Delphi Complete Works of Varro

by Marcus Terentius Varro

  123 Columella, writing about one hundred years after Varro, refers to this passage and says that luxury had so developed since Varro’s time that it no longer required an extraordinary occasion, like a triumph, to bring the price of thrushes to three denarii a piece, but that that had become a current quotation.

  124 A minerval was the fee (of Minerva) paid to a school teacher.

  125 The inventor of the auspices ex tripudiis or the feeding of chickens was evidently an ingenious poultry fancier who succeeded in securing the care of his favourites at the public charge.

  126 This was L. Marcius Philippus, the orator mentioned by Horace (Epist. I, 7, 46), who was Consul in B.C. 91, and was celebrated for his luxurious habits, which his wealth enabled him to gratify. His son married the widow of C. Octavius and so became the step-father of the Emperor Augustus.

  127 This was turdus pilaris, the variety of thrush which is called field fare.

  128 The traveller by railway from Rome to Naples passes near Varro’s estate of Casinum, and if he stops at the mediaeval town of San Germano to visit the neighbouring Badia di Monte Cassino, where the “angelic doctor” Thomas Aquinas was educated, he will find Varro’s memory kept green: for he will be entertained at the Albergo Varrone (“very fair but bargaining advisable,” sagely counsels Mr. Baedeker) and on his way up the long winding road to the Abbey there will be pointed out to him the river Rapido, on the banks of which Varro’s aviary stood, and nearby what is reputed to be the site of the old polymath’s villa which Antony polluted with the orgies Cicero described in the second Philippic. Antony’s destruction of his library was a great blow to Varro, but one likes to think that his ghost can take satisfaction in the maintenance, so near the haunts of his flesh, of such a noble collection of books as is the continuing pride of the Abbey on the mountain above.

  129 Varro’s Museum, or study where he wooed the Muses, on his estate at Casinum was not unlike that of Cicero at his native Arpinum, which he described (de Leg. II, 3) agreeably as on an island in the cold and clear Fibrenus just above its confluence with the more important river Liris, where, like a plebeian marrying into a patrician family, it lost its name but contributed its freshness. The younger Pliny built a study in the garden of his Laurentine villa near Ostia, which he describes (II, 17) with enthusiasm: “horti diaeta est, amores mei, re vera amores”: and here he found refuge from the tumult of his household during the festivities of the Saturnalia, which corresponded with our Christmas. In the ante bellum days every Virginia gentleman had such an “office” in his house yard where he pretended to transact his farm business, but where actually he was wont to escape from the obligations of family and continuous hospitality.

  130 The commentators on this interesting but obscure description of Varro’s aviary have at this point usually endeavoured to explain the arrangements of the chamber under the lantern of the tholus with respect to its use as a dining room which Varro frequented himself, and hence have been amused into all kinds of difficulties of interpretation. The references to the convivae are what lead them astray, and it remained for Keil to suggest that this was a playful allusion to the birds themselves, a conclusion which is strengthened by Varro’s previous statement of the failure of Lucullus’ attempt to maintain a dining room in his aviary.

  131 Cf. Vitruvius, I, 6: “Andronicus Cyrrhestes built at Athens an octagonal marble tower, on the sides of which were carved images of the eight winds, each on the side opposite that from which it blew. On the pyramidal roof of this tower he placed a bronze Triton holding a rod in his right hand, and so contrived that the Triton, revolving with the wind, always stood opposed to that which prevailed, and thus pointed with his rod to the image on the tower of the wind that was blowing at the moment.” The ruins of this Tower of the Winds may still be seen in Athens. There is a picture of it in Harper’s Dictionary of Classical Antiquities in the article Andronicus.

  132 One ventures to translate athletoe comitiorum by Mr.

  Gladstone’s famous phrase.

  133 Reading “tesserulas coicientem in loculum.”

  134 A French translator might better convey the intention of the pun, contained in the ducere serram of the text, by the locution, une prise de bec.

