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A pepaideumenoi's novel. Sophistry in Longus' Daphnis and Chloe.

1. Introduction

It has been widely recognized that the 'genre' (1) of the ancient Greek romance displays some tendencies that are also characteristic of the broader cultural climate of Imperial Greek literature, which has conventionally been labelled the 'Second Sophistic'. (2) For these influences of the contemporary context, one can point to the similar interaction with past figures and literary works, the quest for a distinctive Greek identity, and the overall influence of rhetoric and the contemporary literary taste on the novels' compositions. (3) In adding to these studies, this paper will explore the communication process which takes place between the learned composer of Daphnis and Chloe and its learned reader. In support of the traditional viewpoint that Longus should firmly be situated in the context of the Second Sophistic, it will be argued that part of the versatile amusement in Longus' story has its parallel in the contemporary rhetorical practice of the so-called sophists, who travelled all around the Roman Empire and gobsmacked various audiences with their amazing rhetorical talent. After all, such a correspondence can to a certain extent be expected, for it is quite logical that an audience that was made aware of certain narratological and rhetorical principles through attendance at public declamations would have appreciated such procedures in literary works as well. Moreover, education in the Roman Empire, with its focus on speaking and reading, imparted both rhetorical skill and literary taste (most probably with some overlap between the two), (4) and literary theory and criticism of this period such as Ps.-Longinus' On the sublime tended to offer a rhetorical approach to all sorts of literature. (5)

In other words, I aim to bring together and contextualize some observations on Longus' text in the light of its socio-cultural backdrop. As happens quite often with texts that are amply read and studied, many good analyses of Longus' novel have been offered, the results of which are incorporated alongside my personal observations and further discussed and framed in this paper. The ultimate objective is to demonstrate how the story-telling in Daphnis and Chloe is thoroughly in accordance to Second Sophistic poetics. (6) The idea that Longus is an exceptional novel writer with a lot of sophisticated refinery is self-evidently not new--one thinks for example of the title Longus 'Sophista' already attributed by Jungermann in his 1605 edition--, but this paper tried to move beyond this commonsensical approach by defining what precisely this 'sophistic' character of the novel actually meant for its contemporary reader. As will appear from the subsequent discussion, this reconstruction of the 'sophistic' character is supported by recent publications that have sharpened the understanding of the literary taste of the Second Sophistic audience.

In the first part of the paper, I will briefly discuss the rhetorical culture of Imperial Greece, in which both the rhetorical activity of the Second Sophistic and Longus' novel can be situated. Subsequently, I will address two excerpts of the Daphnis and Chloe story. The first excerpt is the prologue of the novel, which can almost literally be comprehended as the framework for the entire story. The second excerpt is a scene in book II in which there appears to be a clear interplay between genre conventions, reader-response and perversion of expectations. Both these excerpts establish what I believe to be the sophistic character of Longus' novel, which probably made it a well appreciated piece of divertimento for the model reader, the pepaideumenos. After all, the ancient novels were not written for the simple amusement of the common people, as it was believed earlier, but they addressed the cultural, economical and intellectual upper class (as so often happens, this is by and large the same group of people). (7)

As to the methodology, the main focus will be on Longus' management of time and especially space in Daphnis and Chloe! (8) These two aspects, combined with the genre of the novel, quickly evoke the impression that this paper will adopt the theoretical approach of the Bakhtinian chronotope. However, matters are not that simple. For Bakhtin's framework was primarily developed so as to distinguish between different manifestations of the novel genre. Bakhtin's focus was thus on the characteristics of genres and subgenres rather than on individual literary works. Consequently, Bakhtin stated that the Greek romance is typically characterized by a highly developed type of adventure time. (9) However, in order to reinforce the universal suitability of his theory, he barely mentions Longus' novel, although he defines it as 'psychologically the most sophisticated of all the novels.' (10) Furthermore, Bakhtin himself also indicates that Longus' novel is characterized by a different chronotope, viz. the pastoral-idyllic chronotope, (11) thus sug gesting that it deserves a special treatment. For these reasons, instead of ignoring the particular treatment of time and space in Daphnis and Chloe, this paper will emphasize these peculiarities in order to show the author's playful interaction with generic expectations in the reader. (12)

The reader-response criticism in this paper will primarily be based on the theories and analyses of Stanley Fish. Although I do not accept all aspects of Fish's polemical position that all meaning is to be situated in the reader and therefore outside the text, (13) Fish's viewpoints have influenced the thinking patterns in this paper in two different ways. Firstly, the idea of reading as a communal practice is important to understand how a reader, in this case a Second Sophistic pepaideumenos, shared a culturally defined horizon with the author and with his fellow-readers, who can in Fishian terms be labeled as the 'interpretive community'. (14) By reconstructing the cultural context in which this text was read, we can give ourselves account of the versatile and dynamic communication process between the author and the reader. Secondly, Fish's method of slowing down the reading process in order to assess what it is exactly that the text 'does' with(in) the reader (15) will be instructive to show how Longus pulls off some narratological tricks in order to keep his reader on his toes.

