1. (Epicurus fr. 551 Usener). It is of course analogous to the choice made by Odysseus when he comes to choose his next life in the Myth of Er (Pl. Rep. 620c-d). But in the Odyssey itself, Odysseus, despite his change in attitude towards the heroic value system, is not allowed to shed his role as king and warrior; as Athene reminds him (Od. 22.224–35), to overcome the suitors requires him to reassume the heroic qualities he displayed in the Trojan War, and in the final battle with the suitors’ relatives we see him once again glorying in his slaughter of his opponents on the battlefield (24.526f., 536f.) from which he can only be deterred, as was Diomedes at Iliad 8.133–71, by a thunderbolt from Zeus. That is the life to which one is bound by the heroic choice. The choice Lucius makes will come with its own binding consequences, as we shall see.

2. This episode is extensively treated by Marks, R., From Republic to Empire: Scipio Africanus in the Punica of Silius Italicus (Frankfurt-a.-M. 2005), 148–61Google Scholar, and earlier by Heck, E., ‘Scipio am Scheideweg’, WS n.f. 4 (1970), 156–80Google Scholar. Neither of these studies specifically links the choice of Scipio to those made by other epic heroes. On the relevance of the Choice of Heracles to Apuleius’ Metamorphoses see Zimmerman, M., ‘On the Road in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, in M. Paschalis and S. Frangoulidis (eds.), Space in the Ancient Novel (Groningen 2002), 78–97Google Scholar, at 91–94.

3. Zimmerman (n.2 above), 94, citing Ath. Deip. 510c, maintains that the Judgement of Paris is itself a choice between virtue and pleasure. But the fact that there are three choices rather than two militates against this; one cannot ignore the fact that Juno and Minerva themselves each represent something different.

4. This of course raises the issue of Apuleius’ ‘source’ for his ass story, on which much has been written. Mason, H.J., ‘Fabula Graecanica: Apuleius and his Greek Sources’, in B.L. Hijmans and R.T. van der Paardt, Aspects of Apuleius’ Golden Ass (Groningen 1978), 1–15Google Scholar (repr. in Harrison, S.J. [ed.], Oxford Readings in the Roman Novel [Oxford 1999], 217–36Google Scholar), at 1–6 (217–26), argues that it is oversimplifying to see the Onos as Apuleius’ only source. It is clear though from the correspondences between the two stories that the Onos (in whatever version) furnished the plotline on which the Metamorphoses is based, and I tend to agree with those who regard it as that to which the prologue (1.1) refers in the phrase fabulam Graecanicam. See the judicious comments of Finkelpearl, E., ‘Apuleius, the Onos, and Rome’, in M. Paschalis, S. Frangoulidis, S. Harrison and M. Zimmerman (eds.), The Greek and the Roman Novel: Parallel Readings (Groningen 2007), 263–76Google Scholar, at 263f.: ‘[I]n order to say anything at all about Apuleius’ use of the Greek source, we have to assume that what appears in the Onos was in the version that Apuleius saw.’ However, it is also clear that Apuleius in typical Roman fashion sets up an intertextual relationship between the Metamorphoses and the Onos (along with a multiplicity of other texts) so that the concept ‘source’ itself becomes an oversimplification. On intertextuality in the Metamorphoses see Morgan, J. and Harrison, S.J., ‘Intertextuality’, in T. Whitmarsh (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel (Cambridge 2008), 218–36CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 230–33, with further bibliography there cited; see also Harrison, S.J., Apuleius: A Latin Sophist (Oxford 2000), 222–25Google Scholar. Some useful observations on intertextuality with the Onos (despite occasional lapses into jargon) may also be found in Zimmerman, M., Apuleius Madaurensis Metamorphoses Book X: Text, Introduction and Commentary (Groningen 2000), 17fGoogle Scholar.

5. Paus. 2.4.6–5.1: (‘Acrocorinth is the summit of a mountain overlooking the city; when he was arbitrating [sc. between Poseidon and Helios] Briareos gave it to Helios, and Helios according to the Corinthians’ account passed it on to Aphrodite… When you get to the top of Acrocorinth there is a temple of Aphrodite; the statues are one of the goddess equipped for action, one of Helios and one of Eros holding a bow’). On the significance of Corinth in the Metamorphoses see the discussion in Graverini, L., Le Metamorfosi di Apuleio: letteratura e identità (Pisa 2007), 189–98Google Scholar. Graverini notes that Corinth was also an important centre for the Isiac cult (189), but this does not seem to be of relevance to the Metamorphoses. Pausanias certainly records the presence of two precincts (τεμέvη) of Isis, including one of Isis Pelagia (Paus. 2.4.6) which you encounter as you begin the climb up to Acrocorinth; their position much lower down could suggest that this is where Isis belongs in the divine pecking order at Corinth. As far as the Metamorphoses is concerned, Corinth proper belongs to Venus; Cenchreae is where Isis comes into her own.