  135 It probably will not comfort the ultimate consumer who holds in such odium the celebrated “Schedule K” of the Payne-Aldrich tariff, to realize that the American wool grower puts no higher value on his sheep than did his Roman ancestor, as revealed by this quotation from the stock yards of Varro’s time. It is interesting, however, to the breeder to know that a good price for wool has always stimulated the production of the best stock. Strabo says that the wool of Turdetania in Spain was so celebrated in the generation after Varro that a ram of the breed (the ancestors of the modern Merino) fetched a talent, say $1,200; a price which may be compared with that of the prize ram recently sold in England for export to the Argentine for as much as a thousand pounds sterling, and considered a good commercial investment at that. Doubtless the market for Rosean mules comforted Axius in his investment of the equivalent of £400 in a breeding jack.

  136 In feudal times the right to maintain a dove cote was the exclusive privilege of the lord of the manor. According to their immemorial custom, which Varro notices, the pigeons preyed on the neighbourhood crops and were detested by the community in consequence. During the French revolution they were one of the counts in the indictment of the land-owning aristocracy, and in the event the pigeons as well as their owners had the sins of their forefathers justly visited upon them. The American farmer who has a pigeon-keeping neighbour and is restrained by the pettiness of the annoyance from making a point on their trespasses, feels something of the blind and impotent wrath of the French peasant against the whole pigeon family.

  137 It appears that the Romans actually hired men to chew the food intended for cramming birds, so as to relieve the unhappy victims even of such exercise as they might get from assimilating their diet. Columella (VII, 10) in discussing the diet of thrushes deprecates this practice, sagely saying that the wages of the chewers are out of proportion to the benefit obtained, and that any way the chewers swallow a good part of what they are given to macerate.

  The typical tramp of the comic papers who is forever looking for occupation without work might well envy these Roman professional chewers. Not even Dr. Wiley’s “poison squad” employed to test food products could compare with them.

  138 These prices of $10 and $50 and even $80 a pair for pigeons, large as they seem, were surpassed under the Empire. Columella says (VIII, 8): “That excellent author, M. Varro, tells us that in his more austere time it was not unusual for a pair of pigeons to sell for a thousand sesterces, a price at which the present day should blush, if we may believe the report that men have been found to pay for a pair as much as four thousand nummi.” ($200.)

  139 The market for chickens and eggs in the United States would doubtless astonish the people of Delos as much as the statistics do us (ipsa suas mirantur Gargara messes!). It is solemnly recorded that the American hen produces a billion and a quarter dozen eggs per annum, of a value greater than that of either the wheat or cotton crops, and yet there are many of us who cannot get our hens to lay more than a hundred eggs a year!

  140 Reading ad infirma crura. This practice is explained more at length by Columella (VIII, 2, 3) who specifies the spurs, calcaribus inustis.

  Buffon, who describes a ‘practice of trimming the combs of capons, adds (V, 302) an interesting account of an experiment which he says he had made “une espece de greffe animale”: after trimming the comb of a growing cockerel his budding spurs were cut out and grafted on the roots of the comb, where they took root and flourished, growing to a length of two and a half inches, in some cases curving forward like the horns of a ram, and in others turning back like those of a goat.

  141 The dusting yard which Varro here describes was in the open, but Columella (VIII, 3) advises what modern poultry farmers pride themselves upon having recently
discovered, — a covered scratching pen strewn with litter to afford exercise for the hens in rough weather. It will be observed that, so far as ventilation is concerned, Varro recommends a hen house open to the weather: this is another standard of modern practice which has had a hard struggle against prejudice. Columella adds two more interesting bits of advice, that for the comfort of the hens the roosts should be cut square, and for cleanliness their water trough should be enclosed leaving only openings large enough to receive a hen’s head. With so much enlightenment and sanitation one would expect one or the other of these Romans to tell us of some “teeming hen” like Herrick’s who laid “her egg each day.”

  We are proud to be able to cite the eminent Roseburg Industrious Biddy who, in the year of grace 1912, achieved the championship of America with a record of 266 eggs in ten months and nineteen days, and was sold for $800: but Varro is content to suggest that a hen will lay more eggs in a season than she can hatch, and the conservative Columella (VIII, 5) that the number of eggs depends upon diet.