2. Second Sophistic poetics

In the first and even more the second century CE, Greek culture witnessed a remarkable outburst of rhetorical activity. Virtuoso orators who took pride in the title of sophist travelled around and delivered speeches before large audiences. As Greece was ruled by the Romans, these speeches had no direct political or juridical relevance, but were merely designed so as to show the orators' own greatness. These public speakers were widely respected and received much public honour, which often resulted in an enormous wealth and many public duties. (16)

In a sense, the public speeches performed by the sophists can be seen as a means to preserve elitist prevalence over the common man. (17) For the skills that are needed for versatile speech delivery could only be acquired through a time-consuming and intensive form of education only available to the welloff. Hence the concept of paideia was crucial in the negotiation of cultural power and authority. In the culture of Imperial Greece, paideia can be seen as the knowledge of an amalgam of cultural values and capacities which were regarded as heritage from the Greek classical age. This type of knowledge could separate the rich from the lower classes, and could also be used as a way of establishing social superiority in personal encounters. (18) The struggle for paideia was thus one of the main preoccupations of the aristocratic upper class, which almost exclusively produced the literary sources that have come down to us. (19)

The Greek oratory of this period is considerably influenced by rhetorical school practices by which the young rhetoricians in spe acquired the training needed for a public career. It appears that these exercises had at least two common characteristics: 1) they were not directly related to the contemporary world (there is no 'real' contemporary political or juridical case to defend), and 2) their themes seem rather conventional and designed so that they could be treated through a standardized analysis of the situation. (20)

The best-known example of this kind of public speeches influenced by school practices is the melete, in which a sophist adopts a historical persona (e.g. Alcibiades) addressing the persona's original public (e.g. the Athenian Assembly) concerning an historical situation (e.g. the Sicilian expedition). (21) Thomas Schmitz correctly argues that these speeches have an important ideological function by offering a re-enactment of the glorious times of Greek hegemony, but he fails to see that there is also a personal involvement of the speaker in it. (22) Ruth Webb convincingly states that a sophist performing a melete creates a sort of double public, a public that is required to play not only the part of historical persona's addressees, but also the part of the judges of the rhetorical masterpiece performed by the contemporary orator in front of them. (23)

Apparently, this rhetorical exercise was well appreciated by Imperial Greek listeners, which implies that in this climate there was a possibility of experiencing aesthetic pleasure for the rhetorical merits largely independently from the inventio (which must have been rather conventional and wellknown to the cultivated members of the audience). The adopted persona determined to a fairly large extent what the orator had to say, and even which arguments he had to use in support of his case (of course, introducing a new argument could be a way to display one's own creativity, but it does not seem to have been a sine qua non for the public's appreciation). The character of Second Sophistic speech delivery thus invited the audience to focus on the verbal virtuosity, which appeared to be the major merit of the speaker in front of them.

In a recent contribution, Wannes Gyselinck and Kristoffel Demoen translate the practice of sophistic declamation as described above to the general notion of Second Sophistic poetics. (24) They argue that Philostratus deploys literary strategies that are very similar to the rhetorical procedures of his day. Especially the Vita Apollonii appears to gain a lot of depth when read against the contextualizing backdrop.

Given that Longus is traditionally considered as the most 'sophistic' novel writer, it may be worthwhile to look for similar strategies in Daphnis and Chloe, in order to determine how this text presents an intellectual challenge to its reader, a challenge that was most probably perceived as an important facet of good sophistic literature.

3. Daphnis and Chloe and its 'sophistic' dialogue between author and reader

The observations on Second Sophistic poetics will now be used as a framework for the interpretation of Longus' Daphnis and Chloe. In order to do so, close readings of two excerpts will be offered. Moreover, an attempt will be made to read the excerpt from book II in light of the observations obtained in the analysis of the proem.

A. Praefatio

A close reading of the praefatio of Daphnis and Chloe already provides some insights into the specific character of Longus' tale. On the other hand, it also demonstrates that the storytelling cannot be thought apart from the context of the other novels of Longus' era.


When I was hunting in Lesbos, I saw the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, in a grove that was sacred to the Nymphs: a painting that told a story of love. The grove itself was beautiful--thickly wooded, flowery, well watered; a single spring nourished everything, flowers and trees alike. But the picture was lovelier still, combining great artistic skill with an exciting, romantic subject. Many people were attracted by its fame and came, even from abroad, to pray to the Nymphs and to look at the picture.

The picture: women giving birth, others dressing the babies, babies exposed, animals suckling them, shepherds adopting them, young people pledging love, a pirates' raid, an enemy attack--and more, much more, all of it romantic. I gazed in admiration and was seized by a yearning to depict the picture in words.

I searched out an interpreter of the picture and produced the four volumes of this book, as an offering to Love, the Nymphs, and Pan, and something for mankind to possess and enjoy. It will cure the sick, comfort the distressed, stir the memory of those who have loved, and educate those who haven't. For certainly no one has ever avoided Love, and no one will, as long as beauty exists, and eyes can see. As for me--may the god Love let me write about others' passions but keep my own selfcontrol. (transl. Gill 1989)

A first important observation may justify our reading of this proem as a bearer of sophistic meaning, and not just as a rather meaningless and cliche introduction. The fact that Longus speaks of himself as having already finished the four subsequent books of the story (implied in the aorist form of [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]) indicates that Longus consciously composed this proem retrospectively, that is, after the writing process and in full knowledge of the story itself as he wrote it down. Moreover, Longus must have been attentive to the function of this proem as influencing the interpretative horizon of his readers. These conclusions have two implications for the general interpretation of the prologue: 1) it is composed with the clear purpose of introducing the novel to the readers; and 2) although the author himself already knows what will follow, he is aware that his readers do not know the story yet. If we are conscious of the second implication, we might avoid falling prey to a bias which often occurs in analyses of this proem: scholars tend to reflect on the proem post factum, viz. in the light of their knowledge of the entire novel. (26) I aim to offer a reading of the proem as a proem, which establishes the interpretative horizon of its public and thereby influences the rest of the novel which the readers have not read yet.

