Apuleius
APULEIUS.[1]
______
ST. AUGUSTINE, Bishop of Hippo,[2] one of the most illus-
trious fathers of the Church, in his celebrated book “of the
Citie of God,” which was “Englished by J. H. in 1610,”[3] has
these words:—
“When I was in Italy, I heard such a report there, how
certaine women of one place there, would but give one a
little drug in cheese, and presently hee became an asse, and
so they made him carry their necessaries whither they would,
and having done, they reformed his figure againe: yet had
he his humane reason still, as Apuleius had in his asse-ship,
as himselfe writeth in his booke of the Golden Asse,[4] be it a
lie or a truth that hee writeth.”[5]
“Nam et nos cum essemus in Italia, audiebamus talia
de quadam regione illarum partium ubi stabularias mulieres
imbutas his malis artibus, in caseo dare solere, dicebant,
quibus vellent seu possent viatoribus, unde in jumenta illico
verterentur, et necessaria quæque portarent, postque per-
functa opera iterum ad se redirent: nec tamen in eis men-
tem fieri bestialem, sed rationalem humanamque servari,
sicut Apuleius in libris quos Asini Aurei titulo inscripsit,
sibi ipsi accidisse, ut accepto veneno, humano animo perma-
nente, asinus fieret, aut indicavit aut finxit.”
Upon which passage a learned Spaniard, named Ludovi-
cus Vives,[6] who, through the munificence of Cardinal Wol-
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sey,[7] was Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Oxford,
has written a comment in Latin, which has been rendered by
the same J. H. thus:—
“Apuleius was a magician doubtlesse: but never turned
into an asse. But Lucian[8] before him wrote how hee, being
in Thessaly[9] to learne some magike, was turned into an asse
instead of a bird: not that this was true: but that Lucian
delighted neither in truths, nor truths’ likelihoods. This
worke did Apuleius make whole in Latine, adding diverse
things to garnish it with more delight, to such as love Mile-
sian tales,[10] and heere and there sprinckling it with his anti-
quaries’ phrases, and his new compositions, with great li-
berty, yet somewhat suppressing the absurdity of the
theame. But wee love now to read him, because he hath
said some things there in that new dexterity, which others
seeking to imitate, have committed grosse errors: for I
thinke that grace of his in that worke is inimitable. But
Apuleius was no asse, only he delights men’s eares with such
a story; as man’s affection is wholly transported with a
strange story.”[11]
Such uncommon praises extorted from one, who, as the
admiring commentator on a Father of the Church, cannot be
supposed to have entertained very friendly feelings towards
the writings of a Pagan Philosopher, afford a valuable testi-
mony in favour of Apuleius, and are alone sufficient to
awaken some curiosity to be acquainted with a work, which
we must love to read, and of which the grace is declared to
be inimitable.
With respect to the passage cited from St. Augustine, the
miscreancy of that reverend person is most striking; for,
whatever allowances we may be disposed to make for the
habits of credulity, or of bad faith, in which he may have
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lived, it is extraordinary that the Bishop should have had
the folly to believe, or the audacity to affect to believe, that
Apuleius had really been changed into an ass.
As to the note, the appetite with which it is written is
remarkable: the world has lost it’s appetite, and it is with
difficulty that we can now be stimulated even to pick a bit
of any wholesome work.
The masses of volumes that we are daily devouring are
unhappily no proofs of a healthy desire for food. We can-
not conscientiously call that man a glutton, who, a stranger
to the baker and the milkman, and having long abjured
animal food, has renounced also the bloodless diet that
depends upon fruit, vegetables, and puddings, because he
can shew on his inhospitable table piles of pill-boxes, heaps
of gally-pots,[12] and stacks of empty phials. We can never
allow a reputation for voracity to be authenticated by such
documents as these. Let any honest man, who has ever
read half a page of a good book, or eaten half a plate of
good roast beef, decide, whether the literature, with which
we are now drugged, most resembles nauseous Galenicals,[13] or
savoury kitchen physic.
We may perhaps be permitted, in the short vacation be-
tween the last exorbitant attack upon our patience and our
pockets, and the next accruing imposition, to enquire a little
into the history of Apuleius, and the nature of the Metam-
orphosis.[14]
Lucius Apuleius lived in the second century of the Chris-
tian æra, under the Antonines:[15] he was born of a good family
at Madaura,[16] a Roman colony in Africa; his father being one
of the principal Magistrates of that city, and his mother,
Salvia, a descendant of Plutarch of Charonea.[17]
Having been educated from his earliest youth at Athens,
the Greek was his native language; and coming afterwards to
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reside in Rome, he there learnt the Latin (which was little
known at Madaura) with painful labour, and without the
assistance of a master; “arumnabili labore, nullo magistro
pra eunte:” the Metamorphoses therefore commence with an
apology, in case the rude use of any exotic or forensic ex-
pression should give offence.
He followed for some time at Rome the profession of an
advocate; and for a person, who, amongst his numerous at-
tainments, appears to have been a considerable Dandy,[18] was
remarkably successful.
An unusual advancement in the science of jurisprudence,
and such a thorough knowledge of the nature of ample re-
dress, and of substantial justice, even when backed by
powerful private interest, and of the spirit of the law in ge-
neral, as could only have been acquired by deep study and
respectable practice, are clearly evinced in the narrative of
a little adventure, which terminates the first book of the
Metamorphoses.
We shall be pleased with it as a specimen of the style of
a Dandy Advocate. We shall value it also as being a com-
plete refutation of the absurd opinion, that it is impossible
for a sound lawyer to find time for any more elegant or
liberal studies: and those who are condemned to devote the
principal part of their days to legal pursuits, will have no
small consolation in reflecting, that one, who was all-accom-
plished, had as clear an insight into the fundamental prin-
ciples of right, as any Jurisconsult ever attained to, who had
bestowed on these subjects an exclusive and undivided
attention.
The adventure is as follows:—
“Having settled these matters and put away my things in
my bed-room, I set out for the bath, and, that I might first
provide something to eat, I found out the fish-market, and
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saw there a fine piece of fish exposed for sale. I asked the
price, and being told that five-and-twenty pieces had been
refused, I bought it up for twenty. As I was going gently
from the market, Pytheas joined me, my fellow-collegian at
Athens: after a short time he recognized me, and came to
me; having embraced and saluted me kindly, he said, “It
is a long time, my Lucius, since I have seen you; not surely
since we left our master. But what is the occasion of this
journey?” “You shall know to-morrow,” I said, “but what
is this? I wish you joy; for I see attendants with wands,
and your dress is altogether that of a person in office.”
