THE SATYRICON
PETRONIUS

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No. 564


                                    THE
                                 SATYRICON

                             From the Latin of
                                 PETRONIUS

                        Translated and Introduced by
                             ALFRED R. ALLINSON


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                               INTRODUCTION



Tacitus writes (Annals, XVI. Chapters 17 and 18-20, A.D. 66):  "Within a 
few days, indeed, there perished in one and the same batch, Annaeus Mela, 
Cerialis Anicius, Rufius Crispinus and Petronius. . . . With regard to 
Caius Petronius, his character and life merit a somewhat more particular 
attention.  He passed his days in sleep, and his nights in business, or 
in joy and revelry.  Indolence was at once his passion and his road to 
fame.  What others did by vigor and industry, he accomplished by his
love of pleasure and luxurious ease.  Unlike the men who profess to 
understand social enjoyment, and ruin their fortunes, he led a life of 
expense, without profusion; an epicure, yet not a prodigal; addicted 
to his appetites, but with taste and judgment; a refined and elegant 
voluptuary.  Gay and airy in his conversation, he charmed by a certain 
graceful negligence, the more engaging as it flowed from the natural 
frankness of his disposition.  With all this delicacy and careless ease, 
he showed, when he was Governor of Bithynia, and afterwards in the year 
of his Consulship, that vigor of mind and softness of manners may well 
unite in the same person.  With his love of sensuality he possessed 
talents for business.  From his public station he returned to his usual
gratifications, fond of vice, or of pleasures that bordered upon it.  His 
gayety recommended him to the notice of the Prince.  Being in favor at 
Court, and cherished as the companion of Nero in all his select parties, 
he was allowed to be the arbiter of taste and elegance.  Without the 
sanction of Petronius nothing was exquisite, nothing rare or delicious.

"Hence the jealousy of Tigellinus, who dreaded a rival in the good 
graces of the Emperor almost his equal; in the science of luxury his 
superior.  Tigellinus determined to work his downfall; and accordingly 
addressed himself to the cruelty of the Prince,-- that master passion, 
to which all other affections and every motive were sure to give way.  
He charged Petronius with having lived in close intimacy with Scaevinus, 
the conspirator; and to give color to that assertion, he bribed a slave 
to turn informer against his master.  The rest of the domestics were 
loaded with irons.  Nor was Petronius suffered to make his defense.

"Nero at that time happened to be on one of his excursions into Campania.  
Petronius had followed him as far as Cumae, but was not allowed to proceed 
further than that place.  He scorned to linger in doubt and fear, and yet 
was not in a hurry to leave a world which he loved.  He opened his veins, 
and closed them again, at intervals losing a small quantity of blood, 
then binding up the orifice, as his own inclination prompted.  He 
conversed during the whole time with his usual gayety, never changing 
his habitual manner, nor talking sentences to show his contempt of death.  
He listened to his friends, who endeavored to entertain him, not with 
grave discourses on the immortality of the soul or the moral wisdom of
philosophers, but with strains of poetry and verses of a gay and natural 
turn.  He distributed presents to some of his servants, and ordered 
others to be chastised.  He walked out for his amusement, and even lay 
down to sleep.  In this last scene of his life he acted with such calm 
tranquillity, that his death, though an act of necessity, seemed no more 
than the decline of nature.  In his will he scorned to follow the example 
of others, who like himself died under the tyrant's stroke; he neither 
flattered the Emperor nor Tigellinus nor any of the creatures of the 
Court.  But having written, under the fictitious names of profligate 
men and women, a narrative of Nero's debauchery and his new modes of vice, 
he had the spirit to send to the Emperor that satirical romance, sealed 
with his own seal,-- which he took care to break, that after his death 
it might not be used for the destruction of any person whatever.

"Nero saw with surprise his clandestine passions and the secrets of his 
midnight revels laid open to the world.  To whom the discovery was to be 
imputed still remained a doubt.  Amidst his conjectures, Silia, who by 
her marriage with a Senator had risen into notice, occurred to his memory.  
This woman had often acted as procuress for the libidinous pleasures of 
the Prince, and lived besides in close intimacy with Petronius.  Nero 
concluded that she had betrayed him, and for that offense ordered her 
into banishment, making her a sacrifice to his private resentment."

Two questions arise out of this famous passage:  1.  Is Petronius 
(Arbiter), author of the Satyricon, the same person as the Caius 
Petronius here described, and spoken of by the Historian as 
"elegantiae arbiter" at the Court of Nero?  2.  Is the existing 
Satyricon the "satirical romance" composed by the Emperor's victim 
during his dying hours and sent under seal to the tyrant?

Both points have been long and vigorously debated, but may now be 
taken as fairly well settled by general consent,-- the answer to 
the first query being Yes!  To the second, No!

The Introductory Notice to Petronius, in the noble "Collection des 
Auteurs Latins," edited by M. Nisard, sums up the controversy thus: 
"Is Petronius, here mentioned by Tacitus, the Author of the Satyricon, 
and are we to regard this work as being the testamentary document 
addressed to Nero of which the Historian speaks?"  These two questions 
so long and eagerly disputed, may be looked upon as decided by this 
time.  The Consular, the favorite of Nero, the "arbiter of taste and 
elegance" at the Imperial Court, is generally acknowledged to be our 
Petronius Arbiter; whose book, diversified as it is with "strains of 
poetry and verses of a gay and natural turn," with its tone of good 
company and its easy-going Epicurean morality, is so much in keeping 
with the cheerful, uncomplaining death of the pleasure-loving courtier
who understood his master's little peculiarities, and had, like
Trimalchio, adopted for his motto, "Vivamus, dum licet esse,"-- "Let 
us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die."  At any rate in our own 
opinion, this first point is finally and definitely decided.

"Can this satire (The Satyricon) be the testament of irony and hate 
which the victim sent to his executioner?  To this further question 
we answer No!-- and our personal conviction on the point is shared 
by the most weighty authorities.  We will limit ourselves here to 
one or two observations.  According to Tacitus, Petronius had already 
caused his veins to be opened, when he started to recapitulate the 
series of Nero's debaucheries in this deposition.  The document 
therefore must necessarily have been brief; whereas the work we 
possess, too extensive as it stands to have been composed by a dying 
man, was originally of much greater length, for it seems proved by 
the titles affixed to the Manuscripts that nearly nine-tenths of the 
whole is lost.  Besides, Petronius had expressly limited his statement 
to an account of Nero's secret debaucheries, with no further disguise 
beyond the use of fictitious names,-- 'under the names of profligate 
men and women.'  Lastly the extremely varied character of the Work is
diametrically opposed to a view, making it out to have been a personal 
libel, a piece of abuse that only stops short of giving the actual 
name of the individual pilloried."

What is known of Petronius himself, the man Petronius?-- Granting 
an affirmative answer may be given to question 1, something; but even 
then not much.

His name was Caius Petronius; he was a Roman Eques or Knight, born at 
Massilia (Marseilles).  Even these initial points are not quite firmly 
established; Pliny and Plutarch speak of Titus Petronius, and the facts 
of his being an Eques and his birth at Marseilles rest on conjectural 
evidence.  He was successively Proconsul of Bithynia, and Consul, in 
both which high offices he showed integrity, energy and ability.

He was in high favor at the Court of Nero, where he devoted his undoubted 
talents and genial wit to the amusement of the Prince, the systematic 
cultivation of an elegant and luxurious idleness and the elaboration of a 
refined profligacy.  He won the title among his fellow courtiers of "arbiter 
elegantiae," a nickname that with time appears to have grown into a sort 
of surname, posterity knowing him universally as Petronius Arbiter.

Eventually he incurred the jealousy and enmity of Nero's all-powerful 
Minister, Tigellinus, who contrived his ruin.  Informed against for 
conspiracy, or at any rate association with conspirators, he voluntarily 
opened his veins.  Displaying much fortitude and a fine indifference, 
he died calmly and composedly, spending his last hours in merry 
conversation with his friends, the recitation of light-hearted verses and 
the composition of a candid and circumstantial account of the Emperor's 
debaucheries, which he sent under seal to his Master as his dying bequest.

Pliny (1) and Plutarch (2) add further touch, that previous to his death 
he broke to pieces a Murrhine vase of priceless value, which was amongst 
his possessions, to prevent its falling into the tyrant's hands.

As to his great work, the so-called Satyricon, its characteristics and 
place in literature, we cannot do better than quote from what Professor 
Ramsey says of it in the "Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography": 
"A very singular production, consisting of a prose narrative interspersed 
with numerous pieces of poetry, and thus resembling in form the Varronian 
Satire, has come down to us in a sadly mutilated state.  In the oldest 
MSS. and the earliest editions it bears the title Petronii Arbitri
Saturicon, and as it now exists, is composed of a series of fragments, 
the continuity of the piece being frequently interrupted by blanks, and 
the whole forming but a very small portion of the original, which, when 
entire, contained at least sixteen books, and probably many more.  It 
is a sort of comic romance, in which the adventures of a certain 
Encolpius and his companions in the south of Italy, chiefly in Naples 
or its environs, are made a vehicle for exposing the false taste which
prevailed upon all matters connected with literature and the fine arts, 
and for holding up to ridicule and detestation the folly, luxury and 
dishonesty of all classes of the community in the age and country in 
which the scene is laid.  A great variety of characters connected for 
the most part with the lower ranks of life are brought upon the stage, 
and support their parts with the greatest liveliness and dramatic 
propriety, while every page overflows with ironical wit and broad 
humor.  Unfortunately the vices of the personages introduced are 
depicted with such minute fidelity that we are perpetually disgusted 
by the coarseness and obscenity of the descriptions.  Indeed, if we 
can believe that such a book was ever widely circulated and generally 
admired, that fact alone would afford the most convincing proof of the
pollution of the epoch to which it belongs. . . .

"The longest and most important section is generally known as the 
Supper of Trimalchio, presenting us with a detailed and very amusing 
account of a fantastic banquet, such as the most luxurious and 
extravagant gourmands of the empire were wont to exhibit on their 
tables.  Next in interest is the well-known tale of the Ephesian 
Matron, which here appears for the first time among the popular 
fictions of the Western world, although current from a very early 
period in the remote regions of the East. . . .  The longest of 
the effusions in verse is a descriptive poem on the Civil Wars, 
extending to 295 hexameter lines, affording a good example of 
that declamatory tone of which the Pharsalia is the type.  We 
have also 65 iambic trimeters, depicting the capture of Troy 
(Troiae Halosis), and besides these several shorter morsels are 
interspersed replete with grace and beauty."

Teuffel in his masterly "History of Roman Literature" is brief, but to 
the point, in what he says of the Satyricon: "To Nero's time belongs 
also the character-novel of Petronius Arbiter, no doubt the same 
Petronius whom Nero (A.D. 66) compelled to kill himself.  Originally 
a large work in at least 20 books, with accounts of various adventures 
supposed to have taken place during a journey, it now consists of a heap 
of fragments, the most considerable of which is the Cena Trimalchionis, 
being the description of a feast given by a rich and uneducated upstart.  
Though steeped in obscenity, this novel is not only highly important for 
the history of manners and language, especially the plebeian speech, 
but it is also a work of art in its way, full of spirit, fine insight 
into human nature, wit of a high order and genial humor.  In its form 
it is a satira Menippea, in which the metrical pieces interspersed 
contain chiefly parodies of certain fashions of taste."

"The narrator and hero of the romance," Nisard writes in his 
Preliminary Notice to "Petronius," "is a sort of Guzman d'Alfarache, 
a young profligate, over head and ears in debt, without either fortune, 
or family, and reduced, with all his brilliant qualitites, to live 
from hand to mouth by dint of a series of more or less hazardous 
expedients.  The pictures he draws with such a bold and lifelike 
touch change and shift without plan or purpose, following each other 
with the same abrupt inconsequence we observe in real life; and we 
are strongly tempted to conclude Petronius has largely depicted in 
them the actual phases of his own, that of a self-made adventurer, 
appropriating as his own with extraordinary success the tone of 
persiflage and the ironical outlook on existence of a man of high 
birth and station.  With equal ease he sounds the most contradictory 
notes.  Verse and prose, precepts of rhetoric and of ethics, scenes 
of profligate indulgence, comic descriptions of a feast where 
luxury is carried to ludicrous extremes, anecdotes told in the 
happiest manner, notably the world-famous tale of the Ephesian 
Matron, epic poetry even, love letters and love talk breathing 
a refined, almost chivalric, spirit,-- such is the strange fabric 
of this drama, at once passionate, derisive, fanfaronading, tragic 
and burlesque, where the grand style and the most graceful narrative 
tread on the heels of provincial patois and popular saws. . . .  

"Petronius' book belongs essentially to the class of Satirae 
Menippeae, of which Varro had given the first example in the works 
he composed in imitation of the Greek Menippus, and of which Seneca's 
Apocolocyntosis is another capital instance."

All critics agree upon the excellence of the Satyricon as a work of 
art, though many take exception to the grossness of the subject 
matter.  Indeed there can be no two opinions as to the brilliancy 
and refinement of our Author's style generally; while the vivid 
picturesqueness of the narrative on the one hand, and the perfect 
adaptation of the language to the rank and idiosyncrasy of the 
interlocutors on the other, are particularly noteworthy.  "The very 
criticisms which have been launched against Petronius are mingled 
with admiring panegyric which a due regard for truth has forced 
from his assailants; and in the mouth of an enemy, praise counts 
for much more than blame.  Even the barbarisms and vulgarities of 
expressions that at times seem to disfigure his style, are in the 
eyes of Menage the perfection of art and appropriateness; he puts 
them only in the mouths of servants and debuachees devoid of any touch 
of refinement.  Note on the other hand with what elegance he makes 
his well-born characters speak.  Petronius assigns to each one of 
his actors the language most suited to him.  This is a merit precious 
in direct ratio to its rarity; the shadows with which a skillful 
painter darkens his canvas, only serve to bring out in more startling 
relief the beauties of the picture.  Justus Lipsius epigrammatically 
styles him auctor purissimae impuritatis."  (Heguin de Guerle.)

