No More Learning

Johnson, R. A.
The Antar of the romance is constantly breaking into verse which
is passionately admired by his followers. None of its beauties of
form are preserved in the translation; and indeed, this is true of the
prose forms also. It speaks volumes for the manly vigor of the
original that it can be transferred to an alien tongue and yet preserve
great qualities. To the Arab the work is a masterpiece both in form
and content. Its prose is in balanced, rhythmic sentences ending in
full or partial rhymes. This “cadence of the cooing dove ” is pure
music to an Eastern ear. If any reader is interested in Arabic verse,
he can readily satisfy his curiosity. An introduction to the subject
is given in the Terminal Essay of Sir Richard Burton's (Arabian
Nights) (Lady Burton's edition, Vol. vi. , page 340). The same sub-
ject is treated briefly and very clearly in the introduction to Lyall's
(Ancient Arabian Poetry'- a book well worth consulting on other
accounts.
The story itself appeals to the Oriental's deepest feelings, pass-
ions, ideals:-
-
!
1
U


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«To realize the impetuous feelings of the Arab,” says Von Hammer, you
must have heard these tales narrated to a circle of Bedouins crowded about
the orator of the desert
. . . It is a veritable drama, in which the spec-
tators are the actors as well. If the hero is threatened with imminent
danger, they shudder and cry aloud, No, no, no; Allah forbid! that cannot
be! ) If he is in the midst of tumult and battle, mowing down rank after
rank of the enemy with his sword, they seize their own weapons and rise to
fly to his rescue. If he falls into the snares of treachery, their foreheads
contract with angry indignation and they exclaim, “The curse of Allah be on
the traitor! ) If the hero at last sinks under the superior forces of the enemy,
a long and ardent sigh escapes from their breasts, with the farewell blessing,
(Allah's compassion be with him — may he rest in peace. ) . . . Descriptions
of the beauties of nature, especially of the spring, are received with exclama-
tions. Nothing equals the delight which sparkles in every eye when the
narrator draws a picture of feminine beauty. ”
The question as to the exact relation of the chivalry of Europe to
the earlier chivalry of Arabia and of the East is a large one, and
one which must be left to scholars. It is certain that Spenser and
Sir Philip Sidney owe far more to Saladin than we commonly sup-
pose. The tales of Boccaccio (1350) show that the Italians of that
day still held the Arabs to be their teachers in chivalry, and at least
their equals in art, science, and civilization; and the Italy of 1300
was a century in advance of the rest of Europe. In 1268 two broth-
ers of the King of Castile, with 800 other Spanish gentlemen, were
serving under the banners of the Muslim in Tunis. The knightly
ideal of both Moors and Spaniards was to be
“Like steel among swords,
Like wax among ladies. ”
Hospitality, generosity, magnanimity, the protection of the weak,
punctilious observance of the plighted faith, pride of birth and
lineage, glory in personal valor — these were the knightly virtues
common to Arab and Christian warriors. Antar and his knights, Ibla
and her maidens, are the Oriental counterparts of Launcelot and
Arthur, of Guinevere and Iseult.
The primary duty of the early Arab was blood-revenge. An
insult to himself, or an injury to the tribe, must be wiped out with
the blood of the offender. Hence arose the multitude of tribal feuds.
It was Muhammad who first checked the private feud by fixing the
price of blood” to be paid by the aggressor or by his tribe. In the
time of Antar revenge was the foremost duty. Ideals of excellence
change as circumstances alter. Virtues go out of fashion (like the
magnificence of Aristotle), or acquire an entirely new importance
(as veracity, since England became a trading nation). Some day we
may possess a natural history of the virtues.


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590
ANTAR
The service of the loved one by the early Arab was a passion
completely different from the vain gallantry of the mediæval knight
of Europe. He sought for the complete possession of his chosen
mistress, and was eager to earn it by multitudes of chivalric deeds;
but he could not have understood the sentimentalities of the Trou-
badours. The systematic fantasies of the «Courts of Love » would
have seemed cold follies to Arab chivalry — as indeed they are,
though they have led to something better. In generosity, in mag-
nanimity, the Arab knight far surpassed his European brother. Hos-
pitality was a point of honor to both. As to the noble Arabs of those
days, when any one demanded their protection, no one ever inquired
what was the matter; for if he asked any questions, it would be said
of him that he was afraid. The poets have thus described them in
verse:-
« They rise when any one calls out to them, and
they haste before asking any questions;
they aid him against his enemies
that seek his life, and they return
honored to their families. ”
The Arab was the knight of the tent and the desert. His deeds
were immediately known to his fellows; discussed and weighed in
every household of his tribe. The Christian knight of the Middle
Ages, living isolated in his stronghold, was less immediately affected
by the opinions of his class. Tribal allegiance was developed in the
first case, independence in the second.
Scholars tell us that the romance of Antar' is priceless for faith-
ful pictures of the times before the advent of Muhammad, which are
confirmed by all that remains of the poetry of “the days of ignorance. ”
To the general reader its charm lies in its bold and simple stories
of adventure; in its childlike enjoyment of the beauty of Nature;
in its pictures of the elemental passions of ambition, pride, love,
hate, revenge. Antar was a poet, a lover, a warrior, a born leader.
From a keeper of camels he rose to be the protector of the tribe of
Abs and the pattern of chivalry, by virtue of great natural powers
and in the face of every obstacle. He won possession of his Ibla
and gave her the dower of a queen, by adventures the like of which
were never known before. There were no Ifrits or Genii to come to
his aid, as in the Thousand Nights and a Night. ' 'Antar' is the
epic of success crowning human valor; the tales in the Arabian
Nights,' at their best, are the fond fancies of the fatalist whose best
endeavor is at the mercy of every capricious Jinni.
The Arabian Nights' contains one tale of the early Arabs, — the
story of Gharib and his brother Ajib, — which repeats some of the


