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Essays on the Greek Romances

Chapter 11: FOOTNOTES
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An academic survey reexamines long Greek prose romances, proposing revised datings and classifying four principal types (love, adventure, pastoral, satiric). It offers close readings of representative novels, analyzing narrative patterns—separation, peril, divine intervention, and eventual reunion—alongside stylistic influences, intertextual allusion, and social features of the Mediterranean world such as travel, piracy, and cult practices. Comparative chapters consider a satiric strain and the relationships between Greek romances and a later Latin novel, while prefatory and bibliographical material guides readers to recommended translations and fragments. The volume balances literary criticism, historical context, and practical guidance for readers and scholars.

The greater subjectivity of the Apuleius’ romance as compared to the Greek Romances is attained by the aloneness of the hero, his quest and its implicit meaning, his individual satisfaction. This subjectivity is intensified by the complete adoption of the ego-narrative. Far more attention is paid by Apuleius than by the Greek romancers to the narrator and to his point of view in telling the whole romance. Achilles Tatius was afterwards to attempt the use of this device of narration in the first person, but he soon lost sight of the narrator in the narrative and even at the end he never let him reappear. Lucian adopted completely the ich-roman form, but, as far as can be known, without rich characterization of the teller. Apuleius uses to the full the advantage of having a man-ass as narrator, for his composite hero has a duplex view-point of man and animal and displays a double humor, of man and beast. All this keeps the hero-narrator before our eyes and we become ever more and more interested in the effect of the events narrated on his inner life and on his final solution of life.

Riefstahl points out that in the Greek love romances there is some striving after subjectivity in the presentation of external events. The possibility of expression is not yet rich, but by soliloquies, by descriptions of emotions, by reflections on events expressed in γνῶμαι the romancers are working from objective to subjective presentation of their material. The soul is treated as an individual entity separated from the body and contrasted to it. On this foundation in the love romances rests the inner structural arch of spatial separation and spiritual fidelity. The relation of the objective and the subjective creates somehow the scale on which all these romances take their place. The love romances are at the objective end of the scale, the older ones particularly, dynamic events holding writer and reader spell-bound. In Longus a peaceful atmosphere is created because there are few exciting events, little travel, only the study of the development of love in two adolescents in a quiet pastoral setting, but the expression is not adequate. Longus senses the dual conception of Eros, in man and in nature, for the love of the two young shepherds is set in the teeming, growing life of the outer world, but he does not develop fully this subtle implication. Achilles Tatius inclines toward the subjective direction through his attempted use of the ego-narrative. But the fullest subjective treatment is found in Apuleius. In Achilles Tatius as in Apuleius, the aim of the hero is a μυστήριον but with him it is the μυστήριον of love; in Apuleius it is the sacrorum arcana.[373] The powerful cosmic force of love appears only in Apuleius and there it is embodied in the personality of Isis. The goddess describes herself to Lucius as “the natural mother of all things, mistress and governess of all the elements, the initial progeny of worlds, chief of the powers divine, queen of all that are in hell, the principal of them that dwell in heaven, manifested above and under one form of all the gods and goddesses.”[374]

The whole story of Apuleius pictures, according to Riefstahl, the striving of the individual towards the All. The cosmic Eros has taken the place of the ancient Greek Eros, who was a terrible power, often identified with the blind, cruel Τύχη. To this cosmic Eros Apuleius has given the name of Isis.[375] Riefstahl to be sure pushes too far his theory of an underlying philosophical content in Apuleius, representing the romance “as an artistic unit ... and as an issue of the writer’s intellectual interests and personality,” “ein künstlerisch gestaltetes Anschauungsbild der existenziellen Lebensgrundlage des Neuplatonismus.”[376] Yet he does point out astutely the fundamental difference in Apuleius which makes his Metamorphoses another distinct type of romance, the subjective philosophical.