The first thing to strike us is the brilliancy and liveliness of the 
book-- fragmentary as is the condition in which it has come down to 
us-- as a Novel of Adventure.  The reader is hurried on, his interest 
forever on the stretch, from episode to episode of the exciting, and 
more often than not scandalous, adventures of the disreputable band 
of light-hearted gentlemen of the road, whose leader is that most 
audacious and irresponsible of amiable scamps, Encolpius, the narrator 
of the moving tale.  With the exception of the six chapters devoted 
to describing the glories and absurdities of Trimalchio's Feast, 
which form a long episode apart, and a most entertaining one, the 
action never pauses.  From lecture-room to house of ill fame, from 
country mansion to country tavern, from the market for stolen goods 
in a city slum to the Chapel of Priapus, from a harlot's palace to a 
rich parvenu's table, from Picture Gallery to the public baths, from
ship and shipwreck to a luxurious life of imposture in a wealthy 
provincial town, we are hurried along in breathless haste.  The pace 
is tremendous, but the road bristles with hairbreadth escapes and 
stirring incidents, and is never for one instant dull or tame.  
Probably the nearest parallel in other literatures is the so-called
picaresque romances of Spain, of which Don Pablo de Segovia; Lazarillo 
de Tormes; and, if we regard it of Spanish origin, the incomparable 
Gil Blas de Santillana, may be taken as typical examples.

A mere Novel of Adventure then?  Not so!  The Satyricon is this; but it 
is a great deal besides.  It abounds in clear-sighted and instructive 
apercus on education, literature and art, and contemporary deficiencies 
in these domains; its prose is interspersed with many brilliant fragments
of verse, mostly parodies and burlesques, some ludicrous, some beautiful.  
Over and above its merits as a tale, it is a copious literary miscellany, 
over-flowing with wit and wisdom, drollery and sarcasm.

Last but not least, this work of fine, if irregular, genius contains 
probably the most lifelike and discriminating character painting in 
the realm of everyday life to be found in all the range of ancient 
literature.  To appreciate this, it is only necessary to name three 
or four of the principal dramatis personae:--

Encolpius, the gay, unprincipled profligate, but never altogether
worthless, narrator of the story;

Ascyltos, his comrade and rival, as immoral and good for nothing as the 
other, but without his redeeming touch of gentlemanliness and "honor 
among thieves";

Giton, the minion, changeable and capricious, with his pretty face and 
wheedling ways;

Tryphaena, the beautiful wanton, who "travels the world for her pleasures";

Lichas, the overbearing and vindictive merchant and Sea-captain; Quartilla, 
the lascivious and unscrupulous votary of Priapus; Circe, the lovely 
"femme incomprise" of Croton; and finally, the never to be forgotten 
Eumolpus, the mad poet, the disreputable and starving pedant, at once 
"childlike and bland" with an ineffable naivete of simple conceit, and 
frankly given up to the pursuit of the most abominable immoralities, now 
bolting from the shower of stones his ineradicable propensity for reciting 
his own poetry has provoked, now composing immortal verse, calm amid 
the horrors of storm and wreck and utterly oblivious of impending death.

Another point, the admirably clever adaptation of the language to the 
social position and character of the persons speaking, merits a word 
or two more.  While both the general narrative, and the conversation 
of the educated dramatis personae, Eumolpus for instance, are marked 
by a high degree of correctness of diction and elegance of phrase, the 
talk of such characters as Trimalchio and his freedmen friends, 
Habinnas and the rest, and other uneducated or half-educated persons, 
is full not merely of vulgarisms and popular words, but of positive 
blunders and downright bad grammar.  These mistakes of course are 
intentional, and it is only another proof of the lack of humor and 
want of common sense that often marked the industrious and meritorious 
scholars, particularly German scholars, of the old school, that some 
commentators have actually gone out of their way to correct these 
errors in the text of Petronius.  There are hundreds of them; two or 
three examples must suffice here. Libra rubricata says Trimalchio 
(Ch. VII.-- xlvi), meaning libros rubricatos, "lawbooks," and vetuo 
"I forbid," while his guests indulge in such glaring solecisms as 
malus fatus, exhortavit, naufragarunt.  The whole of Chapter VII., 
where Trimalchio's guests converse freely with one another in the 
temporary absence of their host, and afterwards Trimalchio harangues 
the company on various subjects, is full of these diverting "bulls."

From the philologist's point of view the book is particularly valuable 
as containing almost our only specimens of the Roman popular, country 
speech,-- the lingua Romana rusticana, so all important as the link 
between literary Latin and the Romance languages of modern Europe.  
Two or three examples again must suffice: minutus populus, exactly the 
modern French "le menu peuple," urceatim plovebat, "it rained in 
bucketfuls," non est miscix, "he's no shirker," bono filo est, "he has 
good stuff in him."  It is also a storehouse of popular saws and sayings, 
sometimes of a fine, vigorous outspokenness, not to say coarseness of 
expression, such as: caldum meiire et frigidum potare, "to piss hot and 
drink cold"; sudor per bifurcam volabat, "the sweat was pouring down 
between my legs"; lassus tanquam caballus in clivo, "as tired as a 
carthorse at a hill."

"In addition to the corruptions in the text," says Professor Ramsay, 
"which are so numerous and hopeless as to render whole sentences 
unintelligible, there are doubtless a multitude of strange words and 
of phrases not elsewhere to be found; but this circumstance need 
excite no surprise when we remember the various topics which fall 
under discussion, and the singular personages grouped together on 
the scene.  The most remarkable and startling peculiarities may be 
considered as the phraseology appropriate to the characters by whom 
they are uttered, the language of ordinary conversation, the familiar 
slang in everyday use among the hybrid population of Campania, closely 
resembling in all probability the dialect of the Atellan farces.  On 
the other hand, wherever the author may be supposed to be speaking 
in his own person, we are deeply impressed by the extreme felicity 
of the style, which, far from bearing marks of decrepitude or decay, 
is redolent of spirit, elasticity, and vigorous freshness."

As to the text, the following remarks by Professor Ramsay, give a 
complete statement which it is impossible to improve upon.  "Many 
attempts," he writes, "have been made to account for the strangely 
mutilated condition in which the piece has been transmitted to modern 
times.  It has been suggested by some that the blanks were caused by 
the scruples of pious transcribers, who omitted those parts which were 
most licentious; while others have not hesitated to declare their 
conviction that the worst passages were studiously selected.  Without 
meaning to advocate this last hypothesis-- and we can scarcely 
believe that Burmann was in earnest when he propounded it-- it is 
clear that the first explanation is altogether unsatisfactory, for 
it appears to be impossible that what was passed over could have been 
more offensive than much of what was retained.  According to another 
theory, what we now possess must be regarded as striking and favorite 
extracts, copied out into the common-place book of some scholar in the
Middle Ages; a supposition applicable to the Supper of Trimalchio and 
the longer poetical essays, but which fails for the numerous short and 
abrupt fragments breaking off in the middle of a sentence.  The most 
simple solution of the difficulty seems to be the true one.  The 
existing MS. proceeded, in all likelihood, from two or three 
archetypes, which may have been so much damaged by neglect that 
large portions were rendered illegible, while whole leaves and 
sections may have been torn out or otherwise destroyed.

"The Editio Princeps of the fragments of Petronius was printed at
Venice, by Bernardinus de Vitalibus, 1499; and the second at Leipzig, 
by Jacobus Thanner, in 1500; but these editions, and those which 
followed for upwards of a hundred and fifty years, exhibited much 
less than we now possess.  For, about the middle of the seventeenth 
century, an individual who assumed the designation of Martinus 
Statilius, although his real name was Petrus Petitus, found a MS. 
at Traun in Dalmatia, containing nearly entire the Supper of 
Trimalchio, which was wanting in all former copies.  This was 
published separately at Padua, in a very incorrect state, in 1664, 
without the knowledge of the discoverer, again by Petitus himself 
at Paris, in the same year, and immediately gave rise to a fierce 
controversy, in which the most learned men of that day took a share, 
one party receiving it without suspicion as a genuine relic of 
antiquity, while their opponents, with great vehemence, contended 
that it was spurious.  The strife was not quelled until the year 
1669, when the MS. was dispatched from the Library of the proprietor, 
Nicolaus Cippius, at Traun, to Rome, where, having been narrowly 
scrutinized by the most competent judges, it was finally pronounced 
to be at least three hundred years old, and, since no forgery of such 
a nature could have been executed at that epoch, the skeptics were 
compelled reluctantly to admit that their doubts were ill founded.  
The title of the Codex, commonly known as the Codex Traguriensis, 
was Petronii Arbitri Satyri Fragmenta ex libro quinto decimo et sexto 
decimo, and then follow the words 'Num alio genere furiarum,' etc.

"Stimulated, it would appear, by the interest excited during the
progress of this discussion, and by the favor with which the new
acquisition was now universally regarded by scholars, a certain
Francis Nodot published at Rotterdam, in 1693, what professed to be 
the Satyricon of Petronius complete, taken, it was said, from a MS. 
found at Belgrade, when that city was captured in 1688, a MS. which 
Nodot declared had been presented to him by a Frenchman high in the 
Imperial service.  The fate of this volume was soon decided.  The 
imposture was so palpable that few could be found to advocate the 
pretensions put forth on its behalf, and it was soon given up by 
all.  It is sometimes, however, printed along with the genuine 
text, but in a different type, so as to prevent the possibility of 
mistake.  Besides this, a pretended fragment, said to have been 
obtained from the monastery of St. Gall, was printed in 1800, 
with notes and a French translation by Lallemand, but it seems 
to have deceived nobody."

In the present version the portions of the narrative derived from
this alleged Belgrade MS. are not specially distinguished from the 
genuine text; this is done advisedly, in order not to interrupt the 
continuity of the story.  This does not of course for a moment imply 
that these interpolations are regarded as other than spurious, but 
as they are both amusing reading in themselves as well as admirable 
imitations of our Author's style, and supply obvious lacunae in the 
plot, making the whole book more interesting and coherent, they 
have been retained as an integral part of the work.

We append three or four extracts bearing upon Petronius and the 
Satyricon, and interesting either on account of the source from
which they come, the quaintness of their expression, or the weight 
of their authority.

From the "Age of Petronius," by Charles Beck, 1856: "Among the small 
number of Latin writers of prose fiction, Petronius, the author of 
the Satyricon, occupies a prominent place. . . . As to this book, the 
quality of its language and style and the nature of its contents 
constitute it one of the most interesting and important relics of 
Roman lierature, antiquities and history.

"The work, at least the portion which has come down to us, contains 
the adventures of a dissipated, unprincipled, but clever, cultivated 
and well-informed young man, Encolpius, the hero himself being the 
narrator.  The book opens with a discussion on the defects of the 
existing system of education, in which the shortcomings of both 
teachers and parents are pointed out.  Next follows a scene in the 
Forum, in which the hero and his companion, Ascyltos, are concerned, 
and which exhibits some of the abuses connected with judicial 
proceedings.  After a brief and passing mention of the vices and 
hypocrisy of the priests, the highly interesting portion containing 
an account of the banquet of Trimalchio follows.  This is succeeded 
by the account of the acquaintance which the hero, disappointed and 
dispirited by the faithless conduct of his companion, forms with a 
philosopher, Eumolpus, who besides discussing some subjects relating 
to art, especially painting, and to literature, gives an account of 
his infamous proceedings in corrupting the son of a family in whose
house he had been hospitably received.  The hero accepts the invitation 
of the philosopher to accompany him on an excursion to Tarentum.  The 
account of the voyage, of the discovery made by Encolpius that he is 
on board a vessel owned by a person whose vengeance he had just ground 
to apprehend, of his fruitless attempt to escape detection, of the 
reconciliation of the hostile parties, and of the destruction of the 
vessel and the greater portion of the passengers by shipwreck, is 
full of interest.  The hero and his immediate companions, being the only 
persons that escaped death, make their way to Croton, where Eumolpus, by 
representing himself as the owner of valuable and extensive possessions 
in Africa, works so upon the avarice and cupidity of the inhabitants, 
who are described as a set of legacy-hunters by profession, that he 
meets with the most hospitable reception.  An intrigue of the hero with 
a beautiful lady of the city occupies a large part of this section 
of the story.  The book closes with an account of the measures 
which Eumolpus takes for the purpose of avoiding the detection of 
his fraud, by working anew upon the avarice of his hosts.  The close 
is abrupt as the beginning had been; the book is incomplete in both 
parts; the end, as well as the beginning, is wanting.

"That the author of this work was a man of genius is unquestionable.  
The narrative of the events of the story is simple,-- exciting, 
without exhausting, the interest of the reader, the description 
of customs, chiefly those of the middle classes of society, is 
invaluable to the antiquarian, and the importance of the work in 
this respect can scarcely be overrated; the personages introduced 
into the story are drawn with such a clearness of perception of 
their characteristics, and such an accuracy of portraiture, 
extending to the very peculiarities of the language used by each, 
that they appear to live and breathe and move before our eyes."

From John Dunlop's History of Fiction: "The most celebrated fable of 
ancient Rome is the work of Petronius Arbiter, perhaps the most 
remarkable fiction which has dishonored the literature of any 
nation.  It is the only fable of that period now extant, but is 
a strong proof of the monstrous corruption of the times in which 
such a production could be tolerated, though no doubt writings of 
bad moral tendency might be circulated before the invention of 
printing, without arguing the depravity they would have evinced, 
if presented to the world subsequent to that period.

