‘Food for Thought’ for Readers of Apuleius’ The Golden Ass MAAIKE ZIMMERMAN University of Groningen 1. ‘Chain of Receptions’ ‘Homer has been changed for us by Virgil and Milton, who have left their traces in his text and thereby enabled new possibilities of meaning’. Thus Charles Martindale.1 Martindale writes on Latin poetry, but his book offers insights that are helpful for understanding the reception of Apuleius’ prose text as well. His concept of the Chain of Receptions is particularly enlightening: ‘…our current interpretations of ancient texts, whether or not we are aware of it, are, in complex ways, constructed by the chain of receptions through which their continued readability has been effected.’2 In the chain of receptions of Apuleius’ The Golden Ass from Late Antiquity through the sixteenth century, allegorical interpretations of both the Lucius story and the tale of Cupid and Psyche have played a major role.3 It is a plausible guess that the Sallustius who under supervision of his teacher En- delechius in the last decade of the fifth century A.D. was preparing a codex of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (together with the Apology and possibly also the Florida), was especially attracted to the Metamorphoses because he and his teacher were aware of that novel’s possibilities of an allegorical interpre- ————— 1 Martindale 1993, 6. 2 Martindale 1993, 7. 3 This chain of interpretations has been discussed in full by Julia Gaisser, who likewise applies Martindale’s concept of the ‘chain of receptions’: Gaisser 2003, 23–24; 36–37. Readers and Writers in the Ancient Novel, 218–240 ‘FOOD FOR THOUGHT’ 219 tation.4 The main links in that first chain of receptions are represented by Fulgentius, Boccaccio and Beroaldo. 2. Beroaldo and his commentary Beroaldo had been the first who presented an allegorical reading of the whole of the Metamorphoses. Both Fulgentius and Boccaccio had only of- fered allegorical readings of the Cupid and Psyche tale. Filippo Beroaldo’s commentary was printed in Bologna in 1500. It had an immediate, but also long-lasting influence. The first edition was printed in twelve hundred cop- ies, and in the sixteenth century it was already reprinted ten times; this can be seen quickly from the list in Krautter’s bibliography.5 To Beroaldo himself, Apuleius’ greatly admired novel indeed offered plenty of food for thought, and he certainly conceived his own commentary as a work that should present his addressees, mostly his numerous students from all over Europe, with even more food for thought. Beroaldo considered the commentator as an indispensble mediator between the original text and the reader.6 In his commentary on Propertius, he says, in the letter of dedica- tion to his friend Mino de’Rossi: Maxima est vel potius divina virtus poetarum … magna etiam vis est ip- sorum explanatorum, qui a Cicerone grammatici (Cic. Div. 1,34), a Pla- tone rhapsodi appellantur: Illi afflatu divino concitati poemata praecla- ra conficiunt, hi poetico furore correpti praeclare interpretantur; illi deo pleni deo dignissima eloquuntur, hi poetica inflammatione calentes divi- nas interpretationes excudunt. Et ut apud Platonem (Ion 533D 1 ff.) dis- serit Socrates prope divinitus, poetae a Musa divino instinctu agitantur, interpretes a poetis furore extimulantur. Et quemadmodum lapis magnes non solum anulos ferreos trahit, sed vim etiam anulis ipsis infundit, qua hoc idem efficere possint, anulorum catena pendente, ita deus poetas, poetae interpretes furore corripiunt.7 ————— 4 Gaisser 2008, 51–52. 5 Krautter 1971, 188–190. 6 This is illustrated in nr. 1 of the woodcuts that were included in Beroaldo’s commentary. See the Appendix below. 7 Quotation from: Ad magnificum Minum Roscium Bononiensem Philippi Beroaldi Bono- niensis epistola, in: Commentarii in Propertium a Philippo Beroaldo editi, Bologna 1486. 220 MAAIKE ZIMMERMAN ‘Great, yes, rather divine, is the art of the poets … But great too is the power of the interpreters, who by Cicero are called grammarians, by Pla- to rhapsodes: the first ones, incited by divine inspiration, create splendid poems, the latter, affected by poetic fervor, give out splendid explica- tions. Those (the poets) full of the divinity, pronounce utterances worthy of the god, these (the interpreters) enflamed with poetic fire, produce di- vine interpretations. And, as in Plato Socrates speaks divinely inspired words, the poets are being driven by a divine impulse, and the interpre- ters in their turn are stimulated by the poetic fervor. And just like a mag- net not only attracts iron rings, but also endowes these rings with its power, through which they can have the same effect, when a whole chain of rings hangs together, thus the god gets hold of the poets, and the poets again by their fervor seize the interpreters.’ And indeed, for many readers in the subsequent centuries, Beroaldo’s com- mentary was the guide for their interpretation of Apuleius’ novel. Many long-lasting interpretations of the novel are to be traced back to Beroaldo’s commentary. 3. The autobiographical approach to Apuleius’ Metamorphoses and counter-reactions Beroaldo was acquainted with pseudo-Lucian’s Ass-tale, the Λούκιος ἢ Ὄνος (henceforth: the Onos), both through Poggio’s translation of it and through the Greek text itself; and in his commentary he often quotes from the Greek Onos, and compares the jejune (in his eyes) narration of the Onos with the much admired narrative diversity and flowery style of Apuleius. And yet, in his preface in which he presents biographical information about Apuleius, he draws extensively from, besides Apology and Florida, the Me- tamorphoses and not only from its eleventh book for autobiographical testi- monies for Apuleius’ biographical data. Apuleius’s father thus is called The- seus and his mother Salvia, the latter being of Greek origin and standing in a family relation to Plutarch and Sextus. Apuleius himself is described accord- ing to Byrrhena’s description of Lucius in Metamorphoses 2,2, as tall and muscular, blonde, with blue eyes. And throughout the commentary the ‘I’- form of the narration is taken to the word, and in this way we often meet remarks referring to the protagonist as Apuleius noster (‘our Apuleius’). This ‘FOOD FOR THOUGHT’ 221 autobiographical approach to Apuleius’ novel had a very long life:8 Soon after 1500, philologists like, for instance, Becichemo and Maffei, and many Apuleius-editors for three hundred years onward, did not hesitate to use the first three books of the Metamorphoses for the biography of the author. One of the first scholars who abandoned that tradition was August Rode, who in the proem of his translation from 1783 remarked: ‘Alles was Apuleius hier und in der Folge des Romans von seinem Hel- den Lucius erzählt, das haben die bisherigen Biographen dieses plato- nischen Philosophen als Nachrichten von ihm selbst angenommen und es in sein Leben eingerückt. Unmöglich kann ich ihnen darin meinen Beifall geben …’ ‘All that Apuleius here and in the rest of the novel narrates about his he- ro Lucius, has by biographers of the platonic philosopher until now been interpreted as information about himself, and they have included it in his Life. I cannot possibly agree with them on this matter …’ Soon others, like Oudendorp, followed in this vein. But, as Krautter shows, even in the past century, the tendency to look for the ‘Apuleianic’ in Apu- leius’ novel still had its champions, the most extreme case being Cocchia 1915.9 Much has changed in literary criticism since Beroaldo. I leave aside many narratological tools and refinements that today can be applied to this text, and that have deepened our understanding about what is going on in this narrative. However, there is one clearcut narratological concept that has now generally been accepted, and that Beroaldo and his contemporaries did not have at their disposal. That is the concept of narrative perspective, and the distinctions between ‘narrated I’, ‘narrating I’ and author. This has enabled readers to move away from any search for a moralistic message in the novel. The numerous moralistic asides of the narrated/actorial ‘I’ do not tell us anything about what Beroaldo entitled ‘Scriptoris Intentio atque Con- silium’ (for this phrase see next section). ————— 8 Cf. Krautter 1971, 57–60. 9 Krautter 1971, 59. A quite different, somewhat ‘autobiographical’ approach that still stands, and rightly so, in my opinion, will be discussed later; see below, section 7. 222 MAAIKE ZIMMERMAN 4. Allegorical explanations of the Metamorphoses from Beroaldo onward Although primarily interested in offering a philological and historical com- mentary on Apuleius’ text, and notwithstanding all his delight in the narra- tive qualities of the novel, Beroaldo’s interest in this text did not stop short at its aesthetical aspects.10 As he emphasizes in his praefatio, Beroaldo sees Apuleius not only as an elegant ‘fabulator’, but foremost as an ‘auctor eru- ditus’. Beroaldo considers it his task in his commentary to elucidate the hid- den ‘eruditio’ and ‘doctrina’ in the work of the much admired author. The important image of Apuleius as a ‘philosophus platonicus’ is brought into prominence when Beroaldo undertakes his philosophical-allegorical inter- pretation of the Metamorphoses. While dismissing the rigid allegorical inter- pretation of the Cupid and Psyche tale by Fulgentius, Beroaldo himself ex- plains the whole of the Metamorphoses as an allegory of the human condition, as already discussed in his preface, under the heading ‘Scriptoris Intentio atque Consilium’ (‘the author’s intention and policy’), and, again, many times in the course of his commentary and in the afterword. With a final quotation from this afterword we will leave Beroaldo’s commentary: ‘Lectio Asini Apuleiani nimirum speculum est rerum humanarum istoque involucro efficti nostri mores expressaque imago vitae quotidianae con- spicitur, cuius finis et summa beatitas est religio cultusque divinae maiestatis una cum eruditione copulata connexaque.’ ‘Reading Apuleius’ Ass is like looking at a mirror-image of the human condition. And one observes expressed in this guise our characters, and the picture of our daily lives, the goal and greatest blessing of which are religion and the cultivation of divine majesty coupled and conjoined with erudition.’ Beroaldo and others before him found a justification for their ethical- allegorical interpretation in the practice of the Middle Platonists themselves. From Beroaldo’s commentary onward this allegorical interpretation held the field for centuries to come.11 It was not before the end of the nineteenth cen- ————— 10 For a succinct overview of the various points of interest in Beroaldo’s commentary see also Sandy 2006, 240–251. 11 Before offering his own, extensive and in parts idiosyncratic allegorical explanation of the Metamorphoses, Hildebrand 1842, xxviii–xxxviii, presents influential allegorical in- terpretations of earlier scholars. ‘FOOD FOR THOUGHT’ 223 tury that philologists, first mainly in Germany, began to deny Apuleius’ novel any serious intent, at the same time criticising the novel for a lack of unity. Morelli, early in the twentieth century, renewed as it were the line of interpretation in the manner of Beroaldo.12 Although he provoked firm criti- cism, his controversial ideas had the effect of a complete revision of the problem of the unity of the Metamorphoses.13 Allegorical techniques had consistently been used in the Greek and Ro- man world in the elucidation of texts by interpreters of all kinds of religious and philosophical persuasions, and until the nineteenth century allegorical criticism remained a central and persistent element of literary thought, as Coulter explains; she adds: ‘These interpreters were often men of considera- ble intellectual eminence, and there seems little point, and not much fairness either, in blinding oneself to the fact that they were asking serious and im- portant questions about the meaning of the texts to which they and others since have devoted so much study.’14 But, as Coulter remarks, much of the critical thought of the nineteenth and early twentieth century has been marked by an anti-allegorical bias.15 This bias may, I think, have been even more persistent in the case of Apu- leius’ Metamorphoses because it was fueled by some very strained and rigid forms of allegorical interpretations of this novel. In these interpretations, the Metamorphoses was explained as a protreptic or moralizing allegorical text, a trend that indeed could also be seen in some of Beroaldo’s comments.16 And there was on the other hand, Merkelbach’s explanation of the Metamor- phoses as a mystery text whose hidden Isiac keys throughout the book could be understood rightly by the initiated only; his reading put the finger on many hitherto unnoticed elements in the text, but his rigid one-to-one allego- resis of the whole of the Metamorphoses probably made readers allergic to any allegorical interpretation. It is not necessary here to rehearse the history ————— 12 Morelli 1913. 13 See Krautter 1971, 64–71, with full references, on the philosophical-moralistic interpreta- tions of the Metamorphoses, and the reactions from the early 20th century onward. See also Wlosok 1969; Harrison in Harrison (ed.) 1999, xxxii–xxxiv. 14 Coulter 1976, 22–23. 15 Coulter 1976, 22. 16 Although Beroaldo himself did not agree with Fulgentius’ allegorizing of the tale of Cupid and Psyche, he had quoted Fulgentius extensively, and in this way Fulgentius’ al- legorical interpretations influenced the readers of Beroaldo’s influential commentary, where they also found an allegorical, moralizing interpretation of the whole of the Gol- den Ass. 224 MAAIKE ZIMMERMAN of this question; all relevant information may be found in the excellent bibli- ographical reviews we possess.17 5. New approaches and other ‘chains of receptions’ The burgeoning scholarly interest in Apuleius’ Golden Ass since the second half of the twentieth century has led to various new appreciations of this novel:18 The Golden Ass is now generally admired and avidly read as a lite- rary masterpiece, as a rich and intriguing text encouraging the reader to dis- cover ever new intricate intertextual and interdiscursive patterns. It is also read against the social and cultural background of Apuleius’ time, adumbrat- ing the position of a literary artist living and working in, and