The Ancient Greek Novel and Its Heroines A Female Paradox.pdf

The Ancient Greek Novel and Its Heroines: A Female ParadoxAuthor(s): S. WiersmaReviewed work(s):Source: Mnemosyne, Fourth Series, Vol. 43, Fasc. 1/2 (1990), pp. 109-123Published by: BRILLStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4431891 .

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Mnemosyne, Vol. XLIII, Fase. 1-2 (1990)

THE ANCIENT GREEK NOVEL AND ITS HEROINES:

A FEMALE PARADOX

BY

S. WIERSMA

In this paper I discuss some aspects of the dominant role played

by the heroines in the ancient Greek novels. I try to make clear that

from the viewpoint of the audience they probably acted within the

bounds of familiar and socially acceptable female behaviour.

First I shall survey the historical background of the ancient Greek

novels (I). Next I shortly treat late Hellenistic milieu in comparison with the settings of the novels (II). Finally, I deal with the paradox-

ical combination of modesty and prominence which is characteristic

not only of the actions and behaviour of the heroines in the Greek

novels but also of certain public roles upper-class women could play in Hellenistic society (III).

I. The writers of ancient fiction took some trouble to furnish

their stories with a touch of reality, and, unlike some of their

imitators in Renaissance and baroque European literature, they

eschewed philosophical digression. Apparently, they set out to con-

coct series of events following a 'natural* course.

They tried to make their books agreeable pieces of entertain-

ment. Accordingly, they developed a variety of effective tools as,

for instance, the subde play of literary allusion, and the practice of

evoking the exotic atmosphere of faraway countries, evoking the

thrill of adventure, and other stock devices of narrative. No less

effective, however, was the special kind of realism referred to

above. They knew about the appeal of balance: the heavy weight of (unavoidable if implicit) ethics is compensated for by lovely and

sometimes fruitily presented episodes of happiness and pleasure.

Moreover, they make the plots of their works develop at two levels:

the heroes have to go through bizarre sufferings and grotesque

experiences, but at the same time the scene for their experiences

appears to be set in terms of a real human society. We may safely



110 THE ANCIENT GREEK NOVEL AND ITS HEROINES

assume that already the Creators' of prose fiction were anxious not

to lose their public's attention by losing all traces of recognizable social reality.

What do we know about that * reality'? We are in possession of

some facts about the historical context and social background of the

ancient novel. Erwin Rohde, while dating Chariton, still wavered

between the fifth and sixth century A.D. Recent, and more

systematic, studies of Chariton's classicism, or even 'atticism', are

a solid basis to place his work no later than the beginning of the first

century B.C.1) As Chariton's romance is probably the first com-

plete surviving one, the structurally very complicated narrative by Heliodorus may be the last. There is some reason to suppose that

in his account of a given siege Heliodorus imitated a comparable

description in the work of Julian, the Roman emperor, and hence

he must have been working in the latter half of the fourth century2). We may conclude that ancient fiction was written and read from as

early as the second century B.C. until the end of the fourth A.D.3). We have a fair knowledge not only of the period of the ancient

novel's development, but also of the geographical region where this

genre came into existence and the area of its distribution. The most

convincing picture is given by T. H?gg, who, partly deviating from

and partly following Perry's and Reardon's views, arrives at the

1) A fundamental study is: A. D. Papanikolau, Chariton und Xenophon von Ephesos: Zur Frage der Abh?ngigkeit, in: Charts: Festschrift K. Vourveris (Athens 1964), 305-20. Xenophon, as P. demonstrates, imitated Chariton. In his dissertation P. shows that Chariton worked in the first century B.C. (Zur Sprache Charitons, diss. Cologne 1962). Cf. by the same author: Chariton-Studien, G?ttingen 1973. More titles in: T. H?gg, The Novel in Antiquity (Oxford 1983), 237. H?gg does not men- tion M. Pakcinska, Pierwszy Zachowany Romans Grecki, Meander 19 (1964), 128-42 and 183 (summary in Latin), who argues that Chariton's novel, when dated early, may be compared effectively for style and structure with the historical writings of the Hellenistic period.

