The Golden Ass

by Peter Singer

  Assuring me repeatedly about the antidote, she crept into Pamphile’s room with great trepidation and removed from the chest a box, which I hugged and kissed and asked for luck in my flight. Then I stripped off all my clothes and greedily immersed my hands in the box, taking a lot of ointment and rubbing it over my limbs. I stretched out my arms, and with alternating motions I was trying to flap my way into a bird. But no down sprouted and no wings appeared. Soon it was obvious that my body hair was thickening into bristles, my delicate skin hardening into hide, at the ends of my palms my ten fingers were becoming single hooves, and a gigantic tail was emerging from the tip of my spine. Now my face was enormous, my mouth elongated, my nostrils gaping, and my lips pendulous. My ears, too, were hideously enlarged and bristly. I didn’t see any solace in this wretched transformation except that my organ had grown too large for embracing Fotis.

  In this state of hopelessness and helplessness, I was examining my whole body, and I saw that I was no bird, but an ass. I wanted to complain to Fotis about what she had done, but I had been robbed of human gesture and speech, so I did the only thing I could: I looked slantways at her with frowning lip and watery eyes and reproached her in silence. For her part, when she saw me in this state, she struck her face furiously with her hands and said, “I’m done for! Hurry and worry fooled me and the similar boxes deceived me! But it’s fine because there is a much easier antidote for this shape change. All you have to do is nibble on some roses and you will leave the ass’s skin and return back to my Lucius instantly. I do wish I’d made some garlands this evening as I usually do, so that you wouldn’t have to suffer even one night’s delay. But as soon as it’s light, I’ll rush this remedy to you.”

  That’s how she lamented, but as for me, although I was thoroughly an ass and a beast of burden instead of Lucius, I still retained my human consciousness. So I debated long and deeply with myself whether I should kill that wicked, worthless woman with thick and fast kicks and attacks with the teeth. But a more rational thought pulled me back from that initial impetuosity—that if I punished Fotis with death, I might be extinguishing all hope of future aid. So, downcast and shaking my head, I gulped down my outrage for the time being and opted for subservience to my harsh lot. I headed, therefore, toward that excellent steed of mine in the stable, where I also found another ass belonging to Milo, formerly my host. You see, I was thinking that if there was a natural and unspoken oath of allegiance among mute animals, my horse would offer me hospitality and a luxurious stay, motivated by a kind of recognition and commiseration. But, by Jupiter and by the goddess Loyalty!, that outstanding conveyor of mine, my horse, and the ass put their heads together and right away plotted my destruction—fearing for their food, I guess. Scarcely had they seen me approaching the stall when they pinned back their ears in fury and charged at me, ready to strike with their pernicious hooves! So I was driven as far as possible from the barley I had set out that very evening with my own hands for that equine servant of mine, now so closely linked to me.

  Hurt by this, and relegated to solitude, I retired to a corner of the stable, and thought about the insults of these, my associates. I recalled that tomorrow I would be Lucius again with the help of some roses, and was contemplating what revenge I would take on my disloyal horse. But there in the very middle of the midmost pillar holding up the beams of the stable, sitting in a small shrine, was a statue of Epona, goddess of horses and mules, adorned with a fresh garland of roses. As I perceived the source of my deliverance, I had high hopes! I stretched out my front legs and leaned forward as far as I could and reared up powerfully, elongating my neck and extending my lips, reaching for that garland with everything I had. But as bad luck would have it, the slave who looked after my horse suddenly noticed me trying to reach the roses and jumped up, shouting indignantly, “How long, citizens, do we have to put up with this gelding? First he was a menace to the equids’ food, and now it’s the gods’ shrines! Damned if I don’t leave this temple robber crippled and hobbling!” Right away he started hunting for some kind of weapon. In his blind rush he bumped against a bundle of wood and searched out a knotted cudgel larger than all the others. Poor miserable me! He didn’t stop beating me until, with a sudden bang and a thunderous crash, the doors of the house were beaten down and he fled in terror, as the whole quaking neighborhood screamed “Robbers!”

