Ere from these hands she take th' ungrateful load, Th' ungrateful load, unhappily bestow'd, May yawning earth a sudden passage rend, And let me thro' the dark abyss descend." -W. L. LEWIS. THE ABODE OF SLEEP STATIUS [From the Thebais, Book X] Far on the confines of the western main, Where Æthiopia bounds her wide domain, There stands a grove, that casts a shade afar, Impenetrable to the brightest star, Beneath whose hollow rocks a cave descends Of depth immense, and in the mountain ends. Here all-disposing Nature fix'd th' abode Of Somnus, and secur'd the drowsy god. Sloth, who scarce knows an interval from sleep, Rest motionless, and dark Oblivion keep Eternal sentry at the gloomy gate: There listless Ease, and awful Silence sate With close-contracted wings, and, still as The sable herds and flocks from food abstain, Or only graze, recumbent on the plain: Nor stops th' infection here, but spreads around, And withers herbs just springing from the ground. Within, a thousand statues of the god Were grav'd by Vulcan.-Here was seen to nod Pleasure, with overacted joys oppress'd, And healthful toil, ne'er physick'd into rest. There Love from am'rous cares a respite stole, And Bacchus snor'd o'er a half-finish'd bowl. Deep, deep within, Death, his halfbrother, lies, His face was void of terror, clos'd his eyes. Beneath the dew-bespangled cavern lay The god himself and dos'd his cares away. The roof was verdant; his own poppies spread A carpet soft, and swell'd the rising bed. His mouth, half-shut, breathes soporific steams, And his warm vests exhale the vap❜ry streams. One hand sustains his head; the horn drops down, Unheeded, from his other torpid grown. A thousand various dreams attend their chief, Truths mix'd with falsehood, joys alloy'd with grief: The sons of darkness these, and night's black hosts, On earth they lie, or cleave to beams and posts. Some slender glimm'rings faintly shine between, And serve to make the gloom more clearly seen. -W. L. LEWIS. IV. SATIRIZING THE PRESENT THE BANQUET OF THE NEWLY RICH1 PETRONIUS [From the Satyricon] Petronius, the author of the Satyricon, is now generally identified with the arbiter of taste of the court of Nero. The date of his birth is not known; the manner of his death by suicide in the year 66 is fully described by Tacitus in his Annals. His book is the first example in literature of the novel of manners. It narrates the adventures of certain more or less educated unscrupulous roustabouts on a journey in southern Italy. It is in the form of Menippean satire, that is, a somewhat haphazard mixture of prose and verse. In order to obtain an objective view of urban society for the purpose of satirizing it, the author puts the narrative in the mouth of Encolpius, a freedman from a provincial town. Only fragments of the work are extant. The hero describes a dinner of a certain vulgar untutored Trimalchio, who, having amassed a fortune, sets about aping the fashionable society of the capital in accordance with his conception of it. At last then we sat down, and boys from Alexandria poured water cooled with snow over our hands. Others followed and knelt down at our feet, and proceeded with great skill to pare our hangnails. Even this unpleasant duty did not silence them, but they kept singing at their work. I wanted to find out whether the whole household could sing, so I asked for a drink. A ready slave repeated my order in a chant not less shrill. They all did the same if they were asked to hand anything. It was more like an actor's dance than a gentleman's dining-room. But some rich and tasty whets for the appetite were brought on; for every one had now 'From The Loeb Classical Library, reprinted by permission. sat down except Trimalchio, who had the first place kept for him in the new style. A donkey in Corinthian bronze stood on the side-board, with panniers holding olives, white in one side, black in the other. Two dishes hid the donkey; Trimalchio's name and their weight in silver was engraved on their edges. There were also dormice rolled in honey and poppy-seed, and supported on little bridges soldered to the plate. Then there were hot sausages laid on a silver grill, and under the grill damsons and seeds of pomegranate. While we were engaged with these delicacies, Trimalchio was conducted in to the sound of music, propped on the tiniest of pillows. A laugh escaped the unwary. His head was shaved and peered out of a scarlet cloak, and over the heavy clothes on his neck he had put on a napkin with a broad stripe and fringes hanging from it all round. On the little finger of his left hand he had an enormous gilt ring, and on the top joint of the next finger a smaller ring which appeared to me to be entirely gold, but was really set all round with iron cut out in little stars. Not content with this display of wealth, he bared his right arm, where a golden bracelet shone, and an ivory bangle clasped with a plate of bright metal. Then he said, as he picked his teeth with a silver quill, "It was not convenient for me to come to dinner yet, my friends, but I gave up all my pleasure; I did not like to stay away any longer and keep you waiting. But