                                   F
  Fortune, 1, 19, 20, 31, 32, 36, 109, 111, 137, 187, 190, 192, 193,
          196
  Fowler, H. W. and F. G., ix, 146, 160, 161, 163, 164
  Furia, Francesco, 141, 142

                                   G
  Gaselee, Stephen, 6, 7, 95, 96, 101, 198
  Gaul, 144, 148
  Gildersleeve, Basil L., 146, 158, 165, 166
  Gove, P. B., 164
  Greece, 3, 82, 88, 89, 141, 144, 148, 153, 156, 195, 200
  Greek Romances, re-dating, 1-13
      chronological list, 12
      influence of elegiac poetry, 137
      influence of New Attic Comedy, 112, 137, 146, 149
      influence of Old Attic Comedy, 112, 146, 149
      influence of the Pastoral, 119-43, 196
      influence of rhetorical schools, 36, 37, 84, 85, 90, 91, 112,
          114, 137-38, 149
      likeness to drama, 26, 36, 37, 58, 77, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 91,
          137
      likeness to epic, 35-36, 58, 77, 78, 79, 83, 84, 90, 91, 112
  Greene, Robert, 97, 140
  _Gulliver’s Travels_, 164
  Gymnosophists, 74, 79, 81, 82, 89, 93, 196

                                   H
  Habrocomes, 12, 38-60, 93
  _Habrocomes and Anthia_, 38-60
  Hadrian, 40, 92
  Harmon, A. M., 147, 153, 155, 157, 158, 160, 165, 182
  Harvard University Press, viii
  Heffelbower, G. F., 6
  Helen, 21, 34, 78, 110, 169, 173, 175
  Heliodorus, 3, 10, 12, 13, 61-94, 96, 196
      _Aethiopica_ or _Theagenes and Chariclea_, 61-94, list of
          characters, 63
  Heliogabalus, 62
  Helios, 46, 48, 52, 61, 62, 79, 87, 88
  Hercules, 111, 115, 147, 155, 166, 171
  Hermes, 69, 87, 148, 151, 153, 174
  Herodes Atticus, 156
  Herodotus, 4, 36, 77, 165, 171, 172, 173
  Hesiod, 112, 174
  Highet, Gilbert, 199
  Hime, H. W. L., 171
  Hippolytus, 20, 58, 64, 79, 82
  Homer, 33, 34, 37, 57, 78, 90, 92, 94, 112, 159, 161, 164, 169,
          172, 173, 174
  Hooker, Blanche Ferry, v
  Horace, 136, 151
  Householder, F. W., 171
  Huet, P. D., 3
  _Hysmine and Hysminias_, 12

                                   I
  Iamblichus, _Babyloniaca_ or _Rhodanes and Sinonis_, 12
  Iambulus, 164, 171
  Iliad, 4, 33, 34, 35, 78, 90, 91
  India, 41, 46, 154
  Ionia, 148
  Isis, 42, 45, 47, 51, 53, 54, 64, 66, 71, 82, 86, 87, 88, 99, 187,
          190, 191, 192, 194, 195, 196, 198
  Italy, 46, 47, 48, 54, 58, 141, 144, 148, 200

                                   J
  Jacobs, Lewis, 59
  Jerram, C. S., 171
  Jupiter, 189, 194
  Juvenal, 200

                                   L
  Lang, Andrew, 175
  Lavagnini, Bruno, 2, 3, 4
  Lesbos, 122, 131
  Letters, 18, 22, 23, 27, 28, 44, 55, 56, 65, 66, 68, 75, 79, 81,
          84, 85, 102, 106, 175
      Love-Letters of Aristaenetus, 108
  Leucippe, 12, 93, 95-118
  Loeb, _The Loeb Classical Library_, viii, 6, 95, 120, 137, 147,
          198
  Longmans, Green and Co., ix
  Longus, viii, 12, 13, 196, 198
      _Daphnis and Chloe_, 119-43, list of characters, 121
  Lucian, viii, ix, 12, 13, 144-85, 187, 197, 199, 200
      on oratory and rhetoric, 148-50
      on philosophies, 150-54
      autobiography in works, 146-62
      _The Dream_, 146-47
      _The Double Indictment_, 148-49
      _The Professor of Oratory_, 149-50
      _Nigrinus_, 150-51
      _Philosophies for Sale_, 151-53
      _The Resurrected_ or _The Fisherman_, 153-54
      _The End of Peregrinus_, 154-57
      _Alexander of Abonoteichus_, 151, 157-58, 181
      _Parasites for Pay_, 158-60
      _Apology_, 160-62
      _How History should be Written_, 162-64
      _True History_, 145, 164-76
      _Lucius or Ass_, 12, 13, 145, 176-81, 188, 191, 192, 194
      _Metamorphoses_, 12, 176, 180, 181, 191, 192, 194
      _Toxaris_, 182-85
      _Dialogues of the Gods_, 194
  Lucius, 54, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 194, 196
  Lucius Verus, 162
  Lumb, T. W., 61, 62, 63, 77, 78, 80, 82, 83, 84, 88, 92
  Lydia, 28
  Lyly, John, 97