2) The description of the siege of Syene in Egypt "has some striking similarities with Emperor Julian's description of the siege of Mesopotamian Nisibis in AD 350" (T. H?gg, op. cit. 59). Of course, these similarities, as H?gg observes himself, are relevant only if the emperor "is giving an authentic report of an historical event". Cf. R. Keydell, Polychronion: Festschrift F. D?lger (Heidelberg 1966), 345-50.

3) Cf. on the vitality and popularity of the genre: C. W. M?ller, in: E. Vogt (ed.), Griechische Literatur (Neues Handbuch der Literaturwissenschaft, Band 2, Wiesbaden 1981), 386-7.



THE ANCIENT GREEK NOVEL AND ITS HEROINES 111

conclusion that this late Hellenistic genre must have been

developed in Asia Minor and reached its real flourishing in

Alexandria4), whence it spread over the world during the first cen-

turies after Christ. These general facts of time and place provide us

with a first, if still very rough, outline of the historical milieu in

which ancient prose fiction was created, (apparently) valued, and

advanced. But some other historical data are available to yield a

more detailed picture. "The first novels were aimed at the educated classes of the

Hellenistic cities of Asia Minor". This statement by H?gg points to a distinguishing characteristic of the genre and its public. In

some way the birth of prose fiction in antiquity is interrelated with

literacy. It is hardly conceivable that the professional storytellers could master the memorizing of such complicated and elaborately structured stories as are put down in the novel5). Actually, we have

enough reasons to suppose that already the ancient writers of fiction

addressed themselves to a public able to read for pleasure. They offered (and designed) their books as reading material. This is, for

instance, strikingly indicated by drawings found on ancient book-

rolls, obviously added to illustrate the text6). Literacy, however,

though on the increase during the last centuries B.C., did not imply

general ability to read and write, pervading all strata of Hellenistic

society. When Greek romance was born, only the top stratum of

society and the 'professional' (Hellenized) middle class could enjoy it. Later on the novel also reached other people. A variety of causes,

4) Modem historiography concerning ancient prose fiction has a sound basis in: B. E. Perry, The Ancient Romances: A Literary-Historical Account of Their Origins, Berkeley /Los Angeles 1967. Indispensable are B. P. Reardon's theories, partly presented as comments on Perry's argument: cf. Courants litt?raires grecs des Ile et Ille si?cles apr?s J.-C. (Paris 1971), 309-403, and The Greek Novel, Phoenix 23 (1969), 291-309.

5) See on the possible function of those storytellers: A. Scobie, Aspects of the Ancient Romance and Its Heritage (Meisenheim/Glan 1969), 9-29.

6) K. Weitzmann, Ancient Book Illumination, (Cambridge/Mass. 1959), 100. Cf. the same, Illustration in Roll and Codex, Princeton 1970. Recently, Berber Wesseling has thoroughly dealt with the problem of literacy and the audience of the ancient novels. Arguing from a sociological point of view, she concludes that the intended readership "is probably the intellectuals in the first place". Berber Wesseling, The Audience of the Ancient Novels, in: H. Hofmann (ed.), Groningen Colloquia on the Novel, I (Groningen 1988), 67-79.




probably including recitations by scribes and other literates7), made the genre widely popular. It is clear, however, that the few

fully literate people were being aimed at. Moreover, the style and

contents of the surviving novels seem to presume some higher education on the reader's part: both the 'sophistic' and (in a lesser

degree) the 'non-sophistic' specimens are spiced with allusions to

the 'classical' literature (from Homer to Theocritus)8). To sum up, more or less definite historical data enable us to

outline the world in which the Greek novel came to function as a

literary genre. From Asia Minor, where it came into being in the

course of the second century B.C., it spread during the late

Hellenistic and Roman periods over the Greek East and throughout the Greek speaking world. Papyrological data and some character-

istics of the structure and the contents of the surviving novels

indicate the central role of literacy: the genre must have been

developed to serve as reading material to literate people. This

aspect, apart from being directly pertinent in the sphere of recep- tion aesthetics, indirectly illustrates the social position of the group aimed at.