"The work of Petronius is in the form of a satire, and, according
to some commentators, is directed against the vices of the court of 
Nero, who is thought to be delineated under the names of Trimalchio 
and Agamemnon,-- an opinion which has been justly ridiculed by 
Voltaire.  The satire is written in a manner which was first 
introduced by Varro; verses are intermixed with prose, and jests 
with serious remark.  It has much the air of a romance, both in 
the incidents and their disposition; but the story is too well 
known, and too scandalous, to be particularly detailed.

"The scene is laid in Magna Graecia; Encolpius is the chief character 
in the work, and the narrator of events;-- he commences by a lamentation 
on the decline of eloquence, and while listening to the reply of 
Agamemnon, a professor of oratory, he loses his companion, Ascyltos.  
Wandering through the town in search of him, he is finally conducted 
by an old woman to a retirement where the incidents that occur are 
analogous to the scene.  The subsequent adventures,-- the feast of 
Trimalchio,-- the defection and return of Giton,-- the amour of 
Eumolpus in Bithynia,-- the voyage in the vessel of Lichas,-- the 
passion and disappointment of Circe,-- all these follow each other 
without much art of arrangement, an apparent defect which may arise 
from the mutilated form in which the satire has descended to us.

"The style of Petronius has been much applauded for its elegance,-- 
it certainly possesses considerable naivete and grace, and is by much 
too fine a veil for so deformed a body."

From Addison's Preface to his Translation of Petronius:  "'Petronius,' 
says that judicious critic, Mons. St. Evremond, 'is to be admired 
throughout, for the purity of his style and the delicacy of his 
sentiments; but that which more surprises me, is his great easiness 
in giving us ingenuously all sorts of Characters.  Terence is perhaps 
the only author of Antiquity that enters best into the nature of 
persons.  But still this fault I find in him, that he has too little 
variety; his whole talent being confined in making servants and old 
men, a covetous father and a debauched son, a slave and an intriguer, 
to speak properly, according to their several characters.  So far, 
and no farther, the capacity of Terence reaches.  You must not expect 
from him either gallantry or passion, either thoughts or the discourse 
of a gentleman.  Petronius, who had a universal wit, hits upon the
genius of all professions, and adapts himself, as he pleases, to a 
thousand different natures.  If he introduces a Declaimer, he assumes 
his air and his style so well, that one could say he had used to 
declaim all his life.  Nothing expresses more naturally the constant 
disorders of a debauched life than these everlasting quarrels of 
Encolpius and Ascyltos about Giton.

"Is not Quartilla an admirable portrait of a prostitute woman?  Does 
not the marriage of young Giton and innocent Pannychis give us the 
image of a complete wantonness?

"All that a sot ridiculously magnificent in banquets, a vain affecter 
of niceness, and an impertinent, are able to do, you have at the Feast 
of Trimalchio.

"Eumolpus shows us Nero's extravagant folly for the Theater, and his 
vanity in reciting his own poems; and you may observe, as you run 
over so many noble verses, of which he makes an ill use, that an 
excellent poet may be a very ill man. . . . The infirmity he has of 
making verses out of season, even at death's door; his fluentness in 
repeating his compositions in all places and at all times, answers his 
most ridiculous setting out, where he characteristically tells him, 
"I am a Poet, and I hope, of no ordinary genius.' . . .

"There is nothing so natural as the character of Chrysis, and none of 
our confidantes come near her.  Not to mention her first conversation 
with Polyaenus,-- what she tells him of her mistress, upon the affront 
she received, has an inimitable simplicity.  But nobody, besides 
Petronius, could have described Circe, so beautiful, so voluptuous, 
and so polite.  Enothea, the Priestess of Priapus, ravishes me with 
the miracles she promises, with her enchantments, her sacrifices, her 
sorrow for the death of the consecrated goose, and the manner in which 
she is pacified when Polyaenus makes her a present, with which she 
might purchase a goose and gods too, if she thought fit.

"Philumena, that complaisant lady, is no less entertaining, who after 
she had cullied several men out of their estates, in the flower of 
her beauty, now being old and by consequence unfit for pleasures, 
endeavored to keep up this noble trade by the means of her children, 
whom she took every opportunity to introduce with a thousand fine 
discourses to old men, who had no heirs of their own.

"In a word, there is no part of Nature, no profession, which Petronius 
doth not admirably paint.  He is a Poet, an Orator, a Philosopher, 
and much more besides, at his pleasure."

Lastly Teufel, writing of the Satyricon in Pauly's Encyclopedia, 
says: "The whole plan of the work is that of a novel; two freedmen, 
Encolpius and Ascyltos, are enamored of a boy Giton, and the 
adventures which have their origin in this circumstance, and 
which they encounter severally, the acquaintances which they 
make (for instance of Trimalchio and Eumolpus), form the contents 
at least of that portion of the book which has come down to us.  
But the book contains in this dress of a narrative, descriptions 
of manners, partly of single places (for example of Croton), 
partly of certain classes (for example of Trimalchio, a rich 
upstart, who apes the manners of a refined man of the world, but 
exposes himself most ridiculously, of Encolpius, a good-natured, 
cowardly and licentious Greek, of Eumolpus, a vain and tasteless 
poet, and at the same time a thoroughly demoralized preacher of 
virtue), all drawn with masterly truthfulness even to the minutest 
detail.  The tone is humorous throughout; the dramatis personae 
act and speak, even in the most offensive circumstances, with an 
openness, unconcern and self-satisfaction, as if they had the most
undoubted right to be and think as they do; at the same time, a vein 
of gentle irony pervades the whole, which indicates the author's 
moral independence and higher standpoint, as well as his sincere 
gratification at the amusing and filthy scenes which he describes; 
he accompanies his heroes at every step with a smile on his lips 
and a low laugh.  The work belongs therefore, by its contents as 
well as its tone, to the department of satire, resembling in tone 
Horace, in form the Minippean satire.

"For not only does the language occasionally pass over from prose to 
verse (limping iambs and trochees), but entire poems of greater extent 
are interwoven (Troiae Halosis and Bellum Civile), which are usually 
put in the mouth of Eumolpus, and which always have a satirical object, 
sometimes a double one, as in the case with the Bellum Civile, which 
ridicules Lucan, as well as his opponents personified by Eumolpus, 
the writer with genuine humor placing himself above both, and dealing 
against both his blows with impartial justice.  The language is always 
suited to the character of the persons speaking, elegant in Encolpius,
bombastic in Trimalchio.  The language put in the mouth of the last is 
for us an invaluable specimen of the lingua Romana rustica, as it 
obtained in that part of Italy where the scene is laid,-- in Campania, 
and especially Naples.  In conformity with the originally Greek 
character of this region, the language of Trimalchio and his 
companions is full of Greek words and Grecisms of the boldest kind 
(such as coupling the neuter plural with the verb in the singular).  
Characteristic of the local dialect are the many archaisms, compounds 
not known in the written language, the frequent solecisms, the many 
proverbial and extravagant expressions, the numerous oaths and curses."

A brilliant passage from Emile Thomas' remarkable study of Petronius 
and contemporary Roman society, entitled, "Petrone: L'Envers de la 
Societe Romaine" (Paris, 1902), may fitly sum up the situation.  
"This romance," he writes, "such delightful and at the same time 
such difficult reading, a work at once exquisite and repulsive, 
gives us by virtue of its defects no less than of its merits a fairly 
adequate representation of the under-side of Roman civilization.  
Would it not be a gain, and a great one, for the systematic history 
of morals and literature at Rome to restore this work to its proper 
place? and is not this place pretty well identical, barring of course 
the difference of field and form, with that reserved in Greek Art 
for the vases, statuettes and pottery of Tanagra, and of the periods 
before and after Tanagra; in one word, whatever allows us to 
comprehend, or at least get a glimpse of, the Ancient world under 
the aspects of its everyday life?  Everybody knows how successful 
has been the revolution, and how fruitful in results, which has 
been brought about under our own eyes in these departments of 
Greek History and Archeology.

"Well! here (in Petronius) we have among the authors of Rome a 
veritable genre painter, of a sort to take the place for us, at 
any rate in part, of the graceful vase-paintings of Antiquity, as
well as of the grotesques of Greek art.

"From yet another aspect, not a few points of resemblance may be
detected between Petronius and the lighter literary productions,
novels, tales, burlesque narratives, vers de societe, and even 
journals, of the last two Centuries.  Our Author is refined, not 
to say blase, but none the less inquisitive, full both of sagacity 
and passion, always exact, and above and beyond all else, a supreme
master of style.  Laying aside all false delicacy, let us hear what 
he has to tell us of the daily routine, of the outward aspect, and 
even of the hidden secrets, of Roman existence.  Nowhere else has 
human life been lived on an ampler scale; no other people, no other 
society, has ever displayed so much variety, so many contrasts, 
such heights of grandeur and such depths of degradation."

ALFRED R. ALLINSON.



                           THE SATYRICON



CHAPTER ONE


Such a long time has passed since first I promised you the story of my 
adventures I am resolved to keep my word today, seeing we are happily 
met together to season those matters with lively conversation and tales 
of a merry and diverting sort.

Fabricius Veiento was discoursing very wisely to us just now on the 
follies of superstition, exposing the various forms of priestly 
charlatanry, the holy men's mania for prophecy, and the effrontery 
they display in expounding mysteries they very often utterly fail to 
comprehend themselves.  Is it not much the same type of madness that 
afflicts our declaimers, who shout: "These wounds I got, defending 
our common liberties; this eye I lost in your behalf.  Give me a 
helping hand to lead me to my children, for my poor maimed limbs 
refuse to bear my weight."  Even such extravagances might be borne, 
if they really served to guide beginners in the way of eloquence; but 
all pupils gain by these high-flown themes, these empty sounding 
phrases, is this, that on entering the forum they imagine themselves 
transported into a new and strange world.

This is the reason, in my opinion, why young men grow up such 
blockheads in the schools, because they neither see nor hear one 
single thing connected with the usual circumstances of everyday 
life, nothing but stuff about pirates lurking on the seashore with 
fetters in their hands, tyrants issuing edicts to compel sons to 
cut off their own fathers' heads, oracles in times of pestilence 
commanding three virgins or more to be sacrificed to stay the 
plague,-- honey-sweet, well-rounded sentences, words and facts 
alike as it were, besprinkled with poppy and sesame.

Under such a training it is no more possible to acquire good taste 
than it is not to stink, if you live in a kitchen. Give me leave to 
tell you that you rhetoricians are chiefly to blame for the ruin of 
Oratory, for with your silly, idle phrases, meant only to tickle 
the ears of an audience, you have enervated and deboshed the very 
substance of true eloquence.

Young men were not bound down to declamations in the days when Sophocles 
and Euripides found the very words they wanted to best express their 
meaning.  No cloistered professor had as yet darkened men's intellects, 
when Pindar and the nine Lyric bards shrank from emulating the Homeric 
note.  And not to cite poets exclusively,-- I cannot see that either 
Plato or Demosthenes ever practised this sort of mental exercise.  A 
noble, and so to say chaste, style is not overloaded with ornament, 
not turgid; its own natural beauty gives it elevation.

Then after a while this windy, extravagant deluge of words invaded 
Athens from Asia, and like a malignant star, blasting the minds of 
young men aiming at lofty ideals, instantly broke up all rules of 
art and struck eloquence dumb.  Since that day who has reached the 
perfection of Thucydides, the glory of Hyperides?  Nay! not a poem 
has been written of bright and wholesome complexion; but all, as if 
fed on the same unhealthy diet, have lacked stamina to attain old age.  
Painting moreover shared the same fate, after Egypt presumptuously 
invented a compendious method for that noble Art.

Such and suchlike reflections I was indulging in one day before a 
numerous audience, when Agamemnon came up, curious to see who it was 
they were listening to so attentively.  Well! he declined to allow 
me to declaim longer in the Portico than he had himself sweated in 
the schools but: "Young man," he cries, "seeing your words are 
something better than mere popular commonplaces, and-- a very rare 
occurrence-- you are an admirer of sound sense, I will confide to 
you a professional secret.  In the choice of these exercises it is 
not the masters that are to blame.  They are forced to be just as 
mad as all the rest; for if they refuse to teach what pleases their 
scholars, they will be left, as Cicero says, to lecure to empty 
benches.  Just as false-hearted sycophants, scheming for a seat at 
a rich man's table, make it their chief business to discover what 
will be most agreeable hearing to their host, for indeed their only 
way to gain their end is by cajolement and flattery; so a professor 
of Rhetoric, unless like a fisherman he arm his hook with the bait 
he knows the fish will take, may stand long enough on his rock 
without a chance of success.

"Whose fault is it then?  It is the parents deserve censure, who 
will not give their children the advantages of a strict training.  
In the first place their hopes, like everything else, are centered 
in ambition, and so being impatient to see their wishes fulfilled, 
they hurry lads into the forum when still raw and half taught, and 
indue mere babes with the mantle of eloquence, an art they admit 
themselves to be equaled by none in difficulty.  If only they would 
let them advance step by step in their tasks, so that serious 
students might be broken in by solid reading, steady their minds 
with the precepts of philosophy, chasten their style with unsparing 
correction, study deep and long what they propose to imitate, and 
refuse to be dazzled by puerile graces, then and then only would 
the grand old type of Oratory recover its former authority and 
stateliness.  Nowadays, boys waste their time at school; as youths, 
they are jeered at in the forum, and what is worse than either, no 
one will acknowledge, as an old man, the faultiness of the teaching 
he received in his younger days.