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ANTAR
591
exploits of Antar; a tale far inferior to the romance. The excellences
of the Arabian Nights are of another order. We must look for
them in the pompous enchantments of the City of Brass, or in the
tender constancy of Aziz and Azizah, or in the tale of Hasan of
Bassorah, with its lovely study of the friendship of a foster-sister,
and its wonderful presentment of the magic surroundings of the
country of the Jann.
To select specimens from Antar' is like selecting from Robinson
Crusoe. ' In the romance, Antar's adventures go on and on, and the
character of the hero develops before one's eyes. It may be that the
leisure of the desert is needed fully to appreciate this master-work.
Edwards. Hoeden
THE VALOR OF ANTAR
ow Antar was becoming a big boy, and grew up, and used
to accompany his mother, Zebeeba, to the pastures, and
he watched the cattle; and this he continued to do till he
increased in stature. He used to walk and run about to harden
himself, till at length his muscles were strengthened, his frame
altogether more robust, his bones more firm and solid, and his
speech correct. His days were passed in roaming about the
mountain sides; and thus he continued till he attained his tenth
year.
(He now kills a wolf which had attacked his father's flocks, and breaks
into verse to celebrate his victory:-)
O thou wolf, eager for death, I have left thee wallowing in dust, and
spoiled of life; thou wouldst have the run of my flocks, but I have left
thee dyed with blood; thou wouldst disperse my sheep, and thou knowest I
am a lion that never fears. This is the way I treat thee, thou dog of the
desert. Hast thou ever before seen battle and wars?
[His next adventure brought him to the notice of the chief of the tribe, -
King Zobeir. A slave of Prince Shas insulted a poor, feeble woman who was
tending her sheep; on which Antar «dashed bim against the ground. And
his length and breadth were all one mass. ” This deed won for Antar the
hatred of Prince Shas, the friendship of the gentle Prince Malik, and the
praise of the king, their father. « This valiant fellow," said the king, «has
defended the honor of women. ”]


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592
ANTAR
was
.
From that day both King Zoheir and his son Malik conceived
a great affection for Antar, and as Antar returned home, the
women all collected around him to ask him what had happened;
among them were his aunts and his cousin, whose name
Ibla. Now Ibla was younger than Antar, and a merry lass.
She was lovely as the moon at its full; and perfectly beautiful
and elegant.
One day he entered the house of his uncle
Malik and found his aunt combing his cousin Ibla's hair, which
flowed down her back, dark as the shades of night. Antar was
quite surprised; he was greatly agitated, and could pay no atten-
tion to anything; he was anxious and thoughtful, and his anguish
daily became more oppressive.
[Meeting her at a feast, he addressed her in verse:-)
The lovely virgin has struck my heart with the arrow of a glance, for
which there is no cure. Sometimes she wishes for a feast in the sandhills,
like a fawn whose eyes are full of magic. She moves; I should say it
was the branch of the Tamarisk that waves its branches to the southern
breeze. She approaches; I should say it was the frightened fawn, when a
calamity alarms it in the waste.
When Ibla heard from Antar this description of her charms,
she was in astonishment. But Antar continued in this state for
days and nights, his love and anguish ever increasing.
[Antar resolves to be either tossed upon the spear-heads or numbered
among the noble; and he wanders into the plain of lions. )
As soon
as Antar found himself in it, he said to himself,
Perhaps I shall now find a lion, and I will slay him. Then,
behold a lion appeared in the middle of the valley; he stalked
about and roared aloud; wide were his nostrils, and fire flashed
from his eyes; the whole valley trembled at every gnash of his
fangs— he was a calamity, and his claws more dreadful than the
deadliest catastrophe - thunder pealed as he roared — vast was
his strength, and his force dreadful — broad were his paws,
and his head immense. Just at that moment Shedad and his
brothers came up. They saw Antar address the lion, and heard
the verses that he repeated; he sprang forward like a hailstorm,
and hissed at him like a black serpent - he met the lion as he
sprang and outroared his bellow; then, giving a dreadful shriek,
he seized hold of his mouth with his hand, and wrenched it
open to his shoulders, and he shouted aloud — the valley and the
country round echoed back the war.