6. Finkelpearl, E., Metamorphosis of Language in Apuleius: A Study of Allusion in the Novel (Ann Arbor 1998), 156CrossRefGoogle Scholar. On the meaning of Thiasus see Zimmerman (n.4 above), 249f.; on its significance, B.L. Hijmans, ‘Significant Names and their Function in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, in Hijmans and van der Paardt (n.4 above), 107–22, at 112. The wording by which this name is introduced (hoc enim nomine meus nuncupabatur dominus, ‘for by this name was my master addressed’, 10.18), allows the slight possibility that it was a nickname; certainly it is otherwise attested only as a name of Greek freedmen (Zimmerman loc. cit., citing H. Solin, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der griechischen Personennamen in Rom [Helsinki 1971]).

7. See I Ep. Cor. 5–7, noted also by Mason, H.J., ‘Lucius at Corinth’, Phoenix 25 (1971), 160–65CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 161.

8. The Corinth in which the novel is set (and to which St Paul directs his two epistles) is of course that refounded by C. Julius Caesar. According to Cassius Dio 43.50.3–5 Caesar rebuilt many cities, but his restoration of Carthage and Corinth gave him particular satisfaction (ἐσεμvύvετo). While this may at least in part have arisen from a sense of righting the perceived wrong perpetrated on these cities in 146 BCE, in the case of Corinth one is tempted to speculate that its importance to his ancestor Venus may have been a factor. Or could this be seen as part fulfilment of his vow on the eve of Pharsalus to build a temple to Venus Victrix in Rome if he were victorious (App. BC 2.68)? On Caesar and Venus see Weinstock, S., Divus Iulius (Oxford 1971), 15–18, 23f.Google Scholar, 80–90; Penwill, J.L., ‘Lucretius and the First Triumvirate’, in W.J. Dominik, J. Garthwaite and P.A. Roche (eds.), Writing Politics in Imperial Rome (Leiden and Boston 2009), 63–87CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 77–79. I have to confess I remain sceptical about the emphasis recent scholarship (e.g. Finkelpearl [n.4 above]; Graverini [n.5 above]) places on issues of cultural identity (i.e. Greek and Roman) vis-à-vis the relocation to Corinth; it is the city’s function as a centre of Venus-worship that seems to me to be the paramount consideration.

9. The Corinthian episode in fact constitutes the climax in a series of tales revolving around the pursuit of sexual pleasure, a theme prominent in the Metamorphoses following the central myth of Cupid and Psyche which tells how pleasure came into the world. See Penwill, J.L., ‘Reflections on a “Happy Ending”: The Case of Cupid and Psyche’, Ramus 27 (1998), 160–82CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 175. But it is in Corinth that it becomes particularly concentrated. On this aspect of Corinth see Mason (n.7 above), 161f.; Tatum, J., Apuleius and the Golden Ass (Ithaca 1979), 79fGoogle Scholar.

10. Met. 10.19–23; Onos 50–52.

11. Met. 10.23–28.

12. Met. 10.30–34.

13. Met 10.34–35; Onos 53–55.

14. I owe the reference to Titania’s (magically induced) infatuation with the metamorphosed Bottom in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream to Finkelpearl (n.6 above), 155 n.13. But I cannot agree with Finkelpearl’s assertion that ‘the scene with the matrona…is arguably the most touching and tender scene between members of the opposite sex in the novel’ (154f.); similarly Shumate, N., Crisis and Conversion in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (Ann Arbor 1996), 125f.CrossRefGoogle Scholar, and Nethercut, W., ‘Apuleius’ Metamorphoses: The Journey‘, AΓΩN 3 (1969), 97–134Google Scholar, at 124f. (with some pertinent observations about the links Apuleius sets up between the matrona and both Fotis and Pamphile). The matrona may use tender and erotic language in her foreplay, but she has no idea that the ass can understand what she is saying; to her this is a donkey with a donkey-sized penis that she wants inside her, and the language, gestures and clearly well-practised sexual techniques she employs are all means to this end. See Zimmerman (n.4 above), 22: ‘In the nightly trysts of the ass and the matrona, human being and animal literally merge and the matrona shows more animal traits than the ass’, together with commentary at 287. Of course Lucius has a reason for foregrounding the tender aspects of the encounter and his concern for the matrona’s welfare; he wants to play the part of a human lover, not a sex-object. That the latter is what he is is rightly emphasised by C. Schlam, ‘Sex and Sanctity: The Relationship of Male and Female in the Metamorphoses’, in Hijmans and van der Paardt (n.4 above), 95–105, at 103.