The most obvious component of the proem is the description of the painting. The ekphrasis of a piece of art is a well established topos in Greek literature, (27) but the specific character of the description seems to raise it above the level of plain verbal depiction. (28) Driven by the uniqueness of this passage, a number of studies have tried to connect the content of this proem with the typical characteristics of 'sophistic' prose, pointing to the superficial naivety of the narration, the absorption of different genres, and the omnipresence of rhetoric. (29) However, no full reconstruction is offered of the actual intellectual dialogue between the 'sophistic' author of this proem and his 'sophistic' reader. How does the text present itself to a contemporary reader as a playful intellectual challenge? How does it resist a plain interpretation of the narrative presented? And how does it make its reader constantly aware of its ambiguous character, despite its superficial appearance as pure divertimento? In order to answer these questions, we must turn to the cultural taste of the era of the Second Sophistic, a taste which must have established a basis for the communication between Longus and his readers. (30) The focus is thus on the effect of the author's narrative and rhetorical efforts as received by the (model) reader.

In the beginning of the proem, the reader gets information about the source of Longus' inspiration. The author narrates how he, while hunting in the [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] of the Nymphs, discovered a most beautiful sight [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII], which he more precisely describes as a painted image [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] and a love-story [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. Especially the latter description is fairly remarkable here: Longus does not present this painting as a plain snapshot of some event, but as a history, 'a story told in a work of art.' (31)

The 'historical' element of the painting becomes more clear when Longus tells that it does not contain one single scene, but a large number of scenes which, as the reader will notice as he reads on, all recur in the novel. Thus, Longus does not see the painting as an a-historical image which has provoked him to write a story of his own, but already as (the bearer of) the story itself. This impression is further supported by the intervention of an [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII], whose role seems to be to create a chronological narrative containing all events that are already present in the painting. (32)

Furthermore, the fact that the story in the painting is actually a love-story (obviously written in stylized Attic prose (33)) draws the reader's attention to the genre of the ancient romance, which is further confirmed by the two main virtues of the painting, viz. its consummate art [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] and its erotic theme [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. In this respect, the painting already anticipates Longus' own narrative effort by means of its extraordinary appearance.

At the end of his enumeration of the events in the painting, Longus concludes with the words [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] many other things occur and all are erotic (in the sense of "having to do with Eros"; for this reason, I prefer the translation "erotic" over Gill's "romantic"). Except for the young lovers exchanging vows, however, the scenes mentioned earlier by Longus do not seem directly related to Eros. The description of themes like childbirth and an enemy invasion as erotic only makes sense if they are regarded as being part of the encapsulating erotic history. (34) For as the story of Daphnis and Chloe itself will illustrate, all these themes are part of a larger erotic framework. But this is not all: some of these described elements also provoke the association with Eros straight away, precisely because characters like the robbers are typical of the genre of the novel, which must have been well-known to Longus and his public alike, and which consequently must have appealed to their shared communicative and interpretative horizon. (35)

Longus thus seems to want his audience to believe that the painting 'coincidentally' contains the necessary facets of an ancient novel, and that the story basically narrates itself, for the painting already encapsulates the important narrative elements. (36) One aspect of story-telling in the painting, however, is different from the written version, and it is here that Longus is compelled to contribute something of his own: since the painting does not make any use of language, the rhetorical composition is absent, and leaves much room for subtle and pleasant verbal elaboration. (37)

This view may be supported by the last sentence, if we interpret [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] not only as 'things that happened to the other persons (viz. Daphnis and Chloe)', but also as 'things narrated by the others (viz. the painter, the exegete, and more generally the people who knew the myth) which Longus himself writes down (cf. [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII])'. Both interpretations may simultaneously be implied, for the writer displays his willingness to stay [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII], (38) and therefore has good reasons to stress both that he has not experienced the narrated events himself, and that the story which he is going to tell is not the fruit of his own mental dealings with Eros, but of those of others. In a sense, the writer here declares that he has nothing to do with the story whatsoever, which allows for an intellectual and playful distance to the narrative. (39) The astute reader whom Longus addresses may thus feel encouraged to keep the same intellectual distance and appreciate the novel for a whole lot more than for the story itself. (40)

In this respect, the praefatio of Daphnis and Chloe proves itself a prime example of a sophistic masterpiece. By explicitly placing the inventio of his narration outside the realm of his authorship, Longus immediately drags his audience's attention towards the rhetorical elaboration of the themes, which is--or is at least pretended to be--his sole merit and responsibility. (41) It is in this field that he wants to deliver a [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] (42) for all men. This does not mean, however, that the reader cannot appreciate Longus' novel for the story itself. But if he wants to grasp Longus' specific talent and achievements in Daphnis and Chloe, the prologue of the work urges him to imagine that the narrative qua narrative by no means exceeds the art of the painting or its interpreter. He will thus feel encouraged to look beyond the plain nar ration of fictional events, and discover Longus' rhetorical and sophistic greatness. (43)

The auto-referential character of this prologue corresponds well to the rhetorical climate of the Second Sophistic. Similar self-conscious comments foregrounding the rhetorical talent of the speaker can be found in the sophists Hadrian of Tyre, who used to start his discourses with the witty announcement that 'Once again letters have come from Phoenicia,' (44) and Aelius Aristides, who devoted the first paragraphs of his Panathenaic Oration to his own position as a rhetorical speaker delivering a eulogy on the city of Athens. Thus, Longus' narrative techniques stressing the quality of his eloquence must probably have been well appreciated by his contemporary public.