"But that you may not imagine I disapprove of satirical impromptus 
in the Lucilian vein, I will myself throw my notions on this matter 
into verse:

    "He that would be an orator, must strive
     To follow out the discipline of old,
     And heed the laws of stern frugality;
     Not his to haunt the Court with fawning brow,
     Nor sit a flatterer at great folks' boards;
     Not his with boon companions o'er the wine
     To overcloud his brain, nor at the play
     To sit and clap, agape at actors' tricks.
     But whether to Tritonia's famous halls
     The Muses lead his steps, or to those walls
     That Spartan exiles rear'd or where
     The Sirens' song thrill'd the enraptured air
     Of all his tasks let Poesy be first,
     And Homer's verse the fount to quench his thirst.
     Soon will be master deep Socratic lore,
     And wield the arms Demosthenes erst bore.
     Then to new modes must he in turn be led,
     And Grecian wit to Roman accents wed.
     Nor in the forum only will he find
     Meet occupation for his busy mind;
     On books he'll feast, the poet's words of fire,
     Heroic tales of War and Tully's patriot ire,
     Such be thy studies; then, whate'er the theme,
     Pour forth thine eloquence in copious stream."

Listening attentively to the speaker, I never noticed that Ascyltos had 
given me the slip; and I was still walking up and down in the gardens 
full of the burning words I had heard, when a great mob of students 
rushed into the Portico.  Apparently these had just come from hearing 
an impromptu lecture of some critic or other who had been cutting up 
Agamemnon's speech.  So whilst the lads were making fun of his 
sentiments and abusing the arrangement of the whole discourse, I 
seized the opportunity to escape, and started off at a run in pursuit 
of Ascyltos.  But I was heedless about the road I followed, and indeed 
felt by no means sure of the situation of our inn, the result being 
that whichever direction I took, I presently found myself back again 
at my starting point.  At last, exhausted with running and dripping 
with sweat, I came across a little old woman, who was selling herbs.

"Prithee, good mother," say I, "can you tell me where I live?" 
Charmed with the quiet absurdity of my question, "Why certainly!" 
she replied; and getting up, went on before me.  I thought she
must be a witch; but presently, when we had arrived at a rather 
shy neighborhood, the obliging old lady drew back the curtain of 
a doorway, and said, "Here is where you ought to live."

I was just protesting I did not know the house, when I catch sight 
of mysterious figures prowling between rows of name-boards, and 
naked harlots.  Then when too late, I saw I had been brought into 
a house of ill fame.  So cursing the old woman's falseness, I threw 
my robe over my head and made a dash right through the brothel to 
the opposite door, when lo! just on the threshold, whom should I 
meet but Ascyltos, fagged out and half dead like myself?  You would 
have thought the very same old hag had been his conductress.  I 
made him a mocking bow, and asked him what he was doing in such 
a disreputable place?

Wiping the sweat from his face with both hands, he replied, "If 
you only knew what happened to me!"

"Why! what has happened?" said I.

Then in a faint voice he went on, "I was wandering all over the 
town, without being able to discover where I had left our inn, when 
a respectable looking man accosted me, and most politely offered to 
show me the way.  Then after traversing some very dark and intricate 
alleys, he brought me where we are, and producing his affair, began 
begging me to grant him my favors.  In two twos the woman had taken 
the fee for the room, and the man laid hold of me; and if I had not 
proved the stronger, I should have fared very ill indeed."

While Ascyltos was thus recounting his adventures, up came his 
respectable friend again, accompanied by a woman of considerable 
personal attractions, and addressing himself to Ascyltos, besought 
him to enter, assuring him he had nothing to fear, and that as he 
would not consent to play the passive, he should do the active 
part.  The woman on her side was very anxious I should go with 
her.  Accordingly we followed the pair, who led us among the 
name-boards, where we saw in the chambers persons of both sexes 
behaving in such fashion I concluded they must every one have been 
drinking satyrion.  On seeing us, they endeavored to allure us to 
sodomy with enticing gestures; and suddenly one fellow with his 
clothes well tucked up assails Ascyltos, and throwing him down on 
a bed, tries to get to work a-top of him.  I spring to the sufferer's 
rescue, and uniting our efforts, we make short work of the ruffian.  
Ascyltos bolts out of the house, and away, leaving me to escape 
their beastly advances as best I might; but discovering I was too 
strong for them and in no mood for trifling, they left me alone.

After running about almost over the city, I caught sight of Giton, 
as it were a fog, standing at the corner of an alley close to the 
door of our inn, and hurried to join him.  I asked my favorite 
whether he had got anything ready for our dinner, whereupon the lad 
sat down on the bed and began wiping away the tears with his thumb.  
Much disturbed at my favorite's distress, I demanded what had 
happened.  For a long time I could not drag a word out of him, not 
indeed till I had added threats to prayers.  Then he reluctantly 
told me.  "That favorite or comrade of yours came into our lodging 
just now, and set to work to force me.  When I screamed he drew 
a sword and said, 'If you're a Lucretia, you've found a Tarquin'."

Hearing this, I exclaimed, shaking my two fists in Ascyltos' face.  
"What have you to say now, you pathic prostitute, you, whose very 
breath is abominable?"  Ascyltos feigned extreme indignation, and 
immediately repeated my gesture with greater emphasis, crying in 
still louder tones, "Will you hold your tongue, you filthy gladiator, 
who after murdering your host, had luck enough to escape from the 
criminals' cage at the Amphitheater?  Will you hold your tongue, 
you midnight cut-throat, who never, when at your bravest, durst face 
an honest woman?  Didn't I serve you for a minion in an orchard, 
just as this lad does now in an inn?"

"Did you or did you not," I interrupted, "sneak off from the 
master's lecture?"

"What was I to do, fool, when I was dying of hunger?  Stop and 
listen to a string of phrases no better than the tinkling of broken 
glass or the nonsensical interpretations in dream books?  By great 
Hercules, you are dead baser than I; to compass a dinner you have 
condescended to flatter a Poet!"  This ended our unseemly wrangle, 
and we both burst into a fit of laughter, and proceeded to discuss 
other matters in a more peaceable tone.

But the recollection of his late violence coming over me afresh, 
"Ascyltos," I said, "I see we cannot get on together; so let us 
divide between us our bits of common funds, and each try to make 
head against poverty on his own bottom.  You are a scholar; so 
am I.  I don't wish to spoil your profits, so I'll take up 
another line.  Else shall we find a thousand causes of quarrel 
every day, and soon make ourselves the talk of the town."

Ascyltos raised no objection, merely saying, "For today, as we 
have accepted, in our quality of men of letters, an invitation to 
dine out, don't let us lose our evening; but tomorrow, since you 
wish it, I will look out for a new lodging and another bedfellow."

"Poor work," said I, "putting off the execution of a good plan."  
It was really my naughty passions that urged me to so speedy a 
parting; indeed I had been long wishing to be rid of his jealous 
observation, in order to renew my old relations with my sweet Giton.  
Ascyltos, mortally offended at my remark, rushed out of the room 
without another word.  So sudden a departure boded ill; for I knew 
his ungovernable temper and the strength of his passions.  So I 
went after him, to keep an eye on his doings and guard against 
their consequences; but he slipped adroitly out of my sight, and 
I wasted a long time in a fruitless search for the rascal.

After looking through the whole city, I came back to my little room, 
and now at length claiming my full tale of kisses, I clip my darling 
lad in the tightest of embraces; my utmost hopes of bliss are 
fulfilled to the envy of all mankind.  The rites were not yet 
complete, when Ascyltos crept up stealthily to the door, and 
violently bursting in the bolts, caught me at play with his 
favorite.  His laughter and applause filled the room, and tearing 
off the mantle that covered us, "Why! what are you after," he cries, 
"my sainted friend?  What! both tucked cozily under one coverlet?"  
Nor did he stop at words, but detaching the strap from his wallet, 
he fell to thrashing me with no perfunctory hand, seasoning his 
blows with insulting remarks.  "This is the way you divide stock 
with a comrade, is it?  Not so fast, my friend."  So unexpected 
was the attack I was obliged to put up with the blows in silence.

Accordingly I took the matter as a joke, and it was well I did so; 
otherwise I should have had to fight my rival.  My counterfeited 
merriment calmed his anger, and he even smiled faintly.  "Look you, 
Encolpius," said he, "are you so buried in your pleasures, you 
never reflect that our money is exhausted, and the trifles we have 
left are valueless.  Town is good for nothing in the summer days; 
there'll be better luck in the country.  Let's go visit our friends."



CHAPTER TWO


Necessity constrained me to approve his advice and restrain the 
expression of my resentment.  So, loading Giton with our scanty 
baggage, we quitted the city and made our way to the country 
house of Lycurgus, a Roman knight.  Ascyltos had been a minion 
in former days, so he gave us an excellent reception, and the 
company assembled there rendered our entertainment still more 
delightful.  First and foremost was Tryphaena, a very handsome 
woman, who had come with Lichas, master of a ship and owner of 
estates near the seacoast.

Words cannot describe the pleasures we enjoyed in this most 
delightful spot, though Lycurgus's table was frugal enough.  
You must know we lost no time in pairing off as lovers.  The 
lovely Tryphaena was my fancy, and readily acceded to my wishes.  
But scarcely was I in enjoyment of her favors, when Lichas, 
furious at his lady-love being filched from him, insisted I 
must indemnify him for the injury done him.  She had long been 
his mistress; so he made the festive proposal that I should 
make good his loss in person.  He pressed me passionately; 
but Tryphaena possessing my heart, my ears were deaf to his 
importunities.  My refusal made him still more eager and he 
followed me about like a dog, and actually came into my chamber 
one night.  Finding his entreaties scorned, he tried to force me; 
but I shouted so loudly I roused the household and by favor of 
Lycurgus's countenance was saved from the ruffian's attempts.

Eventually thinking Lycurgus's house inconvenient for his 
purpose, he endeavored to persuade me to be his guest.  When 
I refused his invitation, he got Tryphaena to use her influence.  
The latter begged me to comply with Lichas's wishes, what made 
her so ready to do so being the prospect of leading a more 
independent life there.  Accordingly I follow where my love 
leads the way.  But Lycurgus, having renewed his former relations
with Ascyltos, would not let him go.  So we agreed that he should 
stop with Lycurgus, whilst we accompanied Lichas, resolving at 
the same time that, as opportunity offered, we should each and 
all lay hands on anything handy for the common stock.

My consent delighted Lichas beyond measure.  He hurried on 
our departure all he could, and forthwith bidding our friends 
farewell, we arrived the same day at his house.  Lichas had 
cleverly arranged it in such a way that he sat beside me during 
the journey, while Tryphaena was next to Giton.  This he had 
contrived because he knew the woman's notorious fickleness, 
and the result justified his expectations.  In fact she 
instantly fell in love with the lad, as I saw easily enough.  
Lichas moreover made a point of drawing my attention to the 
circumstance, and assured me there was no doubt about it.  
This made me receive his advances more complacently, at which 
he was overjoyed.  He felt certain the injury my mistress was 
doing me would turn my love into contempt, and that consequently 
out of pique against Tryphaena, I should be the more disposed 
to welcome his proposals.

Such was the state of affairs under Lichas's roof.  Tryphaena 
was desperately enamored of Giton; Giton's whole heart was 
aflame for Tryphaena; I hated the sight of both; while Lichas, 
studying to please me, contrived some fresh diversion every 
day.  Doris, his pretty wife, eagerly seconded his efforts, 
and that so charmingly she soon drove Tryphaena from my heart.  
A wink informed Doris of the state of my feelings, and she 
returned the compliment with alluring glances; so that this 
mute language, anticipating the tongue, furtively expressed the 
mutual liking we had simultaneously conceived for one another.

I soon saw Lichas was jealous, and this made me cautious; 
while the quick eyes of love had already revealed to the wife 
the husband's designs on me.  The first opportunity we had of 
conversing together, she announced her discovery to me.  I 
frankly admitted the fact, and told her how austerely I had 
always treated his advances.  But like a wise, discreet woman, 
she only said, "Well! well! we must act judiciously in the 
matter."  I followed her advice, and found that, to yield to 
the one was to win the other.

Meanwhile, while Giton was recruiting his exhausted strength, 
Tryphaena was for returning to me; but on my repulsing her 
overtures, her love changed into furious hate.  Nor was the 
ardent little wanton long in discovering my dealings both 
with husband and wife.  The former's naughtiness with me she 
made light of, for she lost nothing by it; but she went 
savagely for Doris and her secret pleasures.  She denounced 
her to Lichas, whose jealousy proving stronger than his love, 
he prepared for revenge.  However Doris, warned by Tryphaena's 
maid to look out for storms, refrained from any clandestine 
meetings for the present.

As soon as I learned the truth, cursing at once Tryphaena's 
perfidy and Lichas's ingratitude, I made up my mind to be 
gone.  Fortune moreover was in my favor; for the very day 
before a vessel, dedicated to Isis and laden with rich 
offerings for the feast of the goddess, had run ashore on 
the rocks of the neighboring coast.

I talked the matter over with Giton, and he readily enough 
agreed to my plan, for Tryphaena, after draining him of his 
strength, was now openly neglecting him.  Accordingly we set 
off betimes next day for the coast, and easily got aboard the 
wreck as we were known to Lichas's servants, who were in charge.  
But finding they insisted on attending us everywhere out of 
politeness, so stopping any chance of looting, I left Giton 
with them and seizing an opportunity to get away by myself, 
crept into the poop, where stood the image of Isis.  This I
robbed of a rich mantle and a silver sistrum, besides 
appropriating other valuables from the Captain's cabin.  This 
done, I slipped down a mooring-rope without anybody seeing me 
except Giton, who likewise eluded the men in charge before 
very long and sneaked after me.

On his coming up, I showed him my booty, and we resolved to 
make the best of our way to Ascyltos, but we could not reach 
Lycurgus's house till next day.  Arrived there, I gave Ascyltos 
a brief account of the robbery, and of our untoward love 
adventures.  His advice was to get Lycurgus on our side, 
telling him that fresh persecutions on the part of Lichas had 
determined our sudden and secret flight.  When he heard this 
Lycurgus took an oath he would never fail us as a bulwark 
against our enemies.