  142 The guinea fowl got their Greek name, meleagrides, because the story was that the sisters of Meleager were turned into guinea hens. Pliny (H.N. X, 38) says that they fight every year on Meleager’s tomb. It is a fact that they are a pugnacious fowl. Buffon says that guinea fowl disappeared from Europe in the Dark Ages and were not known again until the route to the Indies via the Cape of Good Hope was opened when they were imported anew from the west coast of Africa.

  143 Reading, “propter fastidium hominum.” Cf. Pliny (X, 38), whose explanation is “propter ingratum virus.”

  144 There is a Virginia practice of feeding a fat turkey heavily on bread soaked in wine or liquor just before he is killed, the result being that as the turkey gets into that condition which used to put our ancestors under the table, he relaxes all his tendons and so is sweeter and more tender when he comes above the table. There is a humanitarian side to the practice which should recommend it even to the W.C.T.U. as well as to the epicure.

  145 Many thousands of geese used to be driven every year to Rome from the land of the Morini in Northern Gaul, but the Germans are the modern consumers. A British consular report says that in addition to the domestic supply a special “goose train” of from fifteen to forty cars is received daily in Berlin from Russia. It would seem that the goose that lays the golden egg has emigrated to Muscovy. Buffon says that the introduction of the Virginia turkey into Europe drove the goose off the tables of all civilized peoples.

  146 Columella (VIII, 14) repeats this myth, but Aristotle (H.A. V, 2, 9) says that geese bathe after breeding. Buffon gives a Gallic touch, “ces oiseaux preludent aux actes de l’amour en allant d’abord s’egayer dans l’eau.”

  147 Reading seris. It is the Cichorium endivia of

  Linnaeus. Cf. Pliny (H.N. XX, 32.)

  148 Varro does not mention it, but the Romans knew and prized pâté de foie gras under the name ficatum, which indicates that they produced it by cramming their geese with a diet of figs. Cf. Horace’s verse “pinguibus et ficis pastum iecur anseris albi.”

  In Toulouse, whence now comes the best of this dainty of the epicure, the geese are crammed daily with a dough of corn meal mixed with the oil of poppies, fed through a tin funnel, which is introduced into the esophagus of the unhappy bird. At the end of a month the stertorous breathing of the victim proclaims the time of sacrifice to Apicius. The liver is expected to weigh a kilogram, (say two pounds), while at least two kilograms of fat are saved in addition, to garnish the family plat of vegetables during the remainder of the year.

  149 Reading foeles, which Keller, in his account of the fauna of ancient Italy in the Cambridge Companion to Latin Studies, identifies with Martes vulgaris. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert calls them fullymartes. It does not appear that the Romans had in Varro’s time brought from Egypt our household cat, F. maniculata. They used weasels and tame snakes for catching mice.

  150 Darwin (Animals and Plants, I, 8) cites this passage and argues that Varro’s advice to cover the duck yard with netting to keep the ducks from flying out is evidence that in Varro’s time ducks were not entirely domesticated, and hence that the modern domestic duck is the same species as the wild duck. It may be noted, however, that Varro gives the same advice about netting the chicken yard, having said that chickens had been domesticated from the beginning of time.

  151 The ancient Etruscan city of Tarquinii is now known as Corneto. The wild sheep which Lippinus there kept in his game preserves were probably the mouflon which are still hunted in Sardinia and Corsica, though they may have been the Phrygian wild sheep (Aegoceros argali) which Varro mentions in Book II. Pliny (H.N. VIII, 211) says that this Lippinus was the first of the Romans to keep wild animals enclosed; that he established his preserves shortly before the Civil Wars, and that he soon had imitators.

  152 Reading * * * * [Transcriber’s note: the preceding four *s are actually four instances of the “infinity” symbol (like a digit 8 rotated horizontally)passum. The Roman mile, mille passuum, was 142 yards less than the English mile.]

  153 Of the three kinds of hares mentioned by Varro the “common Italian kind” was L. timidus, a roast shoulder of which Horace vaunts as a delicacy: the Alpine hare was L. variabilis, which grows white on the approach of winter: and the cuniculus was the common rabbit known to our English ancestors as the coney. Strabo records (Casaub, 144) that the inhabitants of the Gymnesian (Balearic) Islands in Spain sent a deputation to Augustus to request a military force to exterminate the pest of rabbits, for such was their multitude that the people were being crowded out of their homes by them, in which their plight was that of modern Australia. They were usually hunted in Spain with muzzled ferrets imported from Africa.