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ANTAR
593
[Those who were watching were astonished at his prowess, and began to
fear Antar. The horsemen now set off to attack the tribe of Temeem, leav-
ing the slaves to guard the women. ]
Antar was in transports on seeing Ibla appear with the other
women. She was indeed like an amorous fawn; and when
Antar was attending her, he was overwhelmed in the ocean of
his love, and became the slave of her sable tresses. They sat
down to eat, and the wine-cups went merrily round.
It was
the spring of the year, when the whole land shone in all its
glory; the vines hung luxuriantly in the arbors; the flowers
shed around ambrosial fragrance; every hillock sparkled in the
beauty of its colors; the birds in responsive melody sang sweetly
from each bush, and harmony issued from their throats; the
ground was covered with flowers and herbs; while the nightin-
gales filled the air with their softest notes.
[ While the maidens were singing and sporting, lo! on a sudden appeared
a cloud of dust walling the horizon, and a vast clamor arose. A troop of
horses and their riders, some seventy in number, rushed forth to seize the
women, and made them prisoners. Antar instantly rescues Ibla from her
captors and engages the enemy. ]
He rushed forward to meet them, and harder than flint was
his heart, and in his attack was their fate and destiny. He
returned home, taking with him five-and-twenty horses, and all
the women and children. Now the hatred of Semeeah (his
stepmother) was converted into love and tenderness, and he
became dearer to her than sleep.
[He had thenceforward a powerful ally in her, a fervent friend in
Prince Malik, a wily counselor in his brother Shiboob. And Antar made great
progress in Ibla's heart, from the verses that he spoke in her praise; such
verses as these:-)
I love thee with the love of a noble-born hero; and I am content with
thy imaginary phantom. Thou art my sovereign in my very blood; and
my mistress; and in thee is all my confidence.
[Antar's astonishing valor gained him the praise of the noble Absian
knights, and he was emboldened to ask his father Shedad to acknowledge
him for his son, that he might become a chief among the Arabs. Shedad,
enraged, drew his sword and rushed upon Antar to kill him, but was pre-
vented by Semeeah. Antar, in the greatest agony of spirit, was ashamed
that the day should dawn on him after this refusal, or that he should remain
any longer in the country. He mounted his horse, put on his armor, and
traveled on till he was far from the tents, and he knew not whither he was
going. )
11-38


## p. 594 (#632) ############################################

ANTAR
594
Antar had proceeded some way, when lo! a knight rushed
out from the ravines in the rocks, mounted on a dark-colored
colt, beautiful and compact, and of a race much prized among
the Arabs; his hoofs were as flat as the beaten coin; when he
neighed he seemed as if about to speak, and his ears were like
quills; his sire was Wasil and his dam Hemama. When Antar
cast his eye upon the horse, and observed his speed and his paces,
he felt that no horse could surpass him, so his whole heart and
soul longed for him. And when the knight perceived that Antar
was making toward him, he spurred his horse and it fed beneath
him; for this was a renowned horseman called Harith, the son of
Obad, and he was a valiant hero.
[By various devices Antar became possessed of the noble horse Abjer,
whose equal no prince or emperor could boast of. His mettle was soon tried
in an affray with the tribe of Maan, headed by the warrior Nakid, who was
ferocious as a lion. ]
arm
When Nakid saw the battle of Antar, and how alone he stood
against five thousand, and was making them drink of the cup of
death and perdition, he was overwhelmed with astonishment at
his deeds. “Thou valiant slave,” he cried, “how powerful is thine
how strong thy wrist! ”. And he rushed down upon Antar.
And Antar presented himself before him, for he was all anxiety
to meet him. « O thou base-born! ) cried Nakid. But Antar
permitted him not to finish his speech, before he assaulted him
with the assault of a lion, and roared at him; he was horrified
and paralyzed at the sight of Antar. Antar attacked him, thus
scared and petrified, and struck him with his sword on the head,
and cleft him down the back; and he fell, cut in twain, frum
the horse, and he was split in two as if by a balance; and as
Antar dealt the blow he cried out, “Oh, by Abs! oh, by Adnan!
I am ever the lover of Ibla. " No sooner did the tribe of Maan
behold Antar's blow, than every one was seized with fear and
dismay. The whole five thousand made an attack like the attack
of a single man; but Antar received them as the parched ground
receives the first of the rain. His eyeballs were fiery red, and
foam issued from his lips; whenever he smote he cleft the head;
every warrior he assailed, he annihilated; he tore a rider from the
back of his horse, he heaved him on high, and whirling him in
the air he struck down another with him, and the two instantly
expired. "By thine eyes, Ibla,” he cried, “to-day will I destroy
»


