The Portable Roman Reader (Portable Library) (60 page)

“It isn’t the loss that I’m vexed about, so much as the carelessness of this confounded slave! The clothes that he lost were my dinner-clothes which a dependent of mine gave me on my birthday. To be sure, they were of Tyrian purple, but they’d already been washed once. Well, well, I’ll let him off for your sake.”

Greatly impressed by this mark of favour, we had no sooner entered the dining-room than the slave whose punishment we had begged off rushed up to us, and to our surprise showered kisses upon us and thanked us for our kindness, saying finally:

“You’ll find out pretty soon what sort of a man he is to whom you have done a favour. You know the master’s wine is always the butler’s gift.”

Presently we took our places, and Alexandrian slaves poured water cooled with snow over our hands, while others approached our feet and with great skill began paring our corns; nor were they silent even over this rather disagreeable task, but kept singing all the time. I wanted to find out whether the whole household sang; and so I asked for something to drink; whereupon a slave served me, singing the while, like the others, a shrill ditty; and in fact, every slave who was asked for anything did exactly the same, so that you would have imagined yourself in the green-room of a comic-opera troupe rather than in the dining-room of a private gentleman.

A very choice lot of
hors d‘œuvres
was then brought in; for we had already taken our places, all except Trimalchio himself for whom the seat of honour was reserved. Among the objects placed before us was a young ass made of Corinthian bronze and fitted with a sort of pack-saddle which contained on one side pale green olives and on the other side dark ones. Two dishes flanked this; and on the margin of them Trimalchio’s name was engraved and the weight of the silver. Then there were little bridge-like structures of iron which held dormice seasoned with honey and poppyseed; and smoking sausages were arranged on a silver grill which had underneath it dark Syrian plums to represent black coals, and scarlet pomegranate seeds to represent red-hot ones.

In the midst of all this magnificence Trimalchio was brought in to the sound of music and propped up on a pile of well-stuffed cushions. The very sight of him almost made us laugh in spite of ourselves; for his shaven pate was thrust out of a scarlet robe, and around his neck he had tucked a long fringed napkin with a broad purple stripe running down the middle of it. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a huge gilt ring, and on the last joint of the next finger a ring that appeared to be of solid gold, but having little iron stars upon it. Moreover, lest we should fail to take in all his magnificence, he had bared his right arm, which was adorned with a golden bracelet and an ivory circle fastened by a glittering clasp.

As he sat there picking his teeth with a silver toothpick, he remarked:

“Well, friends, it was just a bit inconvenient for me to dine now; but, so as not to delay you by my absence, I have denied myself a considerable amount of pleasure. You will allow me, however, to finish my game.”

A slave came in carrying a backgammon-board of polished wood and also crystal dice; and I noted, as a very dainty detail, that instead of white and black pieces, he used, in playing, gold and silver coins. While he went on with his game, uttering as he played all sorts of Billingsgate, and while we were still eating the
hors d‘œuvres
, a tray was brought in with a basket on which a wooden fowl was placed with its wings spread out in a circle after the fashion of setting hens. Immediately two slaves approached and amid a burst of music began to poke around in the straw, and having presently discovered there some pea-hens’ eggs, they distributed them among the guests.

Trimalchio looked up during this operation and said, “Gentlemen, I had the hens’ eggs placed under this fowl; but I’m rather afraid they have young chickens in them. Let’s see whether they’re still fit to suck.”

So we took our spoons, which weighed not less than half a pound each, and broke the egg-shells, which were made of flour paste. As I did so, I was almost tempted to throw my egg on the floor, for it looked as though a chicken had just been formed inside; but when I heard an old diner-out by my side saying: “There’s bound to be something good here,” I thrust my finger through the shell and drew out a plump reed-bird, surrounded by yolk of egg well seasoned with pepper.

Trimalchio had now given up his game and called for the same dainties that we had had, inviting us with a loud voice to take a drink of honeyed wine also. Just then, however, at a signal given by music, all the dishes were swept off at once by a troop of slaves who sang over their work. Amid the bustle, a silver dish happened to fall on the floor, and when one of the servants started to pick it up, Trimalchio ordered him to be soundly cuffed, and told him to throw it down again; and presently there came in a servant, broom in hand, who swept up the silver dish along with the rest of the rubbish that lay upon the floor. After this, there entered two long-haired Æthiopian slaves carrying little bags such as are used for sprinkling the sand in the amphitheatre, and from these they poured wine over our hands; for water was not good enough to wash in at that house.

We complimented Trimalchio on all these elegant little details, and he observed complacently:

“Mars loves a fair field; so I had a separate table given to each guest. Incidentally, too, these wretched slaves will not overheat us by their crowding.”

Immediately glass wine-jars were brought in, carefully sealed with plaster, and on their necks there were little tags with this legend:
“Falernian Opimian, one hundred years old.”
While we were reading the tags, Trimalchio clapped his hands, and presently began to hold forth:

“Oh, dear, see how much longer-lived wine is than any poor mortal! Let’s drink, then, and make merry, for wine is really life. Just look; here’s genuine old Opimian. I didn’t put nearly such good liquor as this on the table yesterday, and yet the people who dined with me then were socially very much superior to you.”