publishing from, a province of the Roman Empire.19 It is also shown that in this work the author emerges as a Latin representative of the Second Sophistic, and as an Antonine orator, thoroughly engaged in the rhetorical and cultural ques- tions with which his contemporaries like Gellius and Favorinus and others were concerned.20 Although disagreeing about the extent to which Platonic elements may be detected in the Metamorphoses, no one nowadays will deny that this novel by Apuleius ‘philosophus platonicus’ might be fruitfully read while paying attention to its Platonic undercurrents, whether they be inter- preted as a serious undertone, or as largely comic, or as a display by the au- thor of his erudition.21 Although the tale of Cupid and Psyche has by many been interpreted in an allegorical way mirroring the overarching Lucius tale,22 an allegorical explanation of the whole novel was largely avoided in any case by those who were of the opinion that the sole aim of Apuleius with his Metamorphoses was to offer pure entertainment and to show off. This opinion was often combined with the reproach that the earnestness and religious fervor of Book ————— 17 Schlam 1971; Harrison in Harrison (ed.) 1999, xxvi–xxxix; Schlam and Finkelpearl 2001. 18 This becomes immediately apparent from the reviews mentioned in the previous note. 19 See e.g. Finkelpearl 1998, 132–144 ; Edwards 2001; Swain 2001; Alvares 2007; Finkel- pearl 2007. 20 Sandy 1997; Harrison 2000; Keulen 2007; Riess (ed.) 2008. 21 For bibliography on the subject see Finkelpearl in Schlam and Finkelpearl 2001, 99–117 (Ch. VI. Philosophic Readings); references to philosophy largely comic, or as sophistic display of erudition: Harrison 2000, 252–259; Trapp 2001; Kirichenko 2008. 22 Mirroring as a foreshadowing of the culmination of Lucius’ own adventures in the Isis book (see bibliography in Schlam and Finkelpearl 2001, 140–144), or mirroring as coun- terpoint to the Lucius story (Penwill 1975; 1990; 1998). ‘FOOD FOR THOUGHT’ 225 Eleven fitted uneasily with the first ten books full of ribald episodes. Helm and Perry were among the most prominent early representatives of this view,23 and they may rightly be regarded as having originated another quite influential chain of receptions (see for this concept above, section 1), to which new links are added up to the present day.24 The learned and influential monograph by Winkler may be considered a strong new link in this chain of receptions.25 Winkler, as others before him did, assumes a complete narrative break between the first ten books and the eleventh book. In his narratological analysis of the novel, Winkler makes a virtue of this narrative break, which invites the first reader to re-read and thus to become an interpreting ‘second-time reader’. Central to Apuleius’ novel are precisely the act of interpreting and the process of narrating. Wink- ler’s narratological reading of the Golden Ass, and his statement that the Golden Ass lacks key elements of authorization and that it resembles a set of games for readers to play, has inspired many readers and interpreters since to play their ever more sophisticated games with this text.26 Besides the chain of receptions that as it were was envigoured and re- directed throught the impact of Winkler’s monograph, another chain of re- ceptions in which for instance Wlosok and Tatum are important links,27 has remained vital up to the present day. Scholars who may be considered as links in this latter chain advocate the unity of the eleven books of the Meta- morphoses by tracing binding elements like themes, recurrent patterns, and other ‘hermeneutic signs’. Although other names could be mentioned, I think that it is justified to mention Carl Schlam as a very important link in this chain of receptions. It has been, as one may expect, in this chain of recep- tions, that allegorical interpretations naturally could gain a fresh foothold. Thus, for instance Schlam wrote: ‘In classical scholarship allegory is still something of a dirty word, although it has been rehabilitated in other areas of literary scholarship.’28 ————— 23 Cf. e.g. Helm 1914, 175 (= Helm 1968, 182), calling the eleventh book of the Meta- morphoses: ‘ein ganz unpassender dunkler Flecken auf einen heiteren, hellen Gewande’ (‘an unbecoming dark spot on a cheerful and bright cloth’); cf. Perry 1967, 234; 242– 248. 24 For more recent ‘links’ in this chain, see Schlam and Finkelpearl 2001, 50–54; 63–74. 25 Winkler 1985. 26 Besides many adherents and much positive response, Winkler’s book of course also encountered more negative and often well-founded criticism. Important representatives of such reactions are e.g. Van der Paardt 1988; Egelhaaf-Gaiser 2000 (in her introductory chapters). 27 Wlosok 1969; Tatum 1969 and 1979; Alpers 1980. 28 Schlam 1992, 14. 