A word now in retrospect. By the end of the second century A.D., this new genre of literature, the romance, had developed to full stature. Already besides the author of the Ninus romance, Chariton, Lucian and Apuleius had written their stories, and perhaps also Xenophon of Ephesus. The different types of romance were already established: the historical romance, the love romance with its secondary interests of adventure and religion, satirical romance, the subjective philosophical romance. The pastoral was soon to be added. That is, in the second century of our era, a new type of literature was created, a type which was to be the most popular in the modern world.[377]

It is strange to find that so distinguished and perceptive an historian as Rostovtzeff in his histories of Rome does not recognize the significance for the early empire of this new literary form. In describing the second century, he writes:[378]

“Except for the troubled reign of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Empire under the Antonines enjoyed profound peace, broken only by distant wars on the frontier. Within the empire life appeared to be, as it had been in the first century, a steady forward movement for the diffusion and enrichment of civilization. The creative power of Rome seemed to have reached its zenith. There was, however, one disquieting symptom: after the brilliant age of the Flavians we note an almost complete sterility in literature and art. After Tacitus, and after the artists who worked for Trajan ... the decades that followed failed to produce a single great writer or a single notable monument of art....

“Even before the time of war and pestilence in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, we mark in the whole of intellectual life not merely a pause but even a backward movement. The only exception is a revival of Greek rhetorical prose, perfect in form but monotonous in substance. Its chief representative is the sophist and rhetorician, Aristides, and his best work is his Panegyric on Rome. The Dialogues of Lucian are witty and interesting; he was a sceptic and a humorist who mocked all ideals both new and old. In the West there are only two names to be quoted, that of the satirist Juvenal, a gloomy and bitter observer of the dark side of human life, and that of Pliny the Younger, a shallow orator and a brilliant representative of the epistolary style. The rest both in Greece and in Italy are writers of handbooks, text-books, and of miscellaneous collections of entertaining stories for the amusement and instruction of the reader.”

Rostovtzeff’s omission of all reference to the Greek Romances (even to Lucian’s) and to Apuleius shows how completely they have been disregarded. Yet for a picture of the social life of the second and the third centuries and of the psychology of the men of the time the Greek Romances and Apuleius are a revelation.

The Roman empire had checked both political activity and oratory, indeed the orator had been succeeded by the rhetor in Greece and Rome. In the unified Mediterranean world trade had developed greatly and travellers had followed traders from one country to another, among them the lecturing sophists. The new lands visited had their curiosities and splendors so travellers’ tales multiplied with descriptions often worthy of a natural history. Men, diverted from the aims of personal ambition which military conquest or a democratic state had afforded, now sought release and excitement in the personal relations. Women achieved a new freedom and a new importance. The emotional life came to have a new interest and this led to the development of the prose romance.

From the east came, with rich material resources, a wealth of new ideas, a mingling of superstition, magic, religion and philosophy. Just as man’s emotions were turned inward so was his thought. The greatest new adventure became the quest for a solution of life itself. The romances of the early empire whatever their type reflect the age: its craving for excitement, its desire for adventure, its dread of brigands, its curiosity about the new, its interest in art, its wish for fulfillment of emotion in romantic love, its awareness of unsolved mysteries in man and the universe. With even the partial re-dating of the Greek Romances all sorts of subjects open up for investigation such as the apparatus of religion in the use of oracles, dreams, epiphanies; the interest in works of art; the new position of women. At any time in the future new fragments of romances may be discovered, or new dating of some of the old ones may be made possible. But even now while archaeological discoveries are suspended and publication of new editions is delayed, we may read and re-read these amazing old stories and see what escape literature was in the second and third centuries. The Greek Romances have much to tell us of the psychology of their authors, their characters, and their readers. They have a deep human value.

“Homo sum: humani nil a me alienum puto.”

