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home a wealthier man. Just before I reached Larissa, where I was going towatch the show by the way, walking along a rough and desolate valley, Iwas attacked by fierce bandits, and stripped of all I had. At last I escaped,weak as I was, and reached an inn belonging to a mature yet very attractivewoman named Meroe, and told her about my lengthy journey, my desirefor home, and the wretched robbery. She treated me more than kindly, witha welcome and generous meal, and quickly aroused by lust, steered me toher bed. At once I was done for, the moment I slept with her; that one boutof sex infected me with a long and pestilential relationship; she’s even hadthe clothes those kind robbers left me, and the meagre wages I’ve earnedheaving sacks while I still could, until at last evil Fortune and my good‘wife’ reduced me to the state you saw not long ago.’“By Pollux!” I said “You deserve the worst, if there’s anythingworse than what you got, for preferring the joys of Venus and a wrinkledwhore to your home and kids.”“But shocked and stunned he placed his index finger to his lips:“Quiet, quiet!” he said then glancing round, making sure it was safe tospeak: “Beware of a woman with magic powers, lest your intemperatespeech do you a mischief.”“Really?” I said, “What sort of a woman is this high and mightyinnkeeper?”“A witch” he said, “with divine powers to lower the sky, and halt theglobe, make fountains stone, and melt the mountains, raise the ghosts andsummon the gods, extinguish the stars and illuminate Tartarus itself.”“Oh come,” said I, “dispense with the melodrama, away with stagescenery; use the common tongue.”“Do you,” he replied “wish to hear one or two, or more, of herdoings? Because the fact she can make all men fall for her, and not just thelocals but Indians, and the Ethiopian savages of orient and occident, andeven men who live on the opposite side of the Earth, that’s only a tithe ofher art, the merest bagatelle. Just listen to what she’s perpetrated in front ofwitnesses.One of her lovers had misbehaved with someone else, so with asingle word she changed him into a beaver, a creature that, fearing capture,escapes from the hunters by biting off its own testicles to confuse thehounds with their scent, and she intended the same for him, for having itoff with another woman. Then there was another innkeeper, nearby, in9

competition, and she changed him into a frog; now the old man swims in avat of his own wine, hides in the dregs, and calls out humbly to his pastcustomers with raucous croaks. And because he spoke against her sheturned a lawyer into a sheep, and now as a sheep he pleads his case. Whenthe wife of a lover of hers, who was carrying at the time, insulted herwittily, she condemned her to perpetual pregnancy by closing her womb toprevent the birth, and according to everyone’s computation that poorwoman’s been burdened for eight years or more and she’s big as anelephant!As it kept happening, and many were harmed, public indignationgrew, and the people decreed the severest punishment, stoning to deathnext day. But with the power of her chanting she thwarted their plan. Justas Medea, in that one short day she won from Creon, consumed hisdaughter, his palace, and the old king himself in the flames from the goldencrown, so Meroe, by chanting necromantic rites in a ditch, as she told meherself when she was drunk, shut all the people in their houses, with thedumb force of her magic powers. For two whole days not one of themcould break the locks, rip open the doors, or even dig a way through thewalls, until at last, at everyone’s mutual urging, they called out, swearing asolemn oath not to lay hands on her themselves, and to come to her defenceand save her if anyone tried to do so. Thus propitiated she freed the wholetown. But as for the author of the original decree, she snatched him up inthe dead of night with his whole house – that’s walls and floor andfoundations entire – and shifted them, the doors still locked, a hundredmiles to another town on the top of a rugged and arid mountain; and sincethe densely-packed homes of those folk left no room for the new guest, shedropped the house in front of the gates and vanished.”“What you relate is marvellous, dear Socrates,” I said, “and wild. Inshort you’ve roused no little anxiety, even fear, in me too. I’m struck withno mere pebble here, but a spear, lest with the aid of those same magicforces that old woman might have heard our conversation. So let’s go tobed early, and weariness relieved by sleep, leave before dawn and get as faraway as we can.”Book I:11-17 Aristomenes’ Nightmare10