  154 The edible snail, helix pomatia, L., is still an article of commerce in France and Italy. They prey upon vines and give evidence of their appreciation of the best by abounding in the vineyards of the Cote d’or, the ancient Burgundy. There at the end of summer they are gathered for the double purpose of protecting the vines and delighting the epicure: are then stored in a safe place until cold weather, when they considerately seal up their own shells with a calcareous secretion and so are shipped to market.

  Here is the recipe for ‘escargots à la bourguignonne,’ which despite the prejudice engendered by Leviticus (XI, 30.) may be recommended to the American palate jaded by beefsteak and potatoes and the high cost of living: “Mettre les escargots a bouillir pendant 5 a 10 minutes dans de l’eau salée, les retirer de leur coquille, les laver a l’eau froide pour les debarrasser du limon, les cuire dans un court-bouillon fortement assaisonné. Apres cuisson les replacer dans le coquille bien nettoyee, en les garnissant au fond et par dessus d’une farce de beurre frais manipule avec un fin hachis de persil, cerfeuil, ail, echalote, sel et poivre. Avant de servir, faire chauffer au four.”

  155 Reading LXXX quadrantes. A comparison may be made of this capacity with that of the ordinary snail known to the Romans, for their smallest unit of liquid measure was called a cochlear, or snail shell, and contained.02 of a modern pint, or, as we may say, a spoonful: indeed the French word cuiller is derived from cochlear.

  156 It is perhaps well to remind the American reader that the European dormouse (Myoxus glis. Fr. loir. Ger. siebenschlafer) is rather a squirrel than a mouse, and that he is still esteemed a dainty edible, as he was by the Romans: indeed when fat, just before he retires to hibernate, he might be preferred to ‘possum and other strange dishes on which some hospitable Americans regale themselves and the patient palates of touring Presidents. In his treatise De re culinaria Apicius gives a recipe for a ragout of dormice which sounds appetizing.

  157 Darwin (Animals and Plants, XVIII) says: “I have never heard of the dormouse breeding in captivity.”

  158 Varro makes no mention of tea and bread and butter as part of the diet of a dormouse; so we are better able to understand his abstinence at the mad tea party in Alice in Wonderland. As Martial (III, 58) calls him somniculosus, it is probabl
e that his table manners on that occasion were nothing new and that his English and German names were always justified.

  159 This is one of Varro’s puns which requires a surgical operation to get it into one’s head. Appius is selected to talk about bees because his name has some echo of the sound of apis, the word for bee.

  160 The study of bees was as interesting to the ancients as it is to us. There have survived from among many others the treatises of Aristotle, Varro, Virgil, Columella and Pliny, but they are all made up, as Maeterlinck has remarked, of “erreurs charmantes,” and for that reason the antique lore of bees is read perhaps to best advantage in the mellifluous verses of the fourth Georgic, which follow Varro closely.

  161 He might have said also that the hexagonal form of construction employed by bees produces the largest possible result with the least labour and material. Maeterlinck rehearses (La Vie des Abeilles, 138) the result of the study of this problem in the highest mathematics:

  “Réaumur avait proposé au célèbre mathematicien Koenig le problem suivant: ‘Entre toutes les cellules hexagonales a fond pyramidal compose de trois rhombes semblables et égaux, determiner celle qui peut être construite avec le moins de matière?’ Koenig trouva qu’une telle cellule avait son fond fait de trois rhombes dont chaque grand angle était de 109 degrés, 26 minutes et chaque petit de 70 degrés, 34 minutes. Or, un autre savant, Maraldi, ayant mesuré aussi exactement que possible les angles des rhombes construits par les abeilles fixa les grands à 109 degrés, 28 minutes, et les petits a 70 degrés, 32 minutes. Il n’y avait done, entre les deux solutions qu’une difference de 2 minutes. II est probable que l’erreur, s’il y en a une, doit être imputee a Maraldi plutot qu’aux abeilles, car aucun instrument ne permet de mesurer avec une precision infaìllible les angles des cellules qui ne sont pas assez nettlement definis.”