The ancient novelists,while 'staging' their fictitious stories, tried

to keep in touch with their readers' everyday reality. The above

summary is a provisioned delineation of that reality with respect to

time, place and social stratification. Starting from this outline we

may go into detail and check further whether and to what extent

features of Hellenistic (and imperial) societies figured in the novel

to balance fact and fiction.

II. To what extent did the Greek novelists manage to provide their fantastic love stories with a recognizable background? "As far

7) See on this plausible hypothesis: T. H?gg, op. cit. 93.?. ?. Havelock, The Muse Learns to Write: Reflections on Orality and Literacy from Antiquity to the Present (New Haven 1986), deals with problems inherent in the transformation from orality to literacy in classical and other times.

8) The 'non-sophistic' (Chariton, Xenophon) no less than the 'sophistic' ones (Longus, Achilles Tatius, Heliodorus) must have been written for a rather select public, and in the course of time have moved down the social scale. This is the view T. H?gg adheres to in his book on the novel in antiquity (cf. op. eit 98). I wonder whether his suggeston at p. 35 that the authors of the three surviving 'sophistic' novels "aimed at a narrower and more refined audience than that of their predecessors" is compatible with his general view.




as externals go", the novels picture contemporary conditions of life

and living: "...travel by land and sea; pirates and brigands; kid-

napping and slavery; the ravages of chance; religious syncretism. Chariton dwells with relish and inside knowledge on the country-

squire life in western Asia Minor, Achilles Tatius on the big city of Alexandria" (T. H?gg 87). Just in line with these parallels, the

settings of the 'fiction' in the novels might mirror other instances

of Hellenistic 'fact' as well. If indeed, as I suggested, these works

were written for people belonging to a specific social stratum, then

we may properly ask whether or not the first readers of Greek

romance found specific features of their own surrounding in these

books.

We are reasonably well informed about the circumstances, position and doings of the ruling elites in the cities of the Greek East

during the first centuries before and after Christ. Epigraphic and

archaeological material, historico-cultural and other data point to

a social stratification with closely knit mutual economic interests:

the ruling classes successfully tried to maintain their position by means of a system of so-called 'euergetism'9), whereas the people used to comply with a situation of profitable dependency. At the

same time these upper-class 'benefactors' felt forced to consolidate

their position by ideological means. In a system of euergetism the

private and public spheres tend to overlap10), and evidently the

privileged succeeded in creating an intriguing and somewhat

paradoxical atmosphere of 'official' solidarity. As appears from the

monuments and other sources, the moral sense of mutual

interdependence "was expressed in terms of paternalism and

familial affection" (Van Bremen, op. cit. 236). The authorities, in

their dynastically structured private position of power, presented themselves (and their families) as the guardians of public interests

9) Cf. P. Veyne, Le Pain et le Cirque: Sociologie historique d'un pluralisme politique (Paris 1976), 215-6.

10) P. Veyne, op. cit., passim. Cf. S. Humphreys, The family, women and death (London 1983), ch. 2: Public and private interest in classical Athens. An illuminating account of the social and ideological aspects of euergetism, especially with regard to the period under discussion, is given by R. van Bremen, in: A. Cameron, A. Kurth (ed.), Images of Women in Antiquity (London/Canberra 1983), 223-42, esp. 235-6.




and welfare of all citizens. The people, for their part, could honour

them with the titles 'father', 'mother', etc., 'of the city'. Striking

examples are available of the mass demonstration of familial affec-

tion. Of course, those utterances were largely ceremonial, but we

have the strong impression that the ceremonies concerned were at

least living rituals. Widely attested, for instance, are impassioned

public mournings on the occasion of a death in dynastic families:

all citizens seem to have participated11). Apparently, both parties were not only aware of their economic interdependency, but also

willingly shared in each other's ups and downs.

