Delphi Complete Works of Petronius

by Petronius

  [47] Gossip of this kind was in the air, when Trimalchio came in mopping his brow, and washed his hands in scent. After a short pause, he said, “You will excuse me, gentlemen? My bowels have not been working for several days. All the doctors are puzzled. Still, I found pomegranate rind useful, and pinewood boiled in vinegar. I hope now my stomach will learn to observe its old decencies. Besides, I have such rumblings inside me you would think there was a bull there. So if any of you gentlemen wishes to retire there is no need to be shy about it. We were none of us born quite solid. I cannot imagine any torture like holding oneself in. The one thing Jupiter himself cannot forbid is that we should have relief. Why do you laugh, Fortunata; it is you who are always keeping me awake all night. Of course, as far as I am concerned, anyone may relieve himself in the dining-room. The doctors forbid retention. But if the matter is serious, everything is ready outside: water, towels, and all the other little comforts. Take my word for it, vapours go to the brain and make a disturbance throughout the body. I know many people have died this way, by refusing to admit the truth to themselves.” We thanked him for his generosity and kindness, and then tried to suppress our laughter by drinking hard and fast. We did not yet realize that we had only got halfway through the delicacies, and still had an uphill task before us, as they say. The tables were cleared to the sound of music, and three white pigs, adorned with muzzles and bells, were led into the dining-room. One was two years old, the keeper said, the second three, and the other as much as six. I thought some ropewalkers had come in, and that the pigs would perform some wonderful tricks, as they do for crowds in the streets. Trimalchio ended our suspense by saying, “Now, which of them would you like turned into a dinner this minute? Any country hand can turn out a fowl or a Pentheus hash, or trifles of that kind. My cooks are quite used to serving whole calves done in a cauldron.” Then he told them to fetch a cook at once, and without waiting for our opinion ordered the eldest pig to be killed, and said in a loud voice,”Which division of the household do you belong to?” The man said he came from the fortieth. “Were you purchased or born on the estate?” “Neither; I was left to you under Pansa’s will.” “Well then,” said Trimalchio, “mind you serve this carefully, or I will have you degraded to the messengers’ division.” [48] So the cook was reminded of his master’s power, and the dish that was to be carried him off to the kitchen. Trimalchio turned to us with a mild expression and said,”I will change the wine if you do not like it. You will have to give it its virtues. Under God’s providence, I do not have to buy it. Anything here which makes your mouths water is grown on a country estate of mine which I know nothing about as yet. I believe it is on the boundary of Terracina and Tarentum. Just now I want to join up all Sicily with properties of mine, so that if I take a fancy to go to Africa I shall travel through my own land. But do tell me, Agamemnon, what declamation did you deliver in school to-day? Of course, I do not practise in court myself, but I learned literature for domestic purposes. And do not imagine that I despise learning. I have got two libraries, one Greek and one Latin. So give me an outline of your speech, if you love me.” Then Agamemnon said: “A poor man and a rich man were once at enmity.” “But what is a poor man?” Trimalchio replied. “Very clever,” said Agamemnon, and went on expounding some problem or other. Trimalchio at once retorted: “If the thing really happened, there is no problem; if it never happened, it is all nonsense.” We followed up this and other sallies with the most extravagant admiration.”Tell me, dear Agamemnon,” said Trimalchio, “do you know anything of the twelve labours of Hercules, or the story of Ulysses and how the Cyclops twisted his thumb with the tongs? I used to read these things in Homer when I was a boy. Yes, and I myself with my own eyes saw the Sibyl hanging in a cage; and when the boys cried at her: Sibyl, Sibyl, what do you want?’ ‘I would that I were dead,’ she used to answer.”