Our flight was not observed until Tryphaena and Doris awoke 
and got up; for every morning we made a point of attending 
these ladies' toilette.  Our unwonted absence therefore being 
noticed, Lichas dispatched messengers to look for us, 
particularly to the seashore.  From them he heard of our 
having visited the ship, but not a word about the robbery.  
This was still undiscovered, because the poop lay seawards, 
and the Master had not as yet returned to his vessel.

Eventually, when no doubt remained as to our flight, which 
annoyed Lichas extremely, the latter turned furiously upon 
Doris, considering her to be responsible for it.  I will not 
describe his language nor the violence he indulged in towards 
her; indeed I do not know the details.  Enough to say that 
Tryphaena, the originator of all the disturbance, prevailed on 
Lichas to go and look for us at Lycurgus's house, as being our 
most likely place of refuge, choosing herself to accompany him 
thither, that she might find opportunity to load us with the 
abuse and scorn we had so well merited at her hands.

Setting out next day, they arrived at the mansion.  We were not 
at home, Lycurgus having taken us to a feast of Hercules that 
was being celebrated at a neighboring village.  Learning this, 
they followed us in all haste, and came up with us in the Portico 
of the Temple.  Their appearance disconcerted us not a little.  
Lichas instantly began to complain bitterly of our running away to 
Lycurgus; but was met with such an angry brow and haughty air 
by the latter, that plucking up a spirit, I loudly cried shame on 
his lecherous attempts on my person both under Lycurgus's roof 
and his own.  Tryphaena interfered, but got the worst of it, 
too, for I proclaimed her baseness to the crowds of people our 
altercation had attracted, and in token of the truth of my 
allegations, I showed them Giton pale and bloodless and myself 
brought to death's door by the strumpet's wantonness.  The 
crowd burst into loud shouts of laughter, which so abashed our 
adversaries that they withdrew, crestfallen and vowing vengeance.

Perceiving we had quite won Lycurgus over, they determined to 
wait for him at his own house, in order to disabuse his mind 
of this prepossession in our favor.  The solemnities finished 
too late for us to return to the mansion that night; so Lycurgus 
took us to a country lodge of his situated halfway thither.  
Here he left us next morning still asleep, while he went home 
himself to attend to the dispatch of business.  He found Lichas 
and Tryphaena waiting for him there, who talked him over so 
cleverly, they actually persuaded him to deliver us up into 
their hands.  Lycurgus, a man naturally cruel and treacherous, 
meditating how best to betray us, urged Lichas to go for help, 
while he went himself to the lodge to secure our capture.

Arrived there, he accosted us with as harsh a mien as ever 
Lichas might have been expected to show; then, wringing his 
hands, he upbraided us with our falsehood to Lichas, and 
ordered us to be kept fast prisoners in the chamber where 
we lay, excluding Ascyltos and refusing to hear a word from 
him in our defense.  Taking the latter with him to his mansion, 
he left us behind in custody till his return.

On the journey Ascyltos tried in vain to modify Lycurgus's 
determination, but neither prayers, caresses nor tears would 
move him.  Accordingly our comrade conceived the idea of setting 
us at liberty by other means.  Indignant at Lycurgus's harshness, 
he positively refused to sleep with him, and so found himself 
in a better position to carry out the plan he had formed.

Waiting till the household were buried in their first sleep, 
he took our bits of baggage on his shoulders, and slipping 
through a breach in the wall he had previously marked, he 
reached the lodge at daybreak.  Entering the house unopposed, 
he sought our room, which the guards had taken care to secure.  
There was little difficulty in opening the door, for the bolt 
being of wood, he loosened this by inserting an iron bar.  
Presently the lock dropped off, and awoke us in falling, for 
we were snoring away in spite of our unhappy situation.  Yet 
so sound asleep were our guards, being tired out with watching, 
that the crash roused no one but ourselves.

Then Ascyltos, entering our prison, briefly told us what he 
had done for us, nor indeed were many words necessary.  While 
we were busy dressing, it occurred to me to kill the watchmen 
and loot the house.  I confided my notion to Ascyltos, who 
approved of the robbery, but said we could gain our ends better 
without bloodshed.  Accordingly, knowing as he did all the ins 
and outs of the premises, he led us to the store chamber, the 
doors of which he undid.  Appropriating the more valuable of 
the contents, we made off while it was still early morning, 
and avoiding the public roads, never stopped till we deemed 
ourselves safe from pursuit.

Hereupon Ascyltos, taking breath, declared emphatically what 
delight he had felt in pillaging Lycurgus's house.  He was 
an arrant miser, he said, and had given him good reason to 
complain; while he had never paid him a farthing for his 
nights' work, he had at the same time kept him on very short 
commons and the thinnest of drink.  So niggardly indeed was 
the fellow that notwithstanding his boundless wealth, he used 
to deny himself the barest necessaries of life.

     Unhappy Tantalus, with plenty curst,
     'Mid fruits for hunger faints, 'mid streams for thirst:
     The Miser's emblem! who of all possess'd,
     Yet fears to taste, in blessings most unbless'd.

Ascyltos was for returning to Naples that same day.  "But 
surely," said I, "it is acting imprudently to go to the very 
place of all others where they are most likely to look for us.  
Let us keep away for a while and ramble about the country.  
We have the means to do it in comfort."  My advice was approved, 
and we set out for a hamlet embellished with a number of 
agreeable country residences, where several of our familiars 
were enjoying the pleasures of the season.  But scarcely had 
we covered half the distance when a storm of rain coming down 
in bucketfuls compelled us to fly for shelter to the nearest 
village.  Entering the inn, we found a crowd of other travelers 
who had turned in there to escape the inclemency of the weather.

The throng prevented our attracting notice, which made it all 
the easier for us to pry about in search of anything we could 
appropriate.  Ascyltos picked up from the floor, quite 
unobserved, a little bag containing a number of gold pieces.  
We were delighted at this lucky beginning; but fearing some one 
might claim the money, we stole away by the back door.  There 
we found a servant saddling some horses, who at that moment 
left them to go back to the house for something he had forgotten.  
Profiting by his absence, I snatched a superb riding-cloak from 
a saddle, undoing the straps that fastened it.  This done, we 
made off into the nearest wood under cover of some outhouses.

Sitting down in the depths of the wood, where we were in 
comparative safety, we held a council of war about concealing 
the gold, not wishing either to be accused of the theft or to 
be robbed of it ourselves.  Finally we decided to sew it up in 
a hem of an old threadbare tunic, which I threw round my 
shoulders, and entrusting the cloak to Ascyltos, we prepared 
to start for the city by way of bypaths.  But just as we were 
quitting the forest, we hear a voice pronounce these terrible 
words: "They shan't escape.  They've gone into the wood; and if 
we spread out and search everywhere, they'll easily be caught."

These words filled us with such consternation that Ascyltos and 
Giton dashed away through the bushes in the direction of the 
city; while I stepped back so hurriedly that, without my knowing 
it, the precious tunic slipped from my shoulders.  At length, 
tired out and unable to go a step further, I lay down under a 
tree, and then for the first time discovered my loss.  Vexation 
gave me new strength, and starting up again to look for the 
treasure, I wandered up and down for a long time in vain, 
till worn out with toil and trouble I plunged into the darkest 
recesses of the forest, where I remained for four weary hours.  
Sick at last of the horrible solitude, I sought a way out, but 
as I advanced I caught sight of a peasant.  Then indeed I wanted 
all my assurance, and it did not fail me.  Going boldly up to 
him, I asked my way to the city, complaining I had been lost 
for ever so long in the wood.  He led me very civilly into the 
high road, where he came upon two of his comrades, who reported 
they had searched all the paths through the forest, but had 
found nothing except a tunic which they showed him.

I had not the impudence to claim the garment, as may be supposed.  
My vexation redoubled, and I uttered many a groan over my lost gold.

Thus it was already late when I reached the city.  Entering the 
inn, I found Ascyltos stretched half dead on a bed.  Disturbed 
at not seeing the tunic intrusted to my care, Ascyltos eagerly 
demanded it.  After a while my strength came back a little, and 
I then told him the whole misadventure; but he thought I was 
joking, and though an appealing flood of tears further confirmed 
my asseverations, he remained obviously incredulous, thinking I 
wanted to cheat him out of the money.  But after all, what most 
troubled our minds was the hue and cry after us.  I mentioned 
this to Ascyltos, but he made light of it, having managed to 
extricate himself successfully from the affair.  Besides he was 
convinced we were safe enough, for we were not known, and nobody 
had set eyes on us.  Still we thought it advisable to feign 
sickness, so as to have a pretext for keeping our room the 
longer.  But our cash running short, we had to go abroad sooner 
than we had intended, and under the spur of necessity to sell 
some of our plunder.



CHAPTER THREE


On the approach of night we took our way to the market-place, where we saw 
an abundance of goods for sale, not indeed articles of any great value, but 
rather such as needed the kindly veil of darkness, considering their rather 
shady origin.  Thither we also conveyed our stolen riding-cloak, and 
seizing the opportunity, displayed a corner of it in a quiet spot, hoping 
a buyer might be attracted by the beauty of the garment.

It was not long before a countryman, whose face seemed somehow familiar 
to me, approached in company with a young woman, and began to examine the 
cloak minutely.  On the other part Ascyltos, casting his eye on the rustic 
customer's shoulders, was instantly struck dumb with surprise.  Nor could 
I myself avoid some perturbation of mind when I saw him; for he appeared 
to be the identical peasant who had found our old tunic in the loneliness 
of the wood.  Yes! he was the very man.  But Ascyltos, afraid to trust 
his eyes and anxious not to do anything rash, first went up to the fellow 
as a would-be purchaser, drew the tunic from his shoulders and began to 
scrutinize it carefully.

By a wonderful stroke of luck the rustic had not as yet had the 
curiosity to search the seams, but was offering the thing for sale 
with an indifferent air as some beggar-man's leavings.  When Ascyltos 
saw our money was intact and that the vendor was a person of no great 
account, he drew me a little aside from the throng and said, "Do you 
observe, comrade, our treasure that I was regretting as lost is come 
back again?  That is our tunic and it seems to have the gold pieces 
in it still:  they haven't been touched.  But what can we do about it?  
How are we to prove ownership?"  I was greatly cheered not only at 
beholding our loot once more, but also because I thus found myself 
freed from a villainous suspicion, and at once declared against any 
sort of beating about the bush.  I advised we should bring a civil 
action right out to compel him to give up the property to its rightful 
owners by law, if he refused to do so otherwise.

Not so Ascyltos, who had a wholesome fear of the law.  "Who knows us," 
he said, "in this place, or will believe what we say?  My own strong 
opinion is we should buy the property, our own though it be, now we 
see it, and rather pay a small sum to recover our treasure than get 
mixed up in a lawsuit, the issue of which is uncertain."

     What worth our laws, when pelf alone is king,
     When to be poor is to be always wrong?
     The Cynic sage himself, stern moralist,
     Is not averse to sell his words for gold;
     Justice is bought, the highest bidder wins,
     A partial Judge directs a venal Court.

But alas! except for a brace of copper coins, which we had purposed to 
spend on lupines and peas, we were penniless just then.  So, for fear 
the prey might escape us meanwhile, we resolved to part with the cloak 
at a lower price, making the profit on the one transaction balance the 
loss on the other.  Accordingly we spread out our merchandise; but the 
woman who had hitherto been standing beside the countryman closely 
muffled, now suddenly, after carefully scanning certain marks on the 
cloak, laid hold of the hem with both hands, and screamed out "Stop, 
thieves!  Stop, thieves!" at the top of her voice.

At this we were not a little disconcerted, but that we might not seem 
to acquiesce without a protest, we in our turn seized the tattered, 
filthy tunic, and declared no less spitefully it was our goods they 
had in their possession.  But our case was far from being on all fours 
with theirs; and the crowd, that had gathered at the outcry, began to 
make fun of our impertinent claim, and not unnaturally, when on the 
one side they asserted their right to a most valuable cloak, but we 
to this old rag hardly worth mending.  However Ascyltos adroitly 
stopped their ridicule by crying out, directly he could get a hearing, 
"Well! look you, every man likes his own property best; let 'em give 
us up our tunic, and they shall have their cloak."

Both the rustic and the young woman were ready enough to make the 
exchange; but a couple of attorneys, or to give them their true name, 
night-prowlers, who wanted to appropriate the cloak themselves, 
demanded that both the articles in dispute should be deposited with 
them, and the Judge look into the case in the morning; for not only 
must the ownership of these be investigated, but quite another 
question altogether as well, to wit, a suspicion of theft on the 
part of both parties.

The bystanders were by this time all in favor of sequestration, and an 
individual in the crowd, a bald man with a very pimply face, who was in 
the habit of undertaking occasional jobs for the lawyers, impounded the 
cloak, saying he would produce it on the morrow.  But the real object 
was self-evident, that the knavish crew having once got hold of the 
article in question, they might smuggle it out of the way, while we 
should be scared by the fear of a charge of theft from putting in an 
appearance at the appointed time.  This was very much what we wanted 
ourselves, and luck seconded the wishes of both parties.  For the 
countryman, indignant at our requiring the surrender of an old rag, 
threw the tunic in Ascyltos's face, and withdrawing his own claim 
altogether, merely demanded the sequestration of the cloak as the 
only object of litigation.  Having thus recovered our treasure, as 
we felt, we rush off full speed for our inn, and bolting the room 
door, start making merry over the astuteness both of our opponents 
and of the crowd, who had exercised so much ingenuity in giving us 
back our money!

As we were unstitching the tunic to take out the gold pieces, we 
overheard some one asking the innkeeper what kind of people they 
were who had just entered his house.  Terrified at the question, I
went down after he had gone, to see what was the matter, and found 
that a Pretor's lictor, whose duty it was to see the names of 
strangers entered in the public registers, had seen two such enter 
the inn, whose names he had not yet taken down, and was therefore 
making inquiries as to their nationality and business.  This 
information the inn-keeper gave in such an offhand manner as made 
me suspect his house was not altogether a safe place for us; so, 
to avoid the chance of arrest, we determined to leave the place 
and not return till after dark.  Accordingly we sallied forth, 
leaving the care of providing our dinner to Giton.