We asked above to what extent the ancient novelists admitted

contemporary reality into their narratives. Did they content them-

selves with a reference to general conditions of life or did they ven-

ture to address their public in its own, more specific setting? The

latter seems to be true. The novelists' imaginative reconstructions

of the time, place and conditions in which their characters live and

act, definitely remind us of the world the supposed readership of the

novel lived in. Some essential features of this world, as far as we

know it, seem indeed to be mirrored in the mise-en-scene. I shall

now give an example. To us the most characteristic demonstrations of the above-

mentioned togetherness and national feeling of interdependence are

the numerous attested public mournings. Also attested are public

thanksgivings on behalf of a member of the ruling families who

recuperated from severe illness. Such a happy recuperation could

provoke an exchange of acknowledgements: recovered, this person treats the people to a banquet, while they for their part defray the

costs of the erection of a statue at the agora12). There seems to be more than a shimmer of this feeling of

solidarity in the dramatic world of the ancient novel. Chariton, for

instance, though giving his narrative a general historical setting in

the fifth century B.C., provided the story with "just enough

specific detail and fact to put the action and characters in the

11) Cf. L. Robert, Laodic?e du Lycos. Le Nymph?e: cinqui?me partie, les inscriptions (Paris 1966), 85-6. More titles in Van Bremen, op. cit. 241, n. 72.

12) Cf. H. W. Pleket, Epigraphica II: Texts on the social history of the Greek world (Leiden 1969), 10-15 (= nr. 3).




familiar world"13). In this world we are indeed touched by some

moving manifestations of social commitment. The people's

assembly of Syracuse, seeing Chaereas and Callirhoe longing and

in love but their distinguished families separated through a political

feud, concerned itself on their behalf and succeeded in convincing their fathers to arrange a wedding. Later on, when Chaereas

prepares to set sail for Miletus in order to seek his dearly missed

Callirhoe, the city government of Syracuse decides to pay for his

expedition. And the lovers' safe homecoming makes the assembled

crowds burst into joyous utterances of sympathy while asking ques- tions about their adventures and caring for the loving couple's health and welfare.

III. Until now, I have left aside one characteristic, if controver-

sial, aspect of the system of 'euergetism' referred to above. Strik-

ingly enough, female members of the ruling elite families played a

prominent role as benefactors. Apparently they could own, by inheritance or otherwise, enormous fortunes. This need not point, of course, to any real evolution in women's legal status. What

D. M. Schaps found for the classical and early Hellenistic periods

probably also holds true for the ensuing periods in the Greek East:

though enjoying more legal freedom than their Athenian sisters, women in the other Greek cities still seem to have had only limited

control of their own properties14). During the periods under discus-

sion we find no sign of any real alternation. Even the many attested

instances of a wealthy public benefaction by upper-class women in

the Greek East are no sufficient grounds for postulating an actual

improvement in women's legal freedom. R. van Bremen may be

right indeed in stating that "the important public role played by female members of these elites has to be understood rather as a

result of the social and ideological components of the system of

13) G. L. Schmeling, Chariton (New York 1974), 79. On history and imagina- tion in Chariton see: A. Billault, Aspects du roman de Chariton, IL 33 (1981), 205-11. Cf. alsoj. R. Morgan, History, Romance, and Realism in the Ethiopica, Classical Anti- quity 1 (1982), 223-65. ?. P. Reardon, Theme, Structure and Narrative in Chariton, YCLS 27 (1982), 1-27, illuminates from a literary-critical point of view the theme, structure and narrative method of Chariton's story.

14) Cf. D. M. Schaps, Economic Rights of Women in Ancient Greece, Edinburgh 1979.




euergetism than as a direct consequence of changes in women's

legal and economic freedom" (Van Bremen, op. cit. 237). The

abundance of their gifts should be related to the well-known general difference in wealth between the Greek East in Hellenistic and

Roman times and mainland Greece in the classical period. In her argument, however, Van Bremen seems unable to

appreciate "the important public role played by the female

members of these elites" as such. I cannot see, as she does, any contradiction (or ambiguity) between this honourable social position and the epithets used in the funerary inscriptions com-

memorating those distinguished women. The high esteem in which

they were publicly held is expressed, as Van Bremen rightly

observes, in wordings derived from "the traditional feminine area

of modesty, loving dedication to husband and family, piety,

decency etc.". I see no inconsistencies or any social disqualifica- tion. Why should the city government have ordered new ethics

about important women to be carved on their memorial stones?