                                   M
  Macedonia, 144, 178
  Madaura, 186, 191, 192
  Magic, 70, 87, 88, 89, 110, 111, 177, 180, 187-89, 196
      tests of chastity, 100, 107, 110, 111, 114
  Maillon, J., 61, 62, 63, 76, 77, 78, 80, 82, 83, 84, 88, 89, 92
  Marcus Aurelius, 162, 187, 199, 200
  Memphis, 46, 52, 53, 55, 71, 72, 73, 77, 78
  Menippus, 146, 149, 154, 161
  Meroe, 74, 76
  Michigan, University Press, ix
  _Milesian Tales_, 3, 5, 36, 190, 194
  Miletus, 5, 20, 26, 32, 36
  Miracles, 73, 87, 89
  Moore, J. Leverett, vi
  Moschus, 135
  Myths, use of, 11, 35, 78, 110, 114, 115, 116, 125, 126, 130, 135,
          139, 140
  Mytilene, 119, 122, 124, 128, 129, 131

                                   N
  Narrator, use of, 101, 164, 177, 180, 187, 192, 197-198
  Neoptolemus, 66, 67, 87
  Neo-Pythagoreanism, 62, 88, 196
  Nicephorus Callistus, 61, 62
  Nicetas, Eugenianus, _Charicles and Drusilla_, 1, 12
  Nicoll, Allerdyce, 59
  Nile, 46, 52, 64, 66, 69, 74, 77, 84, 87, 93, 117
  _Ninus Romance_, 6, 7-12, 16, 36, 199
  Novelle, 3, 4, 5
  Nymphs, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 133,
          134, 136, 139, 196

                                   O
  Oaths, 1, 7, 10, 28, 42, 58, 84, 102, 133, 138
  Odysseus, 78, 86, 90, 169, 170, 173, 174, 175
  Odyssey, 4, 34, 35, 78, 90, 164, 165, 174
  Olympia, 154, 156, 163
  Oracles, 42, 51, 52, 55, 56, 73, 76, 84, 85, 111, 196, 201
  Osiris, 191
  Ovid, 137

                                   P
  Palatine Anthology, 97
  Palmyra, 62
  Pan, 111, 114, 119, 121, 124, 125, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 134,
          136, 139, 196
  Papyri, evidence of, 14, 96, 182, 184, 185
  Parthenius, 3, 5, 6
  Pater, Walter, 187
  Patrae, 176, 177, 180, 195
  Patroclus, 35, 78, 91
  Pelusium, 46, 99, 101
  Penelope, 86, 110, 174
  Perry, B. E., ix, 176, 180, 181
  Perseus, 93, 115
  Persia, 16, 92
  Petronius, 199
  Phaedra, 58, 64, 79, 82, 110
  Phidias, 146-47
  Philae, 74, 77
  Philippus of Amphipolis, 3
  Phillimore, J. S., ix, 98, 101, 118
  Philomela, 110, 114, 116
  Philostratus, 6, 88, 89
  Phoenicia, 46
  Photius, 2, 12, 61, 62, 97, 137, 171, 180
  Pilon, Edmond, 143
  Plato, 150, 151, 153, 159, 160, 161, 169, 172, 187
  Pliny the Younger, 200
  Pompeii, 115
  Pontus, 158
  Prescott, H. W., 199
  Priene, 27
  Purser, L. C., 194
  Pythagoras, 88