As our wish was to avoid the frequented streets, we went by way of 
the more lonely districts of the city.  Towards nightfall we met 
in a remote spot two respectably robed and good-looking women, and 
followed them slowly and softly to a small temple, which they entered, 
and from which a strange humming was audible, like the sound of voices 
issuing from the recesses of a cavern.  Curiosity impelled us likewise 
to enter the temple, and there we beheld a number of women, resembling 
Bacchantes, each brandishing an emblem of Priapus in her right hand.  
This was all we were permitted to see; for the instant they caught 
sight of us, they set up such a shouting the vault of the sacred 
building trembled, and tried to seize hold of us.  But we fled as 
fast as our legs would carry us back to our inn.

Scarcely had we eaten our fill of the dinner Giton had provided us, 
when the door resounded with a most imperative knocking.  Turning 
pale, we demanded, "Who's there?"-- "Open the door," was the answer, 
"and you'll find out."  We were still arguing when the bolt tumbled 
off of itself, the door flew open and admitted our visitor.  This 
was a woman with her head muffled, the very same who a little time 
before had been standing by the countryman's side in the market.  
"Ah, ha!" she cried, "did you suppose you had really made a fool of 
me?  I am Quartilla's maid, Quartilla whose devotions before the 
grotto you disturbed.  She is coming in person to the inn, and begs 
to speak with you.  Do not be afraid; she brings no accusation, and 
has no wish to punish your fault.  She only wonders what god it was 
brought such genteel young men into her district."

We were still dumb, not knowing in the least what kind of response 
to give, when the mistress herself entered, accompanied only by a 
young girl, and sitting down on my couch, wept for ever so long.  
Not even then had we a word to offer, but looked on in amazement at 
this tearful display of pretended grief.  When the enticing shower 
had exhausted itself, she drew back the hood that concealed her 
haughty features, and wringing her hands till the finger joints 
cracked, "What means this recklessness?" she cried; "wherever have 
you learned these knavish tricks that for audacity outdo the heroes 
of the story-books.  By heaven!  I pity you! for be sure no man ever 
looked with impunity on forbidden sights.  Truly our neighborhood is 
so well stocked with deities to hand, you will easier meet with a 
god than a man.  But don't imagine I've come here vindictively; I'm 
more moved by your youth than angered by the wrong you have done 
me.  It was in sheer ignorance, I still think, you committed your 
unpardonable act of sacrilege.

"Last night I was grievously tormented, and shaken with such 
alarming tremblings, I dreaded an attack of tertian ague.  So in 
my sleep I prayed for a remedy, and was bidden seek you out, that 
you might assuage the violence of the complaint by means of a 
cunning contrivance also indicated in my dream.  But indeed and 
indeed it is not so much this cure I am exercised about; what 
wrings my heart and drives me almost to despair is the dread that 
in your youthful levity you may reveal what you saw in the shrine 
of Priapus, and betray the counsels of the gods to the common herd.  
This is why I stretch forth suppliant hands to your knees, and beg 
and pray you not to turn into ribaldry and jest our nocturnal rites, 
nor willingly divulge the secrets of so many years,-- secrets known 
to barely a thousand persons all told."

After this impassioned appeal she again burst into tears, and shaken 
by mighty sobs, entirely buried her face and bosom in my couch.  
Meantime, moved at once by pity and apprehension, I bade her keep 
a good heart, and be quite easy on either head.  For, I assured her, 
not one of us would divulge the mysteries, and moreover, if the god 
had revealed any extraordinary means of curing her ague, we would 
second divine providence, even if it involved danger to ourselves.

The woman cheered up at this promise, and fell to kissing me thick and 
fast, and changing from tears to laughter, combed back with her fingers 
some stray locks that had escaped from behind my ears.  "I make truce 
with you," she said, "and withdraw my case against you.  But if you 
had not agreed about the remedy I am seeking, I had a posse of men all 
ready for tomorrow to avenge my wrongs and vindicate my honor.

    "Contempt is hateful; what I love is power,
     To work my will at my own place and hour.
     A wise man's scorn bends the most stubborn will,
     The noblest victor he who spares to kill."

Next, clapping her hands together, she suddenly burst into such a fit 
of laughter as quite alarmed us.  The maid, who had entered first 
followed suit, and was followed in turn by the little girl who had 
come in along with Quartilla.

The whole place reechoed with their forced merriment; meantime, seeing 
no reason for this rapid change of mood, we stand staring now at each 
other, now at the women.  At length says Quartilla, "I have given 
express orders that no mortal be admitted into this inn today, that 
you may, without interruption, apply the remedy for my ague."

"At this declaration Ascyltos stood for a time appalled; for myself, 
I turned colder that a Gallic winter, and was unable to utter a word.  
Still our numbers somewhat reassured me against any disaster.  After 
all, they were only three weak women, quite incapable of any serious 
assault on us, who if we had nothing else manly about us, were at 
least of the male sex.  Anyway we were all ready prepared for the fray; 
in fact I had already so arranged the couples, that if it came to a 
fight, I should myself tackle Quartilla, Ascyltos the waiting-maid, 
Giton the girl.

In the middle of these reflections, up came Quartilla to me to be 
cured of her ague; but finding herself sadly disappointed, she flung 
out of the house in a rage.  Returning after a little, she had us 
seized by some unknown bravos and carried off to a magnificent palace.



CHAPTER FOUR


At this crisis amazement and consternation quite broke our spirit, certain 
death seeming to stare us miserably in the face.  "I beseech you, lady," I 
cried, "if you have any sinister design, put us out of our misery at once; 
we have done nothing so heinous as to deserve torturing to death."  The 
maid, whose name was Psyche, now carefully spread a rug on the marble 
floor, and endeavored to rouse my member into activity, but it lay cold as 
a thousand deaths could make it.  Ascyltos had muffled his head in his 
mantle, having doubtless learned from experience the peril of meddling 
with other people's secrets.  Meantime Psyche produced two ribbons from 
her bosom, and proceeded to tie our hands with one and our feet with the 
other.  Finding myself thus fettered, "This is not the way," I protested, 
"for your mistress to get what she wants."  "Granted," replied the maid; 
"but I have other remedies to my hand, and surer ones."

So saying, she brought me a goblet full of satyrion, and with quips and 
cranks and a host of wonderful tales of its virtues, induced me to drain 
off nearly the whole of the liquor.  Then, because he had slighted her 
overtures a little before, she poured what was left of the stuff over 
Ascyltos's back without his noticing.  The latter, seeing the stream of 
her eloquence dried up, exclaimed, "Well! and am I not thought worthy to 
have a drink too?"  Betrayed by my laughter, the girl clapped her hands 
and cried, "Why! I've given it you already, young man; you've had the 
whole draft all to yourself."  "What!" put in Quartilla, "has Encolpius 
drunk up all our stock of satyrion?" and her sides shook with pretty 
merriment.  Eventually not even Giton could contain his mirth, particularly 
when the little girl threw her arms round his neck, and gave the boy, who 
showed no signs of reluctance, a thousand kisses.

We should have cried out for help in our unhappy plight, but there was 
no one to hear us and besides Psyche pricked my cheeks with her hair pin 
every time I tried to call upon my fellow countrymen for succor, while 
at the same time the other girl threatened Ascyltos with a brush dipped 
in satyrion.  Finally there entered a catamite, tricked out in a coat of 
chestnut frieze, and wearing a sash, who would alternately writhe his 
buttocks and bump against us, and beslaver us with the most evil-smelling 
kisses, until Quartilla, holding a whalebone wand in her hand and with 
skirts tucked up, ordered him to give the poor fellows quarter.  Then we 
all three swore the most solemn oaths the horrid secret should die with us.

Next a company of wrestlers appeared, who rubbed us over with the proper 
gymnastic oil, which was very refreshing.  This gradually removed our 
fatigue and resuming the dinner clothes that we had taken off, we were 
then conducted into the adjoining room, where the couches were laid and 
all preparations made for an elegant feast in the most sumptuous style.  
We were requested to take our places, and the banquet opened with some 
wonderful hors d'oeuvres, while the Falernian flowed like water.  A 
number of other courses followed, and we were all but falling asleep, 
when Quartilla cried, "Come, come! can you think of sleep, when you know 
this livelong night is owed to the service of Priapus?"

Ascyltos was so worn out with all he had gone through he could not keep 
his eyes open a moment longer, and the waiting-maid, whom he had scorned 
and slighted, now proceeded to daub his face all over with streaks of 
soot, and bepaint his lips and shoulders as he lay unconscious.

I too, tired with the persecutions I had endured, was just enjoying 
forty winks, as they say, while all the household, within doors and 
without, had copied my example.  Some lay sprawling about the diners' 
feet, others propped against the walls, while others snored head to 
head right on the threshold.  The oil in the lamps had burned low, and 
they shed a feeble, dying light, when two Syrian slaves came into the 
banquet-room to crib a flagon of wine.

Whilst they were greedily fighting for it and scuffling amongst the 
silver, it parted and broke in two.  At the same moment the table with 
the silver plate collapsed, and a goblet falling from perhaps a greater 
height than the rest, struck the waiting-maid who was lying exhausted on 
a couch underneath and cut her head open.  She screamed out at the blow, 
at once discovering the thieves and awakening some of the drunkards.  The 
Syrians, thus caught in the act, threw themselves with one accord onto 
a couch, and started snoring as if they had been asleep ever so long.

By this time the chief butler had wakened up and put fresh oil into the 
expiring lamps, while the other slaves after rubbing their eyes a bit, 
had resumed their posts, and presently a cymbal-player came in and roused 
us all up with a clash of her instruments.  So the banquet was resumed, 
and Quartilla challenged us to start a fresh carouse, the tinkle of 
cymbals still further stimulating her reckless gaiety.

The next to appear is a catamite, the silliest of mankind and quite 
worthy of the house, who beat his hands together, gave a groan, and 
then spouted the following delightful effusion:

    "Who hath a pathic lust,
     With Delian vice accurst;
     Who loves the pliant thigh,
     Quick hand and wanton sigh;
     Come hither, come hither, come hither,
          Here shall he see
          Gross beasts as he,
     Lechers of every feather!"

Then, his poetry exhausted, he spat a most stinking kiss in my face; 
before long he mounted on the couch where I lay and exposed me by force 
in spite of my resistance.  He labored hard and long to bring up my 
member, but in vain.  Streams of gummy paint and sweat poured from his 
heated brow, and such a lot of chalk filled the wrinkles of his cheeks, 
you might have thought his face was an old dilapidated wall with the 
plaster crumbling away in the rain.

I could no longer restrain my tears, but driven to the last extremity of 
disgust, "I ask you, lady," I cried, "is this the 'night-cap' (ambasicoetas) 
you promised me?"  At this she clapped her hands daintily, exclaiming, 
"Oh you clever boy! what a pretty wit you have!  Of course you didn't 
know 'night-cap' is another name for a catamite?"  Then, that my comrade 
might not miss his share too, I asked her, "Now, on your conscience, is 
Ascyltos to be the only guest in the room to keep holiday!"

"So?" she cried, "why! let Ascyltos have his 'night-cap' too!"  In 
obedience to her order, the catamite now changed his mount, and 
transferring his attentions to my friend, set to grinding him under 
his buttocks and smothering him with lecherous kisses.

All this while Giton had been standing by, laughing as if his sides 
would split.  Now Quartilla, catching sight of him, asked with eager 
curiosity, whose lad he was.  When I told her he was my little favorite, 
"Why hasn't he kissed me then?" she cried, and calling him to her glued 
her lips to his.  Next minute she slipped her hand under his clothes, 
and pulling out his unpractised tool, she observed, "This will be a very 
pretty whet tomorrow to our naughty appetite.  For today,-- 'After such 
a dainty dish, I will taste no common fish!'"

Just as she was saying this, Psyche approached her mistress laughingly 
and whispered something in her ear.  "Yes! yes!" exclaimed Quartilla, 
"a capital idea! why should not our little Pannychis lose her maidenhood! 
'tis an excellent opportunity, indeed."  Immediately they brought in a 
pretty enough little girl, and who did not appear to be more than seven 
years old the same child who had accompanied Quartilla on her first 
visit to our room at the inn.  So amid general applause and indeed at 
the special request of the company, they began the bridal preparations.  
I was horrified, and declared that, while on the one hand Giton, who was 
a very modest boy, was quite unequal to such naughtiness, on the other 
Pannychis was far too young to endure the treatment a woman must expect.  
"Why!" said Quartilla, "is the girl any younger than I was when I first 
submitted to a man?  May Juno, my patroness, desert me, if I can mind 
the time when I was a maid.  As a child I was naughty with little boys 
of my own age, and presently as the years rolled by, with bigger lads, 
till I reached my present time of life.  Hence I suppose the proverb 
that says: 'Who carried the calf, may well carry the bull.'"

Fearing my favorite might get into greater troubles if I were not there, 
I got up to assist at the wedding ceremony.

By this time Psyche had thrown the bridal veil over the child's head; 
our pathic friend was marching in front with a torch; a long procession 
of drunken women followed, clapping their hands, having previously 
decked the marriage bed with a splendid coverlet.  Then Quartilla, fired 
by the wanton pleasantry, likewise rose from table, and seizing 
Giton drew him into the chamber.  The lad was not at all loath to go, 
and even the child manifested very little fear or reluctance at the 
name of matrimony.

In due course when they were in bed and the door shut, we sat down on 
the threshold of the nuptial chamber, and first of all Quartilla applied 
an inquisitive eye to a crack in the door contrived for some such 
naughty purpose, and watched their childish dalliance with lecherous 
intentness.  She drew me gently to her side to enjoy the same spectacle, 
and our faces being close together as we looked, she would, at every 
interval in the performance, twist her lips sideways to meet mine, and 
kept continually pecking at me with a sort of furtive kisses.

