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Title: The Satyricon — Complete
Author: Petronius Arbiter
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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                           THE SATYRICON OF
                           PETRONIUS ARBITER

          Complete and unexpurgated translation by W. C. Firebaugh,
          in which are incorporated the forgeries of Nodot and Marchena,
          and the readings introduced into the text by De Salas.

Among the difficulties which beset the path of the conscientious
translator, a sense of his own unworthiness must ever take precedence;
but another, scarcely less disconcerting, is the likelihood of
misunderstanding some allusion which was perfectly familiar to the author
and his public, but which, by reason of its purely local significance,
is obscure and subject to the misinterpretation and emendation of a later

A translation worthy of the name is as much the product of a literary
epoch as it is of the brain and labor of a scholar; and Melmouth’s
version of the letters of Pliny the Younger, made, as it was, at a
period when the art of English letter writing had attained its highest
excellence, may well be the despair of our twentieth century apostles of
specialization.  Who, today, could imbue a translation of the Golden Ass
with the exquisite flavor of William Adlington’s unscholarly version of
that masterpiece?  Who could rival Arthur Golding’s rendering of the
Metamorphoses of Ovid, or Francis Hicke’s masterly rendering of Lucian’s
True History?  But eternal life means endless change and in nothing is
this truth more strikingly manifest than in the growth and decadence of
living languages and in the translation of dead tongues into the ever
changing tissue of the living.  Were it not for this, no translation
worthy of the name would ever stand in need of revision, except in
instances where the discovery and collation of fresh manuscripts had
improved the text.  In the case of an author whose characters speak in
the argot proper to their surroundings, the necessity for revision is
even more imperative; the change in the cultured speech of a language is
a process that requires years to become pronounced, the evolution of
slang is rapid and its usage ephemeral.  For example Stephen Gaselee, in
his bibliography of Petronius, calls attention to Harry Thurston Peck’s
rendering of “bell um pomum” by “he’s a daisy,” and remarks,
appropriately enough, “that this was well enough for 1898; but we would
now be more inclined to render it ‘he’s a peach.’”  Again, Peck renders
“illud erat vivere” by “that was life,” but, in the words of our lyric
American jazz, we would be more inclined to render it “that was the
life.”  “But,” as Professor Gaselee has said, “no rendering of this part
of the Satyricon can be final, it must always be in the slang of the

“Some,” writes the immortal translator of Rabelais, in his preface,
“have deservedly gained esteem by translating; yet not many condescend
to translate but such as cannot invent; though to do the first well,
requires often as much genius as to do the latter.  I wish, reader,
thou mayest be as willing to do the author justice, as I have strove
to do him right.”

Many scholars have lamented the failure of Justus Lipsius to comment upon
Petronius or edit an edition of the Satyricon.  Had he done so, he might
have gone far toward piercing the veil of darkness which enshrouds the
authorship of the work and the very age in which the composer flourished.
To me, personally, the fact that Laurence Sterne did not undertake a
version, has caused much regret.  The master who delineated Tristram
Shandy’s father and the intrigue between the Widow Wadman and Uncle Toby
would have drawn Trimalchio and his peers to admiration.

                                                       W. C. F.


     9    Gladiator obscene
     17   Impotence
     26   Peepholes in brothels
     34   Silver Skeleton
     36   Marsyas
     40   A pie full of birds
     56   Contumelia
     116  Life in Rome
     116  Legacy hunting
     119  Castration
     127  Circe’s voice
     131  Sputum in charms
     131  The “infamous finger”
      138  The dildo
     The Cordax

     I    Soldiers in love
     II   Courtesans
     III  Greek love
     IV   Pollution
     V    Virginity
     VI   Pandars


Of the many masterpieces which classical antiquity has bequeathed to
modern times, few have attained, at intervals, to such popularity; few
have so gripped the interest of scholars and men of letters, as has this
scintillating miscellany known as the Satyricon, ascribed by tradition to
that Petronius who, at the court of Nero, acted as arbiter of elegance
and dictator of fashion.  The flashing, wit, the masterly touches which
bring out the characters with all the detail of a fine old copper
etching; the marvelous use of realism by this, its first prophet; the
sure knowledge of the perspective and background best adapted to each
episode; the racy style, so smooth, so elegant, so simple when the
educated are speaking, beguile the reader and blind him, at first, to the
many discrepancies and incoherences with which the text, as we have it,
is marred.  The more one concentrates upon this author, the more apparent
these faults become and the more one regrets the lacunae in the text.
Notwithstanding numerous articles which deal with this work, some from
the pens of the most profound scholars, its author is still shrouded in
the mists of uncertainty and conjecture.  He is as impersonal as
Shakespeare, as aloof as Flaubert, in the opinion of Charles Whibley,
and, it may be added, as genial as Rabelais; an enigmatic genius whose
secret will never be laid bare with the resources at our present command.
As I am not writing for scholars, I do not intend going very deeply into
the labyrinth of critical controversy which surrounds the author and the
work, but I shall deal with a few of the questions which, if properly
understood, will enhance the value of the Satyricon, and contribute, in
some degree, to a better understanding of the author.  For the sake of
convenience the questions discussed in this introduction will be arranged
in the following order:

1.  The Satyricon.

2.  The Author.
     a  His Character.
     b  His Purpose in Writing.
     c  Time in which the Action is placed.
     d  Localization of the Principal Episode.

3.  Realism.
     a  Influence of the Satyricon upon the Literature of the World.

4.  The Forgeries.


THE SATYRICON.  Heinsius and Scaliger derive the word from the Greek,
whence comes our English word satyr, but Casaubon, Dacier and Spanheim
derive it from the Latin ‘satura,’ a plate filled with different kinds
of food, and they refer to Porphyrion’s ‘multis et variis rebus hoc
carmen refertum est.’

The text, as we possess it, may be divided into three divisions: the
first and last relate the adventures of Encolpius and his companions, the
second, which is a digression, describes the Dinner of Trimalchio.  That
the work was originally divided into books, we had long known from
ancient glossaries, and we learn, from the title of the Traguriensian
manuscript, that the fragments therein contained are excerpts from the
fifteenth and sixteenth books.  An interpolation of Fulgentius (Paris
7975) attributes to Book Fourteen the scene related in Chapter 20 of the
work as we have it, and the glossary of St. Benedict Floriacensis cites
the passage ‘sed video te totum in illa haerere, quae Troiae halosin
ostendit (Chapter 89), as from Book Fifteen.  As there is no reason to
suppose that the chapters intervening between the end of the Cena
(Chapter 79) and Chapter 89 are out of place, it follows that this
passage may have belonged to Book Sixteen, or even Seventeen, but that it
could not have belonged to Book Fifteen.  From the interpolation of
Fulgentius we may hazard the opinion that the beginning of the fragments,
as we possess them (Chapters 1 to 26), form part of Book Fourteen.  The
Dinner of Trimalchio probably formed a complete book, fifteen, and the
continuation of the adventures of Encolpius down to his meeting with
Eumolpus (end of Chapter 140) Book Sixteen.  The discomfiture of Eumolpus
should have closed this book but not the entire work, as the exit of the
two principal characters is not fixed at the time our fragments come to
an end.  The original work, then, would probably have exceeded Tom Jones
in length.



a--“Not often,” says Studer (Rheinisches Museum, 1843), “has there been
so much dispute about the author, the times, the character and the
purpose of a writing of antiquity as about the fragments of the Satyricon
of Petronius.”  The discovery and publication of the Trau manuscript
brought about a literary controversy which has had few parallels, and
which has not entirely died out to this day, although the best
authorities ascribe the work to Caius Petronius, the Arbiter Elegantiarum
at the court of Nero.  “The question as to the date of the narrative of
the adventures of Encolpius and his boon companions must be regarded as
settled,” says Theodor Mommsen (Hermes, 1878); “this narrative is
unsurpassed in originality and mastery of treatment among the writings of
Roman literature.  Nor does anyone doubt the identity of its author and
the Arbiter Elegantiarum of Nero, whose end Tacitus relates.”

In any case, the author of this work, if it be the work of one brain,
must have been a profound psychologist, a master of realism, a
natural-born story teller, and a gentleman.

b--His principal object in writing the work was to amuse but, in amusing,
he also intended to pillory the aristocracy and his wit is as keen as the
point of a rapier; but, when we bear in mind the fact that he was an
ancient, we will find that his cynicism is not cruel, in him there is
none of the malignity of Aristophanes; there is rather the attitude of
the refined patrician who is always under the necessity of facing those
things which he holds most in contempt, the supreme artist who suffers
from the multitude of bill-boards, so to speak, who lashes the posters
but holds in pitying contempt those who know so little of true art that
they mistake those posters for the genuine article.  Niebuhr’s estimate
of his character is so just and free from prejudice, and proceeds from
a mind which, in itself, was so pure and wholesome, that I will quote it:

“All great dramatic poets are endowed with the power of creating beings
who seem to act and speak with perfect independence, so that the poet is
nothing more than the relator of what takes place.  When Goethe had
conceived Faust and Margarete, Mephistopheles and Wagner, they moved and
had their being without any exercise of his will.  But in the peculiar
power which Petronius exercises, in its application to every scene, to
every individual character, in everything, noble or mean, which he
undertakes, I know of but one who is fully equal to the Roman, and that
is Diderot.  Trimalchio and Agamemnon might have spoken for Petronius,
and the nephew Rameau and the parson Papin for Diderot, in every
condition and on every occasion inexhaustibly, out of their own nature;
just so the purest and noblest souls, whose kind was, after all, not
entirely extinct in their day.

“Diderot and a contemporary, related to him in spirit, Count Gaspar
Gozzi, are marked with the same cynicism which disfigures the Roman;
their age, like his, had become shameless.  But as the two former were in
their heart noble, upright, and benevolent men, and as in the writings of
Diderot genuine virtue and a tenderness unknown to his contemporaries
breathe, so the peculiarity of such a genius can, as it seems, be given
to a noble and elevated being only.  The deep contempt for prevailing
immorality which naturally leads to cynicism, and a heart which beats for
everything great and glorious,--virtues which then had no existence,
--speak from the pages of the Roman in a language intelligible to every
susceptible heart.”

e--Beck, in his paper, “The Age of Petronius Arbiter,” concluded that the
author lived and wrote between the years 6 A.D.  and 34 A.D., but he
overlooked the possibility that the author might have lived a few years
later, written of conditions as they were in his own times, and yet laid
the action of his novel a few years before.  Mommsen and Haley place the
time under Augustus, Buecheler, about 36-7 A.D., and Friedlaender under

d--La Porte du Theil places the scene at Naples because of the fact the
city in which our heroes met Agamemnon must have been of some
considerable size because neither Encolpius nor Asclytos could find their
way back to their inn, when once they had left it, because both were
tired out from tramping around in search of it and because Giton had been
so impressed with this danger that he took the precaution to mark the
pillars with chalk in order that they might not be lost a second time.
The Gulf of Naples is the only bit of coastline which fits the needs of
the novel, hence the city must be Naples.  The fact that neither of the
characters knew the city proves that they had been recent arrivals, and
this furnishes a clue, vague though it is, to what may have gone before.

Haley, “Harvard Studies in Classical Philology,” vol. II, makes out a
very strong case for Puteoli, and his theory of the old town and the new
town is as ingenious as it is able.  Haley also has Trimalchio in his
favor, as has also La Porte du Theil.  “I saw the Sibyl at Cumae,” says
Trimalchio.  Now if the scene of the dinner is actually at Cumae this
sounds very peculiar; it might even be a gloss added by some copyist
whose knowledge was not equal to his industry.  On the other hand,
suppose Trimalchio is speaking of something so commonplace in his
locality that the second term has become a generic, then the difficulty
disappears.  We today, even though standing upon the very spot in Melos
where the Venus was unearthed, would still refer to her as the Venus de
Melos.  Friedlaender, in bracketing Cumis, has not taken this
sufficiently into consideration.  Mommsen, in an excellent paper (Hermes,
1878), has laid the scene at Cumae.  His logic is almost unanswerable,
and the consensus of opinion is in favor of the latter town.


REALISM.  Realism, as we are concerned with it, may be defined as the
literary effect produced by the marshaling of details in their exactitude
for the purpose of bringing out character.  The fact that they may be
ugly and vulgar the reverse, makes not the slightest difference.  The
modern realist contemplates the inanimate things which surround us with
peculiar complaisance, and it is right that he should as these things
exert upon us a constant and secret influence.  The workings of the human
mind, in complex civilizations, are by no means simple; they are involved
and varied: our thoughts, our feelings, our wills, associate themselves
with an infinite number of sensations and images which play one upon the
other, and which individualize, in some measure, every action we commit,
and stamp it.  The merit of our modern realists lies in the fact that
they have studied the things which surround us and our relations to them,
and thus have they been able to make their creations conform to human
experience.  The ancients gave little attention to this; the man, with
them, was the important thing; the environment the unimportant.  There
are, of course, exceptions; the interview between Ulysses and Nausiskaa
is probably the most striking.  From the standpoint of environment,
Petronius, in the greater portion of his work, is an ancient; but one
exception there is, and it is as brilliant as it is important.  The
entire episode, in which Trimalchio figures, offers an incredible
abundance of details.  The descriptions are exhaustive and minute, but
the author’s prime purpose was not description, it was to bring out the
characters, it was to pillory the Roman aristocracy, it was to amuse!
Cicero, in his prosecution of Verres, had shown up this aristocracy in
all its brutality and greed, it remained for the author of the Cena to
hold its absurdity up to the light of day, to lash an extravagance which,
though utterly unbridled, was yet unable to exhaust the looted
accumulations of years of political double dealing and malfeasance in
office.  Trimalchio’s introduction is a masterstroke, the porter at the
door is another, the effect of the wine upon the women, their jealousy
lest either’s husband should seem more liberal, their appraisal of each
other’s jewelry, Scintilla’s remark anent the finesse of Habinnas’
servant in the mere matter of pandering, the blear-eyed and black-toothed
slave, teasing a little bitch disgustingly fat, offering her pieces of
bread and when, from sheer inability, she refuses to eat, cramming it
down her throat, the effect of the alcohol upon Trimalchio, the little
old lady girded round with a filthy apron, wearing clogs which were not
mates, dragging in a huge dog on a chain, the incomparable humor in the
passage in which Hesus, desperately seasick, sees that which makes him
believe that even worse misfortunes are in store for him: these details
are masterpieces of realism.  The description of the night-prowling
shyster lawyer, whose forehead is covered with sebaceous wens, is the
very acme of propriety; our first meeting; with the poet Eumolpus is a
beautiful study in background and perspective.  Nineteen centuries have
gone their way since this novel was written, but if we look about us we
will be able to recognize, under the veneer of civilization, the
originals of the Satyricon and we will find that here, in a little corner
of the Roman world, all humanity was held in miniature.  Petronius must
be credited with the great merit of having introduced realism into the
novel.  By an inspiration of genius, he saw that the framework of
frivolous and licentious novels could be enlarged until it took in
contemporary custom and environment.  It is that which assures for him
an eminent place, not in Roman literature alone, but in the literature
of the world.

Petronius are the originals from whom directly, or indirectly, later
authors drew that inspiration which resulted in the great mass of
picaresque fiction; but, great as this is, it is not to this that the
Satyricon owes its powerful influence upon the literature of the world.
It is to the author’s recognition of the importance of environment,
of the vital role of inanimate surroundings as a means for bringing out
character and imbuing his episodes and the actions of his characters with
an air of reality and with those impulses and actions which are common to
human experience, that his influence is due.  By this, the Roman created
a new style of writing and inaugurated a class of literature which was
without parallel until the time of Apuleius and, in a lesser degree, of
Lucian.  This class of literature, though modified essentially from age
to age, in keeping with the dictates of moral purity or bigotry, innocent
or otherwise, has come to be the very stuff of which literary success in
fiction is made.  One may write a successful book without a thread of
romance; one cannot write a successful romance without some knowledge of
realism; the more intimate the knowledge the better the book, and it is
frequently to this that the failure of a novel is due, although the
critic might be at a loss to explain it.  Petronius lies behind Tristram
Shandy, his influence can be detected in Smollett, and even Fielding paid
tribute to him.



From the very nature of the writings of such an author as Petronius, it
is evident that the gaps in the text would have a marked tendency to
stimulate the curiosity of literary forgers and to tempt their sagacity,
literary or otherwise.  The recovery of the Trimalchionian episode, and
the subsequent pamphleteering would by no means eradicate this “cacoethes

When, circa 1650, the library of the unfortunate Nicolas Cippico yielded
up the Trau fragment, the news of this discovery spread far and wide and
about twelve years later, Statileo, in response to the repeated requests
of the Venetian ambassador, Pietro Basadonna, made with his own hand a
copy of the MS., which he sent to Basadonna.  The ambassador, in turn,
permitted this MS. to be printed by one Frambotti, a printer endowed with
more industry than critical acumen, and the resultant textual conflation
had much to do with the pamphlet war which followed.  Had this Paduan
printer followed the explicit directions which he received, and printed
exactly what was given him much good paper might have been saved and a
very interesting chapter in the history of literary forgery would
probably never have been written.  The pamphlet war did not die out until
Bleau, in 1670-71, printed his exact reproduction of the Trau manuscript
and the corrections introduced by that licentiousness of emendation of
which we have spoken.

In October, 1690, Francois Nodot, a French soldier of fortune, a
commissary officer who combined belles lettres and philosophy with his
official duties, wrote to Charpentier, President of the Academy of
France, calling, his attention to a copy of a manuscript which he (Nodot)
possessed, and which came into his hands in the following manner: one
Du Pin, a French officer detailed to service with Austria, had been
present at the sack of Belgrade in 1688.  That this Du Pin had, while
there, made the acquaintance of a certain Greek renegade, having, as a
matter of fact, stayed in the house of this renegade.  The Greek’s
father, a man of some learning, had by some means come into possession of
the MS., and Du Pin, in going through some of the books in the house, had
come across it.  He had experienced the utmost difficulty in deciphering
the letters, and finally, driven by curiosity, had retained a copyist and
had it copied out.  That this Du Pin had this copy in his house at
Frankfort, and that he had given Nodot to understand that if he (Nodot)
came to Frankfort, he would be permitted to see this copy.  Owing to the
exigencies of military service, Nodot had been unable to go in person to
Frankfort, and that he had therefore availed himself of the friendly
interest and services of a certain merchant of Frankfort, who had
volunteered to find an amanuensis, have a copy made, and send it to
Nodot.  This was done, and Nodot concludes his letter to Charpentier by
requesting the latter to lay the result before the Academy and ask for
their blessing and approval.  These Nodotian Supplements were accepted as
authentic by the Academics of Arles and Nimes, as well as by Charpentier.
In a short time, however, the voices of scholarly skeptics began to be
heard in the land, and accurate and unbiased criticism laid bare the
fraud.  The Latinity was attacked and exception taken to Silver Age
prose in which was found a French police regulation which required newly
arrived travellers to register their names in the book of a police
officer of an Italian village of the first century.  Although they are
still retained in the text by some editors, this is done to give some
measure of continuity to an otherwise interrupted narrative, but they can
only serve to distort the author and obscure whatever view of him the
reader might otherwise have reached.  They are generally printed between
brackets or in different type.

In 1768 another and far abler forger saw the light of day.  Jose
Marchena, a Spaniard of Jewish extraction, was destined for an
ecclesiastical career.  He received an excellent education which served
to fortify a natural bent toward languages and historical criticism.  In
his early youth he showed a marked preference for uncanonical pursuits
and heretical doctrines and before he had reached his thirtieth year
prudence counseled him to prevent the consequences of his heresy and
avoid the too pressing Inquisition by a timely flight into France.
He arrived there in time to throw himself into the fight for liberty,
and in 1800 we find him at Basle attached to the staff of General Moreau.
While there he is said to have amused himself and some of his cronies by
writing notes on what Davenport would have called “Forbidden Subjects,”
 and, as a means of publishing his erotic lucubrations, he constructed
this fragment, which brings in those topics on which he had enlarged.
He translated the fragment into French, attached his notes, and issued
the book.  There is another story to the effect that he had been
reprimanded by Moreau for having written a loose song and that he
exculpated himself by assuring the general that it was but a new fragment
of Petronius which he had translated.  Two days later he had the fragment
ready to prove his contention.

This is the account given by his Spanish biographer.  In his preface,
dedicated to the Army of the Rhine, he states that he found the fragment
in a manuscript of the work of St. Gennadius on the Duties of Priests,
probably of the XI Century.  A close examination revealed the fact that
it was a palimpsest which, after treatment, permitted the restoration of
this fragment.  It is supposed to supply the gap in Chapter 26 after the
word “verberabant.”

Its obscenity outrivals that of the preceding text, and the grammar,
style, and curiosa felicitas Petroniana make it an almost perfect
imitation.  There is no internal evidence of forgery.  If the text is
closely scrutinized it will be seen that it is composed of words and
expressions taken from various parts of the Satyricon, “and that in every
line it has exactly the Petronian turn of phrase.”

“Not only is the original edition unprocurable,” to quote again from
Mr. Gaselee’s invaluable bibliography, “but the reprint at Soleure
(Brussels), 1865, consisted of only 120 copies, and is hard to find.
The most accessible place for English readers is in Bohn’s translation,
in which, however, only the Latin text is given; and the notes were a
most important part of the original work.”

These notes, humorously and perhaps sarcastically ascribed to Lallemand,
Sanctae Theologiae Doctor, “are six in number (all on various forms of
vice); and show great knowledge, classical and sociological, of unsavory
subjects.  Now that the book is too rare to do us any harm, we may admit
that the pastiche was not only highly amusing, but showed a perverse
cleverness amounting almost to genius.”

Marchena died at Madrid in great poverty in 1821.  A contemporary has
described him as being rather short and heavy set in figure, of great
frontal development, and vain beyond belief.  He considered himself
invincible where women were concerned.  He had a peculiar predilection
in the choice of animal pets and was an object of fear and curiosity
to the towns people.  His forgery might have been completely successful
had he not acknowledged it himself within two or three years after the
publication of his brochure.  The fragment will remain a permanent
tribute to the excellence of his scholarship, but it is his Ode to Christ
Crucified which has made him more generally known, and it is one of the
ironies of fate that caused this deformed giant of sarcasm to compose a
poem of such tender and touching piety.

Very little is known about Don Joe Antonio Gonzalez de Salas, whose
connecting passages, with the exception of one which is irrelevant, are
here included.

The learned editors of the Spanish encyclopedia naively preface their
brief sketch with the following assertion: “no tenemos noticias de su
vida.”  De Salas was born in 1588 and died in 1654.  His edition of
Petronius was first issued in 1629 and re-issued in 1643 with a copper
plate of the Editor.  The Paris edition, from which he says he supplied
certain deficiencies in the text, is unknown to bibliographers and is
supposed to be fictitious.

To distinguish the spurious passages, as a point of interest, in the
present edition, the forgeries of Nodot are printed within round
brackets, the forgery of Marchena within square brackets, and the
additions of De Salas in italics {In this PG etext in curly brackets}.

The work is also accompanied by a translation of the six notes, the
composition of which led Marchena to forge the fragment which first
appeared in the year 1800.  These have never before been translated.

Thanks are due Ralph Straus, Esq., and Professor Stephen Gaselee.

                           THE SATYRICON OF
                           PETRONIUS ARBITER

     (Forgeries of Nodot)
     [Forgeries of Marchena]
     {Additions of De Salas}



(It has been so long; since I promised you the story of my adventures,
that I have decided to make good my word today; and, seeing that we have
thus fortunately met, not to discuss scientific matters alone, but also
to enliven our jolly conversation with witty stories.  Fabricius Veiento
has already spoken very cleverly on the errors committed in the name of
religion, and shown how priests, animated by an hypocritical mania for
prophecy, boldly expound mysteries which are too often such to
themselves.  But) are our rhetoricians tormented by another species of
Furies when they cry, “I received these wounds while fighting for the
public liberty; I lost this eye in your defense: give me a guide who will
lead me to my children, my limbs are hamstrung and will not hold me up!”
 Even these heroics could be endured if they made easier the road to
eloquence; but as it is, their sole gain from this ferment of matter and
empty discord of words is, that when they step into the Forum, they think
they have been carried into another world.  And it is my conviction that
the schools are responsible for the gross foolishness of our young men,
because, in them, they see or hear nothing at all of the affairs of
every-day life, but only pirates standing in chains upon the shore,
tyrants scribbling edicts in which sons are ordered to behead their own
fathers; responses from oracles, delivered in time of pestilence,
ordering the immolation of three or more virgins; every word a honied
drop, every period sprinkled with poppy-seed and sesame.


Those who are brought up on such a diet can no more attain to wisdom than
a kitchen scullion can attain to a keen sense of smell or avoid stinking
of the grease.  With your indulgence, I will speak out: you--teachers
--are chiefly responsible for the decay of oratory.  With your well
modulated and empty tones you have so labored for rhetorical effect that
the body of your speech has lost its vigor and died.  Young men did not
learn set speeches in the days when Sophocles and Euripides were
searching for words in which to express themselves.  In the days when
Pindar and the nine lyric poets feared to attempt Homeric verse there was
no private tutor to stifle budding genius.  I need not cite the poets for
evidence, for I do not find that either Plato or Demosthenes was given
to this kind of exercise.  A dignified and, if I may say it, a chaste,
style, is neither elaborate nor loaded with ornament; it rises supreme by
its own natural purity.  This windy and high-sounding bombast, a recent
immigrant to Athens, from Asia, touched with its breath the aspiring
minds of youth, with the effect of some pestilential planet, and as soon
as the tradition of the past was broken, eloquence halted and was
stricken dumb.  Since that, who has attained to the sublimity of
Thucydides, who rivalled the fame of Hyperides?  Not a single poem
has glowed with a healthy color, but all of them, as though nourished
on the same diet, lacked the strength to live to old age.  Painting
also suffered the same fate when the presumption of the Egyptians
“commercialized” that incomparable art.  (I was holding forth along these
lines one day, when Agamemnon came up to us and scanned with a curious
eye a person to whom the audience was listening so closely.)


He would not permit me to declaim longer in the portico than he himself
had sweat in the school, but exclaimed, “Your sentiments do not reflect
the public taste, young man, and you are a lover of common sense, which
is still more unusual.  For that reason, I will not deceive you as to the
secrets of my profession.  The teachers, who must gibber with lunatics,
are by no means to blame for these exercises.  Unless they spoke in
accordance with the dictates of their young pupils, they would, as Cicero
remarks, be left alone in the schools!  And, as designing parasites, when
they seek invitations to the tables of the rich, have in mind nothing
except what will, in their opinion, be most acceptable to their audience
--for in no other way can they secure their ends, save by setting snares
for the ears--so it is with the teachers of rhetoric, they might be
compared with the fisherman, who, unless he baits his hook with what he
knows is most appetizing to the little fish, may wait all day upon some
rock, without the hope of a catch.”


What, then, is there to do?  The parents who are unwilling to permit
their children to undergo a course of training under strict discipline,
are the ones who deserve the reproof.  In the first place, everything
they possess, including the children, is devoted to ambition.  Then, that
their wishes may the more quickly be realized, they drive these unripe
scholars into the forum, and the profession of eloquence, than which none
is considered nobler, devolves upon boys who are still in the act of
being born!  If, however, they would permit a graded course of study to
be prescribed, in order that studious boys might ripen their minds by
diligent reading; balance their judgment by precepts of wisdom, correct
their compositions with an unsparing pen, hear at length what they ought
to imitate, and be convinced that nothing can be sublime when it is
designed to catch the fancy of boys, then the grand style of oratory
would immediately recover the weight and splendor of its majesty.  Now
the boys play in the schools, the young men are laughed at in the forum,
and, a worse symptom than either, no one, in his old age, will confess
the errors he was taught in his school days.  But that you may not
imagine that I disapprove of a jingle in the Lucilian manner, I will
deliver my opinions in verse,--


    “The man who emerges with fame, from the school of stern art,

     Whose mind gropes for lofty ideals, to bring them to light,

     Must first, under rigid frugality, study his part;

     Nor yearn for the courts of proud princes who frown in their might:

     Nor scheme with the riff-raf, a client in order to dine,

     Nor can he with evil companions his wit drown in wine

     Nor sit, as a hireling, applauding an actor’s grimace.

     But, whether the fortress of arms-bearing Tritonis smile

     Upon him, or land which the Spartan colonials grace,

     Or home of the sirens, with poetry let him beguile

     The years of young manhood, and at the Maeonian spring

     His fortunate soul drink its fill: Then, when later, the lore

     Of Socrates’ school he has mastered, the reins let him fling,

     And brandish the weapons that mighty Demosthenes bore.

     Then, steeped in the culture and music of Greece, let his taste

     Be ripened and mellowed by all the great writers of Rome.

     At first, let him haunt not the courts; let his pages be graced

     By ringing and rhythmic effusions composed in his home

     Next, banquets and wars be his theme, sung in soul-stirring chant,

     In eloquent words such as undaunted Cicero chose.

     Come!  Gird up thy soul!  Inspiration will then force a vent

     And rush in a flood from a heart that is loved by the muse!”


I was listening so attentively to this speech that I did not notice the
flight of Ascyltos, and while I was pacing the gardens, engulfed in this
flood-tide of rhetoric, a large crowd of students came out upon the
portico, having, it would seem, just listened to an extemporaneous
declamation, of I know not whom, the speaker of which had taken
exceptions to the speech of Agamemnon.  While, therefore, the young men
were making fun of the sentiments of this last speaker, and criticizing
the arrangement of the whole speech, I seized the opportunity and went
after Ascyltos, on the run; but, as I neither held strictly to the road,
nor knew where the inn was located, wherever I went, I kept coming back
to the same place, until, worn out with running, and long since dripping
with sweat, I approached a certain little old woman who sold country


“Please, mother,” I wheedled, “you don’t know where I lodge, do you?”
 Delighted with such humorous affability, “What’s the reason I don’t” she
replied, and getting upon her feet, she commenced to walk ahead of me.  I
took her for a prophetess until, when presently we came to a more obscure
quarter, the affable old lady pushed aside a crazy-quilt and remarked,
“Here’s where you ought to live,” and when I denied that I recognized the
house, I saw some men prowling stealthily between the rows of name-boards
and naked prostitutes.  Too late I realized that I had been led into a
brothel.  After cursing the wiles of the little old hag, I covered my
head and commenced to run through the middle of the night-house to the
exit opposite, when, lo and behold! whom should I meet on the very
threshold but Ascyltos himself, as tired as I was, and almost dead; you
would have thought that he had been brought by the self-same little old
hag!  I smiled at that, greeted him cordially, and asked him what he was
doing in such a scandalous place.


Wiping away the sweat with his hands, he replied, “If you only knew what
I have gone through!”  “What was it?”  I demanded.  “A most respectable
looking person came up to me,” he made reply, “while I was wandering all
over the town and could not find where I had left my inn, and very
graciously offered to guide me.  He led me through some very dark and
crooked alleys, to this place, pulled out his tool, and commenced to beg
me to comply with his appetite.  A whore had already vacated her cell for
an as, and he had laid hands upon me, and, but for the fact that I was
the stronger, I would have been compelled to take my medicine.”  (While
Ascyltos was telling me of his bad luck, who should come up again but
this same very respectable looking person, in company with a woman not at
all bad looking, and, looking at Ascyltos, he requested him to enter the
house, assuring him that there was nothing to fear, and, since he was
unwilling to take the passive part, he should have the active.  The
woman, on her part, urged me very persistently to accompany her, so we
followed the couple, at last, and were conducted between the rows of
name-boards, where we saw, in cells, many persons of each sex amusing
themselves in such a manner) that it seemed to me that every one of them
must have been drinking satyrion.  (On catching sight of us, they
attempted to seduce us with paederastic wantonness, and one wretch, with
his clothes girded up, assaulted Ascyltos, and, having thrown him down
upon a couch, attempted to gore him from above.  I succored the sufferer
immediately, however,) and having joined forces, we defied the
troublesome wretch.  (Ascyltos ran out of the house and took to his
heels, leaving me as the object of their lewd attacks, but the crowd,
finding me the stronger in body and purpose, let me go unharmed.)


(After having tramped nearly all over the city,) I caught sight of Giton,
as though through a fog, standing at the end of the street, (on the very
threshold of the inn,) and I hastened to the same place.  When I inquired
whether my “brother” had prepared anything for breakfast, the boy sat
down upon the bed and wiped away the trickling tears with his thumb.
I was greatly disturbed by such conduct on the part of my “brother,” and
demanded to be told what had happened.  After I had mingled threats with
entreaties, he answered slowly and against his will, “That brother or
comrade of yours rushed into the room a little while ago and commenced to
attempt my virtue by force.  When I screamed, he pulled out his tool and
gritted out--If you’re a Lucretia, you’ve found your Tarquin!”  When I
heard this, I shook my fists in Ascyltos’ face, “What have you to say for
yourself,” I snarled, “you rutting pathic harlot, whose very breath is
infected?”  Ascyltos pretended to bristle up and, shaking his fists more
boldly still, he roared: “Won’t you keep quiet, you filthy gladiator, you
who escaped from the criminal’s cage in the amphitheatre to which you
were condemned (for the murder of your host?)  Won’t you hold your
tongue, you nocturnal assassin, who, even when you swived it bravely,
never entered the lists with a decent woman in your life?  Was I not a
‘brother’ to you in the pleasure-garden, in the same sense as that in
which this boy now is in this lodging-house?”  “You sneaked away from the
master’s lecture,” I objected.

CHAPTER THE TENTH.  “What should I have done, you triple fool, when I was
dying of hunger?  I suppose I should have listened to opinions as much to
the purpose as the tinkle of broken glass or the interpretation of
dreams.  By Hercules, you are much more deserving of censure than I, you
who will flatter a poet so as to get an invitation to dinner!”  Then we
laughed ourselves out of a most disgraceful quarrel, and approached more
peaceably whatever remained to be done.  But the remembrance of that
injury recurred to my mind and, “Ascyltos,” I said, “I know we shall not
be able to agree, so let us divide our little packs of common stock and
try to defeat our poverty by our individual efforts.  Both you and I know
letters, but that I may not stand in the way of any undertaking of yours,
I will take up some other profession.  Otherwise, a thousand trifles will
bring us into daily collision and furnish cause for gossip through the
whole town.”  Ascyltos made no objection to this, but merely remarked,
“As we, in our capacity of scholars, have accepted an invitation to
dinner, for this date, let us not lose our night.  Since it seems to be
the graceful thing to do, I will look out for another lodging and another
‘brother,’ tomorrow.”  “Deferred pleasures are a long time coming,”
 I sighed.  It was lust that made this separation so hasty, for I had, for
a long time, wished to be rid of a troublesome chaperon, so that I could
resume my old relations with my Giton.  (Bearing this affront with
difficulty, Ascyltos rushed from the room, without uttering a word.
Such a headlong outburst augured badly, for I well knew his ungovernable
temper and his unbridled passion.  On this account, I followed him out,
desirous of fathoming his designs and of preventing their consequences,
but he hid himself skillfully from my eyes, and all in vain, I searched
for him for a long time.)


After having had the whole town under my eyes, I returned to the little
room and, having claimed the kisses which were mine in good faith, I
encircled the boy in the closest of embraces and enjoyed the effect of
our happy vows to a point that might be envied.  Nor had all the
ceremonies been completed, when Ascyltos stole stealthily up to the
outside of the door and, violently wrenching off the bars, burst in upon
me, toying with my “brother.”  He filled the little room with his
laughter and hand-clapping, pulled away the cloak which covered us, “What
are you up to now, most sanctimonious ‘brother’?”  he jeered.  “What’s
going on here, a blanket-wedding?”  Nor did he confine himself to words,
but, pulling the strap off his bag, he began to lash me very thoroughly,
interjecting sarcasms the while, “This is the way you would share with
your comrade, is it!”  (The unexpectedness of the thing compelled me to
endure the blows in silence and to put up with the abuse, so I smiled at
my calamity, and very prudently, too, as otherwise I should have been put
to the necessity of fighting with a rival.  My pretended good humor
soothed his anger, and at last, Ascyltos smiled as well.  “See here,
Encolpius,” he said, “are you so engrossed with your debaucheries that
you do not realize that our money is gone, and that what we have left is
of no value?  In the summer, times are bad in the city.  The country is
luckier, let’s go and visit our friends.”  Necessity compelled the
approval of this plan, and the repression of any sense of injury as well,
so, loading Giton with our packs, we left the city and hastened to the
country-seat of Lycurgus, a Roman knight.  Inasmuch as Ascyltos has
formerly served him in the capacity of “brother,” he received us royally,
and the company there assembled, rendered our stay still more delightful.
In the first place, there was Tryphaena, a most beautiful woman, who had
come in company with Lycas, the master of a vessel and owner of estates
near the seashore.  Although Lycurgus kept a frugal table, the pleasures
we enjoyed in this most enchanting spot cannot be described in words.
Of course you know that Venus joined us all up, as quickly as possible.
The lovely Tryphaena pleased my taste, and listened willingly to my vows,
but hardly had I had time to enjoy her favors when Lycas, in a towering
rage because his preserves had been secretly invaded, demanded that I
indemnify him in her stead.  She was an old flame of his, so he broached
the subject of a mutual exchange of favors.  Burning with lust, he
pressed his suit, but Tryphaena possessed my heart, and I said Lycas nay.
By refusal, however, he was only made more ardent, followed me
everywhere, entered my room at night, and, after his entreaties had met
with contempt, he had recourse to violence against me, at which I yelled
so lustily that I aroused the entire household, and, by the help of
Lycurgus, I was delivered from the troublesome assault and escaped.  At
last, perceiving that the house of Lycurgus was not suitable to the
prosecution of his design, he attempted to persuade me to seek his
hospitality, and when his suggestion was refused, he made use of
Tryphaena’s influence over me.  She besought me to comply with Lycas’
desires, and she did this all the more readily as by that she hoped to
gain more liberty of action.  With affairs in this posture, I follow my
love, but Lycurgus, who had renewed his old relations with Ascyltos,
would not permit him to leave, so it was decided that he should remain
with Lycurgus, but that we would accompany Lycas.  Nevertheless, we had
it understood among ourselves that whenever the opportunity presented
itself, we would each pilfer whatever we could lay hands upon, for the
betterment of the common stock.  Lycas was highly delighted with my
acceptance of his invitation and hastened our departure, so, bidding our
friends good-bye, we arrived at his place on the very same day.  Lycas
had so arranged matters that, on the journey, he sat beside me, while
Tryphaena was next to Giton, the reason for this being his knowledge
of the woman’s notorious inconstancy; nor was he deceived, for she
immediately fell in love with the boy, and I easily perceived it.
In addition, Lycas took the trouble of calling my attention to the
situation, and laid stress upon the truth of what we saw.  On this
account, I received his advances more graciously, at which he was
overjoyed.  He was certain that contempt would be engendered from the
inconstancy of my “sister,” with the result that, being piqued at
Tryphaena, I would all the more freely receive his advances.  Now this
was the state of affairs at the house of Lycas, Tryphaena was desperately
in love with Giton, Giton’s whole soul was aflame for her, neither of
them was a pleasing sight to my eyes, and Lycas, studying to please me,
arranged novel entertainments each day, which Doris, his lovely wife,
seconded to the best of her ability, and so gracefully that she soon
expelled Tryphaena from my heart.  A wink of the eye acquainted Doris of
my passion, a coquettish glance informed me of the state of her heart,
and this silent language, anticipating the office of the tongue, secretly
expressed that longing of our souls which we had both experienced at the
same instant.  The jealousy of Lycas, already well known to me, was the
cause of my silence, but love itself revealed to the wife the designs
which Lycas had upon me.  At our first opportunity of exchanging
confidences, she revealed to me what she had discovered and I candidly
confessed, telling her of the coldness with which I had always met his
advances.  The far-sighted woman remarked that it would be necessary for
us to use our wits.  It turned out that her advice was sound, for I soon
found out that complacency to the one meant possession of the other.
Giton, in the meantime, was recruiting his exhausted strength, and
Tryphaena turned her attention to me, but, meeting with a repulse, she
flounced out in a rage.  The next thing this burning harlot did was to
discover my commerce with both husband and wife.  As for his wantonness
with me, she flung that aside, as by it she lost nothing, but she fell
upon the secret gratifications of Doris and made them known to Lycas,
who, his jealousy proving stronger than his lust, took steps to get
revenge.  Doris, however, forewarned by Tryphaena’s maid, looked out
for squalls and held aloof from any secret assignations.  When I became
aware of all this, I heartily cursed the perfidy of Tryphaena and the
ungrateful soul of Lycas, and made up my mind to be gone.  Fortune
favored me, as it turned out, for a vessel sacred to Isis and laden with
prize-money had, only the day before, run upon the rocks in the vicinity.
After holding a consultation with Giton, at which he gladly gave consent
to my plan, as Tryphaena visibly neglected him after having sapped his
virility, we hastened to the sea-shore early on the following morning,
and boarded the wreck, a thing easy of accomplishment as the watchmen,
who were in the pay of Lycas, knew us well.  But they were so attentive
to us that there was no opportunity of stealing a thing until, having
left Giton with them, I craftily slipped out of sight and sneaked aft
where the statue of Isis stood, and despoiled it of a valuable mantle and
a silver sistrum.  From the master’s cabin, I also pilfered other
valuable trifles and, stealthily sliding down a rope, went ashore.  Giton
was the only one who saw me and he evaded the watchmen and slipped away
after me.  I showed him the plunder, when he joined me, and we decided
to post with all speed to Ascyltos, but we did not arrive at the home of
Lycurgus until the following day.  In a few words I told Ascyltos of the
robbery, when he joined us, and of our unfortunate love-affairs as well.
He was for prepossessing the mind of Lycurgus in our favor, naming the
increasing wantonness of Lycas as the cause of our secret and sudden
change of habitation.  When Lycurgus had heard everything, he swore
that he would always be a tower of strength between us and our enemies.
Until Tryphaena and Doris were awake and out of bed, our flight remained
undiscovered, for we paid them the homage of a daily attendance at the
morning toilette.  When our unwonted absence was noted, Lycas sent out
runners to comb the sea-shore, for he suspected that we had been to the
wreck, but he was still unaware of the robbery, which was yet unknown
because the stern of the wreck was lying away from the beach, and the
master had not, as yet, gone back aboard.  Lycas flew into a towering
rage when our flight was established for certain, and railed bitterly at
Doris, whom he considered as the moving factor in it.  Of the hard words
and the beating he gave her I will say nothing, for the particulars are
not known to me, but I will affirm that Tryphaena, who was the sole cause
of the unpleasantness, persuaded Lycas to hunt for his fugitives in the
house of Lycurgus, which was our most probable sanctuary.  She
volunteered to accompany him in person, so that she could load us with
the abuse which we deserved at her hands.  They set out on the following
day and arrived at the estate of Lycurgus, but we were not there, for he
had taken us to a neighboring town to attend the feast of Hercules, which
was there being celebrated.  As soon as they found out about this, they
hastened to take to the road and ran right into us in the portico of the
temple.  At sight of them, we were greatly put out, and Lycas held forth
violently to Lycurgus, upon the subject of our flight, but he was met
with raised eyebrows and such a scowling forehead that I plucked up
courage and, in a loud voice, passed judgment upon his lewd and base
attempts and assaults upon me, not in the house of Lycurgus alone, but
even under his own roof: and as for the meddling Tryphaena, she received
her just deserts, for, at great length, I described her moral turpitude
to the crowd, our altercation had caused a mob to collect, and, to give
weight to my argument, I pointed to limber-hamed Giton, drained dry, as
it were, and to myself, reduced almost to skin and bones by the raging
lust of that nymphomaniac harlot.  So humiliated were our enemies by the
guffaws of the mob, that in gloomy ill-humor they beat a retreat to plot
revenge.  As they perceived that we had prepossessed the mind of Lycurgus
in our favor, they decided to await his return, at his estate, in order
that they might wean him away from his misapprehension.  As the
solemnities did not draw to a close until late at night, we could not
reach Lycurgus’ country place, so he conducted us to a villa of his,
situated near the halfway point of the journey, and, leaving us to sleep
there until the next day, he set off for his estate for the purpose of
transacting some business.  Upon his arrival, he found Lycas and
Tryphaena awaiting him, and they stated their case so diplomatically that
they prevailed upon him to deliver us into their hands.  Lycurgus, cruel
by nature and incapable of keeping his word, was by this time striving to
hit upon the best method of betraying us, and to that end, he persuaded
Lycas to go for help, while he himself returned to the villa and had us
put under guard.  To the villa he came, and greeted us with a scowl as
black as any Lycas himself had ever achieved, clenching his fists again
and again, he charged us with having lied about Lycas, and, turning
Ascyltos out, he gave orders that we were to be kept confined to the room
in which we had retired to rest.  Nor would he hear a word in our
defense, from Ascyltos, but, taking the latter with him, he returned to
his estate, reiterating his orders relative to our confinement, which was
to last until his return.  On the way back, Ascyltos vainly essayed to
break down Lycurgus’ determination, but neither prayers nor caresses, nor
even tears could move him.  Thereupon my “brother” conceived the design
of freeing us from our chains, and, antagonized by the stubbornness of
Lycurgus, he positively refused to sleep with him, and through this he
was in a better position to carry out the plan which he had thought out.
When the entire household was buried in its first sleep, Ascyltos loaded
our little packs upon his back and slipped out through a breach in the
wall, which he had previously noted, arriving at the villa with the dawn.
He gained entrance without opposition and found his way to our room,
which the guards had taken the precaution to bar.  It was easy to force
an entrance, as the fastening was made of wood, which same he pried off
with a piece of iron.  The fall of the lock roused us, for we were
snoring away, in spite of our unfortunate situation.  On account of the
long vigil, the guard was in such a deep sleep that we alone were wakened
by the crashing fall of the lock, and Ascyltos, coming in, told us in a
few words what he had done for us; but as far as that goes, not many were
necessary.  We were hurriedly dressing, when I was seized with the notion
of killing the guard and stripping the place.  This plan I confided to
Ascyltos, who approved of the looting, but pointed out a more desirable
solution without bloodshed: knowing all the crooks and turns, as he did,
he led us to a store-room which he opened.  We gathered up all that was
of value and sallied forth while it was yet early in the morning.
Shunning the public roads; we could not rest until we believed ourselves
safe from pursuit.  Ascyltos, when he had caught his breath, gloatingly
exulted of the pleasure which the looting of a villa belonging to
Lycurgus, a superlatively avaricious man, afforded him: he complained,
with justice of his parsimony, affirming that he himself had received no
reward for his k-nightly services, that he had been kept at a dry table
and on a skimpy ration of food.  This Lycurgus was so stingy that he
denied himself even the necessities of life, his immense wealth to the
contrary notwithstanding.)

     The tortured Tantalus still stands, to parch in his shifting pool,

     And starve, when fruit sways just beyond his grasp:

     The image of the miser rich, when his avaricious soul

     Robs him of food and drink, in Plenty’s clasp.

(Ascyltos was for going to Naples that same day, but I protested the
imprudence of going to any place where they would be on the lookout for
us.  “Let’s absent ourselves, for a while, and travel in the country.  We
are well supplied with means.”  This advice took his fancy and we set out
for a part of the country noted for the beauty of its estates, and where
not a few of our acquaintances were enjoying the sports of the season.
Scarcely had we covered half the distance, however, before it began to
pour down rain by the bucketful, compelling us to run for the nearest
village.  Upon entering the inn, we noticed many other wayfarers, who had
put up there to escape the storm.  The jam prevented our being watched,
and at the same time made it easier for us to pry about with curious
eyes, on the alert for something to appropriate.  Ascyltos, unseen by
anyone, picked up off the ground a little pouch in which he found some
gold pieces.  We were overjoyed with this auspicious beginning, but,
fearing that some one would miss the gold, we stealthily slipped out by
the back door.  A slave, who was saddling a horse in the courtyard,
suddenly left his work and went into the house, as if he had forgotten
something, and while he was gone I appropriated a superb mantle which was
tied fast to the saddle, by untying the thongs, then, utilizing a row of
outbuildings for cover, we made off into the nearest wood.  When we had
reached the depths of the grove, where we were in safety, we thoroughly
discussed the surest method of secreting our gold, so that we would
neither be accused of robbery nor robbed ourselves, and we finally
decided to sew it into the hem of a ragged tunic, which I threw over my
shoulders, after having turned the mantle over to Ascyltos for
safekeeping; we then made ready to start for the city via the
unfrequented roads.  We were just about to emerge from the shelter of
the wood when we heard, from somewhere on our left, “They can’t get away,
they came into this wood; let’s spread out and beat, and they will easily
be caught!”  On hearing this, we were thrown into such a terrible fright
that Ascyltos and Giton dashed away city-ward, through the underbrush,
and I retreated in such a hurry that the precious tunic slipped off my
shoulders without my knowing it.  At last, completely fagged out, and
unable to take another step, I lay down under a tree, and there I first
became aware of the loss of the tunic.  Chagrin restored my strength and
I leaped to my feet to look for the treasure, and for a long time I beat
around in vain.  Worn out with work and vexation, I forced my way into
the thickest part of the grove and remained there for four mortal hours,
but at last, bored to extinction by the horrible solitude, I sought a way
out.  As I went ahead, I caught sight of a peasant; then I had need of
all my nerve, and it did not fail me.  Marching boldly up to him, I asked
my way to the city, complaining that I had been lost in the wood for
several hours.  Seeing my condition, he took pity upon me, for I was
covered with mud and paler than death, and asked me whether I had seen
anyone in the place.  “Not a soul,” I replied, whereupon he kindly
conducted me to the high road, where he met two of his companions, who
informed him that they had beaten along every path in the forest without
having found anything except a tunic, which they showed him.  As may be
readily supposed, I did not have the audacity to claim it, though well
aware of its value, and my chagrin became almost insupportable as I
vented many a groaning curse over my lost treasure.  The peasants paid
no attention to me, and I was gradually left behind, as my weakness
increased my pace decreased.  For this reason, it was late when I reached
the city, and, entering the inn, beheld Ascyltos, stretched out, half
dead, upon a cot.  Too far gone to utter a single syllable, I threw
myself upon another.  Ascyltos became greatly excited at not seeing the
tunic which he had entrusted to me, demanding it insistently, but I was
so weak that my voice refused its office and I permitted the apathy of my
eyes to answer his demand, then, by and by, regaining my strength little
by little, I related the whole affair to Ascyltos, in every detail.  He
thought that I was joking, and although my testimony was fortified by a
copious flood of tears, it could easily be seen that he remained
unconvinced, believing that I wanted to cheat him out of the gold.
Giton, who was standing by during all this, was as downcast as myself,
and the suffering of the lad only served to increase my own vexation, but
the thing which bothered me most of all, was the painstaking search which
was being made for us; I told Ascyltos of this, but he only laughed it
off, as he had so happily extricated himself from the scrape.  He was
convinced that, as we were unknown and as no one had seen us, we were
perfectly safe.  We decided, nevertheless, to feign sickness, and to keep
to our room as long as possible; but, before we knew it, our money ran
out, and spurred by necessity we were forced to go abroad and sell some
of our plunder.)