FOOTNOTES

[1]Translated by George Thornley, revised by J. M. Edmonds, in Daphnis and Chloe by Longus in The Loeb Classical Library.
[2]By Stephen Gaselee, “Appendix on the Greek Novel,” in Daphnis and Chloe in The Loeb Classical Library, New York, 1916, pp. 410-11.
[3]R. M. Rattenbury in New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature, Third Series, Oxford, 1933, p. 211.
[4]P. D. Huet, Traité de l’origine des Romans, 1671.
[5]J. Dunlop, The History of Fiction, Edinburgh, 1816.
[6]A. Chassang, Histoire du roman ... dans l’antiquité grecque et latine, Paris, 1862.
[7]V. Chauvin, Les romanciérs grecs et latins, 1864.
[8]Caritone di Afrodisia, Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe, romanzo tradotto da Aristide Calderini, Torino, 1913.
[9]Her. I. 8-12.
[10]Her. II. 121.
[11]Her. IX. 108-13.
[12]L. Whibley, A Companion to Greek Studies, Cambridge, 1916, p. 155. For a discussion of these stories and the novelle see E. H. Haight, Essays on Ancient Fiction, New York, 1936.
[13]Alfred Croiset and Maurice Croiset, An Abridged History of Greek Literature, translated by G. F. Heffelbower, New York, 1904, p. 517.
[14]H. Bornecque, Les Déclamations et les Déclamateurs d’après Sénèque le père, Lille, 1902, p. 130.
[15]Caritone di Afrodisia, Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe, Aristide Calderini, Torino, 1913.
[16]New York, 1916.
[17]Oxford, 1933.
[18]Op. cit., pp. 212-13.
[19]Op. cit., p. 385.
[20]Op. cit., pp. 387-93.
[21]Ibid., pp. 397-99.
[22]Op. cit., pp. 219-23.
[23]Op. cit., pp. 223-254.
[24]See Notes.
[25]Pap. Fayûm, London, 1900, I (pp. 74 ff.) and Pap. Oxyrh. 1019 (vol. VII. 1910, pp. 143 ff.), both of the early III century, found in 1906 and 1910.
[26]Preface to Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe, Ann Arbor and London, 1939. Throughout this chapter I use this translation of Chariton by Warren E. Blake and the Greek text edited by him, Charitonis Aphrodisiensis, de Chaerea et Callirhoe amatoriarum narrationum libri octo, Oxford, 1938.
[27]IV. 4, 7-10; IV. 5, 8; IV. 6, 4; IV. 6, 8 (2 letters); VIII. 4, 2-3; VIII. 4, 5-6.
[28]III. 2.
[29]II. 1.
[30]II. 9.
[31]V. 5.
[32]VI. 2.
[33]I. 1.
[34]I. 6.
[35]III. 2.
[36]VI. 4.
[37]III. 3.
[38]VII. 4.
[39]II. 5.
[40]IV. 3.
[41]VIII. 7, 8.
[42]VII. 1 = Il. X. 540.
[43]VI. 2 = Il. I. 317.
[44]VII. 4 = Il. XIII. 131.
[45]VII. 4 = Il. X. 483.
[46]V. 4 = Il. IV. 1.
[47]II. 9 = Il. XXIII. 66-67.
[48]V. 5 = Il. III. 146.
[49]V. 5 = Odys. I. 366. See also IV. 7 = Odys. XVII. 37; VI. 4 = Odys. VI. 102.
[50]II. 3 = Odys. XVII. 485, 487; IV. 1 = Il. XXIII. 71; IV. 1 = Odys. XXIV. 83; VI. 4 = Odys. XV. 21; VII. 2 = Il. XXII. 304-5.
[51]I. 1 = Il. XXI. 114.
[52]I. 4 = Il. XVIII. 23-25.
[53]III. 5 = Il. XXII. 82-83.
[54]IV. 5 = Il. XXI. 114.
[55]VI. 1 = Il. XXIV. 10-11.
[56]VIII. 1 = Odys. XXIII. 296.
[57]III. 5 = Il. XXII. 82-83.
[58]II. 9 = Il. XXIII. 66-67.
[59]V. 5 = Il. III. 146.
[60]Aristide Calderini, Caritone di Afrodisia, Le avventure di Cherea e Calliroe, Torino, 1913, pp. 154-58.
[61]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 159-60; V. 8.
[62]IV. 4.
[63]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 163-64.
[64]Xenophon of Ephesus, Ephesiaca, V. 1.
[65]III. 12; IV. 2.