Moreover, the prologue contains some other relevant information as to what the spatial boundaries of the narration are. Longus points to the painting as his source for the love-story and defines his own effort as the creation of a written counterpart [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. This implies that the spatial boundaries of the novel are restricted to those of the painting. (45) As Longus seems to present it, a large number of events in the novel have a depicted equivalent. Therefore, the spatial limitations of the painting already foreshadow the limitations of space in Longus' novel. Consequently, the bucolic atmosphere, which is already indicated by the painted portrayal of the herdsmen and their sheep and further confirmed by the rural place where Longus finds the painting and by his dedication of the novel to Eros and the bucolic gods Pan and the Nymphs, appears to become from the beginning till the end the setting of the narrative, and this will self-evidently have a determining effect on the way in which the story unfolds. (46)

Especially in the light of Bakhtin's generic categorization of the Greek romance, this is a remarkable conclusion. For Bakhtin takes the unbridled freedom of the storyteller to extend the action to whichever possible place as a general trait of all the Greek romance novels. Consequently, it is to be expected that this narratological characteristic was intuitively perceived by ancient readers as an inherent component of the ancient Greek romance. In this case, however, from the very beginning of Longus' novel on, Daphnis and Chloe does not fit in this narrow theoretical generalization. Moreover, elements such as the name 'Daphnis', the Nymphs, the theme of love and the pastoral setting must almost automatically have triggered a learned reader's association with Theocritus' Idylls. Therefore, if we accept the model reader of this novel to be a literate person who is well aware of the thematic characteristics of the novel, Longus directly generates some typical sophistry vis-a-vis his learned audience. After having read the first few sentences of Daphnis and Chloe, an attentive reader may already point out that the usual characteristics which he expects from the genre of the ancient romance are not reconcilable with the project which Longus sorted out for himself, precisely because the spatial limitations imposed by the painting and the intertextual allusions to Theocritus' fairly 'unadventurous' Idylls contradict the unbridled freedom of space in the typical romance, in which adventure time plays a significant role. Hence the self-conscious and auto-referential character is forwarded once more: the lack of correspondence between generic expectations and the work in front of the reader distracts him from the story itself and draws attention to Longus' own practice of writing. In this respect, the prologue establishes for a perceptive reader the interpretative horizon in such a way that it evokes a high awareness of the generic expectations and the author's playful deviations.

B. Book II, [double section] 21-31

As I have indicated in the above analysis, the prologue influences the act of reading in the rest of the novel and encourages an astute contemporary reader of Longus (and, as has been proven by the large interest among modern scholars, the later ones as well) to question the status of the narrator, the narrative, and the rhetorical techniques. In this context, it may be worthwhile to point to the inevitable process of forgetting things that one has read, even when one is still busy reading a certain work. (47) Scholars often tend to underestimate this process, as they themselves are actually not the 'normal' readers of a work. To my mind, however, this process is of particular relevance if we want to reconstruct the intellectual dialogue between Longus and his reader. Since we shift our focus now to the second book of Daphnis and Chloe (in a sense this flash-forward is also a denaturalized mode of reading for the sake of the general argument), it is quite natural that the prologue has somewhat faded to the background of a normal reader's memory, and that this strong marker of sophistry is no longer as active as in the beginning of the story (although there are indeed some recurrent prompts to recall the prologue, but those might only have been picked up by the more concentrated readers). It is here that an astute reader like a pepaideumenos can prove his intellectual scale. For by reading more diligently and by memorizing more thoroughly than a naive reader of the story, he can distinguish himself from the latter and enjoy the feeling of being a perceptive narratee worthy of the resourceful work in front of him. Longus' text, starting from the proem, can thus be seen as offering a helping hand to the reader to enter the denaturalized atmosphere, where the unsophisticated feelings of relaxation and oblivion must be countered with an extremely aware reading attitude. (48) A person who does not engage in this aware reading attitude risks being unmasked as such by the author, which might provoke a slight feeling of frustration and encourage the reader to do better.

How this process is to be understood may be illustrated by one example of a scene where the element of space is playfully perverted, viz. the scene in book II where Chloe is kidnapped by the Methymnaeans and finally saved by Pan. It has already been remarked that this plot breaks through the expected patterns of the 'traditional' romance, (49) but a closer analysis might provide some insight in the way in which this practice adds to the sophistic character of this scene.

The story begins with the hostile attack of the Methymnaeans, which was already announced in the painting mentioned in the proem. They steal many possessions of the Mitylenians and capture hostages, among them Chloe:


But Chloe was with the flocks. When she was chased, she ran to the Nymphs looking for sanctuary and begged the men, in the name of the goddesses, to spare both her flocks and herself. But it was no good: the Methymneans jeered a good deal at the images and then drove off the flocks and took her too, treating her like a goat or sheep and beating her with willow shoots. (Longus, 2,20,3; transl. Gill 1989)

When she is threatened, Chloe's first reaction is to flee to the Nymphs in order to find protection against her offenders. This action, however, has no effect. In their arrogance the Methymnaeans despise the statues of the Nymphs (50) and take Chloe away. At this point, she seems entirely unable to resist the men, who hit her like a goat or a sheep. The Nymphs are equally unable to give Chloe protection (even though they undergo several sorts of blasphemy), and Daphnis is nowhere around.

Unlike Chloe, the reader might feel quite at ease when encountering a scene like this. It appears that, just like in other romance novels, the female character will be taken away and undergo some trials on her own, separated from the male character Daphnis. The narrative appeals to the reader's interpretative horizon, which provokes a feeling of comfort and relaxation.