Twilight was falling, as we entered the market-place, in which we noticed
a quantity of things for sale, not any of much value, it is true, but
such as could be disposed of to the best advantage when the semi-darkness
would serve to hide their doubtful origin.  As we had brought our stolen
mantle, we proceeded to make use of so favorable an opportunity, and, in
a secluded spot, displayed a corner of it, hoping the splendid garment
would attract some purchaser.  Nor was it long before a certain peasant,
whose face was familiar to my eyes, came up, accompanied by a young
woman, and began to examine the garment very closely.  Ascyltos, in turn,
cast a glance at the shoulders of our rustic customer, and was instantly
struck dumb with astonishment.  Nor could I myself look upon this man
without some emotion, for he seemed to be the identical person who had
picked up the ragged tunic in the lonely wood, and, as a matter of fact,
he was!  Ascyltos, afraid to believe the evidence of his own eyes for
fear of doing something rash, approached the man, as a prospective buyer,
took the hem of the tunic from the rustic’s shoulders, and felt it


Oh wonderful stroke of Fortune!  The peasant had not yet laid his
meddling hands upon the seams, but was scornfully offering the thing for
sale, as though it had been the leavings of some beggar.  When Ascyltos
had assured himself that the hoard was intact, and had taken note of the
social status of the seller, he led me a little aside from the crowd and
said, “Do you know, ‘brother,’ that the treasure about which I was so
worked up has come back to us?  That is the little tunic, and it seems
that the gold pieces are still untouched.  What ought we to do, and how
shall we make good our claim?”  I was overjoyed, not so much at seeing
our booty, as I was for the reason that Fortune had released me from a
very ugly suspicion.  I was opposed to doing anything by devious methods,
thinking that should he prove unwilling to restore to the proper owner an
article not his own, it ought to come to a civil action and a judgment


Not so Ascyltos, who was afraid of the law, and demurred, “Who knows us
here?  Who will place any credence in anything we say?  It seems to me
that it would be better to buy, ours though it is, and we know it, and
recover the treasure at small cost, rather than to engage in a doubtful

          Of what avail are any laws, where money rules alone,

          Where Poverty can never win its cases?

          Detractors of the times, who bear the Cynic’s scrip, are known

          To often sell the truth, and keep their faces!

          So Justice is at public auction bought,

          The knight gives judgement as Gold says he ought.

But, with the exception of a two-as piece with which we had intended
purchasing peas and lupines, there was nothing to hand; so, for fear our
loot should escape us in the interim, we resolved to appraise the mantle
at less, and, through a small sacrifice, secure a greater profit.
Accordingly, we spread it out, and the young woman of the covered head,
who was standing by the peasant’s side, narrowly inspected the markings,
seized the hem with both hands, and screamed “Thieves!” at the top of her
voice.  We were greatly disconcerted at this and, for fear that
inactivity on our part should seem to lend color to her charges, we
laid hold of the dirty ragged tunic, in our turn, and shouted with equal
spite, that this was our property which they had in their possession; but
our cases were by no means on an equality, and the hucksters who had
crowded around us at the uproar, laughed at our spiteful claim, and very
naturally, too, since one side laid claim to a very valuable mantle,
while the other demanded a rag which was not worth a good patch.


Ascyltos, when he had secured silence, adroitly put a stop to their
laughter by exclaiming, “We can see that each puts the greater value upon
his own property.  Let them return our tunic to us, and take back their
mantle!”  This exchange was satisfactory enough to the peasant and the
young woman, but some night-prowling shyster lawyers, who wished to get
possession of the mantle for their own profit, demanded that both
articles be deposited with them, and the judge could look into the case
on the morrow, for it would appear that the ownership of the articles was
not so much to the point as was the suspicion of robbery that attached
to both sides.  The question of sequestration arose, and one of the
hucksters, I do not remember which, but he was bald, and his forehead was
covered with sebaceous wens, and he sometimes did odd jobs for the
lawyers, seized the mantle and vowed that HE would see to it that it was
produced at the proper time and place, but it was easily apparent that he
desired nothing but that the garment should be deposited with thieves,
and vanish; thinking that we would be afraid to appear as claimants for
fear of being charged with crime.  As far as we were concerned, we were
as willing as he, and Fortune aided the cause of each of us, for the
peasant, infuriated at our demand that his rags be shown in public, threw
the tunic in Ascyltos’ face, released us from responsibility, and
demanded that the mantle, which was the only object of litigation, be
sequestered.  As we thought we had recovered our treasure, we returned
hurriedly to the inn, and fastening the door, we had a good laugh at the
shrewdness of the hucksters, and not less so at that of our enemies, for
by it they had returned our money to us.  (While we were unstitching the
tunic to get at the gold pieces, we overheard some one quizzing the
innkeeper as to what kind of people those were, who had just entered his
house.  Alarmed at this inquiry, I went down, when the questioner had
gone, to find out what was the matter, and learned that the praetor’s
lictor, whose duty it was to see that the names of strangers were entered
in his rolls, had seen two people come into the inn, whose names were not
yet entered, and that was the reason he had made inquiry as to their
names and means of support.  Mine host furnished this information in such
an offhand manner that I became suspicious as to our entire safety in his
house; so, in order to avoid arrest, we decided to go out, and not to
return home until after dark, and we sallied forth, leaving the
management of dinner to Giton.  As it suited our purpose to avoid the
public streets, we strolled through the more unfrequented parts of the
city, and just at dusk we met two women in stolas, in a lonely spot, and
they were by no means homely.  Walking softly, we followed them to a
temple which they entered, and from which we could hear a curious
humming, which resembled the sound of voices issuing from the depths of a
cavern.  Curiosity impelled us also to enter the temple.  There we caught
sight of many women, who resembled Bacchantes, each of whom brandished in
her right hand an emblem of Priapus.  We were not permitted to see more,
for as their eyes fell upon us, they raised such a hubbub that the vault
of the temple trembled.  They attempted to lay hands upon us, but we ran
back to our inn as fast as we could go.)


We had just disposed of the supper prepared by Giton, when there came a
timid rapping at the door.  We turned pale.  “Who is there?”  we asked.
“Open and you will find out,” came the answer.  While we were speaking,
the bar fell down of its own accord, the doors flew open and admitted our
visitor.  She was the selfsame young lady of the covered head who had but
a little while before stood by the peasant’s side.  “So you thought,”
 said she, “that you could make a fool of me, did you?  I am Quartilla’s
handmaid: Quartilla, whose rites you interrupted in the shrine.  She has
come to the inn, in person, and begs permission to speak with you.  Don’t
be alarmed!  She neither blames your mistake nor does she demand
punishment; on the contrary, she wonders what god has brought such
well-bred young gentlemen into her neighborhood!”


We were still holding our tongues and refraining from any expression of
opinion, when the lady herself entered the room, attended by a little
girl.  Seating herself upon the bed, she wept for a long time.  Not even
then did we interject a single word, but waited, all attention, for what
was to follow these well ordered tears and this show of grief.  When the
diplomatic thunderstorm had passed over, she withdrew her haughty head
from her mantle and, ringing her hands until the joints cracked, “What is
the meaning of such audacity?” she demanded; “where did you learn such
tricks?  They are worthy of putting to shame the assurance of all the
robbers of the past!  I pity you, so help me the God of Truth, I do; for
no one can look with impunity upon that which it is unlawful for him to
see.  In our neighborhood, there are so many gods that it is easier to
meet one than it is to find a man!  But do not think that I was actuated
by any desire for revenge when I came here: I am more moved by your age
than I am by my own injury, for it is my belief that youthful imprudence
led you into committing a sacrilegious crime.  That very night, I tossed
so violently in the throes of a dangerous chill that I was afraid I had
contracted a tertian ague, and in my dreams I prayed for a medicine.  I
was ordered to seek you out, and to arrest the progress of the disease by
means of an expedient to be suggested by your wonderful penetration!  The
cure does not matter so much, however, for a deeper grief gnaws at my
vitals and drags me down, almost to the very doors of death itself.  I am
afraid that, with the careless impulsiveness of youth, you may divulge,
to the common herd, what you witnessed in the shrine of Priapus, and
reveal the rites of the gods to the rabble.  On this account, I stretch
out my suppliant hands to your knees, and beg and pray that you do not
make a mockery and a joke of our nocturnal rites, nor lay bare the
secrets of so many years, into which scarcely a thousand persons are


The tears poured forth again, after this appeal, and, shaken by deep
sobs, she buried her whole face and breast in my bed; and I, moved by
pity and by apprehension, begged her to be of good cheer and to make
herself perfectly easy as to both of those issues, for not only would we
not betray any secrets to the rabble, but we would also second divine
providence, at any peril to ourselves, if any god had indicated to her
any cure for her tertian ague.  The woman cheered up at this promise, and
smothered me with kisses; from tears she passed to laughter, and fell to
running her fingers through the long hair that hung down about my ears.
“I will declare a truce with you,” she said, “and withdraw my complaint.
But had you been unwilling to administer the medicine which I seek, I had
a troop in readiness for the morrow, which would have exacted
satisfaction for my injury and reparation for my dignity!

          To be flouted is disgraceful, but to dictate terms, sublime

          Pleased am I to choose what course I will,

          Even sages will retort an insult at the proper tune.

          Victor most is he who does not kill.”

Then she suddenly clapped her hands, and broke into such a peal of
laughter that we were alarmed.  The maid, who had been the first to
arrive, did likewise, on one side of us, as also did the little girl who
had entered with the madame herself.


The whole place was filled with mocking laughter, and we, who could see
no reason for such a change of front, stared blankly at each other and
then at the women.  (Then Quartilla spoke up, finally,) “I gave orders
that no mortal man should be admitted into this inn, this day, so that I
could receive the treatment for my ague without interruption!”  Ascyltos
was, for the moment, struck dumb by this admission of Quartilla’s, and I
turned colder than a Gallic winter, and could not utter a word; but the
personnel of the company relieved me from the fear that the worst might
be yet to come, for they were only three young women, too weak to attempt
any violence against us, who were of the male sex, at least, even if we
had nothing else of the man about us, and this was an asset.  Then, too,
we were girded higher, and I had so arranged matters that if it came to a
fight, I would engage Quartilla myself, Ascyltos the maid, and Giton the
girl.  (While I was turning over this plan in my mind, Quartilla came to
close quarters, to receive the treatment for her ague, but having her
hopes disappointed, she flounced out in a rage and, returning in a little
while, she had us overpowered by some unknown vagabonds, and gave orders
for us to be carried away to a splendid palace.)  Then our determination
gave place to astonishment, and death, sure and certain, began to obscure
the eyes of suffering.


“Pray; madame,” I groaned, “if you have anything worse in store, bring it
on quickly for we have not committed a crime so heinous as to merit death
by torture.”  The maid, whose name was Psyche, quickly spread a blanket
upon the floor (and) sought to secure an erection by fondling my member,
which was already a thousand times colder than death.  Ascyltos, well
aware by now of the danger of dipping into the secrets of others, covered
his head with his mantle.  (In the meantime,) the maid took two ribbons
from her bosom and bound our feet with one and our hands with the other.
(Finding myself trussed up in this fashion, I remarked, “You will not be
able to cure your mistress’ ague in this manner!”  “Granted,” the maid
replied, “but I have other and surer remedies at hand,” she brought me a
vessel full of satyrion, as she said this, and so cheerfully did she
gossip about its virtues that I drank down nearly all of the liquor, and
because Ascyltos had but a moment before rejected her advances, she
sprinkled the dregs upon his back, without his knowing it.)  When this
repartee had drawn to a close, Ascyltos exclaimed, “Don’t I deserve a
drink?”  Given away by my laughter, the maid clapped her hands and cried,
“I put one by you, young man; did you drink so much all by yourself?”
 “What’s that you say?”, Quartilla chimed in.  “Did Encolpius drink all
the satyrion there was in the house?”  And she laughed delightfully until
her sides shook.  Finally not even Giton himself could resist a smile,
especially when the little girl caught him around the neck and showered
innumerable kisses upon him, and he not at all averse to it.


We would have cried aloud in our misery but there was no one to give us
any help, and whenever I attempted to shout, “Help!  all honest
citizens,” Psyche would prick my cheeks with her hairpin, and the little
girl would intimidate Ascyltos with a brush dipped in satyrion.  Then a
catamite appeared, clad in a myrtle-colored frieze robe, and girded round
with a belt.  One minute he nearly gored us to death with his writhing
buttocks, and the next, he befouled us so with his stinking kisses that
Quartilla, with her robe tucked high, held up her whalebone wand and
ordered him to give the unhappy wretches quarter.  Both of us then took a
most solemn oath that so dread a secret should perish with us.  Several
wrestling instructors appeared and refreshed us, worn out as we were, by
a massage with pure oil, and when our fatigue had abated, we again donned
our dining clothes and were escorted to the next room, in which were
placed three couches, and where all the essentials necessary to a
splendid banquet were laid out in all their richness.  We took our
places, as requested, and began with a wonderful first course.  We were
all but submerged in Falernian wine.  When several other courses had
followed, and we were endeavoring to keep awake Quartilla exclaimed, “How
dare you think of going to sleep when you know that the vigil of Priapus
is to be kept?”


Worn out by all his troubles, Ascyltos commenced to nod, and the maid,
whom he had slighted, and of course insulted, smeared lampblack all over
his face, and painted his lips and shoulders with vermillion, while he
drowsed.  Completely exhausted by so many untoward adventures, I, too,
was enjoying the shortest of naps, the whole household, within and
without, was doing the same, some were lying here and there asleep at our
feet, others leaned against the walls, and some even slept head to head
upon the threshold itself; the lamps, failing because of a lack of oil,
shed a feeble and flickering light, when two Syrians, bent upon stealing
an amphora of wine, entered the dining-room.  While they were greedily
pawing among the silver, they pulled the amphora in two, upsetting the
table with all the silver plate, and a cup, which had flown pretty high,
cut the head of the maid, who was drowsing upon a couch.  She screamed at
that, thereby betraying the thieves and wakening some of the drunkards.
The Syrians, who had come for plunder, seeing that they were about to be
detected, were so quick to throw themselves down besides a couch and
commence to snore as if they had been asleep for a long time, that you
would have thought they belonged there.  The butler had gotten up and
poured oil in the flickering lamps by this time, and the boys, having
rubbed their eyes open, had returned to their duty, when in came a female
cymbal player and the crashing brass awoke everybody.


The banquet began all over again, and Quartilla challenged us to a
drinking-bout, the crash of the cymbals lending ardor to her revel.
A catamite appeared, the stalest of all mankind, well worthy of that
house.  Heaving a sigh, he wrung his hands until the joints cracked,
and spouted out the following verses,

    “Hither, hither quickly gather, pathic companions boon;
     Artfully stretch forth your limbs and on with the dance and play!
     Twinkling feet and supple thighs and agile buttocks in tune,
     Hands well skilled in raising passions, Delian eunuchs gay!”

When he had finished his poetry, he slobbered a most evil-smelling kiss
upon me, and then, climbing upon my couch, he proceeded with all his
might and main to pull all of my clothing off.  I resisted to the limit
of my strength.  He manipulated my member for a long time, but all in
vain.  Gummy streams poured down his sweating forehead, and there was so
much chalk in the wrinkles of his cheeks that you might have mistaken his
face for a roofless wall, from which the plaster was crumbling in a rain.


Driven to the last extremity, I could no longer keep back the tears.
“Madame,” I burst out, “is this the night-cap which you ordered served to
me?”  Clapping her hands softly she cried out, “Oh you witty rogue, you
are a fountain of repartee, but you never knew before that a catamite was
called a k-night-cap, now did you?” Then, fearing my companion would come
off better than I, “Madame,” I said, “I leave it to your sense of
fairness: is Ascyltos to be the only one in this dining-room who keeps
holiday?”  “Fair enough,” conceded Quartilla, “let Ascyltos have his
k-night-cap too!”  On hearing that, the catamite changed mounts, and,
having bestridden my comrade, nearly drove him to distraction with his
buttocks and his kisses.  Giton was standing between us and splitting his
sides with laughter when Quartilla noticed him, and actuated by the
liveliest curiosity, she asked whose boy he was, and upon my answering
that he was my “brother,”  “Why has he not kissed me then?”  she
demanded.  Calling him to her, she pressed a kiss upon his mouth, then
putting her hand beneath his robe, she took hold of his little member, as
yet so undeveloped.  “This,” she remarked, “shall serve me very well
tomorrow, as a whet to my appetite, but today I’ll take no common fare
after choice fish!”


She was still talking when Psyche, who was giggling, came to her side and
whispered something in her ear.  What it was, I did not catch.  “By all
means,” ejaculated Quartilla, “a brilliant idea!  Why shouldn’t our
pretty little Pannychis lose her maidenhead when the opportunity is so
favorable?”  A little girl, pretty enough, too, was led in at once; she
looked to be not over seven years of age, and she was the same one who
had before accompanied Quartilla to our room.  Amidst universal applause,
and in response to the demands of all, they made ready to perform the
nuptial rites.  I was completely out of countenance, and insisted that
such a modest boy as Giton was entirely unfitted for such a wanton part,
and moreover, that the child was not of an age at which she could receive
that which a woman must take.  “Is that so,” Quartilla scoffed, “is she
any younger than I was, when I submitted to my first man?  Juno, my
patroness, curse me if I can remember the time when I ever was a virgin,
for I diverted myself with others of my own age, as a child then as the
years passed, I played with bigger boys, until at last I reached my
present age.  I suppose that this explains the origin of the proverb,
‘Who carried the calf may carry the bull,’ as they say.”  As I feared
that Giton might run greater risk if I were absent, I got up to take
part in the ceremony.


Psyche had already enveloped the child’s head in the bridal-veil, the
catamite, holding a torch, led the long procession of drunken women which
followed; they were clapping their hands, having previously decked out
the bridal-bed with a suggestive drapery.  Quartilla, spurred on by the
wantonness of the others, seized hold of Giton and drew him into the
bridal-chamber.  There was no doubt of the boy’s perfect willingness to
go, nor was the girl at all alarmed at the name of marriage.  When they
were finally in bed, and the door shut, we seated ourselves outside the
door of the bridal-chamber, and Quartilla applied a curious eye to a
chink, purposely made, watching their childish dalliance with lascivious
attention.  She then drew me gently over to her side that I might share
the spectacle with her, and when we both attempted to peep our faces were
pressed against each other; whenever she was not engrossed in the
performance, she screwed up her lips to meet mine, and pecked at me
continually with furtive kisses.  [A thunderous hammering was heard at
the door, while all this was going on, and everyone wondered what this
unexpected interruption could mean, when we saw a soldier, one of the
night-watch, enter with a drawn sword in his hand, and surrounded by a
crowd of young rowdies.  He glared about him with savage eyes and
blustering mien, and, catching sight of Quartilla, presently, “What’s up
now, you shameless woman,” he bawled; “what do you mean by making game of
me with lying promises, and cheating me out of the night you promised me?
But you won’t get off unpunished! You and that lover of yours are going to
find out that I’m a man!”  At the soldier’s orders, his companion bound
Quartilla and myself together, mouth to mouth, breast to breast, and
thigh to thigh; and not without a great deal of laughter.  Then the
catamite, also at the soldier’s order, began to beslaver me all over with
the fetid kisses of his stinking mouth, a treatment I could neither fly
from, nor in any other way avoid.  Finally, he ravished me, and worked
his entire pleasure upon me.  In the meantime, the satyrion which I had
drunk only a little while before spurred every nerve to lust and I began
to gore Quartilla impetuously, and she, burning with the same passion,
reciprocated in the game.  The rowdies laughed themselves sick, so moved
were they by that ludicrous scene, for here was I, mounted by the stalest
of catamites, involuntarily and almost unconsciously responding with as
rapid a cadence to him as Quartilla did in her wriggling under me.  While
this was going on, Pannychis, unaccustomed at her tender years to the
pastime of Venus, raised an outcry and attracted the attention of the
soldier, by this unexpected howl of consternation, for this slip of a
girl was being ravished, and Giton the victor, had won a not bloodless
victory.  Aroused by what he saw, the soldier rushed upon them, seizing
Pannychis, then Giton, then both of them together, in a crushing embrace.
The virgin burst into tears and plead with him to remember her age, but
her prayers availed her nothing, the soldier only being fired the more by
her childish charms.  Pannychis covered her head at last, resolved to
endure whatever the Fates had in store for her.  At this instant, an old
woman, the very same who had tricked me on that day when I was hunting
for our lodging, came to the aid of Pannychis, as though she had dropped
from the clouds.  With loud cries, she rushed into the house, swearing
that a gang of footpads was prowling about the neighborhood and the
people invoked the help of “All honest men,” in vain, for the members of
the night-watch were either asleep or intent upon some carouse, as they
were nowhere to be found.  Greatly terrified at this, the soldier rushed
headlong from Quartilla’s house.  His companions followed after him,
freeing Pannychis from impending danger and relieving the rest of us from
our fear.]  (I was so weary of Quartilla’s lechery that I began to
meditate means of escape.  I made my intentions known to Ascyltos, who,
as he wished to rid himself of the importunities of Psyche, was
delighted; had not Giton been shut up in the bridal-chamber, the plan
would have presented no difficulties, but we wished to take him with us,
and out of the way of the viciousness of these prostitutes.  We were
anxiously engaged in debating this very point, when Pannychis fell out of
bed, and dragged Giton after her, by her own weight.  He was not hurt,
but the girl gave her head a slight bump, and raised such a clamor that
Quartilla, in a terrible fright, rushed headlong into the room, giving us
the opportunity of making off.  We did not tarry, but flew back to our
inn where,) throwing ourselves upon the bed, we passed the remainder of
the night without fear.  (Sallying forth next day, we came upon two of
our kidnappers, one of whom Ascyltos savagely attacked the moment he set
eyes upon him, and, after having thrashed and seriously wounded him,
he ran to my aid against the other.  He defended himself so stoutly,
however, that he wounded us both, slightly, and escaped unscathed.)  The
third day had now dawned, the date set for the free dinner (at
Trimalchio’s,) but battered as we were, flight seemed more to our taste
than quiet, so (we hastened to our inn and, as our wounds turned out to
be trifling, we dressed them with vinegar and oil, and went to bed.  The
ruffian whom we had done for, was still lying upon the ground and we
feared detection.)  Affairs were at this pass, and we were framing
melancholy excuses with which to evade the coming revel, when a slave of
Agamemnon’s burst in upon our trembling conclave and said, “Don’t you
know with whom your engagement is today?  The exquisite Trimalchio, who
keeps a clock and a liveried bugler in his dining-room, so that he can
tell, instantly, how much of his life has run out!”  Forgetting all our
troubles at that, we dressed hurriedly and ordered Giton, who had very
willingly performed his servile office, to follow us to the bath.


Boys play in the schools, the young men are laughed at
Deferred pleasures are a long time coming
Egyptians “commercialized” that incomparable art
Errors committed in the name of religion
Everything including the children, is devoted to ambition
Laughed ourselves out of a most disgraceful quarrel
No one will confess the errors he was taught in his school days
Priests, animated by an hypocritical mania for prophecy
See or hear nothing at all of the affairs of every-day life
The teachers, who must gibber with lunatics
They secure their ends, save by setting snares for the ears



Having put on our clothes, in the meantime, we commenced to stroll around
and soon, the better to amuse ourselves, approached the circle of
players; all of a sudden we caught sight of a bald-headed old fellow,
rigged out in a russet colored tunic, playing ball with some long haired
boys.  It was not so much the boys who attracted our attention, although
they might well have merited it, as it was the spectacle afforded by this
beslippered paterfamilias playing with a green ball.  If one but touched
the ground, he never stooped for it to put it back in play; for a slave
stood by with a bagful from which the players were supplied.  We noted
other innovations as well, for two eunuchs were stationed at opposite
sides of the ring, one of whom held a silver chamber-pot, the other
counted the balls; not those which bounced back and forth from hand to
hand, in play, but those which fell to the ground.  While we were
marveling at this display of refinement, Menelaus rushed up, “He is the
one with whom you will rest upon your elbow,” he panted, “what you see
now, is only a prelude to the dinner.”  Menelaus had scarcely ceased
speaking when Trimalchio snapped his fingers; the eunuch, hearing the
signal, held the chamber-pot for him while he still continued playing.
After relieving his bladder, he called for water to wash his hands,
barely moistened his fingers, and dried them upon a boy’s head.


To go into details would take too long.  We entered the bath, finally,
and after sweating for a minute or two in the warm room, we passed
through into the cold water.  But short as was the time, Trimalchio had
already been sprinkled with perfume and was being rubbed down, not with
linen towels, however, but with cloths made from the finest wool.
Meanwhile, three masseurs were guzzling Falernian under his eyes, and
when they spilled a great deal of it in their brawling, Trimalchio
declared they were pouring a libation to his Genius.  He was then wrapped
in a coarse scarlet wrap-rascal, and placed in a litter. Four runners,
whose liveries were decorated with metal plates, preceded him, as also
did a wheel-chair in which rode his favorite, a withered, blear eyed
slave, even more repulsive looking than his master.  A singing boy
approached the head of his litter, as he was being carried along, and
played upon small pipes the whole way, just as if he were communicating
some secret to his master’s ear.  Marveling greatly, we followed, and met
Agamemnon at the outer door, to the post of which was fastened a small
tablet bearing this inscription:

                    NO SLAVE TO LEAVE THE PREMISES
                      PENALTY ONE HUNDRED LASHES.

In the vestibule stood the porter, clad in green and girded with a
cherry-colored belt, shelling peas into a silver dish.  Above the
threshold was suspended a golden cage, from which a black and white
magpie greeted the visitors.


I almost fell backwards and broke my legs while staring at all this, for
to the left, as we entered, not far from the porter’s alcove, an enormous
dog upon a chain was painted upon the wall, and above him this
inscription, in capitals:

                             BEWARE THE DOG.

My companions laughed, but I plucked up my courage and did not hesitate,
but went on and examined the entire wall.  There was a scene in a slave
market, the tablets hanging from the slaves’ necks, and Trimalchio
himself, wearing his hair long, holding a caduceus in his hand, entering
Rome, led by the hand of Minerva.  Then again the painstaking artist had
depicted him casting up accounts, and still again, being appointed
steward; everything being explained by inscriptions.  Where the walls
gave way to the portico, Mercury was shown lifting him up by the chin,
to a tribunal placed on high.  Near by stood Fortune with her horn of
plenty, and the three Fates, spinning golden flax.  I also took note of a
group of runners, in the portico, taking their exercise under the eye of
an instructor, and in one corner was a large cabinet, in which was a very
small shrine containing silver Lares, a marble Venus, and a golden casket
by no means small, which held, so they told us, the first shavings of
Trimalchio’s beard.  I asked the hall-porter what pictures were in the
middle hall.  “The Iliad and the Odyssey,” he replied, “and the
gladiatorial games given under Laenas.”  There was no time in which to
examine them all.


We had now come to the dining-room, at the entrance to which sat a
factor, receiving accounts, and, what gave me cause for astonishment,
rods and axes were fixed to the door-posts, superimposed, as it were,
upon the bronze beak of a ship, whereon was inscribed:

                            AUGUSTAL, SEVIR
                           FROM CINNAMUS HIS

A double lamp, suspended from the ceiling, hung beneath the inscription,
and a tablet was fixed to each door-post; one, if my memory serves me,
was inscribed,

                       ON DECEMBER THIRTIETH AND
                             THIRTY FIRST
                            GAIUS DINES OUT

the other bore a painting of the moon in her phases, and the seven
planets, and the days which were lucky and those which were unlucky,
distinguished by distinctive studs.  We had had enough of these novelties
and started to enter the dining-room when a slave, detailed to this duty,
cried out, “Right foot first.”  Naturally, we were afraid that some of us
might break some rule of conduct and cross the threshold the wrong way;
nevertheless, we started out, stepping off together with the right foot,
when all of a sudden, a slave who had been stripped, threw himself at our
feet, and commenced begging us to save him from punishment, as it was no
serious offense for which he was in jeopardy; the steward’s clothing had
been stolen from him in the baths, and the whole value could scarcely
amount to ten sesterces.  So we drew back our right feet and intervened
with the steward, who was counting gold pieces in the hall, begging him
to remit the slave’s punishment.  Putting a haughty face on the matter,
“It’s not the loss I mind so much,” he said, “as it is the carelessness
of this worthless rascal.  He lost my dinner clothes, given me on my
birthday they were, by a certain client, Tyrian purple too, but it had
been washed once already.  But what does it amount to?  I make you a
present of the scoundrel!”


We felt deeply obligated by his great condescension, and the same
slave for whom we had interceded, rushed up to us as we entered the
dining-room, and to our astonishment, kissed us thick and fast, voicing
his thanks for our kindness.  “You’ll know in a minute whom you did a
favor for,” he confided, “the master’s wine is the thanks of a grateful
butler!”  At length we reclined, and slave boys from Alexandria poured
water cooled with snow upon our hands, while others following, attended
to our feet and removed the hangnails with wonderful dexterity, nor were
they silent even during this disagreeable operation, but they all kept
singing at their work.  I was desirous of finding out whether the whole
household could sing, so I ordered a drink; a boy near at hand instantly
repeated my order in a singsong voice fully as shrill, and whichever one
you accosted did the same.  You would not imagine that this was the
dining-room of a private gentleman, but rather that it was an exhibition
of pantomimes.  A very inviting relish was brought on, for by now all the
couches were occupied save only that of Trimalchio, for whom, after a new
custom, the chief place was reserved.

On the tray stood a donkey made of Corinthian bronze, bearing panniers
containing olives, white in one and black in the other.  Two platters
flanked the figure, on the margins of which were engraved Trimalchio’s
name and the weight of the silver in each.  Dormice sprinkled with
poppy-seed and honey were served on little bridges soldered fast to the
platter, and hot sausages on a silver gridiron, underneath which were
damson plums and pomegranate seeds.


We were in the midst of these delicacies when, to the sound of music,
Trimalchio himself was carried in and bolstered up in a nest of small
cushions, which forced a snicker from the less wary.  A shaven poll
protruded from a scarlet mantle, and around his neck, already muffled
with heavy clothing, he had tucked a napkin having a broad purple stripe
and a fringe that hung down all around.  On the little finger of his left
hand he wore a massive gilt ring, and on the first joint of the next
finger, a smaller one which seemed to me to be of pure gold, but as a
matter of fact it had iron stars soldered on all around it.  And then,
for fear all of his finery would not be displayed, he bared his right
arm, adorned with a golden arm-band and an ivory circlet clasped with a
plate of shining metal.


Picking his teeth with a silver quill, “Friends,” said he, “it was not
convenient for me to come into the dining-room just yet, but for fear my
absence should cause you any inconvenience, I gave over my own pleasure:
permit me, however, to finish my game.”  A slave followed with a
terebinth table and crystal dice, and I noted one piece of luxury that
was superlative; for instead of black and white pieces, he used gold and
silver coins.  He kept up a continual flow of various coarse expressions.
We were still dallying with the relishes when a tray was brought in, on
which was a basket containing a wooden hen with her wings rounded and
spread out as if she were brooding.  Two slaves instantly approached, and
to the accompaniment of music, commenced to feel around in the straw.
They pulled out some pea-hen’s eggs, which they distributed among the
diners.  Turning his head, Trimalchio saw what was going on.  “Friends,”
 he remarked.  “I ordered pea-hen’s eggs set under the hen, but I’m afraid
they’re addled, by Hercules I am let’s try them anyhow, and see if
they’re still fit to suck.”  We picked up our spoons, each of which
weighed not less than half a pound, and punctured the shells, which were
made of flour and dough, and as a matter of fact, I very nearly threw
mine away for it seemed to me that a chick had formed already, but upon
hearing an old experienced guest vow, “There must be something good
here,” I broke open the shell with my hand and discovered a fine fat
fig-pecker, imbedded in a yolk seasoned with pepper.


Having finished his game, Trimalchio was served with a helping of
everything and was announcing in a loud voice his willingness to join
anyone in a second cup of honied wine, when, to a flourish of music, the
relishes were suddenly whisked away by a singing chorus, but a small dish
happened to fall to the floor, in the scurry, and a slave picked it up.
Seeing this, Trimalchio ordered that the boy be punished by a box on the
ear, and made him throw it down again; a janitor followed with his broom
and swept the silver dish away among the litter.  Next followed two
long-haired Ethiopians, carrying small leather bottles, such as are
commonly seen in the hands of those who sprinkle sand in the arena, and
poured wine upon our hands, for no one offered us water.  When
complimented upon these elegant extras, the host cried out, “Mars loves
a fair fight: and so I ordered each one a separate table: that way these
stinking slaves won’t make us so hot with their crowding.”  Some glass
bottles carefully sealed with gypsum were brought in at that instant; a
label bearing this inscription was fastened to the neck of each one:

                           OPIMIAN FALERNIAN
                         ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD.

While we were studying the labels, Trimalchio clapped his hands and
cried, “Ah me!  To think that wine lives longer than poor little man.
Let’s fill ‘em up!  There’s life in wine and this is the real Opimian,
you can take my word for that.  I offered no such vintage yesterday,
though my guests were far more respectable.”  We were tippling away and
extolling all these elegant devices, when a slave brought in a silver
skeleton, so contrived that the joints and movable vertebra could be
turned in any direction.  He threw it down upon the table a time or two,
and its mobile articulation caused it to assume grotesque attitudes,
whereupon Trimalchio chimed in:

              “Poor man is nothing in the scheme of things
               And Orcus grips us and to Hades flings
               Our bones!  This skeleton before us here
               Is as important as we ever were!
               Let’s live then while we may and life is dear.”


The applause was followed by a course which, by its oddity, drew every
eye, but it did not come up to our expectations.  There was a circular
tray around which were displayed the signs of the zodiac, and upon each
sign the caterer had placed the food best in keeping with it.  Ram’s
vetches on Aries, a piece of beef on Taurus, kidneys and lamb’s fry on
Gemini, a crown on Cancer, the womb of an unfarrowed sow on Virgo, an
African fig on Leo, on Libra a balance, one pan of which held a tart and
the other a cake, a small seafish on Scorpio, a bull’s eye on
Sagittarius, a sea lobster on Capricornus, a goose on Aquarius and two
mullets on Pisces.  In the middle lay a piece of cut sod upon which
rested a honeycomb with the grass arranged around it.  An Egyptian slave
passed bread around from a silver oven and in a most discordant voice
twisted out a song in the manner of the mime in the musical farce called
Laserpitium.  Seeing that we were rather depressed at the prospect of
busying ourselves with such vile fare, Trimalchio urged us to fall to:
“Let us fall to, gentlemen, I beg of you, this is only the sauce!”


While he was speaking, four dancers ran in to the time of the music,
and removed the upper part of the tray.  Beneath, on what seemed to be
another tray, we caught sight of stuffed capons and sows’ bellies, and in
the middle, a hare equipped with wings to resemble Pegasus.  At the
corners of the tray we also noted four figures of Marsyas and from their
bladders spouted a highly spiced sauce upon fish which were swimming
about as if in a tide-race.  All of us echoed the applause which was
started by the servants, and fell to upon these exquisite delicacies,
with a laugh.  “Carver,” cried Trimalchio, no less delighted with the
artifice practised upon us, and the carver appeared immediately.  Timing
his strokes to the beat of the music he cut up the meat in such a fashion
as to lead you to think that a gladiator was fighting from a chariot to
the accompaniment of a water-organ.  Every now and then Trimalchio would
repeat “Carver, Carver,” in a low voice, until I finally came to the
conclusion that some joke was meant in repeating a word so frequently, so
I did not scruple to question him who reclined above me.  As he had often
experienced byplay of this sort he explained, “You see that fellow who is
carving the meat, don’t you?  Well, his name is Carver.  Whenever
Trimalchio says Carver, carve her, by the same word, he both calls and


I could eat no more, so I turned to my whilom informant to learn as much
as I could and sought to draw him out with far-fetched gossip.  I
inquired who that woman could be who was scurrying about hither and yon
in such a fashion.  “She’s called Fortunata,” he replied.  “She’s the
wife of Trimalchio, and she measures her money by the peck.  And only a
little while ago, what was she!  May your genius pardon me, but you would
not have been willing to take a crust of bread from her hand.  Now,
without rhyme or reason, she’s in the seventh heaven and is Trimalchio’s
factotum, so much so that he would believe her if she told him it was
dark when it was broad daylight!  As for him, he don’t know how rich he
is, but this harlot keeps an eye on everything and where you least expect
to find her, you’re sure to run into her.  She’s temperate, sober, full
of good advice, and has many good qualities, but she has a scolding
tongue, a very magpie on a sofa, those she likes, she likes, but those
she dislikes, she dislikes!  Trimalchio himself has estates as broad as
the flight of a kite is long, and piles of money.  There’s more silver
plate lying in his steward’s office than other men have in their whole
fortunes!  And as for slaves, damn me if I believe a tenth of them knows
the master by sight.  The truth is, that these stand-a-gapes are so much
in awe of him that any one of them would step into a fresh dunghill
without ever knowing it, at a mere nod from him!”


“And don’t you get the idea that he buys anything; everything is produced
at home, wool, pitch, pepper, if you asked for hen’s milk you would get
it.  Because he wanted his wool to rival other things in quality, he
bought rams at Tarentum and sent ‘em into his flocks with a slap on the
arse.  He had bees brought from Attica, so he could produce Attic honey
at home, and, as a side issue, so he could improve the native bees by
crossing with the Greek.  He even wrote to India for mushroom seed one
day, and he hasn’t a single mule that wasn’t sired by a wild ass.  Do you
see all those cushions?  Not a single one but what is stuffed with either
purple or scarlet wool!  He hasn’t anything to worry about!  Look out how
you criticise those other fellow-freedmen-friends of his, they’re all
well heeled.  See the fellow reclining at the bottom of the end couch?
He’s worth his 800,000 any day, and he rose from nothing.  Only a short
while ago he had to carry faggots on his own back.  I don’t know how true
it is, but they say that he snatched off an Incubo’s hat and found a
treasure!  For my part, I don’t envy any man anything that was given him
by a god.  He still carries the marks of his box on the ear, and he isn’t
wishing himself any bad luck!  He posted this notice, only the other day:

                           PURCHASED A HOUSE
                      THIS GARRET FOR RENT AFTER
                          THE KALENDS OF JULY.

“What do you think of the fellow in the freedman’s place?  He has a good
front, too, hasn’t he?  And he has a right to.  He saw his fortune
multiplied tenfold, but he lost heavily through speculation at the last.
I don’t think he can call his very hair his own, and it is no fault of
his either, by Hercules, it isn’t.  There’s no better fellow anywhere; his
rascally freedmen cheated him out of everything.  You know very well how
it is; everybody’s business is nobody’s business, and once let business
affairs start to go wrong, your friends will stand from under!  Look at
the fix he’s in, and think what a fine trade he had!  He used to be an
undertaker.  He dined like a king, boars roasted whole in their shaggy
Bides, bakers’ pastries, birds, cooks and bakers!  More wine was spilled
under his table than another has in his wine cellar.  His life was like a
pipe dream, not like an ordinary mortal’s.  When his affairs commenced to
go wrong, and he was afraid his creditors would guess that he was
bankrupt, he advertised an auction and this was his placard:

                     JULIUS PROCULUS WILL SELL AT
                        AUCTION HIS SUPERFLUOUS


Trimalchio broke in upon this entertaining gossip, for the course had
been removed and the guests, happy with wine, had started a general
conversation: lying back upon his couch, “You ought to make this wine go
down pleasantly,” he said, “the fish must have something to swim in.  But
I say, you didn’t think I’d be satisfied with any such dinner as you saw
on the top of that tray?  ‘Is Ulysses no better known?’  Well, well, we
shouldn’t forget our culture, even at dinner.  May the bones of my patron
rest in peace, he wanted me to become a man among men.  No one can show
me anything new, and that little tray has proved it.  This heaven where
the gods live, turns into as many different signs, and sometimes into the
Ram: therefore, whoever is born under that sign will own many flocks and
much wool, a hard head, a shameless brow, and a sharp horn.  A great many
school-teachers and rambunctious butters-in are born under that sign.”
 We applauded the wonderful penetration of our astrologer and he ran on,
“Then the whole heaven turns into a bull-calf and the kickers and
herdsmen and those who see to it that their own bellies are full, come
into the world.  Teams of horses and oxen are born under the Twins, and
well-hung wenchers and those who bedung both sides of the wall.  I was
born under the Crab and therefore stand on many legs and own much
property on land and sea, for the crab is as much at home on one as he is
in the other.  For that reason, I put nothing on that sign for fear of
weighing down my own destiny.  Bulldozers and gluttons are born under the
Lion, and women and fugitives and chain-gangs are born under the Virgin.
Butchers and perfumers are born under the Balance, and all who think that
it is their business to straighten things out.  Poisoners and assassins
are born under the Scorpion.  Cross-eyed people who look at the
vegetables and sneak away with the bacon, are born under the Archer.
Horny-handed sons of toil are born under Capricorn.  Bartenders and
pumpkin-heads are born under the Water-Carrier.  Caterers and
rhetoricians are born under the Fishes: and so the world turns round,
just like a mill, and something bad always comes to the top, and men are
either being born or else they’re dying.  As to the sod and the honeycomb
in the middle, for I never do anything without a reason, Mother Earth is
in the centre, round as an egg, and all that is good is found in her,
just like it is in a honeycomb.”


“Bravo!”  we yelled, and, with hands uplifted to the ceiling, we swore
that such fellows as Hipparchus and Aratus were not to be compared with
him.  At length some slaves came in who spread upon the couches some
coverlets upon which were embroidered nets and hunters stalking their
game with boar-spears, and all the paraphernalia of the chase.  We knew
not what to look for next, until a hideous uproar commenced, just outside
the dining-room door, and some Spartan hounds commenced to run around the
table all of a sudden.  A tray followed them, upon which was served a
wild boar of immense size, wearing a liberty cap upon its head, and from
its tusks hung two little baskets of woven palm fibre, one of which
contained Syrian dates, the other, Theban.  Around it hung little
suckling pigs made from pastry, signifying that this was a brood-sow with
her pigs at suck.  It turned out that these were souvenirs intended to be
taken home.  When it came to carving the boar, our old friend Carver, who
had carved the capons, did not appear, but in his place a great bearded
giant, with bands around his legs, and wearing a short hunting cape in
which a design was woven.  Drawing his hunting-knife, he plunged it
fiercely into the boar’s side, and some thrushes flew out of the gash.
fowlers, ready with their rods, caught them in a moment, as they
fluttered around the room and Trimalchio ordered one to each guest,
remarking, “Notice what fine acorns this forest-bred boar fed on,” and as
he spoke, some slaves removed the little baskets from the tusks and
divided the Syrian and Theban dates equally among the diners.


Getting a moment to myself, in the meantime, I began to speculate as to
why the boar had come with a liberty cap upon his head.  After exhausting
my invention with a thousand foolish guesses, I made bold to put the
riddle which teased me to my old informant.  “Why, sure,” he replied,
“even your slave could explain that; there’s no riddle, everything’s as
plain as day!  This boar made his first bow as the last course of
yesterday’s dinner and was dismissed by the guests, so today he comes
back as a freedman!”  I damned my stupidity and refrained from asking any
more questions for fear I might leave the impression that I had never
dined among decent people before.  While we were speaking, a handsome
boy, crowned with vine leaves and ivy, passed grapes around, in a little
basket, and impersonated Bacchus-happy, Bacchus-drunk, and
Bacchus-dreaming, reciting, in the meantime, his master’s verses, in a
shrill voice.  Trimalchio turned to him and said, “Dionisus, be thou
Liber,” whereupon the boy immediately snatched the cap from the boar’s
head, and put it upon his own.  At that Trimalchio added, “You can’t
deny that my father’s middle name was Liber!”  We applauded Trimalchio’s
conceit heartily, and kissed the boy as he went around.  Trimalchio
retired to the close-stool, after this course, and we, having freedom of
action with the tyrant away, began to draw the other guests out.  After
calling for a bowl of wine, Dama spoke up, “A day’s nothing at all: it’s
night before you can turn around, so you can’t do better than to go
right to the dining-room from your bed.  It’s been so cold that I can
hardly get warm in a bath, but a hot drink’s as good as an overcoat:
I’ve had some long pegs, and between you and me, I’m a bit groggy; the
booze has gone to my head.”


Here Seleucus took up the tale.  “I don’t bathe every day,” he confided,
“a bath uses you up like a fuller: water’s got teeth and your strength
wastes away a little every day; but when I’ve downed a pot of mead, I
tell the cold to suck my cock!  I couldn’t bathe today anyway, because I
was at a funeral; dandy fellow, he was too, good old Chrysanthus slipped
his wind!  Why, only the other day he said good morning’ to me, and I
almost think I’m talking to him now!  Gawd’s truth, we’re only blown-up
bladders strutting around, we’re less than flies, for they have some good
in them, but we’re only bubbles.  And supposing he had not kept to such a
low diet!  Why, not a drop of water or a crumb of bread so much as passed
his lips for five days; and yet he joined the majority!  Too many doctors
did away with him, or rather, his time had come, for a doctor’s not good
for anything except for a consolation to your mind!  He was well carried
out, anyhow, in the very bed he slept in during his lifetime.  And he was
covered with a splendid pall: the mourning was tastefully managed; he had
freed some slaves; even though his wife was sparing with her tears: and
what if he hadn’t treated her so well!  But when you come to women, women
all belong to the kite species: no one ought to waste a good turn upon
one of them; it’s just like throwing it down a well!  An old love’s like
a cancer!”


He was becoming very tiresome, and Phileros cried out, “Let’s think about
the living!  He has what was coming to him, he lived respectably, and
respectably he died.  What’s he got to kick about’?  He made his pile
from an as, and would pick a quadrans out of a dunghill with his teeth,
any old time.  And he grew richer and richer, of course: just like a
honeycomb.  I expect that he left all of a hundred thousand, by Hercules,
I do!  All in cold cash, too; but I’ve eaten dog’s tongue and must speak
the truth: he was foul-mouthed, had a ready tongue, he was a trouble
maker and no man.  Now his brother was a good fellow, a friend to his
friend, free-handed, and he kept a liberal table.  He picked a loser at
the start, but his first vintage set him upon his legs, for he sold his
wine at the figure he demanded, and, what made him hold his head higher
still, he came into a legacy from which he stole more than had been left
to him.  Then that fool friend of yours, in a fit of anger at his
brother, willed his property away to some son-of-a-bitch or other, who
he was, I don’t know, but when a man runs away from his own kin, he has
a long way to go!  And what’s more, he had some slaves who were
ear-specialists at the keyhole, and they did him a lot of harm, for a man
won’t prosper when he believes, on the spot, every tale that he hears; a
man in business, especially.  Still, he had a good time as long as he
lived: for happy’s the fellow who gets the gift, not the one it was meant
for.  He sure was Fortune’s son!  Lead turned to gold in his hands.  It’s
easy enough when everything squares up and runs on schedule.  How old
would you think he was?  Seventy and over, but he was as tough as horn,
carried his age well, and was as black as a crow.  I knew the fellow for
years and years, and he was a lecher to the very last.  I don’t believe
that even the dog in his house escaped his attentions, by Hercules, I
don’t; and what a boy-lover he was!  Saw a virgin in every one he met!
Not that I blame him though, for it’s all he could take with him.”


Phileros had his say and Ganymedes exclaimed, “You gabble away about
things that don’t concern heaven or earth: and none of you cares how the
price of grain pinches.  I couldn’t even get a mouthful of bread today,
by Hercules, I couldn’t.  How the drought does hang on!  We’ve had famine
for a year.  If the damned AEdiles would only get what’s coming to them.
They graft with the bakers, scratch-my-arse-and-I’ll-scratch-yours!
That’s the way it always is, the poor devils are out of luck, but the
jaws of the capitalists are always keeping the Saturnalia.  If only we
had such lion-hearted sports as we had when I first came from Asia!  That
was the life!  If the flour was not the very best, they would beat up
those belly-robbing grafters till they looked like Jupiter had been at
them.  How well I remember Safinius; he lived near the old arch, when I
was a boy.  For a man, he was one hot proposition!  Wherever he went, the
ground smoked!  But he was square, dependable, a friend to a friend, you
could safely play mora with him, in the dark.  But how he did peel them
in the town hall: he spoke no parables, not he!  He did everything
straight from the shoulder and his voice roared like a trumpet in the
forum.  He never sweat nor spat.  I don’t know, but I think he had a
strain of the Asiatic in him.  And how civil and friendly-like he was,
in returning everyone’s greeting; called us all by name, just like he was
one of us!  And so provisions were cheap as dirt in those days.  The loaf
you got for an as, you couldn’t eat, not even if someone helped you, but
you see them no bigger than a bull’s eye now, and the hell of it is that
things are getting worse every day; this colony grows backwards like a
calf’s tall!  Why do we have to put up with an AEdile here, who’s not
worth three Caunian figs and who thinks more of an as than of our lives?
He has a good time at home, and his daily income’s more than another
man’s fortune.  I happen to know where he got a thousand gold pieces.
If we had any nuts, he’d not be so damned well pleased with himself!
Nowadays, men are lions at home and foxes abroad.  What gets me is, that
I’ve already eaten my old clothes, and if this high cost of living keeps
on, I’ll have to sell my cottages!  What’s going to happen to this town,
if neither gods nor men take pity on it?  May I never have any luck if I
don’t believe all this comes from the gods!  For no one believes that
heaven is heaven, no one keeps a fast, no one cares a hang about Jupiter:
they all shut their eyes and count up their own profits.  In the old
days, the married women, in their stolas, climbed the hill in their bare
feet, pure in heart, and with their hair unbound, and prayed to Jupiter
for rain!  And it would pour down in bucketfuls then or never, and they’d
all come home, wet as drowned rats.  But the gods all have the gout now,
because we are not religious; and so our fields are burning up!”