## p. 595 (#633) ############################################

ANTAR
595
all this race. " Thus he proceeded until he terrified the warriors,
and hurled them into woe and disgrace, hewing off their arms
and their joints.
[At the moment of Antar's victory his friends arrive to see his triumph.
On his way back with them he celebrates his love for Ibla in verses. ]
When the breezes blow from Mount Saadi, their freshness calms the fire
of my love and transports.
Her throat complains of the darkness
of her necklaces. Alas! the effects of that throat and that necklace! Will
fortune ever, O daughter of Malik, ever bless me with thy embrace, that
would cure my heart of the sorrows of love? If my eye could see her
baggage camels, and her family, I would rub my cheeks on the hoofs of
her camels. I will kiss the earth where thou art; mayhap the fire of my
love and ecstasy may be quenched.
I am the well-known Antar,
the chief of his tribe, and I shall die; but when I am gone, histories shall
tell of me.
(From that day forth Antar was named Abool-fawaris, that is to say, the
father of horsemen. His sword, Dhami — the trenchant – was forged from a
meteor that fell from the sky; it was two cubits long and two spans wide. If
it were presented to Nushirvan, King of Persia, he would exalt the giver with
favors; or if it were presented to the Emperor of Europe, one would be
enriched with treasures of gold and silver. ]
As soon as Gheidac saw the tribe of Abs, and Antar the
destroyer of horsemen, his heart was overjoyed and he cried out,
« This is a glorious morning; to-day will I take my revenge. ” So
he assailed the tribe of Abs and Adnan, and his people attacked
behind him like a cloud when it pours forth water and rains.
And the Knight of Abs assaulted them likewise, anxious to try
his sword, the famous Dhami. And Antar fought with Gheidac,
and wearied him, and shouted at him, and filled him with horror;
then assailed him so that stirrup grated stirrup; and he struck
him on the head with Dhami. He cleft his visor and wadding,
and his sword played away between the eyes, passing through
his shoulders down to the back of the horse, even down to the
ground; and he and his horse made four pieces; and to the strict-
est observer, it would appear that he had divided them with
scales. And God prospered Antar in all that he did, so that he
slew all he aimed at, and overthrew all he touched.
“Nobility,” said Antar, «among liberal men, is the thrust of
»
the spear, the blow of the sword, and patience beneath the battle-
dust. I am the physician of the tribe of Abs in sickness, their
protector in disgrace, the defender of their wives when they are


## p. 596 (#634) ############################################

596
ANTAR
in trouble, their horseman when they are in glory, and their
sword when they rush to arms. ”
»
[This was Antar's speech to Monzar, King of the Arabs, when he was in
search of Ibla's dowry. He found it in the land of Irak, where the magnificent
Chosroe was ready to reward him even to the half of his kingdom, for his
victory over the champion of the Emperor of Europe. ]
»
(
"All this grandeur, and all these gifts,” said Antar, have
no value to me, no charm in my eyes. Love of my native land
is the fixed passion of my soul. ”
“Do not imagine,” said Chosroe, “that we have been able
duly to recompense you. What we have given you is perish-
able, as everything human is, but your praises and your poems
will endure forever. ”
[Antar's wars made him a Nocturnal Calamity to the foes of his tribe.
He was its protector and the champion of its women, «for Antar was particu-
larly solicitous in the cause of women. ” His generosity knew no bounds.
«Antar immediately presented the whole of the spoil to his father and his
uncles; and all the tribe of Abs were astonished at his noble conduct and
filial love. " His hospitality was universal; his magnanimity without limit.
"Do not bear malice, O Shiboob. Renounce it; for no good ever came of
malice. Violence is infamous; its result is ever uncertain, and no one can
act justly when actuated by hatred. Let my heart support every evil, and
let my patience endure till I have subdued all my foes. ” Time after time he
won new dowries for Ibla, even bringing the treasures of Persia to her feet.
Treacheries without count divided him from his promised bride. Over and
over again he rescued her from the hands of the enemy; and not only her,
but her father and her hostile kinsmen.
At last (in the fourth volume, on the fourteen hundred and fifty-third
page) Antar makes his wedding feasts. ]
»
“I wish to make at Ibla's wedding five separate feasts; I will
feed the birds and the beasts, the men and the women, the
girls and the boys, and not a single person shall remain in the
whole country but shall eat at Ibla's marriage festival. ”
Antar was at the summit of his happiness and delight, con-
gratulating himself on his good fortune and perfect felicity, all
trouble and anxiety being now banished from his heart. Praise
be to God, the dispenser of all grief from the hearts of virtuous
men.
[The three hundred and sixty tribes of the Arabs were invited to the
feast, and on the eighth day the assembled chiefs presented their gifts —
horses, armor, slaves, perfumes, gold, velvet, camels. The number of slaves


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LUCIUS APULEIUS
597
Antar received that day was five-and-twenty hundred, to each of whom he
gave a damsel, a horse, and weapons. And they all mounted when he rode
out, and halted when he halted. ]
Now when all the Arab chiefs had presented their offerings,
each according to his circumstances, Antar rose, and called out
to Mocriul-Wahsh:-"O Knight of Syria,” said he, let all the
he and she camels, high-priced horses, and all the various rari.
ties I have received this day, be a present from me to you. But
the perfumes of ambergris, and fragrant musk, belong to my
cousin Ibla; and the slaves shall form my army and troops. ”
And the Arab chiefs marveled at his generosity.
And now Ibla was clothed in the most magnificent garments,
and superb necklaces; they placed the coronet of Chosroe on
her head, and tiaras round her forehead. They lighted brilliant
and scented candles before her - the perfumes were scattered-
the torches blazed — and Ibla came forth in state.
gave a shout; while the malicious and ill-natured cried aloud,
“What a pity that one so beautiful and fair should be wedded
to one so black !
»
[The selections are from Hamilton's translation. Two long episodes in
(Antar) are especially noteworthy: the famous horse race between the cham-
pions of the tribes of Abs and Fazarah (Vol. iv. , Chapter 33), and the history
of Khalid and Jaida (Vol. ii. , Chapter 11). ]
All present
LUCIUS APULEIUS
(Second Century A. D. )
UCIUS APULEIUS, author of the brilliant Latin novel «The Met-
amorphoses,' also called "The (Golden] Ass,' — and more
generally known under that title, — will be remembered
when many greater writers shall have been forgotten. The downfall
of Greek political freedom brought a period of intellectual develop-
ment fertile in prose story-telling, -short fables and tales, novels
philosophic and religious, historical and satiric, novels of love, novels
of adventure. Yet, strange to say, while the instinct was prolific in
the Hellenic domain of the Roman Empire, it was for the most part
sterile in Italy, though Roman life was saturated with the influence
of Greek culture. Its only two notable examples are Petronius Arbiter
and Apuleius, both of whom belong to the first two centuries of the
Christian epoch.