This male character is then in turn to be expected to demonstrate his heroic courage and hunt the bandits down in order to get his girl back. Moreover, in the first book, we are told how Chloe has undertaken a similar successful attempt to rescue Daphnis by piping Dorcon's flute ([double section] 30-31), and the reader has no reason to assume that Daphnis will not find a similar solution to save his girlfriend. When the focus shifts to Daphnis, however, he proves himself a hero manque:


Now that things were quiet, Daphnis went to the plain where they used to graze. But he did not see the goats, nor did he find the sheep, nor did he discover Chloe, but instead everywhere was deserted, and the pipes that Chloe used to enjoy were thrown on the ground. He gave a great shout, and, crying pitifully, he ran first to the oak where they used to sit, then to the sea, in the hope of seeing her there, then to the Nymphs, where she herself had run for refuge when she was being chased. Here he threw himself on the ground and blamed the Nymphs for betraying them. (Longus, 2,21,2-3, transl. Gill 1989)

Instead of directly facing the enemies who captured Chloe, Daphnis waits until everything is quiet again, (51) only to discover that his possessions and girlfriend are gone. Remarkably enough, this situation does not provoke Daphnis to display his bravery and start a fierce pursuit; he rather indulges in passive misery, uttering loud pitiful cries and blaming the Nymphs for having forsaken Chloe and him. He cannot think of doing anything other than lying down and waiting for death or another war [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII].

After this scene, the reader might be somewhat puzzled. Neither Daphnis nor the Nymphs are able to turn the tide, and Chloe seems to be gone for good. Since his interpretative horizon shaped by the generic topoi does not correspond to what the reader encounters in this novel, any outcome of the story all of a sudden becomes possible. Still, looking at the physical presence of the volumen in his hands, the reader already knows that there are two more books to follow. But if Daphnis is not going to go after Chloe, what is going to happen?

At this moment, Longus pulls off a playful dramatic trick: he introduces a deus ex machina in the figure of the bucolic god Pan. In Daphnis' dream, the Nymphs reveal how this problematic situation is going to be solved:


You see Pan over there, his image set up under the pine, who's never received from you even the honor of some flowers--well, we've asked him to be Chloe's protector. He's more used to army camps than we are, and he's already left the country and fought a number of wars. And when he attacks the Methymneans, they won't find him a good enemy to have. (Longus, 2.23,4, transl. Gill).

This is the first time Pan plays a significant role in the narrative of Daphnis and Chloe. The Nymphs indicate that he has not been honoured by the two young lovers, which makes it even more unlikely that he comes to the rescue here. From a narratological angle, it is equally striking that Pan's previous passivity in the narrative is not silently ignored, but instead explicitly alluded to by the Nymphs (and, of course, by Longus himself). For a naive reader, this plot might be a total surprise.

At this point, the reader might start to realize that he is fooled by the narrator: the references to the traditional topoi of the novel may have distracted him from the specificity of this story which has already been pointed out to him in the proem. Yet, Longus offers some help to his astute readers by creating a subtle Herodotean intertext. The passage in which the Nymphs declare that Pan is going to help the young couple contains some obvious parallels with the story of Phidippides, an Athenian herald who was sent to the Spartans concerning the battle in Marathon. Phidippides declared, Herodotus tells us, that in the Parthenian hills above Tegea, he met Pan, who told him to ask the Athenians why they did not take thought for him, even though he had been serviceable to the Athenians, and would be so in the future as well. (52) This intertext also adds to the sophistic character of this scene in Longus' novel, in that the intertextual allusion pulls the attentive and learned reader away from the plain narrative and makes him realize that he is reading a fictional story composed by a cunning author who expects his reader to be as sophisticated as he is.

Thus, in perverting the expected novelistic patterns, the author of the story makes his own presence felt. Above we suggested that Pan's occurrence might be surprising to a naive reader, but an attentive reader who has kept Longus' proem in mind could already have known that the action was not going to spread out to foreign regions, as the boundaries of the narration were already defined in the prologue. Moreover, the Herodotean intertext might have reassured this learned reader that Pan's aid will bring an equally happy ending to this story as it did to the battle in Marathon. (53)

Some divine providence can also be found in the references to the god Eros. Near the end of the Nymphs' speech to Daphnis, there is a hint of a more profound reason for Chloe's rescue: the god Eros himself will be occupied with the couple's faith [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. Eros' involvement in the story becomes even more prominent from Pan's speech to the general of the Methymnaeans, for the bucolic god's main reproach to the general is that he and his soldiers pulled away from the altar a girl from whom Eros wants to make a story [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. Once again, the self-conscious narrator situates the responsibility for the narrative outside his own authorship: it is Eros himself who is the maker of the story, not he. (54)

These tongue-in-cheek references encourage the reader not to pay as much attention to the storyline itself as to the verbal and rhetorical playfulness coined by the author. As the natural way of reading is denaturalized, the status of the plain narrative becomes highly problematic. It is this autoreferential and intellectual game which has already begun from the prologue of the work that urges the reader to realize that he is reading sophistic literature. If he tends to relax a little and allow himself to be guided away by the narrative and the generic expectations, he might be trapped by the author and unmasked as a naive and unsophisticated narratee, not the astute intellectual whom Longus first and foremost addresses. The nature of the text thus elicits an extreme awareness of the rhetorical elaboration of the story, which consists of familiar patterns, surprising perversions, and self-conscious narrative procedures; it is precious literature for a precious reader.