Suddenly in the midst of these proceedings a prodigious thumping made 
itself heard at the entrance door, and whilst everybody was wondering 
what the unexpected interruption might mean, we saw a soldier come in, 
one of the nightwatch, with a drawn sword in his hand and surrounded by 
a crowd of young men.  The fellow glared about him with bloodshot eyes 
and braggadocio airs; presently spying Quartilla, he cried, "What have 
we here, abandoned woman?  How dare you make game of me with your 
falsehoods and cheat me out of the night you promised me?  But you 
shan't go unpunished, I can tell you; you and your lover shall find 
out you have a man to deal with."

Obeying the soldier's orders, his comrades now bind Quartilla and 
myself together, mouth to mouth, bosom to bosom, and thigh to thigh, 
in the midst of shouts of laughter.  Then the catamite, still by the 
soldier's order, began to beslaver me horribly all over with the 
odious kisses of his stinking lips-- a treatment I had no means either 
of escaping from or avoiding.  Before long he debauched me, and worked 
his full will upon my body.  Meantime, the satyrion I had drunk a 
while before, stirring every fiber to lasciviousness, I began to 
perform on Quartilla, while she, fired with a like wantonness, showed 
no repugnance to the game.  The young soldiers burst into fits of 
laughter at the ludicrous performance; for, while myself mounted 
by a vile catamite, involuntarily and almost without knowing what 
I was at, I kept moving to him just as fast and furiously as Quartilla 
was wriggling under me.

At this moment Pannychis, unaccustomed at her age to love's ardors, 
raised a sudden cry of pain and consternation, which the soldiers heard.  
The poor child was in the act of being ravished, and the triumphant 
Giton had won a not bloodless victory.  Roused by the sight, the man 
rushed at them, and clipped now Pannychis, now Giton, and now both of 
them together, in his sturdy arms.  The girl burst into tears and 
besought him to take pity on her tender years; but her prayers were 
entirely unavailing, the soldier being only the more excited by her 
childish charms.  All Pannychis could do was to throw a veil over her 
face and resign herself to endure whatever fate might bring her.

But at this crisis who should come to the unfortunate child's rescue, 
as if she had dropped from the sky, but the very same old woman who had 
beguiled me the day I was inquiring my road home?  She burst into the 
house with loud cries, declaring that a band of robbers was prowling 
about the neighborhood while peaceful citizens were crying in vain for 
help, the guard being asleep or busy with their victuals, at any rate 
nowhere to be found.  The soldier, much disturbed at what she said, 
fled precipitately from the house and his companions following his 
example, freed Pannychis from the impending danger which had threatened 
her and relieved us all of our terror.

So weary was I by this time of Quartilla's lecherousness that I began to 
revolve means of escape.  I opened my mind to Ascyltos, who was only too 
pleased to hear of my purpose, longing to be rid of Psyche's importunities.

The whole thing would have been plain enough sailing had not Giton been 
locked up in the chamber; for we wished to take him with us and save him 
from the viciousness of these strumpets.  We were anxiously debating the 
point when Pannychis fell out of bed, and her weight dragged Giton after 
her.  He was unhurt, but the child, having given her head a slight knock, 
raised such an outcry that Quartilla in a fright rushed headlong into the 
room, and so gave us an opportunity to escape.

Taking advantage of this opening without an instant's delay, we fly with 
all speed to our inn and throwing ourselves into bed, spent the rest of 
the night in security.

Going abroad next day, we came upon two of Quartilla's fellows who had 
kidnapped us to her palace.  No sooner did Ascyltos clap eyes on the 
rascals than he vigorously attacked one of them, and after beating and 
seriously wounding him, came to my help against the other.  But this 
last bore himself so stoutly that he managed to wound us both, though 
only slightly, escaping himself without a scratch.


CHAPTER FIVE



The third day had now arrived, the date appointed for the free banquet 
at Trimalchio's; but with so many wounds as we had, we deemed it better 
policy to fly than to remain where we were.  So we made the best of our 
way to our inn, and our hurts being only skin-deep after all, we lay in 
bed and dressed them with wine and oil.

Still one of the rascals was lying on the ground disabled, and we were 
afraid we might yet be discovered.  Whilst we were still debating sadly 
with ourselves how we might best escape the storm, a slave of Agamemnon's 
broke into our trembling conclave, crying, "What! don't you recollect 
whose entertainment it is this day?-- Trimalchio's, a most elegant 
personage; he has a time-piece in his dining-room and a trumpeter 
specially provided for the purpose keeps him constantly informed how 
much of his lifetime is gone."  So, forgetting all our troubles, we 
proceed to make a careful toilette, and bid Giton, who had always 
hitherto been very ready to act as servant, to attend us at the bath.

Meantime in our gala dresses, we began to stroll about, or rather to amuse 
ourselves by approaching the different groups of ball-players.  Amongst 
these we all of a sudden catch sight of a bald-headed old man in a russet 
tunic, playing ball amid a troupe of long-haired boys.  It was not however 
so much the boys, though these were well worth looking at, that drew us 
to the spot, as the master himself, who wore sandals and was playing with 
green balls.  He never stooped for a ball that had once touched ground, 
but an attendant stood by with a sackful, and supplied the players as 
they required them.  We noticed other novelties too.  For two eunuchs 
were stationed at opposite points of the circle, one holding a silver 
chamber-pot, while the other counted the balls, not those that were in 
play and flying from hand to hand, but such as fell on the floor.

We were still admiring these refinements of elegance when Menelaus runs 
up, saying, "See! that's the gentleman you are to dine with; why! this 
is really nothing else than a prelude to the entertainment."  He had not 
finished speaking when Trimalchio snapped his fingers, and at the signal 
the eunuch held out the chamber-pot for him, without his ever stopping 
play.  After easing his bladder, he called for water, and having dipped 
his hands momentarily in the bowl, dried them on one of the lads' hair.

There was no time to notice every detail; so we entered the bath, and 
after stewing in the sweating-room, passed instantly into the cold chamber.  
Trimalchio, after being drenched with unguent, was being rubbed down, not 
however with ordinary towels but with pieces of blanketing of the softest 
and finest wool.  Meanwhile three bagnio doctors were swilling Falernian 
under his eyes; and seeing how the fellows were brawling over their liquor 
and spilling most of it, Trimalchio declared it was a libation they were 
making in his particular honor.

Presently muffled in a wrap-rascal of scarlet frieze, he was placed in 
a litter, preceded by four running-footmen in tinseled liveries, and 
a wheeled chair, in which his favorite rode, a little old young man, 
sore-eyed and uglier even than his master.  As the latter was borne 
along, a musician took up his place at this head with a pair of miniature 
flutes, and played softly to him, as if he were whispering secrets in 
his ear.  Full of wonder we follow the procession and arrive at the 
same moment as Agamemnon at the outer door, on one of the pillars of 
which was suspended a tablet bearing the words:

                                ANY SLAVE
                    GOING ABROAD WITHOUT THE MASTER'S
                               PERMISSION
                    SHALL RECEIVE ONE HUNDRED LASHES

Just within the vestibule stood the doorkeeper, dressed in green with 
a cherry-colored sash, busy picking peas in a silver dish.  Over the 
threshold hung a gold cage with a black and white magpie in it, which 
greeted visitors on their entrance.

But as I was staring open-eyed at all these fine sights, I came near 
tumbling backwards and breaking my legs.  For to the left hand as you 
entered, and not far from the porter's lodge, a huge chained dog was 
depicted on the wall, and written above in capital letters: 'WARE DOG! 
'WARE DOG!  My companions made merry at my expense; but soon regaining 
confidence, I fell to examining the other paintings on the walls.  One 
of these represented a slave-market, the men standing up with labels 
round their necks, while in another Trimalchio himself, wearing long 
hair, holding a caduceus in his hand and led by Minerva, was entering 
Rome.  Further on, the ingenious painter had shown him learning accounts, 
and presently made steward of the estate, each incident being made clear 
by explanatory inscriptions.  Lastly, at the extreme end of the portico, 
Mercury was lifting the hero by the chin and placing him on the highest 
seat of a tribunal.  Fortune stood by with her cornucopia, and the three 
Fates, spinning his destiny with a golden thread.

I noticed likewise in the portico a gang of running-footmen exercising 
under a trainer.  Moreover I saw in a corner a vast armory; and in a 
shrine inside were ranged Lares of silver, and a marble statue of Venus, 
and a golden casket of ample dimensions, in which they said the great 
man's first beard was preserved.  I now asked the hall-keeper what were 
the subjects of the frescoes in the atrium itself?  "The Iliad and Odyssey," 
he replied, "and on your left the combat of gladiators given under Laenas."

We had no opportunity of examining the numerous paintings more minutely, 
having by this time reached the banquet-hall, at the outer door of which 
the house-steward sat receiving accounts.  But the thing that surprised 
me most was to notice on the doorposts of the apartment fasces and axes 
fixed up, the lower part terminating in an ornament resembling the bronze 
beak of a ship, on which was inscribed:

                        TO GAIUS POMPEIUS TRIMALCHIO
                               AUGUSTAL SEVIR,
                           CINNAMUS HIS TREASURER

Underneath this inscription hung a lamp with two lights, depending from 
the vaulting.  Two other tablets were attached to the doorposts.  One, 
if my memory serves me, bore the following inscription:

                         ON DECEMBER THIRTIETH AND
                                THIRTY-FIRST
                       OUR MASTER GAIUS DINES ABROAD

The other showed the phases of the moon and the seven planets, while 
lucky and unlucky days were marked by distinctive studs.

When, sated with all these fine sights, we were just making for the 
entrance of the banquet-hall, one of the slaves, stationed there for 
the purpose, called out, "Right foot first!"  Not unnaturally there 
was a moment's hesitation, for fear one of us should break the rule.  
But this was not all; for just as we stepped out in line right leg 
foremost, another slave, stripped of his outer garments, threw himself 
before our feet, beseeching us to save him from punishment.  Not indeed 
that his fault was a very serious one; in point of fact the Intendant's 
clothes had been stolen when in his charge at the bath,-- a matter of 
ten sesterces or so at the outside.  So facing about, still right foot 
in front, we approached the Intendant, who was counting gold in the 
hall, and asked him to forgive the poor man.  He looked up haughtily 
and said, "It's not so much the loss that annoys me as the rascal's 
carelessness.  He has lost my dinner robes, which a client gave me on 
my birthday,-- genuine Tyrian purple, I assure you, though only once 
dipped.  But there! I will pardon the delinquent at your request."

Deeply grateful for so signal a favor, we now returned to the 
banquet-hall, where we were met by the same slave for whom we had 
interceded, who to our astonishment overwhelmed us with a perfect 
storm of kisses, thanking us again and again for our humanity.  
"Indeed," he cried, "you shall presently know who it is you have 
obliged; the master's wine is the cup-bearer's thank-offering."

Well! at last we take our places, Alexandrian slave-boys pouring snow 
water over our hands, and others succeeding them to wash our feet 
and cleanse our toe-nails with extreme dexterity.  Not even while 
engaged in this unpleasant office were they silent, but sang away 
over their work.  I had a mind to try whether all the house servants 
were singers and accordingly asked for a drink of wine.  Instantly an 
attendant was at my side, pouring out the liquor to the accompaniment 
of the same sort of shrill recitative.  Demand what you would, it 
was the same; you might have supposed yourself among a troupe of 
pantomime actors rather than at a respectable citizen's table.

Then the preliminary course was served in very elegant style.  For 
all were now at table except Trimalchio, for whom the first place was 
reserved, by a reversal of ordinary usage.  Among the other hors d'oeuvres 
stood a little ass of Corinthian bronze with a packsaddle holding 
olives, white olives on one side, black on the other.  The animal was 
flanked right and left by silver dishes, on the rim of which Trimalchio's 
name was engraved and the weight.  On arches built up in the form of 
miniature bridges were dormice seasoned with honey and poppy-seed.  There 
were sausages, too, smoking hot on a silver grill, and underneath (to 
imitate coals) Syrian plums and pomegranate seeds.

We were in the middle of these elegant trifles when Trimalchio himself 
was carried in to the sound of music, and was bolstered up among a host 
of tiny cushions, a sight that set one or two indiscreet guests laughing.  
And no wonder; his bald head poked up out of a scarlet mantle, his neck 
was closely muffled, and over all was laid a napkin with a broad purple 
stripe or laticlave, and long fringes hanging down either side.  Moreover 
he wore on the little finger of his left hand a massive ring of silver 
gilt, and on the last joint of the next finger a smaller ring, apparently 
of solid gold, but starred superficially with little ornaments of steel.  
Nay! to show this was not the whole of his magnificence, his left arm was 
bare, and displayed a gold bracelet and an ivory circlet with a sparkling 
clasp to put it on.

After picking his teeth with a silver toothpick, "My friends," he began, 
"I was far from desirous of coming to table just yet, but that I might 
not keep you waiting by my own absence, I have sadly interfered with my 
own amusement.  But will you permit me to finish my game?"  A slave 
followed him, bearing a draughtsboard of terebinth wood and crystal 
dice.  One special bit of refinement I noticed; instead of the ordinary 
black and white men he had medals of gold and silver respectively.

Meantime, whilst he is exhausting the vocabulary of a tinker over the 
game, and we are still at the hors d'oeuvres, a dish was brought in with 
a basket on it, in which lay a wooden hen, her wings outspread round her 
as if she were sitting.  Instantly a couple of slaves came up, and to the 
sound of lively music began to search the straw, and pulling out a lot 
of peafowl's eggs one after the other, handed them round to the company.  
Trimalchio turns his head at this, saying, "My friends, it was by my 
orders the hen set on the peafowl's eggs yonder; but by God! I am very 
much afraid they are half-hatched.  Nevertheless we can try whether they 
are eatable."  For our part, we take our spoons, which weighed at least 
half a pound each, and break the eggs, which were made of paste.  I was 
on the point of throwing mine away, for I thought I discerned a chick 
inside.  But when I overheard a veteran guest saying, "There should be 
something good here!" I further investigated the shell, and found a very 
fine fat beccafico swimming in yolk of egg flavored with pepper.