## p. 598 (#636) ############################################

598
LUCIUS APULEIUS
The suggestion of the plan of the novel familiarly known as “The
Golden Ass' was from a Greek source, Lucius of Patræ. The ori-
ginal version was still extant in the days of Photius, Patriarch of the
Greek Church in the ninth century. Lucian, the Greek satirist, also
utilized the same material in a condensed form in his Lucius, or the
Ass. But Apuleius greatly expanded the legend, introduced into it
numerous episodes, and made it the background of a vivid picture of
the manners and customs of a corrupt age. Yet underneath its lively
portraiture there runs a current of mysticism at variance with the
naïve rehearsal of the hero's adventures, and this has tempted critics
to find a hidden meaning in the story. Bishop Warburton, in his
Divine Legation of Moses, professes to see in it a
defense of Paganism at the expense of struggling
Christianity. While this seems absurd, it is fairly
evident that the mind of the author was busied with
something more than the mere narration of rollicking
adventure, more even than a satire on Roman life.
The transformation of the hero into an ass, at the
moment when he was plunging headlong into a licen-
APULEIUS
tious career, and the recovery of his manhood again
through divine intervention, suggest a serious symbol-
ism. The beautiful episode of Cupid and Psyche, which would lend
salt to a production far more corrupt, is also suggestive. Apuleius
perfected this wild flower of ancient folk-lore into a perennial plant
that has blossomed ever since along the paths of literature and art.
The story has been accepted as a fitting embodiment of the struggle
of the soul toward a higher perfection; yet, strange to say, the
episode is narrated with as brutal a realism as if it were a satire of
Lucian, and its style is belittled with petty affectations of rhetoric. It
is the enduring beauty of the conception that has continued to fasci-
nate. Hence we may say of “The Golden Ass' in its entirety, that
whether readers are interested in esoteric meanings to be divined, or
in the author's vivid sketches of his own period, the novel has a
charm which long centuries have failed to dim.
Apuleius was of African birth and of good family, his mother
having come of Plutarch's blood. The second century of the Roman
Empire, when he lived (he was born at Madaura about A. D. 139),
was one of the most brilliant periods in history,— brilliant in its social
gayety, in its intellectual activities, and in the splendor of its achieve-
ments. The stimulus of the age spurred men far in good and evil.
Apuleius studied at Carthage, and afterward at Rome, both philosophy
and religion, though this bias seems not to have dulled his taste for
worldly pleasure. Poor in purse, he finally enriched himself by
marrying a wealthy widow and inheriting her property. Her will



## p. 599 (#637) ############################################

LUCIUS APULEIUS
599
was contested on the ground that this handsome and accomplished
young literary man had exercised magic in winning his elderly bride!
The successful defense of Apuleius before his judges - a most divert
ing composition, so jaunty and full of witty impertinences that it is
evident he knew the hard-headed Roman judges would dismiss the
prosecution as a farce -- is still extant under the name of The Apol-
ogy; or, Concerning Magic. This in after days became oddly jumbled
with the story of The Golden Ass) and its transformations, so that
St. Augustine was inclined to believe Apuleius actually a species of
professional wizard.
The plot of "The Golden Ass) is very simple. Lucius of Madaura,
a young man of property, sets out on his travels to sow his wild
oats. He pursues this pleasant occupation with the greatest zeal
according to the prevailing mode: he is no moralist. The partner of
his first intrigue is the maid of a woman skilled in witchcraft. The
curiosity of Lucius being greatly exercised about the sorceress and
her magic, he importunes the girl to procure from her mistress
a magic salve which will transform him at will into an owl. By
mistake he receives the wrong salve; and instead of the bird meta-
morphosis which he had looked for, he undergoes an unlooked-for
change into an ass. In this guise, and in the service of various mas-
ters, he has opportunities of observing the follies of men from a
novel standpoint. His adventures are numerous, and he hears many
strange stories, the latter being chronicled as episodes in the record
of his experiences. At last the goddess Isis appears in a dream, and
obligingly shows him the way to effect his second metamorphosis, by
aid of the high priest of her temple, where certain mysteries are
about to be celebrated. Lucius is freed from his disguise, and is
initiated into the holy rites.
(The Golden Ass) is full of dramatic power and variety. The
succession of incident, albeit grossly licentious at times, engages the
interest without a moment's dullness. The main narrative, indeed,
is no less entertaining than the episodes. The work became a model
for story-writers of a much later period, even to the times of Field-
ing and Smollett. Boccaccio borrowed freely from it; at least one of
the many humorous exploits of Cervantes's Don Quixote) can be
attributed to an adventure of Lucius; while (Gil Blas' abounds in
reminiscences of the Latin novel. The student of folk-lore will easily
detect in the tasks imposed by Venus on her unwelcome daughter-in-
law, in the episode of "Cupid and Psyche,' the possible original from
which the like fairy tales of Europe drew many a suggestion. Prob-
ably Apuleius himself was indebted to still earlier Greek sources.
Scarcely any Latin production was more widely known and studied
from the beginning of the Italian Renaissance to the middle of the