4. Conclusion

This reading of the prologue and the passage from book II brings out how Longus develops an intellectual challenge for his readers by offering a mild perversion of traditional novelistic themes. This is not to say, however, that Longus entirely abandons the traditional standards of the ancient romance altogether, but the deviations prove to be quite significant, as they appear to be composed so as to foreground Longus' personal involvement in the story. Just like a Second Sophistic performer could adopt a persona speaking about well-known and highly conventional themes and yet be appreciated for his verbal elaboration, Longus uses the form of the ancient romance as a conventional framework to show the quality of his eloquence. In this respect, the storytelling achieves its highest purpose if it can offer a plausible and welltold sequence of events, and yet keep its reader aware of the artful verbal virtuosity underlying the plain naive narration. (55) In order to do so, the author deploys a playful amalgam of narratological tricks that restrain his intelligent reader from naively enjoying the simple narration, and urges him to reflect on issues like genre, expectations, rhetoric, and authorship. This foregrounding of the narrator's rhetorical elaboration should therefore be interpreted as a novelistic counterpart of the physical presence of a Second Sophistic orator during his public performances.

With these observations, this paper has aimed to offer a close analysis of some aspects of Second Sophistic poetics in Longus' Daphnis and Chloe, which supports the traditional view that this author should firmly be situated in this cultural context. Quite self-evidently, these sophistic poetics thus appear not to be confined to the strict realm of speech delivery, but they extend to other domains of literature as well. We should not forget that those who delivered or attended sophistic speeches and those who read ancient prose novels like Daphnis and Chloe are in all likelihood the same people. If we are willing to identify with these critical readers, we might encounter some narratological tours de force that trigger more sophisticated readings of a seemingly naive story. In the end, this awareness might offer a glimpse of the ultimate goal of reading Second Sophistic literature, viz. to enjoy the pleasant feeling of being a true pepaideumenos. (56)

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Mittelstadt, M.C. 1967. 'Longus' Daphnis and Chloe and Roman Narrative Painting', Latomus 25, 752-761.

Morgan, J.R. 1993. 'Make-Believe and Make Believe. The Fictionality of the Greek Novels', in: Gill, C.--Wiseman, J.P. (eds.) 1993, Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World, Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 175-229.

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Nimis, S.A. 2001. 'Cycles and Sequence in Longus' Daphnis and Chloe', in: Watson, J. (ed.) 2001, Speaking Volumes. Orality and Literacy in the Greek and Roman World, Leiden: Brill, 187-200.

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Reeves, B.T. 2007. 'The Role of the Ekphrasis in Plot Development: The Painting of Europa and the Bull in Achilles Tatius' Leucippe and Clitophon', Mnemosyne 60, 87-101.

Romm, J. 2008. 'Travel', in: Whitmarsh (ed.), 109-126. Ruiz-Montero, C. 1996. 'The Rise of the Greek Novel', in: Schmeling (ed.), 29-85.

Russell, D.A. 1990. 'Ethos in Oratory and Rhetoric', in: Pelling, C. (ed.) 1990, Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature, Oxford: Clarendon, 197-212.

Schmeling, G. (ed.) 1996. The Novel in the Ancient World, Leiden: Brill.

Schmitz, T.S. 1997. Bildung und Macht. Zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit, Munchen: Beck.

--1999. 'Performing History in the Second Sophistic', in: Zimmermann, M. (ed.) 1999, Geschichtsschreibung undpolitischer Wandel im 3. Jh. n. Chr., Stuttgard: Steiner, 71-93.

Stephens, S.A. 1994. 'Who Read Ancient Novels?', in: Tatum (ed.), 405-418.

Swain, S. 1996. Hellenism and Empire. Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World AD 50-250, Oxford: Clarendon.

Tatum, J. (ed.) 1994. The Search for the Ancient Novel, Baltimore--London: The John Hopkins University Press.

Teske, D. 1991. Der Roman des Longos als Werk der Kunst. Untersuchungen zum Verhaltnis von Physis und Techne in Daphnis und Chloe, Munster: Aschendorff.

Tilg, S. 2010. Chariton of Aphrodisias and the Invention of the Greek Love Novel, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Webb, R. 2006. ' Fiction, Mimesis and the Performance of the Past in the Second Sophistic', in: Konstan, D.--Said, S. (eds.) 2006, Greeks on Greekness. Viewing the Greek Past under the Roman Empire, Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Association, 27-46.

Whitmarsh, T. 2001. Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. The Politics of Imitation, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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--2008. 'Class', in: Whitmarsh (ed.), 72-87.

Wouters, A. 1989-90. 'The EIKONE[??] in Longus' Daphnis and Chloe IV 39, 2: "Beglaubigungsapparat?"', SacrisErudiri 31, 465-479.

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Zeitlin, F. 1990. 'The Poetics of Eros: Nature, Art, and Imitation in Longus' Daphnis and Chloe', in: Halperin, D.--Winkler, J.--Zeitlin, F. (eds.) 1990, Before Sexuality, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 171-209.

(1) Goldhill 2008 offers a critical assessment of the importance of genre in the history of the novel. For the understanding of genre in this paper, see esp. p. 187: "Genre is (...) a formative element in the construction of the typical--and thus normative--scene of communication. It is part of how society projects and promotes--regulates--the functioning of communication in and as culture." A similar 'political' analysis of 'genre' is offered in Selden 1994.

(2) There appears to be at least one exception: Chariton's Callirhoe is probably written a little too early to be situated in the heyday of the sophistic practice, although Tilg 2010 argues that Chariton probably wrote under Nero, which is no earlier than Nicetes, the earliest sophist in Philostratus' overview of Second Sophistic orators. Note that Bowie 1996, 92-102 treats the readership of the three 'sophistic' novels (by Longus, Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus) quite differently from that of the two 'early' novels (by Chariton and Xenophon Ephesius).