“I preside over the market,” he said, “and fill the office
of Ædile;[19] if you wish to buy any thing, I will assist you as
far as I can.” This I declined, as I had already provided
a piece of fish quite sufficient for supper. But notwithstand-
ing, Pytheas caught sight of the basket, and shaking up the
fish, that he might see better, said, “What did you give for
this trash?” “With some difficulty I got the fishmonger
to take twenty pieces.” Upon hearing which, he instantly
seized my hand, and hurrying me back into the fish-market,
cried, “And from whom did you purchase this trumpery,
here?” I pointed out a little old man sitting in a corner,
when Pytheas immediately chiding him in a very severe
voice, and with all the dignity of an Ædile, said, “So then
you have no mercy at all even upon my friends, or upon
foreigners? What do you mean by selling so dear such
wretched little fishes, and by thus making the flower of the
land of Thessaly seem like a solitary rock in respect of dear-
ness of provisions? But you shall not escape; I will let you
know how, under my magistracy, rogues ought to be pu-
nished.” Then overturning the basket in the midst, he
ordered his officer to get upon the fish, and to tread them to
pieces with his feet. My friend Pytheas being satisfied
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with this noble severity of manners, informed me, that I was
at liberty to withdraw. “It is enough for me, my Lucius,
to have thus disgraced that old fellow.” Astonished and
struck dumb at these exploits, I betook myself to the bath,
having been deprived both of my money and of my supper
by the resolute wisdom of my sensible fellow-collegian.”[20]
“His actis et rebus meis in illo cubiculo conditis, pergens
ipse ad balneas, ut prius aliquid nobis cibatui prospicerem,
forum cupedinis peto: inque eo piscatum opiparem expositum
video. Et percontato pretio, quod centum numis indicaret
aspernatus, viginti denariis præstinavi. Inde me commo-
dum egredientem continuatur Pytheas, condiscipulus apud
Athenas Atticas meus, qui me post aliquam multam tempo-
ris amanter agnitum invadit, amplexusque ac comiter deos-
culatus: “Mi Luci,” ait, “sat Pol diu est, quod intervisimus.
At, Hercules, exinde cum a magistro digressi sumus. Quæ
autem tibi causa peregrinationis hujus?” “Crastino die scies,”
inquam. “Sed quid istud? Voti gaudeo. Nam et lixas et
virgas, et habitum prorsus magistratui congruentem in te
video.” “Annonam curamus,” ait, “et Ædilatum geremus;
et, si quid obsonare cupis, utique commodabimus.” Ab-
nuebam; quippe qui jam coenæ affatim piscatus prosperera-
mus. Sed enim Pytheas, visa sportula, succussisque in
aspectum planiorem piscibus, “At has quisquilias quanti
parasti?” “Vix,” inquam, “piscatori extorsimus accipere
viginti denarios.” Quo audito, statim arreptâ dextrâ post-
liminio me in forum cupedinis reducens, “Et a quo,” inquit,
“istorum nugamenta hæc comparasti?” Demonstro senicu-
lum in angulo sedentem. Quem confestim pro Ædilitatis
imperio voce asperrima increpans, inquit, “Tam jam nec
amicis quidem nostris, vel omnino ullis hospitibus parcitis?
Quid tam magnis pretiis pisces frivolos vinditatis, et florem
Thessaliæ regionis instar solitudinis scopuli edulium cari-
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tate ducitis? Sed non impune. Jam enim fano scias, quem-
admodum sub nostro magisterio mali debeant coerceri.” Et
profusa in medium sportula, jubet officialem suum insuper
pisces inscendere, ac pedibus suis totos obterere. Qua con-
tentus morum severitudine meus Pytheas, ac mihi, ut abi-
rem, suadens, “Sufficit mihi, O Luci,” inquit, “seniculi
tanta hæc contumelia.” His actis consternatus, ac prorsus
obstupidus, ad balneas me refero, prudentis condiscipuli
valido consilio et numis simul privatus et coena.”
Apuleius enjoyed during his life a very high reputation for
deep and various learning, which has been transmitted to
the present time by the testimony of numerous and respect-
able writers in all ages. A slight acquaintance with his
works will convince us, that this was obtained in the obso-
lete method of close application, by extraordinary diligence,
patient accurate investigation, and a strict intimacy with
learned men and their works; not in the more easy and more
fashionable course of gaining a title to renown merely by
occupancy. This title is thus described by the lawyers, and
in speaking of an advocate, legal terms are the most proper:
“Occupancy is the taking possession of those things, which
before belonged to nobody.—When it was once agreed that
every thing capable of ownership should have an owner, na-
tural reason suggested, that he who could first declare his
intention of appropriating any thing to his own use, and in
consequence of such intention, actually took it into posses-
sion, should thereby gain the absolute property of it—quod
nullius est, id ratione naturali occupanti conceditur.”[21]
Upon these principles in this well-taxed land, and especi-
ally at the two Universities,[22] where natural reason governs
with uncontrolled and absolute dominion, if any person de-
clare his intention of appropriating the sole knowledge of any
subject whatever, unless it interfere with the prior claim of
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some one else, which is rarely the case, the claim is imme-
diately allowed, under a tacit agreement, which might be
thus expressed:—CLAIMANT. “I understand this subject
better than any other man.” UNIVERSITY. “Take your re-
putation, and welcome, only do not talk to us about it: for
God’s sake! do not compel any of us to know any thing.”
If some confirmed sceptic ventures to doubt the reality of
such practices, he may satisfy himself by an easy experiment,
and readily bring the question to a fair trial: let him only
arrogate to himself the exclusive or superior knowledge of
any science, language, or author whatever, and, if the world
refuses to concede it, his doubt is well founded.
It may be truly said that Apuleius was an universal genius:
there are but few subjects which he has not handled. He
translated the Phædo of Plato,[23] and the Arithmetic of Nico-
machus:[24] he wrote a treatise de Republica; another de Nu-
meris and one de Musica. His Convivales Quæstiones, his Pro-
verbs, his Hermagoras and his Ludicra, are quoted.[25] We
have still his Metamorphoses, or the Golden Ass; his Apo-
logy;[26] some treatises of Natural Philosophy; of Moral Phi-
losophy; de Interpretatione; de Deo Socratis; de Mundo;
and his Florida.[27]
He was not more distinguished by his learning, than by
an insatiable curiosity to know every thing, which induced
him to enter himself in several religious fraternities, and to
spend his whole fortune in travelling; insomuch, that having
a desire to dedicate himself to the service of Osiris,[28] he was
in want of money to defray the expense of the ceremonies
incident to his reception, and was compelled to pawn even
his clothes to make up the necessary sum.