“Don’t be so down in the mouth,” chimed in Echion, the ragman; “if it
wasn’t that it’d be something else, as the farmer said, when he lost his
spotted pig.  If a thing don’t happen today, it may tomorrow.  That’s the
way life jogs along.  You couldn’t name a better country, by Hercules,
you couldn’t, if only the men had any brains.  She’s in hot water right
now, but she ain’t the only one.  We oughtn’t to be so particular;
heaven’s as far away everywhere else.  If you were somewhere else, you’d
swear that pigs walked around here already roasted.  Think of what’s
coming!  We’ll soon have a fine gladiator show to last for three days, no
training-school pupils; most of them will be freedmen.  Our Titus has a
hot head and plenty of guts and it will go to a finish.  I’m well
acquainted with him, and he’ll not stand for any frame-ups.  It will be
cold steel in the best style, no running away, the shambles will be in
the middle of the amphitheatre where all the crowd can see.  And what’s
more, he has the coin, for he came into thirty million when his father
had the bad luck to die.  He could blow in four hundred thousand and his
fortune never feel it, but his name would live forever.  He has some
dwarfs already, and a woman to fight from a chariot.  Then, there’s
Glyco’s steward; he was caught screwing Glyco’s wife.  You’ll see some
battle between jealous husbands and favored lovers.  Anyhow, that cheap
screw of a Glyco condemned his steward to the beasts and only published
his own shame.  How could the slave go wrong when he only obeyed orders?
It would have been better if that she-piss-pot, for that’s all she’s fit
for, had been tossed by the bull, but a fellow has to beat the saddle
when he can’t beat the jackass.  How could Glyco ever imagine that a
sprig of Hermogenes’ planting could turn out well?  Why, Hermogenes could
trim the claws of a flying hawk, and no snake ever hatched out a rope
yet!  And look at Glyco!  He’s smoked himself out in fine shape, and as
long as he lives, he’ll carry that stain!  No one but the devil himself
can wipe that out, but chickens always come home to roost.  My nose tells
me that Mammaea will set out a spread: two bits apiece for me and mine!
And he’ll nick Norbanus out of his political pull if he does; you all
know that it’s to his interest to hump himself to get the best of him.
And honestly, what did that fellow ever do for us?  He exhibited some two
cent gladiators that were so near dead they’d have fallen flat if you
blew your breath at them.  I’ve seen better thugs sent against wild
beasts!  And the cavalry he killed looked about as much like the real
thing as the horsemen on the lamps; you would have taken them for
dunghill cocks!  One plug had about as much action as a jackass with a
pack-saddle; another was club-footed; and a third who had to take the
place of one that was killed, was as good as dead, and hamstrung into the
bargain.  There was only one that had any pep, and he was a Thracian, but
he only fought when we egged him on.  The whole crowd was flogged
afterwards.  How the mob did yell ‘Lay it on!’  They were nothing but
runaways.  And at that he had the nerve to say, ‘I’ve given you a show.’
‘And I’ve applauded,’ I answered; ‘count it up and you’ll find that I
gave more than I got!  One hand washes the other.’”


“Agamemnon, your looks seem to say, What’s this boresome nut trying to
hand us?’  Well, I’m talking because you, who can talk book-foolishness,
won’t.  You don’t belong to our bunch, so you laugh in your sleeve at the
way us poor people talk, but we know that you’re only a fool with a lot
of learning.  Well, what of it?  Some day I’ll get you to come to my
country place and take a look at my little estate.  We’ll have fresh eggs
and spring chicken to chew on when we get there; it will be all right
even if the weather has kept things back this year.  We’ll find enough to
satisfy us, and my kid will soon grow up to be a pupil of yours; he can
divide up to four, now, and you’ll have a little servant at your side, if
he lives.  When he has a minute to himself, he never takes his eyes from
his tablets; he’s smart too, and has the right kind of stuff in him, even
if he is crazy about birds.  I’ve had to kill three of his linnets
already.  I told him that a weasel had gotten them, but he’s found
another hobby, now he paints all the time.  He’s left the marks of his
heels on his Greek already, and is doing pretty well with his Latin,
although his master’s too easy with him; won’t make him stick to one
thing.  He comes to me to get me to give him something to write when his
master don’t want to work.  Then there’s another tutor, too, no scholar,
but very painstaking, though; he can teach you more than he knows
himself.  He comes to the house on holidays and is always satisfied with
whatever you pay him.  Some little time ago, I bought the kid some law
books; I want him to have a smattering of the law for home use.  There’s
bread in that!  As for literature, he’s got enough of that in him
already; if he begins to kick, I’ve concluded that I’ll make him learn
some trade; the barber’s, say, or the auctioneer’s, or even the lawyer’s.
That’s one thing no one but the devil can do him out of!  ‘Believe  what
your  daddy  says, Primigenius,’ I din into his ears every day, ‘whenever
you learn a thing, it’s yours.  Look at Phileros the attorney; he’d not
be keeping the wolf from the door now if he hadn’t studied.  It’s not
long since he had to carry his wares on his back and peddle them, but he
can put up a front with Norbanus himself now!  Learning’s a fine thing,
and a trade won’t starve.’”


Twaddle of this sort was being bandied about when Trimalchio came in;
mopping his forehead and washing his hands in perfume, he said, after a
short pause, “Pardon me, gentlemen, but my stomach’s been on strike for
the past few days and the doctors disagreed about the cause.  But
pomegranate rind and pitch steeped in vinegar have helped me, and I hope
that my belly will get on its good behavior, for sometimes there’s such a
rumbling in my guts that you’d think a bellowing bull was in there.  So
if anyone wants to do his business, there’s no call to be bashful about
it.  None of us was born solid!  I don’t know of any worse torment than
having to hold it in, it’s the one thing Jupiter himself can’t hold in.
So you’re laughing, are you, Fortunata?  Why, you’re always keeping me
awake at night yourself.  I never objected yet to anyone in my
dining-room relieving himself when he wanted to, and the doctors forbid
our holding it in.  Everything’s ready outside, if the call’s more
serious, water, close-stool, and anything else you’ll need. Believe me,
when this rising vapor gets to the brain, it puts the whole body on the
burn.  Many a one I’ve known to kick in just because he wouldn’t own up
to the truth.”  We thanked him for his kindness and consideration, and
hid our laughter by drinking more and oftener. We had not realized that,
as yet, we were only in the middle of the entertainment, with a hill
still ahead, as the saying goes.  The tables were cleared off to the beat
of music, and three white hogs, muzzled, and wearing bells, were brought
into the dining-room.  The announcer informed us that one was a
two-year-old, another three, and the third just turned six.  I had an
idea that some rope-dancers had come in and that the hogs would perform
tricks, just as they do for the crowd on the streets, but Trimalchio
dispelled this illusion by asking, “Which one will you have served up
immediately, for dinner?  Any country cook can manage a dunghill cock, a
pentheus hash, or little things like that, but my cooks are well used to
serving up calves boiled whole, in their cauldrons!” Then he ordered a
cook to be called in at once, and without awaiting our pleasure, he
directed that the oldest be butchered, and demanded in a loud voice,
“What division do you belong too?”  When the fellow made answer that he
was from the fortieth, “Were you bought, or born upon my estates?”
 Trimalchio continued.  “Neither,” replied the cook, “I was left to you by
Pansa’s will.”  “See to it that this is properly done,” Trimalchio
warned, “or I’ll have you transferred to the division of messengers!”
 and the cook, bearing his master’s warning in mind, departed for the
kitchen with the next course in tow.


Trimalchio’s threatening face relaxed and he turned to us, “If the wine
don’t please you,” he said, “I’ll change it; you ought to do justice to
it by drinking it.  I don’t have to buy it, thanks to the gods.
Everything here that makes your mouths water, was produced on one of my
country places which I’ve never yet seen, but they tell me it’s down
Terracina and Tarentum way.  I’ve got a notion to add Sicily to my other
little holdings, so in case I want to go to Africa, I’ll be able to sail
along my own coasts.  But tell me the subject of your speech today,
Agamemnon, for, though I don’t plead cases myself, I studied literature
for home use, and for fear you should think I don’t care about learning,
let me inform you that I have three libraries, one Greek and the others
Latin.  Give me the outline of your speech if you like me.”

“A poor man and a rich man were enemies,” Agamemmon began, when: “What’s
a poor man?”  Trimalchio broke in.  “Well put,” Agamemnon conceded and
went into details upon some problem or other, what it was I do not know.
Trimalchio instantly rendered the following verdict, “If that’s the case,
there’s nothing to dispute about; if it’s not the case, it don’t amount
to anything anyhow.”  These flashes of wit, and others equally
scintillating, we loudly applauded, and he went on: “Tell me, my dearest
Agamemnon, do you remember the twelve labors of Hercules or the story of
Ulysses, how the Cyclops threw his thumb out of joint with a pig-headed
crowbar?  When I was a boy, I used to read those stories in Homer.  And
then, there’s the Sibyl: with my own eyes I saw her, at Cumae, hanging up
in a jar; and whenever the boys would say to her ‘Sibyl, Sibyl, what
would you?’ she would answer, ‘I would die.’”


Before he had run out of wind, a tray upon which was an enormous hog was
placed upon the table, almost filling it up.  We began to wonder at the
dispatch with which it had been prepared and swore that no cock could
have been served up in so short a time; moreover, this hog seemed to us
far bigger than the boar had been. Trimalchio scrutinized it closely and
“What the hell,” he suddenly bawled out, “this hog hain’t been gutted,
has it?  No, it hain’t, by Hercules, it hain’t!  Call that cook!  Call
that cook in here immediately!”  When the crestfallen cook stood at the
table and owned up that he had forgotten to bowel him, “So you forgot,
did you?”  Trimalchio shouted, “You’d think he’d only left out a bit of
pepper and cummin, wouldn’t you? Off with his clothes!”  The cook was
stripped without delay, and stood with hanging head, between two
torturers.  We all began to make excuses for him at this, saying, “Little
things like that are bound to happen once in a while, let us prevail upon
you to let him off; if he ever does such a thing again, not a one of us
will have a word to say in his behalf.”  But for my part, I was
mercilessly angry and could not help leaning over towards Agamemnon and
whispering in his ear, “It is easily seen that this fellow is criminally
careless, is it not?  How could anyone forget to draw a hog?  If he had
served me a fish in that fashion I wouldn’t overlook it, by Hercules, I
wouldn’t.”  But that was not Trimalchio’s way: his face relaxed into good
humor and he said, “Since your memory’s so short, you can gut him right
here before our eyes!” The cook put on his tunic, snatched up a carving
knife, with a trembling hand, and slashed the hog’s belly in several
places.  Sausages and meat-puddings, widening the apertures, by their
own weight, immediately tumbled out.


The whole household burst into unanimous applause at this; “Hurrah for
Gaius,” they shouted.  As for the cook, he was given a drink and a silver
crown and a cup on a salver of Corinthian bronze. Seeing that Agamemnon
was eyeing the platter closely, Trimalchio remarked, “I’m the only one
that can show the real Corinthian!” I thought that, in his usual
purse-proud manner, he was going to boast that his bronzes were all
imported from Corinth, but he did even better by saying, “Wouldn’t you
like to know how it is that I’m the only one that can show the real
Corinthian?  Well, it’s because the bronze worker I patronize is named
Corinthus, and what’s Corinthian unless it’s what a Corinthus makes?
And, so you won’t think I’m a blockhead, I’m going to show you that I’m
well acquainted with how Corinthian first came into the world.  When Troy
was taken, Hannibal, who was a very foxy fellow and a great rascal into
the bargain, piled all the gold and silver and bronze statues in one pile
and set ‘em afire, melting these different metals into one: then the
metal workers took their pick and made bowls and dessert dishes and
statuettes as well.  That’s how Corinthian was born; neither one nor the
other, but an amalgam of all.  But I prefer glass, if you don’t mind my
saying so; it don’t stink, and if it didn’t break, I’d rather have it
than gold, but it’s cheap and common now.”


“But there was an artisan, once upon a time, who made a glass vial that
couldn’t be broken.  On that account he was admitted to Caesar with his
gift; then he dashed it upon the floor, when Caesar handed it back to
him.  The Emperor was greatly startled, but the artisan picked the vial
up off the pavement, and it was dented, just like a brass bowl would have
been!  He took a little hammer out of his tunic and beat out the dent
without any trouble.  When he had done that, he thought he would soon be
in Jupiter’s heaven, and more especially when Caesar said to him, ‘Is
there anyone else who knows how to make this malleable glass?  Think
now!’  And when he denied that anyone else knew the secret, Caesar
ordered his head chopped off, because if this should get out, we would
think no more of gold than we would of dirt.”


“And when it comes to silver, I’m a connoisseur; I have goblets as big as
wine-jars, a hundred of ‘em more or less, with engraving that shows how
Cassandra killed her sons, and the dead boys are lying so naturally that
you’d think ‘em alive.  I own a thousand bowls which Mummius left to my
patron, where Daedalus is shown shutting Niobe up in the Trojan horse,
and I also have cups engraved with the gladiatorial contests of Hermeros
and Petraites: they’re all heavy, too.  I wouldn’t sell my taste in these
matters for any money!”  A slave dropped a cup while he was running on in
this fashion.  Glaring at him, Trimalchio said, “Go hang yourself, since
you’re so careless.”  The boy’s lip quivered and he immediately commenced
to beg for mercy.  “Why do you pray to me?”  Trimalchio demanded, at
this: “I don’t intend to be harsh with you, I’m only warning you against
being so awkward.”  Finally, however, we got him to give the boy a pardon
and no sooner had this been done than the slave started running around
the room crying, “Out with the water and in with the wine!”  We all paid
tribute to this joke, but Agamemnon in particular, for he well knew what
strings to pull in order to secure another invitation to dinner.  Tickled
by our flattery, and mellowed by the wine, Trimalchio was just about
drunk.  “Why hasn’t one of you asked my Fortunata to dance?”  he
demanded, “There’s no one can do a better cancan, believe me,” and he
himself raised his arms above his head and favored us with an
impersonation of Syrus the actor; the whole household chanting:

                                Oh bravo
                             Oh bravissimo

in chorus, and he would have danced out into the middle of the room
before us all, had not Fortunata whispered in his ear, telling him,
I suppose, that such low buffoonery was not in keeping with his dignity.
But nothing could be so changeable as his humor, for one minute he stood
in awe of Fortunata, but his natural propensities would break out the


But his passion for dancing was interrupted at this stage by a
stenographer who read aloud, as if he were reading the public records,
“On the seventh of the Kalends of July, on Trimalchio’s estates near
Cumae, were born thirty boys and forty girls: five hundred pecks of wheat
were taken from the threshing floors and stored in the granaries: five
hundred oxen were put to yoke: the slave Mithridates was crucified on the
same date for cursing the genius of our master, Gaius: on said date ten
million sesterces were returned to the vaults as no sound investment
could be found: on said date, a fire broke out in the gardens at Pompeii,
said fire originating in the house of Nasta, the bailiff.”  “What’s
that?” demanded Trimalchio.  “When were the gardens at Pompeii bought for
me?”  “Why, last year,” answered the stenographer, “for that reason the
item has not appeared in the accounts.”  Trimalchio flew into a rage at
this.  “If I’m not told within six months of any real estate that’s
bought for me,” he shouted, “I forbid it’s being carried to my account at
all!”  Next, the edicts of his aediles were read aloud, and the wills of
some of his foresters in which Trimalchio was disinherited by a codicil,
then the names of his bailiffs, and that of a freedwoman who had been
repudiated by a night watchman, after she had been caught in bed with a
bath attendant, that of a porter banished to Baioe, a steward who was
standing trial, and lastly the report of a decision rendered in the
matter of a lawsuit, between some valets.  When this was over with, some
rope dancers came in and a very boresome fool stood holding a ladder,
ordering his boy to dance from rung to rung, and finally at the top, all
this to the music of popular airs; then the boy was compelled to jump
through blazing hoops while grasping a huge wine jar with his teeth.
Trimalchio was the only one who was much impressed by these tricks,
remarking that it was a thankless calling and adding that in all the
world there were just two things which could give him acute pleasure,
rope-dancers and horn blowers; all other entertainments were nothing
but nonsense.  “I bought a company of comedians,” he went on, “but I
preferred for them to put on Atellane farces, and I ordered my
flute-player to play Latin airs only.”


While our noble Gaius was still talking away, the boy slipped and fell,
alighting upon Trimalchio’s arm.  The whole household cried out, as did
also the guests, not that they bore such a coarse fellow any good will,
as they would gladly have seen his neck broken, but because such an
unlucky ending to the dinner might make it necessary for them to go into
mourning over a total stranger.  As for Trimalchio, he groaned heavily
and bent over his arm as though it had been injured: doctors flocked
around him, and Fortunata was among the very first, her hair was
streaming and she held a cup in her hand and screamed out her grief and
unhappiness.  As for the boy who had fallen, he was crawling at our feet,
imploring pardon.  I was uneasy for fear his prayers would lead up to
some ridiculous theatrical climax, for I had not yet been able to forget
that cook who had forgotten to bowel that hog, and so, for this reason, I
began to scan the whole dining-room very closely, to see if an automaton
would come out through the wall; and all the more so as a slave was
beaten for having bound up his master’s bruised arm in white wool instead
of purple.  Nor was my suspicion unjustified, for in place of punishment,
Trimalchio ordered that the boy be freed, so that no one could say that
so exalted a personage had been injured by a slave.


We applauded his action and engaged in a discussion upon the instability
of human affairs, which many took sides. “A good reason,” declared
Trimalchio, “why such an occasion shouldn’t slip by without an epigram.”
 He called for his tablets at once, and after racking his brains for a
little while, he got off the following:

                    The unexpected will turn up;
                    Our whole lives Fortune bungles up.
                    Falernian, boy, hand round the cup.

This epigram led up to a discussion of the poets, and for a long time,
the greatest praise was bestowed upon Mopsus the Thracian, until
Trimalchio broke in with: “Professor, I wish you’d tell me how you’d
compare Cicero and Publilius.  I’m of the opinion that the first was the
more eloquent, but that the last moralizes more beautifully, for what can
excel these lines?

     Insatiable luxury crumbles the walls of war;
     To satiate gluttony, peacocks in coops are brought
     Arrayed in gold plumage like Babylon tapestry rich.
     Numidian guinea-fowls, capons, all perish for thee:
     And even the wandering stork, welcome guest that he is,
     The emblem of sacred maternity, slender of leg
     And gloctoring exile from winter, herald of spring,
     Still, finds his last nest in the--cauldron of gluttony base.
     India surrenders her pearls; and what mean they to thee?
     That thy wife decked with sea-spoils adorning her breast
          and her head
     On the couch of a stranger lies lifting adulterous legs?
     The emerald green, the glass bauble, what mean they to thee?
     Or the fire of the ruby?  Except that pure chastity shine
     From the depth of the jewels: in garments of woven wind clad
     Our brides might as well take their stand, their game
          naked to stalk,
     As seek it in gossamer tissue transparent as air.”


“What should we say was the hardest calling, after literature?” he asked.
“That of the doctor or that of the money-changer, I would say: the
doctor, because he has to know what poor devils have got in their
insides, and when the fever’s due: but I hate them like the devil, for my
part, because they’re always ordering me on a diet of duck soup: and the
money-changer’s, because he’s got to be able to see the silver through
the copper plating.  When we come to the dumb beasts, the oxen and sheep
are the hardest worked, the oxen, thanks to whose labor we have bread to
chew on, the sheep, because their wool tricks us out so fine.  It’s the
greatest outrage under the sun for people to eat mutton and then wear a
tunic.  Then there’s the bee: in my opinion, they’re divine insects
because they puke honey, though there are folks that claim that they
bring it from Jupiter, and that’s the reason they sting, too, for
wherever you find a sweet, you’ll find a bitter too.” He was just putting
the philosophers out of business when lottery tickets were passed around
in a cup.  A slave boy assigned to that duty read aloud the names of the
souvenirs: “Silver s--ham,” a ham was brought in with some silver vinegar
cruets on top of it; “cervical”--something soft for the neck--a piece of
the cervix--neck--of a sheep was brought in; “serisapia”--after wit--“and
contumelia”--insult--we were given must wafers and an apple-melon--and a
phallus--contus--; “porri”--leeks--“and persica,” he picked up a whip and
a knife; “passeres”--sparrows” and a fly--trap,” the answer was
raisins--uva passa--and Attic honey; “cenatoria”--a dinner toga--“and
forensia”--business dress--he handed out a piece of meat--suggestive of
dinner--and a note-book--suggestive of business--; “canale”--chased by a
dog--“and pedale”--pertaining to the foot--, a hare and a slipper were
brought out; “lamphrey”--murena--“and a letter,” he held up a
mouse--mus--and a frog--rana--tied together, and a bundle of
beet--beta--the Greek letter beta--.  We laughed long and loud, there
were a thousand of these jokes, more or less, which have now escaped my


But Ascyltos threw off all restraint and ridiculed everything; throwing
up his hands, he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.  At last,
one of Trimalchio’s fellow-freedmen, the one who had the place next to
me, flew into a rage, “What’s the joke, sheep’s-head,” he bawled, “Don’t
our host’s swell entertainment suit you?  You’re richer than he is, I
suppose, and used to dining better!  As I hope the guardian spirit of
this house will be on my side, I’d have stopped his bleating long ago if
I’d been sitting next to him.  He’s a peach, he is, laughing at others;
some vagabond or other from who-knows-where, some night-pad who’s not
worth his own piss: just let me piss a ring around him and he wouldn’t
know where to run to!  I ain’t easy riled, no, by Hercules, I ain’t, but
worms breed in tender flesh.  Look at him laugh!  What the hell’s he got
to laugh at?  Is his family so damned fine-haired?  So you’re a Roman
knight!  Well, I’m a king’s son!  How’s it come that you’ve been a slave,
you’ll ask because I put myself into service because I’d rather be a
Roman citizen than a tax-paying provincial.  And now I hope that my life
will be such that no one can jeer at me.  I’m a man among men!  I take my
stroll bareheaded and owe no man a copper cent.  I never had a summons in
my life and no one ever said to me, in the forum, pay me what you owe me.
I’ve bought a few acres and saved up a few dollars and I feed twenty
bellies and a dog.  I ransomed my bedfellow so no one could wipe his
hands on her bosom; a thousand dinars it cost me, too.  I was chosen
priest of Augustus without paying the fee, and I hope that I won’t need
to blush in my grave after I’m dead.  But you’re so busy that you can’t
look behind you; you can spot a louse on someone else, all right, but you
can’t see the tick on yourself.  You’re the only one that thinks we’re so
funny; look at your professor, he’s older than you are, and we’re good
enough for him, but you’re only a brat with the milk still in your nose
and all you can prattle is ‘ma’ or ‘mu,’ you’re only a clay pot, a piece
of leather soaked in water, softer and slipperier, but none the better
for that.  You’ve got more coin than we have, have you?  Then eat two
breakfasts and two dinners a day.  I’d rather have my reputation than
riches, for my part, and before I make an end of this--who ever dunned me
twice?  In all the forty years I was in service, no one could tell
whether I was free or a slave.  I was only a long-haired boy when I came
to this colony and the town house was not built then.  I did my best to
please my master and he was a digniferous and majestical gentleman whose
nail-parings were worth more than your whole carcass.  I had enemies in
his house, too, who would have been glad to trip me up, but I swam the
flood, thanks to his kindness.  Those are the things that try your
mettle, for it’s as easy to be born a gentleman as to say, ‘Come here.’
Well, what are you gaping at now, like a billy-goat in a vetch-field?”


Giton, who had been standing at my feet, and who had for some time been
holding in his laughter, burst into an uproarious guffaw, at this last
figure of speech, and when Ascyltos’ adversary heard it, he turned his
abuse upon the boy.  “What’s so funny, you curly-headed onion,” he
bellowed, “are the Saturnalia here, I’d like to know?  Is it December

“When did you pay your twentieth?  What’s this to you, you gallows-bird,
you crow’s meat?  I’ll call the anger of Jupiter down on you and that
master of yours, who don’t keep you in better order.  If I didn’t respect
my fellow-freedmen, I’d give you what is coming to you right here on the
spot, as I hope to get my belly full of bread, I would.  We’ll get along
well enough, but those that can’t control you are fools; like master like
man’s a true saying.  I can hardly hold myself in and I’m not hot-headed
by nature, but once let me get a start and I don’t care two cents for my
own mother.  All right, I’ll catch you in the street, you rat, you
toadstool.  May I never grow an inch up or down if I don’t push your
master into a dunghill, and I’ll give you the same medicine, I will, by
Hercules, I will, no matter if you call down Olympian Jupiter himself!
I’ll take care of your eight inch ringlets and your two cent master into
the bargain.  I’ll have my teeth into you, either you’ll cut out the
laughing, or I don’t know myself.  Yes, even if you had a golden beard.
I’ll bring the wrath of Minerva down on you and on the fellow that first
made a come-here out of you.  No, I never learned geometry or criticism
or other foolishness like that, but I know my capital letters and I can
divide any figure by a hundred, be it in asses, pounds or sesterces.
Let’s have a show-down, you and I will make a little bet, here’s my coin;
you’ll soon find out that your father’s money was wasted on your
education, even if you do know a little rhetoric.  How’s this--what part
of us am I?  I come far, I come wide, now guess me!  I’ll give you
another.  What part of us runs but never moves from its place?  What part
of us grows but always grows less?  But you scurry around and are as
flustered and fidgeted as a mouse in a piss-pot.  Shut up and don’t annoy
your betters, who don’t even know that you’ve been born.  Don’t think
that I’m impressed by those boxwood armlets that you did your mistress
out of.  Occupo will back me!  Let’s go into the forum and borrow money,
then you’ll see whether this iron ring means credit!  Bah!  A draggled
fox is a fine sight, ain’t it’?  I hope I never get rich and die decently
so that the people will swear by my death, if I don’t hound you
everywhere with my toga turned inside out.  And the fellow that taught
you such manners did a good job too, a chattering ape, all right, no
schoolmaster.  We were better taught.  ‘Is everything in its place?’ the
master would ask; go straight home and don’t stop and stare at everything
and don’t be impudent to your elders.  Don’t loiter along looking in at
the shops.  No second raters came out of that school.  I’m what you see
me and I thank the gods it’s all due to my own cleverness.”


Ascyltos was just starting in to answer this indictment when Trimalchio,
who was delighted with his fellow-freedman’s tirade, broke in, “Cut out
the bickering and let’s have things pleasant here.  Let up on the young
fellow, Hermeros, he’s hot-blooded, so you ought to be more reasonable.
The loser’s always the winner in arguments of this kind.  And as for you,
even when you were a young punk you used to go ‘Co-co co-co,’ like a hen
after a rooster, but you had no pep. Let’s get to better business and
start the fun all over again and watch the Homerists.”  A troupe filed
in, immediately, and clashed spears against shields.  Trimalchio sat
himself up on his cushion and intoned in Latin, from a book, while the
actors, in accordance with their conceited custom, recited their parts in
the Greek language.  There came a pause, presently, and “You don’t any of
you know the plot of the skit they’re putting on, do you?”  he asked,
“Diomedes and Ganymede were two brothers, and Helen was their sister;
Agamemnon ran away with her and palmed off a doe on Diana, in her place,
so Homer tells how the Trojans and Parentines fought among themselves.
Of course Agamemnon was victorious, and gave his daughter Iphigenia, to
Achilles, for a wife: This caused Ajax to go mad, and he’ll soon make the
whole thing plain to you.”  The Homerists raised a shout, as soon as
Trimalchio had done speaking, and, as the whole familia stepped back, a
boiled calf with a helmet on its head was brought in on an enormous
platter.  Ajax followed and rushed upon it with drawn sword, as if he
were insane, he made passes with the flat, and again with the edge, and
then, collecting the slices, he skewered them, and, much to our
astonishment, presented them to us on the point of his sword.


But we were not given long in which to admire the elegance of such
service, for all of a sudden the ceiling commenced to creak and then the
whole dining-room shook.  I leaped to my feet in consternation, for fear
some rope-walker would fall down, and the rest of the company raised
their faces, wondering as much as I what new prodigy was to be announced
from on high.  Then lo and behold! the ceiling panels parted and an
enormous hoop, which appeared to have been knocked off a huge cask, was
lowered from the dome above; its perimeter was hung with golden chaplets
and jars of alabaster filled with perfume.  We were asked to accept these
articles as souvenirs.  When my glance returned to the table, I noticed
that a dish containing cakes had been placed upon it, and in the middle
an image of Priapus, made by the baker, and he held apples of all
varieties and bunches of grapes against his breast, in the conventional
manner.  We applied ourselves wholeheartedly to this dessert and our
joviality was suddenly revived by a fresh diversion, for, at the
slightest pressure, all the cakes and fruits would squirt a saffron sauce
upon us, and even spurted unpleasantly into our faces.  Being convinced
that these perfumed dainties had some religious significance, we arose in
a body and shouted, “Hurrah for the Emperor, the father of his country!”
 However, as we perceived that even after this act of veneration, the
others continued helping themselves, we filled our napkins with the
apples.  I was especially keen on this, for I thought I could never put
enough good things into Giton’s lap.  Three slaves entered, in the
meantime, dressed in white tunics well tucked up, and two of them placed
Lares with amulets hanging from their necks, upon the table, while the
third carried round a bowl of wine and cried, “May the gods be
propitious!”  One was called Cerdo--business--, Trimalchio informed us,
the other Lucrio--luck--and the third Felicio--profit--and, when all the
rest had kissed a true likeness of Trimalchio, we were ashamed to pass it


After they had all wished each other sound minds and good health,
Trimalchio turned to Niceros.  “You used to be better company at
dinner,” he remarked, “and I don’t know why you should be dumb today,
with never a word to say.  If you wish to make me happy, tell about that
experience you had, I beg of you.”  Delighted at the affability of his
friend, “I hope I lose all my luck if I’m not tickled to death at the
humor I see you in,” Niceros replied.  “All right, let’s go the limit for
a good time, though I’m afraid these scholars’ll laugh at me, but I’ll
tell my tale and they can go as far as they like.  What t’hell do I care
who laughs?  It’s better to be laughed at than laughed down.”  These
words spake the hero, and began the following tale: “We lived in a narrow
street in the house Gavilla now owns, when I was a slave.  There, by the
will of the gods, I fell in love with the wife of Terentius, the
innkeeper; you knew Melissa of Tarentum, that pretty round-checked little
wench.  It was no carnal passion, so hear me, Hercules, it wasn’t; I was
not in love with her physical charms.  No, it was because she was such a
good sport.  I never asked her for a thing and had her deny me; if she
had an as, I had half.  I trusted her with everything I had and never was
done out of anything.  Her husband up and died on the place, one day, so
I tried every way I could to get to her, for you know friends ought to
show up when anyone’s in a pinch.”


“It so happened that our master had gone to Capua to attend to some odds
and ends of business and I seized the opportunity, and persuaded a guest
of the house to accompany me as far as the fifth mile-stone.  He was a
soldier, and as brave as the very devil.  We set out about cock-crow, the
moon was shining as bright as midday, and came to where the tombstones
are.  My man stepped aside amongst them, but I sat down, singing, and
commenced to count them up.  When I looked around for my companion, he
had stripped himself and piled his clothes by the side of the road.  My
heart was in my mouth, and I sat there while he pissed a ring around them
and was suddenly turned into a wolf!  Now don’t think I’m joking, I
wouldn’t lie for any amount of money, but as I was saying, he commenced
to howl after he was turned into a wolf, and ran away into the forest.
I didn’t know where I was for a minute or two, then I went to his
clothes, to pick them up, and damned if they hadn’t turned to stone!  Was
ever anyone nearer dead from fright than me?  Then I whipped out my sword
and cut every shadow along the road to bits, till I came to the house of
my mistress.  I looked like a ghost when I went in, and I nearly slipped
my wind.  The sweat was pouring down my crotch, my eyes were staring, and
I could hardly be brought around.  My Melissa wondered why I was out so
late.  “Oh, if you’d only come sooner,” she said, “you could have helped
us: a wolf broke into the folds and attacked the sheep, bleeding them
like a butcher.  But he didn’t get the laugh on me, even if he did get
away, for one of the slaves ran his neck through with a spear!”  I
couldn’t keep my eyes shut any longer when I heard that, and as soon as
it grew light, I rushed back to our Gaius’ house like an innkeeper beaten
out of his bill, and when I came to the place where the clothes had been
turned into stone, there was nothing but a pool of blood!  And moreover,
when I got home, my soldier was lying in bed, like an ox, and a doctor
was dressing his neck!  I knew then that he was a werewolf, and after
that, I couldn’t have eaten a crumb of bread with him, no, not if you had
killed me.  Others can think what they please about this, but as for me,
I hope your geniuses will all get after me if I lie.”


We were all dumb with astonishment, when “I take your story for granted,”
 said Trimalchio, “and if you’ll believe me, my hair stood on end, and
all the more, because I know that Niceros never talks nonsense: he’s
always level-headed, not a bit gossipy.  And now I’ll tell you a
hair-raiser myself, though I’m like a jackass on a slippery pavement
compared to him.  When I was a long-haired boy, for I lived a Chian life
from my youth up, my master’s minion died.  He was a jewel, so hear me
Hercules, he was, perfect in every facet.  While his sorrow-stricken
mother was bewailing his loss, and the rest of us were lamenting with
her, the witches suddenly commenced to screech so loud that you would
have thought a hare was being run down by the hounds!  At that time, we
had a Cappadocian slave, tall, very bold, and he had muscle too; he
could hold a mad bull in the air!  He wrapped a mantle around his left
arm, boldly rushed out of doors with drawn sword, and ran a woman
through the middle about here, no harm to what I touch.  We heard a
scream, but as a matter of fact, for I won’t lie to you, we didn’t catch
sight of the witches themselves.  Our simpleton came back presently, and
threw himself upon the bed.  His whole body was black and blue, as if he
had been flogged with whips, and of course the reason of that was she
had touched him with her evil hand!  We shut the door and returned to
our business, but when the mother put her arms around the body of her
son, it turned out that it was only a straw bolster, no heart, no guts,
nothing!  Of course the witches had swooped down upon the lad and put
the straw changeling in his place!  Believe me or not, suit yourselves,
but I say that there are women that know too much, and night-hags, too,
and they turn everything upside down!  And as for the long-haired booby,
he never got back his own natural color and he died, raving mad, a few
days later.”


Though we wondered greatly, we believed none the less implicitly and,
kissing the table, we besought the night-hags to attend to their own
affairs while we were returning home from dinner.  As far as I was
concerned, the lamps already seemed to burn double and the whole
dining-room was going round, when “See here, Plocamus,” Trimalchio spoke
up, “haven’t you anything to tell us?  You haven’t entertained us at all,
have you?  And you used to be fine company, always ready to oblige with a
recitation or a song.  The gods bless us, how the green figs have
fallen!”  “True for you,” the fellow answered, “since I’ve got the gout
my sporting days are over; but in the good old times when I was a young
spark, I nearly sang myself into a consumption.  How I used to dance!
And take my part in a farce, or hold up my end in the barber shops!  Who
could hold a candle to me except, of course, the one and only Apelles?”
 He then put his hand to his mouth and hissed out some foul gibberish or
other, and said afterwards that it was Greek.  Trimalchio himself then
favored us with an impersonation of a man blowing a trumpet, and when he
had finished, he looked around for his minion, whom he called Croesus, a
blear-eyed slave whose teeth were very disagreeably discolored.  He was
playing with a little black bitch, disgustingly fat, wrapping her up in a
leek-green scarf and teasing her with a half-loaf of bread which he had
put on the couch; and when from sheer nausea, she refused it, he crammed
it down her throat.  This sight put Trimalchio in mind of his own dog and
he ordered Scylax, “the guardian of his house and home,” to be brought
in.  An enormous dog was immediately led in upon a chain and, obeying a
kick from the porter, it lay down beside the table. Thereupon Trimalchio
remarked, as he threw it a piece of white bread, “No one in all my house
loves me better than Scylax.”  Enraged at Trimalchio’s praising Scylax so
warmly, the slave put the bitch down upon the floor and sicked her on to
fight.  Scylax, as might have been expected from such a dog, made the
whole room ring with his hideous barking and nearly shook the life out of
the little bitch which the slave called Pearl.  Nor did the uproar end in
a dog fight, a candelabrum was upset upon the table, breaking the glasses
and spattering some of the guests with hot oil.  As Trimalchio did not
wish to seem concerned at the loss, he kissed the boy and ordered him to
climb upon his own back.  The slave did not hesitate but, mounting his
rocking-horse, he beat Trimalchio’s shoulders with his open palms,
yelling with laughter, “Buck! Buck!  How many fingers do I hold up!”
 When Trimalchio had, in a measure, regained his composure, which took but
a little while, he ordered that a huge vessel be filled with mixed wine,
and that drinks be served to all the slaves sitting around our feet,
adding as an afterthought, “If anyone refuses to drink, pour it on his
head: business is business, but now’s the time for fun.”


The dainties that followed this display of affability were of such a
nature that, if any reliance is to be placed in my word, the very mention
of them makes me sick at the stomach.  Instead of thrushes, fattened
chickens were served, one to each of us, and goose eggs with pastry caps
on them, which same Trimalchio earnestly entreated us to eat, informing
us that the chickens had all been boned.  Just at that instant, however,
a lictor knocked at the dining-room door, and a reveler, clad in white
vestments, entered, followed by a large retinue.  Startled at such pomp,
I thought that the Praetor had arrived, so I put my bare feet upon the
floor and started to get up, but Agamemnon laughed at my anxiety and
said, “Keep your seat, you idiot, it’s only Habinnas the sevir; he’s a
stone mason, and if report speaks true, he makes the finest tombstones
imaginable.”  Reassured by this information, I lay back upon my couch and
watched Habinnas’ entrance with great curiosity.  Already drunk and
wearing several wreaths, his forehead smeared with perfume which ran down
into his eyes, he advanced with his hands upon his wife’s shoulders, and,
seating himself in the Praetor’s place, he called for wine and hot water.
Delighted with his good humor, Trimalchio called for a larger goblet for
himself, and asked him, at the same time, how he had been entertained.
“We had everything except yourself, for my heart and soul were here, but
it was fine, it was, by Hercules.  Scissa was giving a Novendial feast
for her slave, whom she freed on his death-bed, and it’s my opinion
she’ll have a large sum to split with the tax gatherers, for the dead man
was rated at 50,000, but everything went off well, even if we did have to
pour half our wine on the bones of the late lamented.”


“But,” demanded Trimalchio, “what did you have for dinner’?”  “I’ll tell
you if I can,” answered he, “for my memory’s so good that I often forget
my own name.  Let’s see, for the first course, we had a hog, crowned with
a wine cup and garnished with cheese cakes and chicken livers cooked well
done, beets, of course, and whole-wheat bread, which I’d rather have
than white, because it puts strength into you, and when I take a crap
afterwards, I don’t have to yell.  Following this, came a course of
tarts, served cold, with excellent Spanish wine poured over warm honey;
I ate several of the tarts and got the honey all over myself.  Then there
were chick-peas and lupines, all the smooth-shelled nuts you wanted, and
an apple apiece, but I got away with two, and here they are, tied up in
my napkin; for I’ll have a row on my hands if I don’t bring some kind of
a present home to my favorite slave.  Oh yes, my wife has just reminded
me, there was a haunch of bear-meat as a side dish, Scintilla ate some of
it without knowing what it was, and she nearly puked up her guts when she
found out.  But as for me, I ate more than a pound of it, for it tasted
exactly like wild boar and, says I, if a bear eats a man, shouldn’t that
be all the more reason for a man to eat a bear?  The last course was soft
cheese, new wine boiled thick, a snail apiece, a helping of tripe, liver
pate, capped eggs, turnips and mustard.  But that’s enough.  Pickled
olives were handed around in a wooden bowl, and some of the party
greedily snatched three handfuls, we had ham, too, but we sent it back.”


“But why isn’t Fortunata at the table, Gaius?  Tell me.”  “What’s that,”
 Trimalchio replied; “don’t you know her better than that?  She wouldn’t
touch even a drop of water till after the silver was put away and the
leftovers divided among the slaves.”  “I’m going to beat it if she don’t
take her place,” Habinnas threatened, and started to get up; and then,
at a signal, the slaves all called out together “Fortunata,” four times
or more.

She appeared, girded round with a sash of greenish yellow, below which a
cherry-colored tunic could be seen, and she had on twisted anklets and
sandals worked in gold.  Then, wiping her hands upon a handkerchief which
she wore around her neck, she seated herself upon the couch, beside
Scintilla, Habinnas’ wife, and clapping her hands and kissing her, “My
dear,” she gushed, “is it really you?”  Fortunata then removed the
bracelets from her pudgy arms and held them out to the admiring
Scintilla, and by and by she took off her anklets and even her yellow
hair-net, which was twenty-four carats fine, she would have us know!
Trimalchio, who was on the watch, ordered every trinket to be brought to
him.  “You see these things, don’t you?”  he demanded; “they’re what
women fetter us with.  That’s the way us poor suckers are done!  These
ought to weigh six pounds and a half.  I have an arm-band myself, that
don’t weigh a grain under ten pounds; I bought it out of Mercury’s
thousandths, too.”  Finally, for fear he would seem to be lying, he
ordered the scales to be brought in and carried around to prove the
weights.  And Scintilla was no better.  She took off a small golden
vanity case which she wore around her neck, and which she called her
Lucky Box, and took from it two eardrops, which, in her turn, she handed
to Fortunata to be inspected.  “Thanks to the generosity of my husband,”
 she smirked, “no woman has better.”  “What’s that?”  Habinnas demanded.
“You kept on my trail to buy that glass bean for you; if I had a
daughter, I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t cut off her little ears.  We’d
have everything as cheap as dirt if there were no women, but we have to
piss hot and drink cold, the way things are now.”  The women, angry
though they were, were laughing together, in the meantime, and exchanging
drunken kisses, the one running on about her diligence as a housekeeper,
and the other about the infidelities and neglect of her husband.
Habinnas got up stealthily, while they were clinging together in this
fashion and, seizing Fortunata by the feet, he tipped her over backwards
upon the couch.  “Let go!”  she screeched, as her tunic slipped above her
knees; then, after pulling down her clothing, she threw herself into
Scintilla’s lap, and hid, with her handkerchief, a face which was none
the more beautiful for its blushes.


After a short interval, Trimalchio gave orders for the dessert to be
served, whereupon the slaves took away all the tables and brought in
others, and sprinkled the floor with sawdust mixed with saffron and
vermilion, and also with powdered mica, a thing I had never seen done
before.  When all this was done Trimalchio remarked, “I could rest
content with this course, for you have your second tables, but, if you’ve
something especially nice, why bring it on.”  Meanwhile an Alexandrian
slave boy, who had been serving hot water, commenced to imitate a
nightingale, and when Trimalchio presently called out, “Change your
tune,” we had another surprise, for a slave, sitting at Habinnas’ feet,
egged on, I have no doubt, by his own master, bawled suddenly in a
singsong voice, “Meanwhile AEneas and all of his fleet held his course on
the billowy deep”; never before had my ears been assailed by a sound so
discordant, for in addition to his barbarous pronunciation, and the
raising and lowering of his voice, he interpolated Atellane verses, and,
for the first time in my life, Virgil grated on my nerves.  When he had
to quit, finally, from sheer want of breath, “Did he ever have any
training,” Habinnas exclaimed, “no, not he!  I educated him by sending
him among the grafters at the fair, so when it comes to taking off a
barker or a mule driver, there’s not his equal, and the rogue’s clever,
too, he’s a shoemaker, or a cook, or a baker a regular jack of all
trades.  But he has two faults, and if he didn’t have them, he’d be
beyond all price: he snores and he’s been circumcised.  And that’s the
reason he never can keep his mouth shut and always has an eye open.  I
paid three hundred dinars for him.”


“Yes,” Scintilla broke in, “and you’ve not mentioned all of his
accomplishments either; he’s a pimp too, and I’m going to see that he’s
branded,” she snapped.  Trimalchio laughed.  “There’s where the
Cappadocian comes out,” he said; “never cheats himself out of anything
and I admire him for it, so help me Hercules, I do.  No one can show a
dead man a good time.  Don’t be jealous, Scintilla; we’re next to you
women, too, believe me.  As sure as you see me here safe and sound, I
used to play at thrust and parry with Mamma, my mistress, and finally
even my master got suspicious and sent me back to a stewardship; but keep
quiet, tongue, and I’ll give you a cake.”  Taking all this as praise, the
wretched slave pulled a small earthen lamp from a fold in his garment,
and impersonated a trumpeter for half an hour or more, while Habinnas
hummed with him, holding his finger pressed to his lips.  Finally, the
slave stepped out into the middle of the floor and waved his pipes in
imitation of a flute-player; then, with a whip and a smock, he enacted
the part of a mule-driver.  At last Habinnas called him over and kissed
him and said, as he poured a drink for him, “You get better all the time,
Massa.  I’m going to give you a pair of shoes.”  Had not the dessert been
brought in, we would never have gotten to the end of these stupidities.
Thrushes made of pastry and stuffed with nuts and raisins, quinces with
spines sticking out so that they looked like sea-urchins.  All this would
have been endurable enough had it not been for the last dish that was
served; so revolting was this, that we would rather have died of
starvation than to have even touched it.  We thought that a fat goose,
flanked with fish and all kinds of birds, had been served, until
Trimalchio spoke up.  “Everything you see here, my friends,” said he,
“was made from the same stuff.”  With my usual keen insight, I jumped to
the conclusion that I knew what that stuff was and, turning to Agamemnon,
I said, “I shall be greatly surprised, if all those things are not made
out of excrement, or out of mud, at the very least: I saw a like artifice
practiced at Rome during the Saturnalia.”


I had not done speaking, when Trimalchio chimed in, “As I hope to grow
fatter in fortune but not in figure, my cook has made all this out of a
hog!  It would be simply impossible to meet up with a more valuable
fellow: he’d make you a fish out of a sow’s coynte, if that’s what you
wanted, a pigeon out of her lard, a turtle-dove out of her ham, and a hen
out of a knuckle of pork: that’s why I named him Daedalus, in a happy
moment.  I brought him a present of knives, from Rome, because he’s so
smart; they’re made of Noric steel, too.”  He ordered them brought in
immediately, and looked them over, with admiration, even giving us the
chance to try their edges upon our cheeks.  Then all of a sudden two
slaves came in, carrying on as if they had been fighting at the fountain,
at least; each one had a water-jar hanging from a yoke around his neck.
Trimalchio arbitrated their difference, but neither would abide by his
decision, and each one smashed the other’s jar with a club.  Perturbed at
the insolence of these drunken ruffians, we watched both of them
narrowly, while they were fighting, and then, what should come pouring
out of the broken jars but oysters and scallops, which a slave picked up
and passed around in a dish.  The resourceful cook would not permit
himself to be outdone by such refinements, but served us with snails on a
silver gridiron, and sang continually in a tremulous and very discordant
voice.  I am ashamed to have to relate what followed, for, contrary to
all convention, some long-haired boys brought in unguents in a silver
basin and anointed the feet of the reclining guests; but before doing
this, however, they bound our thighs and ankles with garlands of flowers.
They then perfumed the wine-mixing vessel with the same unguent and
poured some of the melted liquid into the lamps.  Fortunata had, by this
time, taken a notion that she wanted to dance, and Scintilla was doing
more hand-clapping than talking, when Trimalchio called out,
“Philargyrus, and you too, Carrio, you can both come to the table;
even if you are green faction fans, and tell your bedfellow, Menophila,
to come too.”  What would you think happened then?  We were nearly
crowded off the couches by the mob of slaves that crowded into the
dining-room and almost filled it full.  As a matter of fact, I noticed
that our friend the cook, who had made a goose out of a hog, was placed
next to me, and he stunk from sauces and pickle.  Not satisfied with a
place at the table, he immediately staged an impersonation of Ephesus the
tragedian, and then he suddenly offered to bet his master that the greens
would take first place in the next circus games.


Trimalchio was hugely tickled at this challenge.  “Slaves are men, my
friends,” he observed, “but that’s not all, they sucked the same milk
that we did, even if hard luck has kept them down; and they’ll drink the
water of freedom if I live: to make a long story short, I’m freeing all
of them in my will.  To Philargyrus, I’m leaving a farm, and his
bedfellow, too.  Carrio will get a tenement house and his twentieth,
and a bed and bedclothes to boot.  I’m making Fortunata my heir and I
commend her to all my friends.  I announce all this in public so that my
household will love me as well now as they will when I’m dead.”  They all
commenced to pay tribute to the generosity of their master, when he,
putting aside his trifling, ordered a copy of his will brought in, which
same he read aloud from beginning to end, to the groaning accompaniment
of the whole household.  Then, looking at Habinnas, “What say you, my
dearest friend,” he entreated; “you’ll construct my monument in keeping
with the plans I’ve given you, won’t you?  I earnestly beg that you carve
a little bitch at the feet of my statue, some wreaths and some jars of
perfume, and all of the fights of Petraites.  Then I’ll be able to live
even after I’m dead, thanks to your kindness.  See to it that it has a
frontage of one hundred feet and a depth of two hundred.  I want fruit
trees of every kind planted around my ashes; and plenty of vines, too,
for it’s all wrong for a man to deck out his house when he’s alive, and
then have no pains taken with the one he must stay in for a longer time,
and that’s the reason I particularly desire that this notice be added:

                       --THIS MONUMENT DOES NOT--
                         --DESCEND TO AN HEIR--

“In any case, I’ll see to it through a clause in my will, that I’m not
insulted when I’m dead.  And for fear the rabble comes running up into my
monument, to crap, I’ll appoint one of my freedmen custodian of my tomb.
I want you to carve ships under full sail on my monument, and me, in my
robes of office, sitting on my tribunal, five gold rings on my fingers,
pouring out coin from a sack for the people, for I gave a dinner and two
dinars for each guest, as you know.  Show a banquet-hall, too, if you
can, and the people in it having a good time.  On my right, you can place
a statue of Fortunata holding a dove and leading a little bitch on a
leash, and my favorite boy, and large jars sealed with gypsum, so the
wine won’t run out; show one broken and a boy crying over it.  Put a
sun-dial in the middle, so that whoever looks to see what time it is must
read my name whether he wants to or not.  As for the inscription, think
this over carefully, and see if you think it’s appropriate:

                    AUGUSTAL, SEVIR IN HIS ABSENCE
                    HE COULD HAVE BEEN A MEMBER OF
                     HE NEVER HEARD A PHILOSOPHER
                          FAREWELL TRIMALCHIO
                           FAREWELL PASSERBY”


When he had repeated these words, Trimalchio began to weep copiously,
Fortunata was crying already, and so was Habinnas, and at last, the whole
household filled the dining-room with their lamentations, just as if they
were taking part in a funeral.  Even I was beginning to sniffle, when
Trimalchio said, “Let’s live while we can, since we know we’ve all got to
die.  I’d rather see you all happy, anyhow, so let’s take a plunge in the
bath.  You’ll never regret it.  I’ll bet my life on that, it’s as hot as
a furnace!”  “Fine business,” seconded Habinnas, “there’s nothing suits
me better than making two days out of one,” and he got up in his bare
feet to follow Trimalchio, who was clapping his hands.  I looked at
Ascyltos.  “What do you think about this?” I asked.  “The very sight of a
bath will be the death of me.”  “Let’s fall in with his suggestion,” he
replied, “and while they are hunting for the bath we will escape in the
crowd.”  Giton led us out through the porch, when we had reached this
understanding, and we came to a door, where a dog on a chain startled us
so with his barking that Ascyltos immediately fell into the fish-pond.
As for myself, I was tipsy and had been badly frightened by a dog that
was only a painting, and when I tried to haul the swimmer out, I was
dragged into the pool myself.  The porter finally came to our rescue,
quieted the dog by his appearance, and pulled us, shivering, to dry land.
Giton had ransomed himself by a very cunning scheme, for what we had
saved for him, from dinner, he threw to the barking brute, which then
calmed its fury and became engrossed with the food.  But when, with
chattering teeth, we besought the porter to let us out at the door, “If
you think you can leave by the same door you came in at,” he replied,
“you’re mistaken: no guest is ever allowed to go out through the same
door he came in at; some are for entrance, others for exit.”