[66]II. 13, G. Dalmeyda, Xénophon d’Éphèse, Les Éphésiaques, Paris, 1926, p. 33, n. 1.
[67]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xiii-xiv.
[68]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xii-xv, xxxviii-ix.
[69]V. 8.
[70]V. 14.
[71]Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxiii, for example in the love-story of Aegialeus, V. 1, 4, for the climax: καὶ ἀπηλαύσομεν ὦν ἕνεκα συνήλθομεν.
[72]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xvi-xviii; Calderini, op. cit., p. 85.
[73]I. 8.
[74]V. 10.
[75]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xxiv-xxv.
[76]I. 11.
[77]IV. 2.
[78]I. 12.
[79]V. 10-11.
[80]V. 4.
[81]II. 13; III. 3.
[82]III. 11-12.
[83]IV. 3.
[84]V. 4.
[85]V. 13.
[86]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xvi-xviii.
[87]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 120-25.
[88]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xviii-xxiv.
[89]Calderini, op. cit., p. 113.
[90]See the story of the old Spartan and his mummy, V. 1.
[91]Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxvii.
[92]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xxviii-ix.
[93]I. 2; I. 8.
[94]I. 6, V. 4; II. 1, II. 12; III. 2, I. 12, V. 11.
[95]V. 15.
[96]V. 1.
[97]I. 14.
[98]Chariton, III. 5. See Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxx.
[99]II. 4. Chariton, V. 10.
[100]Iliad, XXII, 389-90; Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxix.
[101]III. 7; Chariton, I. 6; IV. 1.
[102]V. 8; Chariton, V. 10.
[103]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xxxii-iii.
[104]For this introduction to Heliodorus I am largely indebted to the edition of Les Éthiopiques edited by R. M. Rattenbury. T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, Paris, vol. I, 1935; vol. II, 1938. For the Testimonia see Heliodori Aethiopica by Aristides Colonna, Rome, 1938, pp. 361-72.
[105]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, ix-xi.
[106]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, xiii-xv.
[107]Aristide Calderini, Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe, Torino, 1913, pp. 176-77.
[108]II. 35, translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, in The Greek Romances of Heliodorus, Longus, and Achilles Tatius, London, 1855, pp. 61-62. It is impossible to reproduce in English the Greek’s hidden references to the names of Chariclea, Famed-for-her-Grace, and of Theagenes, the Goddess-Born.
[109]Translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, op. cit., pp. 196-97.
[110]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 118-25.
[111]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, lxxxviii-ix.
[112]Calasiris in II and III; Cnemon in I, II and VI; Achaemenes in VIII; Sisimithres and Charicles in X.
[113]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., II, 87, n. 1.
[114]IV. 3, Il. XXII. 108-897: VII. 4-6, Il. III. 88-244 and Il. XXII. 136-436; V. 5, Odys. XIX. 392-94; VI. 14, Odys. XI.
[115]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, lxxxix-xcii.
[116]S. L. Wolff, The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Prose Fiction, New York, 1912, pp. 150-52.
[117]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 106-7.
[118]Arsace is not an historical character.

