Chapter 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