What were we miserable wretches to do, shut up in this newfangled
labyrinth.  The idea of taking a hot bath had commenced to grow in favor,
so we finally asked the porter to lead us to the place and, throwing off
our clothing, which Giton spread out in the hall to dry, we went in.
It was very small, like a cold water cistern; Trimalchio was standing
upright in it, and one could not escape his disgusting bragging even
here.  He declared that there was nothing nicer than bathing without a
mob around, and that a bakery had formerly occupied this very spot.
Tired out at last, he sat down, but when the echoes of the place tempted
him, he lifted his drunken mouth to the ceiling, and commenced murdering
the songs of Menacrates, at least that is what we were told by those who
understood his language.  Some of the guests joined hands and ran around
the edge of the pool, making the place ring with their boisterous peals
of laughter; others tried to pick rings up from the floor, with their
hands tied behind them, or else, going down upon their knees, tried to
touch the ends of their toes by bending backwards.  We went down into the
pool while the rest were taking part in such amusements.  It was being
heated for Trimalchio.  When the fumes of the wine had been dissipated,
we were conducted into another dining-room where Fortunata had laid out
her own treasures; I noticed, for instance, that there were little bronze
fishermen upon the lamps, the tables were of solid silver, the cups were
porcelain inlaid with gold; before our eyes wine was being strained
through a straining cloth.  “One of my slaves shaves his first beard
today,” Trimalchio remarked, at length, “a promising, honest, thrifty
lad; may he have no bad luck, so let’s get our skins full and stick
around till morning.”


He had not ceased speaking when a cock crowed!  Alarmed at this omen,
Trimalchio ordered wine thrown under the table and told them to sprinkle
the lamps with it; and he even went so far as to change his ring from his
left hand to his right.  “That trumpeter did not sound off without a
reason,” he remarked; “there’s either a fire in the neighborhood, or else
someone’s going to give up the ghost.  I hope it’s none of us!  Whoever
brings that Jonah in shall have a present.”  He had no sooner made this
promise, than a cock was brought in from somewhere in the neighborhood
and Trimalchio ordered the cook to prepare it for the pot.  That same
versatile genius who had but a short time before made birds and fish out
of a hog, cut it up; it was then consigned to the kettle, and while
Daedalus was taking a long hot drink, Fortunata ground pepper in a
boxwood mill.  When these delicacies had been consumed, Trimalchio looked
the slaves over.  “You haven’t had anything to eat yet, have you?”  he
asked.  “Get out and let another relay come on duty.”  Thereupon a second
relay came in.  “Farewell, Gaius,” cried those going off duty, and “Hail,
Gaius,” cried those coming on.  Our hilarity was somewhat dampened soon
after, for a boy, who was by no means bad looking, came in among the
fresh slaves.  Trimalchio seized him and kissed him lingeringly,
whereupon Fortunata, asserting her rights in the house, began to rail at
Trimalchio, styling him an abomination who set no limits to his lechery,
finally ending by calling him a dog. Trimalchio flew into a rage at her
abuse and threw a wine cup at her head, whereupon she screeched, as if
she had had an eye knocked out and covered her face with her trembling
hands.  Scintilla was frightened, too, and shielded the shuddering woman
with her garment.  An officious slave presently held a cold water pitcher
to her cheek and Fortunata bent over it, sobbing and moaning.  But as for
Trimalchio, “What the hell’s next?”  he gritted out, “this Syrian
dancing-whore don’t remember anything!  I took her off the auction block
and made her a woman among her equals, didn’t I?  And here she puffs
herself up like a frog and pukes in her own nest; she’s a blockhead, all
right, not a woman.  But that’s the way it is, if you’re born in an attic
you can’t sleep in a palace I’ll see that this booted Cassandra’s tamed,
so help me my Genius, I will!  And I could have married ten million, even
if I did only have two cents: you know I’m not lying!  ‘Let me give you a
tip,’ said Agatho, the perfumer to the lady next door, when he pulled me
aside: ‘don’t let your line die out!’  And here I’ve stuck the ax into my
own leg because I was a damned fool and didn’t want to seem fickle.  I’ll
see to it that you’re more careful how you claw me up, sure as you’re
born, I will! That you may realize how seriously I take what you’ve done
to me--Habinnas, I don’t want you to put her statue on my tomb for fear
I’ll be nagged even after I’m dead!  And furthermore, that she may know I
can repay a bad turn, I won’t have her kissing me when I’m laid out!”


When Trimalchio had launched this thunderbolt, Habinnas commenced to
beg him to control his anger.  “There’s not one of us but goes wrong
sometimes,” argued he; “we’re not gods, we’re men.”  Scintilla also cried
out through her tears, calling him “Gaius,” and entreating him by his
guardian angel to be mollified.  Trimalchio could restrain the tears no
longer.  “Habinnas,” he blubbered, “as you hope to enjoy your money, spit
in my face if I’ve done anything wrong.  I kissed him because he’s very
thrifty, not because he’s a pretty boy.  He can recite his division table
and read a book at sight: he bought himself a Thracian uniform from his
savings from his rations, and a stool and two dippers, with his own
money, too.  He’s worth my attention, ain’t he?  But Fortunata won’t see
it!  Ain’t that the truth, you high-stepping hussy’?  Let me beg you to
make the best of what you’ve got, you shekite, and don’t make me show my
teeth, my little darling, or you’ll find out what my temper’s like!
Believe me, when once I’ve made up my mind, I’m as fixed as a spike in a
beam!  But let’s think of the living.  I hope you’ll all make yourselves
at home, gentlemen: I was in your fix myself once; but rose to what I am
now by my own merit.  It’s the brains that makes the man, all the rest’s
bunk.  I buy well, I sell well, someone else will tell you a different
story, but as for myself, I’m fairly busting with prosperity.  What,
grunting-sow, still bawling?  I’ll see to it that you’ve something to
bawl for, but as I started to say, it was my thrift that brought me to
my fortune.  I was just as tall as that candlestick when I came over from
Asia; every day I used to measure myself by it, and I would smear my lips
with oil so my beard would sprout all the sooner.  I was my master’s
‘mistress’ for fourteen years, for there’s nothing wrong in doing what
your master orders, and I satisfied my mistress, too, during that time,
you know what I mean, but I’ll say no more, for I’m not one of your


“At last it came about by the will of the gods that I was master in the
house, and I had the real master under my thumb then.  What is there
left to tell?  I was made co-heir with Caesar and came into a Senator’s
fortune.  But nobody’s ever satisfied with what he’s got, so I embarked
in business.  I won’t keep you long in suspense; I built five ships and
loaded them with wine--worth its weight in gold, it was then--and sent
them to Rome.  You’d think I’d ordered it so, for every last one of them
foundered; it’s a fact, no fairy tale about it, and Neptune swallowed
thirty million sesterces in one day!  You don’t think I lost my pep, do
you?  By Hercules, no!  That was only an appetizer for me, just as if
nothing at all had happened.  I built other and bigger ships, better
found, too, so no one could say I wasn’t game.  A big ship’s a big
venture, you know.  I loaded them up with wine again, bacon, beans,
Capuan perfumes, and slaves: Fortunata did the right thing in this
affair, too, for she sold every piece of jewelry and all her clothes into
the bargain, and put a hundred gold pieces in my hand.  They were the
nest-egg of my fortune.  A thing’s soon done when the gods will it;
I cleared ten million sesterces by that voyage, all velvet, and bought
in all the estates that had belonged to my patron, right away.  I built
myself a house and bought cattle to resell, and whatever I touched grew
just like a honeycomb.  I chucked the game when I got to have an income
greater than all the revenues of my own country, retired from business,
and commenced to back freedmen.  I never liked business anyhow, as far as
that goes, and was just about ready to quit when an astrologer, a Greek
fellow he was, and his name was Serapa, happened to light in our colony,
and he slipped me some information and advised me to quit.  He was hep to
all the secrets of the gods: told me things about myself that I’d
forgotten, and explained everything to me from needle and thread up; knew
me inside out, he did, and only stopped short of telling me what I’d had
for dinner the day before.  You’d have thought he’d lived with me


“Habinnas, you were there, I think, I’ll leave it to you; didn’t he say
--‘You took your wife out of a whore-house’? you’re as lucky in your
friends, too, no one ever repays your favor with another, you own broad
estates, you nourish a viper under your wing, and--why shouldn’t I tell
it--I still have thirty years, four months, and two days to live!  I’ll
also come into another bequest shortly.  That’s what my horoscope tells
me.  If I can extend my boundaries so as to join Apulia, I’ll think I’ve
amounted to something in this life!  I built this house with Mercury on
the job, anyhow; it was a hovel, as you know, it’s a palace now!  Four
dining-rooms, twenty bed-rooms, two marble colonnades, a store-room
upstairs, a bed-room where I sleep myself, a sitting-room for this viper,
a very good room for the porter, a guest-chamber for visitors.  As a
matter of fact, Scaurus, when he was here, would stay nowhere else,
although he has a family place on the seashore.  I’ll show you many other
things, too, in a jiffy; believe me, if you have an as, you’ll be rated
at what you have.  So your humble servant, who was a frog, is now a king.
Stychus, bring out my funereal vestments while we wait, the ones I’ll be
carried out in, some perfume, too, and a draught of the wine in that jar,
I mean the kind I intend to have my bones washed in.”


It was not long before Stychus brought a white shroud and a
purple-bordered toga into the dining-room, and Trimalchio requested us
to feel them and see if they were pure wool. Then, with a smile, “Take
care, Stychus, that the mice don’t get at these things and gnaw them, or
the moths either.  I’ll burn you alive if they do.  I want to be carried
out in all my glory so all the people will wish me well.”  Then, opening
a jar of nard, he had us all anointed.  “I hope I’ll enjoy this as well
when I’m dead,” he remarked, “as I do while I’m alive.”  He then ordered
wine to be poured into the punch-bowl. “Pretend,” said he, “that you’re
invited to my funeral feast.”  The thing had grown positively
nauseating, when Trimalchio, beastly drunk by now, bethought himself of
a new and singular diversion and ordered some horn-blowers brought into
the dining-room.  Then, propped up by many cushions, he stretched
himself out upon the couch.  “Let on that I’m dead,” said he, “and say
something nice about me.”  The horn-blowers sounded off a loud funeral
march together, and one in particular, a slave belonging to an
undertaker, made such a fanfare that he roused the whole neighborhood,
and the watch, which was patrolling the vicinity, thinking Trimalchio’s
house was afire, suddenly smashed in the door and rushed in with their
water and axes, as is their right, raising a rumpus all their own.  We
availed ourselves of this happy circumstance and, leaving Agamemnon in
the lurch, we took to our heels, as though we were running away from a
real conflagration.


Affairs start to go wrong, your friends will stand from under
Doctor’s not good for anything except for a consolation
Everybody’s business is nobody’s business
He can teach you more than he knows himself
Learning’s a fine thing, and a trade won’t starve
Men are lions at home and foxes abroad
No one can show a dead man a good time
The loser’s always the winner in arguments
Too many doctors did away with him
We know that you’re only a fool with a lot of learning
Whenever you learn a thing, it’s yours
Believes, on the spot, every tale
You can spot a louse on someone else



There was no torch to light the way for us, as we wandered around, nor
did the silence of midnight give promise of our meeting any wayfarer with
a light; in addition to this, we were drunk and unfamiliar with the
district, which would confuse one, even in daylight, so for the best part
of a mortal hour we dragged our bleeding feet over all the flints and
pieces of broken tile, till we were extricated, at last, by Giton’s
cleverness.  This prudent youngster had been afraid of going astray on
the day before, so he had taken care to mark all the pillars and columns
with chalk.  These marks stood out distinctly, even through the pitchy
night, and by their brilliant whiteness pointed out the way for us as we
wandered about.  Nevertheless, we had no less cause for being in a sweat
even when we came to our lodging, for the old woman herself had been
sitting and swilling so long with her guests that even if one had set her
afire, she would not have known it.  We would have spent the night on the
door-sill had not Trimalchio’s courier come up in state, with ten wagons;
he hammered on the door for a short time, and then smashed it in, giving
us an entrance through the same breach.  (Hastening to the
sleeping-chamber, I went to bed with my “brother” and, burning with
passion as I was, after such a magnificent dinner, I surrendered myself
wholly to sexual gratification.)

               Oh Goddesses and Gods, that purple night
               How soft the couch!  And we, embracing tight;
               With every wandering kiss our souls would meet!
               Farewell all mortal woes, to die were sweet

But my self-congratulation was premature, for I was overcome with wine,
and when my unsteady hands relaxed their hold, Ascyltos, that
never-failing well-spring of iniquity, stole the boy away from me in the
night and carried him to his own bed, where he wallowed around without
restraint with a “brother” not his own, while the latter, not noticing
the fraud, or pretending not to notice it, went to sleep in a stranger’s
arms, in defiance of all human rights.  Awaking at last, I felt the bed
over and found that it had been despoiled of its treasure: then, by all
that lovers hold dear, I swear I was on the verge of transfixing them
both with my sword and uniting their sleep with death.  At last,
however, I adopted a more rational plan; I spanked Giton into
wakefulness, and, glaring at Ascyltos, “Since you have broken faith by
this outrage,” I gritted out, with a savage frown, “and severed our
friendship, you had better get your things together at once, and pick up
some other bottom for your abominations!”  He raised no objection to
this, but after we had divided everything with scrupulous exactitude,
“Come on now,” he demanded, “and we’ll divide the boy!”


I thought this was a parting joke till he whipped out his sword, with a
murderous hand.  “You’ll not have this prize you’re brooding over, all to
yourself!  Since I’ve been rejected, I’ll have to cut off my share with
this sword.”  I followed suit, on my side, and, wrapping a mantle around
my left arm, I put myself on guard for the duel.  The unhappy boy,
rendered desperate by our unreasoning fury, hugged each of us tightly by
the knee, and in tears he humbly begged that this wretched lodging-house
should not witness a Theban duel, and that we would not pollute--with
mutual bloodshed the sacred rites of a friendship that was, as yet,
unstained.  “If a crime must be committed,” he wailed, “here is my naked
throat, turn your swords this way and press home the points.  I ought to
be the one to die, I broke the sacred pledge of friendship.”  We lowered
our points at these entreaties.  “I’ll settle this dispute,” Ascyltos
spoke up, “let the boy follow whomsoever he himself wishes to follow.
In that way, he, at least, will have perfect freedom in choosing a
‘brother’.”  Imagining that a relationship of such long standing had
passed into a tie of blood, I was not at all uneasy, so I snatched at
this proposition with precipitate eagerness, and submitted the dispute to
the judge.  He did not deliberate long enough to seem even to hesitate,
for he got up and chose Ascyltos for a “brother,” as soon as the last
syllable had passed my lips!  At this decision I was thunder-struck,
and threw myself upon the bed, unarmed and just as I stood.  Had I not
begrudged my enemy such a triumph, I would have laid violent hands upon
myself.  Flushed with success, Ascyltos marched out with his prize, and
abandoned, in a strange town, a comrade in the depths of despair; one
whom, but a little while before, he had loved most unselfishly, one whose
destiny was so like his own.

     As long as is expedient, the name of friendship lives,
     Just as in dicing, Fortune smiles or lowers;
     When good luck beckons, then your friend his gleeful service gives
     But basely flies when ruin o’er you towers.
     The strollers act their farces upon the stage, each one his part,

     The father, son, the rich man, all are here,
     But soon the page is turned upon the comic actor’s art,
     The masque is dropped, the make-ups disappear!


Nevertheless, I did not indulge myself very long in tears, being afraid
that Menelaus, the tutor, might drop in upon me all alone in the
lodging-house, and catch me in the midst of my troubles, so I collected my
baggage and, with a heavy heart, sneaked off to an obscure quarter near
the seashore.  There, I kept to my room for three days.  My mind was
continually haunted by my loneliness and desertion, and I beat my breast,
already sore from blows.  “Why could not the earth have opened and
swallowed me,” I wailed aloud, between the many deep-drawn groans, “or
the sea, which rages even against the guiltless?  Did I flee from
justice, murder my ghost, and cheat the arena, in order that, after so
many proofs of courage, I might be left lying here deserted, a beggar and
an exile, in a lodging-house in a Greek town?  And who condemned me to
this desolation’?  A boy stained by every form of vice, who, by his own
confession, ought to be exiled: free, through vice, expert in vice, whose
favors came through a throw of the dice, who hired himself out as a girl
to those who knew him to be a boy!  And as to the other, what about him?
In place of the manly toga, he donned the woman’s stola when he reached
the age of puberty: he resolved, even from his mother’s womb, never to
become a man; in the slave’s prison he took the woman’s part in the
sexual act, he changed the instrument of his lechery when he
double-crossed me, abandoned the ties of a long-standing friendship,
and, shame upon him, sold everything for a single night’s dalliance,
like any other street-walker!  Now the lovers lie whole nights, locked
in each other’s arms, and I suppose they make a mockery of my desolation
when they are resting up from the exhaustion caused by their mutual
excesses.  But not with impunity!  If I don’t avenge the wrong they have
done me in their guilty blood, I’m no free man!”


I girded on my sword, when I had said these words, and, fortifying my
strength with a heavy meal, so that weakness would not cause me to lose
the battle, I presently sallied forth into the public streets and rushed
through all the arcades, like a maniac.  But while, with my face savagely
convulsed in a frown, I was meditating nothing but bloodshed and
slaughter, and was continually clapping my hand to the hilt of my sword,
which I had consecrated to this, I was observed by a soldier, that is, he
either was a real soldier, or else he was some night-prowling thug, who
challenged me.  “Halt!  Who goes there?  What legion are you from?  Who’s
your centurion?”  “Since when have men in your outfit gone on pass in
white shoes?”  he retorted, when I had lied stoutly about both centurion
and legion.  Both my face and my confusion proved that I had been caught
in a lie, so he ordered me to surrender my arms and to take care that I
did not get into trouble.  I was held up, as a matter of course, and, my
revenge balked, I returned to my lodging-house and, recovering by degrees
from my fright, I began to be grateful to the boldness of the footpad.
It is not wise to place much reliance upon any scheme, because Fortune
has a method of her own.


(Nevertheless, I found it very difficult to stifle my longing for
revenge, and after tossing half the night in anxiety, I arose at dawn
and, in the hope of mitigating my mental sufferings and of forgetting my
wrongs, I took a walk through all the public arcades and) entered a
picture-gallery, which contained a wonderful collection of pictures in
various styles.  I beheld works from the hand of Zeuxis, still undimmed
by the passage of the years, and contemplated, not without a certain awe,
the crude drawings of Protogenes, which equalled the reality of nature
herself; but when I stood before the work of Apelles, the kind which the
Greeks call “Monochromatic,” verily, I almost worshipped, for the
outlines of the figures were drawn with such subtlety of touch, and were
so life-like in their precision, that you would have thought their very
souls were depicted.  Here, an eagle was soaring into the sky bearing the
shepherd of Mount Ida to heaven; there, the comely Hylas was struggling
to escape from the embrace of the lascivious Naiad.  Here, too, was
Apollo, cursing his murderous hand and adorning his unstrung lyre with
the flower just created.  Standing among these lovers, which were only
painted, “It seems that even the gods are wracked by love,” I cried
aloud, as if I were in a wilderness.  “Jupiter could find none to his
taste, even in his own heaven, so he had to sin on earth, but no one was
betrayed by him!  The nymph who ravished Hylas would have controlled her
passion had she thought Hercules was coming to forbid it.  Apollo
recalled the spirit of a boy in the form of a flower, and all the lovers
of Fable enjoyed Love’s embraces without a rival, but I took as a comrade
a friend more cruel than Lycurgus!”  But at that very instant, as I was
telling my troubles to the winds, a white-haired old man entered the
picture-gallery; his face was care-worn, and he seemed, I know not why,
to give promise of something great, although he bestowed so little care
upon his dress that it was easily apparent that he belonged to that class
of literati which the wealthy hold in contempt.  “I am a poet,” he
remarked, when he had approached me and stood at my side, “and one of no
mean ability, I hope, that is, if anything is to be inferred from the
crowns which gratitude can place even upon the heads of the unworthy!
Then why, you demand, are you dressed so shabbily?  For that very reason;
love or art never yet made anyone rich.”

          The trader trusts his fortune to the sea and takes his gains,
             The warrior, for his deeds, is girt with gold;
          The wily sycophant lies drunk on purple counterpanes,
             Young wives must pay debauchees or they’re cold.
          But solitary, shivering, in tatters Genius stands
             Invoking a neglected art, for succor at its hands.


“It is certainly true that a man is hated when he declares himself an
enemy to all vice, and begins to follow the right road in life, because,
in the first place, his habits are different from those of other people;
for who ever approved of anything to which he took exceptions?  Then,
they whose only ambition is to pile up riches, don’t want to believe that
men can possess anything better than that which they have themselves;
therefore, they use every means in their power to so buffet the lovers
of literature that they will seem in their proper place--below the
moneybags.”  “I know not why it should be so,” (I said with a sigh), “but
Poverty is the sister of Genius.”  (“You have good reason,” the old man
replied, “to deplore the status of men of letters.”  “No,” I answered,
“that was not the reason for my sigh, there is another and far weightier
cause for my grief.”  Then, in accordance with the human propensity of
pouring one’s personal troubles into another’s ears, I explained my
misfortune to him, and dwelt particularly upon Ascyltos’ perfidy.)  “Oh
how I wish that this enemy who is the cause of my enforced continence
could be mollified,” (I cried, with many a groan,) “but he is an old hand
at robbery, and more cunning than the pimps themselves!”  (My frankness
pleased the old man, who attempted to comfort me and, to beguile my
sorrow, he related the particulars of an amorous intrigue in which he
himself had played a part.)


“When I was attached to the Quaestor’s staff, in Asia, I was quartered
with a family at Pergamus.  I found things very much to my liking there,
not only on account of the refined comfort of my apartments, but also
because of the extreme beauty of my host’s son.  For the latter reason,
I had recourse to strategy, in order that the father should never suspect
me of being a seducer.  So hotly would I flare up, whenever the abuse
of handsome boys was even mentioned at the table, and with such
uncompromising sternness would I protest against having my ears insulted
by such filthy talk, that I came to be looked upon, especially by the
mother, as one of the philosophers.  I was conducting the lad to the
gymnasium before very long, and superintending his conduct, taking
especial care, all the while, that no one who could debauch him should
ever enter the house.  Then there came a holiday, the school was closed,
and our festivities had rendered us too lazy to retire properly, so we
lay down in the dining-room.  It was just about midnight, and I knew he
was awake, so I murmured this vow, in a very low voice, ‘Oh Lady Venus,
could I but kiss this lad, and he not know it, I would give him a pair of
turtle-doves tomorrow!’  On hearing the price offered for this favor, the
boy commenced to snore!  Then, bending over the pretending sleeper, I
snatched a fleeting kiss or two.  Satisfied with this beginning, I arose
early in the morning, brought a fine pair of turtle-doves to the eager
lad, and absolved myself from my vow.”


“Next night, when the same opportunity presented itself, I changed my
petition, ‘If I can feel him all over with a wanton hand,’ I vowed, ‘and
he not know it, I will give him two of the gamest fighting-cocks, for his
silence.’ The lad nestled closer to me of his own accord, on hearing this
offer, and I truly believe that he was afraid that I was asleep.  I made
short work of his apprehensions on that score, however, by stroking and
fondling his whole body.  I worked myself into a passionate fervor that
was just short of supreme gratification.  Then, when day dawned, I made
him happy with what I had promised him.  When the third night gave me
my chance, I bent close to the ear of the rascal, who pretended to be
asleep.  ‘Immortal gods,’ I whispered, ‘if I can take full and complete
satisfaction of my love, from this sleeping beauty, I will tomorrow
present him with the best Macedonian pacer in the market, in return for
this bliss, provided that he does not know it.’  Never had the lad slept
so soundly!  First I filled my hands with his snowy breasts, then I
pressed a clinging kiss upon his mouth, but I finally focused all my
energies upon one supreme delight!  Early in the morning, he sat up in
bed, awaiting my usual gift.  It is much easier to buy doves and
game-cocks than it is to buy a pacer, as you know, and aside from that,
I was also afraid that so valuable a present might render my motive
subject to suspicion, so, after strolling around for some hours, I
returned to the house, and gave the lad nothing at all except a kiss.
He looked all around, threw his arms about my neck.  ‘Tell me, master,’
he cried, ‘where’s the pacer?’ [‘The difficulty of getting one fine
enough has compelled me to defer the fulfillment of my promise,’ I
replied, ‘but I will make it good in a few days.’ The lad easily
understood the true meaning of my answer, and his countenance betrayed
his secret resentment.)”


“(In the meantime,) by breaking this vow, I had cut myself off from the
avenue of access which I had contrived, but I returned to the attack, all
the same, when the opportunity came.  In a few days, a similar occasion
brought about the very same conditions as before, and the instant I heard
his father snoring, I began pleading with the lad to receive me again
into his good graces, that is to say, that he ought to suffer me to
satisfy myself with him, and he in turn could do whatever his own
distended member desired.  He was very angry, however, and would say
nothing at all except, ‘Either you go to sleep, or I’ll call father!’
But no obstacle is so difficult that depravity cannot twist around it and
even while he threatened ‘I’ll call father,’ I slipped into his bed and
took my pleasure in spite of his half-hearted resistance.  Nor was he
displeased with my improper conduct for, although he complained for a
while, that he had been cheated and made a laughing-stock, and that his
companions, to whom he had bragged of his wealthy friend, had made sport
of him.  ‘But you’ll see that I’ll not be like you,’ he whispered; ‘do it
again, if you want to!’  All misunderstandings were forgotten and I was
readmitted into the lad’s good graces.  Then I slipped off to sleep,
after profiting by his complaisance.  But the youth, in the very flower
of maturity, and just at the best age for passive pleasure, was by no
means satisfied with only one repetition, so he roused me out of a heavy
sleep.  ‘Isn’t there something you’d like to do?’ he whispered!  The
pastime had not begun to cloy, as yet, and, somehow or other, what with
panting and sweating and wriggling, he got what he wanted and, worn out
with pleasure, I dropped off to sleep again. Less than an hour had passed
when he began to punch me with his hand. ‘Why are we not busy,’ he
whispered!  I flew into a violent rage at being disturbed so many times,
and threatened him in his own words, ‘Either you go to sleep, or I’ll
call father!’”


Heartened up by this story, I began to draw upon his more comprehensive
knowledge as to the ages of the pictures and as to certain of the stories
connected with them, upon which I was not clear; and I likewise inquired
into the causes of the decadence of the present age, in which the most
refined arts had perished, and among them painting, which had not left
even the faintest trace of itself behind. “Greed of money,” he replied,
“has brought about these unaccountable changes.  In the good old times,
when virtue was her own reward, the fine arts flourished, and there was
the keenest rivalry among men for fear that anything which could be of
benefit to future generations should remain long undiscovered.  Then it
was that Democritus expressed the juices of all plants and spent his
whole life in experiments, in order that no curative property should lurk
unknown in stone or shrub.  That he might understand the movements of
heaven and the stars, Eudoxus grew old upon the summit of a lofty
mountain: three times did Chrysippus purge his brain with hellebore,
that his faculties might be equal to invention.  Turn to the sculptors if
you will; Lysippus perished from hunger while in profound meditation upon
the lines of a single statue, and Myron, who almost embodied the souls of
men and beasts in bronze, could not find an heir.  And we, sodden with
wine and women, cannot even appreciate the arts already practiced, we
only criticise the past! We learn only vice, and teach it, too.  What has
become of logic? of astronomy?  Where is the exquisite road to wisdom?
Who even goes into a temple to make a vow, that he may achieve eloquence
or bathe in the fountain of wisdom?  And they do not pray for good health
and a sound mind; before they even set foot upon the threshold of the
temple, one promises a gift if only he may bury a rich relative; another,
if he can but dig up a treasure, and still another, if he is permitted to
amass thirty millions of sesterces in safety!  The Senate itself, the
exponent of all that should be right and just, is in the habit of
promising a thousand pounds of gold to the capitol, and that no one may
question the propriety of praying for money, it even decorates Jupiter
himself with spoils’.  Do not hesitate, therefore, at expressing your
surprise at the deterioration of painting, since, by all the gods and men
alike, a lump of gold is held to be more beautiful than anything ever
created by those crazy little Greek fellows, Apelles and Phydias!”


“But I see that your whole attention is held by that picture which
portrays the destruction of Troy, so I will attempt to unfold the story
in verse:

And now the tenth harvest beheld the beleaguered of Troia

Worn out with anxiety, fearing the honor of Calchas

The prophet, hung wavering deep in the blackest despair.

Apollo commanded!  The forested peaks of Mount Ida

Were felled and dragged down; the hewn timbers were fitted to fashion

A war-horse.  Unfilled is a cavity left, and this cavern,

Roofed over, capacious enough for a camp.  Here lie hidden

The raging impetuous valor of ten years of warfare.

Malignant Greek troops pack the recess, lurk in their own offering.

Alas my poor country!  We thought that their thousand grim war-ships

Were beaten and scattered, our arable lands freed from warfare!

Th’ inscription cut into the horse, and the crafty behavior

Of Sinon, his mind ever powerful for evil, affirmed it.

Delivered from war, now the crowd, carefree, hastens to worship

And pours from the portals.  Their cheeks wet with weeping, the joy

Of their tremulous souls brings to eyes tears which terror

Had banished.  Laocoon, priest unto Neptune, with hair loosed,

An outcry evoked from the mob: he drew back his javelin

And launched it!  The belly of wood was his target.  The weapon

Recoiled, for the fates stayed his hand, and this artifice won us.

His feeble hand nerved he anew, and the lofty sides sounded,

His two-edged ax tried them severely.  The young troops in ambush

Gasped.  And as long as the reverberations re-echoed

The wooden mass breathed out a fear that was not of its own.

Imprisoned, the warriors advance to take Troia a captive

And finish the struggle by strategem new and unheard of.

Behold!  Other portents: Where Tenedos steep breaks the ocean

Where great surging billows dash high; to be broken, and leap back

To form a deep hollow of calm, and resemble the plashing

Of oars, carried far through the silence of night, as when ships pass

And drive through the calm as it smashes against their fir bows.

Then backward we look towards the rocks; the tide carries two serpents

That coil and uncoil as they come, and their breasts, which are swollen

Aside dash the foam, as the bows of tall ships; and the ocean

Is lashed by their tails, their manes, free on the water, as savage

As even their eyes: now a blinding beam kindles the billows,

The sea with their hissing is sibilant!  All stare in terror!

Laocoon’s twin sons in Phrygian raiment are standing

With priests wreathed for sacrifice.  Them did the glistening serpents

Enfold in their coils!  With their little hands shielding their faces,

The boys, neither thinking of self, but each one of his brother!

Fraternal love’s sacrifice!  Death himself slew those poor children

By means of their unselfish fear for each other!  The father,

A helper too feeble, now throws himself prone on their bodies:

The serpents, now glutted with death, coil around him and drag him

To earth!  And the priest, at his altar a victim, lies beating

The ground.  Thus the city of Troy, doomed to sack and destruction,

First lost her own gods by profaning their shrines and their worship.

The full moon now lifted her luminous beam and the small stars

Led forth, with her torch all ablaze; when the Greeks drew the bolts

And poured forth their warriors, on Priam’s sons, buried in darkness

And sodden with wine.  First the leaders made trial of their weapons

Just as the horse, when unhitched from Thessalian neck-yoke,

First tosses his head and his mane, ere to pasture he rushes.

They draw their swords, brandish their shields and rush into the battle.

One slays the wine-drunken Trojans, prolonging their dreams

To death, which ends all.  Still another takes brands from the altars,

And calls upon Troy’s sacred temples to fight against Trojans.”


Some of the public, who were loafing in the portico, threw stones at the
reciting Eumolpus and he, taking note of this tribute to his genius,
covered his head and bolted out of the temple.  Fearing they might take
me for a poet, too, I followed after him in his flight and came to the
seashore, where we stopped as soon as we were out of range.  “Tell me,”
 I demanded, “what are you going to do about that disease of yours?
You’ve loafed with me less than two hours, and you’ve talked more often
like a poet than you have like a human being!  For this reason, I’m not
at all surprised that the rabble chases you with rocks.  I’m going to
load my pockets with stones, too, and whenever you begin to go out of
your head, I’m going to let blood out of it!”  His expression changed.
“My dear young man,” said he, “today is not the first time I have had
such compliments showered upon me; the audience always applauds me in
this fashion, when I go into the theatre to recite anything, but I’ll
abstain from this sort of diet for the whole day, for fear of having
trouble with you.”  “Good,” I replied, “we’ll dine together if you’ll
swear off crankiness for the day.”  (So saying,) I gave the housekeeper
the orders for our little supper (and we went straight off to the baths.)


(There) I catch sight of Giton laden with towels and scrapers, leaning,
downhearted and embarrassed, against the wall.  You could see that he did
not serve of his own free will.  Then, that I might assure myself that I
saw aright, “Take pity on me, brother,” he cried, turning towards me a
face lighted up with joy, “there are no arms here, I can speak freely
take me away from that bloody robber, and punish your penitent judge as
severely as you like.  To have perished, should you wish it, will be a
consolation great enough in my misery!”  Fearing some one might overhear
our plans, I bade him hush his complaints and, leaving Eumolpus behind
--for he was reciting a poem in the bath--I pull Giton down a dark and
dirty passage, after me, and fly with all speed to my lodgings.  Arriving
there, I slam the door shut, embrace him convulsively, and press my face
against his which is all wet with tears.  For a long time, neither of us
could find his voice, and as for the lad, his shapely bosom was heaving
continuously with choking sobs.  “Oh the disgraceful inconsistency of it
all,” I cried, “for I love you still, although you abandoned me, and no
scar from that gaping wound is left upon this breast!  What can you say
that will justify you in yielding your love to a stranger?  Did I merit
such an affront’?”  He held his head higher when he found that he was

          For one to love, and at the same time, blame,
          That were a labor Hercules to tame!
          Conflicting passions yield in Cupid’s name.

(“And furthermore,” I went on), “I was not the one that laid the cause of
our love before another judge, but I will complain no more, I will
remember nothing, if you will prove your penitence by keeping faith.”
 He wiped his face upon his mantle, while I poured out these words, with
groans and tears.  “Encolpius,” said he, “I beseech you, I appeal to your
honest recollection, did I leave you, or did you throw me over?  For my
part, I admit, and openly at that, that I sought, refuge with the
stronger, when I beheld two armed men.”  I kissed that, bosom, so full of
prudence, threw my arms around his neck and pressed him tightly against
my breast, that he might see unmistakably that he had gotten back into my
good graces, and that our friendship lived again in perfect confidence.


Night had fallen by this time, and the woman to whom I had given my order
had prepared supper, when Eumolpus knocked at the door.  “How many of you
are there?”  I called out, and as I spoke, I peeped cautiously through a
chink in the door to see if Ascyltos had come with him; then, as I
perceived that he was the only guest, I quickly admitted him.  He threw
himself upon the pallet and caught sight of Giton, waiting table,
whereupon, he nodded his head, “I like your Ganymede,” he remarked,
“this day promises a good ending!”  I did not take kindly to such an
inquisitive beginning, fearing that I had let another Ascyltos into my
lodging.  Eumolpus stuck to his purpose.  “I like you better than the
whole bathful,” he remarked, when the lad had served him with wine, then
he thirstily drained the cup dry and swore that never before had he
tasted a wine with such a satisfying tang to it.  “While I was bathing,”
 he went on, “I was almost beaten up for trying to recite a poem to the
people sitting around the basin, and when I had been thrown out of the
baths, just like I was out of the theatre, I hunted through every nook
and cranny of the building, calling ‘Encolpius, Encolpius,’ at the top of
my voice.  A naked youth at the other end, who had lost his clothes, was
bawling just as loudly and no less angrily for Giton!  As for myself, the
slaves took me for a maniac, and mimicked me in the most insolent manner,
but a large crowd gathered around him, clapping its hands in awe-struck
admiration, for so heavy and massive were his private parts, that you
would have thought that the man himself was but an appendage of his own
member!  Oh such a man!  He could do his bit all right!  I haven’t a
doubt but that he could begin on the day before and never finish till the
day after the next!  And he soon found a friend, of course: some Roman
knight or other, I don’t know his name, but he bears a bad reputation, so
they say, threw his own mantle around the wanderer and took him off home
with himself, hoping, I suppose, to have the sole enjoyment of so huge a
prize.  But I couldn’t get my own clothing back from the officious bath
attendant till I found some one who could identify me, which only goes to
show that it is more profitable to rub up the member than it is to polish
the mind!”  While Eumolpus was relating all this, I changed countenance
continually, elated, naturally, at the mishaps of my enemy, and vexed at
his good fortune; but I controlled my tongue nevertheless, as if I knew
nothing about the episode, and read aloud the bill of fare.  (Hardly had
I finished, when our humble meal was served.  The food was plain but
succulent and nutritious, and the famished scholar Eumolpus, fell to

     Kind Providence unto our needs has tempered its decrees
        And met our wants, our carping plaints to still
     Green herbs, and berries hanging on their rough and brambly sprays
        Suffice our hunger’s gnawing pangs to kill.
     What fool would thirst upon a river’s brink?  Or stand and freeze
        In icy blasts, when near a cozy fire?
     The law sits armed outside the door, adulterers to seize,
        The chaste bride, guiltless, gratifies desire.
     All Nature lavishes her wealth to meet our just demands;
     But, spurred by lust of pride, we stop at naught to gain our ends!

(Our philosopher began to moralize, when he had gorged himself, leveling
many critical shafts at those who hold every-day things in contempt,
esteeming nothing except what is rare.)


(“To their perverted taste,” he went on,) everything one may have
lawfully is held cheap and the appetite, tickled only by forbidden
indulgences, delights in what is most difficult to obtain.

     The pheasant from Colchis, the wild-fowl from African shores,

     Because they are dainties, the parvenu’s palate adores

     The white-feathered goose, and the duck in his bright-colored plumes

     Must nourish the rabble; they’re common, so them Fashion dooms!

     The wrasse brought from dangerous Syrtis is much more esteemed

     When fishing-boats founder!  And even the mullet is deemed,

     No matter how heavy, a weight on the market!  The whore

     Displaces the wife; and in perfumes, the cinnamon more

     Is esteemed than the rose!  So whatever we have, we despise,

     And whatever we have not, we think a superlative prize!”

“Is this the way in which you keep your promise not to recite a single
verse today?”  I demanded; “bear in mind your promise and spare us, at
least, for we have thrown no rocks at you yet.  If a single one of those
fellows drinking under this very roof were to smell out a poet in their
midst, he would arouse the whole neighborhood and involve all of us in
the same misunderstanding!”  Giton, who was one of the gentlest of lads,
took me to task for having spoken in that manner, denying that I did
rightly in criticising my elders and at the same time forgetting my
duties as host by offering an affront to one whom I had invited out of
kindness.  And much more, full of moderation and propriety, which was in
exquisite keeping with his good looks.


“Happy the mother,” cried Eumolpus, “who bore such a son as you!  May
your fortune be in keeping with your merit! Beauty and wisdom are rarely
found mixed!  And that you may not think that all your words are wasted,
know that you have found a lover!  I will fill my verses with your
praise!  I will act as your guardian and your tutor, following you even
when you bid me stay behind!  Nor can Encolpius take offense, he loves
another.”  The soldier who took my sword from me did Eumolpus a good
turn, too; otherwise, the rage which I had felt against Ascyltos would
have been quenched in the blood of Eumolpus. Seeing what was in the wind,
Giton slipped out of the room, pretending he was going after water, and
by this diplomatic retreat he put an end to my fury.  Then, as my anger
cooled, little by little, “Eumolpus,” I said, “rather than have you
entertain designs of such a nature, I would even prefer to have you
spouting poetry!  I am hot-tempered and you are lecherous; see how
uncongenial two such dispositions must be!  Take me for a maniac, humor
my malady: in other words, get out quick!”  Taken completely aback by
this onslaught, Eumolpus crossed the threshold of the room without
stopping to ask the reason for my wrath, and immediately slammed the door
shut, penning me in, as I was not looking for any move of that kind then,
having quickly removed the key, he hurried away in search of Giton.
Finding that I was locked in, I decided to hang myself, and had already
fastened my belt to the bedstead which stood alongside of the wall, and
was engaged in fastening the noose around my neck, when the doors were
unlocked and Eumolpus came in with Giton, recalling me to light when I
was just about to turn the fatal goal-post!  Giton was greatly wrought up
and his grief turned to fury: seizing me with both hands, he threw me
upon the bed.  “If you think, Encolpius,” he shrieked, “that you can
contrive to die before I do, you’re wrong!  I thought of suicide first.
I hunted for a sword in Ascyltos’ house: I would have thrown myself from
a precipice if I had not found you!  You know that Death is never far
from those who seek him, so take your turn and witness the spectacle you
wished to see!”  So saying, he snatched a razor from Eumolpus’ servant,
slashed his throat, once, twice, and fell down at our feet!  I uttered a
loud cry, rushed to him as he fell, and sought the road to death by the
same steel; Giton, however, showed not the faintest trace of any wound,
nor was I conscious of feeling any pain.  The razor, it turned out, was
untempered and dull and was used to imbue boy apprentices with the
confidence of the experienced barber.  Hence it was in a sheath and, for
the reason given above, the servant was not alarmed when the blade was
snatched nor did Eumolpus break in upon this farcical death scene.


The landlord made his appearance with a part of our little supper, while
this lover’s comedy was being enacted and, taking in the very disorderly
spectacle which we presented, lying there and wallowing as we were,
“Are you drunk,” he demanded, “or are you runaway slaves, or both?
Who turned up that bed there?  What’s the meaning of all  these sneaking
preparations?  You didn’t want to pay the room-rent, you didn’t, by
Hercules, you didn’t; you wanted to wait till night and run away into the
public streets, but that won’t go here!  This is no widow’s joint, I’ll
show you that; not yet it ain’t!  This place belongs  to Marcus
Manicius!”  “So you threaten, do you’?”  yelled Eumolpus, giving the
fellow a resounding slap in the face.  At this, the latter threw a small
earthenware pitcher, which had been emptied by the draughts of successive
guests, at Eumolpus’ head, and cut open the forehead of his cursing
adversary: then he skipped out of the room.  Infuriated at such an
insult, Eumolpus snatched up a wooden candlestick, ran in pursuit of his
retreating foeman, and avenged his broken head with a shower of blows.
The entire household crowded around, as did a number of drunken lodgers,
but I seized this opportunity of retaliating and locked Eumolpus out,
retorting his own trick upon the quarrelsome fellow, and found myself
without a rival, as it were, able to enjoy my room and my night’s
pleasure as well.  In the meantime, Eumolpus, locked out as he was,
was being very roughly handled by the cooks and scullions of the
establishment; one aimed a spitful of hissing-hot guts at his eyes;
another grabbed a two-tined fork in the pantry and put himself on guard.
But worst of all, a blear-eyed old hag, girded round with a filthy apron,
and wearing wooden clogs which were not mates, dragged in an immense dog
on a chain, and “sicked” him upon Eumolpus, but he beat off all attacks
with his candlestick.


We took in the entire performance through a hole in the folding-doors:
this had been made but a short time before, when the handle had been
broken and jerked out, and I wished him joy of his beating.  Giton,
however, forgetting everything except his own compassion, thought we
ought to open the door and succor Eumolpus, in his peril; but being still
angry, I could not restrain my hand; clenching my fist, I rapped his
pitying head with my sharp knuckles.  In tears, he sat upon the bed,
while I applied each eye in turn, to the opening, filling myself up as
with a dainty dish, with Eumolpus’ misfortunes, and gloating over their
prolongation, when Bargates, agent for the building, called from his
dinner, was carried into the midst of the brawl by two chair-men, for he
had the gout.  He carried on for some time against drunkards and fugitive
slaves, in a savage tone and with a barbarous accent, and then, looking
around and catching sight of Eumolpus, “What,” he exclaimed, “are you
here, nay prince of poets? and these damned slaves don’t scatter at once
and stop their brawling!”  (Then, whispering in Eumolpus’ ear,) “My
bedfellow’s got an idea that she’s finer-haired than I am; lampoon her
in a poem, if you think anything of me, and make ‘er ashamed.”


Eumolpus was speaking privately with Bargates, when a crier attended by a
public slave entered the inn, accompanied by a medium-sized crowd of
outsiders.  Waving a torch that gave out more smoke than light, he
announced: “Strayed from the baths, a short time ago, a boy about sixteen
years of age, curly headed, a minion, handsome, answers to the name of
Giton.  One thousand sesterces reward will be paid to anyone bringing him
back or giving information as to his whereabouts.”  Ascyltos, dressed in
a tunic of many colors, stood not far from the crier, holding out a
silver tray upon which was piled the reward, as evidence of good faith.
I ordered Giton to get under the bed immediately, telling him to stick
his hands and feet through the rope netting which supported the mattress,
and, just as Ulysses of old had clung to the ram, so he, stretched out
beneath the mattress, would evade the hands of the hunters.  And Giton
did not hesitate at obeying this order, but fastened his hands in the
netting for a moment, outdoing Ulysses in his own cunning!  For fear of
leaving room for suspicion, I piled covers upon my pallet, leaving the
impression of a single person of my own stature.  Meanwhile Ascyltos, in
company with the magistrate’s servant, had ransacked all the rooms and
had come at last to mine, where he entertained greater hopes of success,
because he found the doors carefully barred.  The public slave loosened
the bolts by inserting the edge of his ax in the chink.  I threw myself
at Ascyltos’ feet, begging him, by the memory of our friendship and our
companionship in suffering, to show me my “brother,” safe and sound, and
furthermore, that my simulated prayers might carry conviction, I added,
“I know very well, Ascyltos, that you have come here seeking  my  life.
If not,  why  the axes?

“Well, fatten your grudge, then!  Here’s my neck!  Pour out that blood
you seek to shed under pretext of a search!”  Ascyltos repelled this
suspicion, affirming that he sought nothing except his own fugitive and
desired the death of neither man nor suppliant, and least of all did he
wish to harm one whom, now that their quarrel was over, he regarded as
his dearest friend.


The public servant, however, was not derelict in the performance of his
duty for, snatching a cane from the innkeeper, he poked underneath the
bed, ransacking every corner, even to the cracks in the wall.  Twisting
his body out of reach, and cautiously drawing a full breath, Giton
pressed his mouth against the very bugs themselves. (The pair had
scarcely left the room) when Eumolpus burst in in great excitement, for
the doors had been broken and could keep no one out. “The thousand
sesterces are mine,” he shouted, “I’ll follow that crier out and tell him
Giton is in your power, and it will serve you right, too!”  Seeing that
his mind was made up, I embraced his knees and besought him not to kill a
dying man.  “You might have some reason for being excited,” I said, “if
you could produce the missing boy, but you cannot, as the thing stands
now, for he escaped into the crowd and I have not even a suspicion as to
where he has gone!  Get the lad back, Eumolpus, for heaven’s sake, even
if you do restore him to Ascyltos!” I had just succeeded in persuading
him to believe all this when Giton, nearly suffocated from holding his
breath, suddenly sneezed three times, and shook the bed.  Eumolpus turned
at the commotion.  “Hello, Giton,” he exclaimed, “glad to see you!”  Then
he turned back the mattress and discovered an Ulysses who even a ravenous
Cyclops might have spared; thereupon, he faced me, “You robber,” said he,
“what does all this mean? You hadn’t the nerve to tell me the truth even
when you were caught!  If the god, that umpires human affairs hadn’t
forced a sign from this boy as he hung there, I would be wandering from
one pot-house to another, like a fool!”  (But) Giton was far more tactful
than I: first of all, he dressed the cut upon Eumolpus’ forehead, with
spider’s web soaked in oil; he then exchanged the poet’s torn clothing
for his own cloak; this done, he embraced the old gentleman, who was
already somewhat mollified, and poulticed him with kisses.  “Dearest of
fathers,” he cried, “we are entirely in your hands!  In yours alone!  If
you love your Giton, do your best to save him.  Would that some cruel
flame might devour me, alone, or that the wintry sea might swallow me,
for I am the cause for all these crimes.  Two enemies would be reconciled
if I should perish!”  (Moved by our troubles, but particularly stirred by
Giton’s caresses, “You are fools,” exclaimed Eumolpus, “you certainly
are: here you are gifted with talents enough to make your fortunes and
you still lead a life of misery, and every day you bring new torments
upon yourselves, as the fruits of your own acts!)”


Death is never far from those who seek him
Esteeming nothing except what is rare
Love or art never yet made anyone rich
Man is hated when he declares himself an enemy to all vice
Propensity of pouring one’s personal troubles into another’s ear
Whatever we have, we despise



“I have always and everywhere lived such a life that each passing day was
spent as though that light would never return; (that is, in tranquillity!
Put aside those thoughts which worry you, if you wish to follow my lead.
Ascyltos persecutes you here; get out of his way.  I am about to start
for foreign parts, you may come with me.  I have taken a berth on a
vessel which will probably weigh anchor this very night.  I am well known
on board, and we shall be well received.)

          Leave then thy home and seek a foreign shore
          Brave youth; for thee thy destiny holds more:
          To no misfortune yield!  The Danube far
          Shall know thy spirit, and the polar star,
          And placid Nile, and they who dwell in lands
          Where sunrise starts, or they where sunset ends!
          A new Ulysses treads on foreign sands.”

(To me, this advice seemed both sound and practical, because it would
free me from any annoyance by Ascyltos, and because it gave promise of a
happier life.  I was overcome by the kindly sympathy of Eumolpus, and was
especially sorry for the latest injury I had done him.  I began to repent
my jealousy, which had been the cause of so many unpleasant happenings)
and with many tears, I begged and pled with him to admit me into favor,
as lovers cannot control their furious jealousy, and vowing, at the same
time, that I would not by word or deed give him cause for offense in the
future.  And he, like a learned and cultivated gentleman, ought to remove
all irritation from his mind, and leave no trace of it behind.  The snows
belong upon the ground in wild and uncultivated regions, but where the
earth has been beautified by the conquest of the plough, the light snow
melts away while you speak of it.  And so it is with anger in the heart;
in savage minds it lingers long, it glides quickly away from the
cultured.  “That you may experience the truth of what you say,” exclaimed
Eumolpus, “see!  I end my anger with a kiss.  May good luck go with us!
Get your baggage together and follow me, or go on ahead, if you prefer.”
 While he was speaking, a knock sounded at the door, and a sailor with a
bristling beard stood upon the threshold.  “You’re hanging in the wind,
Eumolpus,” said he, “as if you didn’t know that son-of-a-bitch of a
skipper!”  Without further delay we all got up.  Eumolpus ordered his
servant, who had been asleep for some time, to bring his baggage out.
Giton and I pack together whatever we have for the voyage and, after
praying to the stars, we went aboard.