(3) See, e.g., Hagg 1983, 104-108, Reardon 1991, 127-168 and Ruiz-Montero 1996, 65-70, who convincingly treat the over-all influence of other genres, mostly rhetorical and prose literature, but they offer only few detailed analyses of any specific work. Bowie 2008 offers a detailed reconstruction of the literary context of the five 'ideal' romances. Bartsch 1989 points to the importance of description and interpretation in the context of the Second Sophistic, with analyses of Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus. For a recent general state of the art, see the introduction to Whitmarsh (ed.) 2008.

(4) For the interaction between prose fiction and rhetorical education, see Reardon 1991, 83-96. For good recent discussions of ancient literate education, see Morgan 1998 and Cribiore 2001.

(5) Cf. Russell 1990, 197-198: "The conceptual framework of rhetoric (...) provided the standard interpretative and critical method that was applied to all kinds of literature."

(6) Anderson's (1984, 6-15) observation that Longus' tale is the retelling of an old oriental story actually does not affect the general thesis of this paper for at least two reasons. Firstly, as Anderson himself admits, Longus uses the traditional material in a very selfconscious way (which already becomes apparent from the original prologue). Secondly, Longus writes this story in a different literary context, which implies that he can rely on a different cultural horizon of his readers.

(7) See the critical study in the 'class' of the ancient novel's audience in the empirical study of Stephens 1994, and the general discussion in Whitmarsh 2008. On Longus' learned audience, see Bowie 1994, 452.

(8) Attention to time and especially space can also be found in Kesmer 1973.

(9) Bakhtin 1990, 87.

(10) Bakthin 1990, 87, footnote e.

(11) Bakhtin 1990, 103. See also Romm 2008, 110: "[Longus] seems to have conceived the novel as a kind of literary experiment, an ideal romance that dispenses entirely with the element of travel but instead explores the minute changes and day-to-day developments in a single, unremarkable place."

(12) Kim 2008 uses Bakhtin's views as a structural point of departure for his own observations concerning time in the ancient novel.

(13) See some good criticisms in Phelan 1983.

(14) The gradual development of Fish's theories can be followed through his collection of essays in Fish 1980.

(15) Fish 1980, 28.

(16) See Bowersock 1969 and Brunt 1990, 267-281.

(17) See especially Schmitz 1997 and Korenjak 2000.

(18) On the role of language purism in this process, see the first general chapter in Swain 1996.

(19) See Borg (ed.) 2004.

(20) Cf. Anderson 1982, 2: "It is necessary to recognise the playful handling of melodramatic themes in the many genres which fostered the growth of the novel (whatever their relative role in its formation); and in the literary diversions in Imperial literature which so often use the same material in different moulds."

(21) For this and other rhetorical exercises in the Roman Imperial age, see Anderson 1993, 47-68.

(22) Schmitz 1999.

(23) Webb 2006.

(24) Gyselinck--Demoen 2009, esp. 95-98.

(25) Reeve 1982, 1 indicates that the last five words of this sentence are commonly read as the first ones of the following sentence. However, I hope it will be clear that this uncertainty as to how the text should be read does not thoroughly affect my subsequent argumentation.

(26) For a pertinent general critique of many publications concerning the structure of the proem, see Nimis 2001.

(27) The oldest and probably best-known example is Homer's description of Achilles' shield in book 18 of the Iliad.

(28) Moreover, Morgan 2004a, 145 notes that for the 'genre' of the ancient novel, Longus' introduction is unparallelled (of course, we have to bear in mind that we might have only a small percentage of the ancient novels). The closest resemblance to Longus' ekphrasis is Achilles Tatius' description of some paintings, the most important of which is that of Europa and the bull (for the influence of this description on the interpretation of the plot of Leucippe and Clitophon, see the recent study by Reeves 2007).

(29) MacQueen 1990, 175-185 points to the influence of the Second Sophistic on Longus' novel, but he remains rather vague when the textual composition is concerned. Reardon 1974, 27 comes closer to an actual validation of sophistic influence on the novel when he speaks about the 'careful attention on the part of the artist and the audience to language and to the disposition and articulation of traditional elements of composition so conjoined as to produce an artistic work', but he does not offer a close analysis of a certain text. See also the dense analysis of storytelling and paideia in Daphnis and Chloe in Anderson 1993, 168-170 and 195-196; Whitmarsh 2001, esp. 100-103; and Id. 2005, 86-89.

(30) Cf. Zeitlin 1990, 430: "[Longus'] other new strategy lies in the framing of the narrative by an introductory proem that shifts the traditional ecphrasis, the rhetorical display describing a painting (or other work of art), from an auxiliary function in romantic fiction to the prime motivation for storytelling, and from a short embedded piece to an entire novel." For sophistication in Longus' novel, see also Anderson 1996, 108-109.

(31) Hunter 1983, 43.

(32) Where the eventual responsibility for the story lies is hard to determine. Morgan 2004a, 146 assumes that Longus (by means of the exegete) is eventually to be taken responsible for the narrative, and this is most likely true, for it may be doubted whether the painting and the exegete ever existed. However, this assumption is not entirely in accordance to Longus' own self-presentation in the proem, for Longus here seems to suggest that he is not responsible for the narrative of Daphnis and Chloe, and that the sources for the story are the painting and the exegete. It might then seem logical to hold the exegete responsible for the narrative, but it is not unthinkable that the painting itself also made use of some techniques which indicate that the events should in fact be interpreted as a sequence of events. After all, the described painting is commented to be the result of unseen craftsmanship. Mittelstadt 1967 argues that the painting could have taken on the form of a tryptich, in which it would be possible to add some chronology to the depicted events.

(33) There might be a little tension here caused by the non-Attic term loropia, which has an Herodotean and thus Ionian flavour.

(34) Hunter 1983, 46.