Trimalchio had by this time stopped his game and been helped to all the 
dishes before us.  He had just announced in a loud voice that any of us 
who wanted a second supply of honeyed wine had only to ask for it, when 
suddenly at a signal from the band, the hors d'oeuvres are whisked away 
by a troupe of slaves, all singing too.  But in the confusion a silver 
dish happened to fall and a slave picked it up again from the floor; 
this Trimalchio noticed, and boxing the fellow's ears, rated him soundly 
and ordered him to throw it down again.  Then a groom came in and began 
to sweep up the silver along with the other refuse with his besom.

He was succeeded by two long-haired Ethiopians, carrying small leather 
skins, like the fellows that water the sand in the amphitheater, who 
poured wine over our hands; for no one thought of offering water.

After being duly complimented on this refinement, our host cried out, 
"Fair play's a jewel!" and accordingly ordered a separate table to be 
assigned to each guest.  "In this way," he said, "by preventing any 
crowding, the stinking servants won't make us so hot."

Simultaneously there were brought in a number of wine-jars of 
glass carefully stoppered with plaster, and having labels attached 
to their necks reading:

                       FALERNIAN; OPIMIAN VINTAGE
                         ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD.

Whilst we were reading the labels, Trimalchio ejaculated, striking 
his palms together, "Alackaday! to think wine is longer lived than 
poor humanity!  Well! bumpers then!  There's life in wine.  'Tis the 
right Opimian, I give you my word.  I didn't bring out any so good 
yesterday, and much better men than you were dining with me."

So we drank our wine and admired all this luxury in good set terms.  
Then the slave brought in a silver skeleton, so artfully fitted that 
its articulations and vertebrae were all movable and would turn and 
twist in any direction.  After he had tossed this once or twice on 
the table, causing the loosely jointed limbs to take various postures, 
Trimalchio moralized thus:

     Alas! how less than naught are we;
        Fragile life's thread, and brief our day!
     What this is now, we all shall be;
        Drink and make merry while you may.



CHAPTER SIX


Our applause was interrupted by the second course, which did not by any 
means come up to our expectations.  Still the oddity of the thing drew 
the eyes of all.  An immense circular tray bore the twelve signs of the 
zodiac displayed round the circumference, on each of which the Manoiple 
or Arranger had placed a dish of suitable and appropriate viands: on 
the Ram ram's-head peas, on the Bull a piece of beef, on the Twins fried 
testicles and kidneys, on the Crab simply a crown, on the Lion African 
figs, on a Virgin a sow's haslet, on Libra a balance with a tart in one 
scale and a cheesecake in the other, on Scorpio a small sea-fish, on 
Sagittarius an eye-seeker, on Capricornus a lobster, on Aquarius a wild 
goose, on Pisces two mullets.  In the middle was a sod of green turf, 
cut to shape and supporting a honey-comb.  Meanwhile an Egyptian slave 
was carrying bread around in a miniature oven of silver, crooning to 
himself in a horrible voice a song on wine and laserpitium.

Seeing us look rather blank at the idea of attacking such common fare, 
Trimalchio cried, "I pray you gentlemen, begin; the best of your dinner 
is before you."  No sooner had he spoken than four fellows ran prancing 
in, keeping time to the music, and whipped off the top of the tray.  
This done, we beheld underneath, on a second tray in fact, stuffed 
capons, a sow's paps, and as a centerpiece a hare fitted with wings 
to represent Pegasus.  We noticed besides four figures of Marsyas, one 
at each corner of the tray, spouting out peppered fish-sauce over the 
fishes swimming in the Channel of the dish.

We all join in the applause started by the domestics and laughingly 
fall to on the choice viands.  Trimalchio, as pleased as anybody with 
a device of the sort, now called out, "Cut!"  Instantly the Carver 
advanced, and posturing in time to the music, sliced up the joint 
with such antics you might have thought him a jockey struggling to 
pull off a chariot-race to the thunder of the organ.  Yet all the 
while Trimalchio kept repeating in a wheedling voice, "Cut!  Cut!"  
For my part, suspecting there was some pretty jest connected with this 
everlasting reiteration of the word, I made no bones about asking the 
question of the guest who sat immediately above me.  He had often 
witnessed similar scenes and told me at once, "You see the man who 
is carving; well; his name is Cut.  The master is calling and 
commanding him at one and the same time."

Unable to eat any more, I now turned towards my neighbor in order to 
glean what information I could, and after indulging in a string of 
general remarks, presently asked him, "Who is that lady bustling up 
and down the room yonder?"  "Trimalchio's lady," he replied; "her 
name is Fortunata, and she counts her coin by the bushelful!  Before? 
what was she before?  Why! my dear Sir! saving your respect, you 
would have been mighty sorry to take bread from her hand.  Now, by 
hook or by crook, she's got to heaven, and is Trimalchio's factotum.  
In fact if she told him it was dark night at high noon, he'd believe 
her.  The man's rolling in riches, and really can't tell what he has and 
what he hasn't got; still his good lady looks keenly after everything, 
and is on the spot where you least expect to see her.  She's temperate, 
sober and well advised, but she has a sharp tongue of her own and chatters 
like a magpie between the bed-curtains.  When she likes a man, she likes 
him; and when she doesn't, well! she doesn't.

"As for Trimalchio, his lands reach as far as the kites fly, and his 
money breeds money.  I tell you, he has more coin lying idle in his 
porter's lodge than would make another man's whole fortune.  Slaves! 
why, heaven and earth!  I don't believe one in ten knows his own master 
by sight.  For all that, there's never a one of the fine fellows a word 
of his wouldn't send scuttling into the nearest rat-hole.  And don't 
you imagine he ever buys anything; every mortal thing is home grown,-- 
wool, rosin, pepper; call for hen's milk and he'd supply you!  As a 
matter of fact his wool was not first-rate originally; but he purchased 
rams at Tarentum and so improved the breed.  To get home-made Attic 
honey he had bees imported direct from Athens, hoping at the same time 
to benefit the native insects a bit by a cross with the Greek fellows.  
Why! only the other day he wrote to India for mushroom spawn.  He has 
not a single mule but was got by a wild ass.  You see all these 
mattresses; never a one that is not stuffed with the finest wool, 
purple or scarlet as the case may be.  Lucky, lucky dog!

"And look you, don't you turn up your nose at the other freedmen, his 
fellows.  They're very warm men.  You see the one lying last on the 
last couch yonder?  He's worth his eight hundred thousand any of 
these days.  A self-made man; once upon a time he carried wood on 
his own two shoulders.  They do say,-- I don't know how true it may 
be, but I've been told so,-- he snatched an Incubo's hat, and so 
discovered a treasure.  I grudge no man's good fortune, whatever 
God has seen good to give him.  He'll still take a box o' the ear 
for all that, and keeps a keen eye on the main chance.  Only the 
other day he placarded his house with this bill:

                             C. POMPEIUS DIOGENES
                        IS PREPARED TO LET HIS GARRET
                               FROM JULY FIRST,
                      HAVING BOUGHT THE HOUSE HIMSELF."

"But the other man yonder, occupying a freedman's place, what of him?  
Was he originally very well to do?"  "I have not a word to say against 
him.  He was master once of a cool million, but he came to sad grief.  
I don't suppose he has a hair on his head unmortgaged.  Not that it was 
any fault of his; there never was a better man, but his rascally freedmen 
swindled him out of everything.  Let me tell you, when the hospitable pot 
stops boiling, and fortune has once taken the turn, friends soon make 
themselves scarce."  "What was the honorable calling he followed, that 
you see him brought to this?"  "He was an undertaker.  He used to dine 
like a King,-- boars in pastry, cakes of every sort and game galore, cooks 
and pastry-cooks without end.  More wine was spilt under his table than 
another man has in his cellar.  A dream-- not a life for a mere mortal 
man!  Even when his affairs were getting shaky, for fear his creditors 
might think he was in difficulties, he posted this notice of sale:

                             C. JULIUS PROCULUS
                           WILL PUT UP TO AUCTION
                                AN ASSORTMENT
                       OF HIS SUPERFLUOUS FURNITURE."

This agreeable gossip was here interrupted by Trimalchio; for the 
second course had now been removed, and the company being merry with 
wine began to engage in general conversation.  Our host then, lying 
back on his elbow and addressing the company, said, "I hope you will 
all do justice to this wine; you must make the fish swim again.  Come, 
come, do you suppose I was going to rest content with the dinner you 
saw boxed up under the cover of the tray just now?  'Is Ulysses no 
better known?'  Well, well! even at table we mustn't forget our 
scholarship.  Peace to my worthy patron's bones, who was pleased to 
make me a man amongst men.  For truly there is nothing can be set 
before me that will nonplus me by its novelty.  For instance the 
meaning of that tray just now can be easily enough explained.  This 
heaven in which dwell the twelve gods resolves itself into twelve 
different configurations, and presently becomes the Ram.  So whosoever 
is born under this sign has many flocks and herds and much wool, a 
hard head into the bargain, a shameless brow and a sharp horn.  Most 
of your schoolmen and pettifoggers are born under this sign."

We recommended the learned expounder's graceful erudition, and he 
went on to add:  "Next the whole sky becomes Bull; then are born 
obstinate fellows and neatherds and such as think of nothing but 
filling their own bellies.  Under the Twins are born horses in a 
pair, oxen in a yoke, men blessed with a sturdy brace of testicles, 
all who manage to keep in with both sides.  I was born under the Crab 
myself.  Wherefore I stand on many feet, and have many possessions 
both by sea and land; for the Crab is equally adapted to either 
element.  And this is why I never put anything on that sign, so 
as not to eclipse my horoscope.  Under the Lion are born great 
eaters and wasters, and all who love to domineer; under the Virgin, 
women and runaways and jailbirds; under the Scales, butchers and 
perfumers and all retail traders; under the Scorpion, poisoners 
and cutthroats; under the Archer, squint-eyed folks, who look at 
the greens and whip off with the bacon; under Capricorn, the 
'horny-handed sons of toil'; under Aquarius or the Waterman, 
innkeepers and pumpkin-heads; under Pisces, or the Fishes, fine 
cooks and fine talkers.  Thus the world goes round like a mill, 
and is for ever at some mischief, whether making men or marring 
them.  But about the sod of turf you see in the middle, and the 
honeycomb a-top of it, I have a good reason to show too.  Our mother 
Earth is in the middle, round-about like an egg, and has all good 
things in her inside, like a honey-comb!"

"Clever! clever!" we cry in chorus and with hands uplifted to the 
ceiling, swear Hipparchus and Aratus were not to be named in the same 
breath with him.  This lasted till fresh servants entered and spread 
carpets before the couches, embroidered with pictures of fowling 
nets, prickers with their hunting spears, and sporting gear of all 
kinds.  We were still at a loss what to expect when a tremendous shout 
was raised outside the doors, and lo and behold! a pack of Laconian 
dogs came careering round and round the very table.  These were soon 
succeeded by a huge tray, on which lay a wild boar of the largest 
size, with a cap on its head, while from the tushes hung two little 
baskets of woven palm leaves, one full of Syrian dates, the other of 
Theban.  Round it were little piglets of baked sweetmeat, as if at 
suck, to show it was a sow we had before us; and these were gifts to 
be taken home with them by the guests.

To carve the dish however, it was not this time our friend Cut who 
appeared, the same who had dismembered the capons, but a great bearded 
fellow, wearing leggings and a shaggy jerkin.  Drawing his hunting 
knife, he made a furious lunge and gashed open the boar's flank, 
from which there flew out a number of fieldfares.  Fowlers stood 
ready with their rods and immediately caught the birds as they 
fluttered about the table.  Then Trimalchio directed each guest to 
be given his bird, and this done, added "Look what elegant acorns 
this wildwood pig fed on."  Instantly slaves ran to the baskets that 
were suspended from the animal's tushes and divided the two kind of 
dates in equal proportions among the diners.

Meantime, sitting as I did a little apart, I was led into a thousand 
conjectures to account for the boar's being brought in with a cap on.  
So after exhausting all sorts of absurd guesses, I resolved to ask 
my former "philosopher and friend" to explain the difficulty that 
tormented me so.  "Why!" said he, "your own servant could tell 
you that much.  Riddle? it's as plain as daylight.  The boar was 
presented with his freedom at yesterday's dinner; he appeared at 
the end of the meal and the company gave him his conge.  Therefore 
today he comes back to table as a freedman."  I cursed my own 
stupidity, and asked no more questions, for fear of their thinking 
I had never dined with good company before.

We were still conversing, when a pretty boy entered, his head 
wreathed with vine-leaves and ivy, announcing himself now as 
Bromius, anon as Lyaeus and Evous.  He proceeded to hand round 
grapes in a small basket, and recited in the shrillest of voices 
some verses of his master's composition.  Trimalchio turned round 
at the sound, and, "Dionysus," said he, "be free (Liber)!"  The 
lad snatched the cap from the boar's head and stuck it on his own.  
Then Trimalchio went on again, "Well! you'll not deny," he cried, 
"I have a Father Liber (a freeborn father) of my own."  We praised 
Trimalchio's joke, and heartily kissed the fortunate lad, as he 
went round to receive our congratulations.



CHAPTER SEVEN


At the end of this course Trimalchio left the table to relieve himself, and 
so finding ourselves free from the constraint of his overbearing presence, 
we began to indulge in a little friendly conversation.  Accordingly 
Dama began first, after calling for a