15. Cf. Lytle, E., ‘Apuleius’ Metamorphoses and the spurcum additamentum (10.21)’, CP 98 (2003), 349–65Google Scholar, at 363, citing the auctioneer’s comment at 8.25 which suggests that the size of the ass’s genitalia indicates an enormous capacity for work (grandem…patientiam). Lytle’s overall thesis, that the whole episode including the spurcum additamentum is drawn from actual farm practice in mating donkeys and mares, would in fact reinforce the point made in the previous note; this woman knows what she wants and how to get it.

16. Onos 56.

17. The allusion is to Juno arousing Allecto to inspire a similar jealousy in Turnus at Aeneid 7323–474. That Fortuna is given this otherwise gratuitously negative role in the story is more than simply saying that it was sheer bad luck that the woman involved was so prone to sexual jealousy; it links to the way in which Fortuna is portrayed as dominating the lives of human beings in the second half of the novel, a domination from which Lucius is promised freedom by the priest of Isis at 11.15. See Penwill, J.L., ‘Slavish Pleasures and Profitless Curiosity: Fall and Redemption in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, Ramus 4 (1975), 49–82CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 62–64. I cannot agree with May that Fortuna’s presence here (or indeed anywhere in this novel) has her being ‘employed pregnantly, as the patron goddess of comedy’ (May, R., Apuleius and Drama: The Ass on Stage [Oxford 2006], 281CrossRefGoogle Scholar).

18. In fact it turns her into a Medea figure, whose murder of her rival likewise takes place in Corinth and also involves fire. This point is noted by Mason (n.7 above, 163) but seems to be ignored by May (n.17 above).

19. See Penwill, J.L., ‘Ambages Reciprocae: Reviewing Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, Ramus 19 (1990), 1–25CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 9f.; Penwill (n.17 above), 50–59; Penwill (n.9 above), passim.

20. On this episode and its relation to the mime see Finkelpearl, E., ‘The Judgement of Lucius: Apuleius, Metamorphoses 10.29–34’, ClAnt 10 (1991), 221–36Google Scholar. Cf. also Tatum (n.9 above), 79f.; Habinek, T., ‘Lucius’ Rite of Passage’, MD 25 (1990), 49–69Google Scholar, at 55–58.

21. It is worth noting that this Venus is a natural beauty, in contrast to Prodicus’ Vice and Silius’ Pleasure who rely on make-up, elaborate hairstyles and sluttishly revealing clothing to tempt their intended victims. Zimmerman (n.4 above), 94f., rightly sees an allusion to the Choice of Heracles here, but the allusion is one of contrast, not similarity. The attraction of this Venus resides in her adolescent freshness (qualis fuit Venus cum fuit uirgo, ‘just as Venus was when she was a virgin/young girl’); she does not have the ‘used’ or experienced mien of her sophistic and epic counterparts. She is delectable, the epitome of sexual desirability—and it is important in the overall thematic design of the novel that she is so.

22. For the erotic connotations of this spurting saffron and of the mons ligneus in general see Finkelpearl (n.20 above), 224–26.

23. Zimmerman (n.4 above), 395, gives ‘at the beginning of world history’ for rerum exordio, but the parallels she cites from Lucretius and Gellius suggest something more fundamental than this.

24. It is hard to resist noting that Mekone is said to be the old name of Sikyon, just down the road from Corinth. See West, M.L., Hesiod: Theogony (Oxford 1966), 318Google Scholar.

25. As many critics have noted, there is a major incongruity in Lucius interposing these reflections here as it is his own description of the mime that has dwelt so lovingly and lasciviously on the appearance of Venus, suggesting that he shares the delight of the Corinthian audience and the mentality of Paris. See Finkelpearl (n.20 above), 232–34 (with discussion of earlier views at 233). But it is not untypical of Apuleius to play with his readers in this way, and when we come to this passage as second readers we can hear the Isiac lawyer talking (and perhaps getting his own back on the maleuoli who have been giving him a hard time at 11.30). The imagined reader’s response at the end of 10.33 (‘Hey [ecce], do we have to listen to a lecture on philosophy from an ass?’) evokes the image of the author giving himself a slap on the wrist—‘get back into character and don’t give the game away before Book 11: there’s not long to wait.’

26. J. Gwyn Griffiths, ‘Isis in the Metamorphoses of Apuleius’, in Hijmans and van der Paardt (n.4 above), 141–66, at 154, comments ‘…there may be a hint of contrast, later, between the dissolute aura of Corinth and the austere appeal of Isis, although it is not pointedly conveyed.’ On the contrary, it is in my view extremely pointed. On the ‘liminal’ nature of the move from Corinth to Cenchreae, cf. Zimmerman (n.2 above), 80.