As a listless indifference is the invariable characteristic of
dull sluggish minds, and of ages of darkness and of barba-
rism, so an active, enterprising, and even rash curiosity, is
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the constant indication of genius in the individual, and is a
most conspicuous quality in periods of liberality and refine-
ment. This curious disposition was doubtless one of the
principal causes of his prodigious acquirements; but in order
duly to appreciate his motives for desiring to be initiated in
the religious mysteries, it is necessary briefly to consider the
nature of those institutions.
To countenance any species of superstition is, it must be
admitted, beneath the dignity of a philosopher; yet we must
remember, that the mysteries were not only of great anti-
quity, and had been effectually shrouded in impenetrable
secrecy (so effectually indeed, that we are now perfectly
ignorant of their purport) but, that they were not like the
greater part of prevailing superstitions, a farrago of absurd
and contradictory dogmas, which inculcate such doctrines as
tend to enslave and degrade the soul, which are celebrated
by sordid and puerile rites; which can captivate the minds
of the lowest vulgar only, and mislead none but the grossest
of the ignorant.
The ancient cultivation of the Divine Being was enriched
with all that is dazzling in the higher departments of phi-
losophy, and comprehended many unpublished stores of
traditionary lore; it was taught in a language unparalleled,
and had every decoration of music, perhaps superior to any
thing that we can conceive, of painting, most probably, far
surpassing the masterpieces of modern artists, and of sculp-
ture and architecture manifestly transcendant and inimitable.
The whole was exalted by a chastening taste, the value of
which we are now most unfortunately little capable of esti-
mating; and secured by a liberty of thought and speech, of
which, could we once more thoroughly feel the worth, we
should have again in our power the key to unlock the trea-
sury of all good things.
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It is obvious then that there was enough in the mysteries
to attract the attention of an ardent mind; the very secrecy
alone must have inflamed even ordinary curiosity.
The Golden Asse has been supposed by credulous alche-
mists to contain the secret of the philosopher’s stone; and
to its author, as well as to all other persons, who have had
the smallest pretensions to distinction, the power of working
miracles was attributed by the multitude.
Apuleius was admired for the qualities of his body as well
as for those of his mind: his person was well proportioned;
he was active and graceful. His face, which has been pre-
served to us on gems, is exquisitely beautiful:[29] the hair and
beard, as in the portraits of Pythagoras and Numa, are
smooth and flowing; the attire of the head the same, a plain
fillet tied behind, the ends hanging down. The whole coun-
tenance overflows with the fine old Platonic hilarity, which
we view with astonishment, when found petrified in an onyx
or a jasper; the organic remains of some earlier period,
when the intellect and morals grew with antediluvian vigour
to a gigantic stature.
A certain little modest widow, not unaptly named Pu-
dentilla,[30] had lived thirteen years in a solitary state, sorely
against her will and to the great injury of her health, when
the advocate came to lodge in her house; her disorder, which
during that long-protracted Lent had been continually in-
creasing, accidentally attained its crisis some little time after
this arrival; she then found that she must either die or
marry somebody, and she had no insuperable objections to
her guest.
Her son Pontianus, to whom she had imparted without
scruple her delicate situation, and whose filial piety could
not bear to witness the anguish of a mother, then above
forty years of age, pining for the want of those little conjugal
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endearments, which were the more precious, as they were
not likely to be lasting, besought his particular friend and
fellow collegian, by all that is holy in friendship and sacred
amongst men, to soothe his afflicted parent; the lady was
neither young, nor beautiful, nor rich, but, for a more dis-
interested motive, Apuleius generously consented to marry
her.
We are told that Pudentilla was a literary character, and
was qualified to assist her husband, which some maintain to be
a probable reason for his marrying her, as it is said that she
used to hold lights to him while engaged in his studies;
which expression a dull critic takes literally, and wonders
how she could stand by him all night with a candlestick in
each hand. Be this as it may, they were united; and consi-
dering that children are good things, and that it is good to
have children, and being free from all prior and less philo-
sophical intentions, to effect this quiet purpose more quietly,
they retired together into the country.
The intercourse of refined minds and of congenial tastes,
whether in town or country, is truly delightful. Miss Anna
Seward and Dr. Darwin[31] amused themselves in the Doctor’s
study, as scandal says, but perhaps falsely, by a course of
experiments on equivocal generation; by their joint efforts
they nearly made a baby.
They had mingled veal broth and mashed potatoes in a
glass vessel according to art, and in due time the lady had
her reasons for expecting shortly to taste the delicious
transports of a mother; but in her eager haste she shook
the gravid bottle, and the germ was dissolved into its
parent broth. They repeated the process again and
again, with every variation that the fertile invention of a
poetess could devise; but without success; and, sad to say,
the baby-linen still lies by in lavender without a claimant.
VOL. II. M
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However unequivocal the rural occupations of Pudentilla
may have been, her happiness was soon broken in upon by
a most extraordinary accusation, which roused the amiable
pair from the warm bride’s favourite covert, the long grass
under some shady elm.
The accusation seems to have been almost as bad as a
Chancery suit,[32] in demanding the same cruel exposure of
family secrets, and the same unfeeling violation of domestic
privacy, in drawing matters into court, which are not fit
subjects for the jurisdiction of any tribunal; it was less dila-
tory, but nearly as ruinous and expensive.
Sicinius Emilianus, the brother of Pudentilla’s first hus-
band, accused Apuleius of Magic, and of having gained the
affections of his wife by charms and enchantments. On
which occasion he pronounced before Claudius Maximus,
Proconsul of Africa,[33] his celebrated Apology; a most elo-
quent oration, which is still extant, and is only less engaging
than the Golden Ass. The orator gives many amusing par-
ticulars of his own life; exposes admirably, and at great
length, the absurdity of the accusation and the malice of his
accusers. He must be allowed to have many of the faults,
and much of the false eloquence of the age; but it is certain
that the speaker possessed in a remarkable degree the crite-
rion of true eloquence, in carrying along with him the feel-
ings and passions of his hearers, and in exciting an intense
interest in his favour. He was in consequence triumphantly
acquitted. Some writers pretend, that he was tried before
Christian judges; but in fact, as the event of the trial alone
would lead us to believe, the Proconsul was by religion a
Pagan.
