The Golden Ass

by Peter Singer

  “I am here before you, Lucius, moved by your prayers—mother of the natural world, mistress of all the elements, firstborn offspring of the ages, highest of the deities, queen of the dead, first among the gods, the manifestation in a single body of all the gods and goddesses. I control by my will the luminous summits of the sky, the salubrious breezes of the sea, and the mournful silence of the underworld. I am the single divine being, worshipped the world over in different forms, with varying rites and under a multitude of names. Some call me Juno, others Bellona, some Hecate, and yet others Rhamnusia. But the people on both sides of Ethiopia who are lit by the first rays of the rising sun, and the Egyptians, preeminent for their ancient knowledge, worship me with the proper rituals and by my true name: Queen Isis. I am at hand bringing sympathy for your plight, I am present bringing favor and support. Leave off your tears and cease your lamentations; banish your despair; today dawns your day of salvation through my providence.

  “Therefore, pay careful attention to these my commands. The day that will be born from this night has been officially declared mine through long religious observance: on this day, with the winter storms calmed and the wind-driven waves gentled, my priests dedicate a crude keel to the now navigable sea as a first offering for the sailing season. You must await this ceremony in a state of mind neither anxious nor profane.

  “For, at my instruction, a priest equipped for the procession will bear in his right hand a garland of roses wrapped around the sistrum, my sacred rattle. Without hesitation, therefore, move the crowds aside and swiftly run to meet the march, confident of my goodwill. Then, approach, and as if you were going to kiss the priest’s hand, gently pluck the roses and strip yourself of the hide of that worst of beasts, so long loathed by me. Do not recoil from any of this; it will not be difficult. For at this very moment that I come to you, I am also elsewhere instructing my priest in his sleep what must be done next. At my command, the dense crowds of citizens will make way for you, nor will anyone, amid these happy rituals and festive spectacles, be terrified by that ugly face you are wearing, or maliciously bring charges against you, wrongly interpreting your sudden change of shape. But you must clearly remember and store deep in your mind that the remaining course of your life is pledged to me, up until you have breathed out your very last breath. This is not unreasonable, to owe me all the rest of the time you will live, to me, by whose beneficence you will return to humankind. You will live blessed, moreover; you will live in glory under my guardianship. And when you have measured out the space of your life and descend to the realms below, dwelling in the Elysian fields, there too, in that subterranean hemisphere, you will often praise me, whom you see before you, as your succor, as I shine forth in the shadows of Acheron and rule in the inner sanctum of the Stygian realms. For if you earn my divine favor through sedulous obedience, religious service, and persistent abstinence, you will learn that I (and I alone) am permitted to prolong your life beyond the years allotted to you by fate.”

  When she had come to the end of this holy prophecy, the unconquered deity withdrew into herself. Then at once, as soon as I had untangled myself from sleep, I rose up suffused with fear and joy, then with a drenching sweat. I was completely awed by the powerful goddess’s presence, manifested so clearly to me, and I sprinkled myself with sea spray and focused on her important commands, retracing her instructions in order.

  Then quickly the dark night mist was dispersed and the sun rose golden.

  Now crowds began to fill the streets in a celebratory mood, scurrying to and fro in religious activity. Everything seemed to me to be filled with such exultation, even beyond my own, that I could sense that animals of all sorts, as well as all the houses and the day itself, were rejoicing with a serene face. For a calm, sunny day had suddenly followed yesterday’s frost, and the lovely songbirds, delighting in the warm spring air, tuned forth sweet symphonies, soothing and appeasing the mother of the stars, parent of the seasons, and the mistress of the whole world with their charming invocations. And then the trees, those fertile with fruitful offspring and those infertile but content with the shade they provide, thawed by breezes from the south and glowing with the first shoots of their leaves, whispered soft soughs with the gentle motion of their limbs. And now that the fractious roar of the winds had subsided, and the turbulent swelling of the waves was past, the sea was calmly lapping at the shore. The sky had dispersed its cloudy gloom and was shining with the bare, bright splendor of its own light.