  Suddenly a mass of robbers forced open the house and completely took control, while a virtual army ringed the building. More enemy troops ran in to obstruct the auxiliaries on our side flying in from all directions. The night was illuminated by their swords and torches; fire and dagger flashed like the rays of the rising sun.

  There was a storeroom set deep in the middle of the house, bolted and barred with the strongest of locks, where Milo had stashed away all his treasure. This they attacked and split open with sturdy axes. Then they quickly tied up every bit of that bounty in bundles, shared it around, and carried it off. But the amount to carry exceeded the number of carriers; that great excess of opulence stymied their getaway. So they pulled us two donkeys and my horse from the stable and burdened us with the heaviest of the bundles. Threatening us with cudgels, they drew us out of the now empty house. They left one of their gang as a spy to report back later as to whether they were under suspicion, while they led us through the hidden paths of the mountains, constantly striking us with blows coming thick and fast.

  And so, with the heavy weight of the booty, the steep height of the mountain, and the extreme length of the journey, I was as good as dead.

  Gradually, but with gravity, it occurred to me to seek the aid of the civic authorities and to free myself of these tortures by calling on the respected name of the Emperor. So when it was clear daylight and we were passing through a crowded marketplace among the throngs of Greeks, I tried to invoke the august name of Caesar in the language of my birth. But even though I shouted “O” over and over very eloquently and mightily, I could not enunciate the rest, Caesar’s name. The robbers, though, objected to my discordant noise and whipped my poor hide until it was more full of holes than a sieve. Finally, great Jupiter brought me unexpected deliverance: as we passed small farmsteads and grand houses, I saw a charming little garden where, along with other pleasant greenery, untouched roses were blooming in the morning dew. I gazed openmouthed at them and drew closer, elated and cheered by this hope of rescue. My mouth was watering as I reached for them with my lips, but then I had a different thought about my safety: if I were to shed the ass’s skin and again emerge into Lucius, I would meet certain death at the hands of the robbers—feared either as a wizard or a witness. So I abstained from the roses out of sheer necessity and tolerated my present situation, while feeding on hay to give the appearance of being an ass.

  A ROUND MIDDAY, WHEN IT WAS ALREADY scorching hot, we detoured from the road into a village to visit with some old men on friendly terms with the robbers. Even an ass could perceive as much from their warm greetings, their lengthy conversations, and their exchange of kisses. Also, the robbers gave them certain items that they unloaded from my back, and which they seemed to hint with secret winks and whispers had been acquired by theft. Finally, they relieved us of all the baggage and sent us out into a nearby meadow to graze freely. But I had no interest in meeting up to co-pasture with the ass and my horse, especially as I was not yet used to lunching on hay. So when I saw a kitchen garden behind the stable, I broke right in since I was dying of hunger. They were just raw vegetables, but I managed to stuff my belly well enough. Then I prayed to the gods and surveyed the surroundings to see if somewhere in the adjoining gardens I could find a radiant rosebush. My very solitude gave me confidence that if I ingested the remedy, hidden off the road by some shrubs, I could rise up again from the bent-over gait of a quadruped into the erect posture of a man, unnoticed.

  And so, while lost in this sea of thought, I saw a bit farther on a leafy grove in a shady valley where, amidst the grass cover and verdant brush, the “red, red rose” shone
forth “in blinding glory.” In my not altogether beastly heart, I thought it a grove of Venus and the Graces where their flower’s regal radiance illuminated the hidden darkness. I prayed to that happy and prosperous god, Success, and tore off at a great clip so that—by Hercules—I felt no longer an ass but altered by my surplus of speed into a racehorse. And yet, in spite of that agile and applause-worthy attempt, I couldn’t overcome the opposition of Fortune. For as I came closer, I saw that these were not those tender and lovely roses “with scented dew still wet,”* growing on fertile brambles and blessed thorns; and the shady valley was nothing but a riverbank hedged with close-packed bushes. These look like laurel with their dense foliage, and produce moderately red blooms; they resemble flowers with a scent, but they lack it. The untaught country folk call them “laurel roses” and they are death to cattle when eaten.