It is difficult to imagine what could have occasioned this
opinion, unless it be that he was accused, amongst other
enormities, of cleaning his teeth. “I saw some time since,”
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says the Apology, “that many could scarcely refrain from
laughter, when that orator charged me so vehemently with
washing my mouth, and spoke of tooth-powder with more
indignation than any other man ever spoke of poison.”
“Vidi ego dudum vix risum quosdam tenentes, cum mun-
dicias oris videlicet orator ille asperè accusaret, et dentifri-
cium tanta indignatione pronunciaret, quanta nemo quisquam
venenum.”[34]
There appear likewise to have been counts in the infor-
mation for combing his hair. This was not the first time
that neatness gave offence, for even Socrates,[35] as Ælian[36] re-
lates, was charged with being curious and nice about his
house, and his couch, and his fine slippers.[37]
We cannot help feeling a wish, on reading the defence,
that the prosecutor’s speech had been preserved; for it
seems hardly possible to believe that the principal circum-
stances from which he sought to infer the undue influence
of magic, were, that Pudentilla had consented to marry after
thirteen years of widowhood, and that an old woman had not
refused a young man; to which it is answered, that the real
wonder is that she remained a widow so long; and that
there was no need of magic to induce a female to marry a
man, a widow a bachelor, an old woman a young man.
“Igitur hoc ipsum argumentum est, nihil opus magiæ
fuisse, ut nubere vellet mulier viro, vidua coelibi, major
juniori.”[38]
Let the reflection that, even in these days, we have accu-
sations quite as monstrous, supported by no better evidence,
but with results much less satisfactory, serve to mitigate our
curiosity.
One of the proofs, if generally admitted, would convict all
the world of magic; it is this: “Apuleius has something at
home, which he worships in secret.” “Habet quiddam
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Apuleius domi, quod secreto colit.”[39] Who then would be
safe? who does not stand confessed a wizard? who has not
something at home which he worships in secret?
Amongst the ethical writings of Plutarch, in the Nuptial
Precepts sent with his good wishes to Pollianus and Eurydice,[40]
we read, that the natural Magic of Love had been before
confounded with the Black Art; but that the good sense of
the royal rival herself could distinguish between the effects
of the power of light and of the powers of darkness. “King
Philip,”[41] says the tale, “loved a Thessalian woman, and she
was accused of having given him a love-potion. His wife,
Olympias,[42] therefore endeavoured to get the person in her
power. But, when she came into her presence, and appeared
comely in aspect, and conversed with gentility and prudence,
“Farewell accusations,” said Olympias, “for you have the
love-potions in yourself.” “Wherefore (infers Plutarch with
his exquisite bonhommie)[43] a lawful married wife becomes some-
thing quite irresistible, if, placing all things in herself, dowry,
and gentility, and love-potions, and the very cestus of Venus,
she works out affection by good manners and virtue.”
If the sculptured face of Apuleius be a faithful copy of his
countenance, and, more especially, if his conversation were
as engaging as his writings, a female more attractive than
his bride might well exclaim with Olympias, “You have
the love-potions in yourself!” The highest authority in the
world, that of the divine Plato, in his masterpiece the Sym-
posium,[44] might be cited, if it were necessary to adduce autho-
rities to shew the sovereign influence of conversation in
affairs of the heart: the passage is worthy of attention as a
marvellous specimen of the antique simplicity, although we
do not need proof where it is impossible to doubt:—
“In Elis,”[45] says the Divine, “and amongst the Bœotians,[46]
and in every other Grecian state where the arts of speaking
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flourish not, the law in such places absolutely makes it
honourable to gratify the lover; nor can any person there,
whether young or old, stain such a piece of conduct with
dishonour: the reason of which law, I presume, is to pre-
vent the great trouble they would otherwise have in court-
ing the fair, and trying to win them by the arts of oratory,
arts in which they have no abilities.”[47]
The advantages of a good face are perhaps a little under-
rated in a popular anecdote of the facetious John Wilkes,[48]
whose excessive squint and whimsical ugliness have been
passed on by Hogarth to the laughers of the nineteenth cen-
tury;[49] and whose estimate of beauty tradition has preserved,
to teach humility to the handsome, and confidence to the
unhappy plain.
“You say such a one is a good-looking fellow,” observed
the gallant patriot, “and such a one is an ill-looking fellow:
I think nothing of looks. Between the finest face I ever
knew and my own, I never found more than half-an-hour’s
difference with any woman.”[50] The patriot did not know the
value of half-an-hour in a case of life and death: Sappho,
although ugly, was, perhaps, not more ugly than Wilkes,
and perhaps Phaon relented half-an-hour too late; had the
Lesbian girl been gifted with a better face, she might have
found some remedy less alarming than the lover’s leap.[51]
There are many editions of the Metamorphoses; old and
new, but principally old; large and small, but chiefly large;
with and without notes, but commonly choaked up with
piles of animadversions. We sometimes see one, or two
lines of text at the top of a full quarto page, like the chim-
nies and roofs and battlements of a town rising above a flood;
sometimes only a dreary waste of waters, when the Ruhn-
ken and the Wower, the Oudendorp and the Elmenhorst
have broken their banks, and laid the smiling face of the
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text under commentary: then the blank of paper above and
the blank of annotation below meet in one uniform line;
and the weary eye seeks in vain along the dull Dutch hori-
zon an object to repose upon.[52] In a barn some proportion
is observed between the quantity of the grain and the bulk
of the chaff and straw; there is some proportion too in their
relative value; but in the classics there is none between the
edited and the editor, between the expounded and the ex-
positor.