27. Zimmerman (n.4 above), 415 ad loc, does not make this association, preferring instead to note the verbal link with Psyche’s being deposited by Zephyr caespitis gremio (‘in a grassy hollow’) at the end of Book 4 (so too Smith, W.S., ‘The Narrative Voice in Apuleius Metamorphoses’, TAPA 103 [1972], 513–34Google Scholar [repr. Harrison (n.4 above Oxford Readings) 195–216], at 529 [210]). As I have argued elsewhere, associations verbal and narratological between Lucius’ adventures and the story of Psyche are designed to point up contrasts, not create parallels.

28. For parallel mystic experiences induced by visions of the full moon cf. Rambo, L., Understanding Religious Conversion (New Haven 1993), 25Google Scholar (cited at Shumate [n.14 above], 311f. n.19); Kenney, E.J., Apuleius: The Golden Ass. A New Translation (Harmondsworth 1998), xx–xxiGoogle Scholar; id., ‘In the Mill with Slaves: Lucius Looks Back in Gratitude’, TAPA 133 (2003), 159–92Google Scholar, at 173 n.42.

29. Habinek (n.20 above), 67, implies that Lucius’ prayer is addressed to Isis; it is not, as the series of siue/seu clauses that follow make clear. In a similar manner to the examples cited in the previous note, the sight of the full moon inspires in him a sudden and overwhelming conviction that the world is ruled and ordered by a supreme and beneficent goddess (summatem deam, 11.1) whose image the moon is and whom he addresses at the beginning of 11.2 as regina caeli, ‘Queen of heaven’. It is not until Isis reveals herself to Lucius in the dream narrated at 11.3–6 that Lucius realises who this ‘queen of heaven’ really is. See Laird, A., ‘Description and Divinity in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, GCN 8 (1997), 59–85Google Scholar, at 71; van Mal-Maeder, D., ‘Lector, intende: laetaberis: The Enigma of the Last Book of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, GCN 8 (1997), 87–118Google Scholar, at 93f.

30. On the way in which the repetition of the phrase meo Lucio (‘[to] my Lucius’) here and elsewhere reflects the ass’s anxiety about his identity see Winkler, J.J., Auctor and Actor: A Narratological Reading of Apuleius’s The Golden Ass (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London 1985), 151Google Scholar. There is no little irony in the fact that the first to employ the phrase was Fotis back at 3.25, also in the context of roses: nam rosis tantum demorsicatis exibis asinum statimque in meum Lucium postliminio redibis (‘for all you have to do is chew on roses and you will exit from the ass, restoring the status quo by returning to my Lucius’). It would seem that this, the crucial point of the last thing she ever said to him, has firmly stuck in his mind.

31. This phrase was appropriated by Finkelpearl for her article on Lucius’ representations of and responses to the Judgement of Paris mime at Corinth (Finkelpearl n.20 above). But in my view it is in Book 11 that Lucius is really required to play the part of Paris.

32. Marlowe, Doctor Faustus, 5.1.94. It is in fact Menelaus on whom the kiss of Helen confers immortality (Horn. Od. 561–69); no matter what Venus may have promised to Paris she could not make him the legitimate son-in-law of Jupiter, which is what qualifies Menelaus for entry into the Elysian Fields.

33. The adjective tenacibus suggests that this is more than a temporary abstinence. Van Mal-Maeder (n.28 above), 107 n.70, cites Plut. Is. et Os. 352f in support of her contention that abstinence was only required ‘before certain rituals and ceremonies’, but Plutarch is referring to dietary restrictions, not sex. Lucius concealment of his penis after the retransformation at 10.14, contrasting as it does both with his enjoyment at the display of the nude youth playing Mercury at 10.30 as well as to his earlier exposure of himself to Fotis at 2.16 and his unashamed nakedness as he rubs himself with the ointment which turns him into an ass at 3.24 (contrasting too with the Aphrodite of Knidos pose adopted by Fotis at 2.17 which is done to excite rather than conceal [on which see Slater, N.W., ‘Passion and Petrifaction: The Gaze in Apuleius’, CP 93 (1998), 18–48Google Scholar, at 241), symbolises the fact that he now regards this organ as something forever to be kept hidden. We may note that the Loukios of the Onos shows no embarrassment about being naked in the arena after his retransformation or about running naked back to his ship after being thrown out of the house by the woman who no longer finds his proportions satisfying (Onos 54, 56).