                                   Q
  Quintilian, pseudo-, 6, 36

                                   R
  Rabelais, François, 175
  Ramsay, Allan, 140
  Rattenbury, R. M., viii, 3, 6, 7, 10, 11, 61, 62, 63, 77, 78, 80,
          82, 83, 84, 87, 88, 92, 96, 108, 184
  Recognitions, 68, 69, 71, 75, 79, 80, 87, 127, 128, 131, 137
  Résumés, 30, 55, 58, 68, 78, 84, 100, 104, 107
  Rhadamanthus, 173, 174, 175
  Rhodes, 42, 48, 52, 54
  Richardson, Samuel, 97
  Riefstahl, Hermann, 192, 193, 195, 197, 198, 199
  Risus, 188
  Rohde, Erwin, 2, 3, 5, 6, 13, 55, 171
  Rome, 88, 141, 151, 186, 195, 199, 200
  Rostovtzeff, M., ix, 182, 185, 199-200

                                   S
  Sabrata, 187
  Saint-Pierre, Bernardin de, 140
  Samos, 52, 54
  Samosata, 144
  Sannazaro, Jacopo, 140
  Sappho, 136, 137
  Satyricon, 199
  Schmid, W., 3, 35
  Scott, Sir Walter, 97
  Scythians, 182, 183, 184, 185
  Second Sophistry, 2, 3, 5
  Selene, 79-80
  Seneca the Elder, 6, 36
  Sesonchosis, 11
  Sesostris, 11
  Severus, Alexander, 62
  Shakespeare, 38, 58, 140
      _Romeo and Juliet_, 58
      _The Winter’s Tale_, 140
  Sicily, 19, 38, 39, 47, 54, 68, 195
  Sidney, Sir Philip, 96
  Sidon, 99, 101, 115
  Smith, Rowland, 67, 73, 90, 94
  Socrates, 147, 153, 169
  Socrates, (V cent. A.D.), 61, 62
  Soliloquies, 27, 55, 84, 85, 102, 133-34, 197
  Sparta, 39
  Stesichorus, 173
  Sub-plot, 77, 81, 100, 101, 104
  Suidas, 3, 40, 82, 95, 96, 144, 145
  Susa, 154
  Swift, Jonathan, 175
  Sybaris, 5
  Syene, 73, 74, 75, 77, 81, 84
  Syracuse, 14, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 32, 47
  Syria, 44, 54, 62, 146
  Syrinx, 125, 135, 140

                                   T
  Tacitus, 200
  Taras, 41, 47, 50
  Tarsus, 44
  Tasso, Torquatus, 140
  Tauromenium, 47, 48
  Tefnut, 11
  Theagenes, 10, 12
  _Theagenes and Chariclea_, 12, 61-94
  Theocritus, 119, 135, 136, 141
  Theodorus, Prodromus, _Dosicles and Rhodanthe_, 12
  Thermopylae, 19
  Thessaly, 61, 177, 188
  Thomas Magister, 112
  Thornley, George, viii, 120
  Thucydides, 163, 172
  Todd, F. A., ix, 96, 119, 140
  Trajan, 200
  Tricca, 61, 62, 96
  Troy, 78
  Tyre, 20, 43, 50, 54, 98, 101, 105, 111

                                   V
  Vassar College, iii, vi, 186
  Venus, 189, 193, 194, 196
  Vergil, 33, 136, 137
  Voltaire, François M. A., 175

                                   W
  Wagram, 141
  Walden, J. W. H., 91
  Whibley, L., 4, 5
  Wolff, S. L., ix, 13, 80, 97, 117, 140
  Works of art, 51, 56, 75, 93, 114, 115-16, 121, 122, 128, 130,
          134, 146-47, 186, 201

                                   X
  Xenophon, 4, 147
  Xenophon of Antioch, 3
  Xenophon of Cyprus, 3
  Xenophon of Ephesus, 3, 12, 13, 38-60, 76, 92, 196, 199
      _Ephesiaca_ or _Habrocomes and Anthia_, 38-60, list of
          characters, 41

                                   Z
  Zacynthos, 68
  Zenobia, 62
  Zeus, 34, 148
  Zeus Casius, 99, 115
  Zimmermann, F., 182



                          Transcriber’s Notes


--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
  domain in the country of publication.

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
  dialect unchanged.

--Only in the text versions, delimited italicized text in _underscores_
  (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)

--Only in the ASCII version, transliterated Greek words are delimited by
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