An old edition is prized by collectors for its wood-cuts,
which have more merit than is usual with these antique
productions; they are ugly and barbarous, but not altogether
without spirit.[53]
The Metamorphoses have been translated into all the
languages of Europe; the translations are principally old
ones. Boiardo, who published an abridged version in Italian,
in 1544, concludes his work with a pleasant sort of index;
he reckons up all the pretty little novelle, which he makes
to be twenty-four, in a table at the end of the volume.[54]
At the revival of letters the antient authors were read for
some time with enthusiasm, but they soon became suspected,
and it seemed better to those who govern our bodies and our
minds, to discourage these studies. In order to provide
substitutes for such restless spirits, as even the drunkenness
of a college life cannot stupify, they restored, in some in-
stances, the old logic of Aristotle,[55] with a dash of divinity; in
others, they waste the ingenuity of the youthful mind upon
the most subtle analytics. The one side say: “Did they not
live very well in the middle ages without knowledge? Can
we not do so now? We eat, we drink, and we sleep; we
abstain from treading upon the grass: what more did they
in the twelfth century?” The others, to justify themselves,
enquire: “Do you wish for modern discoveries; for the
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[Page 167]
latest improvements? Here they are; here is the last, the
most modish French Calculus. We teach what is new, the
newest of the new; we expound last night’s dreams.” It is
no wonder, therefore, that the Golden Ass is but little known:
it is a vain attempt, with a few hands, to tow a heavy vessel
against a strong wind and a strong tide; but it is as well to
take hold of the rope; winds and tides have changed; and
we owe all that is precious to vain attempts.
If the curiosity of one person only shall be excited to read
the work by these remarks, the pleasure which he will derive
from it will repay whatever labour the composition of them
has demanded.
Some one, whose conversation is of the narrative order,
was relating, at an agreeable dinner party, with unwelcome
proxility, the story of his having attended, in the fields, a
congregation of Ranters[56] on the preceding Sunday, and that
the sermon of the preacher contained a full description of
the infernal regions, when the narrator was suddenly cut
short by this question: “Well, Sir, did he describe the other
place? what did he say of that?” A question actually
full of exquisite wit, but, in this instance, most unintention-
ally so, as the intimate friends of the person who asked it
all confidently asserted, and vehemently repelled such an
imputation.[57]
For who can describe happiness? With pain we are but
too familiar. There is the same difficulty in conveying an
idea of an interesting book; we can easily offer specific
reasons to deter from the perusal of a worthless composition,
but, when we would illustrate literary worthiness, we become
vague and general. We ought not to expect that a man,
who had just arrived from fairy-land, should be able to give
a systematic account of all he had seen there: the poor fel-
low could only say that every thing was enchanted and
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[Page 168]
enchanting; he might, perhaps, name one or two of the
most striking things that the fairies and their queen had
shown him.
The story, as Vives says, is taken from Lucian, and is
comprised by him in about sixty pages; it has been filled up
and embellished by Apuleius, who has extended it to eleven
books: the author, under the name of Lucius, is in both
works the hero of the tale. Lucius is a handsome and
accomplished young man, full of eager curiosity, who comes
to Hypata, in Thessaly, the metropolis of Thessalian Magic.
He there lodges with Milo, a rich miser, a pawnbroker and
usurer, whose only servant Photis (Lucian[58] calls her Palæstra,
and says of her, that “the girl was a bold, saucy little thing,
and full of grace;” σφόδρα γαρ ην ιταμον, και χαριτων μέσον το κορασιον)[59]
soon captivates the foolish young man, who suspected no
harm, and continues to captivate the more foolish reader,
even after he has a full knowledge of the fatal consequences
of such an indiscretion.
After some amusing adventures, Lucius familiarises him-
selfwith Photis; the familiarities are described too minutely,
especially by Lucian of Samosata, but they may easily be
passed over by the not impertinently curious. He learns
from her, upon a promise “to remunerate the simplicity of
her relation by the tenacity of his taciturnity,” that her mis-
tress is a sorceress, and he prevails upon the fragile fair
to procure him a sight of her incantations. One night Photis
gives him notice that Pamphile[60] is about to change herself
into a bird, in order to visit a supremely beautiful youth,
whom she loved desperately, and beyond all measure. He
accompanies her to the door of her mistress’s bed-room; and
peeping through a chink, sees Pamphile strip off all her
clothes (the loved youth could not have seen more) and rub
her body over entirely with an ointment, change gradually
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[Page 169]
into an owl, and fly hooting away. Man is an imitative
animal; Lucius must copy the usurer’s wife: he prevails
upon the saucy girl to permit him to try the experiment;
she gives him a box, he strips himself, and hastily rubs his
body with the contents:
“And presently poising my arms with alternate efforts,”
says he, “I was delighted at the thoughts of turning into a
similar bird. But there are no little feathers, no little wings
at all; my hairs are evidently thickened into bristles, and
my tender skin is hardened into a hide; at the tips of both
my hands and of both my feet, all my fingers and toes, their
number being lost, are forced into one hoof; and from the
extremity of my back bone a great tail comes forth. My
face soon becomes disproportionate, my mouth wide, my
nostrils gaping, and my lips pendulous. So also my ears
stick up with immoderate increase. And whilst in despair
I contemplate my whole body, I see that I am not a bird,
but an ass.”
“Jamque alternis conatibus, libratis brachiis, in avem
similem gestiebam. Nec ullæ plumulæ, nec usquam pin-
nulæ; sed planè pili mei crassantur in setas, et cutis tenella
duratur in corium; et in extimis palmulis, perdito numero,
toti digiti coguntur in singulas ungulas; et de spinæ meæ
termino grandis cauda procedit. Jam facies enormis, et os
prolixum, et nares hiantes, et labiæ pendulæ. Sic et aures
immodicis horripilant auctibus. Ac dum salutis inopia
cuncta corporis mei considerans, non avem me sed asinum
video.”
Nothing can equal the despair of Lucius, except the pro-
testations of Photis, who assures him that he may be in-
stantly restored to his human figure upon eating some roses:
she regrets that it is too late to procure any that night, but
promises to gather some early in the morning; he is per-
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[Page 170]
suaded meanwhile to be led off quietly to the stable; where
he is most unceremoniously kicked out of the stall by his
own white horse, and presently afterwards carefully beaten
by his own slave with a huge green cudgel.
It is impossible not to pause here and reflect a moment.—
The calamity was great; but let us hear his reason for wish-
ing to be able to take the form of an owl at pleasure: he
does not dissemble that it was to enable him, without suspi-
cion, to pay nightly visits to certain married ladies in the
neighbourhood, and to caress them without injury to their
characters, and in spite of all the precautions of jealousy; a
natural wish enough perhaps! but some heavy punishment
as naturally follows presumption, even in thought. To the
frequent practice of lovers calling upon their mistresses in
this disguise, he attributes the custom of nailing to the wall
of a house the bodies of such owls as have been killed in
the vicinity, in order to scare away amorous visitants. The
gibbetting is in full force in this virtually-represented na-
tion, as the bodies of feathered malefactors every where
testify; but the reason for these executions is not generally
known, because the secret of these little misfortunes is
better kept than love-secrets commonly are, or because
lovers (which it is hard to believe) are no longer willing to
be impaled.