(We picked out a retired spot on the poop and Eumolpus dozed off, as it
was not yet daylight.  Neither Giton nor myself could get a wink of
sleep, however.  Anxiously I reflected that I had received Eumolpus as a
comrade, a rival more formidable than Ascyltos, and that thought tortured
me.  But reason soon put my uneasiness to flight.)  “It is unfortunate,”
 (said I to myself,) “that the lad has so taken our friend’s fancy, but
what of it?  Is not nature’s every masterpiece common to all?  The sun
shines upon all alike!  The moon with her innumerable train of stars
lights even the wild beasts to their food.  What can be more beautiful
than water?

“Yet it flows for common use.  Shall love alone, then, be stolen, rather
than be regarded as a prize to be won?  No, indeed I desire no possession
unless the world envies me for possessing it.  A solitary old man can
scarcely become a serious rival; even should he wish to take advantage,
he would lose it through lack of breath.”  When, but without any
confidence, I had arrived at these conclusions, and beguiled my uneasy
spirit, I covered my head with my tunic and began to feign sleep, when
all of a sudden, as though Fortune were bent upon annihilating my peace
of mind, a voice upon the ship’s deck gritted out something like this
--“So he fooled me after all.”--As this voice, which was a man’s, and was
only too familiar, struck my ears, my heart fluttered.  And then a woman,
equally furious, spat out more spitefully still--“If only some god would
put Giton into my hands, what a fine time I would give that runaway.”
 --Stunned by these unexpected words, we both turned pale as death.  I was
completely terrified, and, as though I were enveloped in some turbulent
nightmare, was a long time finding my voice, but at last, with trembling
hands, I tugged at the hem of Eumolpus’ clothing, just as he was sinking
into slumber.  “Father,” I quavered, “on your word of honor, can you tell
me whose ship this is, and whom she has aboard?”  Peeved at being
disturbed, “So,” he snapped, “this was the reason you wished to have us
quartered in the most inaccessible spot on deck, was it?  So we could get
no rest!  What good will it do you when I’ve informed you that Lycas of
Tarentum is master of this ship and that he carries Tryphaena as an exile
to Tarentum?”


I shivered, horror-struck, at this thunderbolt and, beating my throat,
“Oh Destiny,” I wailed, “you’ve vanquished me completely, at last!”  As
for Giton, he fell in a faint upon my bosom and remained unconscious for
quite a while, until a sweat finally relieved our tension, whereupon,
hugging Eumolpus around the knees, “Take pity upon the perishing,” I
besought him, “in the name of our common learning, aid us!  Death himself
hangs over us, and he will come as a relief unless you help us!”
 Overwhelmed by this implication, Eumolpus swore by all the gods and
goddesses that he knew nothing of what had happened, nor had he had any
ulterior purpose in mind, but that he had brought his companions upon
this voyage which he himself had long intended taking, with the most
upright intentions and in the best of good faith.  “But,” demanded he,
“what is this ambush?  Who is this Hannibal who sails with us?  Lycas of
Tarentum is a most respectable citizen and the owner, not only of this
ship, which he commands in person, but of landed estates as well as
commercial houses under the management of slaves.  He carries a cargo
consigned to market.  He is the Cyclops, the arch-pirate, to whom we owe
our passage!  And then, besides himself, there is Tryphaena, a most
charming woman, travelling about here and there in search of pleasure.”
 “But,” objected Giton, “they are the very ones we are most anxious to
avoid,” whereupon he explained to the astonished Eumolpus the reasons for
their enmity and for the danger which threatened us.  So muddled did he
become, at what had been told him, that he lost the power of thinking,
and requested each of us to offer his own opinion.  “Just imagine,” said
he, “that we are trapped in the Cyclops’ cave: some way out must be
found, unless we bring about a shipwreck, and free ourselves from all
dangers!”  “Bribe the pilot, if necessary, and persuade him to steer the
ship into some port,” volunteered Giton; “tell him your brother’s nearly
dead from seasickness: your woebegone face and streaming tears will lend
color to your deception, and the pilot may be moved to mercy and grant
your prayer.”  Eumolpus denied the practicability of this.  “It is only
with difficulty,” affirmed he, “that large ships are warped into
landlocked harbors, nor would it appear probable that my brother could
have been taken so desperately in so short a time.  And then, Lycas will
be sure to want to visit a sick passenger, as part of his duties!  You
can see for yourselves what a fine stroke it would be, bringing the
captain to his own runaways!  But, supposing that the ship could be put
off her course, supposing that Lycas did not hold sick-call, how could we
leave the ship in such a manner as not to be stared at by all the rest?
With muffled heads?  With bare?  If muffled, who would not want to lend
the sick man a hand?  If bare, what would it mean if not proscribing


“Why would it not be better to take refuge in boldness,” I asked, “slide
down a rope into the ship’s boat, cut the painter, and leave the rest to
luck’?  And furthermore, I would not involve Eumolpus in this adventure,
for what is the good of getting an innocent man into troubles with which
he has no concern?  I shall be well content if chance helps us into the
boat.”  “Not a bad scheme,” Eumolpus agreed, “if it could only be carried
out: but who could help seeing you when you start?  Especially the man at
the helm, who stands watch all night long and observes even the motions
of the stars.  But it could be done in spite of that, when he dozed off
for a second, that is, if you chose some other part of the ship from
which to start: as it is, it must be the stern, you must even slip down
the rudder itself, for that is where the painter that holds the boat in
tow is made fast.  And there is still something else, Encolpius.  I am
surprised that it has not occurred to you that one sailor is on watch,
lying in the boat, night and day.  You couldn’t get rid of that watchman
except by cutting his throat or throwing him overboard by force.  Consult
your own courage as to whether that can be done or not.  And as far as my
coming with you is concerned, I shirk no danger which holds out any hopes
of success, but to throw away life without a reason, as if it were a
thing of no moment, is something which I do not believe that even you
would sanction--see what you think of this: I will wrap you up in two
hide baggage covers, tie you up with thongs, and stow you among my
clothing, as baggage, leaving the ends somewhat open, of course, so you
can breathe and get your food. Then I will raise a hue and cry because my
slaves have thrown themselves into the sea, fearing worse punishment; and
when the ship makes port, I will carry you out as baggage without
exciting the slightest suspicion!” “Oh!  So you would bundle us up like
we were solid,” I sneered; “our bellies wouldn’t make trouble for us, of
course, and we’ll never sneeze nor snore!  And all because a similar
trick turned out successfully before!  Think the matter over!  Being tied
up could be endured for one day, but suppose it might have to be for
longer?  What if we should be becalmed?  What if we were struck by a
storm from the wrong quarter of the heavens?  What could we  do then?
Even clothes will cut through at the wrinkles when they are tied up too
long, and paper in bundles will lose its shape.  Do you imagine that we,
who are young and unused to hardship, could endure the filthy rags and
lashings necessary to such an operation, as statues do?  No!  That’s
settled!  Some other road to safety must be found!  I have thought up a
scheme, see what you think of it!  Eumolpus is a man of letters.  He will
have ink about him, of course.  With this remedy, then, let’s change our
complexions, from hair to toe-nails!  Then, in the guise of Ethiopian
slaves, we shall be ready at hand to wait upon you, light-hearted as
having escaped the torturer, and, with our altered complexions, we can
impose upon our enemies!” “Yes, indeed,”  sneered  Giton, “and be sure
and circumcise us, too, so we will be taken for Jews, pierce our ears so
we will look like Arabs, chalk our faces so that Gaul will take us for
her own sons; as if color alone could change one’s figure!  As if many
other details did not require consideration if a passable imposture is to
result!  Even granting that the stained face can keep its color for some
time, suppose that not a drop of water should spot the skin, suppose that
the garment did not stick to the ink, as it often does, where no gum is
used, tell me!  We can’t make our lips so hideously thick, can we?  We
can’t kink our hair with a curling-iron, can we?  We can’t harrow our
foreheads with scars, can we?  We can’t force our legs out into the form
of a bow or walk with our ankle-bones on the ground, can we?  Can we trim
our beards after the foreign style?  No!  Artificial color dirties the
body without changing it.  Listen to the plan which I have thought out in
my desperation; let’s tie our garments around our heads and throw
ourselves into the deep!”


“Gods and men forbid that you should make so base an ending of your
lives,” cried Eumolpus.  “No! It will be better to do as I direct.  As
you may gather, from his razor, my servant is a barber: let him shave
your heads and eyebrows, too, and quickly at that!  I will follow after
him, and I will mark my inscription so cleverly upon your foreheads that
you will be mistaken for slaves who have been branded!  The same letters
will serve both to quiet the suspicions of the curious and to conceal,
under semblance of punishment, your real features!”  We did not delay the
execution of this scheme but, sneaking stealthily to the ship’s side, we
submitted our heads and eyebrows to the barber, that he might shave them
clean.  Eumolpus covered our foreheads completely, with large letters
and, with a liberal hand, spread the universally known mark of the
fugitive over the face of each of us.  As luck would have it, one of the
passengers, who was terribly seasick, was hanging over the ship’s side
easing his stomach.  He saw the barber busy at his unseasonable task by
the light of the moon and, cursing the omen which resembled the last
offering of a crew before shipwreck, he threw himself into his bunk.
Pretending not to hear his puking curses, we reverted to our melancholy
train of thought and, settling ourselves down in silence, we passed the
remaining hours of the night in fitful slumber.  (On the following
morning Eumolpus entered Lycas’ cabin as soon as he knew that Tryphaena
was out of bed and, after some conversation upon the happy voyage of
which the fine weather gave promise, Lycas turned to Tryphaena and


“Priapus appeared to me in a dream and seemed to say--Know that
Encolpius, whom you seek, has, by me, been led aboard your ship!”
 Tryphaena trembled violently, “You would think we had slept together,”
 she cried, “for a bust of Neptune, which I saw in the gallery at Baiae,
said to me, in my dream--You will find Giton aboard Lycas’ ship!”  “From
which you can see that Epicurus was a man inspired,” remarked Eumolpus;
“he passed sentence upon mocking phantasms of that kind in a very witty

          Dreams that delude the mind with flitting shades
          By neither powers of air nor gods, are sent:
          Each makes his own!  And when relaxed in sleep
          The members lie, the mind, without restraint
          Can flit, and re-enact by night, the deeds
          That occupied the day.  The warrior fierce,
          Who cities shakes and towns destroys by fire
          Maneuvering armies sees, and javelins,
          And funerals of kings and bloody fields.

          The cringing lawyer dreams of courts and trials,
          The miser hides his hoard, new treasures finds:
          The hunter’s horn and hounds the forests wake,
          The shipwrecked sailor from his hulk is swept.
          Or, washed aboard, just misses perishing.
          Adultresses will bribe, and harlots write
          To lovers: dogs, in dreams their hare still course;
          And old wounds ache most poignantly in dreams!”

“Still, what’s to prevent our searching the ship?” said Lycas, after he
had expiated Tryphaena’s dream, “so that we will not be guilty of
neglecting the revelations of Providence?”  “And who were the rascals who
were being shaved last night by the light of the moon?”  chimed in Hesus,
unexpectedly, for that was the name of the fellow who had caught us at
our furtive transformation in the night.  “A rotten thing to do, I swear!
From what I hear, it’s unlawful for any living man aboard ship to shed
hair or nails, unless the wind has kicked up a heavy sea.”


Lycas was greatly disturbed by this information, and flew into a rage.
“So someone aboard my ship cut off his hair, did he?”  he bawled, “and at
dead of night, too!  Bring the offenders aft on deck here, and step
lively, so that I can tell whom to punish, from their heads, that the
ship may be freed from the curse!”  “I ordered it done,” Eumolpus broke
in, “and I didn’t order it as an unlucky omen, either, seeing that I had
to be aboard the same vessel: I did it because the scoundrels had long
matted hair, I ordered the filth cleared off the wretches because I did
not wish to even seem to make a prison out of your ship: besides, I did
not want the seared scars of the letters to be hidden in the least, by
the interference of the hair; as they ought to be in plain sight, for
everyone to read, and at full length, too.  In addition to their other
misdemeanors, they blew in my money on a street-walker whom they kept in
common; only last night I dragged them away from her, reeking with wine
and perfumes, as they were, and they still stink of the remnants of my
patrimony!”  Thereupon, forty stripes were ordered for each of us, that
the tutelary genius of the ship might be propitiated.  And they were not
long about it either.  Eager to propitiate the tutelary genius with our
wretched blood, the savage sailors rushed upon us with their rope’s ends.
For my part, I endured three lashes with Spartan fortitude, but at the
very first blow, Giton set up such a howling that his all too familiar
voice reached the ears of Tryphaena; nor was she the only one who was in
a flutter, for, attracted by this familiar voice, all the maids rushed to
where he was being flogged.  Giton had already moderated the ardor of the
sailors by his wonderful beauty, he appealed to his torturers without
uttering a word.  “It’s Giton!  It’s Giton!” the maids all screamed in
unison.  “Hold your hands, you brutes; help, Madame, it’s Giton!”
 Tryphaena turned willing ears, she had recognized that voice herself, and
flew to the boy.  Lycas, who knew me as well as if he had heard my voice,
now ran up; he glanced at neither face nor hands, but directed his eyes
towards parts lower down; courteously he shook hands with them, “How do
you do, Encolpius,” he said.  Let no one be surprised at Ulysses’ nurse
discovering, after twenty years, the scar that established his identity,
since this man, so keenly observant, had, in spite of the most skillful
disguise of every feature and the obliteration of every identifying mark
upon my body, so surely hit upon the sole means of identifying his
fugitive!  Deceived by our appearance, Tryphaena wept bitterly,
believing that the marks upon our foreheads were, in truth, the brands
of prisoners: she asked us gently, into what slave’s prison we had fallen
in our wanderings, and whose cruel hands had inflicted this punishment.
Still, fugitives whose members had gotten them into trouble certainly
deserved some punishment.


In a towering passion, Lycas leaped forward, “Oh you silly woman,” he
shouted, “as if those scars were made by the letters on the
branding-iron!  If only they had really blotched up their foreheads with
those inscriptions, it would be some satisfaction to us, at least; but
as it is, we are being imposed upon by an actor’s tricks, and hoaxed by
a fake inscription!”  Tryphaena was disposed to mercy, as all was not
lost for her pleasures, but Lycas remembered the seduction of his wife
and the insults to which he had been subjected in the portico of the
temple of Hercules: “Tryphaena,” he gritted out, his face convulsed with
savage passion, “you are aware, I believe, that the immortal gods have a
hand in human affairs: what did they do but lead these scoundrels aboard
this ship in ignorance of the owner and then warn each of us alike, by a
coincidence of dreams, of what they had done?  Can you then see how it
would be possible to let off those whom a god has, himself, delivered up
to punishment?  I am not a cruel man; what moves me is this: I am afraid
I shall have to endure myself whatever I remit to them!”  At this
superstitious plea Tryphaena veered around;  denying that she would
plead for quarter, she was even anxious to help along the fulfillment of
this retribution, so entirely just: she had herself suffered an insult
no less poignant than had Lycas, for her chastity had been called in
question before a crowd.

     Primeval Fear created Gods on earth when from the sky
     The lightning-flashes rent with flame the ramparts of the world,
     And smitten Athos blazed!  Then, Phoebus, sinking to the earth,
     His course complete, and waning Luna, offerings received.
     The changing seasons of the year the superstition spread
     Throughout the world; and Ignorance and Awe, the toiling boor,
     To Ceres, from his harvest, the first fruits compelled to yield
     And Bacchus with the fruitful vine to crown.  Then Pales came
     Into her own, the shepherd’s gains to share.  Beneath the waves
     Of every sea swims Neptune.  Pallas guards the shops,
     And those impelled by Avarice or Guilt, create new Gods!

(Lycas, as he perceived that Tryphaena was as eager as himself for
revenge, gave orders for our punishment to be renewed and made more
drastic, whereupon Eumolpus endeavored to appease him as follows,)


(“Lycas,” said he, “these unfortunates upon whom you intend to wreak your
vengeance, implore your compassion and) have chosen me for this task.
I believe that I am a man, by no means unknown, and they desire that,
somehow, I will effect a reconciliation between them and their former
friends.  Surely you do not imagine that these young men fell into such
a snare by accident, when the very first thing that concerns every
prospective passenger is the name of the captain to whom he intrusts his
safety!  Be reasonable, then; forego your revenge and permit free men to
proceed to their destination without injury.  When penitence manages to
lead their fugitives back, harsh and implacable masters restrain their
cruelty, and we are merciful to enemies who have surrendered.  What could
you ask, or wish for, more?  These well-born and respectable young men
be suppliant before your eyes and, what ought to move you more strongly
still, were once bound to you by the ties of friendship.  If they had
embezzled your money or repaid your faith in them with treachery,
by Hercules, you have ample satisfaction from the punishment already
inflicted!  Look!  Can you read slavery on their foreheads, and see upon
the faces of free men the brand-marks of a punishment which was
self-inflicted!”  Lycas broke in upon this plea for mercy, “Don’t try to
confuse the issue,” he said, “let every detail have its proper attention
and first of all, why did they strip all the hair off their heads,
if they came of their own free will?  A man meditates deceit, not
satisfaction, when he changes his features!  Then again, if they sought
reconciliation through a mediator, why did you do your best to conceal
them while employed in their behalf?  It is easily seen that the
scoundrels fell into the toils by chance and that you are seeking some
device by which you could sidestep the effects of our resentment.  And be
careful that you do not spoil your case by over-confidence when you
attempt to sow prejudice among us by calling them well-born and
respectable!  What should the injured parties do when the guilty run into
their own punishment?  And inasmuch as they were our friends, by that,
they deserve more drastic punishment still, for whoever commits an
assault upon a stranger, is termed a robber; but whoever assaults a
friend, is little better than a parricide!”  “I am well aware,” Eumolpus
replied, to rebut this damning harangue, “that nothing can look blacker
against these poor young men than their cutting off their hair at night.
On this evidence, they would seem to have come aboard by accident, not
voluntarily.  Oh how I wish that the explanation could come to your ears
just as candidly as the thing itself happened!  They wanted to relieve
their heads of that annoying and useless weight before they came aboard,
but the unexpected springing up of the wind prevented the carrying out of
their wishes, and they did not imagine that it mattered where they began
what they had decided to do, because they were unacquainted with either
the omens or the law of seafaring men.”  “But why should they shave
themselves like suppliants?”  demanded Lycas, “unless, of course, they
expected to arouse more sympathy as bald-pates.  What’s the use of
seeking information through a third person, anyway?  You scoundrel, what
have you to say for yourself?  What salamander singed off your eyebrows?
You poisoner, what god did you vow your hair to?  Answer!”


I was stricken dumb, and trembled from fear of punishment, nor could I
find anything to say, out of countenance as I was and hideous, for to the
disgrace of a shaven poll was added an equal baldness in the matter of
eyebrows; the case against me was only too plain, there was not a thing
to be said or done!  Finally, a damp sponge was passed over my tear-wet
face, and thereupon, the smut dissolved and spread over my whole
countenance, blotting out every feature in a sooty cloud.  Anger turned
into loathing.  Swearing that he would permit no one to humiliate
well-born young men contrary to right and law, Eumolpus checked the
threats of the savage persecutors by word and by deed.  His hired
servant backed him up in his protest, as did first one and then another
of the feeblest of the seasick passengers, whose participation served
rather to inflame the disagreement than to be of help to us.  For myself
I asked no quarter, but I shook my fists in Tryphaena’s face, and told
her in a loud voice that unless she stopped hurting Giton, I would use
every ounce of my strength against her, reprobate woman that she was,
the only person aboard the ship who deserved a flogging.  Lycas was
furiously angry at my hardihood, nor was he less enraged at my
abandoning my own cause, to take up that of another, in so wholehearted
a manner.  Inflamed as she was by this affront, Tryphaena was as furious
as he, so the whole ship’s company was divided into two factions.  On
our side, the hired barber armed himself with a razor and served out the
others to us; on their side, Tryphaena’s retainers prepared to battle
with their bare fists, nor was the scolding of female warriors unheard
in the battle-line.  The pilot was neutral, but he declared that unless
this madness, stirred up by the lechery of a couple of vagabonds, died
down, he would let go the helm! The fury of the combatants continued to
rage none the less fiercely, nevertheless, they fighting for revenge, we
for life.  Many fell on each side, though none were mortally wounded,
and more, bleeding from wounds, retreated, as from a real battle, but
the fury of neither side abated. At last the gallant Giton turned the
menacing razor against his own virile parts, and threatened to cut away
the cause of so many misfortunes.  This was too much for Tryphaena; she
prevented the perpetration of so horrid a crime by the out and out
promise of quarter. Time and time again, I lifted the barber’s blade to
my throat, but I had no more intention of killing myself than had Giton
of doing what he threatened, but he acted out the tragic part more
realistically than I, as it was, because he knew that he held in his
hand the same razor with which he had already cut his throat.  The lines
still stood at the ready, and it was plain to be seen that this would be
no everyday affair, when the pilot, with difficulty, prevailed upon
Tryphaena to undertake the office of herald, and propose a truce; so,
when pledges of good faith had been given and received, in keeping with
the ancient precedent she snatched an olive-branch from the ship’s
figurehead and, holding it out, advanced boldly to parley.

     “What fury,” she exclaims, “turns peace to war?  What evil deed
     Was by these hands committed?  Trojan hero there is none
     Absconding in this ship with bride of Atreus’ cuckold seed
     Nor crazed Medea, stained by life’s blood of her father’s son!
     But passion scorned, becomes a power: alas! who courts his end
     By drawing sword amidst these waves?  Why die before our time?
     Strive not with angry seas to vie and to their fury lend
     Your rage by piling waves upon its savage floods sublime !”


The woman poured out this rhapsody in a loud excited voice, the
battle-line wavered for an instant, then all hands were recalled to
peace and terminated the war.  Eumolpus, our commander, took advantage
of the psychological moment of their repentance and, after administering
a stinging rebuke to Lycas, signed a treaty of peace which was drawn up
as follows: “It is hereby solemnly agreed on your part, Tryphaena, that
you do forego complaint of any wrong done you by Giton; that you do not
bring up anything that has taken place prior to this date, that you do
not seek to revenge anything that has taken place prior to this date,
that you do not take steps to follow it up in any other manner
whatsoever; that you do not command the boy to perform anything to him
repugnant; that you do neither embrace nor kiss the said Giton; that you
do not enfold said Giton in the sexual embrace, except under immediate
forfeiture of one hundred denarii.  Item, it is hereby agreed on your
part, Lycas, that you do refrain from annoying Encolpius with abusive
word or reproachful look; that you do not seek to ascertain where he
sleep at night; or, if you do so seek, that you forfeit two hundred
denarii immediately for each and every such offense.”  The treaty was
signed upon these terms, and we laid down our arms.  It seemed well to
wipe out the past with kisses, after we had taken oath, for fear any
vestige of rancor should persist in our minds.  Factious hatreds died
out amidst universal good-fellowship, and a banquet, served on the field
of battle, crowned our reconciliation with joviality.  The whole ship
resounded with song and, as a sudden calm had caused her to lose
headway, one tried to harpoon the leaping fish, another hauled in the
struggling catch on baited hooks.  Then some sea-birds alighted upon the
yard-arms and a skillful fowler touched them with his jointed rods: they
were brought down to our hands, stuck fast to the limed segments.  The
breeze caught up the down, but the wing and tail feathers twisted
spirally as they fell into the sea-foam.  Lycas was already beginning to
be on good terms with me, and Tryphaena had just sprinkled Giton with
the last drops in her cup, when Eumolpus, who was himself almost drunk,
was seized with the notion of satirizing bald pates and branded rascals,
but when he had exhausted his chilly wit, he returned at last to his
poetry and recited this little elegy upon hair:

     “Gone are those locks that to thy beauty lent such lustrous charm
     And blighted are the locks of Spring by bitter Winter’s sway;
     Thy naked temples now in baldness mourn their vanished form,
     And glistens now that poor bare crown, its hair all worn away
     Oh!  Faithless inconsistency!  The gods must first resume
     The charms that first they granted youth, that it might lovelier
          Poor wretch, but late thy locks did brighter glister
          Than those of great Apollo or his sister!
          Now, smoother is thy crown than polished grasses
          Or rounded mushrooms when a shower passes!
          In fear thou fliest the laughter-loving lasses.
          That thou may’st know that Death is on his way,
          Know that thy head is partly dead this day!”


It is my opinion that he intended favoring us with more of the same kind
of stuff, sillier than the last, but Tryphaena’s maid led Giton away
below and fitted the lad out in her mistress’ false curls; then producing
some eyebrows from a vanity box, she skillfully traced out the lines of
the lost features and restored him to his proper comeliness.  Recognizing
the real Giton, Tryphaena was moved to tears, and then for the first time
she gave the boy a real love-kiss.  I was overjoyed, now that the lad was
restored to his own handsome self, but I hid my own face all the more
assiduously, realizing that I was disfigured by no ordinary hideousness
since not even Lycas would bestow a word upon me.  The maid rescued me
from this misfortune finally, however, and calling me aside, she decked
me out with a head of hair which was none the less becoming; my face
shone more radiantly still, as a matter of fact, for my curls were
golden!  But in a little while, Eumolpus, mouthpiece of the distressed
and author of the present good understanding, fearing that the general
good humor might flag for lack of amusement, began to indulge in sneers
at the fickleness of women: how easily they fell in love; how readily
they forgot even their own sons!  No woman could be so chaste but that
she could be roused to madness by a chance passion!  Nor had he need to
quote from old tragedies, or to have recourse to names, notorious for
centuries; on the contrary, if we cared to hear it, he would relate an
incident which had occurred within his own memory, whereupon, as we all
turned our faces towards him and gave him our attention, he began as


“There was a certain married lady at Ephesus, once upon a time, so noted
for her chastity that she even drew women from the neighboring states to
come to gaze upon her!  When she carried out her husband she was by no
means content to comply with the conventional custom and follow the
funeral cortege with her hair down, beating her naked breast in sight of
the onlookers!  She followed the corpse, even into the tomb; and when the
body had been placed in the vault, in accordance with the Greek custom,
she began to stand vigil over it, weeping day and night!  Neither parents
nor relations could divert her from punishing herself in this manner and
from bringing on death by starvation.  The magistrates, the last resort,
were rebuffed and went away, and the lady, mourned by all as an unusual
example, dragged through the fifth day without nourishment.  A most
faithful maid was in attendance upon the poor woman; she either wept in
company with the afflicted one or replenished the lamp which was placed
in the vault, as the occasion required.  Throughout the whole city there
was but one opinion, men of every calling agreed that here shone the one
solitary example of chastity and of love!  In the meantime the governor
of the province had ordered some robbers crucified near the little vault
in which the lady was bewailing her recent loss.  On the following night,
a soldier who was standing guard over the crosses for fear someone might
drag down one of the bodies for burial, saw a light shining brightly
among the tombs, and heard the sobs of someone grieving.  A weakness
common to mankind made him curious to know who was there and what was
going on, so he descended into the tomb and, catching sight of a most
beautiful woman, he stood still, afraid at first that it was some
apparition or spirit from the infernal regions; but he finally
comprehended the true state of affairs as his eye took in the corpse
lying there, and as he noted the tears and the face lacerated by the
finger-nails, he understood that the lady was unable to endure the loss
of the dear departed.  He then brought his own scanty ration into the
vault and exhorted the sobbing mourner not to persevere in useless grief,
or rend her bosom with unavailing sobs; the same end awaited us all, the
same last resting place: and other platitudes by which anguished minds
are recalled to sanity.  But oblivious to sympathy, she beat and
lacerated her bosom more vehemently than before and, tearing out her
hair, she strewed it upon the breast of the corpse.  Notwithstanding
this, the soldier would not leave off, but persisted in exhorting the
unfortunate lady to eat, until the maid, seduced by the smell of the
wine, I suppose, was herself overcome and stretched out her hand to
receive the bounty of their host.  Refreshed by food and drink, she
then began to attack the obstinacy of her mistress.  ‘What good will it
do you to die of hunger?’ she asked, ‘or to bury yourself alive’?  Or to
surrender an uncondemned spirit before the fates demand it?  ‘Think you
the ashes or sepultured dead can feel aught of thy woe!  Would you recall
the dead from the reluctant fates?  Why not shake off this womanish
weakness and enjoy the blessings of light while you can?  The very corpse
lying there ought to convince you that your duty is to live!’  When
pressed to eat or to live, no one listens unwillingly, and the lady,
thirsty after an abstinence of several days, finally permitted her
obstinacy to be overcome; nor did she take her fill of nourishment
with less avidity than had the maid who had surrendered first.”


“But to make a long story short, you know the temptations that beset a
full stomach: the soldier laid siege to her virtue with the selfsame
blandishments by which he had persuaded her that she ought to live.  Nor,
to her modest eye, did the young man seem uncouth or wanting in address.
The maid pled in his behalf and kept repeating:

     Why will you fight with a passion that to you is pleasure,
     Remembering not in whose lands you are taking your leisure?

“But why should I keep you longer in suspense?  The lady observed the
same abstinence when it came to this part of her body, and the victorious
soldier won both of his objectives; so they lay together, not only
that night, in which they pledged their vows, but also the next, and even
the third, shutting the doors of the vault, of course, so that anyone,
acquaintance or stranger, coming to the tomb, would be convinced that
this most virtuous of wives had expired upon the body of her husband.  As
for the soldier, so delighted was he with the beauty of his mistress and
the secrecy of the intrigue, that he purchased all the delicacies his pay
permitted and smuggled them into the vault as soon as darkness fell.
Meanwhile, the parents of one of the crucified criminals, observing the
laxness of the watch, dragged the hanging corpse down at night and
performed the last rite.  The soldier was hoodwinked while absent from
his post of duty, and when on the following day he caught sight of one of
the crosses without its corpse, he was in terror of punishment and
explained to the lady what had taken place: He would await no sentence of
court-martial, but would punish his neglect of duty with his own sword!
Let her prepare a place for one about to die, let that fatal vault serve
both the lover and the husband!  ‘Not that,’ cried out the lady, no less
merciful than chaste, ‘the gods forbid that I should look at the same
time upon the corpses of the two men dearest to me; I would rather hang
the dead than slay the living!’ So saying, she gave orders for the body
of her husband to be lifted out of the coffin and fastened upon the
vacant cross!  The soldier availed himself of the expedient suggested by
this very ingenious lady and next day everyone wondered how a dead man
had found his way to the cross!”


The sailors received this tale with roars of laughter, and Tryphaena
blushed not a little and laid her face amorously upon Giton’s neck.  But
Lycas did not laugh; “If that governor had been a just man,” said he,
shaking his head angrily, “he would have ordered the husband’s body taken
down and carried back into the vault, and crucified the woman.”  No doubt
the memory of Hedyle haunted his mind, and the looting of his ship in
that wanton excursion. But the terms of the treaty permitted the
harboring of no old grudges and the joy which filled our hearts left no
room for anger.  Tryphaena was lying in Giton’s lap by this time,
covering his bosom with kisses one minute and rearranging the curls upon
his shaven head the next.  Uneasy and chagrined at this new league, I
took neither food nor drink but looked askance at them both, with grim
eyes.  Every kiss was a wound to me, every artful blandishment which the
wanton woman employed, and I could not make up my mind as to whether I
was more angered at the boy for having supplanted me with my mistress, or
at my mistress for debauching the boy: both were hateful to my sight, and
more galling than my late servitude.  And to make the matter all the more
aggravating, Tryphaena would not even greet me as an acquaintance, whom
she had formerly received as a lover, while Giton did not think me worthy
of a “Here’s-to-you” in ordinary civility, nor even speak to me in the
course of the common conversation; I suppose he was afraid of reopening a
tender scar at the moment when a return to her good graces had commenced
to draw it together.  Tears of vexation dropped upon my breast and the
groan I smothered in a sigh nearly wracked my soul.

          The vulture tearing; at the liver’s deep and vital parts,
          That wracks our breasts and rends our very heartstrings
          Is not that bird the charming poet sings with all his arts;
          ‘T’is jealousy or hate that human hearts stings.

(In spite of my ill-humor, Lycas saw how well my golden curls became me
and, becoming enamoured anew, began winking his wanton eyes at me and)
sought admission to my good graces upon a footing of pleasure, nor did he
put on the arrogance of a master, but spoke as a friend asking a favor;
(long and ardently he tried to gain his ends, but all in vain, till at
last, meeting with a decisive repulse, his passion turned to fury and he
tried to carry the place by storm; but Tryphaena came in unexpectedly and
caught him in his wanton attempt, whereupon he was greatly upset and
hastily adjusted his clothing and bolted out of the cabin.  Tryphaena was
fired with lust at this sight, “What was Lycas up to?”  she demanded.
“What was he after in that ardent assault?”  She compelled me to explain,
burned still more hotly at what she heard, and, recalling memories of our
past familiarities, she desired me to renew our old amour, but I was worn
out with so much venery and slighted her advances.  She was burning up
with desire by this time, and threw her arms around me in a frenzied
embrace, hugging me so tightly that I uttered an involuntary cry of pain.
One of her maids rushed in at this and, thinking that I was attempting to
force from her mistress the very favor which I had refused her, she
sprang at us and tore us apart.  Thoroughly enraged at the disappointment
of her lecherous passion, Tryphaena upbraided me violently, and with many
threats she hurried out to find Lycas for the purpose of exasperating him
further against me and of joining forces with him to be revenged upon me.
Now you must know that I had formerly held a very high place in this
waiting-maid’s esteem, while I was prosecuting my intrigue with her
mistress, and for that reason she took it very hard when she surprised me
with Tryphaena, and sobbed very bitterly. I pressed her earnestly to tell
me the reason for her sobs) {and after pretending to be reluctant she
broke out:} “You will think no more of her than of a common prostitute if
you have a drop of decent blood in your veins!  You will not resort to
that female catamite, if you are a man!” {This disturbed my mind but}
what exercised me most was the fear that Eumolpus would find out what
was going on and, being a very sarcastic individual, might revenge my
supposed injury in some poetic lampoon, (in which event his ardent zeal
would without doubt expose me to ridicule, and I greatly dreaded that.
But while I was debating with myself as to the best means of preventing
him from getting at the facts, who should suddenly come in but the man
himself; and he was not uninformed as to what had taken place, for
Tryphaena had related all the particulars to Giton and had tried to
indemnify herself for my repulse, at the expense of my little friend.
Eumolpus was furiously angry because of all this, and all the more so as
lascivious advances were in open violation of the treaty which had been
signed.  The minute the old fellow laid eyes upon me, he began bewailing
my lot and ordered me to tell him exactly what had happened.  As he was
already well informed, I told him frankly of Lycas’ lecherous attempt and
of Tryphaena’s wanton assault.  When he had heard all the facts,)
Eumolpus swore roundly (that he would certainly avenge us, as the Gods
were just and would not suffer so many villainies to go unpunished.)


We were still discussing this and other matters when the sea grew rough,
and clouds, gathering from every quarter, obscured with darkness the
light of day.  The panic-stricken sailors ran to their stations and took
in sail before the squall was upon them, but the gale did not drive the
waves in any one direction and the helmsman lost his bearings and did not
know what course to steer. At one moment the wind would set towards
Sicily, but the next, the North Wind, prevailing on the Italian coast,
would drive the unlucky vessel hither and yon; and, what was more
dangerous than all the rain-squalls, a pall of such black density blotted
out the light that the helmsman could not even see as far forward as the
bow.  At last, as the savage fury of the sea grew more malignant, the
trembling Lycas stretched out his hands to me imploringly.  “Save us from
destruction, Encolpius,” he shouted; “restore that sacred robe and holy
rattle to the ship!  Be merciful, for heaven’s sake, just as you used to
be!”  He was still shouting when a windsquall swept him into the sea; the
raging elements whirled him around and around in a terrible maelstrom and
sucked him down.  Tryphaena, on the other hand, was seized by her
faithful servants, placed in a skiff, along with the greater part of her
belongings, and saved from certain death.  Embracing Giton, I wept aloud:
“Did we deserve this from the gods,” I cried, “to be united only in
death?  No! Malignant fortune grudges even that.  Look!  In an instant
the waves will capsize the ship!  Think!  In an instant the sea will
sever this lover’s embrace!  If you ever loved Encolpius truly, kiss him
while yet you may and snatch this last delight from impending
dissolution!”  Even as I was speaking, Giton removed his garment and,
creeping beneath my tunic, he stuck out his head to be kissed; then,
fearing some more spiteful wave might separate us as we clung together,
he passed his belt around us both.  “If nothing else,” he cried, “the sea
will at least bear us longer, joined together, and if, in pity, it casts
us up upon the same shore, some passerby may pile some stones over us,
out of common human kindness, or the last rites will be performed by the
drifting sand, in spite of the angry waves.”  I submit to this last bond
and, as though I were laid out upon my death-bed, await an end no longer
dreaded. Meanwhile, accomplishing the decrees of the Fates, the storm
stripped the ship of all that was left; no mast, no helm, not a rope nor
an oar remained on board her; she was only a derelict, heavy and
water-logged, drifting before the waves.  Some fishermen hastily put off
in their little boats to salvage their booty, but, seeing men alive and
ready to defend their property, they changed their predatory designs into
offers of help.


Just then, amid that clamor of voices we heard a peculiar noise, and from
beneath the captain’s cabin there came a bellowing as of some wild beast
trying to get out.  We then followed up the sound and discovered
Eumolpus, sitting there scribbling verses upon an immense sheet of
parchment!  Astounded that he could find time to write poetry at death’s
very door, we hauled him out, in spite of his protests, and ordered him
to return to his senses, but he flew into a rage at being interrupted;
“Leave me alone until I finish this sentence,” he bawled; “the poem
labors to its birth.”  Ordering Giton to come to close quarters and help
me drag the bellowing bard ashore, I laid hands upon the lunatic.  When
this job had at last been completed, we came, wet and wretched, to a
fisherman’s hut and refreshed ourselves somewhat with stores from the
wreck, spoiled though they were by salt water, and passed a night that
was almost interminable.  As we were holding a council, next day, to
determine to what part of the country we had best proceed, I suddenly
caught sight of a human body, turning around in a gentle eddy and
floating towards the shore.  Stricken with melancholy, I stood still and
began to brood, with wet eyes, upon the treachery of the sea.  “And
perhaps,” said I, “a wife, safe in some far-away country of the earth,
awaits this man, or a son who little dreams of storms or wrecks; or
perhaps he left behind a father, whom he kissed good-by at parting! Such
is the end of mortal’s plans, such is the outcome of great ambitions!
See how man rides the waves!”  Until now, I had been sorrowing for a mere
stranger, but a wave turned the face, which had undergone no change,
towards the shore, and I recognized Lycas; so evil-tempered and so
unrelenting but a short time before, now cast up almost at my feet!  I
could no longer restrain the tears, at this; I beat my breast again and
yet again, with my hands.  “Where is your evil temper now?”  I cried.
“Where is your unbridled passion?  You be there, a prey to fish and wild
beasts, you who boasted but a little while ago of the strength of your
command.  Now you have not a single plank left of your great ship!  Go
on, mortals; set your hearts upon the fulfillment of great ambitions: Go
on, schemers, and in your wills control for a thousand years the disposal
of the wealth you got by fraud!  Only yesterday this man audited the
accounts of his family estate, yea, even reckoned the day he would arrive
in his native land and settled it in his mind!  Gods and goddesses, how
far he lies from his appointed destination!  But the waves of the sea are
not alone in thus keeping faith with mortal men: The warrior’s weapons
fail him; the citizen is buried beneath the ruins of his own penates,
when engaged in paying his vows to the gods; another falls from his
chariot and dashes out his ardent spirit; the glutton chokes at dinner;
the niggard starves from abstinence.  Give the dice a fair throw and you
will find shipwreck everywhere!  Ah, but one overwhelmed by the waves
obtains no burial!  As though it matters in what manner the body, once it
is dead, is consumed: by fire, by flood, by time!  Do what you will,
these all achieve the same end.  Ah, but the beasts will mangle the body!
As though fire would deal with it any more gently; when we are angry with
our slaves that is the punishment which we consider the most severe.
What folly it is, then, to do everything we can to prevent the grave from
leaving any part of us behind {when the Fates will look out for us, even
against our wills.”} (After these reflections we made ready to pay the
last rites to the corpse,) and Lycas was burned upon a funeral pyre
raised by the hands of enemies, while Eumolpus, fixing his eyes upon the
far distance to gain inspiration, composed an epitaph for the dead man:

                        HIS FATE WAS UNAVOIDABLE





We set out upon our intended journey, after this last office had been
wholeheartedly performed, and, in a little while, arrived, sweating, at
the top of a mountain, from which we made out, at no great distance, a
town, perched upon the summit of a lofty eminence.  Wanderers as we were,
we had no idea what town it could be, until we learned from a caretaker
that it was Crotona, a very ancient city, and once the first in Italy.
When we earnestly inquired, upon learning this, what men inhabited such
historic ground, and the nature of the business in which they were
principally engaged, now that their wealth had been dissipated by the oft
recurring wars, “My friends,” replied he, “if you are men of business,
change your plans and seek out some other conservative road to a
livelihood, but if you can play the part of men of great culture, always
ready with a lie, you are on the straight road to riches: The study of
literature is held in no estimation in that city, eloquence has no niche
there, economy and decent standards of morality come into no reward of
honor there; you must know that every man whom you will meet in that city
belongs to one of two factions; they either ‘take-in,’ or else they are
‘taken-in.’  No one brings up children in that city, for the reason that
no one who has heirs is invited to dinner or admitted to the games; such
an one is deprived of all enjoyments and must lurk with the rabble.  On
the other hand, those who have never married a wife, or those who have no
near relatives, attain to the very highest honors; in other words, they
are the only ones who are considered soldierly, or the bravest of the
brave, or even good.  You will see a town which resembles the fields in
time of pestilence,” he continued, “in which there is nothing but
carcasses to be torn at and carrion crows tearing at them.”


Eumolpus, who had a deeper insight, turned this state of affairs over in
his mind and declared that he was not displeased with a prospect of that
kind.  I thought the old fellow was joking in the care-free way of poets,
until he complained, “If I could only put up a better front!  I mean that
I wish my clothing was in better taste, that my jewelry was more
expensive; all this would lend color to my deception: I would not carry
this scrip, by Hercules, I would not I would lead you all to great
riches!”  For my part, I undertook to supply whatever my companion in
robbery had need of, provided he would be satisfied with the garment, and
with whatever spoils the villa of Lycurgus had yielded when we robbed it;
as for money against present needs, the Mother of the Gods would see to
that, out of regard to her own good name!  “Well, what’s to prevent our
putting on an extravaganza?” demanded Eumolpus.  “Make me the master if
the business appeals to you.” No one ventured to condemn a scheme by
which he could lose nothing, and so, that the lie would be kept safe
among us all, we swore a solemn oath, the words of which were dictated by
Eumolpus, to endure fire, chains, flogging, death by the sword, and
whatever else Eumolpus might demand of us, just like regular gladiators!
After the oath had been taken, we paid our respects to our master with
pretended servility, and were informed that Eumolpus had lost a son, a
young man of great eloquence and promise, and that it was for this reason
the poor old man had left his native land that he might not see the
companions and clients of his son, nor even his tomb, which was the cause
of his daily tears.  To this misfortune a recent shipwreck had been
added, in which he had lost upwards of two millions of sesterces; not
that he minded the loss but, destitute of a train of servants he could
not keep up his proper dignity!  Furthermore, he had, invested in Africa,
thirty millions of sesterces in estates and bonds; such a horde of his
slaves was scattered over the fields of Numidia that he could have even
sacked Carthage!  We demanded that Eumolpus cough frequently, to further
this scheme, that he have trouble with his stomach and find fault with
all the food when in company, that he keep talking of gold and silver and
estates, the incomes from which were not what they should be, and of the
everlasting unproductiveness of the soil; that he cast up his accounts
daily, that he revise the terms of his will monthly, and, for fear any
detail should be lacking to make the farce complete, he was to use the
wrong names whenever he wished to summon any of us, so that it would be
plain to all that the master had in mind some who were not present.  When
everything had been thus provided for, we offered a prayer to the gods
“that the matter might turn out well and happily,” and took to the road.
But Giton could not bear up under his unaccustomed load, and the hired
servant Corax, a shirker of work, often put down his own load and cursed
our haste, swearing that he would either throw his packs away or run away
with his load.  “What do you take me for, a beast of burden?”  he
grumbled, “or a scow for carrying stone? I hired out to do the work of a
man, not that of a pack-horse, and I’m as free as you are, even if my
father did leave me poor!”  Not satisfied with swearing, he lifted up his
leg from time to time and filled the road with an obscene noise and a
filthy stench.  Giton laughed at his impudence and imitated every
explosion with his lips, {but Eumolpus relapsed into his usual vein, even
in spite of this.}


“Young men,” said he, “many are they who have been seduced by poetry;
for, the instant a man has composed a verse in feet, and has woven a more
delicate meaning into it by means of circumlocutions, he straightway
concludes that he has scaled Helicon! Take those who are worn out by the
distressing detail of the legal profession, for example: they often seek
sanctuary in the tranquillity of poetry, as a more sheltered haven,
believing themselves able more easily to compose a poem than a rebuttal
charged with scintillating epigrams! But a more highly cultivated mind
loves not this conceited affectation, nor can it either conceive or bring
forth, unless it has been steeped in the vast flood of literature.  Every
word that is what I would call ‘low,’ ought to be avoided, and phrases
far removed from plebeian usage should be chosen.  Let ‘Ye rabble rout
avaunt,’ be your rule.  In addition, care should be exercised in
preventing the epigrams from standing out from the body of the speech;
they should gleam with the brilliancy woven into the fabric.  Homer is an
example, and the lyric poets, and our Roman Virgil, and the exquisite
propriety of Horace. Either the others did not discover the road that
leads to poetry, or, having seen, they feared to tread it.  Whoever
attempts that mighty theme, the civil war, for instance, will sink under
the load unless he is saturated with literature.  Events, past and
passing, ought not to be merely recorded in verse, the historian will
deal with them far better; by means of circumlocutions and the
intervention of the immortals, the free spirit, wracked by the search for
epigrams having a mythological illusion, should plunge headlong and
appear as the prophecy of a mind inspired rather than the attested faith
of scrupulous exactitude in speech.  This hasty composition may please
you, even though it has not yet received its final polishing:”


     “The conquering Roman now held the whole world in his sway,

     The ocean, the land; where the sun shone by day or the moon

     Gleamed by night: but unsated was he.  And the seas

     Were roiled by the weight of his deep-laden keels; if a bay

     Lay hidden beyond, or a land which might yield yellow gold

     ‘Twas held as a foe.  While the struggle for treasure went on

     The fates were preparing the horrors and scourges of war.

     Amusements enjoyed by the vulgar no longer can charm

     Nor pleasures worn threadbare by use of the plebeian mob.

     The bronzes of Corinth are praised by the soldier at sea;

     And glittering gems sought in earth, vie with purple of Tyre;

     Numidia curses her here, there, the exquisite silks

     Of China; Arabia’s people have stripped their own fields.

     Behold other woes and calamities outraging peace!

     Wild beasts, in the forest are hunted, for gold; and remote

     African hammon is covered by beaters, for fear

     Some beast that slays men with his teeth shall escape, for by that

     His value to men is enhanced!  The vessels receive

     Strange ravening monsters; the tiger behind gilded bars

     And pacing his cage is transported to Rome, that his jaws

     May drip with the life blood of men to the plaudits of men

     Oh shame!  To point out our impending destruction; the crime

     Of Persia enacted anew; in his puberty’s bloom

     The man child is kidnapped; surrenders his powers to the knife,

     Is forced to the calling of Venus; delayed and hedged round

     The hurrying passage of life’s finest years is held back

     And Nature seeks Nature but finds herself not.  Everywhere

     These frail-limbed and mincing effeminates, flowing of locks,

     Bedecked with an infinite number of garments of silk

     Whose names ever change, the wantons and lechers to snare,

     Are eagerly welcomed!  From African soil now behold

     The citron-wood tables; their well-burnished surface reflects

     Our Tyrian purples and slaves by the horde, and whose spots

     Resemble the gold that is cheaper than they and ensnare

     Extravagance.  Sterile and ignobly prized is the wood

     But round it is gathered a company sodden with wine;

     And soldiers of fortune whose weapons have rusted, devour

     The spoils of the world.  Art caters to appetite.  Wrasse

     From Sicily brought to their table, alive in his own Sea water.

     The oysters from Lucrine’s shore torn, at the feast

     Are served to make famous the host; and the appetite, cloyed,

     To tempt by extravagance.  Phasis has now been despoiled

     Of birds, its littoral silent, no sound there is heard

     Save only the wind as it rustles among the last leaves.

     Corruption no less vile is seen in the campus of Mars,

     Our quirites are bribed; and for plunder and promise of gain

     Their votes they will alter.  The people is venal; corrupt

     The Senate; support has its price!  And the freedom and worth

     Of age is decayed, scattered largesse now governs their power;

     Corrupted by gold, even dignity lies in the dust.

     Cato defeated and hooted by mobs, but the victor

     Is sadder, ashamed to have taken the rods from a Cato:

     In this lay the shame of the nation and character’s downfall,

     ‘Twas not the defeat of a man!  No!  The power and the glory

     Of Rome were brought low; represented in him was the honor

     Of sturdy Republican Rome.  So, abandoned and wretched,

     The city has purchased dishonor: has purchased herself!

     Despoiled by herself, no avenger to wipe out the stigma

     Twin maelstroms of debt and of usury suck down the commons.

     No home with clear title, no citizen free from a mortgage,

     But as some slow wasting disease all unheralded fastens

     Its hold on the vitals, destroying the vigor of manhood,

     So, fear of the evils impending, impels them to madness.

     Despair turns to violence, luxury’s ravages needs must

     Repaired be by bloodshed, for indigence safely can venture.

     Can art or sane reason rouse wallowing Rome from the offal

     And break the voluptuous slumber in which she is sunken?

     Or must it be fury and war and the blood-lust of daggers?”


     “Three chieftains did fortune bring forth, whom the fury of battles

     Destroyed; and interred, each one under a mountain of weapons;

     The Parthian has Crassus, Pompeius the Great by the waters

     Of Egypt lies.  Julius, ungrateful Rome stained with his life blood.

     And earth has divided their ashes, unable to suffer

     The weight of so many tombs.  These are the wages of glory!

     There lies between Naples and Great Puteoli, a chasm

     Deep cloven, and Cocytus churns there his current; the vapor

     In fury escapes from the gorge with that lethal spray laden.

     No green in the aututun is there, no grass gladdens the meadow,

     The supple twigs never resound with the twittering singing

     Of birds in the Springtime.  But chaos, volcanic black boulders

     Of pumice lie Happy within their drear setting of cypress.

     Amidst these infernal surroundings the ruler of Hades

     Uplifted his head by the funeral flames silhouetted

     And sprinkled with white from the ashes of corpses; and challenged

     Winged Fortune in words such as these: ‘Oh thou fickle controller

     Of things upon earth and in heaven, security’s foeman,

     Oh Chance!  Oh thou lover eternally faithful to change, and

     Possession’s betrayer, dost own thyself crushed by the power

     Of Rome?  Canst not raise up the tottering mass to its downfall

     Its strength the young manhood of Rome now despises, and staggers

     In bearing the booty heaped up by its efforts: behold how

     They lavish their spoils!  Wealth run mad now brings down their

     They build out of gold and their palaces reach to the heavens;

     The sea is expelled by their moles and their pastures are oceans;

     They war against Nature in changing the state of creation.