While I was still relaying sound advice, the good Socrates, gripped by theeffects of this unaccustomed tippling, and his great exhaustion, was alreadyasleep and snoring. I shut the door tight, slid home the bolts, even pushedmy bed hard against the door frame, and threw myself down on top. Atfirst, from fear, I lay awake for a while; then about midnight I shut my eyessomewhat. I had just fallen asleep when it seemed the door suddenly burstopen, with greater violence than any burglar could achieve. The hingeswere shattered and torn from their sockets, and the door hurled to theground. My bed, being low, with a dodgy foot and its wood rotten,collapsed from the force of such violence, and I rolled out and struck thefloor while the bed landed upside-down on top, hiding and covering me.Then I felt that natural phenomenon where certain emotions areexpressed through their contraries. At that instant, just as tears will oftenflow from joy, I couldn’t keep from laughing at being turned fromAristomenes to a tortoise. Hurled to the floor, from a corner of my eye,beneath the welcome protection of my bed, I watched two women of ratherripe years. One bore a lighted lamp, the other a sponge and naked blade.Thus equipped they circled the soundly sleeping Socrates. The one with thesword spoke: ‘Panthia, my sister, this is my dear Endymion, myGanymede, who made sport with my youth, day and night, who not onlyscorned my secret love insultingly, but even plotted to escape. Am I reallyto be deserted like Calypso by a cunning Ulysses, and condemned, in turn,to weep in everlasting loneliness?’ Then she stretched out her hand, andpointed me out to her friend Panthia. ‘And this is his good counsellorAristomenes, who was the author of his escape, and now lies close to death,stretched on the ground, sprawled beneath his little bed, watching it all. Hethinks he’s going to recount his insults to me with impunity. I’ll make himregret his past jibes and his present nosiness later, if not sooner, if not rightnow!’When I heard that, my wretched flesh dissolved in a cold sweat, myguts trembled and quaked, till the bed on my back shaken by my quiveringswayed and leapt about. ‘Well then sister,’ gentle Panthia replied ‘why notgrab him first and like Bacchantes tear him limb from limb, or tie him up atleast and cut his balls off?’Meroe – for I realised it was truly her in line with Socrates’ tale –replied: ‘No, let him survive at least to cover this wretch’s corpse with alittle earth.’ And with that she pushed Socrates’ head to the side and buried11

her blade in the left of his neck all the way to the hilt. Then she held a flaskof leather against the wound and carefully collected the spurt of blood sonot a single drop was visible anywhere. I saw all this with my very owneyes. Next, so as not to deviate, I suppose, from the sacrificial rites, shestuck her right hand into the wound right down to his innards, felt for mypoor comrade’s heart, and plucked it out. At this a sort of cry rose from hiswindpipe slashed by the weapon’s stroke, or at least an indistinct gurgleand he poured out his life’s breath. Panthia stopped the gaping wound withher sponge, saying: ‘Oh, sponge born in the sea, take care not to fall in theriver,’ and with this they abandoned him, removed my bed, spread theirfeet, squatted over my face, and discharged their bladders till I wasdrenched with a stream of the foulest urine.No sooner had they exited the threshold than the door untouchedswung back to its original position: the hinges settled back in their sockets,the brackets returned to the posts, and the bolts slid home. But I remainedwhere I was, sprawled on the ground, inanimate, naked, cold, and coveredin piss, as if I’d just emerged from my mother’s womb. No, it was trulymore like being half-dead, but also in truth my own survivor, a posthumouschild, or rather a sure candidate for crucifixion. ‘When he’s found in themorning,’ I said to myself, ‘his throat cut, what will happen to you? If youtell the truth who on earth will believe it? You could at least have shoutedfor help, if a great man like you couldn’t handle the women by yourself. Aman has his throat cut before your eyes, and you do nothing! And if yousay it was robbers why wouldn’t they have killed you too? Why wouldtheir savagery spare you as a witness to crime to inform on them? So,having escaped death, you can go and meet it again!’As night crept towards day, I kept turning it over in my mind. Idecided the best thing to do was to sneak off just before dawn, and hit theroad with tremulous steps. I picked up my little bag, pushed the key in thelock and tried to slide back the bolts; but that good and faithful door, whichin the night had unlocked of its own accord, only opened at last after muchlabour and endless twiddling of the key.The porter was lying on the ground at the entrance to the inn, stillhalf-asleep when I cried: ‘Hey there, where are you? Open the gate! I wantto be gone by daybreak!’ ‘What!’ he answered, ‘Don’t you know the road’sthick with brigands? Who goes travelling at this hour of the night? Even if12