  I was now so tangled up in misfortune that I was ready to give up on life, and I started to reach for those poisonous roses. But as I approached, hesitatingly, to pluck them, a young man, most likely the gardener whose vegetables I had entirely devastated, realized his loss and charged at me furiously with a huge staff. He grabbed me and beat me all over—almost to the point of death—except that finally I found a pretty smart way to help myself. I raised my backside high into the air and kicked and kicked with the heels of my back feet. When he was badly beat up and lying against the slope of the hill nearby, I fled and freed myself. But right away some woman—his wife, I suppose—as soon as she saw him from the top of the hill lying there half dead, flew straight to him with a plaintive wailing, bent on my destruction: for all the villagers were roused up by her cries and called out their dogs. From hill and from dale, they urged them on to attack me and lacerate me with their savage rage. Then, without question, I was going to die. So when I saw the dogs they’d sicced on me—huge and numerous, the kind that fight with bears and lions in the amphitheater—I hatched a plan on the spot: I stopped running away, turned around, and went back at a good pace to the stable where we had stopped to rest. The villagers managed to restrain their dogs, but they tied me to a hook with a sturdy rope and resumed beating me. They would have finished me off altogether if my belly, constricted by the pain of the beating, bloated by the raw vegetables I’d eaten, and weakened by the liquefying of my bowels, had not driven them away from my already crushed ribs. As I emitted a sudden jet-spray of dung, some fled spattered by this horrendous fluid, others from the stench of the stinking smell.

  Losing no time, when the sun was leaning toward afternoon, the robbers loaded us up very heavily—me especially—and led us out of the stable. By the time we had completed a good part of the journey, I was already worn out by the endless road, sunk by the weight of the load, and exhausted by the strikes from the goad. My hooves were rubbed ragged. I was lame and teetering. So when I stopped near a gently meandering stream, I took this lucky opportunity and figured I would ingeniously bend my legs and throw myself on the ground. Then I would be absolutely determined not to get back up, no matter how much they beat me—in fact, I was prepared to keep lying there if I was struck not just by a cudgel, but even by a dagger. I was thinking that if I was totally enfeebled and half dead, I would earn a disability discharge. Surely the robbers, from impatience at the delay and eagerness to continue their hurried flight, would distribute my load onto the other two pack animals and leave me a prey to the wolves and vultures for lack of any better revenge.

  But the worst luck thwarted this beautiful plan of mine, for that other ass intuited and stole my idea: feigning exhaustion, he plopped himself down with all his baggage and lay there like a corpse. He wouldn’t even try to get back up, not even when they hit him with cudgels and goads, not even when they tugged at his tail, his ears, and his shanks. Finally, when they got tired and saw it was hopeless, they consulted with each other, not wanting to delay their escape while tending to a dead—no, a rock of an ass. So they distributed the baggage between me and my horse, drew a sword, and slashed through each of his knees, then took him a little off the road and plunged him, still breathing, from the side of a sheer cliff into the valley below. From then on, thinking about the fate of my poor comrade-in-arms, I decided to set aside all trickery and lies and show I was a well-behaved ass. In any case, I noticed them saying to each other that there would be lodging and a restful end to the whole journey in the next town, for this was their headquarters and home. So when we had traversed a gentle little slope, we came to our destination. Here, they removed everything and stowed it inside. Freed of all that weight, instead of a bath, I relieved my tiredness by rolling in the dust.

  The time and subject matter demand that I give you a description of the surroundings and of the cave where the robbers lived. This will be a way for me to test my intelligence and for you, too, to see whether you sincerely feel that I was an ass in mind and perceptive abilities as well as my body. Here I go: The mountain was rugged, shaded by the forest’s branches, and particularly steep. At the point of steepest incline, it was surrounded by rocks and therefore inaccessible. Valleys ran around the foot of the mountain, filled with gullies and pits and heaped high with thorn bushes stretching in all directions, all of which offered a natural fortification. From the very peak, a flowing spring gushed forth bubbling, and, slipping down the slope, it spewed out silvery ripples and dispersed in numerous rivulets, irrigating the valleys with its streams grown sluggish, finally surrounding the whole area with something like a swamp or a dammed-off lake. A tall tower rose from the cave where the rock face of the mountain tapered off, and there was a yard fenced off sturdily with strong wickerwork; it was suitable for a sheepfold and served as a wall extending all along the sides. In front of the doors were long, narrow paths. I would not hesitate to call it the “forecourt” of the robbers’ lair. There was nothing nearby except a small hut hidden haphazardly by reeds. Here, as I later discovered, scouts chosen by lot among the robbers kept guard at night.