  [49] He had still more talk to puff out, when the table was filled by a dish holding an enormous pig. We began to express astonishment at such speed, and took our oath that not even a fowl could have been properly cooked in the time, especially as the pig seemed to us to be much bigger than the boar had been a little while earlier. Trimalchio looked at it more and more closely and then said, “What, what, has not this pig been gutted? I swear it has not. The cook, send the cook up here to us.” The poor cook came and stood by the table and said that he had forgotten to gut it. “What? Forgotten?” shouted rrimalchio. “You would think the fellow had only forgotten to season it with pepper and cummin. Off with his shirt!” In a moment the cook was stripped and stood dolefully between two executioners. Then we all began to beg him off and say: “These things will happen; do let him go; if he does it again none of us will say a word for him.” I was as stiff and stern as could be; I could not restrain myself, but leaned over and said in Agamemnon’s ear: “This must be a most wretched servant; how could anyone forget to gut a pig? On my oath I would not forgive him if he had let a fish go like that.” But Trimalchio’s face softened into smiles. “Well,” he said, “if your memory is so bad, clean him here in front of us.” The cook put on his shirt, seized a knife, and carved the pig’s belly in various places with a shaking hand. At once the slits widened under the pressure from within, and sausages and black puddings tumbled out.

  [50] At this the slaves burst into spontaneous applause and shouted, “God bless Gaius!” 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 it 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 entree 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 breakable I should prefer it to gold; as it is, it is so cheap. [51] But there was once a workman who made a glass cup that was unbreakable. So he was given an audience of the Emperor with his invention; he made Caesar give it back to him and then threw it on the floor. Caesar was as frightened as could be. But the man picked up his cup from the ground: it was dinted like a bronze bowl; then he took a little hammer out of his pocket and made the cup quite sound again without any trouble. After doing this he thought he had himself seated on the throne of Jupiter, especially when Caesar said to him: ‘Does anyone else know how to blow glass like this?’ Just see what happened. He said not, and then Caesar had him beheaded. Why? Because if his invention were generally known we should treat gold like dirt. Myself I have a great passion for silver. [52] I own about a hundred four-gallon cups engraved with Cassandra killing her children, and they lying there dead in the most lifelike way. I have a thousand jugs which Mummius left to my patron, and on them you see Daedalus shutting Niobe into the Trojan horse. And I have got the fights between Hereros and Petraites on my cups, and every cup is a heavy one; for I do not sell my connoisseurship for any money.”

  As he was speaking, a boy dropped a cup. Trimalchio looked at him and said, “Quick, off with your own head, since you are so stupid.” The boy’s lip fell and he began to petition. “Why do you ask me?” said Trimalchio, “as if I should be hard on you! I advise you to prevail upon yourself not to be stupid.” In the end we induced him to let the boy off. As soon as he was forgiven the boy ran round the table . . . .
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  Then Trimalchio shouted, “Out with water! In with wine!” . . . We took up the joke, especially Agamemnon, who knew how to earn a second invitation to dinner. Trimalchio warmed to his drinking under our flattery, and was almost drunk when he said:”None of you ask dear Fortunata to dance. I tell you no one can dance the cancan better.” He then lifted his hands above his head and gave us the actor Syrus, while all the slaves sang in chorus:

  Madeia!

  Perimadeia!

  And Trimalchio would have come out into the middle of the room if Fortunata had not whispered in his ear. I suppose she told him that such low fooling was beneath his dignity. But never was anything so variable; at one moment he was afraid of Fortunata, and then he would return to his natural self.

  [53] But a clerk quite interrupted his passion for the dance by reading as though from the gazette: “July the 26th. Thirty boys and forty girls were born on Trimalchio’s estate at Cumae. Five hundred thousand pecks of wheat were taken up from the threshing-floor into the barn. Five hundred oxen were broken in. On the same date: the slave Mithridates was led to crucifixion for having damned the soul of our lord Gaius. On the same date: ten million sesterces which could not be invested were returned to the reserve. On the same day: there was a fire in our gardens at Pompeii, which broke out in the house of Nasta the bailiff.” “Stop,” said Trimalchio, “When did I buy any gardens at Pompeii?” “Last year,” said the clerk, “so that they are not entered in your accounts yet.” Trimalchio glowed with passion, and said, “I will not have any property which is bought in my name entered in my accounts unless I hear of it within six months.” We now had a further recitation of police notices, and some foresters’ wills, in which Trimalchio was cut out in a codicil; then the names of bailiffs, and of a freed-woman who had been caught with a bathman and divorced by her husband, a night watchman; the name of a porter who had been banished to Baiae; the name of a steward who was being prosecuted, and details of an action between some valets.