you’ve a crime on your conscience and want to die, I’m not pumpkinheaded enough to let you.’‘Dawn’s not far off,’ I said, ‘and anyway, what can robbers takefrom an utter pauper? Or are you not aware, ignoramus, that even a dozenwrestling-masters can’t despoil a naked man?’Then half-conscious and weak with sleep he turned over on his otherside, saying: ‘How do I know you haven’t slit the throat of that travelleryou were with last night, and are doing a runner to save yourself?’In an instant, I know I saw the earth gape wide, and there was the pitof Tartarus with dog-headed Cerberus ready to eat me. I thought how sweetMeroe had spared my throat not from mercy but in her cruelty had reservedme for crucifixion. So I slipped back to the bedroom and reflected on thequickest way to die. Since Fate had left me no other weapon but my littlebed, I talked to it: ‘Now, now my little cot, dear friend of mine, who’vesuffered so many tribulations with me, and know and can judge what wenton last night, and the only witness I could summon to testify to myinnocence at the trial. I’m in a hurry to die, so be the instrument that willsave me.’ With this I began to unravel the cord that laced its frame. Then Ithrew one end over a little beam that stuck out into the room, below thewindow, and tied it fast. I made a noose in the other end, scrambled up onthe bed, got high enough for the drop to work, and stuck my head throughthe noose. With one foot I kicked away the support I stood on, so myweight on the cord would squeeze my throat tight and stop me breathing.But in a trice the rope, which was old and rotten, broke, and I crashed downon top of Socrates who was lying there beside me, and rolled with him onto the ground.But behold at that moment the porter arrived shouting loudly: ‘Heyyou! In the middle of the night you can’t wait to take off, now here you areunder the covers snoring!’Then Socrates, woken by our fall, or by the fellow’s raucous yelling,got to his feet first, saying: ‘It’s no wonder guests hate porters, since here’sthis inquisitive chap bursting importunately into our room – after stealingsomething no doubt – and waking me, weak as I was, out of a lovely sleepwith his monstrous din.’I leapt up eagerly, filled with unexpected joy, and cried: ‘Behold, ohfaithful porter, here’s my friend, as dear as father or brother, whom you in13

your drunken state accused me, slanderously, of murdering,’ and I straightaway hugged Socrates and started kissing him.But he, stunned by the vile stench of the liquid those monsters haddrenched me with, shoved me off violently. ‘Away with you!’ he cried,‘You stink like the foulest sewer!’ then began to ask as a friend will thereason for the mess. I invented some absurd, some miserable little joke onthe spur of the moment, and drew his attention away again to anothersubject of conversation. Then clasping him I said: ‘Why don’t we go now,and grasp the chance of an early morning amble?’ And I picked up my littlebag, paid the bill for our stay at the inn, and off we went.Book I:18-20 Socrates’ deathWe were quite a way off before the sun rose, lighting everything.Carefully, since I was curious, I examined the place on my friend’s neckwhere I’d seen the blade enter, I said to myself: ‘You’re mad, you were inyour cups and sodden with wine, and had a dreadful nightmare. Look,Socrates is sound and whole, totally unscathed. Where are the wound andthe sponge? Where’s the deep and recent scar?’ I turned to him: ‘Thosedoctors are not without merit who say that swollen with food and drink wehave wild and oppressive dreams. Take me now. I took too much to drinklast evening, and a bad night brought such dire and violent visions I stillfeel as though I was spattered, polluted with human blood.’He grinned at that: ‘It’s piss not blood you’re soaked with. I dreamedtoo, that my throat was cut. I felt the pain in my neck, and even thought myheart had been torn from my body. And now I’m still short of breath, andmy knees are trembling, and I’m staggering along, and I need a bite to eatto restore my spirits.’‘Here’s breakfast,’ I said ‘all ready for you,’ and I swung the sackfrom my shoulder and quickly handed him bread and cheese. ‘Let’s sit bythat plane tree,’ I said. Having done so, I took something from the sack formyself, and watched him eating avidly, but visibly weaker, somehow moredrawn and emaciated, and with the pallor of boxwood. In short the colourof his flesh was so disturbing it conjured up the vision of those Furies ofthe night before, and my terror was such the first bit of bread I took, thoughonly a small one, struck in my throat, and it wouldn’t go down, or comeback up. The absence of anyone else on the road added to my fear. Who14