34. Recent critics (myself included—see Penwill [n.19 above], 12 with 23 n.61) have drawn attention to the way in which Lucius’ description of his dream vision of Isis at 11.4 focuses on those aspects of feminine appearance that he has earlier found particularly alluring: her hair (on which cf. 2.8–9) and the sweetness of her breath (on which cf. 2.10). This position is most fully expounded in Schmeling, G. and Montiglio, S., ‘Riding the Waves of Passion: An Exploration of an Image of Appetites in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, in W.H. Keulen, R.R. Nauta and S. Panayotakis (eds.), Lectiones Scrupulosae: Essays on the Text and Interpretation of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses in Honour of Maaike Zimmerman (Groningen 2006), 28–41Google Scholar, where the authors explore what they see as ‘the continuity between Lucius’ erotic passion and his religious experience’ (38); cf. also Nethercut (n.14 above), 128f. But while Lucius may react to her in ways which recall those of a besotted lover (see esp. his reaction to and speech following his first initiation at 11.24–25), the love he feels for Isis is not sexual in the way that his love/lust for Fotis was. Fotis is a beautiful (and sexy) woman who tries to make herself look like a goddess (as indeed is the girl playing Venus in the Judgement of Paris mime); Isis is a goddess who manifests as a beautiful (and, unlike the others, clothed) woman. There is a fundamental difference here. Lucius’ reaction to Isis’ statue no matter how much ‘over the top’ is not that of the unfortunate man who fell in love with the Aphrodite of Knidos ([Luc.] Am. 15–16); there will be no stain on this goddess’s thigh.

35. On which see Penwill (n.17 above), 50–59, Penwill (n.19 above), 9f., Penwill (n.9 above), passim. On the contrast set up between the Venus of ‘Cupid and Psyche’ and Isis in Book 11 via the use of Lucretian allusion see Finkelpearl (n.6 above), 200–02.

36. Paus. 2.2.3: (‘In Cenchreae there is both a temple and stone statue of Aphrodite, and behind that on the mole that projects out into the sea a bronze statue of Poseidon, while at the other end of the harbour there are shrines of Isis and Asclepius’). On the archaeology of the temple of Isis in particular, see Williams, H., ‘The Ships on the Kenchreai Glass Panels’, in M. Zimmerman and R. van der Paardt (eds.), Metamorphic Reflections: Essays Presented to Ben Hijmans at his 75th Birthday (Leuven 2004), 297–308Google Scholar, at 300–02.

37. This seems to be the reason (or at least one of the reasons) why Apuleius chooses this particular ceremony for the setting of Lucius’ retransformation. For other possibilities see Finkelpearl (n.6 above), 212–14. On the ceremony itself see the exhaustive discussion of Gwyn Griffiths, J., Apuleius of Madauros: The Isis Book (Metamorphoses Book 11) (Leiden 1975), 31–47Google Scholar.

38. Cf. Nethercut (n.14 above), 126: ‘We could ask for no better proof of the spiritual elevation which has come to pass in Lucius than the words with which he reflects on the prospect of lying with this creature [sic].’ Finkelpearl (n.20 above), 235, is inclined to downplay this; Winkler (n.29 above), 147, remarks that to read Lucius’ concern with moral contagion ‘as a sign of a new moral conscience in him is simply wrong’, suggesting rather that it is social snobbery that makes him reluctant: ‘Lucius objects not to sexual contact as such but to the woman’s status as a criminal…’ All three factors in fact attest to the ass’s humanness: most I think would shy away from having sex in public while being perfectly prepared to indulge in private, whereas real donkeys couldn’t care less; the fear of being devoured by the beasts demonstrates an ability to think in terms of future possibilities which animals do not share (an idea enhanced by the humorous touch of highlighting the beasts’ being not sufficiently intelligent to realise that Lucius is innocent to which both Finkelpearl and Winkler draw attention); and the fear of moral contagion, which argues not so much conscience but a moral sensibility, again a very human trait.

39. As Zimmerman (n.4 above), 21, rightly notes, this has been repeatedly emphasised in the narrative from the moment of transformation onwards.

40. On this aspect of Lucius’ resumption of a human identity see Rosati, G., ‘Quis ille? Identità e metamorfosi nel romanzo di Apuleio’, in M. Citroni (ed.), Memoria e identità: la cultura romana costruisce la sua immagine (Florence 2003), 267–96Google Scholar, at 290f.

41. Cf. Stephenson, W.E., ‘The Comedy of Evil in Apuleius’, Arion 3.3 (1964), 87–93Google Scholar, at 92: ‘Even when Lucius finally impresses his latest owner with his “human” qualities, the man only values him as a performing animal, an amusing sport thrown out by nature.’ See also Schlam, C., The Metamorphoses of Apuleius: On Making an Ass of Oneself’ (London 1992), 53Google Scholar and 73.