  When each of the robbers had compacted his body and squeezed into the cave (they had tied us up in front of the door with a strong strap), they called out insultingly to an old woman bent over by extreme age who, as it appeared, was in sole charge of the health and welfare of all these young men. “Hey you, corpse long overdue for the pyre, prime disgrace to Life itself, Death’s sole reject, are you going to sit at home having fun and doing nothing? Aren’t you going to offer us relief after our great and perilous labors with some late-night refreshment? All you do is flood your ravenous belly day and night with undiluted wine!” The old woman started trembling at this and answered in a shaking voice, “Oh, but, my bravest and most faithful young men, my saviors!, here is an ample dish seasoned with savory spices, bread in abundance, wine generously and carefully poured into polished cups and, as usual, hot water ready for your makeshift baths.”

  After she spoke, they all undressed and warmed themselves in front of a large fire. Then they poured hot water on their bodies, rubbed themselves down with oil, and reclined at the tables piled high with food.

  They had just reclined when, lo and behold, another, much larger group of young men arrived whom you would immediately recognize as robbers, for they, too, were carrying looted gold and silver coins and vessels, as well as silk clothes interwoven with gold thread. When they had revived themselves with a bath in the same way as the others and interspersed themselves among their comrades on dining couches, those drawn by lot served the others. There was boisterous eating and drinking: mounds of meat, bushels of bread, copious cups! They jested loudly, sang noisily, joked abusively, and generally behaved just like those half-beast Lapiths and half-human Centaurs.

  When the robbers had all eaten their fill, they began to tell tales of their exploits. I will retell just one of them, told by a robber from the second group, that I, as a man turned into an animal, found of special interest.

  “In Plataea, we heard constant talk of a certain Demochares who was to put on a gladiatorial show. He was a man of prominent family, prosperous m
eans, and he provided for public pleasures with funding fitting his fortune. Who among us has the talent or the eloquence to lay out in adequate words all the different aspects of the multifaceted preparations for the show? Here were gladiators of renowned strength, there hunters known for their skill in the hunting contests, and in that corner those sentenced irrevocably to death, supplying a rich meal of themselves to fatten the beasts. Here were multipurpose mechanisms constructed with supporting beams and towers plaited together with planks of wood to look like movable houses, fit for hanging colorful announcements of the next hunting show. And then, such a number and such a variety of beasts! For Demochares had taken particular care to import from abroad all those fancy graves for the condemned criminals!* But beyond all the other trappings of this particular show, he had spent all the resources of his inheritance on a vast number of enormous bears. Apart from the ones captured on his own hunting expeditions and those acquired at great expense, friends had given him others on various occasions, and he tended them anxiously with lavish care.

  “But such renowned and dazzling accoutrements for pleasure could not escape the menacing eyes of Envy. For the collection of bears, worn out by long captivity, weakened by the heat’s intensity, and sapped by their sluggish inactivity, were seized with a sudden pestilence and reduced almost to nothing. You would see beastly shipwrecks of their half-dead bodies scattered all over the squares. The uncultivated common folk, forced by uncouth poverty to seek out free food and foul supplements to their unvaried and attenuated diet—these people ran straight for the food lying about. So, on the spot, Eubulus there and I came up with an ingenious plan, as follows: we carried the biggest and fattest one we could find to our hideout, as if we were going to use it as food. There we stripped its hide thoroughly of the flesh, carefully preserving all its claws and leaving the head intact down to the neck. Then we thinned out the skin, scraping it expertly, sprinkled it with ash, and left it in the sun to dry. And while it was being parched by the flames of the sky’s heat, we gorged ourselves heartily on the meat and assigned the sacred duties of our upcoming campaign. One of us, the one who surpassed the others in strength—not of body, but of mind—and who must be a volunteer, should cover himself with that pelt and assume the appearance of a bear. Then he would go into Demochares’s house at the perfect time in the quietness of the night and provide us easy access to the front door.