     They threaten my kingdom!  Earth yawns with their tunnels deep

     To furnish the stone for their madmen’s foundations; already

     The mountains are hollowed and now but re-echoing caverns;

     While man quarries marble to serve his vainglorious purpose

     The spirits infernal confess that they hope to win Heaven!

     Arise, then, O Chance, change thy countenance peaceful to warlike

     And harry the Romans, consign to my kingdom the fallen.

     Ah, long is it now since my lips were with blood cooled and

     Nor has my Tisiphone bathed her blood-lusting body

     Since Sulla’s sword drank to repletion and earth’s bristling harvest

     Grew ripe upon blood and thrust up to the light of the sunshine!’”


     “He spake ...  and attempted to clasp the right hand of Fortuna,

     But ruptured the crust of the earth, deeply cloven, asunder.

     Then from her capricious heart Fortune made answer: ‘O father

     Whom Cocytus’ deepest abysses obey, if to forecast

     The future I may, without fear, thy petition shall prosper;

     For no less consuming the anger that wars in this bosom,

     The flame no less poignant, that burns to my marrow All favors

     I gave to the bulwarks of Rome, now, I hate them. My

     Gifts I repent! The same God who built up their dominion

     Shall bring down destruction upon it. In burning their manhood

     My heart shall delight and its blood-lust shall slake with their

     Now Philippi’s field I can see strewn with dead of two battles

     And Thessaly’s funeral pyres and Iberia mourning.

     Already the clangor of arms thrills my ears, and rings loudly:

     Thou, Lybian Nile, I can see now thy barriers groaning

     And Actium’s gulf and Apollo’s darts quailing the warriors!

     Then, open thy thirsty dominions and summon fresh spirits;

     For scarce will the ferryman’s strength be sufficient to carry

     The souls of the dead in his skiff: ‘tis a fleet that is needed!

     Thou, Pallid Tisiphone, slake with wide ruin, thy thirsting

     And tear ghastly wounds: mangled earth sinks to hell and the


     “But scarce had she finished, when trembled the clouds; and a

     Bright flash of Jove’s lightning transfixed them with flame and was

     The Lord of the Shades blanched with fear, at this bolt of his

     Sank back, and drew closely together the gorge in Earth’s bosom.

     By auspices straightway the slaughter of men and the evils

     Impending are shown by the gods.   Here, the Titan unsightly

     Blood red, veils his face with a twilight; on strife fratricidal

     Already he gazed, thou hadst thought!  There, silvery Cynthia

     Obscuring her face at the full, denied light to the outrage.

     The mountain crests riven by rock-slides roll thundering downward

     And wandering rivers, to rivulets shrunk, writhed no longer

     Familiar marges between.  With the clangor of armor

     The heavens resound; from the stars wafts the thrill of a trumpet

     Sounding the call to arms.  AEtna, now roused to eruption

     Unwonted, darts flashes of flame to the clouds.  Flitting phantoms

     Appear midst the tombs and unburied bones, gibbering menace

     A comet, strange stars in its diadem, leads a procession

     And reddens the skies with its fire.  Showers of blood fall from

     These portents the Deity shortly fulfilled!  For now Caesar

     Forsook vacillation and, spurred by the love of revenge, sheathed

     The Gallic sword; brandished the brand that proclaimed civil

     There, high in the Alps, where the crags, by a Greek god once

     Slope down and permit of approach, is a spot ever sacred

     To Hercules’ altar; the winter with frozen snow seals it

     And rears to the heavens a summit eternally hoary,

     As though the sky there had slipped down: no warmth from the

     No breath from the Springtime can soften the pile’s wintry rigor

     Nor slacken the frost chains that bind; and its menacing shoulders

     The weight of the world could sustain.  With victorious legions

     These crests Caesar trod and selected a camp.  Gazing downwards

     On Italy’s plains rolling far, from the top of the mountain,

     He lifted both hands to the heavens, his voice rose in prayer:

     ‘Omnipotent Jove, and thou, refuge of Saturn whose glory

     Was brightened by feats of my armies and crowned with my triumphs,

     Bear witness!  Unwillingly summon I Mars to these armies,

     Unwillingly draw I the sword!  But injustice compels me.

     While enemy blood dyes the Rhine and the Alps are held firmly

     Repulsing a second assault of the Gauls on our city,

     She dubs me an outcast!  And Victory makes me an exile!

     To triumphs three score, and defeats of the Germans, my treason

     I trace!  How can they fear my glory or see in my battles

     A menace?  But hirelings, and vile, to whom my Rome is but a

     Stepmother!  Methinks that no craven this sword arm shall hamper

     And take not a stroke in repost.  On to victory, comrades,

     While anger seethes hot.  With the sword we will seek a decision

     The doom lowering down is a peril to all, and the treason.

     My gratitude owe I to you, not alone have I conquered!

     Since punishment waits by our trophies and victory merits

     Disgrace, then let Chance cast the lots.  Raise the standard of

     Again take your swords.  Well I know  that my cause is accomplished

     Amidst such armed warriors I know that I cannot be beaten.’

     While yet the words echoed, from heaven the bird of Apollo

     Vouchsafed a good omen and beat with his pinions the ether.

     From out of the left of a gloomy grove strange voices sounded

     And flame flashed thereafter!  The sun gleamed with brighter

     Unwonted, his face in a halo of golden flame shining.”


     “By omens emboldened, to follow, the battle-flags, Caesar

     Commanded; and boldly led on down the perilous pathway.

     The footing, firm-fettered by frost chains and ice, did not hinder

     At first, but lay silent, the kindly cold masking its grimness;

     But, after the squadrons of cavalry shattered the clouds, bound

     By ice, and the trembling steeds crushed in the mail of the rivers,

     Then, melted the snows!  And soon torrents newborn, from the
     heights of

     The mountains rush down: but these also, as if by commandment

     Grow rigid, and, turn into ice, in their headlong rush downwards!

     Now, that which rushed madly a moment before, must be hacked

     But now, it was treacherous, baffling their steps and their footing

     Deceiving; and men, horses, arms, fall in heaps, in confusion.

     And see!  Now the clouds, by an icy gale smitten, their burden

     Discharge!  Lo! the gusts of the whirlwind swirl fiercely
     about them;

     The sky in convulsions, with swollen hail buffets them sorely.

     Already the clouds themselves rupture and smother their weapons,

     An avalanche icy roars down like a billow of ocean;

     Earth lay overwhelmed by the drifts of the snow and the planets

     Of heaven are blotted from sight; overwhelmed are the rivers

     That cling to their banks, but unconquered is Caesar!  His javelin

     He leans on and scrunches with firm step a passage the bristling

     Grim ice fields across!  As, spurred on by the lust, of adventure

     Amphitryon’s offspring came striding the Caucasus slopes down;

     Or Jupiter’s menacing mien as, from lofty Olympus

     He leaped, the doomed giants to crush and to scatter their weapons.

     While Caesar in anger the swelling peaks treads down, winged rumor

     In terror flies forth and on beating wings seeks the high summit

     Of Palatine tall: every image she rocks with her message

     Announcing this thunderbolt Roman!  Already, the ocean

     Is tossing his fleets!  Now his cavalry, reeking with German

     Gore, pours from the Alps!  Slaughter, bloodshed, and weapons

     The red panorama of war is unrolled to their vision!

     By terror their hearts are divided: two counsels perplex them!

     One chooses by land to seek flight: to another, the water

     Appeals, and the sea than his own land is safer!  Another

     Will stand to his arms and advantage extort from Fate’s mandate.

     The depth of their fear marks the length of their flight!  In

     The people itself--shameful spectacle--driven by terror

     Is led to abandon the city.  Rome glories in fleeing!

     The Quirites from battle blench!  Cowed by the breath of a rumor

     Relinquished their firesides to mourning!  One citizen, palsied

     With terror, his children embraces: another, his penates

     Conceals in his bosom; then, weeping, takes leave of his threshold

     And slaughters the distant invader--with curses!  Their spouses

     Some clasp to their sorrow-wracked bosoms!  Youths carry their

     Bowed down with old age, uninured to the bearing of burdens.

     They seize what they dread to lose most.  Inexperience drags all

     Its chattels to camp and to battle: as, when powerful Auster

     Piles up the churned waters and tumbles them: never a yard-arm

     Nor rudder to answer the hand, here, one fashions a life-raft

     Of pine planks, another steers into some bay on a lee shore,

     Another will crack on and run from the gale and to Fortune

     Trust all!  But why sorrow for trifles?  The consuls, with Pompey

     The Great--he, the terror of Pontus, of savage Hydaspes

     Explorer, the reef that wrecked pirates, caused Jove to turn livid,

     When thrice was a triumph decreed him, whom Pontus’ vexed water

     And pacified billows of Bosphorus worshipped!  Disgraceful their

     Flight!  Title and glory forsaking!  Now Fortune capricious

     Looks down on the back of great Pompey retreating in terror!”


     “So great a misfortune disrupted the concord of heaven

     And gods swelled the rout in their panic!  Behold through creation

     The gentle divinities flee from the ravening earth; in

     Their loathing they turn from humanity, doomed to destruction!

     And first of all, Peace, with her snowy white arms, hides her visage

     Defeated, her helmet beneath and, abandoning earth, flees

     To seek out the realm of implacable Dis, as a refuge

     Meek Faith her companion, and Justice with locks loosely flowing,

     And Concord, in tears, and her raiment in tatters, attend her.

     The minions of Pluto pour forth from the portals of darkness

     That yawn: the serpent-haired Fury, Bellona the Savage,

     Megoera with firebrands, destruction, and treachery, livid

     Death’s likeness!  Among them is Frenzy, as, free, with her lashings

     Snapped short, she now raises her gory head, shielding her features

     Deep scarred by innumerous wounds ‘neath her helmet blood-clotted.

     Her left arm she guards with a battle-scarred shield scored by

     And numberless spear-heads protrude from its surface: her right hand

     A flaming torch brandishes, kindling a flame that will burn up

     The world!  Now the gods are on earth and the skies note their

     The planets disordered their orbits attempt!  Into factions

     The heavens divide; first Dione espouses the cause of

     Her Caesar.  Minerva next steps to her side and the great son

     Of Ares, his mighty spear brandishing!  Phoebus espouses

     The cause of Great Pompey: his sister and Mercury also

     And Hercules like unto him in his travels and labors.

     The trumpets call!  Discord her Stygian head lifts to heaven

     Her tresses disheveled, her features with clotted blood covered,

     Tears pour from her bruised eyes, her iron fangs thick coated
     with rust,

     Her tongue distils poison, her features are haloed with serpents,

     Her hideous bosom is visible under her tatters,

     A torch with a blood red flame waves from her tremulous right hand.

     Emerging from Cocytus dark and from Tartarus murky

     She strode to the crests of the Apennines noble, the prospect

     Of earth to survey, spread before her the world panorama

     Its shores and the armies that march on its surface: these words

     Burst out of her bosom malignant: ‘To arms, now, ye nations,

     While anger seethes hot, seize your arms, set the torch to the

     Who skulks now is lost; neither woman nor child nor the aged

     Bowed down with their years shall find quarter: the whole world will

     And rooftrees themselves shall crash down and take part in the

     Marcellus, hold firm for the law!  And thou, Curio, madden

     The rabble!  Thou, Lentulus, strive not to check valiant Ares!

     Thou, Cesar divine, why delayest thou now thine invasion?

     Why smash not the gates, why not level the walls of the cities,

     Their treasures to pillage?  Thou, Magnus, dost not know the secret

     Of holding the hills of Rome?  Take thou the walls of Dyrrachium,

     Let Thessaly’s harbors be dyed with the blood of the Romans!’

     On earth was obeyed every detail of Discord’s commandment.”

When Eumolpus had, with great volubility, poured out this flood of words,
we came at last to Crotona.  Here we refreshed ourselves at a mean inn,
but on the following day we went in search of more imposing lodgings and
fell in with a crowd of legacy hunters who were very curious as to the
class of society to which we belonged and as to whence we had come.
Thereupon, in accord with our mutual understanding, such ready answers
did we make as to who we might be or whence we had come that we gave them
no cause for doubt.  They immediately fell to wrangling in their desire
to heap their own riches upon Eumolpus and every fortune-hunter solicited
his favor with presents.


Desire no possession unless the world envies me for possessing
Either ‘take-in,’ or else they are ‘taken-in’
Platitudes by which anguished minds are recalled to sanity
They seize what they dread to lose most



For a long time affairs at Crotona ran along in this manner and Eumolpus,
flushed with success so far forgot the former state of his fortunes that
he even bragged to his followers that no one could hold out against any
wish of his, and that any member of his suite who committed a crime
in that city would, through the influence of his friends, get off
unpunished.  But, although I daily crammed my bloated carcass to
overflowing with good things, and began more and more to believe that
Fortune had turned away her face from keeping watch upon me, I frequently
meditated, nevertheless, upon my present state and upon its cause.
“Suppose,” thought I, “some wily legacy hunter should dispatch an agent
to Africa and catch us in our lie?  Or even suppose the hireling servant,
glutted with prosperity, should tip off his cronies or give the whole
scheme away out of spite?  There would be nothing for it but flight and,
in a fresh state of destitution, a recalling of poverty which had been
driven off.  Gods and goddesses, how ill it fares with those living
outside the law; they are always on the lookout for what is coming to
them!”  (Turning these possibilities over in my mind I left the house, in
a state of black melancholy, hoping to revive my spirits in the fresh
air, but scarcely had I set foot upon the public promenade when a girl,
by no means homely, met me, and, calling me Polyaenos, the name I had
assumed since my metamorphosis, informed me that her mistress desired
leave to speak with me.  “You must be mistaken,” I answered, in
confusion, “I am only a servant and a stranger, and am by no means worthy
of such an honor.”)


(“You yourself,” she replied, “are the one to whom I was sent but,)
because you are well aware of your good looks, you are proud and sell
your favors instead of giving them. What else can those wavy well-combed
locks mean or that face, rouged and covered with cosmetics, or that
languishing, wanton expression in your eyes?  Why that gait, so precise
that not a footstep deviates from its place, unless you wish to show off
your figure in order to sell your favors?  Look at me, I know nothing
about omens and I don’t study the heavens like the astrologers, but I can
read men’s intentions in their faces and I know what a flirt is after
when I see him out for a stroll; so if you’ll sell us what I want there’s
a buyer ready, but if you will do the graceful thing and lend, let us be
under obligations to you for the favor.  And as for your confession that
you are only a common servant, by that you only fan the passion of the
lady who burns for you, for some women will only kindle for canaille and
cannot work up an appetite unless they see some slave or runner with his
clothing girded up: a gladiator arouses one, or a mule-driver all covered
with dust, or some actor posturing in some exhibition on the stage.  My
mistress belongs to this class, she jumps the fourteen rows from the
stage to the gallery and looks for a lover among the gallery gods at the
back.” Puffed up with this delightful chatter.  “Come now, confess, won’t
you,” I queried, “is this lady who loves me yourself?”  The waiting maid
smiled broadly at this blunt speech.  “Don’t have such a high opinion of
yourself,” said she, “I’ve never given in to any servant yet; the gods
forbid that I should ever throw my arms around a gallows-bird.  Let the
married women see to that and kiss the marks of the scourge if they like:
I’ll sit upon nothing below a knight, even if I am only a servant.”  I
could not help marveling, for my part, at such discordant passions, and I
thought it nothing short of a miracle that this servant should possess
the hauteur of the mistress and the mistress the low tastes of the wench!

     Each one will find what suits his taste, one thing is not for all,
     One gathers roses as his share, another thorns enthrall.

After a little more teasing, I requested the maid to conduct her mistress
to a clump of plane trees.  Pleased with this plan, the girl picked up
the skirt of her garment and turned into a laurel grove that bordered the
path.  After a short delay she brought her mistress from her hiding-place
and conducted her to my side; a woman more perfect than any statue.
There are no words with which to describe her form and anything I could
say would fall far short.  Her hair, naturally wavy, flowed completely
over her shoulders; her forehead was low and the roots of her hair were
brushed back from it; her eyebrows, running from the very springs of her
cheeks, almost met at the boundary line between a pair of eyes brighter
than stars shining in a moonless night; her nose was slightly aquiline
and her mouth was such an one as Praxiteles dreamed Diana had.  Her chin,
her neck, her hands, the gleaming whiteness of her feet under a slender
band of gold; she turned Parian marble dull!  Then, for the first time,
Doris’ tried lover thought lightly of Doris!

     Oh Jove, what’s come to pass that thou, thine armor cast away
     Art mute in heaven; and but an idle tale?
     At such a time the horns should sprout, the raging bull hold sway,
     Or they white hair beneath swan’s down conceal
     Here’s Dana’s self!  But touch that lovely form
     Thy limbs will melt beneath thy passions’ storm!


She was delighted and so be witchingly did she smile that I seemed to see
the full moon showing her face from behind a cloud.  Then, punctuating
her words with her fingers, “Dear boy, if you are not too critical to
enjoy a woman of wealth who has but this year known her first man, I
offer you a sister,” said she.  “You have a brother already, I know, for
I didn’t disdain to ask, but what is to prevent your adopting a sister,
too?  I will come in on the same footing only deem my kisses worthy of
recognition and caress me at your own pleasure!”  “Rather let me implore
you by your beauty,” I replied.  “Do not scorn to admit an alien among
your worshipers: If you permit me to kneel before your shrine you will
find me a true votary and, that you may not think I approach this temple
of love without a gift, I make you a present of my brother!”  “What,” she
exclaimed, “would you really sacrifice the only one without whom you
could not live’?  The one upon whose kisses your happiness depends.  Him
whom you love as I would have you love me?”  Such sweetness permeated her
voice as she said this, so entrancing was the sound upon the listening
air that you would have believed the Sirens’ harmonies were floating in
the breeze.  I was struck with wonder and dazzled by I know not what
light that shone upon me, brighter than the whole heaven, but I made
bold to inquire the name of my divinity.  “Why, didn’t my maid tell you
that I am called Circe?”  she replied.  “But I am not the sun-child nor
has my mother ever stayed the revolving world in its course at her
pleasure; but if the Fates bring us two together I will owe heaven a
favor.  I don’t know what it is, but some god’s silent purpose is beneath
this.  Circe loves not Polyaenos without some reason; a great torch is
always flaming when these names meet!  Take me in your arms then, if you
will; there’s no prying stranger to fear, and your ‘brother’ is far away
from this spot!”  So saying, Circe clasped me in arms that were softer
than down and drew me to the ground which was covered with colored

     With flowers like these did Mother Earth great Ida’s summit strew
     When Jupiter, his heart aflame, enjoyed his lawful love;
     There glowed the rose, the flowering rush, the violet’s deep blue,
     From out green meadows snow-white lilies laughed.  Then from above,
     This setting summoned Venus to the green and tender sod,
     Bright day smiled kindly on the secret amour of the God.

Side by side upon the grassy plot we lay, exchanging a thousand kisses,
the prelude to more poignant pleasure, (but alas!  My sudden loss of
vigor disappointed Circe!)


(Infuriated at this affront,) “What’s the matter,” demanded she; “do my
kisses offend you?  Is my breath fetid from fasting?  Is there any evil
smelling perspiration in my armpits?  Or, if it’s nothing of this kind,
are you afraid of Giton?” Under her eyes, I flushed hotly and, if I had
any virility left, I lost it then; my whole body seemed to be inert.  “My
queen,” I cried, “do not mock me in my humiliation.  I am bewitched!”
 (Circe’s anger was far from being appeased by such a trivial excuse;
turning her eyes contemptuously away from me, she looked at her maid,)
“Tell me, Chrysis, and tell me truly, is there anything repulsive about
me?  Anything sluttish?  Have I some natural blemish that disfigures my
beauty?  Don’t deceive your mistress!  I don’t know what’s the matter
with us, but there must be something!”  Then she snatched a mirror from
the silent maid and after scrutinizing all the looks and smiles which
pass between lovers, she shook out her wrinkled earth-stained robe and
flounced off into the temple of Venus (nearby.) And here was I, like a
convicted criminal who had seen some horrible nightmare, asking myself
whether the pleasure out of which I had been cheated was a reality or
only a dream.

               As when, in the sleep-bringing night
               Dreams sport with the wandering eyes,
               And earth, spaded up, yields to light
               Her gold that by day she denies,
               The stealthy hand snatches the spoils;
               The face with cold sweat is suffused
               And Fear grips him tight in her toils
               Lest robbers the secret have used
               And shake out the gold from his breast.
               But, when they depart from his brain,
               These enchantments by which he’s obsessed,
               And Truth comes again with her train
               Restoring perspective and pain,
               The phantasm lives to the last,
               The mind dwells with shades of the past.

(The misfortune seemed to me a dream, but I imagined that I must surely
be under a spell of enchantment and, for a long time, I was so devoid of
strength that I could not get to my feet.  But finally my mental
depression began to abate, little by little my strength came back to me,
and I returned home: arrived there, I feigned illness and threw myself
upon my couch.  A little late: Giton, who had heard of my indisposition,
entered the room in some concern.  As I wished to relieve his mind I
informed him that I had merely sought my pallet to take a rest, telling
him much other gossip but not a word about my mishap as I stood in great
fear of his jealousy and, to lull any suspicion which he might entertain,
I drew him to my side and endeavoured to give him some proofs of my love
but all my panting and sweating were in vain.  He jumped up in a rage and
accused my lack of virility and change of heart, declaring that he had
for a long time suspected that I had been expending my vigor and breath
elsewhere.  “No!  No!  Darling,” I replied, “my love for you has always
been the same, but reason prevails now over love and wantonness.”) “And
for the Socratic continence of your love, I thank you in his name,” (he
replied sarcastically,) “Alcibiades was never more spotless when he left
his master’s bed!”


“Believe me, ‘brother,’ when I tell you that I do not know whether I am a
man or not,” (I vainly protested;) “I do not feel like one, if I am!
Dead and buried lies that part in which I was once an Achilles!”  (Giton,
seeing that I was completely enervated, and) fearing that it might give
cause for scandal if he were caught in this quiet place with me, tore
himself away and fled into an inner part of the house.  (He had just gone
when) Chrysis entered the room and handed me her mistress’s tablets, in
which were written the following words:


     Were I a wanton, I should complain of my disappointment, but as it
     is I am beholden to your impotence, for by it I dallied the longer
     in the shadow of pleasure.  Still, I would like to know how you are
     and whether you got home upon your own legs, for the doctors say
     that one cannot walk without nerves!  Young man, I advise you to
     beware of paralysis for I never in my life saw a patient in such
     great danger; you’re as good as dead, I’m sure!  What if the same
     numbness should attack your hands and knees?  You would have to send
     for the funeral trumpeters!  Still, even if I have been affronted,
     I will not begrudge a prescription to one as sick as you!  Ask Giton
     if you would like to recover.  I am sure you will get back your
     strength if you will sleep without your “brother” for three nights.
     So far as I am concerned, I am not in the least alarmed about
     finding someone to whom I shall be as pleasing as I was to you; my
     mirror and my reputation do not lie.

                                        Farewell (if you can).

“Such things will happen,” said Chrysis, when she saw that I had read
through the entire inditement, “and especially in this city, where the
women can lure the moon from the sky!  But we’ll find a cure for your
trouble.  Just return a diplomatic answer to my mistress and restore her
self-esteem by frank courtesy for, truth to tell, she has never been
herself from the minute she received that affront.”  I gladly followed
the maid’s advice and wrote upon the tablets as follows:



     Dear lady, I confess that I have often given cause for offense, for
     I am only a man, and a young one, too, but I never committed a
     deadly crime until today!  You have my confession of guilt, I
     deserve any punishment you may see fit to prescribe.  I betrayed a
     trust, I murdered a man, I violated a temple: demand my punishment
     for these crimes.  Should it be your pleasure to slay me I will come
     to you with my sword; if you are content with a flogging I will run
     naked to my mistress; only bear in mind that it was not myself but
     my tools that failed me.  I was a soldier, and ready, but I had no
     arms.  What threw me into such disorder I do not know, perhaps my
     imagination outran my lagging body, by aspiring to too much it is
     likely that I spent my pleasure in delay; I cannot imagine what the
     trouble was.  You bid me beware of paralysis; as if a disease which
     prevented my enjoying you could grow worse!  But my apology amounts
     briefly to this; if you will grant me an opportunity of repairing my
     fault, I will give you satisfaction.

After dismissing Chrysis with these fair promises, I paid careful
attention to my body which had so evilly served me and, omitting the
bath, I annointed myself, in moderation, with unguents and placed myself
upon a more strengthening diet such as onions and snail’s heads without
condiments, and I also drank more sparingly of wine; then, taking a short
walk before settling down to sleep, I went to bed without Giton.  So
anxious was I to please her that I feared the outcome if my “brother” lay
tickling my side.


Finding myself vigorous in mind and body when I arose next morning, I
went down to the same clump of plane trees, though I dreaded the spot as
one of evil omen, and commenced to wait for Chrysis to lead me on my way.
I took a short stroll and had just seated myself where I had sat the day
before, when she came under the trees, leading a little old woman by the
hand.  “Well, Mr. Squeamish,” she chirped, when she had greeted me, “have
you recovered your appetite?”  In the meantime, the old hag:

               A wine-soaked crone with twitching lips

brought out a twisted hank of different colored yarns and put it about my
neck; she then kneaded dust and spittle and, dipping her middle finger
into the mixture, she crossed my forehead with it, in spite of my

               As long as life remains, there’s hope;
               Thou rustic God, oh hear our prayer,
               Great Priapus, I thee invoke,
               Temper our arms to dare!

When she had made an end of this incantation she ordered me to spit three
times, and three times to drop stones into my bosom, each stone she
wrapped up in purple after she had muttered charms over it; then,
directing her hands to my privates, she commenced to try out my virility.
Quicker than thought the nerves responded to the summons, filling the
crone’s hand with an enormous erection!  Skipping for joy, “Look,
Chrysis, look,” she cried out, “see what a hare I’ve started, for someone
else to course!”  (This done, the old lady handed me over to Chrysis, who
was greatly delighted at the recovery of her mistress’s treasure; she
hastily conducted me straight to the latter, introducing me into a lovely
nook that nature had furnished with everything which could delight the

          Shorn of its top, the swaying pine here casts a
          summer shade
          And quivering cypress, and the stately plane
          And berry-laden laurel.  A brook’s wimpling waters strayed
          Lashed into foam, but dancing on again
          And rolling pebbles in their chattering flow.
          ‘Twas Love’s own nook,
          As forest nightingale and urban Procne undertook
          To bear true witness; hovering, the gleaming grass above
          And tender violets; wooing with song, their stolen love.

Fanning herself with a branch of flowering myrtle, she lay, stretched out
with her marble neck resting upon a golden cushion.  When she caught
sight of me she blushed faintly; she recalled yesterday’s affront, I
suppose.  At her invitation, I sat down by her side, as soon as the
others had gone; whereupon she put the branch of myrtle over my face and
emboldened, as if a wall had been raised between us, “Well, Mr.
Paralytic,” she teased, “have you brought all of yourself along today?”
 “Why ask me,” I replied, “why not try me instead?”  and throwing myself
bodily into her arms, I revelled in her kisses with no witchcraft to stop


The loveliness of her form drew me to her and summoned me to love.  Our
lips were pressed together in a torrent of smacking kisses, our groping
hands had discovered every trick of excitation, and our bodies, clasped
in a mutual embrace, had fused our souls into one, (and then, in the very
midst of these ravishing preliminaries my nerves again played me false
and I was unable to last until the instant of supreme bliss.) Lashed to
fury by these inexcusable affronts, the lady at last ran to avenge
herself and, calling her house servants, she gave orders for me to be
hoisted upon their shoulders and flogged; then, still unsatisfied with
the drastic punishment she had inflicted upon me, she called all the
spinning women and scrubbing wenches in the house and ordered them to
spit upon me.  I covered my face with my hands but I uttered no complaint
as I well knew what I deserved and, overwhelmed with blows and spittle, I
was driven from the house. Proselenos was kicked out too, Chrysis was
beaten, and all the slaves grumbled among themselves and wondered what
had upset their mistress’s good humor.  I took heart after having given
some thought to my misfortunes and, artfully concealing the marks of the
blows for fear that Eumolpus would make merry over my mishaps or, worse
yet, that Giton might be saddened by my disgrace, I did the only thing I
could do to save my self-respect, I pretended that I was sick and went to
bed.  There, I turned the full fury of my resentment against that
recreant which had been the sole cause of all the evil accidents which
had befallen me.

               Three times I grasped the two-edged blade
               The recreant to cut away;
               Three times by Fear my hand was stayed
               And palsied Terror said me nay
               That which I might have done before
               ‘Twas now impossible to do;
               For, cold with Fear, the wretch withdrew
               Into a thousand-wrinkled mare,
               And shrank in shame before my gaze
               Nor would his head uncover more.
               But though the scamp in terror skulked,
               With words I flayed him as he sulked.

Raising myself upon my elbow I rebuked the shirker in some such terms as
these: “What have you to say for yourself, you disgrace to gods and men,”
 I demanded, “for your name must never be mentioned among refined people.
Did I deserve to be lifted up to heaven and then dragged down to hell by
you?  Was it right for you to slander my flourishing and vigorous years
and land me in the shadows and lassitude of decrepit old age?  Give me
some sign, however faint, I beg of you, that you have returned to life!”
 I vented my anger in words such as these.

               His eyes were fixed, and with averted look
               He stood, less moved by any word of mine
               Than weeping willows bending o’er a brook
               Or drooping poppies as at noon they pine.

When I had made an end of this invective, so out of keeping with good
taste, I began to do penance for my soliloquy and blushed furtively
because I had so far forgotten my modesty as to invoke in words that part
of my body which men of dignity do not even recognize.  Then, rubbing my
forehead for a long time, “Why have I committed an indiscretion in
relieving my resentment by natural abuse,” I mused, “what does it amount
to?  Are we not accustomed to swear at every member of the human body,
the belly, throat, or even the head when it aches, as it often does?  Did
not Ulysses wrangle with his own heart?  Do not the tragedians ‘Damn
their eyes’ just as if they could hear?

“Gouty patients swear at their feet, rheumatics at their hands,
people at their eyes, and do not those who often stub their toes blame
their feet for all their pain?

               “Why will our Catos with their frowning brows
               Condemn a work of fresh simplicity’?
               A cheerful kindness my pure speech endows;
               What people do, I write, to my capacity.
               For who knows not the pleasures Venus gives?
               Who will not in a warm bed tease his members?
               Great Epicurus taught a truth that lives;
               Love and enjoy life!  All the rest is embers.

“Nothing can be more insincere than the silly prejudices of mankind, and
nothing sillier than the morality of bigotry,”


I called Giton when I had finished my meditation: “Tell me, little
brother,” I demanded, “tell me, on your honor: Did Ascyltos stay awake
until he had exacted his will of you, the night he stole you away from
me?  Or was he content to spend the night like a chaste widow?”  Wiping
his eyes the lad, in carefully chosen words took oath that Ascyltos had
used no force against him.  (The truth of the matter is, that I was so
distraught with my own misfortunes that I knew not what I was saying.
“Why recall past memories which can only cause pain,” said I to myself.
I then directed all my energies towards the recovery of my lost manhood.
To achieve this I was ready even to devote myself to the gods;
accordingly, I went out to invoke the aid of Priapus.) {Putting as good a
face upon the matter as I could} I knelt upon the threshold of his shrine
and invoked the God in the following verses:

              “Of Bacchus and the nymphs, companion boon,
               Whom fair Dione set o’er forests wide
               As God: whom Lesbos and green Thasos own
               For deity, whom Lydians, far and wide
               Adore through all the seasons of the year;
               Whose temple in his own Hypaepa placed,
               Thou Dryad’s joy and Bacchus’, hear my prayer!
               To thee I come, by no dark blood disgraced,
               No shrine, in wicked lust have I profaned;
               When I was poor and worn with want, I sinned
               Not by intent, a pauper’s sin’s not banned
               As of another!  Unto thee I pray
               Lift thou the load from off my tortured mind,
               Forgive a light offense!  When fortune smiles
               I’ll not thy glory shun and leave behind
               Thy worship!  Unto thee, a goat that feels
               His primest vigor, father of the flocks
               Shall come!  And suckling pigs, the tender young
               Of some fine grunting sow!  New wine, in crocks
               Shall foam!  Thy grateful praises shall be sung
               By youths who thrice shall dance around thy shrine
               Happy, in youth and full of this year’s wine!”

While I was engaged in this diplomatic effort in behalf of the affected
member, a hideous crone with disheveled hair, and clad in black garments
which were in great disorder, entered the shrine and, laying hands upon
me, led me {thoroughly frightened,} out into the portico.


“What witches” (she cried,) “have devoured your manhood?  What filth did
you tread upon at some crossroads, in the dark?  Not even by the boy
could you do your duty but, weak and effeminate, you are worn out like a
cart-horse at a hill, you have lost both labor and sweat!  Not content
with getting yourself into trouble, you have stirred up the wrath of the
gods against me {and I will make you smart for it.”}  She then led me,
unresisting, back into the priestess’s room, pushed me down upon the bed,
snatched a cane that hung upon the door, and gave me another thrashing:
I remained silent and, had the cane not splintered at the first stroke,
thereby diminishing the force of the blow, she might easily have broken
my arms or my head.  I groaned dismally, and especially when she
manipulated my member and, shedding a flood of tears, I covered my head
with my right arm and huddled down upon the pillow.  Nor did she weep
less bitterly:

The sailor, naked from his foundered barque,
Some shipwrecked mariner seeks out to hear his woe;
When hail beats down a farmer’s crop, his cark
Seeks consolation from another, too.
Death levels caste and sufferers unites,
And weeping parents are as one in grief;
We also will beseech the starry heights,
United prayers climb best, is the belief.

She seated herself upon the other side of the bed and in quavering tones
commenced to accuse the delays of old age.  At last the priestess came
in.  “Why,” she cried, “what has brought you into my cell as if you were
visiting a newly made grave?  And on a feast-day, too, when even mourners
ought to smile!”  “OEnothea,” the old hag replied, “this young man here
was born under an unlucky star: he can’t dispose of his goods to either
boy or girl.  Such an unfortunate fellow you never saw.  He has no tool
at all, only a piece of leather soaked in water!  I wish you would tell
me what you think of a man who could get up from Circe’s bed without
having tasted pleasure!”  On hearing these words, OEnothea sat down
between us and, after shaking her head for a while, “I’m the only one
that knows how to cure that disease,” said she, “and for fear you think
I’m talking to hear myself talk, I’ll just have the young fellow sleep
with me for a night, and if I don’t make it as hard as horn!

     All that you see in the world must give heed to my mandates;

     Blossoming earth, when I will it, must languish, a desert.’

     Riches pour forth, when I will it, from crags and grim boulders

     Waters will spurt that will rival the Nile at its flooding

     Seas calm their billows before me, gales silence their howlings,

     Hearing my step!  And the rivers sink into their channels;

     Dragons, Hyrcanian tigers stand fast at my bidding!

     Why should I tell you of small things?  The image of Luna

     Drawn by my spells must descend, and Apollo, atremble

     Backs up his horses and turns from his course at my order!

     Such is the power of my word!  By the rites of a virgin

     Quenched is the raging of bulls; and the sun’s daughter Circe

     Changed and transfigured the crew of the wily Ulysses.

     Proteus changes his form when his good pleasure dictates,

     I, who am skilled in these arts, can the shrubs of Mount Ida

     Plant in the ocean; turn rivers to flow up the mountains!”


At this declaration, which was so awe-inspiring, I shuddered in terror,
and commenced to scrutinize the crone more narrowly.  “Come now,” said
OEnothea, “obey my orders,” and, carefully wiping her hands, she bent
over the cot and kissed me, once, twice!  On the middle of the altar
OEnothea placed an old table, upon which she heaped live coals, then with
melted pitch she repaired a goblet which had become cracked through age.
Next she replaced, in the smoke-stained wall, a peg which had come out
when she took down the wooden goblet.  Then, having donned a mantle, in
the shape of a piece of square-cut cloth, she set a huge kettle upon the
hearth and at the same time speared with a fork a cloth hanging upon the
meathooks, and lifted it down.  It contained some beans which had been
laid away for future use, and a very small and stale piece of pig’s
cheek, scored with a thousand slashes.  When she had untied the string
which fastened the cloth, she poured some of the beans upon the table and
ordered me to shell them quickly and carefully.  I obey her mandate and
with careful fingers separate the beans from the filthy pods which
contain them; but she, accusing my clumsiness, hastily snatched them and,
skillfully tearing off the pods with her teeth, spat them upon the
ground, where they looked like dead flies.  I wondered, then, at the
ingenuity of poverty and its expedients for emergency.  (So ardent a
follower of this virtue did the priestess seem that it was reflected in
everything around her.  Her dwelling, in particular, was a very shrine of

          No Indian ivory set in gold gleamed here,
          No trodden marble glistened here; no earth
          Mocked for its gifts; but Ceres’ festive grove:
          With willow wickerwork ‘twas set around,
          New cups of clay by revolutions shaped
          Of lowly wheel.  For honey soft, a bowl;
          Platters of green bark wickerwork, a jar
          Stained by the lifeblood of the God of Wine;
          The walls around with chaff and spattered clay
          Were covered.  Flanging from protruding nails
          Were slender stalks of the green rush; and then
          Suspended from the smoky beam, the stores
          Of this poor cottage.  Service berries soft,
          Entwined in fragrant wreaths hung down,
          Dried savory and raisins by the bunch.
          An hostess here like she on Attic soil,
          Of Hecate’s pure worship worthy she!
          Whose fame Kallimachos so grandly sang
          ‘Twill live forever through the speaking years.


In the meantime, (having shelled the beans,) she took a mouthful of the
meat and with the fork was replacing the pig’s cheek, which was coeval
with herself, upon the meat-hook, when the rotten stool, which she was
using to augment her height, broke down under the old lady’s weight and
let her fall upon the hearth.  The neck of the pot was broken, putting
out the fire, which was just getting a good start, her elbow was burned
by a flaming brand, and her whole face was covered by the ashes raised by
her fall.  I jumped up in dismay and, not without laughing, helped the
old lady to her feet.  She hastily scurried out into the neighborhood to
replenish the fire, for fear anything should delay the sacrifice.  I was
on my way to the door of the cell when lo! and behold! three sacred geese
which were accustomed, I suppose, to demand their feed from the old woman
at midday, made a rush at me and, surrounding me, made me nervous with
their abominable rabid cackling.  One tore at my tunic, another undid the
lacings of my sandals and tugged at them, but one in particular, the
ringleader and moving spirit of this savage attack, did not hesitate to
worry at my leg with his serrated bill.  Unable to see the joke, I
twisted off one of the legs of the little table and, thus armed, began to
belabor the pugnacious brute.  Nor did I rest content with a light blow,
I avenged myself by the death of the goose.

               ‘Twas thus, I ween, the birds of Stymphalus
               To heaven fled, by Herakles impelled;
               The Harpies, too, whose reeking pinions held
               That poison which the feast of Phineus
               Contaminated.  All the air above
               With their unwonted lamentations shook,
               The heavens in uproar and confusion move
               {The Stars, in dread, their orbits then forsook!}

By this time the two remaining geese had picked up the beans which had
been scattered all over the floor and bereft, I suppose, of their leader,
had gone back into the temple; and I, well content with my revenge and my
booty, threw the dead goose behind the cot and bathed the trifling wound
in my leg with vinegar: then, fearing a scolding, I made up my mind to
run away and, collecting together all my belongings, started to leave the
house.  I had not yet stepped over the threshold of the cell, however,
when I caught sight of OEnothea returning with an earthen vessel full of
live coals.  Thereupon I retraced my steps and, throwing off my garments,
I took my stand just inside the door, as if I were awaiting her return.
She banked her fire with broken reeds, piled some pieces of wood on top,
and began to excuse her delay on the ground that her friend would not
permit her to leave until after the customary three drinks had been
taken.  “But what were you up to in my absence?”  she demanded.  “Where
are the beans?”  Thinking that I had done a thing worthy of all praise, I
informed her of the battle in all its details and, that she might not be
downcast any longer, I produced the dead goose in payment for her loss.
When the old lady laid eyes upon that, she raised such a clamor that you
would have thought that the geese had invaded the room again.  Confounded
and thunderstruck at the novelty of my crime, I asked her why she was so
angry and why she pitied the goose rather than myself.


But, beating her palms together, “You villain, are you so brazen that you
can speak?”  she shrieked.  “Don’t you know what a serious crime you’ve
committed?  You have slaughtered the delight of Priapus, a goose, the
very darling of married women!  And for fear you think that nothing
serious has happened, if the magistrates find this out you’ll go to the
cross!  Until this day my dwelling has been inviolate and you have
polluted it with blood!  You have conducted yourself in such a manner
that any enemy I have can turn me out of the priesthood!”

     She spoke, and from her trembling head she tore the snow-white hair,
          And scratched her cheeks: her eyes shed floods of tears.
     As when a torrent headlong rushes down the valleys drear,
          Its icy fetters gone when Sprint appears,
     And strikes the frozen shackles from rejuvenated earth
          So down her face the tears in torrents swept
          And wracking sobs convulsed her as she wept.

“Please don’t make such a fuss,” I said, “I’ll give you an ostrich in
place of your goose!”  While she sat upon the cot and, to my
stupefaction, bewailed the death of the goose, Proselenos came in with
the materials for the sacrifice.  Seeing the dead goose and inquiring the
cause of her grief, she herself commenced to weep more violently still
and to commiserate me, as if I had slain my own father, instead of a
public goose.  Growing tired of this nonsense at last, “See here,”
 said I, “could I not purchase immunity for a price, even though I had
assaulted you’?  Even though I had murdered a man?  Look here!  I’m
laying down two gold pieces, you can buy both gods and geese with them!”
 “Forgive me, young man,” said OEnothea, when she caught sight of the
gold, “I am anxious upon your account; that is a proof of love, not of
malignity.  Let us take such precautions that not a soul will find this
out.  As for you, pray to the gods to forgive your sacrilege!”

          The rich man can sail in a favoring gale
             And snap out his course at his pleasure;
          A Dance espouse, no Acrisius will rail,
             His credence by hers he will measure;
          Write verse, or declaim; snap the finger of scorn
             At the world, yet still win all his cases,
          The rabble will drink in his words with concern
             When a Cato austere it displaces.
          At law, his “not proven,” or “proved,” he can have
             With Servius or Labeo vieing;
          With gold at command anything he may crave
             Is his without asking or sighing.
          The universe bows at his slightest behest,
             For Jove is a prisoner in his treasure chest.

In the meantime, she scurried around and put a jar of wine under my hands
and, when my fingers had all been spread out evenly, she purified them
with leeks and parsley.  Then, muttering incantations, she threw
hazel-nuts into the wine and drew her conclusions as they sank or
floated; but she did not hoodwink me, for those with empty shells, no
kernel and full of air, would of course float, while those that were
heavy and full of sound kernel would sink to the bottom.  {She then
turned her attention to the goose,} and, cutting open the breast, she
drew out a very fat liver from which she foretold my future.  Then, for
fear any trace of the crime should remain, she cut the whole goose up,
stuck the pieces upon spits, and served up a very delectable dinner for
me, whom, but a moment before, she had herself condemned to death, in
her own words!  Meanwhile, cups of unmixed wine went merrily around (and
the crones greedily devoured the goose which they had but so lately
lamented.  When the last morsel had disappeared, OEnothea, half-drunk by
this time, looked at me and said, “We must now go through with the
mysteries, so that you may get back your virility.”)


(As she said this OEnothea brought) out a leathern dildo which, when she
had smeared it with oil, ground pepper, and pounded nettle seed, she
commenced to force, little by little, up my anus.  The merciless old
virago then anointed the insides of my thighs with the same decoction;
finally mixing nasturtium juice with elixir of southern wood, she gave my
genitals a bath and, picking up a bunch of green nettles, she commenced
to strike me gently all over my belly below the navel. {The nettles stung
me horribly and I suddenly took to my heels, with the old hags in full
pursuit.}  Although they were befuddled with wine and lust they followed
the right road and chased me through several wards, screaming “Stop
thief.”  I made good my escape, however, although every toe was bleeding
as the result of my headlong flight.  (I got home as quickly as I could
and, worn out with fatigue, I sought my couch, but I could not snatch a
wink of sleep for the evil adventures which had befallen me kept running
through my brain and, brooding upon them, I came to the conclusion that
no one could be so abjectly unfortunate.  “Has Fortune, always inimical
to me, stood in need of the pangs of love, that she might torture me more
cruelly still,” I cried out; “unhappy wretch that I am!  Fortune and Love
have joined forces to bring about my ruin.  Cruel Eros himself had never
dealt leniently with me, loved or lover I am put to the torture!  Take
the case of Chrysis:  she loves me desperately, never leaves off teasing
me, she who despised me as a servant, because, when she was acting as her
mistress’s go-between, I was dressed in the garments of a slave: she, I
say) that same Chrysis, who looked with contempt upon your former lowly
lot, is now bent upon following it up even at the peril of her life; (she
swore that she would never leave my side on the day when she told me of
the violence of her passion: but Circe owns me, heart and soul, all
others I despise.  Who could be lovelier  than  she?)  What  loveliness
had Ariadne or Leda to compare with hers?  What had Helen to compare with
her, what has Venus?  If Paris himself had seen her with her dancing
eyes, when he acted as umpire for the quarreling goddesses, he would have
given up Helen and the goddesses for her!  If I could only steal a kiss,
if only I might put my arms around that divine, that heavenly bosom,
perhaps the virility would come back to this body and the parts, flaccid
from witchcraft would, I believe, come into their own.  Contempt cannot
tire me out: what if I was flogged; I will forget it!  What if I was
thrown out!  I will treat it as a joke!  Only let me be restored to her
good graces!

     At rest on my pallet, night’s silence had scarce settled down

     To soothe me, and eyes heavy-laden with slumber to lull

     When torturing Amor laid hold of me, seizing my hair

     And dragging me, wounding me, ordered a vigil till dawn.

     ‘Oh heart of stone, how canst thou lie here alone?’ said the God,

     ‘Thou joy of a thousand sweet mistresses, how, oh my slave?’

     In disarrayed nightrobe I leap to bare feet and essay

     To follow all paths; but a road can discover by none.

     One moment I hasten; the next it is torture to move,

     It irks me again to turn back, shame forbids me to halt

     And stand in the midst of the road.  Lo! the voices of men,

     The roar of the streets, and the songs of the birds, and the bark

     Of vigilant watch-dogs are hushed!  Alone, I of all

     Society dread both my slumber and couch, and obey

     Great Lord of the Passions, thy mandate which on me was laid.”


(Such thoughts as these, of lovely Circe’s charms so wrought upon my mind
that) I disordered my bed by embracing the image, as it were, of my
mistress, (but my efforts were all wasted.)  This obstinate (affliction
finally wore out my patience, and I cursed the hostile deity by whom I
was bewitched.  I soon recovered my composure, however, and, deriving
some consolation from thinking of the heroes of old, who had been
persecuted by the anger of the gods, I broke out in these lines:)

     Hostile gods and implacable rate not me alone pursue;

     Herakles once suffered the weight of heaven’s displeasure too

     Driven from the Inachian coast: Laomedon of old

     Sated two of the heavenly host: in Pelias, behold

     Juno’s power to avenge an affront; and Telephus took arms

     Knowing not he must bear the brunt; Ulysses feared the storms

     Angry Neptune decreed as his due.  Now, me to overwhelm

     Outraged Priapus ever pursues on land and Nereus’ realm.

(Tortured by these cares I spent the whole night in anxiety, and at dawn,
Giton, who had found out that I had slept at home, entered the room and
bitterly accused me of leading a licentious life; he said that the whole
household was greatly concerned at what I had been doing, that I was so
rarely present to attend to my duties, and that the intrigue in which I
was engaged would very likely bring about my ruin.  I gathered from this
that he had been well informed as to my affairs, and that someone had
been to the house inquiring for me.  Thereupon,) I began to ply Giton
with questions as to whether anyone had made inquiry for me; “Not today,”
 he replied, “but yesterday a woman came in at the door, not bad looking,
either, and after talking to me for quite a while, and wearing me out
with her far-fetched conversation, finally ended by saying that you
deserved punishment, and that you would receive the scourging of a slave
if the injured party pressed his complaint.”  (This news afflicted me so
bitterly that I levelled fresh recriminations against Fortune, and) I had
not yet finished grumbling when Chrysis came in and, throwing herself
upon me, embraced me passionately.  “I have you,” she cried, “just as I
hoped I would; you are my heart’s desire, my joy, you can never put out
this flame of mine unless you quench it in my blood!”  (I was greatly
embarrassed by this wantonness of Chrysis and had recourse to flattery
in order that I might rid myself of her, as I feared that her passionate
outcries would reach the ears of Eumolpus who, in the arrogance of
success, had put on the manner of the master.  So on this account, I did
everything I could think of to calm Chrysis.  I feigned love, whispered
compliments, in short, so skillfully did I dissimulate that she believed
I was Love’s own captive.  I showed her what pressing peril overhung us
should she be caught in that room with me, as Eumolpus was only too ready
to punish the slightest offense.  On hearing this, she left me hurriedly,
and all the more quickly, as she caught sight of Giton, who had only left
me a little before she had come in, on his way to my room.  She was
scarcely gone when) one of the newly engaged servants rushed in and
informed me that the master was furiously angry with me because of my two
days’ absence from duty; I would do well, therefore, to prepare some
plausible excuse, as it was not likely that his angry passion would be
placated until someone had been flogged.  (Seeing that I was so vexed and
disheartened, Giton said not a word about the woman, contenting himself
with speaking of Eumolpus, and advising me that it would be better to
joke with him than to treat the matter seriously.  I followed this lead
and appeared before the old fellow, with so merry a countenance that,
instead of showing severity, he received me with good humor and rallied
me upon the success of my love affairs, praising the elegance of my
figure which made me such a favorite with the ladies.  “I know very
well,” he went on, “that a lovely woman is dying for love of you,
Encolpius, and this may come in handy for us, so play your part and I’ll
play mine, too!”)