Would those women themselves, while playing their prominent

public roles, have felt any need to tamper with traditional morality? It may be, as Van Bremen points out, that they were confined to

"act within the framework created by their male relatives". On the

other hand, we should realize that the grandeur of their benefac-

tions no less than their permanent 'physical' presence in the form

of statues and other monuments strongly suggests the force of

(female) personality. We have to deal with the clear evidence of two, in some way

interrelated, historical facts: the fact of socially integrated activities

by strong women, operating individually, and the fact that they were rewarded for their efforts with words referring to "their tradi-

tionally feminine qualities". Whether or not we should assume any contradiction or ambiguity between these facts is basically a matter

of our personal interpretation. At any rate, we have no reason to

suppose that, as far as they were concerned, those ancient ladies felt

any conflict themselves.

As such they seem to live on in the heroines of the ancient Greek

novels. These ladies frequently come to the fore although they are

always the very picture of modesty and faithfulness. These fictional

women in love would not have felt ashamed of being honoured for




qualities we find exalted in the epitaphs of their beneficent sisters

in the real world. Chariton, for instance, does not miss any chance

to stress the fidelity aimed at by his heroine.

At the same time, however, trying to relieve his audience of the

heavy weight of Callirhoe's loyalty, Chariton has obliged us with

a touch of subtle irony. Dionysius, eager to be able to call the

attractive woman his wife, but not knowing of Callirhoe's first mar-

riage nor that she is already two months pregnant, easily consents

to be the father of her child. When, shortly afterwards, he feels

himself in a position to thank Aphrodite for 'their' newborn baby, Chariton demonstrates his subtle sense of humour: either

Dionysius is not really au fait with the secrets of reproduction or

Callirhoe not really faithful.

Callirhoe's affair with Dionysius playfully compensates for the

somewhat overwhelming standard of chastity that generally applies to the conduct of the heroines of the ancient novels. Attempts have

been made to 'defend' Callirhoe on the ground that she married

Dionysius because she thought Chaereas was dead15). It is several

months later, however, at the end of book 3, that she learns from

Dionysius' steward that her first husband has been killed.

Apparently, as G. L. Schmeling puts it, Callirhoe was "too human

and real" for the level of morality attained by the other heroines

of Greek romance16). On the other hand, this element of frivolity contributes to the

plausibility of Callirhoe as a full character. It even seems to have

been introduced by the author in order to make her faithfulness

stand out more clearly, and in a more characteristic way. In her

own mind she does not break her pledge of loyalty, and the na?vet?

of her reasoning creates an atmosphere of charming self-deception.

Pondering Dionysius' proposal day and night she finally reaches

her decision, having discussed the matter with Chaereas' portrait,

15) So, for instance, T. M. Rattenbury, Chastity and Chastity Ordeals in Ancient Greek Romances, Proc. of the Leeds Philos, and Liter. Soc.: Literature and History, Section 1 (Leeds 1926), 63.

16) G. L. Schmeling, op. cit. 103. See on characterization in Chariton: T. H?gg, Some Technical Aspects of the Characterization in Chariton's Romance, in: Studi classici in onore di Q Cataudella, Catania Fac. di Lett, e Filos. 1972, 2, 545-56. Cf. J. Helms, Character Portrayal in the Romance of Chariton, The Hague/Paris 1966.




hugged to her stomach, and with their unborn child. There is no

reason to suppose that in later antiquity embryos were able to

speak, let alone to recommend a second father for their protection. Yet Callirhoe's embryo advises her to safeguard their life through a marriage with Dionysius (Chariton 2.11.3). Next she delivers a

fine example of dialectics whilst maintaining that Chaereas, who

appeared in her dream and put their "son" (?) under her care, recommended a new marriage (2.11.3). Actually, he only gave the

child into the charge of its mother (2.9.6), without any indication

to her how to take her task.

In her own opinion Callirhoe does not commit adultery, and we

feel tempted to endorse her view. Yet no one would deny that (even in late Hellenistic times17) ) Callirhoe's second marriage was

bigamy. In view of this fact her own justification turns out to be an

amusing variation by the author on the theme of faithfulness: in all

sincerity (and somewhat whimsically) she invokes her husband

(Chaereas), imagining that he is leading his wife to the new

bridegroom's (Dionysius') house (2.11.3). As G. Anderson rightly

points out, it is reasonable to accept that Chariton "is a good deal

less naive than his characters". I would suggest, indeed, that

Callirhoe's naive casuistry constitutes another rhetorical paradox to

be added to the "string of paradoxes" Chariton produced in his

"Hellenistic operetta"18): remaining faithful to the one man she

gives in to the other.