could believe my companion was murdered, and I was innocent? Now he,when he’d had enough, began to feel quite thirsty, since he’d gobbled thebest part of a whole cheese in his eagerness. A gentle stream flowedsluggishly not far from the plane-tree’s roots, flowing on through a quietpool, the colour of glass or silver. ‘Here,’ I cried, ‘quench your thirst withthe milky waters of this spring.’ He rose and after a brief search for a levelplace at the edge of the bank, he sank down on his knees and bent forwardready to drink. But his lips had not yet touched the surface of the waterwhen in a trice the wound in his throat gaped open, and out flew thesponge, with a little trickle of blood. Then his lifeless body pitchedforward, almost into the stream, except that I caught at one of his legs, andwith a mighty effort dragged him higher onto the bank. I mourned for himthere, as much as circumstance allowed, and covered him with sandy soil torest there forever beside the water. Then trembling and fearful of my life Ifled through remote and pathless country, like a man with murder on hisconscience, abandoning home and country, embracing voluntary exile.Now I live in Aetolia, and I’m married again.’So Aristomenes’ story ended. But his friend, who had obstinatelyrefused to believe a word from the very start, said: ‘There was never ataller tale, never a more absurd mendacity.’ And he turned to me: ‘You’re acultured chap, as your clothes and manner show, can you credit a fable likethat?’I replied: ‘I judge that nothing’s impossible, and whatever the fatesdecide is what happens to mortal men. Now I and you and everyoneexperience many a strange and almost incredible event that is unbelievablewhen told to someone who wasn’t there. And as for Aristomenes, not onlydo I believe him, but by Hercules I thank him greatly for amusing us withhis charming and delightful tale. I forgot about the pain of travel, andwasn’t bored on that last rough stretch of road. And I think the horse ishappy too since, without him tiring, I’ve been carried all the way to the citygate here, not by his back but my ears!’Book I:21-26 Milo’s HouseThat was the end of our conversation and our shared journey. My twocompanions turned to the left towards a nearby farm, while I approachedthe first inn I found on entering the town. I immediately enquired of the old15

woman who kept the inn: ‘Is this Hypata?’ She nodded. Do you know aprominent citizen named Milo?’ ‘Milo’s certainly prominent,’ she replied,‘since his house sticks out beyond the city limits.’ ‘Joking apart,’ I said‘tell me, good mother, what sort he is and where he lives.’ ‘Do you see,’she answered, ‘that row of windows facing the city, and the door on theother side opening on the ally nearby? That’s where your Milo lives, withpiles of money, heaps of wealth, but a man truly famed for his total avarice,his stingy ways. He lends cash at high rates of interest, takes gold andsilver as security, but shuts himself up in that little house anxious aboutevery rusty farthing. He has a wife, a companion in misery, no servantsexcept a little maid, and dresses like a beggar when he goes out.’I responded to this with a laugh, ‘My friend Demeas was certainlykind and thoughtful sending me off with a letter of introduction to a manlike that, at least there’ll be no smoking fires or cooking fumes to fear.’And with that I walked to the house and found the entrance. The door wasstoutly bolted, so I banged and shouted. At long last the girl appeared:‘Well you’ve certainly given the door a drubbing! Where’s your pledge forthe loan? Or are you the only man who doesn’t know we only take goldand silver?’ ‘No, no,’ I replied ‘just say if your master’s home.’ ‘Well whydo you want him then?’ ‘I’ve a letter for him, from Demeas of Corinth.’‘Wait right here,’ she said ‘while I announce you.’ And with that she boltedthe door again and vanished into the house. Soon she returned; flung openthe door, and proclaimed: ‘He says to come in.’In I went and found him reclining on a little couch, and just about tostart his supper. His wife sat beside him, and there was a table, withnothing on it, to which he gestured, saying: ‘W

Book V:28-31 The tale of Cupid and Psyche: Venus is angered Book VI:1-4 The tale of Cupid and Psyche: Ceres and Juno Book VI:5-8 The tale of Cupid and Psyche: brought to account Book VI:9-10 The tale of Cupid and Psyche: the first task Book