(He was still speaking, when in came a) matron of the most exclusive
social set, Philumene by name, who had often, when young, extorted many
a legacy by means of her charms, but an old woman now, the flower of her
beauty faded, she threw her son and daughter in the way of childless old
men and through this substitution she contrived to continue her
established policy.  She came to Eumolpus, both to commend her children
to his practical judgment and to entrust herself and her hopes to his
good nature, he being the only one in all the world who could daily
instruct young children in healthy precepts.  In short, she left her
children in Eumolpus’ house in order that they might hear the words that
dropped from his lips, as this was the only legacy she could leave to
them.  Nor did she do otherwise than as she had promised, but left in
his bed chamber a very beautiful daughter and her brother, a lad, and
pretended that she herself was compelled to go out to a temple to offer
up her vows.  Eumolpus, who was so continent that even I was a boy in his
eyes, lost no time in inviting the damsel to sacrifice to the Aversa
Venus; but, as he had told everyone that he was gouty and that his back
was weak, and as he stood in danger of upsetting the whole farce if he
did not carefully live up to the pretence, he therefore, that the
imposture might be kept up, prevailed upon the young lady to seat herself
upon that goodness which had been commended to her, and ordered Corax to
crawl under the bed upon which he himself was lying and after bracing
himself by putting his hands upon the floor, to hoist his master up and
down with his own back.  Corax carried out the order in full and
skillfully seconded the wriggling of the girl with a corresponding
seesaw.  Then, when the crisis was about due, Eumolpus, in a ringing
voice, called out to Corax to increase the cadence.  And thus the old
lecher, suspended between his servant and his mistress, enjoyed himself
just as if he were in a swing.  Time and again Eumolpus repeated this
performance, to the accompaniment of ringing laughter in which he himself
joined.  At last, fearing I might lose an opportunity through lack of
application, I also made advances to the brother who was enjoying the
gymnastics of his sister through the keyhole, to see if he would prove
amenable to assault.  Nor did this well trained lad reject my advances;
but alas!  I discovered that the God was still my enemy.  (However, I was
not so blue over this failure as I had been over those before, and my
virility returned a little later and, suddenly finding myself in better
fettle I cried out,) “Great are the gods who have made me whole again!
In his loving kindness, Mercury, who conducts and reconducts the souls,
has restored to me that which a hostile hand had cut away.  Look!  You
will find that I am more graciously endowed than was Protestilaus or any
other of the heroes of old!”  So saying, I lifted up my tunic and showed
Eumolpus that I was whole.  At first he was startled, then, that he might
believe his own eyes, he handled this pledge of the good will of the gods
with both hands.  (Our good humor was revived by this blessing and we
laughed at the diplomacy of Philumene and at the skill with which her
children plied their calling, little likely to profit them much with us,
however, as it was only in hopes of coming into a legacy that she had
abandoned the boy and girl to us.  Meditating upon this unscrupulous
method of getting around childless old men, I began to take thought of
the present state of our own affairs and made use of the occasion to warn
Eumolpus that he might be bitten in biting the biters.  “Everything that
we do,” I said, “should be dictated by Prudence.) Socrates, {whose
judgment was riper than that} of the gods or of men used to boast that he
had never looked into a tavern nor believed the evidence of his own eyes
in any crowded assembly which was disorderly: so nothing is more in
keeping than always conversing with wisdom.

     Live coals are more readily held in men’s mouths than a secret!

     Whatever you talk of at home will fly forth in an instant,

     Become a swift rumor and beat at the walls of your city.

     Nor is it enough that your confidence thus has been broken,

     As rumor but grows in the telling and strives to embellish.

     The covetous servant who feared to make public his knowledge

     A hole in the ground dug, and therein did whisper his secret

     That told of a king’s hidden ears: this the earth straightway

     And rustling reeds added that Midas was king in the story.

“Every word of this is true,” I insisted, “and no one deserves to get into
trouble more quickly than he who covets the goods of others!  How could
cheats and swindlers live unless they threw purses or little bags
clinking with money into the crowd for bait?  Just as dumb brutes are
enticed by food, human beings are not to be caught unless they have
something in the way of hope at which to nibble!  (That was the reason
that the Crotonians gave us such a satisfactory reception, but) the ship
does not arrive, from Africa, with your money and your slaves, as you
promised.  The patience of the fortune-hunters is worn out and they have
already cut down their liberality so that, either I am mistaken, or else
our usual luck is about to return to punish you!”


(“I have thought up a scheme,” replied Eumolpus, “which will embarrass
our fortune-hunting friends sorely,” and as he said this, he drew his
tablets from his wallet and read his last wishes aloud, as follows:)
“All who are down for legacies under my will, my freedmen only excepted,
shall come into what I bequeath them subject to this condition, that they
do cut my body into pieces and devour said pieces in sight of the crowd:
{nor need they be inordinately shocked} for among some peoples, the law
ordaining that the dead shall be devoured by their relatives is still in
force; nay, even the sick are often abused because they render their own
flesh worse!  I admonish my friends, by these presents, lest they refuse
what I command, that they devour my carcass with as great relish as they
damned my soul!”  (Eumolpus had just started reading the first clauses
when several of his most intimate friends entered the room and catching
sight of the tablets in his hand in which was contained his last will and
testament, besought him earnestly to permit them to hear the contents.
He consented immediately and read the entire instrument from first to
last.  But when they had heard that extraordinary stipulation by which
they were under the necessity of devouring his carcass, they were greatly
cast down, but) his reputation for enormous wealth dulled the eyes and
brains of the wretches, (and they were such cringing sycophants that they
dared not complain of the outrage in his hearing.  One there was,
nevertheless, named) Gorgias, who was willing to comply, (provided he did
not have too long to wait!  To this, Eumolpus made answer:) “I have no
fear that your stomach will turn, it will obey orders; if, for one hour
of nausea you promise it a plethora of good things: just shut your eyes
and pretend that it’s not human guts you’ve bolted, but ten million
sesterces!  And beside, we will find some condiment which will disguise
the taste!  No flesh is palatable of itself, it must be seasoned by art
and reconciled to the unwilling stomach.  And, if you desire to fortify
the plan by precedents, the Saguntines ate human flesh when besieged by
Hannibal, and they had no legacy in prospect!  In stress of famine, the
inhabitants of Petelia did the same and gained nothing from the diet
except that they were not hungry!  When Numantia was taken by Scipio,
mothers, with the half-eaten bodies of their babes in their bosoms, were
found!  (Therefore, since it is only the thought of eating human flesh
that makes you squeamish, you must try to overcome your aversion, with
all your heart, so that you may come into the immense legacies I have put
you down for!”  So carelessly did Eumolpus reel off these extravagances
that the fortune-hunters began to lose faith in the validity of his
promises and subjected our words and actions to a closer scrutiny
immediately; their suspicions grew with their experience and they came
to the conclusion that we were out and out grafters, and thereupon those
who had been put to the greatest expense for our entertainment resolved
to seize us and take it out in just revenge; but Chrysis, who was privy
to all their scheming, informed me of the designs which the Crotonians
had hatched; and when I heard this news, I was so terrified that I fled
instantly, with Giton, and left Eumolpus to his fate.  I learned, a few
days later, that the Crotonians, furious because the old fox had lived
so long and so sumptuously at the public expense, had put him to death
in the Massilian manner.  That you may comprehend what this means, know
that) whenever the Massilians were ravaged by the plague, one of the poor
would offer himself to be fed for a whole year upon choice food at public
charge; after which, decked out with olive branches and sacred vestments,
he was led out through the entire city, loaded with imprecations so that
he might take to himself the evils from which the city suffered, and then
thrown headlong (from the cliff.)



Death levels caste and sufferers unites
Face, rouged and covered with cosmetics
For one hour of nausea you promise it a plethora of good things
In the arrogance of success, had put on the manner of the master
Live coals are more readily held in men’s mouths than a secret
Putting as good a face upon the matter as I could
Rumor but grows in the telling and strives to embellish
Something in the way of hope at which to nibble
Stained by the lifeblood of the God of Wine
To follow all paths; but a road can discover by none
Whatever you talk of at home will fly forth in an instant



There are two basic instincts in the character of the normal individual;
the will to live, and the will to propagate the species.  It is from the
interplay of these instincts that prostitution took origin, and it is for
this reason that this profession is the oldest in human experience, the
first offspring, as it were, of savagery and of civilization.  When Fate
turns the leaves of the book of universal history, she enters, upon the
page devoted thereto, the record of the birth of each nation in its
chronological order, and under this record appears the scarlet entry to
confront the future historian and arrest his unwilling attention; the
only entry which time and even oblivion can never efface.

If, prior to the time of Augustus Caesar, the Romans had laws designed to
control the social evil, we have no knowledge of them, but there is
nevertheless no lack of evidence to prove that it was only too well known
among them long before that happy age (Livy i, 4; ii, 18); and the
peculiar story of the Bacchanalian cult which was brought to Rome by
foreigners about the second century B.C. (Livy xxxix, 9-17), and the
comedies of Plautus and Terence, in which the pandar and the harlot are
familiar characters.  Cicero, Pro Coelio, chap. xx, says: “If there is
anyone who holds the opinion that young men should be interdicted from
intrigues with the women of the town, he is indeed austere!  That,
ethically, he is in the right, I cannot deny: but nevertheless, he is at
loggerheads not only with the licence of the present age, but even with
the habits of our ancestors and what they permitted themselves.  For when
was this NOT done?  When was it rebuked?  When found fault with?”  The
Floralia, first introduced about 238 B.C., had a powerful influence in
giving impetus to the spread of prostitution.  The account of the origin
of this festival, given by Lactantius, while no credence is to be placed
in it, is very interesting.  “When Flora, through the practice of
prostitution, had come into great wealth, she made the people her heir,
and bequeathed a certain fund, the income of which was to be used to
celebrate her birthday by the exhibition of the games they call the
Floralia” (Instit. Divin.  xx, 6).  In chapter x of the same book, he
describes the manner in which they were celebrated: “They were solemnized
with every form of licentiousness.  For in addition to the freedom of
speech that pours forth every obscenity, the prostitutes, at the
importunities of the rabble, strip off their clothing and act as mimes in
full view of the crowd, and this they continue until full satiety comes
to the shameless lookers-on, holding their attention with their wriggling
buttocks.”  Cato, the censor, objected to the latter part of this
spectacle, but, with all his influence, he was never able to abolish it;
the best he could do was to have the spectacle put off until he had left
the theatre.  Within 40 years after the introduction of this festival,
P. Scipio Africanus, in his speech in defense of Tib. Asellus, said: “If
you elect to defend your profligacy, well and good.  But as a matter of
fact, you have lavished, on one harlot, more money than the total value,
as declared by you to the Census Commissioners, of all the plenishing of
your Sabine farm; if you deny my assertion I ask who dare wager 1,000
sesterces on its untruth?  You have squandered more than a third of the
property you inherited from your father and dissipated it in debauchery”
 (Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae, vii, 11).  It was about this time that
the Oppian law came up for repeal.  The stipulations of this law were as
follows: No woman should have in her dress above half an ounce of gold,
nor wear a garment of different colors, nor ride in a carriage in the
city or in any town, or within a mile of it, unless upon occasion of a
public sacrifice.  This sumptuary law was passed during the public
distress consequent upon Hannibal’s invasion of Italy.  It was repealed
eighteen years afterward, upon petition of the Roman ladies, though
strenuously opposed by Cato (Livy 34, 1; Tacitus, Annales, 3, 33).  The
increase of wealth among the Romans, the spoils wrung from their victims
as a portion of the price of defeat, the contact of the legions with the
softer, more civilized, more sensuous races of Greece and Asia Minor,
laid the foundations upon which the social evil was to rise above the
city of the seven hills, and finally crush her.  In the character of the
Roman there was but little of tenderness.  The well-being of the state
caused him his keenest anxiety.  One of the laws of the twelve tables,
the “Coelebes Prohibito,” compelled the citizen of manly vigor to satisfy
the promptings of nature in the arms of a lawful wife, and the tax on
bachelors is as ancient as the times of Furius Camillus.  “There was an
ancient law among the Romans,” says Dion Cassius, lib. xliii, “which
forbade bachelors, after the age of twenty-five, to enjoy equal political
rights with married men.  The old Romans had passed this law in hope
that, in this way, the city of Rome, and the Provinces of the Roman
Empire as well, might be insured an abundant population.”  The increase,
under the Emperors, of the number of laws dealing with sex is an accurate
mirror of conditions as they altered and grew worse.  The “Jus Trium
Librorum,” under the empire, a privilege enjoyed by those who had three
legitimate children, consisting, as it did, of permission to fill
a public office before the twenty-fifth year of one’s age, and in
freedom from personal burdens, must have had its origin in the grave
apprehensions for the future, felt by those in power.  The fact that this
right was sometimes conferred upon those who were not legally entitled
to benefit by it, makes no difference in this inference.  Scions of
patrician families imbibed their lessons from the skilled voluptuaries
of Greece and the Levant and in their intrigues with the wantons of those
climes, they learned to lavish wealth as a fine art.  Upon their return
to Rome they were but ill-pleased with the standard of entertainment
offered by the ruder and less sophisticated native talent; they imported
Greek and Syrian mistresses.  ‘Wealth increased, its message sped in
every direction, and the corruption of the world was drawn into Italy as
by a load-stone.  The Roman matron had learned how to be a mother, the
lesson of love was an unopened book; and, when the foreign hetairai
poured into the city, and the struggle for supremacy began, she soon
became aware of the disadvantage under which she contended.  Her natural
haughtiness had caused her to lose valuable time; pride, and finally
desperation drove her to attempt to outdo her foreign rivals; her native
modesty became a thing of the past, her Roman initiative, unadorned by
sophistication, was often but too successful in outdoing the Greek and
Syrian wantons, but without the appearance of refinement which they
always contrived to give to every caress of passion or avarice.  They
wooed fortune with an abandon that soon made them the objects of contempt
in the eyes of their lords and masters.  “She is chaste whom no man has
solicited,” said Ovid (Amor. i, 8, line 43).  Martial, writing about
ninety years later says: “Sophronius Rufus, long have I been searching
the city through to find if there is ever a maid to say ‘No’; there is
not one.”  (Ep. iv, 71.)  In point of time, a century separates Ovid and
Martial; from a moral standpoint, they are as far apart as the poles.
The revenge, then, taken by Asia, gives a startling insight into the real
meaning of Kipling’s poem, “The female of the species is more deadly than
the male.”  In Livy (xxxiv, 4) we read: (Cato is speaking), “All these
changes, as day by day the fortune of the state is higher and more
prosperous and her empire grows greater, and our conquests extend over
Greece and Asia, lands replete with every allurement of the senses, and
we appropriate treasures that may well be called royal,--all this I dread
the more from my fear that such high fortune may rather master us, than
we master it.”  Within twelve years of the time when this speech was
delivered, we read in the same author (xxxix, 6), “for the beginnings of
foreign luxury were brought into the city by the Asiatic army”; and
Juvenal (Sat. iii, 6), “Quirites, I cannot bear to see Rome a Greek city,
yet how small a fraction of the whole corruption is found in these dregs
of Achaea?  Long since has the Syrian Orontes flowed into the Tiber and
brought along with it the Syrian tongue and manners and cross-stringed
harp and harper and exotic timbrels and girls bidden stand for hire at
the circus.”  Still, from the facts which have come down to us, we cannot
arrive at any definite date at which houses of ill fame and women of the
town came into vogue at Rome.  That they had long been under police
regulation, and compelled to register with the aedile, is evident from a
passage in Tacitus: “for Visitilia, born of a family of praetorian rank,
had publicly notified before the aediles, a permit for fornication,
according to the usage that prevailed among our fathers, who supposed
that sufficient punishment for unchaste women resided in the very nature
of their calling.”  No penalty attached to illicit intercourse or to
prostitution in general, and the reason appears in the passage from
Tacitus, quoted above.  In the case of married women, however, who
contravened the marriage vow there were several penalties.  Among them,
one was of exceptional severity, and was not repealed until the time of
Theodosius: “again he repealed another regulation of the following
nature; if any should have been detected in adultery, by this plan she
was not in any way reformed, but rather utterly given over to an increase
of her ill behaviour.  They used to shut the woman up in a narrow room,
admitting any that would commit fornication with her, and, at the moment
when they were accomplishing their foul deed, to strike bells, that the
sound might make known to all, the injury she was suffering.  The Emperor
hearing this, would suffer it no longer, but ordered the very rooms to be
pulled down” (Paulus Diaconus, Hist. Miscel. xiii, 2).  Rent from a
brothel was a legitimate source of income (Ulpian, Law as to Female
Slaves Making Claim to Heirship).  Procuration also, had to be notified
before the aedile, whose special business it was to see that no Roman
matron became a prostitute.  These aediles had authority to search every
place which had reason to fear anything, but they themselves dared not
engage in any immorality there; Aulus Gellius, Noct.  Attic. iv, 14,
where an action at law is cited, in which the aedile Hostilius had
attempted to force his way into the apartments of Mamilia, a courtesan,
who thereupon, had driven him away with stones.  The result of the trial
is as follows: “the tribunes gave as their decision that the aedile had
been lawfully driven from that place, as being one that he ought not to
have visited with his officer.”  If we compare this passage with Livy,
xl, 35, we find that this took place in the year 180 B C.  Caligula
inaugurated a tax upon prostitutes (vectigal ex capturis), as a state
impost: “he levied new and hitherto unheard of taxes; a proportion of the
fees of prostitutes;--so much as each earned with one man.  A clause was
also added to the law directing that women who had practiced harlotry and
men who had practiced procuration should be rated publicly; and
furthermore, that marriages should be liable to the rate” (Suetonius,
Calig. xi).  Alexander Severus retained this law, but directed that such
revenue be used for the upkeep of the public buildings, that it might not
contaminate the state treasure (Lamprid. Alex. Severus, chap. 24).  This
infamous tax was not abolished until the time of Theodosius, but the real
credit is due to a wealthy patrician, Florentius by name, who strongly
censured this practice, to the Emperor, and offered his own property to
make good the deficit which would appear upon its abrogation (Gibbon,
vol. 2, p. 318, note).  With the regulations and arrangements of the
brothels, however, we have information which is far more accurate.  These
houses (lupanaria, fornices, et cet.) were situated, for the most part,
in the Second District of the City (Adler, Description of the City of
Rome, pp. 144 et seq.), the Coelimontana, particularly in the Suburra
that bordered the town walls, lying in the Carinae,--the valley between
the Coelian and Esquiline Hills.  The Great Market (Macellum Magnum) was
in this district, and many cook-shops, stalls, barber shops, et cet. as
well; the office of the public executioner, the barracks for foreign
soldiers quartered at Rome; this district was one of the busiest and most
densely populated in the entire city.  Such conditions would naturally be
ideal for the owner of a house of ill fame, or for a pandar.  The regular
brothels are described as having been exceedingly dirty, smelling of the
gas generated by the flame of the smoking lamp, and of the other odors
which always haunted these ill ventilated dens.  Horace, Sat. i, 2, 30,
“on the other hand, another will have none at all except she be standing
in the evil smelling cell (of the brothel)”; Petronius, chap. xxii, “worn
out by all his troubles, Ascyltos commenced to nod, and the maid, whom he
had slighted, and, of course, insulted, smeared lamp-black all over his
face”; Priapeia, xiii, 9, “whoever likes may enter here, smeared with the
black soot of the brothel”; Seneca, Cont. i, 2, “you reek still of the
soot of the brothel.”  The more pretentious establishments of the Peace
ward, however, were sumptuously fitted up.  Hair dressers were in
attendance to repair the ravages wrought in the toilette, by frequent
amorous conflicts, and aquarioli, or water boys attended at the door with
bidets for ablution.  Pimps sought custom for these houses and there was
a good understanding between the parasites and the prostitutes.  From the
very nature of their calling, they were the friends and companions of
courtesans.  Such characters could not but be mutually necessary to each
other.  The harlot solicited the acquaintance of the client or parasite,
that she might the more easily obtain and carry on intrigues with the
rich and dissipated.  The parasite was assiduous in his attention to the
courtesan, as procuring through her means, more easy access to his
patrons, and was probably rewarded by them both, for the gratification
which he obtained for the vices of the one and the avarice of the other.
The licensed houses seem to have been of two kinds: those owned and
managed by a pandar, and those in which the latter was merely an agent,
renting rooms and doing everything in his power to supply his renters
with custom.  The former were probably the more respectable.  In these
pretentious houses, the owner kept a secretary, villicus puellarum, or
superintendent of maids; this official assigned a girl her name, fixed
the price to be demanded for her favors, received the money and provided
clothing and other necessities: “you stood with the harlots, you stood
decked out to please the public, wearing the costume the pimp had
furnished you”; Seneca, Controv. i, 2.  Not until this traffic had become
profitable, did procurers and procuresses (for women also carried on this
trade) actually keep girls whom they bought as slaves: “naked she stood
on the shore, at the pleasure of the purchaser; every part of her body
was examined and felt.  Would you hear the result of the sale?  The
pirate sold; the pandar bought, that he might employ her as a
prostitute”; Seneca, Controv. lib. i, 2.  It was also the duty of the
villicus, or cashier, to keep an account of what each girl earned: “give
me the brothel-keeper’s accounts, the fee will suit” (Ibid.)

When an applicant registered with the aedile, she gave her correct name,
her age, place of birth, and the pseudonym under which she intended
practicing her calling.  (Plautus, Poen.)

If the girl was young and apparently respectable, the official sought to
influence her to change her mind; failing in this, he issued her a
license (licentia stupri), ascertained the price she intended exacting
for her favors, and entered her name in his roll.  Once entered there,
the name could never be removed, but must remain for all time an
insurmountable bar to repentance and respectability.  Failure to register
was severely punished upon conviction, and this applied not only to the
girl but to the pandar as well.  The penalty was scourging, and
frequently fine and exile.  Notwithstanding this, however, the number
of clandestine prostitutes at Rome was probably equal to that of the
registered harlots.  As the relations of these unregistered women were,
for the most part, with politicians and prominent citizens it was very
difficult to deal with them effectively: they were protected by their
customers, and they set a price upon their favors which was commensurate
with the jeopardy in which they always stood.  The cells opened upon a
court or portico in the pretentious establishments, and this court was
used as a sort of reception room where the visitors waited with covered
head, until the artist whose ministrations were particularly desired,
as she would of course be familiar with their preferences in matters of
entertainment, was free to receive them.  The houses were easily found by
the stranger, as an appropriate emblem appeared over the door.  This
emblem of Priapus was generally a carved figure, in wood or stone, and
was frequently painted to resemble nature more closely.  The size ranged
from a few inches in length to about two feet.  Numbers of these
beginnings in advertising have been recovered from Pompeii and
Herculaneum, and in one case an entire establishment, even to the
instruments used in gratifying unnatural lusts, was recovered intact.
In praise of our modern standards of morality, it should be said that it
required some study and thought to penetrate the secret of the proper use
of several of these instruments.  The collection is still to be seen in
the Secret Museum at Naples.  The mural decoration was also in proper
keeping with the object for which the house was maintained, and a few
examples of this decoration have been preserved to modern times; their
luster and infamous appeal undimmed by the passage of centuries.

Over the door of each cell was a tablet (titulus) upon which was the name
of the occupant and her price; the reverse bore the word “occupata” and
when the inmate was engaged the tablet was turned so that this word was
out.  This custom is still observed in Spain and Italy.  Plautus, Asin.
iv, i, 9, speaks of a less pretentious house when he says: “let her write
on the door that she is ‘occupata.’”  The cell usually contained a lamp
of bronze or, in the lower dens, of clay, a pallet or cot of some sort,
over which was spread a blanket or patch-work quilt, this latter being
sometimes employed as a curtain, Petronius, chap 7.

The arches under the circus were a favorite location for prostitutes;
ladies of easy virtue were ardent frequenters of the games of the circus
and were always ready at hand to satisfy the inclinations which the
spectacles aroused.  These arcade dens were called “fornices,” from which
comes our generic fornication.  The taverns, inns, lodging houses, cook
shops, bakeries, spelt-mills and like institutions all played a prominent
part in the underworld of Rome.  Let us take them in order:

Lupanaria--Wolf Dens, from lupa, a wolf.  The derivation, according to
Lactantius, is as follows: “for she (Lupa, i. e., Acca Laurentia) was the
wife of Faustulus, and because of the easy rate at which her person was
held at the disposal of all, was called, among the shepherds, ‘Lupa,’
that is, harlot, whence also ‘lupanar,’ a brothel, is so called.”  It may
be added, however, that there is some diversity of opinion upon this
matter.  It will be discussed more fully under the word “lupa.”

Fornix--An arch.  The arcades under the theatres.

Pergulae--Balconies, where harlots were shown.

Stabulae--Inns, but frequently houses of prostitution.

Diversorium--A lodging house; house of assignation.

Tugurium--A hut.  A very low den.

Turturilla--A dove cote; frequently in male part.

Casuaria--Road houses; almost invariably brothels.

Tabernae--Bakery shops.

The taverns were generally regarded by the magistrates as brothels and
the waitresses were so regarded by the law (Codex Theodos. lx, tit. 7,
ed. Ritter; Ulpian liiii, 23, De Ritu Nupt.).  The Barmaid (Copa),
attributed to Virgil, proves that even the proprietress had two strings
to her bow, and Horace, Sat. lib. i, v, 82, in describing his excursion
to Brundisium, narrates his experience, or lack of it, with a waitress in
an inn.  This passage, it should be remarked, is the only one in all his
works in which he is absolutely sincere in what he says of women.  “Here
like a triple fool I waited till midnight for a lying jade till sleep
overcame me, intent on venery; in that filthy vision the dreams spot my
night clothes and my belly, as I lie upon my back.”  In the AEserman
inscription (Mommsen, Inscr.  Regn.  Neap.  5078, which is number 7306 in
Orelli-Henzen) we have another example of the hospitality of these inns,
and a dialogue between the hostess and a transient.  The bill for the
services of a girl amounted to 8 asses.  This inscription is of great
interest to the antiquary, and to the archoeologist.  That bakers were
not slow in organizing the grist mills is shown by a passage from Paulus
Diaconus, xiii, 2: “as time went on, the owners of these turned the
public corn mills into pernicious frauds.  For, as the mill stones were
fixed in places under ground, they set up booths on either side of these
chambers and caused harlots to stand for hire in them, so that by these
means they deceived very many,--some that came for bread, others that
hastened thither for the base gratification of their wantonness.”  From a
passage in Festus, it would seem that this was first put into practice in
Campania:--“harlots were called ‘aelicariae’, ‘spelt-mill girls, in
Campania, being accustomed to ply for gain before the mills of the
spelt-millers.”  “Common strumpets, bakers’ mistresses, refuse the
spelt-mill girls,” says Plautus, i, ii, 54.

There are few languages which are richer in pornographic terminology
than the Latin.

Meretrix--Nomus Marcellus has pointed out the difference between this
class of prostitutes and the prostibula.  “This is the difference between
a meretrix (harlot) and a prostibula (common strumpet): a meretrix is of
a more honorable station and calling; for meretrices are so named a
merendo (from earning wages) because they plied their calling only by
night; prostibulu because they stand before the stabulum (stall) for gain
both by day and night.”

Prostibula--She who stands in front of her cell or stall.

Proseda--She who sits in front of her cell or stall.  She who later
became the Empress Theodora belonged to this class, if any credit is to
be given to Procopius.

Nonariae--She that is forbidden to appear before the ninth hour.

Mimae--Mime players.  They were almost invariably prostitutes.

Cymbalistriae--Cymbal players.  They were almost invariably prostitutes.

Ambubiae--Singing girls.  They were almost invariably prostitutes.

Citharistriae--Harpists.  They were almost invariably prostitutes.

Scortum--A strumpet.  Secrecy is implied, but the word has a broad usage.

Scorta erratica | Clandestine strumpets who were street walkers.
Secuteleia      |

Busturiae--Tomb frequenters and hangers-on at funerals.

Copae--Bar maids.

Delicatae--Kept mistresses.

Famosae--Soiled doves from respectable families.

Doris--Harlots of great beauty.  They wore no clothing.

Lupae--She wolves.  Some authorities affirm that this name was given them
because of a peculiar wolflike cry they uttered, and others assert that
the generic was bestowed upon then because their rapacity rivalled that
of the wolf.  Servius, however, in his commentary on Virgil, has assigned
a much more improper and filthy reason for the name; he alludes to the
manner in which the wolf who mothered Rotnulus and Reinus licked their
bodies with her tongue, and this hint is sufficient to confirm him in his
belief that the lupa; were not less skilled in lingual gymnastics.  See
Lemaire’s Virgil, vol. vi, p. 521; commentary of Servius on AEneid, lib.
viii, 631.

AElicariae--Bakers’ girls.

Noctiluae--Night walkers.

Blitidae--A very low class deriving their name from a cheap drink sold in
the dens they frequented.

Forariae--Country girls who frequented the roads.

Gallinae--Thieving prostitutes, because after the manner of hens,
prostitutes take anything and scatter everything.

Diobolares--Two obol girls.  So called from their price.

Amasiae, also in the diminutive--Girls devoted to Venus.  Their best
expression in modern society would be the “vamps.”

Amatrix--Female lover, frequently in male part.

Amica--Female friend, frequently a tribad.

Quadrantariae--The  lowest  class  of  all.  Their natural charms were no
longer merchantable.  She of whom Catullus speaks in connection with the
lofty souled descendants of Remus was of this stripe.

From many passages in the ancient authors it is evident that harlots
stood naked at the doors of their cells: “I saw some men prowling
stealthily between the rows of name-boards and naked prostitutes,”
 Petronius, chap. 7.  “She entered the brothel, cozy with its
crazy-quilt, and the empty cell--her own.  Then, naked she stands, with
gilded nipples, beneath the tablet of the pretended Lysisca,” Juvenal,
Sat. vi, 121 et seq.  In some cases they had recourse to a gossamer
tissue of silk gauze, as was formerly the custom in Paris, Chicago, and
San Francisco. “The matron has no softer thigh nor has she a more
beautiful leg,” says Horace, Sat. I, ii, “though the setting be one of
pearls and emeralds (with all due respect to thy opinion, Cerinthus),
the togaed plebeian’s is often the finer, and, in addition, the beauties
of figure are not camouflaged; that which is for sale, if honest, is
shown openly, whereas deformity seeks concealment.  It is the custom
among kings that, when buying horses, they inspect them in the open,
lest, as is often the case, a beautiful head is sustained by a tender
hoof and the eager purchaser may be seduced by shapely hocks, a short
head, or an arching neck.  Are these experts right in this?  Thou canst
appraise a figure with the eyes of Lynceus and discover its beauties;
though blinder than Hypoesea herself thou canst see what deformities
there are.  Ah, what a leg!  What arms!  But how thin her buttocks are,
in very truth what a huge nose she has, she’s short-waisted, too, and
her feet are out of proportion!  Of the matron, except for the face,
nothing is open to your scrutiny unless she is a Catia who has dispensed
with her clothing so that she may be felt all over thoroughly, the rest
will be hidden.  But as for the other, no difficulty there!  Through the
Coan silk it is as easy for you to see as if she were naked, whether she
has an unshapely leg, whether her foot is ugly; her waist you can
examine with your eyes.  As for the price exacted, it ranged from a
quadrans to a very high figure.  In the inscription to which reference
has already been made, the price was eight asses.  An episode related in
the life of Apollonius of Tyre furnishes additional information upon
this subject.  The lecher who deflowered a harlot was compelled to pay a
much higher price for alleged undamaged goods than was asked of
subsequent purchasers.

“Master,” cries the girl, throwing herself at his feet, “pity my
maidenhood, do not prostitute this body under so ugly a name.”  The
superintendent of maids replies, “Let the maid here present be dressed up
with every care, let a name-ticket be written for her, and the fellow who
deflowers Tarsia shall pay half a libra; afterwards she shall be at the
service of the public for one solidus per head.”

The passage in Petronius (chap. viii) and that in Juvenal (Sat. vi, 125)
are not to be taken literally.  “Aes” in the latter should be understood
to mean what we would call “the coin,” and not necessarily coin of low


The origin of this vice (all peoples, savage and civilized, have been
infected with it) is lost in the mists which shroud antiquity.  The Old
Testament contains many allusions to it, and Sodom was destroyed because
a long-suffering deity could not find ten men in the entire city who were
not addicted to its practice.  So saturated was this city of the ancient
world with the vice that the very name of the city or the adjective
denoting citizenship in that city have transmitted the stigma to modern
times.  That the fathers of Israel were quick to perceive the tortuous
ramifications of this vice is proved by a passage in Deuteronomy, chap.
22, verse .5: “the woman shall not wear that which pertaineth to a man,
neither shall a man put on a woman’s garment: for all that do so are
abominations unto the Lord thy God.”  Here we have the first regulation
against fetishism and the perverted tendencies of gynandry and androgeny.
Inasmuch as our concern with this subject has to do with the Roman world
alone, a lengthy discussion of the early, manifestations of this vice
would be out of place here; nevertheless, a brief sketch should be given
to serve as a foundation to such discussion and to aid sociologists who
will find themselves more and more concerned with the problem in view of
the conditions in European society, induced by the late war.  Their
problem will, however, be more intimately concerned with homosexuality
as it is manifested among women!

From remotest antiquity down to the present time, oriental nations have
been addicted to this practice and it is probably from this source that
the plague spread among the Greeks.  I do not assert that they were
ignorant of this form of indulgence prior to their association with the
Persians, for Nature teaches the sage as well as the savage.  Meier, the
author of the article “Paederastia” in Ersch and Grueber’s encyclopedia
(1837) is of the opinion that the vice had its origin among the
Boeotians, and John Addington Symonds in his essay on Greek Love concurs
in this view.  As the two scholars worked upon the same material from
different angles, and as the English writer was unacquainted with the
German savant’s monograph until after Burton had written his Terminal
Essay, it follows that the conclusions arrived at by these two scholars
must be worthy of credence.  The Greeks contemporary with the Homeric
poems were familiar with paederasty, and there is reason to believe that
it had been known for ages, even then.  Greek Literature, from Homer to
the Anthology teems with references to the vice and so common was it
among them that from that fact it derived its generic; “Greek Love.”  So
malignant is tradition that the Greeks of the present time still suffer
from the stigma, as is well illustrated by the proverb current among
sailors: “Englisha man he catcha da boy, Johnnie da Greek he catcha da
blame.”  The Romans are supposed to have received their first
introduction to paederasty and homosexuality generally, from the
Etruscans or from the Greek colonists in Italy, but Suidas (Tharnyris)
charges the inhabitants of Italy; with the invention of this vice and it
would appear from Athenaeus (Deiphnos. lib. xiii) that the native peoples
of Italy and the Greek colonists as well were addicted to the most
revolting practices with boys.  The case of Laetorius (Valerius Maximus
vi, 1, 11) proves that as early as 320 B. C., the Romans were no
strangers to it and also that it was not common among them, at that time.

As the character of the primitive Roman was essentially different from
that of the contemporary Greek, and as his struggle for existence was
severe in the extreme, there was little moral obliquity during the first
two hundred and fifty years.  The “coelibes prohibeto” of the Twelve
Tables was also a powerful influence in preserving chastity.  By the time
of Plautus, however, the practice of paederasty was much more general, as
is clearly proved by the many references which are found in his comedies
(Cist. iv, sc. 1, line 5) and passim.  By the year 169 B. C., the vice
had so ravaged the populace that the Lex Scantinia was passed to control
it, but legislation has never proved a success in repressing vice and the
effectiveness of this law was no exception to the rule.  Conditions grew
steadily worse with the passage of time and the extension of the Roman
power served to inoculate the legionaries with the vices of their
victims.  The destruction of Corinth may well have avenged itself in
this manner.  The accumulation of wealth and spoils gave the people more
leisure, increased their means of enjoyment, and educated their taste in
luxuries.  The influx of slaves and voluptuaries from the Levant aided in
the dissemination of the vices of the orient among the ruder Romans.  As
the first taste of blood arouses the tiger, so did the limitless power of
the Republic and Empire react to the insinuating precepts of older and
more corrupt civilizations.  The fragments of Lucilius make mention of
the “cinaedi,” in the sense that they were dancers, and in the earlier
ages, they were.  Cicero, in the second Philippic calls Antonius a
catamite; but in Republican Rome, it is to Catullus that we must turn to
find the most decisive evidence of their almost universal inclination to
sodomy.  The first notice of this passage in its proper significance is
found in the Burmann Petronius (ed. 1709): here, in a note on the correct
reading of “intertitulos, nudasque meretrices furtim conspatiantes,” the
ancient reading would seem to have been “internuculos nudasque meretrices
furtim conspatiantes” (and I am not at all certain but that it is to be
preferred).  Burmann cites the passage from Catullus (Epithalamium of
Manlius and Julia); Burmann sees the force of the passage but does not
grasp its deeper meaning.  Marchena seems to have been the first scholar
to read between the lines.  See his third note.

A few years later, John Colin  Dunlop, the author of a History of Roman
Literature which ought to be better known among the teaching fraternity,
drew attention to the same passage.  So striking is his comment that I
will transcribe it in full.  “It,” the poem, “has also been highly
applauded by the commentators; and more than one critic has declared that
it must have been written by the hands of Venus and the Graces.  I wish,
however, they had excepted from their unqualified panegyrics the coarse
imitation of the Fescennine poems, which leaves in our minds a stronger
impression of the prevalence and extent of Roman vices, than any other
passage in the Latin classics.  Martial, and Catullus himself, elsewhere,
have branded their enemies; and Juvenal in bursts of satiric indignation,
has reproached his countrymen with the most shocking crimes.  But here,
in a complimentary poem to a patron and intimate friend, these are
jocularly alluded to as the venial indulgences of his earliest youth”
 (vol. i, p. 453, second edition).

This passage clearly points to the fact that it was the common custom
among the young Roman patricians to have a bed-fellow of the same sex.
Cicero, in speaking of the acquittal of Clodius (Letters to Atticus, lib.
i, 18), says, “having bought up and debauched the tribunal”; charges that
the judges were promised the favors of the young gentlemen and ladies of
Rome, in exchange for their services in the matter of Clodius’ trial.
Manutius, in a note on this passage says, “bought up, because the judges
took their pay and held Clodius innocent and absolved him: debauched,
because certain women and youths of noble birth were introduced by night
to not a few of them (there were 56 judges) as additional compensation
for their attention to duty” (Variorum Notes to Cicero, vol. ii,
pp. 339-340).  In the Priapeia, the wayfarer is warned by Priapus to
refrain from stealing fruit under penalty of being assaulted from the
rear, and the God adds that, should this punishment hold no terrors,
there is still the possibility that his mentule may be used as a club by
the irate landowner.  Again, in Catullus, 100, the Roman paederasty
shows itself “Caelius loves Aufilenus and Quintus loves Aufilena
--madly.”  As we approach the Christian era the picture darkens.
Gibbon (vol. i, p. 313) remarks, in a note, that “of the first fifteen
emperors, Claudius was the only one whose taste in love was entirely
correct,” but Claudius was a moron.

We come now to the bathing establishments.  Their history in every
country is the same, in one respect: the spreading and fostering of
prostitution and paederastia.  Cicero (Pro Coelio) accuses Clodia of
having deliberately chosen the site of her gardens with the purpose of
having a look at the young fellows who came to the Tiber to swim.
Catullus (xxxiii) speaks of the cimaedi who haunt the bathing
establishments: Suetonius (Tib. 43 and 44) records the desperate
expedients to which Tiberius had recourse to regain his exhausted
virility: the scene in Petronius (chap. 92).  Martial (lib. i, 24)

“You invite no man but your bathing companion, Cotta, only the baths
supply you with a guest.  I used to wonder why you never invited me, now
I know that you did not like the look of me naked.”  Juvenal (ix, 32 et
seq.), “Destiny rules over mankind; the parts concealed by the front of
the tunic are controlled by the Fates; when Virro sees you naked and in
burning and frequent letters presses his ardent suit, with lips foaming
with desire; nothing will serve you so well as the unknown measure of a
long member.”  Lampridius (Heliogab. v), “At Rome, his principal concern
was to have emissaries everywhere, charged with seeking out men with huge
members; that they might bring them to him so that he could enjoy their
impressive proportions.”  The quotations given above furnish a sufficient
commentary upon the bathing establishments and the reasons for lighting
them.  In happier times, they were badly lighted as the apertures were
narrow and could admit but little light.  Seneca (Epist. 86) describes
the bath of Scipio: “In this bath of Scipio there were tiny chinks,
rather than windows, cut through the stone wall so as to admit light
without detriment to the shelter afforded; but men nowadays call them
‘baths-for-night-moths.’”  Under the empire, however, the bathing
establishments were open to the eye of the passer-by; lighted, as they
were by immense windows.  Seneca (Epist. 86), “But nowadays, any which
are disposed in such a way as to let the sunlight enter all day long,
through immense windows; men call baths-for-night-moths; if they are not
sunburned as they wash, if they cannot look out on the fields and sea
from the pavement.  Sweet clean baths have been introduced, but the
populace is only the more foul.”  In former times, youth and age were not
permitted to bathe together (Valer. Max.  ii, 7.), women and men used the
same establishments, but at different hours; later, however, promiscuous
bathing was the order of the day and men and women came more and more to
observe that precept, “noscetur e naso quanta sit hasta viro,” which Joan
of Naples had always in mind.  Long-nosed men were followed into the
baths and were the recipients of admiration wherever they were.  As
luxury increased, these establishments were fitted up with cells and
attendants of both sexes, skilled in massage, were always kept upon the
premises, in the double capacity of masseurs and prostitutes (Martial,
iii, 82, 13); (Juvenal, vi, 428), “the artful masseur presses the
clitoris with his fingers and makes the upper part of his mistress thigh
resound under his hands.”  The aquarioli or water boys also included
pandering in their tour of duty (Juvenal, Sat.  vi, 331) “some water
carrier will come, hired for the purpose,” and many Roman ladies had
their own slaves accompany them to the baths to assist in the toilette:
(Martial, vii, 3.4) “a slave girt about the loins with a pouch of black
leather stands by you whenever you are washed all over with warn water,”
 here, the mistress is taking no chances, her rights are as carefully
guarded as though the slave were infibulated in place of having his
generous virility concealed within a leather pouch.  (Claudianus, 18,
106) “he combed his mistress’ hair, and often, when she bathed, naked,
he would bring water, to his lady, in a silver ewer.”  Several of the
emperors attempted to correct these evils by executive order and
legislation, Hadrian (Spartianus, Life of Hadrian, chap. 18) “he assigned
separate baths for the two sexes”; Marcus Aurelius (Capitolinus, Life of
Marcus Antoninus, chap.  23) “he abolished the mixed baths and restrained
the loose habits of the Roman ladies and the young nobles,” and Alexander
Severus (Lampridius, Life of Alex. Severus, chap.  24.) “he forbade the
opening of mixed baths at Rome, a practice which, though previously
prohibited, Heliogabalus had allowed to be observed,” but,
notwithstanding their absolute authority, their efforts along those lines
met with little better success than have those of more recent times.  The
pages of Martial and Juvenal reek with the festering sores of the society
of that period, but Charidemus and Hedylus still dishonor the cities of
the modern world.  Tatian, writing in the second century, says (Orat. ad
Graecos): “paederastia is practiced by the barbarians generally, but is
held in pre-eminent esteem by the Romans, who endeavor to get together
troupes of boys, as it were of brood mares,” and Justin Martyr (Apologia,
1), has this to say: “first, because we behold nearly all men seducing to
fornication, not merely girls, but males also.  And just as our fathers
are spoken of as keeping herds of oxen, or goats, or sheep, or brood
mares, so now they keep boys, solely for the purpose of shameful usage,
treating them as females, or androgynes, and doing unspeakable acts.  To
such a pitch of pollution has the multitude throughout the whole people
come!”  Another sure indication of the prevalence of the vice of sodomy
is to be found in Juvenal, Sat. ii, 12-13, “but your fundament is smooth
and the swollen haemorrhoids are incised, the surgeon grinning the
while,” just as the physician of the nineties grinned when some young
fool came to him with a blennorrhoeal infection!  The ancient jest which
accounts for the shaving of the priest’s crown is an inferential
substantiation of the fact that the evils of antiquity, like the legal
codes, have descended through the generations; survived the middle ages,
and been transmitted to the modern world.  A perusal of the Raggionamente
of Pietro Aretino will confirm this statement, in its first premise, and
the experiences of Sir Richard Burton in the India of Napier, and Harry
Franck’s, in Spain, in the present century, and those of any intelligent
observer in the Orient, today, will but bear out this hypothesis.  The
native population of Manila contains more than its proportion of
catamites, who seek their sponsors in the Botanical Gardens and on the
Luneta.  The native quarters of the Chinese cities have their “houses”
 where boys are kept, just as the Egyptian mignons stood for hire in the
lupanaria at Rome.  A scene in Sylvia Scarlett could be duplicated in any
large city of Europe or America; there is no necessity of appeal to
Krafft-Ebbing or Havelock Ellis.  But there is still another and surer
method of gauging the extent of paederastic perversion at Rome, and that
is the richness of the Latin vocabulary in terms and words bearing upon
this repulsive subject.  There are, in the Latin language, no less than
one hundred and fifteen words and expressions in general usage.

But it is in Martial that we are able to sense the abandoned and
cynical attitude of the Roman public toward this vice: the epigram upon
Cantharus, xi, 46, is an excellent example.  In commentating upon the
meticulous care with which Cantharus avoided being spied upon by
irreverent witnesses, the poet sarcastically remarks that such
precautions would never enter the head of anyone were it merely a
question of having a boy or a woman, and he mentions them in the order
in which they are set forth here.  No one dreads the limelight like the
utter debauchee, as has been remarked by Seneca.  We find a parallel in
the old days in Shanghai, before the depredations of the American
hetairai had aroused the hostility of the American judge, in 1907-8.  Men
of unquestioned respectability and austere asceticism were in the habit
of making periodic trips to this pornographic Mecca for the reason that
they could there be accommodated with the simultaneous ministrations of
two or even three soiled doves of the stripe of her of whom Martial (ix,
69) makes caustic mention:

“I passed the whole night with a lascivious girl whose naughtiness none
could surpass.  Tired of a thousand methods of indulgence, I begged the
boyish favor: she granted my prayers before they were finished, before
even the first words were out of my mouth.  Smiling and blushing, I
besought her for something worse still; she voluptuously promised it at
once.  But to me, she was chaste.  But, AEschylus, she will not be so to
you; take the boon if you want it, but she will attach a condition.”  In
all that could pertain to accomplished skill in their profession, the
“limit was the ceiling,” they were there to serve, and serve they did,
as long as the recipient of their ministrations was willing to pay or as
long as his chits were good.  With them, secrecy was the watchword.
Tiberius, probably more sinned against than sinning (he has had an able
defender in Beasley) is charged, by Suetonius, with the invention of an
amplification and refinement of this vice.  The performers were called
“spinthriae,” a word which signified “bracelet.”  These copulators could
be of both sexes though the true usage of the word allowed but one, and
that the male.  They formed a chain, each link of which was an individual
in sexual contact with one or two other links: in this diversion, the
preference seems to have been in favor of odd numbers (Martial, xii, 44,
5), where the chain consisted of five links, and Ausonius, Epigram 119,
where it consisted of three.


CHAPTER 9.  Gladiator obscene:--

The arena of his activities is, however, that of Venus and not Mars.
Petronius is fond of figurative language, and in several other passages,
he has made use of the slang of the arena: (chap.  61 ), “I used to fence
with my mistress herself, until even the master grew Suspicious”; and
again, in chapter 19, he says: “then, too, we were girded higher, and I
had so arranged matters that if we came to close quarters, I myself would
engage Quartilla, Ascyltos the maid, and Giton the girl.”

Dufour, in commentating upon this expression, Histoire de la
Prostitution, vol. III, pp. 92 and 93, remarks: It is necessary to see in
Petronius the abominable role which the “obscene gladiator” played; but
the Latin itself is clear enough to describe all the secrets of the Roman
debauch.  “For some women,” says Petronius, in another passage, “will
only kindle for canaille and cannot work up an appetite unless they see
some slave or runner with his clothing girded up: a gladiator arouses
one, or a mule driver, all covered with dust, or some actor posturing in
some exhibition on the stage.  My mistress belongs to this class, she
jumps the fourteen rows from the stage to the gallery and looks for a
lover among the gallery gods at the back.”

On “cum fortiter faceres,” compare line 25 of the Oxford fragment of the
sixth satire of Juvenal; “hic erit in lecto fortissimus,” which Housman
has rendered “he is a valiant mattress-knight.”

CHAPTER 17.  “In our neighborhood there are so many Gods that it is
easier to meet one of them than it is to find a man.”

Quartilla is here smarting under the sting of some former lover’s
impotence.  Her remark but gives color to the charge that, owing to the
universal depravity of Rome and the smaller cities, men were so worn out
by repeated vicious indulgences that it was no easy matter for a woman to
obtain satisfaction at their hands.

“Galla, thou hast already led to the nuptial couch six or seven
catamites; thou went seduced by their delicate coiffure and combed
beards.  Thou hast tried the loins and the members, resembling soaked
leather, which could not be made to stand by all the efforts of the
wearied hand; the pathic husband and effeminate bed thou desertest, but
still thou fallest into similar couches.  Seek out some one rough and
unpolished as the Curii and Fabii, and savage in his uncouth rudeness;
you will find one, but even this puritanical crew has its catamites.
Galla, it is difficult to marry a real man.”  Martial, vii, 57.

“No faith is to be placed in appearances.  What neighborhood does not
reek with filthy practices’?”  Juvenal, Sat. ii, 8.

“While you have a wife such as a lover hardly dare hope for in his
wildest prayers; rich, well born, chaste, you, Bassus, expend your
energies on boys whom you have procured with your wife’s dowry; and thus
does that penis, purchased for so many thousands, return worn out to its
mistress, nor does it stand when she rouses it by soft accents of love,
and delicate fingers.  Have some sense of shame or let us go into court.
This penis is not yours, Bassus, you have sold it.”  Martial, xii, 99.

“Polytimus is very lecherous on women, Hypnus is slow to admit he is my
Ganymede; Secundus has buttocks fed upon acorns.  Didymus is a catamite
but pretends not to be.  Amphion would have made a capital girl.  My
friend, I would rather have their blandishments, their naughty airs,
their annoying impudence, than a wife with 3,000,000 sesterces.”  Martial
xii, 76.

But the crowning piece of infamy is to be found in Martial’s three
epigrams upon his wife.  They speak as distinctly as does the famous
passage in Catullus’ Epithalamium of Manilius and Julia, or Vibia, as
later editors have it.

“Wife, away, or conform to my habits.  I am no Curius, Numa, or Tatius.
I like to have the hours of night prolonged in luscious cups.  You drink
water and are ever for hurrying from the table with a sombre mien; you
like the dark, I like a lamp to witness my pleasures, and to tire my
loins in the light of dawn.  Drawers and night gowns and long robes cover
you, but for me no girl can be too naked.  For me be kisses like the
cooing doves; your kisses are like those you give your grandmother in
the morning.  You do not condescend to assist in the performance by your
movements or your sighs or your hand; (you behave) as if you were taking
the sacrament.  The Phrygian slaves masturbated themselves behind the
couch whenever Hector’s wife rode St. George; and, however much Ulysses
snored, the chaste Penelope always had her hand there.  You forbid my
sodomising you.  Cornelia granted this favor to Gracchus; Julia to
Pompey, Porcia to Brutus.  Juno was Jupiter’s Ganymede before the Dardan
boy mixed the luscious cup.  If you are so devoted to propriety--be a
Lucretia to your heart’s content all day, I want a Lais at night.”  xi,

“Since your husband’s mode of life and his fidelity are known to you, and
no woman usurps your rights, why are you so foolish as to be annoyed by
his boys, (as if they were his mistresses), with whom love is a transient
and fleeting affair?  I will prove to you that you gain more by the boys
than your lord: they make your husband keep to one woman.  They give what
a wife will not give.  ‘I grant that favor,’ you say, ‘sooner than that
my husband’s love should wander from my bed.’  It is not the same thing.
I want the fig of Chios, not a flavorless fig; and in you this Chian fig
is flavorless.  A woman of sense and a wife ought to know her place.  Let
the boys have what concerns them, and confine yourself to what concerns
you.” xii, 97.