The ancient novelists were fond of the reversal of feelings and

reality. So we should appreciate Callirhoe's paradoxical behaviour

as a humorous entr'acte, inserted by the author in order to stress

indirectly the usual virtuous side of his heroine. As Schmeling has

17) For the dating of Chariton's novel see: T. H?gg, op. cit. 5 f. In general on

bigamy: C. Vatin, Recherches sur le mariage et la condition de la femme mari?e ? l'?poque hell?nistique (Paris 1970), 204-5.

18) G. Anderson, Eros Sophistes: Ancient Novelists at Play (Chico: Scholars Press

1982), 21. In my opinion Anderson has greatly furthered our understanding of the ancient novels. Leaving aside his ideas about the origins (as expounded in his Ancient Fiction: The Novel in the Graeco-Roman World, London, etc., 1984), I fully agree with the way he deals with the texts as such. In his view the ancient romances "are best understood as humorous, technically expert play with literary and rhetorical conventions, whose only goal is lighthearted entertainment of a literate and sophisticated audience" (Helen Bacon in CW 78 (1985), 616).




put it, "her act of faithfulness developed an all-round tension in the

story" (Schmeling 103). Just like the other 'romantic' heroines,

Chariton's Callirhoe remains basically a paragon of prudishness.

However, finding herself in a precarious situation, she, unlike her

literary sisters, prefers to observe the standard of chastity in a

theoretical rather than practical way. At the end of his narrative

Chariton returns to Callirhoe's affair with a touch of piquant humour: in her farewell letter at Dionysius she puts their 'common

son' under his 'father's care. As the story tells us, the sending of

this letter was the only thing she did without Chaereas knowledge

(8.4.4). But would Dionysius have accepted 'his' son, if with him

she had not once done more 'without Chaereas' knowledge'? All this does not keep her from making (well-meant) statements

on her loyalty. Firmly she resolves to meet the king's insistence

with suicide (6.6.5). One day with Chaereas, she states, would be

more than eternal life alongside Zeus (6.7.12). Finally, when she

sees Chaereas again, both of them fall in a faint four times (8.1.8-

10). This ultimate manifestation of love, in its characteristically melodramatic form, tells us to whom Callirhoe has been faithful.

However, as G. Molinie has convincingly made clear19), her

faithfulness did not make her insensitive to the feelings of other

men, and Callirhoe touches us all the more, when, at the moment

of complete happiness, she remembers her former patron, who so

dearly wanted to be happy with her. She has a subtle understanding of his situation and feels obliged to express her gratitude for all he

did. So she writes the letter mentioned above. The text reveals the

same magnanimity that also characterizes her attitude towards the

captured Persian queen, whom she courteously permits to go home

in freedom (8.3.8). This noble gesture perfectly fits in with the picture of what Callirhoe really is: a queen on her own. Unlike

Chaereas, who would prefer to make the Persian queen her servant

(8.3.1), Callirhoe knows how to handle delicate situations. In many

respects Callirhoe is the stronger personality of the two leading characters. In fact, she happily deals with all kinds of difficult situa-

tions, while her partner repeatedly fails. For instance, his letter to

the Great King, in a way comparable with Callirhoe's letter to

19) G. Molinie, Chariton: Le roman de Chair?as et Callirho? (Paris 1979), 22-41.




Dionysius, is marred by mean reproaches (8.4.2-3). Despair, one

of the favourite ingredients of the story, seems to have been

reserved especially for the male hero. Chaereas extensively dwells

on his miserable situation and personality. Having consented not

to see Callirhoe for the time being, he calls her to witness: "most

wretched and wicked I am that I accept the ban to see you! Like

a coward, I cling to life and let myself be ruled!" (5.2.5). This com-

plaint, though being pure genre, conversely typifies the woman's

art: Callirhoe, just as Chaereas, often laments at her situation but

never, as Chaereas does, at her own decisions. Compared with

Callirhoe Chaereas looks like some 'heroic softy' (G. Molini?, op. cit. 31).