Whilst the long-eared platonist is brooding over the inju-
ries which his leathern coat has just sustained, and is expect-
ing that the dawn will bring Photis and roses, a band of
robbers plunder the miser’s house, enter the stable, load the
philosopher with the spoil, and drive him off, in company
with his own horse, to their cave. To just such a cave as
we were all confined in, when school-boys, with Gil Blas
de Santillane.[61] Then follow adventures innumerable, in a
series and long order, each that succeeds more engaging than
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[Page 171]
the last; in short, the book cannot be laid down until
finished. It must be drunk at one draught. It must be
taken up at sunrise on the feast of St. Barnabas,[62] the longest
and the brightest day, that the sun may not go down upon
the metamorphosed Lucius, but that just before sunset he
may eat his roses and become a man.
When young, we all read the Adventures of a Guinea, of
an Atom, of a Sopha, of a Silver Penny,[63] and of a thousand
other things; we have not now a very distinct remembrance
of what any one of these books is about, we have only a
general recollection that we experienced pleasure in the
perusal: it is an agreeable mode of stringing together adven-
tures, and the Golden Ass is beyond comparison the best
work of the kind.
There is moreover in this book something quite peculiar,
of which we see no vestige elsewhere: it excites an expec-
tation even from the commencement, a breathless curiosity,
an anticipation of the marvellous so intense, that we feel
prepared for whatever happens; it seems to be no more
than we expected, however strange, new, or incredible.
These feelings are in some degree described in what Lucius
experienced the morning after his arrival at Hypata, the
city of Magic.
“I saw nothing in that city which I could believe to be
what it really was, but I felt that every thing had been
changed into another form by some fatal whisper, so that
even the stones which I trod upon had been hardened out of
men, and the birds which I heard had been feathered in the
same manner, and the trees which surrounded the walls
had thus been covered leaves, and that the fountain streams
were but flowing human bodies. I expected that the statues
and images would presently begin to walk and the walls to
speak, that the oxen and cattle would utter some divination,
and that from the heavens and the circle of the sun an oracle
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[Page 172]
would suddenly descend. Being thus confounded, nay,
rather benumbed by an excruciating desire, and unable to
find any commencement, or even the least trace of what I
sought, I wandered about every where.”
“Nec fuit in illa civitate, quod aspiciens, id esse crederem
quod esset, sed omnia prorsus ferali murmure in aliam effi-
giem translata, ut et lapides quos offenderem, de homine
duratos; et aves, quas audirem, indidem plumatas; et arbores
quæ pomerium ambirent, foliatas similiter, et fontanos lati-
ces de corporibus humanis fluxos crederem. Jam statuas
et imagines incessuras, parietes locuturos, boves et id genus
pecua dictura præsagium; de ipso vero cœlo, et jubaris orbe
subito venturum oraculum. Sic attonitus, immo verò cru-
ciabili desiderio stupidus, nullo quidem initio vel omnino
vestigio cupidinis meæ reperto, cuncta circuibam.”
In some parts of England, as the Western district of
Yorkshire, they prepare a sauce for boiled meat, generally
for veal, in great measure, if not altogether, of sorrel. The
leaves are placed in a wooden bowl, and upon them a large
stone ball, like a cannon-ball; the lady-cook, seating herself
upon a low stool, takes the bowl between her knees, and by
well-timed motions, persuades the stone to roll about, until
the sorrel is reduced to a smooth pulp. However incredible
it may appear to some, that any effect produced in this man-
ner can be agreeable, the sauce is certainly most delicious;
it tastes of the veriest freshness of the spring. Those who
have witnessed this singular culinary operation will be forci-
bly reminded of it by a passage, where Lucius finds Photis
preparing, not sorrel-sauce, but some kind of minced-meat,
in an attitude nearly similar.
“She was dressed neatly in a linen tunic, with a bright
red sash tied rather high under her bosom, and was turning.
the bowl round and round with her rosy little hands, often
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[Page 173]
shaking it up gently whilst it revolved, and moving her
limbs softly, with her loins just quivering, and her flexible
back quietly stirring, she waved it gracefully.”
“Ipsa linea tunica mundulè amicta, et russea fasciola
prænitente altiusculè sub ipsas papillas succinctula, illud
cibarium vasculum floridis palmulis rotabat in circulum;
et in orbis flexibus crebra succutiens, et simul membra sua
leniter illubricans, lumbis sensim vibrantibus, spinam mo-
bilem quatiens placidè, decenter undabat.”
Apuleius seems to have been an enthusiast in hair, and
ardently to have admired an elegant head dress; this is not
inconsistent with the beauty of his own tresses: he is elo-
quent and impassioned when he speaks of those of Photis, yet
what he says is of too heating a nature to be admitted into a
composition of cool criticism, and must therefore be passed
over.
But is not the whole work of a somewhat licentious cast?
It is a common complaint that novelists always write about
love: this is true—but what else have they to write about?
—that they write too warmly; this is also true—they do
write too warmly; but such as they are we must read them,
until some one descends from heaven, at once calm and
readable.
The most objectionable part of the Golden Ass is an al-
legorical satire on the female sex, which it is impossible to
justify; but at the same time it is so clever, that it is equally
impossible for either man or woman to be outrageously
angry. On the other hand, the story of Cupid and Psyche[64]
is not only one uniform piece of loveliness, but is so delicate
(even in the modern and least estimable sense of the word)
that it might be read at school by a class of young ladies.
This episode is entirely the invention of Apuleius; it fills
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[Page 174]
more than two whole books, and is replete with erudition
and pleasure.
The Emperor Severus[65] professed to despise what he called
the Punic tales of Apuleius;[66]—the censure of an Emperor
may recommend them to some readers.
Macrobius,[67] in his Exposition of the Somnium Scipionis of
Cicero,[68] says:—
“Fables that delight the ear, like the comedies which
Menander[69] and his imitators wrote for representation, or
stories full of the feigned adventures of lovers, in which Pe-
tronius[70] practised much, and Apuleius sometimes amused
himself to our great surprise” (and to the sorrow of consular
men like myself, who cannot afford to be jocose) “all fables
of this kind, which profess only to delight the ears, wisdom
banishes from her sanctuary to the cradles of nurses.”[71]
“Auditum mulcent, velut comediæ, quales Menander,
ejusve imitatores agendas dederunt: vel argumenta fictis
casibus amatorum referta: quibus vel multum se Arbiter
exercuit: vel Apuleium nonnunquam lusisse miramur.