As we were drinking the wine, and noting very carefully all his evidences of good taste, a slave brought him a silver skeleton ingeniously put together so that its limbs could be thrown out of joint and made to turn in any direction. This Trimalchio kept throwing again and again upon the table and making it assume all sorts of shapes, until at last he observed:

We were still complimenting him on his philosophy, when a course was served whose peculiarity attracted every one’s attention; for a double tray in which it was set had the twelve signs of the Zodiac arranged in a circle and over each sign the chief butler had arranged some kind of food that was appropriate to it—over the Ram, some chick-peas with tendrils that curled like a ram’s horns; over the Bull, a bit of beef; over the Twins, a pair of lamb’s fries and kidneys; over the Crab, a garland; over the Lion, an African fig; over the Virgin, a sow’s paunch; over the Balance, a pair of scales on one of which was placed a tart and on the other a cake; over the Scorpion, a crab; over Aquarius, a goose; over the Fish, two mullets. In the middle was a piece of fresh turf supporting a honeycomb. An Egyptian slave passed us some bread in a silver bread-plate, while Trimalchio croaked out a popular song from the musical farce called
The Garlic Eater.

We were making ready to attack these absurd viands, though with no great eagerness, when Trimalchio remarked:

“Come, let’s dine. This is really the very sauce of the dinner.”

As he said this, four slaves came forward with a solemn dance-step to the sound of music and took off the cover from the upper part of the tray. As soon as they had done this we saw, underneath the cover, capons and sows’ breasts, and a hare with feathers stuck in its back so as to represent Pegasus. We observed also in the comer of the tray a figure of Marsyas, holding a wine-skin from which highly peppered fish-sauce flowed out over the fish, which swam in it as though they were in a brook. The slaves began to applaud, and we all joined in vigorously, laughing as we fell to, over these choice dainties. Trimalcho, equally delighted at this culinary surprise, called out, “Carver!” and at once a man provided with a knife and making elaborate gestures in time to the music, hacked up the meat in such a fashion that you would have imagined him to be a chariot-fighter slashing about to the sound of a water-organ. Trimalchio in a drawling tone kept up his exclamation, “Carver! Carver!” so that suspecting the repetition of this word to have some humorous intention, I did not hesitate to question the guest who sat beside me. He was quite familiar with the whole thing, and explained it by saying:

“Do you see the man who has carved the meat? His name is Carver. And so, as often as Trimalchio says, ‘Carve her!’ he calls the slave by name and at the same time tells him what to do.”

The servants came and hung pieces of tapestry along the front of our couches, with hunting nets embroidered on them and huntsmen armed with spears, and all the paraphernalia of the hunt. We hardly knew what these preparations foreboded, when outside the dining-room a great hubbub began, and, lo and behold, Spartan dogs began dashing around the table. A tray followed them in which was set a boar of great size with a liberty-cap above him, while there hung from his tusks two little palm-leaf baskets, one full of nut-shaped dates, and the other full of Theban dates. All around were little pigs made of pastry and intent on the breasts, this signifying that the boar was supposed to represent a sow. These were intended for keepsakes to carry away.

The slave called Carver, who had mangled the capons, did not come in to cut up the boar; but instead, a big fellow with a beard, wearing leggings and with a light cloak on his shoulders, slashed the side of the boar vigorously with a drawn hunting-knife, till out of the gash live thrushes flew forth. Bird-catchers were at hand with long rods, and they caught the birds very quickly as they were fluttering around the dining-room. After Trimalchio had ordered a bird to be given to each guest, he added:

“Just see what a fine big acorn this wild boar had eaten!”

Directly after, the slaves went to the little baskets which hung from the boar’s tusks, and distributed the dates among the guests to the accompaniment of music.

Meanwhile I in my remote corner was much distracted in mind as to why the boar had come in with a liberty-cap set upon him; so after I had eaten up all my sweetmeats, I resolved to question my informant.

“Oh,” said he, “the slave here waiting on you can easily tell you that, for it isn’t a puzzle but a perfectly obvious thing. This boar was brought on in the last course of yesterday’s dinner, and was allowed by the guests to go untouched. So, you see, he comes back today to dinner like a freedman.”

I fell to cursing my own stupidity, and asked no more questions lest I should appear never to have dined among gentlemen before.

While we were having this talk, a handsome young slave crowned with ivies and taking the part of Bacchus, the Free Father, passed grapes about in a basket and rendered his master’s poems in a very shrill voice. Trimalchio turning in his direction said:

“Dionysus, I give you your freedom.”

The slave at once took the liberty-cap off the boar and set it on his own head, upon which Trimalchio inquired of us all:

“Why am I of honourable birth? Because I have a Free Father.”

We all commended this witty saying, and as the slave went around the table we kissed him warmly by way of congratulation.

After this course, Trimalchio got up to go to the lavatory; so that, feeling a certain freedom in the absence of our master, we began to draw each other into conversation. Dama, first of all, calling for a goblet, remarked:

“A day is nothing. Night comes before you can turn around. That’s why I think there’s nothing better than to go from your bed straight to the dining-room. It’s a cold climate we have here. Even a bath scarcely warms me up. In fact, a hot drink is my wardrobe. I’ve had several stiff drinks already, so that I’m loaded for bear; for the wine has gone to my head.”