“Le personnage féminin d’Arsacé semble bien être de l’invention d’Héliodore, mais il se peut qu’il se soit souvenu, en créant son nom, d’Arsacés, le fondateur de l’empire des Parthes, et des Arsacides, ainsi que d’Arsamés, grandpère de Darius (Hér. I, 209). D’après Suidas (s.d. Θεοκλυτήσαντες) Darius avait une fille nommée Arsamé.”

R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., II, 113, n. 1.

[119]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, lxxxv-viii.
[120]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, xviii-xx.
[121]“Héliodore pratique avec une réelle habileté l’art des suspensions et des retours. L’unité du récit n’est jamais compromise.”

R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., II, 37, n. 3.

[122]R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, xx-xxi and lxxxv-viii; A. Calderini, op. cit., pp. 176-77.
[123]See The Cambridge Ancient History, Cambridge (Eng.), 1934, X, 506-11; 1936, XI, 700-1; Philostratus, The Life of Apollonius of Tyana translated by F. C. Conybeare in The Loeb Classical Library, 2 vols. New York, 1912.
[124]Translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, op. cit., p. 259.
[126]III. 12-15.
[127]V. 22, Odys. XIII. 332, XVIII. 66-70, Il. XIX. 47-49.
[128]V. 11, Odys. VI. 180; V. 15, Il. III. 65; VII. 10, Il. VI. 235-36.
[129]VII. 9, Il. XXIV. 3-12; VI. 5, Il. I. 106-7; IV. 7, Il. XVI. 21.
[130]J. W. H. Walden, Stage-terms in Heliodorus’s Aethiopica, in “Harvard Studies in Classical Philology,” V (1894), 1-43.
[131]V. 6, II. 11, I. 3, II. 4 and 23, VI. 12, IX. 5, VI. 14.
[132]X. 12, VII. 6-8, VIII. 17. Calderini, op. cit., pp. 159-63.
[133]On the style of Heliodorus, see Maillon in R. M. Rattenbury, T. W. Lumb, J. Maillon, op. cit., I, xcii-xciii.
[134]IV. 4. Translated by the Rev. Rowland Smith, op. cit., p. 81.
[135]Aristide Calderini, Caritone di Afrodisia, Le Avventure di Cherea e Calliroe, Torino, 1913, p. 191.
[136]From the introduction to Achilles Tatius with an English translation by S. Gaselee, in The Loeb Classical Library. The translations used in this chapter are from this volume.
[137]GH in Grenfell and Hunt, Oxyrhynchus Papyri, X, 135, no. 1250.
[138]R. T. Rattenbury, New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature: Third Series: Oxford, 1933, pp. 254-57.
[139]F. A. Todd, Some Ancient Novels, Oxford, 1940, p. 33; S. Gaselee, op. cit., pp. xv-xvi.
[140]F. A. Todd, op. cit., p. 33; S. L. Wolff, The Greek Romances in Elizabethan Prose Fiction, New York, 1912, pp. 248-56.
[141]Pal. Anth. IX. 203.
[142]J. S. Phillimore, “The Greek Romances,” in English Literature and the Classics, Oxford, 1912, pp. 108-15.
[143]J. S. Phillimore, op. cit., p. 115.
[144]S. Gaselee, op. cit., p. 455.
[145]II. 5.
[146]III. 10.
[147]VI. 16.
[148]VII. 5.
[149]I. 3.
[150]V. 18-20.
[151]V. 25-27.
[152]VIII. 7.
[153]II. 11-17.
[154]II. 23.
[155]IV. 1.
[156]VII. 12, 14. Compare also the dream in I. 3.
[157]III. 15; V. 7; VII. 3-5.
[158]VIII. 4-5, 15-17.
[159]II. 13, 15-18.
[160]VIII. 17-18.
[161]V. 11, 13.
[162]V. 22.
[163]V. 14.
[164]V. 16.
[165]V. 25-27.