Faced with a precarious situation Callirhoe even succeeds, where

Chaereas never does, in displaying some kind of ironical detach-

ment. She warns the Persian eunuch, who commends the feelings of his king to her attention, not to try to catch a slave: "I won't be

so mad as to deem myself worthy of the king. I only am on equal

footing with the handmaidens of the Persian women" (6.5.9). From the beginning of the story Callirhoe is a real personality, no

matter whether she happens to be in the position of a free person or not. Against Chaereas' jealousy and suspicions which make him

lose his balance, she behaves "like a true general's daughter: full

of self-confidence" (1.3.6). When in 1.4.12 the male hero fails to

control himself and even grinds his foot into the midriff of the

heroine, no reader will feel dubious about the difference between

Chaereas' and Callirhoe's moralities.

All differences between Chaereas and Callirhoe actually seem to

confirm the above-mentioned tendency of the novelists "to set the

scene for their stories in terms of a real human society". I do not

venture to claim that the character of Callirhoe might be conceived

of as that of some kind of female 'benefactor'. I only want to sug-

gest that, presumably, to the contemporary readership Callirhoe's

moral surplus value would be no surprise. As we saw, people were

accustomed to prominent behaviour on the part of women. On the

other hand they were accustomed to funerary (and other) inscriptions honouring female prominence with references to modesty,

decency and other traditionally feminine qualities. This paradox seems to be mirrored in Callirhoe's ideals and

behaviour. It seems to be reflected even more clearly and con-




sistently in the role of Charicleia, the heroine of Heliodorus'

Aethiopica. "Women most courageously deal with the unforeseen", we are told (4.13.8), but Charicleia herself, being confronted with

a stranger who asks for her hand in public, starts off by reminding the man that silence becomes women and that her 'brother' should

do the talking. She goes on speaking extensively about her adven-

tures, and with tact and flattery succeeds in postponing the perfor- mance of a rejected, if yet possible, marriage (1.21.6-22.9). The

passage tersely illustrates a paradox we also, and frequently, find

in similar other scenes of Heliodorus' novel, in the same bantering tone we found in Chariton. At last the chaste virgin gives in to her

Theagenes, but for the time being she tends to preserve her very

chastity. When in some dangerous situation both of them are forced

to marry with another person, Theagenes eloquently appeals to the

sword but Charicleia knows the true salvation: the sacrifice of his

innocence for the sake of hers (7.25.8). In the end they are captured and both brought in before the king Hydaspes, whom she knows to

be her father. Charicleia calms down nervous Theagenes and tells

him what they have to do, but, when addressed by Hydaspes, she

keeps silence and lets her partner do the talking (9.25.3). Pieces of a comparable 'double entendre' are to be found in the

other novels as well, and often we see the "ancient novelists at

play" (G. Anderson) with performances of their heroines and their

heroines' male partners in the fields of word and action. When, for

instance, the virgin Leucippe in a sacred cave is being checked for

virginhood, Clitophon, who himself lost chastity, ardently asks Pan

to let his beloved "come back to us a virgin" (Achilles Tatius

8.13.4). All evidence points to a favourite rhetorical theme in

ancient fiction: the topos of paradoxical feminine actions and

behaviour. Portrayed in a world of men, the heroines know how to

handle their situation so as to get what they want out of it, and at

the same time how to ignore their ingenuity. This pattern, though being a literary motif on its own, is in keep-

ing with a social climate in which women could play a prominent role within the limits of a fixed position, as they could for instance

in a system of euergetism (v. supra). Callirhoe's and Charicleia's

decisive and influential contributions to 'their' stories, no less than

the activities of an Antigone, a Penelope or an Iphigenia, remain

"within the bounds of acceptable female behaviour". Mary




Lefkowitz has shown that the "influential women" of classical epic and drama do exert their influence without exceeding the social

limitations that apply to them: they even felt obliged to display their

courageous actions on grounds derived from their very position20).

Generally speaking, they were acting on behalf of their families.