you will not mind if I finish my game?" A boy followed him with a table of terebinth wood and crystal pieces, and I noticed the prettiest thing possible. Instead of black and white counters they used gold and silver coins. Trimalchio kept passing every kind of remark as he played, and we were still busy with the hors d'œuvres, when a tray was brought in with a basket on it, in which there was a hen made of wood, spreading out her wings as they do when they are sitting. The music grew loud: two slaves at once came up and began to hunt in the straw. Peahen's eggs were pulled out and handed to the guests. Trimalchio turned his head to look, and said, "I gave orders, my friends, that peahen's eggs should be put under a common hen. And upon my oath I am afraid they are hard-set by now. But we will try whether they are still fresh enough to suck." We took our spoons, half-a-pound in weight at least, and hammered at the eggs, which were balls of fine meal. I was on the point of throwing away my portion. I thought a peachick had already formed. But hearing a practised diner say, "What treasure have we here?" I poked through the shell with my finger, and found a fat becafico rolled up in spiced yolk of egg. Trimalchio had now stopped his game, and asked for all the same dishes, and in a loud voice invited any of us, who wished, to take a second glass of mead. Suddenly the music gave the sign, and the light dishes were swept away by a troop of singing servants. An entrée-dish happened to fall in the rush, and a boy picked it up from the ground. Trimalchio saw him, and directed that he should be punished by a box on the ear, and made to throw down the dish again. A chairman followed and began to sweep out the silver with a broom among the other rubbish. The two long-haired Ethiopians with little wine-skins, just like the men who scatter sand in an amphitheatre, came in and gave us wine to wash our hands in, for no one offered us water. We complimented our host on his ar"Mars loves a fair fleld," rangements. said he, "and so I gave orders that every one should have a separate table. In that way these filthy slaves will not make us so hot by crowding past us." Just then some glass jars carefully fastened with gypsum were brought on, with labels tied to their necks, inscribed, After we had praised this outburst a dish followed, not at all of the size we expected; but its novelty drew every eye to it. There was a round plate with the twelve signs of the Zodiac set in order, and on each one the artist had laid some food fit and proper to the symbol; over the Ram ram's-head pease, a piece of beef on the Bull, kidneys over the Twins, over the Crab a crown, an African fig over the Lion, a barren sow's paunch over Virgo, over Libra a pair of scales with a muffin on one side and a cake on the other, over Scorpio a small sea-fish, over Sagittarius a bull's-eye, over Capricornus a lobster, over Aquarius a goose, over Pisces two mullets. In the middle lay a honeycomb on a sod of turf with the green grass on it. An Egyptian boy took bread round in a silver chafing-dish. Trimalchio himself too ground out a tune from the musical comedy "Assafœtida" in a most hideous voice. We came to such an evil entertainment rather depressed. "Now," said Trimalchio, "let us have dinner. This is sauce for dinner." As he spoke, four dancers ran up in time with the music and took off the top part of the dish. Then we saw in the well of it fat fowls and sow's bellies, and in the middle a hare got up with wings to look like Pegasus.. Trimalchio was delighted with the trick he had played us, and said, "Now, Carver." The man came up at once, and making flourishes in time with the music pulled the dish to pieces; you would have said that a gladiator in a chariot was fighting to the accompaniment of a water-organ. Still Trimalchio kept on in a soft voice, "Oh, Carver, Carver." I thought this word over and over again must be part of a joke, and I made bold to ask the man who sat next to me this very question. He had seen performances of this kind more often. "You see the fellow who is carving his way through the meat? Well, his name is Carver. So whenever Trimalchio says the word, you have his name, and he has his orders." I was now unable to eat any more, so I turned to my neighbor to get as much news as possible. I began to seek for far-fetched stories, and to inquire who the woman was who kept running about everywhere. "She is Trimalchio's wife Fortunata," he said, "and she counts her money by the bushel. And what was she a little while ago? You will pardon me if I say that you would not have taken a piece of bread from her hand. Now without why or wherefore she is queen of Heaven, and Trimalchio's all in all. In fact, if she tells him that it is dark at high noon, he will believe it. He is so enormously rich that he does not know himself what he has; but this lynx-eyed woman has a plan for everything, even where you would not think it. She is temperate, sober, and prudent, but she has a nasty tongue, and henpecks him on his own sofa. Whom she likes, she likes; whom she dislikes, she dislikes. Trimalchio has estates wherever