Hoc totum fabularum genus, quod solas aurium delicias
profitetur, e sacrario suo in nutricum cunas sapientiæ
tractatus eliminat.”[72]
If the use of such books only as they can read without
delight be permitted to the wise, we the foolish shall almost
doubt, whether it is not better to lie in the cradle with the
nurse, than to sit in the sacristy with the philosopher.
A person who would take the pains and had the requisite
qualifications, and he must have a great many, might draw
up a very curious and instructive commentary on this
romance, which contains many uncommon words, worthy
of explanation, as being intimately connected with the
history and manners of the second century. The last book
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[Page 175]
is singularly interesting, and indeed unique; it is elegant
and erudite, and comprehends many of the more secret
doctrines of philosophy and of the antient religion of Egypt;
a learned and copious description of certain sacerdotal cere-
monies, and of the initiation into the mysteries of Isis and
Osiris.[73]
By patient research and diligent investigation, many facts
respecting the mysteries, now buried in unopened volumes,
might be brought to light: the enquiry, as well as the
results, would afford no common pleasure; whether leisure
and opportunity for these pursuits will always be wanting,
for the present, at least, it is impossible to determine.
There are barbarisms, there is bad taste, there is false
eloquence in the Golden Ass; there are all these faults and
many more: but nevertheless let him who has read it read
it again; let him who has never read it, all other business
being omitted, suddenly read it; and, if he cannot procure
a copy on easier terms, let him, Apuleius-like, sell his coat
and buy one.
All that now remains, is to call the attention of the learned
world to the conclusion of the Apology,[74] in which the author
warns all men against marrying a widow, for this plain
reason, because she can have nothing inposcibile[75] about
her:” the passage is as follows:—
“Virgo formosa, etsi sit oppidò pauper, tamen abundè
dotata est. Adfert quippe ad maritum novum animi indo-
lem, pulchritudinis gratiam, floris rudimentum. Ipsa vir-
ginitatis commendatio jure meritòque omnibus maritis
acceptissima est. Nam quodcumque aliud in dotem acce-
peris, potes cum libuit, ne sis beneficio obstrictus, omne
ut acceperis retribuere; pecuniam renumerare, mancipia
restituere, domo demigrare, prædiis cedere. Sola virginitas,
cum semel accepta est, reddi nequitur; sola apud maritum
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[Page 176]
ex rebus dotalibus remanet. Vidua autem qualis nuptiis
venit, talis divortio digreditur; nihil adfert inposcibile.”[76]
The authority is weighty, and the Philosopher did not
speak without experience: but if any one, notwithstanding,
shall have the hardihood to despise this caution, let him
accept, as a nuptial benediction, the phrase in which Photis
used to say “Good night!”
QUOD BONUM FELIX ET FAUSTUM.[77]
EDITORIAL NOTES
[1] Lucius Apuleius Madaurensis (c.124-170 AD), was a prose writer, Platonist philosopher and rhetorician. Like Hogg, Apuleius was by profession a lawyer.
[2] Aurelius Augustinus Hipponensis (St. Augustine, 354-430 AD), theologian and philosopher.
[3] De civitate Dei contra paganos, known as The City of God. The edition mentioned by Hogg was translated by John Healey (St. Augustine, Of the Citie of God, London: George Eld., 1610).
[4] Apuleius’s The Golden Ass or Metamorphoses is a novel in Latin.
[5] St. Augustine, Of the Citie of God, 694.
[6] Juan Luis Vives y March (1493-1540), Valencian scholar and humanist. After publishing the comment to Civitate Dei with a dedication to King Henry VIII, he was invited to England, where he taught at Oxford, Corpus Christi College.
[7] Thomas Wolsey (1473-1530), English Catholic Cardinal.
[8] Lucian of Samosata (c.125-180 AD), Greek satirist and rhetorician. The tale mentioned by Vives, the Ass, which contains the elements of Apuleius’s Golden Ass, is now considered a “pseudo-Lucian” work.
[9] A region in central Greece.
[10] A short story, fable, or folktale featuring love and adventure, usually of an erotic or titillating nature.
[11] St. Augustine, Of the Citie of God, 695.
[12] Small glazed earthenware jar used by apothecaries for holding ointment and medicine.
[13] A medicinal preparation consisting mainly of plant or animal tissue.
[14] Apuleius’s The Golden Ass or Metamorphoses.
[15] The Nerva-Antonine dynasty of emperors who ruled from 96 to 192 AD.
[16] Madauros, present-day M’Daourouch, in Algeria.
[17] Plutarch (46-c.120 AD), Greek Platonist philosopher, historian and biographer.
[18] A man who affects extreme elegance in clothes and manners.
[19] A Roman magistrate whose duties included the oversight of roads and buildings, markets and prices, religious ceremonies, public games.
[20] The translation is probably Hogg’s own, a revision of Thomas Taylor’s, which was published in 1822 as Apuleius, The Metamorphosis, or Golden Ass, and Philosophical Works, of Apuleius. Translated from the Original Latin by Thomas Taylor (London: Triphook, 1822).
[21] “For whatever belongs to no one, by natural reason becomes property of the first taker.” A famous legal maxim, originating in Justinian’s Digest (41.1.3).
[22] I.e., Great Britain, and the universities of Cambridge and Oxford.
[23] One of the dialogues by the Greek philosopher Plato (c. 428-348 BC).
[24] Introduction to Arithmetic by the Greek philosopher Nicomachus of Gerasa (c. 60-c. 120 AD).
[25] Of all these works, which are now lost, we have a septenary of Ludicra in a work by the Roman grammarian Nonio.
[26] The apologetic speech written in self-defence from the accusation of abusing magic. Hogg discusses the episode below.
[27] Of these four, only Florida and De deo Socratis are reliably attributed to Apuleius.
[28] In Rome, Apuleius was initiated to the cults of Isis and Osiris, gods of the ancient Egyptian religion.
[29] Unidentified reference.
[30] Emilia Pudentilla, i.e., “timid”.
[31] Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802), physician, natural philosopher and poet, and Anna Seward, friend, poet and correspondent (1742-1809).