226 MAAIKE ZIMMERMAN There remain, along the way, those who unequivocally dismiss any alle- gorical explanation of Apuleius’ novel, a dismissal expressed for instance by Harrison: ‘Many modern readers still feel the urge to interpret Apuleius’ Metamorphoses as an allegorical text, feeling that the surface story is too insubstantial and frivolous for so apparently ambitious a literary work.’ Har- rison then mentions Merkelbach, and the view of Apuleius’ novel as a Plato- nising allegory (adding references from Beroaldo onward), and continues: ‘In my view these attempts to make Apuleius intellectually respectable in terms of uplifting content are misconceived … What we have in the Meta- morphoses … is a type of literature where the prime intellectual element derives not from a didactic message but from a complex and allusive literary text.’29 This discomfort with allegorical interpretations is based on the idea that such interpretations always look for didactic or moralizing, protreptic or propagandistic messages, as indeed had been the case with the late antique and religious-philosophical allegories discussed above (section 4). Schlam, however, in my opinion, has paved the way for another approach to allegori- cal interpretations, arguing that the Metamorphoses is in no sense a pure or continuous allegory (as Beroaldo and others would have it); however, since allegorical interpretation, especially of Homer, was a well-established part of the horizon of ideas in the second century, ‘… its prominence gives validity to our understanding some of the motifs and events of the Metamorphoses as expressions of religious and philosophic conceptions.’30 Thus, allegory not applied as a kind of code, concealing a systematic analogy with some external discourse, but as a function of reading, might very well regain a place among various approaches to Apuleius’ novel, each of them with its own set of modes enriching our understanding of this text. There is no use in denying this second-century text its ‘allegorical moments’, and in this way enriching our understanding of it. 6. ‘Allegorical moments’ in the Metamorphoses In several instances, allegorical explanation, especially of Homer, is alluded to and re-activated in Apuleius’ novel. One example is the theme of ‘for- ————— 29 Harrison 2002, 163. 30 Schlam 1992, 14. Cf. Münstermann 1995, 60–61. ‘FOOD FOR THOUGHT’ 227 gettting the home-journey’.31 The Circe episode in Homer’s Odyssey, as well as the episode of the Lotos-eaters, both tell us that those who accepted food and drinks from Circe, respectively those who ate from the lotosfruits, com- pletely forgot about their homeland. These Homeric passages, especially the Circe episode, were cherished loci for allegorical interpretations of Homer. As is well known, in Apuleius’ novel the theme of forgetting about the home-journey plays an important role. In Metamorphoses 1,7,5-1,8.2 So- crates tells Aristomenes about his sexual relationship with the witch Meroe, who had entertained him with food and drinks when he was miserably robbed, and then had lured him into her bed. Socrates then had forgotten all about returning home. In Metamorphoses Book Two, Lucius shares food, drink and sex with Fotis, and in Met. 3,19,5-6 he sincerely declares that he is completely addicted to her, and does not think of ever returning home: Iam denique nec larem requiro nec domuitionem paro et nocte ista nihil antepono. ‘In fact I do not miss my home any more and I am not preparing to re- turn there, and nothing is more important to me than the night with you.’ (Apul. Met. 3,19,6. Transl. Hanson) When, in the tenth book, Lucius, the ass, is taken to Corinth, the town that in the first two books has several times been mentioned as his hometown, the narrator, Lucius, appears not even to realize that he has returned to his native town:32 Although Lucius often compares himself with Odysseus, he has not resisted his ‘Circe’, and through his relationship with Fotis, he has forgotten about his nostos. That Apuleius was aware of the allegorical potentialities of Homer’s Circe episode and other Homeric passages is apparent from a pas- sage in the De deo Socratis where he praises Odysseus with these words: Circae poculum non bibit nec mutatus est, ad Lotophagos accessit nec remansit : Sirenas audiit nec accessit. (Soc. 24,178) (Guided by Minerva = wisdom, Odysseus) drank Circe’s potion and was not metamorphosed, he went to the Lotos-eaters and did not stay there, he heard the Sirens and did not come to them. ————— 31 An extraordinary meaningful motif, found from Homer to Boethius: see Alpers 2006, 19–22. See also about this theme in the Metamorphoses and on Apuleius’ Lucius as an ‘anti-Odysseus’ Montiglio 2007. 32 See Zimmerman 2000, 259 on Apul. Met. 10,19,1, with references. Cf. also Montiglio 2007, 105–106.