[166]VI. 9-11.
[167]V. 17, 22.
[168]VI. 1-2.
[169]VIII. 5.
[170]R. M. Rattenbury, op. cit., pp. 256-57.
[171]III. 14.
[172]VI. 7.
[173]VII. 9.
[174]V. 17.
[175]VIII. 17-19.
[176]I. 4.
[177]I. 9. Compare V. 13.
[178]I. 16-18.
[179]II. 35-38.
[180]I. 8.
[181]II. 7-8.
[182]IV. 8.
[183]I. 10.
[184]II. 4.
[185]II. 37.
[186]V. 5.
[187]II. 7-8.
[188]IV. 8-10, 15-17, V. 22, 26.
[189]VIII. 5-7, 11-14.
[190]II. 19.
[191]V. 16.
[192]VIII. 5.
[193]VIII. 11-12.
[194]IV. 1; VII. 12.
[195]VI. 21.
[196]VII. 12.
[197]VII. 12.
[198]VIII. 1-3.
[199]VIII. 1-3, 5, 10.
[200]II. 12; V. 3.
[201]II. 14.
[202]II. 2; V. 2; VI. 3-4.
[203]II. 36.
[204]I. 8; II. 1, 15, 23, 34.
[205]I. 8; IV. 4-5.
[206]I. 12.
[207]II. 20-22.
[208]VIII. 9.
[209]V. 27.
[210]V. 5.
[211]II. 2.
[212]I. 1-2.
[213]III. 6-8.
[214]V. 3-5.
[215]II. 3.
[216]II. 11.
[217]II. 19.
[218]I. 15.
[219]III. 1-5.
[220]IV. 11-12; III. 24-25; IV. 2-3, 4, 19.
[221]S. L. Wolff, op. cit., pp. 202-11.
[222]J. S. Phillimore, op. cit., pp. 115-16.
[223]F. A. Todd, Some Ancient Novels, London, 1940, p. 35.
[224]G. Dalmeyda, Longus, Pastorales (Daphnis et Chloé), Paris, 1934, pp. xxi-xxii.
[225]Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxiv, “un des plus grands charmes de son roman est le cadre de nature, et l’intime union du décor et des personnages: dans ce sol plaisant et fertile, les deux héros semblent avoir leurs racines comme de jeunes plantes.”
[226]I. 4-5.
[227]I. 7.
[228]II. 23.
[229]III. 27.
[230]IV. 34.
[231]II. 39.
[232]II. 4-7.
[233]IV. 36.
[234]IV. 37.
[235]IV. 39.
[236]IV. 3.
[237]IV. 13.
[238]IV. 26.
[239]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xxvii-xxxi.
[240]III. 10.
[241]I. 14.
[242]IV. 27.
[243]I. 18.
[244]I. 25.
[245]III. 6.
[246]IV. 28.
[247]II. 15-17.
[248]IV. 3.
[249]I. 4; II. 23.
[250]II. 23-24; IV. 39.
[251]I. 10 and 24.
[252]I. 30.
[253]III. 12.
[254]II. 35-37.
[255]IV. 15.
[256]IV. 40.
[257]III. 21.
[258]Cp. II. 4 with Bion IV.
[259]Cp. I. 18 with Moschus I. 27.
[260]II. 33. See on the bucolic tradition, Dalmeyda, op. cit., p. xxiii with n. 4.
[261]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 169-70.
[262]Theoc. I. 45-56.
[263]III. 21.
[264]Theoc. VIII. 53-56.
[265]Horace is the only other ancient writer who uses the name Chloe, C. I. 23; III. 7, 9, 26.
[266]I. 17, with Courier’s excellent emendation of the ms. χλόης (for χλόας) to πόας, Sappho 2.
[267]IV. 8, Sappho 94.
[268]III. 33-34. Sappho 93.
[269]J. M. Edmonds, Daphnis and Chloe in The Loeb Classical Library, p. xi, n. 1.
[270]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xxxiv-v.
[271]II. 7, Vergil Ec. I. 5.
[272]J. M. Edmonds, op. cit., p. ix.
[273]Calderini, op. cit., pp. 145-47.
[274]Dalmeyda, op. cit., pp. xxxviii-xlii.
[275]I. 13.
[276]I. 16.
[277]II. 2.
[278]III. 20.
[279]I. 13.
[280]II. 1-2.
[281]III. 3.
[282]IV. 37-39.
[283]II. 32.
[284]II. 3-6.
[285]I. 27.
[286]II. 34.
[287]II. 2.
[288]S. L. Wolff, op. cit., p. 162.
[289]F. A. Todd, op. cit., p. 64.
[290]Paul-Louis Courier, Les Pastorales de Longus ou Daphnis et Chloé, traduction de Messire Jacques Amyot revue, corrigée, complétée et de nouveau refaite in grande partie, Paris, 1925, Preface, p. xxii. See also Bibliographie.