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seventeenth century. In its style, however, it is far from classic. It
is full of archaisms and rhetorical conceits. In striving to say things
finely, the author frequently failed to say them well. This fault,
however, largely disappears in the translation; and whatever may be
the literary defects of the novel, it offers rich compensation in the
liveliness, humor, and variety of its substance.
In addition to “The Golden Ass,' the extant writings of Apuleius
include (Florida' (an anthology from his own works), “The God of
Socrates,' (The Philosophy of Plato,' and Concerning the World,' a
treatise once attributed to Aristotle. The best modern edition of his
complete works is that of Hildebrand (Leipzig, 1842); of the Meta-
morphoses,' that of Eyssenhardt (Berlin, 1869). There have been
many translations into the modern languages. The best English
versions are those of T. Taylor (London, 1822); of Sir G. Head, some-
what expurgated (London, 1851); and an unsigned translation pub-
lished in the Bohn Library, which has been drawn on for this work,
but greatly rewritten as too stiff and prolix, and in the conversations
often wholly unnatural. A very pretty edition in French, with many
illustrations, is that of Savalète (Paris, 1872).
THE TALE OF ARISTOMENES, THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELER
From «The Metamorphoses)
1
Am a native of Ægina, and I travel in Thessaly, Ætolia, and
Bæotia to purchase honey of Hypata, cheese, and other arti-
cles used in cookery. Having heard that at Hypata, the
principal city of Thessaly, fine-flavored new cheese was for sale
cheap, I made the best of my way there to buy it all up. But
as usual, happening to start left foot foremost, which is unlucky,
all my hopes of profit came to nothing; for a fellow named
Lupus, a merchant who does things on a big scale, had bought
the whole of it the day before.
Weary with my hurried journey to no purpose, I was going
early in the evening to the public baths, when to my surprise I
espied an old companion of mine named Socrates. He was sit-
ting on the ground, half covered with a rag-tag cloak, and looking
like somebody else, he was so miserably wan and thin, -in fact,
just like a street beggar; so that though he used to be my friend
and close acquaintance, I had two minds about speaking to him.
«How now, friend Socrates! ” said I: “what does this mean?
Why are you tricked out like this? What crime have you been


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guilty of ?
Why, you look as though your family had given
you up for dead and held your funeral long ago, the probate
judge had appointed guardians for your children, and your wife,
disfigured by her long mourning, having cried herself almost
blind, was being worried by her parents to sit up and take
notice of things, and look for a new marriage. Yet now, all of
a sudden, here you come before us like a wretched ghost from
the dead, to turn everything upside down! ”
“O Aristomenes! ” said he, "it's clear that you don't know
the slippery turns, the freaks, and the never-ending tricks of
fortune. ”
As he said this, he hid his face, crimson with shame, in his
one garment of patches and tatters. I could not bear such a
miserable sight, and tried to raise him from the ground. But he
kept saying with his head all covered up, “Let me alone! let
«
me alone! let Fortune have her way with me! ”
However, I finally persuaded him to go with me; and at the
same time pulling off one of my own garments, I speedily clothed
him, or at any rate covered him. I next took him to a bath,
scrubbed and oiled him myself, and laboriously rubbed the matted
dirt off him. Having done all I could, though tired out myself,
I supported his feeble steps, and with great difficulty brought
him to my inn. There I made him lie down on a bed, gave him
plenty of food, braced him up with wine, and entertained him
with the news of the day. Pretty soon our conversation took a
merry turn; we cracked jokes, and grew noisy as we chattered.
All of a sudden, heaving a bitter sigh from the bottom of his
chest, and striking his forehead violently with his right hand, he
said:
"Miserable wretch that I am, to have got into such a predica-
ment while having a good time at a gladiatorial show!
know, I went to Macedonia on business; it took me ten months;
I was on my way home with a very neat sum of money, and had
nearly reached Larissa, which I included in my route in order to
see the show I mentioned, when I was attacked by robbers in a
lonely valley, and only escaped after losing everything I had. In
my distress I betook myself to a certain woman named Meroë,
who kept a tavern (and who, though rather old, was very good-
looking), and told her about my long absence, my earnest desire
to reach home, and my being robbed that very day. She treated
me with the greatest kindness, gave me a good supper for
a
As you