The strong female personalities of classical Greek literature were no

"masculine women" (S. B. Pomeroy) nor did they assume an

essentially masculine role (H. Foley, C. E. Sorum). They only did

what the audience might have expected from women of a high moral standing who are confronted with any complications in the

private sphere. The heroines of the ancient Greek novels likewise

operated within the scope of the acceptable. Their audience, how-

ever, even knew of (upper-class) women for whom "the distinction

between private and public life" (Van Bremen) had disappeared, in other words: for whom a prominent public role was socially

accepted. In a lavishly documented and sensible article Brigitte Egger has

emphasized that the heroines of the novel could only exercise

substantial influence through their erotic attractiveness21). To my

mind, however, one should allow them a more intentional or volun-

tary role, and with this I do not refer to their anxious efforts to

safeguard their innocence. Though not possessing any real legal

power and, paradoxically, displaying a traditional pattern of

feminine behaviour, our heroines are in fact the often decisively influential partners in actual social intercourse.

Even Longus, the only ancient novelist who managed to concen-

trate on love itself and in doing so found a most successful way to

deal with happy love in literature, all the same adopted the 'female

paradox'. In his Daphnis and Chloe the feminine and masculine at

first sight only seem to mark a sexual difference, and nowhere is

Chloe's modesty described at length or with any emphasis. Yet

20) Mary R. Lefkowitz, Influential Women, in: A. Cameron, A. Kurth (ed.), Images of Women in Antiquity (London/Canberra 1983), 49-64.

21) Brigitte Egger, Zu den Frauenrollen im griechischen Roman, in: H. Hofmann

(ed.), Groningen Colloquia on the Novel, I (Groningen 1988), 33-66. Dominance of the heroines has recently been stressed by Renate Johne, in: H. Kuch (ed.), Der antike Roman: Untersuchungen zur literarischen Kommunikation und Gattungsgeschichte (Berlin 1989), 150-77: Zur Figurencharakteristik im antiken Roman, esp. 155-9.




there are some hints. Having sworn by Pan that in the future they will not live without each other, Daphnis and Chloe leave the cave

of the Nymphs. The girl, however, "as being but a girl", does not

trust Apollo's protection nor her own attractiveness, and she asks

for another oath, this time on the flock of goats (2.39.3-5). Much

later, when the landlord and his retinue visit the country, Chloe

cannot "bear so strong a presence" and she flees into the wood

(4.14.1). But she knows her own worth all the same. Longus, in his

delicate manner, has given his heroine a certain personal dominance in many situations. Though two years younger than

Daphnis, Chloe is the first to feel any erotic sensation when watch-

ing the other (1.13.3), and she keeps playing a leading part in the

course of their sexual discoveries. One day she is the judge in a

beauty contest between Daphnis and another boy, with a delightful kiss of her own at stake (1.15-17). In this situation and in all other

situations of excitement Chloe, unlike Daphnis, keeps her wits22). The difference brings about amusing scenes, as, for instance,

when the boy asks the girl to lie down naked with him longer than

she used to do, and to imitate "what rams do to ewes, and billies

to she-goats" (3.14.2) Chloe does give in, but only after she has drawn her 'male's' attention to the fact that animals remain upright and that, moreover, they are thickly clothed with their own hairy pelt. In summertime Daphnis makes decisive moves in the right direction, but he only succeeds thanks to the good sense of his partner. Going against her wishes he carries out daredevil feats in order to pick a beautiful apple from the very top of a tree. When he puts it into her bosom, Chloe forgets her anger and rewards him with

one of her enchanting kisses (3.34.7). With such sweet nothings Longus, albeit indirectly, seems to

have given his heroine something of the female paradox we dis-

cussed above: Chloe, like her sisters in ancient fiction, combines

coyness with command whenever she handles complex and difficult

situations23)

3583 SB Utrecht, Gerard Doustraat 11

22) On the female in Longus see: A. M. Scarcella, La donna nel romanzo di Longo Sofista, GIF, n.s. 3 (1972), 63-86.

23) I would like to express my gratitude to Dr. J. den Boeft, Dr. J. N. Brem- mer and Prof. Dr. K. R. Busby for many helpful suggestions.



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