a kite can fly in a day, is a millionaire of millionaires. There is more plate lying in his steward's room than other people have in their whole fortunes. And his slaves! My word! I really don't believe that one out of ten of them knows his master by sight. Why he can knock any of these young louts into a nettle-bed if he chooses. You must not suppose either that he buys anything. Everything is home-grown: wool, citrons, pepper; you can have cock's milk for the asking. Why, his wool was not growing of fine enough quality. He bought rams from Tarentum and sent them into his flocks with a smack behind. He had bees brought from Athens to give him Attic honey on the premises; the Roman-born bees incidentally will be improved by the Greeks. Within the last few days, I may say, he has written for a cargo of mushroom spawn from India. But do not look down on the other freedmen who are his friends. They are very juicy people. That one you see lying at the bottom of the end sofa, has his eight hundred thousand. He was quite a nobody. A little time ago he was carrying loads of wood on his back. People do say-I know nothing, but I have heard that he pulled off a goblin's cap and found a fairy hoard. If God makes presents I am jealous of nobody. Still, he shows the marks of his master's fingers, and has a fine opinion of himself. So he has just put up a notice on his hovel: 'This attic, the property of Caius Pompeius Diogenes, to let from the 1st of July, the owner having purchased a house.' That person there too who is lying in the freedman's place is well pleased with himself. I do not blame him. He had his million in his hands, but he has had a bad shaking. I believe he cannot call his hair his own. No fault of his I am sure; there is no better fellow alive; but it is the damned freedmen who have pocketed everything. You know how it is: the company's pot goes off the boil, and the moment business takes a bad turn your friends desert you. You see him in this state: and what a fine trade he drove! He was an undertaker. He used to dine like a prince: boars cooked in a cloth, wonderful sweet things, game, chefs and confectioners! There used to be more wine spilt under the table than many a man has in his cellars. He was a fairy prince, not a mortal. When his business was failing, and he was afraid his creditors might guess that he was going bankrupt, he advertised a sale in this fashion: "Caius Julius Proculus will offer for sale some articles for which he has no further use." -MICHAEL HESELTINE. A PRACTICAL EDUCATION 1 PETRONIUS [From the Satyricon] The controversy over the value of the study of literature in the scheme of education is at least as old as Petronius. I have another boy who is no scholar, but very inquiring, and can teach you more than he knows himself. So on holidays he generally comes home, and is quite pleased whatever you give him. I bought the child some books with redletter headings in them a little time ago. I want him to have a smack of the law in order to manage the property. Law has bread and butter in it. He has dipped quite deep enough into literature. If he is restless, I mean to have him learn a trade, a barber or an auctioneer, or at least a barrister, something that he can carry to the grave with him. So I drum it into him every day: 'Mark my words, Primigenius, whatever you learn, you learn for your own good. Look at Phileros, the barrister: if he had not worked, he would not be keeping the wolf from the door to-day. It is not so long since he used to carry things round 1 From The Loeb Classical Library, reprinted by permission. on his back and sell them, and now he makes a brave show even against Norbanus. Yes, education is a treasure, and culture never dies.' -MICHAEL HESELTINE. THE CONNOISSEUR 1 PETRONIUS [From the Satyricon] To the newly rich sound appreciation of art is as simple a matter as the adequate acquisition of historical and mythological learning. The cook too was rewarded with a drink and a silver crown, and was handed the cup on a Corinthian dish. Agamemnon began to peer at the dish rather closely, and Trimalchio said, “I am the sole owner of genuine Corinthian plate." I thought he would declare with his usual effrontery that he had cups imported direct from Corinth. But he went one better: "You may perhaps inquire," said he, "how I come to be alone in having genuine Corinthian stuff: the obvious reason is that the name of the dealer I buy from is Corinthus. But what is real Corinthian, unless a man has Corinthus at his back? Do not imagine that I am an Ignoramus. I know perfectly well how Corinthian plate was first brought into the world. At the fall of Ilium, Hannibal, a trickster and a great knave, collected all the sculptures, bronze, gold, and silver, into a single pile, and set light to them. They all melted into one amalgam of bronze. The workmen took bits out of this lump and made plates and entrée dishes and statuettes. That is how Corinthian metal was born, from all sorts lumped together, neither one kind nor the other. You will forgive me if I say that personally I prefer glass; glass at least does not smell. If it were not so break |