[291]Suidas, as quoted in the Enc. Brit. XIV. Vol. 14, p. 460.
[292]Maurice Croiset, Essai sur la vie et les œuvres de Lucien, Paris, 1882.
[293]Basil L. Gildersleeve, Essays and Studies, Baltimore, 1890.
[294]For a concise tabular classification of Lucian’s works, based on Croiset’s arrangement, see H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, The Works of Lucian of Samosata, 4 vols. Oxford, 1905, I, xiv-xviii. To be specially noted are the influences in definite periods of the rhetoricians, of philosophy, of New Comedy, of Menippus, of Old Comedy.
[295]Translated by A. M. Harmon, in Lucian, in The Loeb Classical Library, III, 223, 225.
[296]Harmon, op. cit., III, 231, 233.
[297]Xenophon, Memorabilia, II, 1, 21.
[298]See M. Croiset, op. cit., Chap. II.
[299]C. 47.
[300]Horace, Ep. I. 1, 14.
[301]Harmon, op. cit., II, 487, 495.
[302]Harmon, op. cit., V, 1.
[303]Harmon, op. cit., V, 47-49.
[304]M. Croiset, op. cit., pp. 140-43, 188-92.
[305]M. Croiset, op. cit., p. 82.
[306]F. Cumont in the Mémoires couronnées de l’académie de Belgique, Vol. XL (1887), summarized by Harmon, op. cit., IV, 173.
[307]M. Croiset, op. cit., p. 131.
[308]Gildersleeve, op. cit., p. 327.
[309]Harmon, op. cit., III, 411.
[310]Harmon, op. cit., III, 481.
[311]M. Croiset, op. cit., p. 176.
[312]Teubner text, I (1896), 319-27; H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, The Works of Lucian, II, 27-34.
[313]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, op. cit., II, 29.
[314]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, op. cit., II, 33.
[315]M. Croiset, op. cit., p. 303.
[316]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, op. cit., II, 123, C. 27.
[317]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, op. cit., II, 128-29, CC. 39, 41.
[318]H. W. Fowler and F. G. Fowler, op. cit., II, 133-35, CC. 54-61.
[319]Gildersleeve, op. cit., p. 316.
[320]See Philip Babcock Gove, The Imaginary Voyage in Prose Fiction, New York, 1941.
[321]A secondary Preface to Book II may be found in Babble Beforehand: Dionysus. In it Lucian speaks of a literary novelty he is producing under the influence of Dionysus and Silenus, an old man’s lengthy babbling.
[322]I. 4. The translations of the True History are from A. M. Harmon, Lucian, I, 247-357 in The Loeb Classical Library.
[323]I. 13.
[324]I. 26.
[325]II. 31.
[326]II. 47.
[327]Gildersleeve, op. cit., pp. 318-19.
[328]See E. Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, Leipzig, 1914, pp. 204-209; 242-50, 260 ff.; C. S. Jerram, Luciani Vera Historia, Oxford, 1887, I, 120 and passim; H. W. L. Hime, Lucian the Syrian Satirist, London, 1900, app. pp. 91-95; F. W. Householder, Jr., Literary Quotation and Allusion in Lucian, New York, 1941.
[329]F. G. Allinson, Lucian Satirist and Artist, Boston, 1926, p. 123.
[330]I. 29.
[331]II. 17 and 19.
[332]I. 20, Thuc. V. 18.
[333]I. 16, Her. III. 102.
[334]I. 16, Her. IV. 191.
[335]I. 23, Her. I. 202; IV. 75.
[336]I. 29, Her. II. 62.
[337]I. 40, Her. II. 156.