  But at last the acrobats came in. A very dull fool stood there with a ladder and made a boy dance from rung to rung and on the very top to the music of popular airs, and then made him hop through burning hoops, and pick up a wine jar with his teeth. No one was excited by this but Trimalchio, who kept saying that it was a thankless profession. There were only two things in the world that he could watch with real pleasure, acrobats and trumpeters; all other shows were silly nonsense. “Why,” said he, “I once bought a Greek comedy company, but I preferred them to do Atellane plays, and I told my flute-player to have Latin songs.”

  [54] Just as Trimalchio was speaking the boy slipped and fell [against his arm]. The slaves raised a cry, and so did the guests, not over a disgusting creature whose neck they would have been glad to see broken, but because it would have been a gloomy finish to the dinner to have to shed tears over the death of a perfect stranger. Trimalchio groaned aloud, and nursed his arm as if it was hurt. Doctors rushed up, and among the first Fortunata, with her hair down, and a cup in her hand, calling out what a poor unhappy woman she was. The creature who had fallen down was crawling round at our feet by this time, and begging for mercy. I was very much afraid that his petition was leading up to some comic surprise. The cook who had forgotten to gut the pig had not yet faded from my recollection. So I began looking all round the dining-room, in case any clockwork toy should jump out of the wall, especially after they had begun to beat a servant for dressing the bruise on his master’s arm with white wool instead of purple. And my suspicions were not far out. Instead of punishment there came Trimalchio’s decree that he should be made a free man, for fear anyone might be able to say that our hero had been wounded by a slave.

  [55] We applauded his action, and made small talk in different phrases about the uncertainty of man’s affairs.”Ah,” said Trimalchio, “then we should not let this occasion slip without a record.” And he called at once for paper, and after very brief reflection declaimed these halting verses:

  “What men do not look for turns about and comes to pass. And high over us Fortune directs our affairs. Wherefore, slave, hand us Falernian wine.”

  A discussion of poetry arose out of this epigram, and for a long time it was maintained that Mopsus of Thrace held the crown of song in his hand, until Trimalchio said, “Now, I ask you as a scholar, how would you compare Cicero and Publilius? In my opinion the first has more eloquence, the second more beauty. For what could be better written than these lines?

  “‘The high walls of Mars crumble beneath the gaping jaws of luxury. To please thy palate the peacock in his Babylonian vesture of gilded feathers is prisoned and fed, for thee the guinea-fowl, and for thee the capon. Even our beloved foreign guest the stork, type of parental love, with thin legs and sounding rattle, the bird exiled by winter, the harbinger of the warm weather, has now built a nest in thine abhorred cooking-pot. What are pearls of price, the fruits of India, to thee? For thy wife to be adorned with seaspoils when she lies unchecked on a strange man’s bed? For what end dost thou require the green emerald, the precious crystal, or the fire that lies in the jewels of Carthage, save that honesty should shine forth from amid the carbuncles? Thy bride might as well clothe herself with a garment of the wind as stand forth publicly naked under her clouds of muslin.’

  [56] “And now,” said he, “what do we think is the hardest profession after writing? I think a doctor’s or a money-changer’s. The doctor’s, because he knows what poor men have in their insides, and when a fever will come — though I detest them specially, because they so often order me to live on duck. The moneychanger’s, because he sees the copper under the silver. Just so among the dumb animals, oxen and sheep are the hardest workers: the oxen, because thanks to the oxen we have bread to eat; the sheep, because their wool clothes us in splendour. It is a gross outrage when people eat lamb and wear shirts. Yes, and I hold the bees to be the most divine insects. They vomit honey, although people do say they bring it from Jupiter: and they have stings, because wherever you have a sweet thing there you will find something bitter too.”