42. Cf. Laird, A., ‘Person, “Persona” and Representation in Apuleius’s Metamorphoses’, MD 25 (1990), 129–64Google Scholar, at 149: ‘[I]t is almost as if, with this wave of spiritual refreshment, Lucius’s transformation back into human form has already been partly effected.’ However, it is not necessary to assume with Finkelpearl (n.6 above), 204f., that Lucius actually speaks the words of this prayer; silent prayer as Finkelpearl herself points out was not unknown in the ancient world, nor is it unprecedented for Lucius-as-ass either; witness his invocation of the god Success as he gallops towards what he thinks are roses at 4.2 (inuocato hilaro atque prospero Euentu, ‘with a prayer to joyful and favourable Success’). Nor is the weeping implied by lacrimoso uultu (‘with tearful countenance’) a problem. Laird (op. cit.), 149 n.46, rightly links this with Achilles’ horses weeping for Patroclus at Horn. Il. 17.437–40 (to which add the war-horse Aethon weeping for Pallas at Virg. Aen. 11.89f. or the bullock mourning for its dead yokemate at Geo. 3.518). The common feature is loss; what Lucius has lost is himself (redde me meo Lucio).

43. Met. 11.5, where the list of names, like the list of attributes which precedes it, has a definite hymnic quality. See Gwyn Griffiths (n.37 above), 145–57; Schlam (n.41 above), 115. It is noteworthy that Fortuna is not included among the goddesses that Apuleius has Isis list here. It is also noteworthy that despite Lucius’ prompting (seu tu caelestis Venus, ‘whether you are heavenly Venus’, 11.2) Isis does not identify herself with this goddess, but simply says that the Cyprians worship her as Venus of Paphos (illinc fluctuantes Cyprii Paphiam Venerem…appellant). It would seem on the basis of this that we are not being invited to draw what might otherwise seem the obvious inference, namely that the contrast between the Venus of the Corinthian mime and Isis should be analogised to that between Venus uulgaria and Venus caeles of Apology 12. I am tempted to suggest that Apuleius is tacitly acknowledging that what was presented there as alta…et diuina Platonica (‘deep and divine Platonic doctrines’) was an ad hominem argument designed to humiliate the prosecution (because of their ignorance—see Fletcher above passim) and to fool the judge (who thinks he knows but reads indiscriminately), and that he is perfectly well aware that the speech in Plato’s Symposium from which it is drawn, that of Pausanias (Symp. 180c–185c), was a rhetorical invention whose sole purpose was to legitimise exploitative pederasty—but that is a topic for another day.

44. For a tabulated summary of the two episodes see the Appendix at pp. 99–101 below.

45. The figures in the anteludia have been variously interpreted. See for example Nethercut, W., ‘Apuleius’ Literary Art: Resonance and Depth in the Metamorphoses’, CJ 64 (1968), 110–19Google Scholar, at 117–19; Harrison (n.4 above Latin Sophist), 240–43; Penwill (n.19 above), 18 n.28; Fick-Michel, N., Art et mystique dans les Metamorphoses d’ Apulée (Paris 1991), 421–23CrossRefGoogle Scholar; Finkelpearl (n.6 above), 210f.; May (n.17 above), 324–27. For a more sceptical analysis see Gwyn Griffiths (n.26 above), 158f.

46. The contrast between the representations of divinities in the two shows is well brought out by Laird (n.29 above), 77. Mercury in the Corinthian theatre is essentially a sex object; with Anubis it is as if the god is actually present. Note esp. nec mora cum dei dignati pedibus humanis incedere prodeunt (‘straight after that came the gods, deigning to walk on human feet’, 11.11 init.).

47. The cow is originally associated with the goddess Hathor, but is here subsumed as one of the many manifestations of Isis. See Gwyn Griffiths (n.37 above), 219–21.

48. On this casket, see Gwyn Griffiths (n.37 above), 222–26.

49. Gwyn Griffiths (n.37 above), 226f., identifies the phrase summi numinis as referring to Osiris, despite the fact that as he himself points out ‘Osiris is always anthropomorphic’ whereas this object clearly is not. Nor does an anthropomorphic image of Osiris seem to be implied by the phrase miris extrinsecus simulacris Aegyptiorum effigiata (‘engraved on the outside with amazing Egyptian-style images’) which would be much better taken as indicating hieroglyphs, incomprehensible to a non-Egyptian (cf. the more detailed description of hieroglyphic writing in the context of sacred books at 11.22 fin., where incomprehensibility is explicitly a significant issue). My view is that Lucius at this stage of his religious development (see next note) can only be thinking of Isis; Osiris does not enter the picture until he gets to Rome (11.26ff.). (That Lucius as narrator gives the reader the perspective on events at the time they occur rather than from the vantage point of the future is well-recognised as characteristic of this novel.) On the tone of the description and the way in which it constitutes a paradigm shift in Lucius’ imaging of divinity see Laird (n.29 above), 79.