  But here comes the pre-procession entertainment, all beautifully elaborated according to the participants’ choices. One man played the soldier, wearing a sword belt. A tucked-up cloak, thick sandals, and a hunting spear made another man into a hunter. Another, clothed in golden slippers, a silk dress, and precious jewelry, with tresses attached to his head, feigned the appearance of a woman and walked flowingly. Yet another you would think had come straight from a gladiatorial show, recognizable by his armor, shield, helmet, and sword. There were many others, too: one playing a magistrate bearing the insignia of power and a purple stripe on his toga; one masquerading as a philosopher, with a cloak and staff, sandals, and a beard shaggy as a goat; two others with different sorts of rods: a bird-catcher with a rod smeared with birdlime and a fisherman with hooked lines. I also saw a tame bear in women’s clothes carried in a litter, and a monkey dressed in a woven cap and a saffron-yellow robe like Ganymede, holding a golden cup. And finally, an ass with wings glued on, walking beside a lame old man, so that you would say one was Pegasus and the other his rider Bellerophon, but you would laugh at them both.

  In the midst of this secular entertainment by the locals, who were milling about, now the savior goddess’s own procession began to move forward: women—shining in their white clothware, rejoicing in diverse cult-gear, and blooming in springtime headwear—were strewing the ground with flowers from the folds of their tunics all along the procession of the sacred crowd. Others, carrying bright mirrors pointed behind their backs, showed their obeisance to the goddess coming behind them. Still others carried ivory combs and mimed the adorning and combing of the Queen’s hair with gestures of their arms and bendings of their fingers. Yet others shook wondrous balsam and other aromatic oils from jars and sprinkled them on the streets. There were besides a great number of both sexes propitiating the goddess, offspring of the heavenly stars, with lanterns, torches, candles, and other sorts of artificial light.

  After them came delightful musical ensembles: reed pipes and flutes were playing the sweetest harmonies. A pleasant chorus of select youth followed them, resplendent in treasured snow-white clothing, repeating a lovely refrain that a clever poet, favored by the Muses, had written and set to music, and which contained as its theme the prelude to the Greater Vows. The pipers dedicated to Sarapis also marched by with their transverse pipes extending past their right ears, repeating the signature refrain of the god and temple—and many others who went on ahead calling, “Clear the path for the sacred objects.”

  Then the throngs initiated into the sacred rites flowed by, men and women of every rank and age, luminous in the unsullied white of their linen robes, the women’s hair wet with perfumes and covered in sheer veils, the men’s hair completely shaved so their heads gleamed: earthly stars of the great religion. Their sacred rattles, the sistrums, made of bronze, silver, and even gold, raised a sharp din.

  Then came the highest officiants, the priests in charge of the rites, wearing white linen garments bound tightly at the chest and reaching down to their feet. They were carrying the extraordinary apparatus of the almighty deities. The first of them was holding up a lamp shining with clear light, not quite like our lamps that illuminate evening meals, but in the form of a golden drinking cup sustaining a flame emerging from a hole in its center. A second priest was dressed the same way, but he held in both hands an altar referred to as a “helper,” a name borrowed from the providential help the highest goddess bestows. A third came by carrying a palm branch with leaves delicately wro
ught of gold, as well as a herald’s staff of Mercury. A fourth held out the palm of his disfigured left hand as a symbol of fairness, which, with its natural sluggishness and without any dexterity or contrivance, seemed more appropriate to signal fairness than the right. He also carried a golden vessel in the shape of a rounded breast, from which milk flowed. A fifth carried a winnowing fan assembled from laurel branches, and a sixth carried an amphora.