[32] A litigation in the court of the Lord Chancellor of England, the highest court next to the House of Lords.
[33] Gaius Claudius Maximus (2nd century AD), proconsul of Africa in 158-59.
[34] Apuleius, Apologia, sive De magia liber (c. 158 AD).
[35] The Greek philosopher Socrates (c. 470-399 BC) was accused of impiety, of bringing new gods to the city, and corrupting the young. He was found guilty and sentenced to death.
[36] Claudius Aelianus (Aelian, 175- c.235 AD), Roman writer, author of Varia historia, a miscellany of anecdotes.
[37] “Diogenes said that Socrates himself was luxurious: for he was too curious in his little House, and in his little Bed, and in the Sandals which he used to wear” (Aelian, Varia historia, IV.xi).
[38] Apuleius, Apologia, sive De magia liber (c. 158 AD).
[39] Apuleius, Apologia, sive De magia liber (c. 158 AD).
[40] Plutarch, Coniugalia Praecepta (1st-2nd century AD).
[41] Philip II of Macedon (382-336 BC), father of Alexander the Great.
[42] Olympias (c. 375-316 BC), princess of the Molossians, then mother of Alexander the Great.
[43] Cheerful affability.
[44] One of the dialogues by the Greek philosopher Plato (c. 428-348 BC). The main topic of the Symposium is love in all its aspects.
[45] A historical region in west Peloponnese.
[46] Inhabitants of Beotia, a region in central Greece.
[47] See Plato, The Banquet; a Dialogue Concerning Love, trans. by Floyer Sidenham (London: Sandby, 1767), 62-63.
[48] John Wilkes (1725-97), reformist politician, essayist, and journalist.
[49] The 1763 “savage caricature” John Wilkes Esquire, by the the cartoonist William Hogarth (1697-1764). “This portrayal of an impudent demagogue with a hideous squint was to be the visual image of Wilkes conveyed both to contemporaries and to posterity. More conventional portraits show that he was not quite that ugly, but he himself was famously wont to say that it took him half an hour to talk his face away” (Oxford Dictionary of National Biography).
[50] The source of this anecdote remains unidentified, but see n. 669 above.
[51] The episode is in Ovid’s Heroides, epistle XV, “Sappho to Phaon”. See the argument in the 1806 edition containing Alexander Pope’s translation: “Sappho, a lady of Lesbos, was ardently enamoured of Phaon, a youth of uncommon beauty, and universally admired, who returned her passion. On the departure, however, of Phaon from Lesbos to Sicily, she, fearing that his love was on the decline, addresses him in this epistle; in which she endeavours to recal him by urging every circumstance that can excite his compassion; declaring it to be her resolution, should he continue obdurate, to throw herself into the sea from the promontory of Leucadia in Epirus” (Ovid, “Sappho to Phaon”, in Ten Epistles of Ovid, London: Baldwin, 1807, 246).
[52] In Hogg’s metaphor, Dutch and German philologists and classicists – all commentators or editors of Apuleius’s Metamorphoses – are overflowing rivers of ink and commentaries: David Ruhnken (1723-1798); Johann von Wowern (1574-1612); Franz Oudendorp (1696-1761); Geverhart Elmenhorst (1583-1621). Of course, the flooded Dutch lowland was an easy commonplace at the time.
[53] Unidentified edition, possibly Apuleius cum commento Beroaldi: figuris noviter additis, Venice, 1510.
[54] Apuleius, L’Apulegio tradotto in volgare dal Conte Matteo Maria Boiardo (Venice: 1544).
[55] The works in logic, later collected under the name Organon, by the Greek philosopher Aristotle (384/3-322 BC).
[56] “A member of any of several Nonconformist groups, especially the Primitive Methodist”, OED, “ranter (n.)”.
[57] Unidentified reference.
[58] Lucian of Samosata (c.125-180 AD).
[59] Pseudo-Lucian of Samosata, Λούκιος ἢ ὄνος (Lucius or the Ass).
[60] Milo’s wife.
[61] The extremely popular picaresque novel L’Histoire de Gil Blas de Santillane (1715-35) by Alain-René Lesage. Several early chapters take place in the cave of a band of robbers that Gil is forced to join.
[62] Celebrated on the 11th of June.
[63] Charles Johnstone’s satirical Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea (1760-65); Tobias Smollett’s object narrative The History and Adventures of an Atom (1769); Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon’s libertine novel The Sofa: A Moral Tale (1740); Richard Johnson’s object narrative The Adventures of a Silver Penny (1786).
[64] The Tale of Cupid and Psyche occupies the books V and VI of Apuleius’s Golden Ass.
[65] The Roman emperor Lucius Septimius Severus (reigned 193-211).
[66] “Milesias Punicas Apuleii” (see Johan Albert Fabricius, Bibliotheca latina, vol. 3, Leipzig, 1774, 29). A Milesian tale (“Milesia”) is a short story, fable, or folktale featuring love and adventure, usually of an erotic or titillating nature.
[67] Macrobius Ambrosius Theodosius (5th century AD), Roman writer, best known for his Commentarii in Somnium Scipionis.
[68] “Somnium Scipionis”, in the sixth book of De re publica by Marcus Tullius Cicero (146-43 BC).
[69] Menander (c. 342-290 BC), Greek representative of Athenian New Comedy.
[70] Gaius Petronius Arbiter (c. 27-66 AD), author of the satirical novel Satyricon.
[71] Probably Hogg’s translation.
[72] See Macrobius, “Aurelii Macrobii Ambrosii Theodosii V. C. & Illustris Commentarius ex Cicerone In Somnium Scipionis liber primus”, in Aur. Theodosii Macrobii v. cl. & inlustris Opera, London: 1694, 5.
[73] In Rome, Apuleius was initiated to the cults of Isis and Osiris, gods of the ancient Egyptian religion.
[74] The apologetic speech written in self-defence from the accusation of abusing magic.
[75] Nothing that cannot be paid back by the husband in case of separation, i.e., her virginity. The sense of the ensuing passage being that while a maiden can be married and her virginity will always “remain with” the husband, a widow gets out of the marriage same as she entered it.
[76] Apuleius, Apologia, sive De magia liber.
[77] With this traditional auspicious phrase, Lucius wishes himself luck before making advances to the servant Photis, “licet salutare non erit”, i.e., although it might be risky. Apuleius puns on the contrast between the triplet bonum, felix, faustum, and “[not] salutare”.
Ultimo aggiornamento
20.09.2025