50. Those who like Kenney (n.28 above ‘In the Mill’), 173f., complain that Lucius’ representation of the Isis cult is marred by contradictions (e.g. that whereas Isis represents herself at 11.5 as the summa numinum it is later revealed to him at 11.30 that the true supreme divinity is Osiris) indicates naivety and a willingness to believe anything he is told seem to me to miss the point. Over the course of Book 11 Lucius is on a learning curve with respect to encounters with the divine; first the moon, then the vision of Isis as a beautiful female figure, then the cult objects which move away from anthropomorphism, and finally the vision of Osiris non <in> alienam quampiam personam reformatus (‘not reshaped into a persona belonging to another’, 11.30), which in sharp contrast to the corresponding dream vision of Isis is not described, but is simply termed an affamen, ‘address’, what in another religious context might be termed ‘a still, small voice’ (I Kings 19.12) or the ‘voice’ (uox quispiam) that constituted Socrates’ divine sign (de Deo Soc. 20). It is an upward progression that counters the downward progression of Books 1–10 which culminates in the godsas-sex-objects display in the theatre, and the way to this progression is opened by his choice of Isis.

51. It is of course true that Lucius would have been retransformed if he had managed to find some roses by himself; he has known the antidote for his asininity all along. So Graverini (n.5 above), 85; May (n.17 above), 323; Penwill (n.19 above), 10f.; Winkler (n.30 above), 213; van Mal-Maeder (n.29 above), 101. But the point is that Lucius chooses to accept these roses and the lifelong devotion to Isis that they entail.

52. The character of Paris is well brought out by Homer in Book 3 of the Iliad. He fails miserably in the duel with Menelaus, but succeeds brilliantly in winning over the waspish Helen after Aphrodite spirits him away to the bedroom, the place he really belongs. Note especially 3.59–66, where Paris compares himself to Hector; the (‘alluring gifts of golden Aphrodite’) he speaks of at 3.64 refer not to Helen but to his essential nature, upon which the choice and the winning of Helen are consequent. This nature is the gods’ gift and cannot be cast aside (3.65).

53. Penwill (n.17 above), 66–72.

54. Recent (i.e. post-Winkler) criticism has tended to see a parodic or satiric element in the way in which Apuleius portrays Lucius’ conversion to and ever-deepening immersion in the Isis cult. Foremost among the proponents of this view is Harrison (n.4 above Latin Sophist), 244–52; cf. also Shumate (n.14 above), 325f.; van Mal-Maeder (n.28 above), 105f.,; E. Finkelpearl, ‘The Ends of the Metamorphoses (Apuleius Metamorphoses 11.26.4–11.30)’, in Zimmerman and van der Paardt (n.36 above), 319–42, esp. 336–40; Kenney (n.28 above ‘In the Mill’), 177f. I do not have space here to engage in a detailed analysis of Harrison’s arguments; suffice it to say that while we as readers might feel disappointed in the metamorphosis of our asinine narrator into an Isiac pastophore and so cast around for some way in which our amusement can be restored (giving rise to comments such as those of T.N. Habinek [n.20 above], 68, ‘At the end of the novel, Lucius appears no less asinine than he has seemed throughout’), the text simply does not permit us to regard Lucius’ conversion as anything but genuine. There is no way in which we could say that Lucius has been tricked into joining the cult, or even that he is self-deluded; the correlation between Isis’ instructions at 11.5–6 and what actually happens the following day, the fact that both she and (even more significantly) the priest at 11.15 know Lucius’ name (note that in the Onos retransformation scene the provincial governor has to ask Loukios to explain who he is), and the fact that the priest is aware at least in general terms both of what Lucius has experienced and of what led to it all preclude the notion that Lucius has been the victim of some elaborate confidence trick. The fact that we, following Lucretius or Richard Dawkins, may see any form of religion as a delusion is irrelevant; even if we think that Lucius has made the wrong choice, Lucius doesn’t—and Apuleius does not give us any reason in the text (as opposed to reasons we might import into the text) to suggest that the choice he makes is not the right one for him. (We might also think Achilles was an idiot to hang around in Troy and die young rather than go home and have a long and pleasant life with a nice girl in Phthia; but Homer likewise makes it clear that in the end he could do no other than he did.) Our suspicion of cults, our existence in the ‘age of skepticism and relativism’ that Habinek speaks of (n.20 above, 49), make it as Habinek goes on to say ‘all but impossible…to read Lucius’ conversion as anything but problematical or insincere’. But that is our problem. There is nothing in the text that cues laughter or derision; rather it is we as sceptical readers who become the object of the text’s mockery as it grinds on in its deadpan way, with Lucius insisting on telling his story right to the end, irritatingly happy in his unshakeable belief that he has found his haven. As Winkler (as always) perceptively remarks (n.30 above, 209), ‘[I]f the devotion and ardor of Lucius weren’t as near as possible to convincing, the reader would not be enticed to add his or her own conviction to make up for what just happens to be missing from Lucius’s recital.’