  Right after that came the gods who deigned to walk on human feet: here was the fearsome messenger between the upper and lower realms, Anubis, an imposing figure raising up his towering canine neck, now appearing black, now gold. He held a staff in his left hand, and with his right he was shaking a verdant palm leaf. There followed in his footsteps a cow raised to an erect stance—a cow, fertile representation of the goddess who created the universe—which one of the company was carrying on his shoulders as he moved ahead gracefully with a light step. Another carried a wickerwork chest designed to hold the secret objects, hiding deep within it the mysteries of the wondrous cult. Another lucky one bore in his embrace a venerable image of the highest divinity, not at all like cattle or birds, not like a wild animal and not even like a human, but venerable by the very originality of its clever inventiveness: an ineffable symbol of the ever-exalted sacred, which must be hidden in profound silence. But this is what it looked like: it was formed from shining gold, a small urn hollowed out artfully with a completely rounded bottom, and on the outside adorned with extraordinary carved images of Egyptian figures. Its mouth was placed not too high and jutted out into an extended spout with a long channel; on the other side a handle was attached that bent back in a long curve ending in a twisted knot on which sat an asp rearing up its swollen, ridged, scaly neck.

  But look! The promised favor of the most propitious goddess is before me! The priest who held my fate and salvation in his hands now approached, dressed exactly as the goddess had promised. He was holding out the sistrum for the goddess and the crown of roses for me, and by Hercules, it really was a crown, since, after enduring so many and such difficult labors through the providence of the greatest goddess, I overcame Fortune, who wrestled with me so savagely. But I didn’t tear off impetuously at a gallop, impelled by my sudden joy, since I was afraid, of course, that the orderly quiet of the ritual would be disturbed by the sudden onrush of a quadruped. Rather, with a placid and totally human gait, full of hesitation, I gradually inched forward with my body at an angle, while the crowd made way, clearly by divine agency.

  The priest, as I could intuit from the events themselves, recalled the previous night’s oracle and was amazed by the correspondence of events with the instructions he had received. So he suddenly stopped, extended his right hand unprompted, and presented the garland of roses straight to my mouth. Then, trembling, heart beating with a steady throb, I took that garland in my greedy mouth; it gleamed with beautiful interwoven roses, and, eager for the promise’s fulfillment, I devoured it.

  Nor was I cheated of that promise: immediately my disfigured and beastly form slipped away. First of all, my rough bristles melted off, then my coarse skin thinned, my bulging belly shrank back, the soles of my feet left behind their hooves and ended in toes; my hands were no longer feet, but extended outward to serve the functions of an upright stance; my long neck was contracted, my mouth and head rounded, my enormous ears reclaimed their original smallness, my rock-sized teeth returned to their human petiteness, and what had previously tortured me most: no tail! The crowd was in awe, the initiates revered the manifest power of the greatest deity and the amazing coherence with the dream vision, as well as the ease and majesty of my retransformation. With a clear voice, in unison, stretching their hands to heaven, they bore witness to the brilliant beneficence of the goddess.

  I stood rooted there in silence, immobilized by utter astonishment, incapable of grasping such great joy. What utterance could I stutter forth? From what source might I find a prelude for my new voice? What kind of speech might make an auspicious beginning for my new tongue? With what words and at what length might I render thanks to such a goddess?

  But the priest, who had somehow learned of my constant calamities through divine communication from their very start, although also thrown into confusion by the singular miracle, first made sure by a meaningful nod that I had a garment to cover myself. For as soon as the ass had stripped me of his dreadful hide, I had pressed my thighs tightly together and carefully spread my hands on top; I protected myself well through natural concealment as much as possible for a naked man. Then one of the religious leaders unhesitatingly stripped off his outer tunic and quickly wrapped me in it. At that, the priest, with a face that was kind and something other than human, looked at me in astonishment and spoke:

  “You have endured many and diverse hardships, driven by the tempests and storm winds of Fortune, but finally, Lucius, you have arrived at the port of Quiet and the altar of Mercy. Your pedigree and rank and even your learning, in which you excelled, were of no use to you, for you fell into slavish pleasures in the slippery time of green adolescence and reaped a baleful reward for your untimely curiosity. But blind Fortune, all the while tormenting you with terrible dangers, somehow led you, through her unseeing malice, into this state of religious beatitude. Let her be gone now; let her rage with all her fury and find another object for her cruelty. For hostile Chance has no foothold against those whose lives the majestic goddess has freed into her service. What use were the robbers to the plans of wicked Fortune? The wild beasts? Your period of servitude? What use was it to send you on arduous journeys circling back and forth, or to subject you to daily fear of death? You have been received into the protection of Fortune—not blind but seeing Fortune—who even illuminates the other gods with the radiance of her light. Assume a happier face to match your bright garment; accompany the procession of the savior goddess with an exultant step. Let the nonbelievers see this! Let them see it and recognize the error of their ways. Behold: Lucius has been freed from his former troubles by the providence of great Isis and joyfully triumphs over his fortune. But so that you will be safer and better protected, enroll yourself in this sacred brigade whose militia you were invited to join not long ago. Commit yourself now to obedience to our cult and voluntarily assume the yoke of service to our ministry. For, once you have begun to serve the goddess, then you will particularly feel the benefits of your liberty.”

  After the distinguished priest had delivered this divinely inspired speech, he gasped out a few exhausted breaths and fell silent. Then, mingling with the holy procession, I marched along with the shrine that carried the sacred objects, notable and conspicuous, pointed out by fingers and nods. Everyone in the crowd was talking about me: “This is the man the awe-inspiring holiness of the all-powerful goddess transformed back this very day to the company of men. Happy and thrice blessed is he who, through the innocence and trustworthiness of his former life—surely—earned this magnificent patronage from on high, and was somehow reborn and instantly pledged to service in the cult.”

  Winged Rumor had not grown slack and lazy, nor were her wings laggard. She flew straight to my hometown and narrated the story of my remarkable fate and the propitious goddess’s praiseworthy favor. So, all at once, my friends and house slaves and all of my closest family laid aside the mourning they had assumed when they heard the false report of my death. Buoyant with sudden joy, each hastened separately to load me with gifts and see me in broad daylight, returned from the dead. I, too, was revived, seeing the faces of people I had despaired of ever seeing again. I accepted their kind contributions, particularly since these friends had thoughtfully and generously provided me with what I needed for my upkeep and expenses.

  After that, I performed the daily duties of worship with great diligence, as the clear evidence of my present blessings gave promise of future support. But every day my longing to be fully initiated increased, and I often approached the high priest with intense prayers, begging that he finally initiate me into the sacred
nocturnal mysteries. He, though, a serious man known for his strict and sober observance of religious ritual, gently and kindly quieted my impatience, and, as parents are wont to restrain their children’s immature desires, he kept soothing and comforting my anxious spirit.

  But one dark night, with commands that were far from dark, the goddess clearly advised me that the day had come on which she would grant me my greatest wish. As I ran to the temple, the priest met me and said, “Lucius, your day has come.” Then he initiated me with elaborate ceremonies into the secret mysteries of the goddess.

  I remained there for a few days and enjoyed the indescribable pleasure of gazing at the goddess’s image, pledged to her as I was by a favor that cannot be repaid. At length, at the goddess’s urging, I paid thanks and made offerings—not as much as she deserved, but in keeping with my means—and prepared a homecoming. It was long delayed, but I was scarcely able to rupture the bonds of my burning desire to remain with the goddess.

  So, after delaying for a long time to give thanks and offer prayers, I finally departed and headed straight off to revisit my ancestral hearth after so much time away.

  But a few days later, at the powerful goddess’s urging, I quickly grabbed my satchels, boarded a ship, and set out for Rome. With favoring winds, I arrived at that holy city on the Ides of December. Thereafter, I had no more pressing business than to pray daily to Queen Isis at her temple, so highly venerated in the city. There I was a constant worshipper, a newcomer to the shrine, but a native to the cult, and I happily and proudly went about the city displaying my head shaved in the service of Isis.