[338]II. 2, Her. IV. 28.
[339]II. 5, Her. III. 113.
[340]II. 31.
[341]I. 3.
[342]II. 20.
[343]II. 24.
[344]II. 28.
[345]II. 22.
[346]II. 15.
[347]II. 25-26.
[348]II. 35-36.
[349]II. 28, Odys. X. 302-306.
[350]II. 33, Odys. XIX. 562-67.
[351]II. 46, Odys. XII. 37-200.
[352]II. 20.
[353]See M. Croiset, op. cit., C. XII, “La fantaisie chez Lucien”; and F. G. Allinson, op. cit., passim.
[354]Andrew Lang, Letters to Dead Authors, New York, 1893, pp. 53-54.
[355]Ben Edwin Perry, The Metamorphoses Ascribed to Lucius of Patrae, Princeton, 1920.
[356]Bibl. Cod. 129, Migne.
[357]B. E. Perry, op. cit., pp. 52-55.
[358]M. Croiset, op. cit., p. 48.
[359]Harmon, op. cit., V, 101-207.
[360]M. Rostovtzeff, Seminarium Kondakovianum, II, 135-38, Prague, 1928; Papyri Greci e Latini, VIII. No. 981. For a different point of view see F. Zimmermann, “Lukians Toxaris und das Kairener Romanfragment” in Philologische Wochenschrift, 55 (1935), 1211-16.
[361]R. M. Rattenbury, “Romance: the Greek Novel” in New Chapters in the History of Greek Literature, Third Series, pp. 240-44.
[362]M. Rostovtzeff, Scythien und der Bosporus, Berlin, 1931, I, 96-99.
[363]M. Croiset, op. cit., p. 51.
[364]Quis ille? Met. I. 1.
[365]E. H. Haight, Apuleius and his Influence, New York, 1927; “The Myth of Cupid and Psyche in Ancient Art” in Art and Archaeology, III (1916), 43-52, 87-97; “The Myth of Cupid and Psyche in Renaissance Art,” “The Vassar College Psyche Tapestries,” in Art and Archaeology, XV (1923), 107-116; “Apuleius’ Art of Story-Telling” in Essays on Ancient Fiction, New York, 1936.
[366]From E. H. Haight, “Apuleius’ Art of Story-Telling,” in Essays on Ancient Fiction, New York, 1936, p. 152.
[367]Met. XI, 23.
[368]Hermann Riefstahl, Der Roman des Apuleius, Frankfurt am Main, 1938, pp. 83-84.
[369]Riefstahl, op. cit., p. 85.
[370]For an account of Aristides and the Milesian Tales see L. C. Purser, The Story of Cupid and Psyche as related by Apuleius, London, 1910, Excursus I.
[371]Apologia, 55, 56.
[372]Riefstahl, op. cit., pp. 84-85.
[373]Met. XI. 22.
[374]S. Gaselee, Apuleius the Golden Ass being the Metamorphoses of Lucius Apuleius, in The Loeb Classical Library, XI. 4.
[375]For Riefstahl’s whole theory of “Apuleius und die griechischen Liebesromane” see op. cit., pp. 82-95.
[376]See the review of Riefstahl’s work by H. W. Prescott in A.J.P., 61 (1940), pp. 115-17.
[377]To complete the list of different types of novels, we might add the realistic novel of low life, Petronius’ Satyricon. Since its affiliations are with the Menippean satire and not with the Greek Romances, I have omitted any study of it here. See E. H. Haight, Apuleius and his Influence, pp. 7-8; “Satire and the Latin Novel” in Essays on Ancient Fiction, pp. 86-120. For a recent review of the literature about the Satyricon and a brilliant re-interpretation of it see Gilbert Highet “Petronius the Moralist” in T.P.A.P.A., LXXII (1941), 176-94.
[378]M. Rostovtzeff, A History of the Ancient World, Volume II. Rome, Oxford, 1927, pp. 239-41. Yet see pp. 181-85 for Rostovtzeff’s knowledge of the Greek Romances.