55. For detailed dicussion of the relationship between Lucius and Odysseus, see now Montiglio, S., ‘You Can’t Go Home Again: Lucius’ Journey in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses Set Against the Background of the Odyssey’, MD 58 (2007), 93–113Google Scholar.

56. As shown at Pun. 15.268–85 where Scipio restores a woman of outstanding beauty to her Spanish fiancé indelibata (‘untouched’) and receives fulsome praise from Laelius for doing so.

57. That Lucius is bound by his choice of Isis to a particular way of life is again seen by some critics as a negative. So e.g. Lateiner, D., ‘Humiliation and Immobility in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, TAPA 131 (2001), 217–55Google Scholar, at 227; ‘[T]he “freeze-frame” ending of the novel with bald Lucius…now on an invisible chain suggests that he has only exchanged jailers, only experienced a rite de passage into another dead end’; cf. van Mal-Maeder (n.28 above), 100: ‘…after having served several masters as an ass, Lucius finds new lords in Isis and Osiris, lords he is expected to serve for the rest of his life.’ But since choice entails exclusion of alternatives, we are all bound to certain futures by the choices that we make. This is true of Achilles, Odysseus, Aeneas, Caesar, Scipio, indeed the whole range of heroes epic and tragic, and it applies to Lucius no less than to any other. The particular service to which the redeemed Lucius is bound is portrayed by the priest at 11.15 fin. as freedom: nam cum coeperis deae seruire, tunc magis senties fructum tuae libertatis (‘for when you begin your servitude to the goddess, then all the more will you experience the benefit of your freedom’). We may of course dismiss this as tendentious rhetoric (see e.g Hindermann in this volume, pp.80f. above), but the paradox is also found in Christianity (see Gwyn Griffiths [n.37 above], 255f.) and also at Epicurus fr. 199 Usener (quoted by Seneca Ep. 8.7): philosophiae seruias oportet, ut tibi contingat uera libertas (‘you must be a slave to philosophy in order to experience true freedom’). See Kirichenko, A., ‘Lectores in fabula: Apuleius’ Metamorphoses between Pleasure and Instruction’, Prometheus 33 (2007), 254–76Google Scholar, at 270.

58. On the ‘foreignness’ of the Isis-cult and ways in which Lucius is presented as a provincial outsider in Rome, see the final section of Finkelpearl’s article in this volume (pp.30–33 above).

59. Slater, N.W., ‘Spectator and Spectacle in Apuleius’, in S. Panayotakis, M. Zimmerman and W. Keulen (eds.), The Ancient Novel and Beyond (Leiden & Boston 2003), 85–100Google Scholar, at 100, remarks that Lucius ‘apparent’ salvation through choosing Isis ‘is bought at the cost of becoming permanently part of the show’; from the moment of his retransformation to this final display of his shaved head, he is an object of the people’s gaze. At Corinth this was a role he ultimately refused to play; at Rome after his final initiation he virtually demands it (non obumbrato uel obtecto caluitio sed quoquouersus obuio, ‘with my baldness neither concealed nor covered but in your face every which way’, 11.30), ignoring the maleuolorum disseminationes (‘slanders spread by your detractors’) of which Osiris warns him and challenging the Ovids, Martials and Juvenals in the crowd (and the reader) to poke fun at and make lewd assertions about him if they dare. (For references in the satirists to clean-shaven heads and the less than salubrious associations of the Isis cult see van MalMaeder [n.29 above], 106 n.67 and 107 n.71; Graverini [n.5 above], 91 n.90; on baldness as a negative see S.J. Harrison, ‘Epic Extremities: The Openings and Closures of Books in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’ in Panayotakis et al. [op. cit.], 239–54, at 252f, citing from epic the example of Thersites; compare however Graverini [n.5 above], 90–99, who cites the contrasting example of Socrates). For a well-balanced and thought-provoking treatment of this issue, see P. James and M. O’Brien, ‘To Baldly Go: A Last Look at Lucius and his Counter-Humiliation Strategies’, in Keulen et al. (n.34 above), 234–51, at 245–50.

60. The original version of this paper was given at the joint USC/UCLA seminar on Apuleius in April 2007. I would like to express my thanks to Tony Boyle for inviting me to participate in this seminar and to the University of Southern California for its hospitality. Other versions have been presented in various locations, including the 2007 Pacific Rim Roman Literature Seminar hosted by the Australian National University. I thank those who heard it on the first and subsequent occasions for their comments and criticisms.