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nothing, and then let me make love to her. But from the very
moment that I was such a fool as to dally with her, my mind
seemed to desert me. I even gave her the clothes which the
robbers in common decency had left me, and the little earnings
I made there by working as cloakmaker so long as I was in good
physical condition; until at length this kind friend, and bad luck
together, reduced me to the state you just now found me in. ”
“By Pollux, then,” said I, "you deserve to suffer the very
worst misfortunes (if there be anything worse than the worst),
for having preferred a wrinkled old reprobate to your home and
children. ”
“Hush! hush! ” said he, putting his forefinger on his lips, and
looking round with a terror-stricken face to see if we were alone.
“Beware of reviling a woman skilled in the black art, for fear of
doing yourself a mischief. ”
“Say you so ? ” said I. “What kind of a woman is this inn-
keeper, so powerful and dreadful ? »
"She is a sorceress," he replied, "and possessed of magic
powers; she can draw down the heavens, make the earth heave,
harden the running water, dissolve mountains, raise the shades of
the dead, dethrone the gods, extinguish the stars, and set the
very depths of Tartarus ablaze! »
“Come, come! ” said I: "end this tragic talk, fold up your
theatrical drop-scenes, and let us hear your story in every-day
language. ”
«Should you like," said he, “to hear of one or two, yes, or a
great many of her performances ? Why, to make not only her
fellow-countrymen, but the Indians, the Ethiopians, or even the
Antipodeans, love her to distraction, are only the easy lessons of
her art, as it were, and mere trifles. Listen to what she has
done before many witnesses. By a single word she changed a
lover into a beaver, because he had gone to another flame. She
changed an innkeeper, a neighbor of hers she was envious
of, into a frog; and now the old fellow, swimming about in a
cask of his own wine, or buried in the dregs, croaks hoarsely to
his old customers, - quite in the way of business. She changed
another person, a lawyer from the Forum, into a ram, because he
had conducted a suit against her; to this very day that ram is
always butting about. Finally, however, public indignation was
aroused by so many people coming to harm through her arts;
and the very next day had been fixed upon to wreak a fearful


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603
vengeance on her, by stoning her to death. She frustrated the
design by her enchantments. You remember how Medea, hay-
ing got Creon to allow her just one day before her departure,
burned his whole palace, with himself and his daughter in it, by
means of flames issuing from a garland ? Well, this sorceress,
having performed certain deadly incantations in a ditch (she told
me so herself in a drunken fit), confined everybody in the town
each in his own house for two whole days, by a secret spell of
the demons. The bars could not be wrenched off, nor the doors
taken off the hinges, nor even a breach made in the walls. At
last, by common consent, the people all swore they would not
lift a' hand against her, and would come to her defense if any
one else did. She then liberated the whole city. But in the
middle of the night she conveyed the author of the conspiracy,
with all his house, close barred as it was, — the walls, the very
ground, and even the foundations, - to another city a hundred
miles off, on the top of a craggy mountain, and so without water.
And as the houses of the inhabitants were built so close together
that there was not room for the new-comer, she threw down the
house before the gate of the city and took her departure. ”
«You narrate marvelous things,” said I, “my good Socrates;
and no less terrible than marvelous. In fact, you have excited
no small anxiety (indeed I may say fear) in me too; not a mere
grain of apprehension, but a piercing dread for fear this old hag
should come to know our conversation in the same way, by the
help of some demon. Let us get to bed without delay; and
when we have rested ourselves by a little sleep, let us fly as far
as we possibly can before daylight. ”
While I was still advising him thus, the worthy Socrates,
overcome by more wine than he was used to and by his fatigue,
had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. I shut the door, drew
the bolts, and placing my bed close against the hinges, tossed it
up well and lay down on it. I lay awake some time through
fear, but closed my eyes at last a little before midnight.
I had just fallen asleep, when suddenly the door was burst
open with such violence that it was evidently not done by rob-
bers; the hinges were absolutely broken and wrenched off, and it
was thrown to the ground. The small bedstead, minus one foot
and rotten, was also upset by the shock; and falling upon me,
who had been rolled out on the floor, it completely covered and
hid me.
Then I perceived that certain emotions can be excited


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by exactly opposite causes; for as tears often come from joy, so,
in spite of my terror, I could not help laughing to see myself
turned from Aristomenes into a tortoise. As I lay on the floor,
completely covered by the bed, and peeping out to see what was
the matter, I saw two old women, one carrying a lighted lamp
and the other a sponge and a drawn sword, plant themselves on
either side of Socrates, who was fast asleep.
The one with the sword said to the other:–«This, sister
Panthea, is my dear Endymion, my Ganymede, who by day and
by night has laughed my youth to scorn. This is he who, de-
spising my passion, not only defames me with abusive language,
but is preparing also for flight; and I forsooth, deserted through
the craft of this Ulysses, like another Calypso, am to be left to
lament in eternal loneliness! »
Then extending her right hand, and pointing me out to her
friend Panthea:-
“And there,” said she, “is his worthy counselor, Aristomenes,
who was the planner of this flight, and who now, half dead, is
lying flat on the ground under the bedstead and looking at all
that is going on, while he fancies that he is to tell scandalous
stories of me with impunity. I'll take care, however, that some
day, aye, and before long, too, - this very instant, in fact, - he
shall repent of his recent chatter and his present curiosity. ”
On hearing this I felt myself streaming with cold perspiration,
and my heart began to throb so violently that even the bedstead
danced on my back.
“Well, sister,” said the worthy Panthea, shall we hack him
to pieces at once, like the Bacchanals, or tie his limbs and
mutilate him ? »
To this Meroë replied, - and I saw from what was happening,
as well as from what Socrates had told, how well the name fitted
her, -- "Rather let him live, if only to cover the body of this
wretched creature with a little earth. ”
Then, moving Socrates's head to one side, she plunged the
sword into his throat up to the hilt, catching the blood in a
small leathern bottle so carefully that not a drop of it was to
be seen.
A11 this I saw with my own eyes.
The worthy
Meroë— in order, I suppose, not to omit any due observance in
the sacrifice of the victim — then thrust her right hand through
the wound, and drew forth the heart of my unhappy companion.
His windpipe being severed, he emitted a sort of indistinct