(35) Goldhill 2008, 191 correctly argues that there is no term for the genre of the novel in antiquity, but in this case, the structural and thematic traits seem fairly indicative for a reading of this story in the light of other romances. Nimis 2001, 191 rightly argues that not all the elements in the painting can be linked to novelistic conventions and stereotypes, thereby criticizing many studies who try to see every element in the story and the proem as extremely meaningful. I aim to treat the elements here more prudently than these studies by seeing some of them as possible markers of the genre of the novel in the minds of astute and careful readers.

(36) The appearance of the painting as stemming from Daphnis and Chloe themselves (cf. book IV) has rightly been labelled by Wouters 1989-90 as a Beglaubigungsapparat. However, one could argue that, at the same time, the apparent fictional character of the story encourages a reader to consider the painting as the opposite of a Beglaubigungsapparat, for the fact that the first person narrator of the proem bases his story on the painting suggests that the world of the story and the world of the narrator are the same. As soon as the reader detects that the story is fictional, he cannot but conclude that the narrator's introduction is also part of the fictional make-belief, and that the entire tale--including the proem--cannot be trusted as authentic.

(37) This aspect of Longus' authorship seems somewhat underestimated by Morgan 2004b, who in p. 508 nonetheless notices that "the narrator is not [the novel's] controlling intelligence, but rather a not particularly good reader (of the painting) or narratee (of the exegete), reliant on a third party's exposition and driven by a potentially irrational desire, whose take on the story need be no more authoritative than any other reader's, on either the factual or the interpretive level."

(38) For an overview of the interpretation of this concept in this context, see Zeitlin 1990, 432, footnote 45.

(39) Cf. Pandiri 1985, 116: "Longus identifies himself, in a narrator's preface, as a sophisticated outsider (...)." On the general tendency of pseudo-documentarism in Second Sophistic literature, see Ni Mheallaigh 2008: "The author and reader are no longer separate from the fiction but are becoming part of the elaborate strategy of make-belief: the real author is 'disconnected' from the text he has created, is disavowed, and relegated to the status of editor or translator, ceding his place instead to apocryphal authors."

(40) Goldhill 1995, 1-45 convincingly argues that part of the humoristic playfulness in Longus' novel has to do with the subtle ways in which Longus arouses desire in his reader, which brings this reader in conflict with the 'ideal' of [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII].

(41) Cf. Reardon 1994, 145: "The literary execution, in Daphnis and Chloe, is emphatically not a mere accompaniment of the action, or a substitute for it. It is what situates it and energizes it. The "how" is quite as important as the "what." Longus is after all a contemporary of Lucian, Achilles Tatius, Philostratus."

(42) For this phrase, see Hunter 1983, 47 (for the poetic reminiscence) and Teske 1991, 1-7 (for intertexts and discussion of its importance for the interpretation of the novel). Philippides 1983 points to the influence of Thycididean historiography on the word choice and authorial self-presentation in this proem.

(43) Pace Wouters 1994, esp. 140, who seems to start his reasoning from the (modern?) assumption that the best literature is composed according to a ars artem celare principle.

(44) Philostr., VS. 587.

(45) Hunter 1983, 42.

(46) See Pandiri 1985.

(47) See Bayard 2007, 47-58.

(48) Cf. Wouters 1994: "[Longus] visait surtout le "second lecteur" (le "resisting reader"), celui qui verrait au-dela de l'histoire naive racontee."

(49) E.g. MacQueen 1990, 134 and Morgan 1994, 66.

(50) One might argue that this act of hybris is already an indication of the punishment which will follow, but if we read the text according to the narrative sequence of events, the impression seems to arise that the Nymphs are not as powerful as Daphnis and Chloe believed them to be. Of course, once Pan's name is mentioned, the reader might realize that the divine order is much stronger than the human actions, but on this moment in the story there might have been a little doubt about the Nymphs' actual strength.

(51) The genitivus absolutus [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] does not directly indicate that Daphnis waits until everything is quiet again, but its place immediately after the nominative [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] and before the participium coniunctum [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] seems to suggest a mild causative connection between the two grammatical units. Moreover, Daphnis' subsequent behaviour in this scene suits the cowardice suggested in this sentence quite well.

(52) See Hdt. vi, esp. 105: [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]

(53) For a more ideological reading of the same passage, see Pandiri 1985, 122-124 and Whitmarsh 2008, 78. The fact that the self-evident divine aid (which is only self-evident with hindsight) reduces this scene to a playful non-event can also be seen in accordance to Second Sophistic poetics. Cf. Anderson 1984, 144.

(54) See Morgan 1994, 75.

(55) Cf. Morgan 1993: "In the Greek novels, side by side with the realistic elements so far discussed marches a second army of phenomena, which are there to draw attention to the textual surface and the artfulness of the artefact, and which thus locate the reader precisely as reader, a person with a book in his hand, reminded continually of the conventional, imaginary and playful nature of the activity in which he is engaged: it is, so to say, only make-believe."

(56) I would like to thank Dr. Nele Bemong for having revived my interest in the ancient novel from a Bakhtinian point of view, and Prof. Alfons Wouters for his valuable suggestions on this paper. I also wish to express my gratitude to Ancient Narrative's anonymous referee, who made a large number of helpful remarks, and Matt Nys, whose technical support was a conditio sine qua non for the composition of this paper.


K.U.Leuven--Research Foundation Flanders

Jeroen Lauwers (K.U.Leuven) is a fellow of the Research Foundation--Flanders (Belgium). His research revolves around notions of authority and self-presentation in Second Sophistic oratory, with particular attention to Maximus of Tyre. His work explores the dynamics of reader/hearer response and the place of the author within the culture of the Second Sophistic.
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