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605
(
gurgling noise, and poured forth his breath with his bubbling
blood. Panthea then stopped the gaping wound with a sponge,
exclaiming, “Beware, o sea-born sponge, how thou dost pass
through a river! »
When she had said this, they lifted my bed from the ground,
and dashed over me a mass of filth.
Hardly had they passed over the threshold when the door
resumed its former state. The hinges settled back on the pan-
els, the posts returned to the bars, and the bolts flew back to
their sockets again. I lay prostrate on the ground in a squalid
plight, terrified, naked, cold, and drenched. Indeed, I was half
dead, though still alive; and pursued a train of reflections like
one already in the grave, or to say the least on the way to the
cross, to which I was surely destined. “What,” said I, “will
become of me, when this man is found in the morning with his
throat cut ? If I tell the truth, who will believe a word of the
story?
You ought at least, they will say, to have called
for help, if as strong a man as you are could not withstand
woman! Is a man's throat to be cut before your eyes, and you
keep silence? Why was it that you were not assassinated too?
How did the villains come to spare you, a witness of the murder ?
They would naturally kill you, if only to put an end to all
evidence of the crime. Since your escape from death was against
reason, return to it. ) »
I said these things to myself over and over again, while the
night was fast verging toward day. It seemed best to me, there.
fore, to escape on the sly before daylight and pursue my journey,
though I was all in a tremble. I took up my bundle, put the
key in the door, and drew back the bolts. But this good and
faithful door, which had opened of its own accord in the night,
would not open now till I had tried the key again and again.
"Hallo, porter! ” said I, where are you? Open the gate, I
want to be off before daybreak. ”
The porter, who was lying on the ground behind the door,
only grunted, "Why do you want to begin a journey at this time
of night? Don't you know the roads are infested by robbers ?
You may have a mind to meet your death, — perhaps your con-
science stings you for some crime you have committed; but I
haven't a head like a pumpkin, that I should die for your sake! ”
"It isn't very far from daybreak,” said I; and besides, what
can robbers take from a traveler in utter poverty?
Don't you


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know, you fool, that a naked man can't be stripped by ten ath-
letes ? »
The drowsy porter turned over and answered:-“And how
am I to know but what you have murdered that fellow-traveler
of yours that you came here with last night, and are running
away to save yourself? And now I remember that I saw Tar-
tarus through a hole in the earth just at that hour, and Cerberus
looking ready to eat me up. ”
Then I came to the conclusion that the worthy Meroë had
not spared my throat out of pity, but to reserve me for the
cross. So, on returning to my chamber, I thought over some
speedy method of putting an end to myself; but fortune had
provided me with no weapon for self-destruction, except the
bedstead. “Now, bedstead,” said I, “most dear to my soul,
partner with me in so many sorrows, fully conscious and a spec-
tator of this night's events, and whom alone when accused I can
adduce as a witness of my innocence -- do thou supply me (who
would fain hasten to the shades below) a welcome instrument
of death. ”
Thus saying, I began to undo the bed-cord. I threw one end
of it over a small beam projecting above the window, fastened it
there, and made a slip-knot at the other end. Then I mounted
on the bed, and thus elevated for my own destruction, put my
head into the noose and kicked away my support with one foot;
so that the noose, tightened about my throat by the strain of my
weight, might stop my breath. But the rope, which was old and
rotten, broke in two; and falling from aloft, I tumbled heavily
upon Socrates, who was lying close by, and rolled with him on
the floor.
Lo and behold! at that very instant the porter burst into
the room, bawling out, “Where are you, you who were in such
monstrous haste to be off at midnight, and now lie snoring, rolled
up in the bed-clothes ? »
At these words — whether awakened by my fall or by the
rasping voice of the porter, I know not — Socrates was the first
to start up; and he exclaimed, “Evidently travelers have good
reason for detesting these hostlers. This nuisance here, breaking
in without being asked, - most likely to steal something, - has
waked me out of a sound sleep by his outrageous bellowing. ”
On hearing him speak I jumped up briskly, in an ecstasy
of unhoped-for joy:-“Faithfulest of porters,” I exclaimed, “my


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friend, my own father, and my brother,- behold him whom you,
in your drunken fit, falsely accuse me of having murdered. ”
So saying, I embraced Socrates, and was for loading him with
kisses; but he repulsed me with considerable violence. “Get out
with you! ” he cried. Sorely confused, I trumped up some absurd
story on the spur of the moment, to give another turn to the
conversation, and taking him by the right hand-
“Why not be off,” said I, “and enjoy the freshness of the
morning on our journey? ”
So I took my bundle, and having paid the innkeeper for our
night's lodging, we started on our road.
We had gone some little distance, and now, everything being
illumined by the beams of the rising sun, I keenly and attentively
examined that part of my companion's neck into which I had seen
the sword plunged.
«Foolish man,” said I to myself, buried in your cups, you
certainly have had a most absurd dream. Why, look: here's Soc-
rates, safe, sound, and hearty. Where is the wound?