“Wife, you scold me with a harsh voice when I’m caught with a boy, and
inform me that you too have a bottom.  How often has Juno said the same
to the lustful Thunderer?  And yet he sleeps with the tall Ganymede.  The
Tirynthian Hero put down his bow and sodomised Hylas.  Do you think that
Megaera had no buttocks?  Daphne inspired Phoebus with love as she fled,
but that flame was quenched by the OEbalian boy.  However much Briseis
lay with her bottom turned toward him, the son of AEacus found his
beardless friend more congenial to his tastes.  Forbear then, to give
masculine names to what you have, and, wife, think that you have two
vaginas.” xi, 44

CHAPTER 26.  “Quartilla applied a curious eye to a chink, purposely made,
watching their childish dalliance with lascivious attention.”

Martial, xi, 46, makes mention of the fact that patrons of houses of ill
fame had reason to beware of needle holes in the walls, through which
their misbehaviour could be appreciatively scrutinized by outsiders; and
in the passage of our author we find yet another instance of the same
kind.  One is naturally led to recall the “peep-houses” which were a
feature of city life in the nineties.  There was a notorious one in
Chicago, and another in San Francisco.  A beautiful girl, exquisitely
dressed, would entice the unwary stranger into her room: there the couple
would disrobe and the hero was compelled to have recourse to the “right
of capture,” before executing the purpose for which he entered the house.
The entertainment usually cost him nothing beyond a moderate fee and a
couple of bottles of beer, or wine, if he so desired.  The “management”
 secured its profit from a different and more prurient source.  The male
actor in this drama was sublimely ignorant of the fact that the walls
were plentifully supplied with “peep-holes” through which appreciative
onlookers witnessed his Corybantics at one dollar a head.  There would
sometimes be as many as twenty such witnesses at a single performance.

CHAPTER 34.  Silver Skeleton, et seq.

Philosophic dogmas concerning the brevity and uncertainty of life were
ancient even in the time of Herodotus.  They have left their mark upon
our language in the form of more than one proverb, but in none is this
so patent as “the skeleton at the feast.”  In chapter lxxviii of Euterpe,
we have an admirable citation.  In speaking of the Egyptians, he says:
“At their convivial banquets, among the wealthy classes, when they have
finished supper, a man carries round in a coffin the image of a dead body
carved in wood, made as life-like as possible in color and workmanship,
and in size generally about one or two cubits in length; and showing this
to each of the company, he says: ‘Look upon this, then drink and enjoy
yourself; for when dead you will be like this.’  This is the practice
they have at their drinking parties.”  According to Plutarch, (Isis and
Osiris, chapter 17.) the Greeks adopted this Egyptian custom, and there
is, of course, little doubt that the Romans took it from the Greeks.
The aim of this custom was, according to Scaliger, to bring the diners
to enjoy the sweets of life while they were able to feel enjoyment, and
thus to abandon themselves to pleasure before death deprived them of
everything.  The verses which follow bring this out beautifully.  In the
Copa of Virgil we find the following:

“Wine there!  Wine and dice!  Tomorrow’s fears shall fools alone benumb!
By the ear Death pulls me.  ‘Live!’ he whispers softly, ‘Live! I come.’”

The practical philosophy of the indefatigable roues sums itself up in
this sentence uttered by Trimalchio.  The verb “vivere” has taken a
meaning very much broader and less special, than that which it had at
the time when it signified only the material fact of existence.  The
voluptuaries of old Rome were by no means convinced that life without
license was life.  The women of easy virtue, living within the circle
of their friendships, after the fashion best suited to their desires,
understood that verb only after their own interpretation, and the
philologists soon reconciled themselves to the change.  In this sense it
was that Varro employed “vivere,” when he said: “Young women, make haste
to live, you whom adolescence permits to enjoy, to eat, to love, and to
occupy the chariot of Venus (Veneris tenere bigas).”

But a still better example of the extension in the meaning of this word
is to be found in an inscription on the tomb of a lady of pleasure.  This
inscription was composed by a voluptuary of the school of Petronius.

                    AMICI.  DVM.  VIVIMVS.  VIVAMUS.

In this inscription, it is almost impossible to translate the last three
words.  “While we live, let us live,” is inadequate, to say the least.
So far did this doctrine go that latterly it was deemed necessary to have
a special goddess as a patron.  That goddess, if we may rely upon the
authority of Festus, took her name “Vitula” from the word “Vita” or from
the joyous life over which she was to preside.

CHAPTER 36.  “At the corners of the tray we also noted four figures of
Marsyas and from their bladders spouted a highly seasoned sauce upon fish
which were swimming about as if in a tide-race.”

German scholars have adopted the doctrine that Marsyas belonged to that
mythological group which they designate as “Schlauch-silen” or, as we
would say in English, “Wineskin-bearing Silenuses.”  Their hypothesis
seems to be based upon the discovery of two beautiful bas-reliefs of the
age of Vespasian, which were excavated near the Rostra Vetera in the
Forum.  Sir Theodore Martin has a note on these bas-reliefs which I quote
in extenso:

“In the Forum stood a statue of Marsyas, Apollo’s ill-starred rival.  It
probably bore an expression of pain, which Horace humorously ascribes to
dislike of the looks of the Younger Novius, who is conjectured to have
been of the profession and nature of Shylock.  A naked figure carrying a
wineskin, which appears upon each of two fine bas-reliefs of the time of
Vespasian found near the Rostra Vetera in the Forum during the
excavations conducted within the last few years by Signor Pietro Rosa,
and which now stand in the Forum, is said, by archaeologists, to
represent Marsyas.  Why they arrive at this conclusion, except as
arguing, from the spot where these bas-reliefs were found, that they were
meant to perpetuate the remembrance of the old statue of Marsyas, is
certainly not very apparent from anything in the figure itself.”
 Martin’s Horace, vol. 2, pp  145-6.

Hence German philologists render “utriculis” by the German equivalent for

“The Romans,” says Weitzius, “had two sources of water-supply, through
underground channels, and through channels supported by arches.  As
adjuncts to these channels there were cisterns (or castella, as they were
called).  From these reservoirs the water was distributed to the public
through routes more or less circuitous and left the cisterns through
pipes, the diameter of which was reckoned in either twelfths or
sixteenths of a Roman foot.  At the exits of the pipes were placed stones
or stone figures, the water taking exit from these figures either by the
mouth, private parts or elsewhere, and falling either to the ground or
into some stone receptacle such as a basket.  Various names were given
these statuettes: Marsyae, Satyri, Atlantes, Hermae, Chirones, Silani,

No one who has been through the Secret Museum at Naples will find much
difficulty in recalling a few of these heavily endowed examples to mind,
and our author, in choosing Marsyae, adds a touch of sarcastic realism,
for statues of Marysas were often set up in free cities, symbolical, as
it were, of freedom.  In such a setting as the present, they would be the
very acme of propriety.

“The figures,” says Gonzala de Salas, “formerly placed at fountains, and
from which water took exit either from the mouth or from some other part,
took their forms from the several species of Satyrs.  The learned
Wouweren has commented long and learnedly upon this passage, and his
emendation ‘veretriculis’ caused me to laugh heartily.  And as a matter
of fact, I affirm that such a meaning is easily possible.”  Professor E.
P. Crowell, the first American scholar to edit Petronius, gravely states
in his preface that “the object of this edition is to provide for
class-room use an expurgated text,” and I note that he has tactfully
omitted the “wineskins” from his edition.

In this connection the last sentence in the remarks of Wouweren, alluded
to above, is strangely to the point.  After stating his emendation of
“veretriculis or veretellis” for “utriculis,” he says: “Unless someone
proves that images of Marsyas were fashioned in the likeness of
bag-pipers,” a fine instance of clarity of vision for so dark an age.

CHAPTER 40.  “Drawing his hunting-knife, he plunged it fiercely into the
boar’s side, and some thrushes flew out of the gash.”

In the winter of 1895 a dinner was given in a New York studio.  This
dinner, locally known as the “Girl in the Pie Dinner,” was based upon
Petronius, Martial, and the thirteenth book of Athenaeus.  In the summer
of 1919, I had the questionable pleasure of interviewing the chef-caterer
who got it up, and he was, at the time, engaged in trying to work out
another masterpiece to be given in California.  The studio, one of the
most luxurious in the world, was transformed for the occasion into a
veritable rose grotto, the statuary was Pompeian, and here and there
artistic posters were seen which were nothing if not reminiscent of
Boulevard Clichy and Montmartre in the palmiest days.  Four negro banjo
players and as many jubilee singers titillated the jaded senses of the
guests in a manner achieved by the infamous saxophone syncopating jazz of
the Barbary Coast of our times.  The dinner was over.  The four and one
half bottles of champagne allotted to each Silenus had been consumed, and
a well-defined atmosphere of bored satiety had begun to settle down when
suddenly the old-fashioned lullaby “Four and Twenty Blackbirds” broke
forth from the banjoists and singers.  Four waiters came in bearing a
surprisingly monstrous object, something that resembled an impossibly
large pie.  They, placed it carefully in the center of the table.  The
negro chorus swelled louder and louder--“Four and Twenty Blackbirds Baked
in a Pie.”

The diners, startled into curiosity and then into interest, began to poke
their noses against this gigantic creation of the baker.  In it they
detected a movement not unlike a chick’s feeble pecking against the shell
of an egg.  A quicker movement and the crust ruptured at the top.

A flash of black gauze and delicate flesh showed within.  A cloud of
frightened yellow canaries flew out and perched on the picture frames and
even on the heads and shoulders of the guests.

But the lodestone which drew and held the eyes of all the revellers was
an exquisitely slender, girlish figure amid the broken crust of the pie.
The figure was draped with spangled black gauze, through which the girl’s
marble white limbs gleamed like ivory seen through gauze of gossamer
transparency.  She rose from her crouching posture like a wood nymph
startled by a satyr, glanced from one side to the other, and stepped
timidly forth to the table.

CHAPTER 56.  Contumelia--Contus and Melon (malum).

All translators have rendered “contus” by “pole,” notwithstanding the
fact that the word is used in a very different sense in Priapeia, x, 3:
“traiectus conto sic extendere pedali,” and contrary to the tradition
which lay behind the gift of an apple or the acceptance of one.  The
truth of this may be established by many passages in the ancient writers.

In the “Clouds” of Aristophanes, Just Discourse, in prescribing the rules
and proprieties which should in govern the education and conduct of the
healthy young man says:

“You shall rise up from your seat upon your elders’ approach; you shall
never be pert to your parents or do any other unseemly act under the
pretence of remodelling the image of Modesty.  You will not rush off to
the dancing-girl’s house, lest while you gaze upon her charms, some whore
should pelt you with an apple and ruin your reputation.”

“This were gracious to me as in the story old to the maiden fleet of foot
was the apple golden fashioned which unloosed her girdle long-time girt.”
 Catullus ii.

“I send thee these verses recast from Battiades, lest thou shouldst
credit thy words by chance have slipped from my mind, given o’er to the
wandering winds, as it was with that apple, sent as furtive love token by
the wooer, which out-leaped from the virgin’s chaste bosom: for, placed
by the hapless girl ‘neath her soft vestment, and forgotten--when she
starts at her mother’s approach, out ‘tis shaken: and down it rolls
headlong to the ground, whilst a tell-tale flush mantles the cheek of the
distressed girl.”  Catullus 1xv.

“But I know what is going on, and I intend presently to tell my master;
for I do not want to show myself less grateful than the dogs which bark
in defence of those who feed and take care of them.  An adulterer is
laying siege to the household--a young man from Elis, one of the Olympian
fascinators; he sends neatly folded notes every day to our master’s wife,
together with faded bouquets and half-eaten apples.”  Alciphron, iii, 62.
The words are put into the mouth of a rapacious parasite who feels that
the security of his position in the house is about to be shaken.

“I didn’t mind your kissing Cymbalium half-a-dozen times, you only
disgraced yourself; but--to be always winking at Pyrallis, never to drink
without lifting the cup to her, and then to whisper to the boy, when you
handed it to him, not to fill it for anyone but her--that was too much!
And then--to bite a piece off an apple, and when you saw that Duphilus
was busy talking to Thraso, to lean forward and throw it right into her
lap, without caring whether I saw it or not; and she kissed it and put it
into her bosom under her girdle!  It was scandalous!  Why do you treat me
like this?”  Lucian, Dial.  Hetairae, 12.  These words are spoken by
another apostle of direct speech; a jealous prostitute who is furiously
angry with her lover, and in no mood to mince matters in the slightest.

Aristxnetus, xxv, furnishes yet another excellent illustration.
The prostitute Philanis, in writing to a friend of the same ancient
profession, accuses her sister of alienating her lover’s affections.
I avail myself of Sheridan’s masterly version.

                     PHILANIS TO PETALA.

               As yesterday I went to dine
               With Pamphilus, a swain of mine,
               I took my sister, little heeding
               The net I for myself was spreading
               Though many circumstances led
               To prove she’d mischief in her head.
               For first her dress in every part
               Was studied with the nicest art
               Deck’d out with necklaces and rings,
               And twenty other foolish things;

               And she had curl’d and bound her hair
               With more than ordinary care
               And then, to show her youth the more,
               A light, transparent robe she wore--
               From head to heel she seemed t’admire
               In raptures all her fine attire:
               And often turn’d aside to view
               If others gazed with rapture too.
               At dinner, grown more bold and free,
               She parted Pamphilus and me;
               For veering round unheard, unseen,
               She slily drew her chair between.
               Then with alluring, am’rous smiles
               And nods and other wanton wiles,
               The unsuspecting youth insnared,
               And rivall’d me in his regard.--
               Next she affectedly would sip
               The liquor that had touched his lip.
               He, whose whole thoughts to love incline,
               And heated with th’ enliv’ning wine,
               With interest repaid her glances,
               And answer’d all her kind advances.
               Thus sip they from the goblet’s brink
               Each other’s kisses while they drink;
               Which with the sparkling wine combin’d,
               Quick passage to the heart did find.
               Then Pamphilus an apple broke,
               And at her bosom aim’d the stroke,
               While she the fragment kiss’d and press’d,
               And hid it wanton in her breast.
               But I, be sure, was in amaze,
               To see my sister’s artful ways:
               “These are returns,” I said, “quite fit
               To me, who nursed you when a chit.
               For shame, lay by this envious art;
               Is this to act a sister’s part?”
                But vain were words, entreaties vain,
               The crafty witch secured my swain.
               By heavens, my sister does me wrong;
               But oh! she shall not triumph long.
               Well Venus knows I’m not in fault
               ‘Twas she who gave the first assault
               And since our peace her treach’ry broke,
               Let me return her stroke for stroke.
               She’ll quickly feel, and to her cost,
               Not all their fire my eyes have lost
               And soon with grief shall she resign
               Six of her swains for one of mine.”

The myth of Cydippe and Acontius is still another example, as is the
legend of Atalanta and Hippomenes or Meilanion, to which Suetonius
(Tiberius, chap. 44) has furnished such an unexpected climax.  The
emperor Theodosius ordered the assassination of a gallant who had given
the queen an apple.  As beliefs of this type are an integral part of the
character of the lower orders, I am certain that the passage in Petronius
is not devoid of sarcasm; and if such is the case, “contus” cannot be
rendered “pole.”  The etymology of the word contumely is doubtful but I
am of the opinion that the derivation suggested here is not unsound.  A
recondite rendering of “contus” would surely give a sharper point to the
joke and furnish the riddle with the sting of an epigram.

CHAPTER 116.  “You will see a town that resembles the fields in time of

In tracing this savage caricature, Petronius had in mind not Crotona
alone; he refers to conditions in the capital of the empire.  The
descriptions which other authors have set down are equally remarkable for
their powerful coloring, and they leave us with an idea of Rome which is
positively astounding in its unbridled luxury.  ‘We will rest content
with offering to our readers the following portrayal, quoted from
Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xiv, chap. 6, and lib.  xxviii, chap.  4. will
not presume to attempt any translation after having read Gibbon’s version
of the combination of these two chapters.

“The greatness of Rome was founded on the rare and almost incredible
alliance of virtue and of fortune.  The long period of her infancy was
employed in a laborious struggle against the tribes of Italy, the
neighbors and enemies of the rising city.  In the strength and ardor of
youth she sustained the storms of war, carried her victorious arms beyond
the seas and the mountains, and brought home triumphal laurels from every
country of the globe.  At length, verging towards old age, and sometimes
conquering by the terror only of her name, she sought the blessings of
ease and tranquillity.  The venerable city, which had trampled on the
necks of the fiercest nations, and established a system of laws, the
perpetual guardians of justice and freedom, was content, like a wise and
wealthy parent, to devolve on the Caesars, her favorite sons, the care of
governing her ample patrimony.  A secure and profound peace, such as had
been once enjoyed in the reign of Numa, succeeded to the tumults of a
republic; while Rome was still adored as the queen of the earth, and the
subject nations still reverenced the name of the people and the majesty
of the senate.  But this native splendor is degraded and sullied by the
conduct of some nobles, who, unmindful of their own dignity, and of that
of their country, assume an unbounded license of vice and folly.  They
contend with each other in the empty vanity of titles and surnames, and
curiously select or invent the most lofty and sonorous appellations
--Reburrus or Fabunius, Pagonius or Tarrasius--which may impress the ears
of the vulgar with astonishment and respect.  From a vain ambition of
perpetuating their memory, they affect to multiply their likeness in
statues of bronze and marble; nor are they satisfied unless those statues
are covered with plates of gold, an honorable distinction, first granted
to Achilius the consul, after he had subdued by his arms and counsels the
power of King Antiochus.  The ostentation of displaying, of magnifying
perhaps, the rent-roll of the estates which they possess in all the
provinces, from the rising to the setting sun, provokes the just
resentment of every man who recollects that their poor and invincible
ancestors were not distinguished from the meanest of the soldiers by the
delicacy of their food or the splendor of their apparel.  But the modern
nobles measure their rank and consequence according to the loftiness of
their chariots and the weighty magnificence of their dress.  Their long
robes of silk and purple float in the wind; and as they are agitated, by
art or accident, they occasionally discover the under-garments, the rich
tunics, embroidered with the figures of various animals.  Followed by a
train of fifty servants, and tearing up the pavement, they move along the
streets with the same impetuous speed as if they travelled with
post-horses, and the example of the senators is boldly imitated by the
matrons and ladies, whose covered carriages are continually driving
round the immense space of the city and suburbs.  Whenever these persons
of high distinction condescend to visit the public baths, they assume,
on their entrance, a tone of loud and insolent command, and appropriate
to their own use the conveniences which were designed for the Roman
people.  If, in these places of mixed and general resort, they meet any
of the infamous ministers of their pleasures, they express their
affection by a tender embrace, while they proudly decline the
salutations of their fellow-citizens, who are not permitted to aspire
above the honor of kissing their hands or their knees.  As soon as they
have indulged themselves in the refreshment of the bath, they resume
their rings and the other ensigns of their dignity, select from their
private wardrobe of the finest linen, such as might suffice for a dozen
persons, the garments the most agreeable to their fancy, and maintain
till their departure the same haughty demeanor which perhaps might have
been excused in the great Marcellus after the conquest of Syracuse.
Sometimes, indeed, these heroes undertake more arduous achievements.
They visit their estates in Italy, and procure themselves, by the toil
of servile hands, the amusements of the chase.  If at any time, but more
especially on a hot day, they have courage to sail in their galleys from
the Lucrine lake to their elegant villas on the seacoast of Puteoli and
the Caieta, they compare their own expeditions to the marches of Caesar
and Alexander. Yet should a fly presume to settle on the silken folds of
their gilded umbrellas, should a sunbeam penetrate through some
unguarded and imperceptible chink, they deplore their intolerable
hardships, and lament in affected language that they were not born in
the land of the Cimmerians, the regions of eternal darkness.  In these
journeys into the country the whole body of the household marches with
their master.  In the same order as the cavalry and infantry, the heavy
and the light armed troops, the advanced guard and the rear, are
marshalled by the skill of their military leaders, so the domestic
officers, who bear a rod as an ensign of authority, distribute and
arrange the numerous train of slaves and attendants.  The baggage and
wardrobe move in the front, and are immediately followed by a multitude
of cooks and inferior ministers employed in the service of the kitchens
and of the table.  The main body is composed of a promiscuous crowd of
slaves, increased by the accidental concourse of idle or dependent
plebeians.  The rear is closed by the favorite band of eunuchs,
distributed from age to youth, according to the order of seniority.
Their numbers and their deformity excite the horror of the indignant
spectators, who are ready to execrate the memory of Semiramis for the
cruel art which she invented of frustrating the purposes of nature, and
of blasting in the bud the hopes of future generations.  In the exercise
of domestic jurisdiction the nobles of Rome express an exquisite
sensibility for any personal injury, and a contemptuous indifference for
the rest of the human species.  When they have called for warm water, if
a slave has been tardy in his obedience, he is instantly chastised with
three hundred lashes; but should the same slave commit a wilful murder,
the master will mildly observe that he is a worthless fellow, but that,
if he repeats the offense, he shall not escape punishment.  Hospitality
was formerly the virtue of the Romans; and every stranger who could
plead either merit or misfortune was relieved or rewarded by their
generosity.  At present, if a foreigner, perhaps of no contemptible
rank, is introduced to one of the proud and wealthy senators, he is
welcomed indeed in the first audience with such warm professions and
such kind inquiries that he retires enchanted with the affability of his
illustrious friend, and full of regret that he had so long delayed his
journey to Rome, the native seat of manners as well as of empire.
Secure of a favorable reception, he repeats his visit the ensuing day,
and is mortified by the discovery that his person, his name, and his
country are already forgotten.  If he still has resolution to persevere,
he is gradually numbered in the train of dependents, and obtains the
permission to pay his assiduous and unprofitable court to a haughty
patron, incapable of gratitude or friendship, who scarcely deigns to
remark his presence, his departure, or his return.  Whenever the rich
prepare a solemn and popular entertainment, whenever they celebrate with
profuse and pernicious luxury their private banquets, the choice of the
guests is the subject of anxious deliberation.  The modest, the sober,
and the learned are seldom preferred; and the nomenclators, who are
commonly swayed by interested motives, have the address to insert in the
list of invitations the obscure names of the most worthless of mankind.
But the frequent and familiar companions of the great are those
parasites who practice the most useful of all arts, the art of flattery;
who eagerly applaud each word and every action of their immortal patron,
gaze with rapture on his marble columns and variegated pavements, and
strenuously praise the pomp and elegance which he is taught to consider
as a part of his personal merit.  At the Roman tables the birds, the
dormice, or the fish, which appear of an uncommon size, are contemplated
with curious attention; a pair of scales is accurately applied to
ascertain their real weight; and, while the more rational guests are
disgusted by the vain and tedious repetition, notaries are summoned to
attest by an authentic record the truth of such a marvellous event.
Another method of introduction into the houses and society of the great
is derived from the profession of gaming, or, as it is more politely
styled, of play.  The confederates are united by a strict and
indissoluble bond of friendship, or rather of conspiracy; a superior
degree of skill in the Tesserarian art is a sure road to wealth and
reputation.  A master of that sublime science who in a supper or an
assembly is placed below a magistrate displays in his countenance the
surprise and indignation which Cato might be supposed to feel when he
was refused the praetorship by the votes of a capricious people.  The
acquisition of knowledge seldom engages the curiosity of the nobles, who
abhor the fatigue and disdain the advantages of study; and the only
books which they peruse are the Satires of Juvenal and the verbose and
fabulous histories of Marius Maximus.  The libraries which they have
inherited from their fathers are secluded, like dreary sepulchres, from
the light of day.  But the costly instruments of the theatre-flutes, and
enormous lyres, and hydraulic organs--are constructed for their use; and
the harmony of vocal and instrumental music is incessantly repeated in
the palaces of Rome.  In those palaces sound is preferred to sense, and
the care of the body to that of the mind.  It is allowed as a salutary
maxim that the light and frivolous suspicion of a contagious malady is
of sufficient weight to excuse the visits of the most intimate friends
and even the servants who are dispatched to make the decent inquiries
are not suffered to return home till they have undergone the ceremony of
a previous ablution.  Yet this selfish and unmanly delicacy occasionally
yields to the more imperious passion of avarice.  The prospect of gain
will urge a rich and gouty senator as far as Spoleto; every sentiment of
arrogance and dignity is subdued by the hopes of an inheritance, or even
of a legacy; and a wealthy childless citizen is the most powerful of the
Romans.  The art of obtaining the signature of a favorable testament,
and sometimes of hastening the moment of its execution, is perfectly
understood; and it has happened that in the same house, though in
different apartments, a husband and a wife, with the laudable design of
overreaching each other, have summoned their respective lawyers to
declare at the same time their mutual but contradictory intentions.  The
distress which follows and chastises extravagant luxury often reduces
the great to the use of the most humiliating expedients.  When they
desire to borrow, they employ the base and supplicating style of the
slave in the comedy; but when they are called upon to pay, they assume
the royal and tragic declamation of the grandsons of Hercules.  If the
demand is repeated, they readily procure some trusty sycophant,
instructed to maintain a charge of poison or magic against the insolent
creditor, who is seldom released from prison till he has signed a
discharge for the whole debt.  These vices, which degrade the moral
character of the Romans, are mixed with a puerile superstition that
disgraces their understanding.  They listen with confidence to the
predictions of haruspices, who pretend to read in the entrails of
victims the signs of future greatness and prosperity; and there are many
who do not presume either to bathe or to dine, or to appear in public,
till they have diligently consulted, according to the rules of
astrology, the situation of Mercury and the aspect of the moon.  It is
singular enough that this vain credulity may often be discovered among
the profane sceptics who impiously doubt or deny the existence of a
celestial power.”

CHAPTER 116.  “They either take in or else they are taken in.”

“Captare” may be defined as to get the upper hand of someone; and
“captari” means to be the dupe of someone, to be the object of interested
flattery; “captator” means a succession of successful undertakings of the
sort referred to above.  Martial, lib. VI, 63, addresses the following
verses to a certain Marianus, whose inheritance had excited the avarice
of one of the intriguers:

               “You know you’re being influenced,
               You know the miser’s mind;
               You know the miser, and you sensed
               His purpose; still, you’re blind.”

Pliny the Elder, Historia Naturalis, lib.  XIV, chap. i, writes in
scathing terms against the infamous practice of paying assiduous court
to old people for the purpose of obtaining a legacy under their wills.
“Later, childlessness conferred advantages in the shape of the greatest
authority and Lower; undue influence became very insidious in its quest
of wealth, and in grasping the joyous things alone, debasing the true
rewards of life; and all the liberal arts operating for the greatest good
were turned to the opposite purpose, and commenced to profit by
sycophantic subservience alone.”

And Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. XVIII, chap. 4, remarks: “Some there are
that grovel before rich men, old men or young, childless or unmarried, or
even wives and children, for the purpose of so influencing their wishes
and them by deft and dextrous finesse.”

That this profession of legacy hunting is not one of the lost arts is
apparent even in our day, for the term “undue influence” is as common in
our courts as Ambrose Bierce’s definition of “husband,” or refined
cruelty, or “injunctions” restraining husbands from disposing of
property, or separate maintenance, or even “heart balm” and the
consequent breach of promise.

CHAPTER 119.  The rite of the Persians:

Castration has been practiced from remote antiquity, and is a feature of
the harem life of the Levant to the present day.  Semiramis is accused of
having been the first to order the emasculation of a troupe of her boy

“Whether the first false likeness of men came to the Assyrians through
the ingenuity of Semiramis; for these wanton wretches with high timbered
voices could not have produced themselves, those smooth cheeks could not
reproduce themselves; she gathered their like about her: or, Parthian
luxury forbade with its knife, the shadow of down to appear, and fostered
long that boyish bloom, compelling art-retarded youth to sink to Venus’
calling,” Claudianus, Eutrop. i, 339 seq.

“And last of all, the multitude of eunuchs, ranging in age, from old men
to boys, pale and hideous from the twisted deformity of their features;
so that, go where one will, seeing groups of mutilated men, he will
detest the memory of Semiramis, that ancient queen who was the first to
emasculate young men of tender age; thwarting the intent of Nature, and
forcing her from her course.”  Ammianus Marcellinus, book xiv, chap. vi.

The Old Testament proves that the Hebrew authorities of the time were no
strangers to the abomination, but no mention of eunuchs in Judea itself
is to be found prior to the time of Josiah.  Castration was forbidden the
Jews, Deuteronomy, xxiii, 1, but as this book was probably unknown before
the time of Josiah, we can only conjecture as to the attitude of the
patriarchs in regard to this subject; we are safe, however, in inferring
that it was hostile.  “Periander, son of Cypselus, had sent three hundred
youths of the noblest young men of the Corcyraeans to Alyattes, at
Sardis; for the purpose of emasculation.”  Herodotus, iii, chapter 48.

“Hermotimus, then, was sprung from these Pedasians; and, of all men we
know, revenged himself in the severest manner for an injury he had
received; for, having been captured by an enemy and sold, he was
purchased by one Panionius, a Chian, who gained a livelihood by the most
infamous practices; for whenever he purchased boys remarkable for their
beauty, having castrated them, he used to take them to Sardis and Ephesus
and sell them for large sums; for with the barbarians, eunuchs are more
valued than others, on account of their perfect fidelity.  Panionius,
therefore, had castrated many others, as he made his livelihood by this
means, and among them, this man.

“Hermotimus, however, was not in every respect unfortunate, for he went
to Sardis, along with other presents for the king, and in process of time
was the most esteemed by Xerxes of all his eunuchs.

“When the king was preparing to march his Persian army against Athens,
Hermotimus was at Sardis, having gone down at that time, upon some
business or other, to the Mysian territory which the Chians possess, and
is called Atarneus, he there met with Panionius.  Having recognized him,
he addressed many friendly words to him, first recounting the many
advantages he had acquired by this means, and secondly, promising him how
many favors he would confer upon him in requital, if he would bring his
family and settle there; so that Panionius joyfully accepted the proposal
and brought his wife and children.  But when Hermotimus got him with his
whole family into his power, he addressed him as follows:

“‘O thou, who, of all mankind, hast gained thy living by the most
infamous acts, what harm had either I, or any of mine, done to thee,
or any of thine, that of a man thou hast made me nothing?

“‘Thou didst imagine, surely, that thy machinations would pass unnoticed
by the Gods, who, following righteous laws, have enticed thee, who hath
committed unholy deeds, into my hands, so that thou canst not complain of
the punishment I shall inflict upon thee.’

“When he had thus upbraided him, his sons being brought into his
presence, Panionius was compelled to castrate his own sons, who were four
in number; and, being compelled, he did it; and after he had finished it,
his sons, being compelled, castrated him.  Thus did vengeance and
Hermotimus overtake Panionius.”  Herodotus, viii, ch. 105-6.

Mention of the Galli, the emasculated priests of Cybebe should be made.
Emasculation was a necessary first condition of service in her worship.
(Catullus, Attys.)  The Latin literature of the silver and bronze ages
contains many references to castration.  Juvenal and Martial have
lavished bitter scorn upon this form of degradation, and Suetonius and
Statius inform us that Domitian prohibited the practice, but it is in the
“Amoures” attributed to Lucian that we find a passage so closely akin to
the one forming a basis of this note, that it is inserted in extenso:

“Some pushed their cruelty so far as to outrage Nature with the
sacrilegious knife, and, after depriving men of their virility, found in
them the height of pleasure.  These miserable and unhappy creatures, that
they may the longer serve the purposes of boys, are stunted in their
manhood, and remain a doubtful riddle of a double sex, neither preserving
that boyhood in which they were born, nor possessing that manhood which
should be theirs.  The bloom of their youth withers away in a premature
old age: while yet boys, they suddenly become old, without any interval
of manhood.  For impure sensuality, the mistress of every vice, devising
one shameless pleasure after another, insensibly plunges into
unmentionable debauchery, experienced in every form of brutal lust.”  The
jealous Roman husband’s furious desire to prevent the consequences of his
wife’s incontinence was by no means well served by the use of such
agents; on the contrary, the women themselves profited by the
arrangement.  By means of these eunuchs, they edited the morals of their
maids and hampered the sodomitical hankerings, active or otherwise, of
their husbands: Martial, xii, 54: but when the passions and suspicions of
both heads of the family were mutually aroused, the eunuchs fanned them
into flame and gained the ascendancy in the home.  They even went so far
as to marry: Martial, xi, 82, and Juvenal, i, 22.

In the third century a certain Valesius formed a sect which, following
the example set by Origen, acted literally upon the text of Matthew, v,
28, 30, and Matthew, xix, 12.  Of this sect, Augustine, De Heres. chap.
37, said: “the Valesians castrate themselves and those who partake of
their hospitality, thinking that after this manner, they ought to serve
God.”  That injustice was done upon the wrong member is very evident, yet
in an age so dark, so dominated by austere asceticism, this clean cut
perception of the best interests of suffering humanity, is only to be
rivalled by the French physician in the time of the black plague.  He had
observed that sthenic patients, when bled, died: the superstition and
medical usage of the age prescribed bleeding, and when the fat abbots
came to be bled, he bled them freely and with satisfaction.  Justinian
decreed that anyone guilty of performing the operation which deprived an
individual of virility should be subjected to a similar operation, and
this crime was later punished with death.  In the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries we encounter another and even viler reason for this
practice: that “the voice of such a person” (one castrated in boyhood)
“after arriving at adult age, combines the high range and sweetness of
the female with the power of the male voice,” had long been known, and
Italian singing masters were not slow in putting this hint to practical
use.  The poor sometimes sold their children for this purpose, and the
castrati and soprani are terms well known to the musical historian.

These artificial voices disgraced the Italian stage until literally
driven from it by public hostility, and the punishment of death was the
reward of the individual bold enough to perform such an operation.  The
papal authority excommunicated those guilty of the crime and those upon
whom such an operation had been performed, but received artificial
voices, which were the result of accident, into the Sistine choir.
This pretext served the church well and, until the year 1878, when
the disgrace was wiped out by Pope Leo XIII, the Sistine choir was an
eloquent commentary upon the attitude of an institution placed, as it
were, “between love and duty.”  It should be recorded that this choir, in
its recent visit to the United States, had but one artificial voice, and
its owner was the oldest member of the choir.

Young home-born slaves were bought up by the dealers, castrated, because
of the increased price they brought when in this condition, and sold for
huge sums: Seneca, Controv. x, chap. 4; and kidnapping was frequently
resorted to, just as it is in Africa today.

In Russia there is a sect called the “skoptzi,” whose tenets, in this
respect, are indicated by their name.  This sect is first mentioned in
the person of a certain Adrian, a monk, who came to Russia about the
year 1001.  In 1041, l090 to 1096, 1138 to 1147, 1326, they are noticed,
and in 1721 to 1724 they are prominent.  They call themselves “white
doves” and are divided into smaller congregations which, in their
allegorical terminology, they call “ships”; the leader of each
congregation is called the “pilot” and the female leader, the “pilot’s
mate.”  Their tenets provide for two degrees of emasculation: complete
and incomplete, and, in the case of the former, he who submitted to the
operation had the “royal seal” affixed to him, this being their name for
complete emasculation: in the case of the latter, the neophyte had
reached the “Second Degree of Purity.”  The operation was performed with
a red-hot knife or a hot iron, and this was known as the “baptism by

In the case of female converts, the breasts were amputated, either with a
red-hot knife or a pair of red-hot shears (Kudrin trial, Moscow, 1871;
testimony of physicians and examination of the accused) which served the
double purpose of checking haemorrhage, as would a thermo-cautery, and
avoiding infection.  Another method consisted in searing the orifice of
the vagina so that the scar tissue would contract it in such a manner as
to effectually prevent the entrance of the male.

A peculiar attribute of this sect is the character of many of its
members: bankers, civil service officials, navy officers, army officers
and others of the finest professions.  Leroy-Beaulieu, in discussing
their methods of obtaining converts says: “they prefer boys and youths,
whom they strive to convince of the necessity of ‘killing the flesh.’
They sometimes succeed so well, that cases are known of boys of fifteen
or so resorting to self-mutilation, to save themselves from the
temptations of early manhood.  These apostles of purity do not always
scruple to have recourse to violence or deceit.  They ensnare their
victims by equivocal forms of speech, and having thus obtained their
consent virtually upon false pretences, they reveal to the confiding
dupes the real meaning of the engagement they have entered into only at
the last moment, when it is too late for them to escape the murderous
knife.  One evening, two men, one of them young and blooming, the other
old, with sallow and unnaturally smooth face, were conversing, while
sipping their tea, in a house in Moscow.  ‘Virgins will alone stand
before the throne of the Most High,’ said the elder man.  ‘He who looks
on a woman with desire commits adultery in his heart, and adulterers
shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.’  ‘What then should we sinners
doe’ asked the young man.  ‘Knowest thou not,’ replied the elder, ‘the
word of the Lord?  If thy right eye leadeth thee into temptation, pluck
it out and cast it from thee; if thy right hand leadeth thee into
temptation, cut it off and cast it from thee.  What ye must do is to kill
the flesh.  Ye must become like unto the disembodied angels, and that may
be attained only, through being made white as snow.’ ‘And how can we be
made thus white?’ further inquired the young man.  ‘Come and see,’ said
the old man.  ‘He took his companion down many stairs, into a cellar
resplendent with lights.  Some fifteen white robed men and women were
gathered there.  In a corner was a stove, in which blazed a fire.  After
some prayers and dances, very like those in use among the Flagellants,
the old man announced to his companion: ‘now shalt thou learn how sinners
are made white as snow.’ And the young man, before he had time to ask a
single question, was seized and gagged, his eyes were bandaged, he was
stretched out on the ground, and the apostle, with a red-hot knife,
stamped him with the ‘seal of purity.’ This happened to a peasant,
Saltykov by name, and certainly not to him alone.  He fainted away under
the operation, and when he came to himself, he heard the voices of his
chaste sponsors give him the choice between secrecy and death.”

Catherine II signed the first edict against this sect in 1772, but
agitation was more or less constant until the Imperial government began
vigorous prosecutions in 1871, and many were sentenced to hard labor in
Siberia.  When prosecutions were instituted, large numbers emigrated to
Roumania and there took the name of “Lipovans.”  Women, especially one of
the name of Anna Romanovna, have had a great share in the invention and
diffusion of the doctrine.  Not infrequently it is the women who, with
their own hands, transform the men to angels.

In 1871 their number was estimated to be about 3000, in 1874 they
numbered 5444, including 1465 women, and in 1847, 515 men and 240 women
were transported to Siberia.  The sect still holds its own in Russia.
They are millennarians and the messiah will not come for them until their
sect numbers 144,000.

Antiquity knew three varieties of eunuch:
Castrati: Scrotum and testicles were amputated.
Spadones: Testicles were torn out.
Thlibiae: Testicles were destroyed by crushing.

CHAPTER 127.  “Such sweetness permeated her voice as she said this, so
entrancing was the sound upon the listening air that you would have
believed the Sirens’ harmonies were floating in the breeze.”

Many scholars have drawn attention to the ethereal beauty of this
passage.  Probably the finest parallel is to be found in Horace’s ode to
Calliope.  After the invocation to the muse he thinks he hears her

              “Hark!  Or is this but frenzy’s pleasing dream?
               Through groves I seem to stray
               Of consecrated bay,
               Where voices mingle with the babbling stream,
               And whispering breezes play.”

                                   Sir Theodore Martin’s version.

Another exquisite and illuminating passage occurs in Catullus, 51, given
in Marchena’s fourth note.

CHAPTER 131.  “Then she kneaded dust and spittle and, dipping her middle
finger into the mixture, she crossed my forehead with it.”

Since the Fairy Tale Era of the human race, sputum has been employed to
give potency to charms and to curses.  It was anciently used as anathema
and that use is still in force to this day.  Let the incredulous critic
spit in some one’s face if he doubts my word.

But sputum had also a place in the Greek and Roman rituals.  Trimalchio
spits and throws wine under the table when he hears a cock crowing
unseasonably.  This, in the first century.  Any Jew in Jerusalem hearing
the name of Titus mentioned, spits: this in 1903.  In the ceremony of
naming Roman children spittle had its part to play: it was customary for
the nurse to touch the lips and forehead of the child with spittle.  The
Catholic priest’s ritual, which prescribes that the ears and nostrils of
the infant or neophyte, as the case may be, shall be touched with
spittle, comes, in all probability from Mark, vii, 33, 34, viii, 23, and
John, ix, 6, which, in turn are probably derived from a classical
original.  It should be added that fishermen spit upon their bait before
casting in their hooks.

CHAPTER 131.  Medio sustulit digito:

There is more than a suggestion in the choice of the middle finger, in
this instance.  Among the Romans, the middle finger was known as the
“infamous finger.”

               Infami digito et lustralibus ante salivis
               Expiat, urentes oculos inhibere perita.
                                        Persius, Sat. ii

See also Dio Chrysostom, xxxiii.  “Neither,” says Lampridius, Life of
Heliogabalus, “was he given to demand infamies in words when he could
indicate shamelessness with his fingers,” Chapter 10.  “With tears in his
eyes, Cestos often complains to me, Mamurianus, of being touched by your
finger.  You need not use your finger, merely: take Cestos all to
yourself, if nothing else is wanting in your establishment,”
 Martial, i, 93

To touch the posteriors lewdly with the finger, that is, the middle
finger put forth and the two adjoining fingers bent down, so that the
hand might form a sort of Priapus, was an obscene sign to attract
catamites.  That this position of the fingers was an indecent symbol is
attested by numerous passages in the classical writers.  “He would extend
his hand, bent into an obscene posture, for them to kiss,” Suetonius,
Caligula, 56.  It may be added that one of that emperor’s officers
assassinated him for insulting him in that manner.  When this finger was
thus applied it signified that the person was ready to sodomise him whom
he touched.  The symbol is still used by the lower orders.

“We are informed by our younger companions that gentlemen given to
sodomitical practices are in the habit of frequenting some public place,
such as the Pillars of the County Fire Office, Regent St., and placing
their hands behind them, raising their fingers in a suggestive manner
similar to that mentioned by our epigrammatist.  Should any gentleman
place himself near enough to have his person touched by the playful
fingers of the pleasure-seeker, and evince no repugnance, the latter
turns around and, after a short conversation, the bargain is struck.  In
this epigram, however, Martial threatens the eye and not the anus.”  The
Romans used to point out sodomites and catamites by thus holding out the
middle finger, and so it was used as well in ridicule (or chaff, as we
say) as to denote infamy in the persons who were given to these

“If anyone calls you a catamite, Sextillus,” says Martial, ii, 28,
“return the compliment and hold out your middle finger to him.”
 According to Ramiresius, this custom was still common in the Spain of his
day (1600), and it still persists in Spanish and Italian countries, as
well as in their colonies.  This position of the fingers was supposed to
represent the buttocks with a priapus inserted up the fundament; it was
called “Iliga,” by the Spaniards.  From this comes the ancient custom of
suspending little priapi from boys’ necks to avert the evil eye.

Aristophanes, in the “Clouds,” says:

SOCRATES: First they will help you to be pleasant in company, and to
know what is meant by OEnoplian rhythm and what by the Dactylic.

STREPSIADES: Of the Dactyl (finger)?  I know that quite well.

SOCRATES: What is it then?

STREPSIADES: Why, ‘tis this finger; formerly, when a child, I used this

(Daktulos means, of course, both Dactyl (name of a metrical foot) and
finger.  Strepsiades presents his middle finger with the other fingers
and thumb bent under in an indecent gesture meant to suggest the penis
and testicles.  It was for this reason that the Romans called this finger
the “unseemly finger.”)

SOCRATES: You are as low minded as you are stupid.

[See also Suetonius: Tiberius, chapter 68.]

CHAPTER 138.  “OEnothea brought out a leathern dildo.”

This instrument, made from glass, wax, leather, or other suitable
material such as ivory or the precious metals (Ezekiel xvi, 17), has been
known from primitive times; and the spread of the cult of Priapus was a
potent factor in making the instrument more common in the western world.
Numerous Greek authors make mention of it: Aristophanes, Lucian,
Herondas, Suidas and others.  That it was only too familiar to the Romans
is shown by their many references to it: Catullus, Martial, the apostle
Paul, Tertullian, and others.

Aristophanes,  Lysistrata:  (Lysistrata  speaking) “And not so much as
the shadow of a lover!  Since the day the Milesians betrayed us, I have
never once caught sight of an eight-inch-long dildo even, to be a
leathern consolation to us poor widows.”  Her complaint is based upon the
fact that all the men were constantly absent upon military duty and the
force of the play lies in her strategic control of a commodity in great
demand among the male members of society.  Quoting again from the same
play: Calonice: “And why do you summon us, Lysistrata dear?  What is it
all about?”  Lysistrata: “About a big affair.”  Calonice: “And is it
thick, too’?”  Lysistrata: “Indeed it is, great and big too.”  Calonice:
“And we are not all on the spot!”  Lysistrata: “Oh!  If it were what you
have in mind, there would never be an absentee.  No, no, it concerns a
thing I have turned about and about, this way and that, for many
sleepless nights.”  When the plot has been explained, viz.: that the
women refuse intercourse to their husbands until after peace has been
declared--Calonice: “But suppose our poor devils of husbands go away and
leave us”’  Lysistrata: “Then, as Pherecrates says, ‘we must flay a
skinned dog,’ that’s all.”

Lucian, Arnoures, says: “but, if it is becoming for men to have
intercourse with men, for the future let women have intercourse with
women.  Come, O new generation, inventor of strange pleasures! as you
have devised new methods to satisfy male lust, grant the same privilege
to women; let them have intercourse with one another like men, girding
themselves with the infamous instruments of lust, an unholy imitation of
a fruitless union.”

Herondas, Mime vi:

KORITTO | Two women friends
A Female Domestic.

Time, about 300 B. C.

Scene, Koritto’s sitting room.

KORITTO: (Metro has just come to call) Take a seat, Metro; (to the slave
girl) Get up and get the lady a chair; I have to tell you to do
everything; you’re such a fool you never do a thing of your own accord.
You’re only a stone in the house, you’re not a bit like a slave except
when you count up your daily allowance of bread: you count the crumbs
when you do that, though, and whenever the tiniest bit happens to fall
upon the floor, the very walls get tired of listening to your grumbling
and boiling over with temper, as you do all day long--now, when we want
to use that chair you’ve found time to dust it off and rub up the polish
--you may thank the lady that I don’t give you a taste of my hand.

METRO: You have as hard a time as I do, Koritto, dear--day and night
these low servants make me gnash my teeth and bark like a dog, just like
they do you.--But I came to see you about--(to the slave girl) get out of
here, get out of my sight, you trouble maker, you’re all ears and tongue
and nothing else, all you do is to sit around Koritto--dear, now please
don’t tell me a fib, who stitched that red dildo of yours?

KORITTO: Metro, where did you see that?

METRO: Why Nossis, the daughter of Erinna, had it three days ago.  Oh but
it was a beauty!

KORITTO: So Nossis had it, did she?  Where did she get it, I wonder?

METRO: I’m afraid you’ll say something if I tell you.

KORITTO: My dear Metro, if anybody hears anything you tell me, from
Koritto’s mouth, I hope I go blind.

METRO: It was given to her by Eubole of Bitas, and she cautioned her not
to let a soul hear of it.

KORITTO: That woman will be my undoing, one of these days; I yielded to
her importunity and gave it to her before I had used it myself, Metro
dear, but to her it was a godsend--, now she takes it and gives it to
some one who ought not to have it.  I bid a long farewell to such a
friend as she; let her look out for another friend instead of me.  As for
Nossis, Adrasteia forgive me.  I don’t want to talk bigger than a lady
should--I wouldn’t give her even a rotten dildo; no, not even if I had a

METRO: Please don’t flare up so quickly when you hear something
unpleasant.  A good woman must put up with everything.  It’s all my fault
for gossiping.  My tongue ought to be cut out; honestly it should: but to
get back to the question I asked you a moment ago: who stitched the
dildo?  Tell me if you love me!  What makes you laugh when you look at
me?  What does your coyness mean?  Have you never set eyes on me before?
Don’t fib to me now, Koritto, I beg of you.

KORITTO: Why do you press me so?  Kerdon stitched it.

METRO: Which Kerdon?  Tell me, because there are two Kerdons, one is that
blue-eyed fellow, the neighbor of Myrtaline the daughter of Kylaithis;
but he couldn’t even stitch a plectron to a lyre--the other one, who
lives near the house of Hermodorus, after you have left the street, was
pretty good once, but he’s too old, now; the late lamented Kylaithis--may
her kinsfolk never forget her--used to patronize him.

KORITTO: He’s neither of those you’ve mentioned, Metro; this fellow is
bald headed and short, he comes from Chios or Erythrai, I think--you
would mistake him for another Prexinos, one fig could not look more like
another, but just hear him talk, and you’ll know that he is Kerdon and
not Prexinos.  He does business at home, selling his wares on the sly
because everyone is afraid of the tax gatherers.  My dear!  He does do
such beautiful work!  You would think that what you see is the handiwork
of Athena and not that of Kerdon!  Do you know that he had two of them
when he came here!  And when I got a look at them my eyes nearly burst
from their sockets through desire.  Men never get--I hope we are alone
--their tools so stiff; and not only that, but their smoothness was as
sweet as sleep and their little straps were as soft as wool.  If you went
looking for one you would never find another ladies’ cobbler cleverer
than he!

METRO: Why didn’t you buy the other one, too?

KORITTO: What didn’t I do, Metro dear’?  And what didn’t I do to persuade
him’?  I kissed him, I patted his bald head, I poured out some sweet wine
for him to drink, I fondled him, the only thing I didn’t do was to give
him my body.

METRO: But you should have given him that too, if he asked it.

KORITTO: Yes, and I would have, but Bitas slave girl commenced grinding
in the court, just at the wrong moment; she has reduced our hand mill
nearly to powder by grinding day and night for fear she might have four
obols to pay for having her own sharpened.

METRO: But how did he happen to come to your house, Koritto dear?  You’ll
tell me the truth won’t you, now?

KORITTO: Artemis the daughter of Kandas directed him to me by pointing
out the roof of the tanner’s house as a landmark.

METRO: That Artemis is always discovering something new to help her make
capital out of her skill as a go-between.  But anyhow, when you couldn’t
buy them both you should have asked who ordered the other one.

KORITTO: I begged him to tell me but he swore he wouldn’t, that’s how
much he thought of me, Metro dear.

METRO: You mean that I must go and find Artemis now to learn who the
Kerdon is--good-bye KORITTO.  He (my husband) is hungry by now, so it’s
time I was going.

KORITTO: (To the slave girl) Close the doors, there, chicken keeper, and
count the chickens to see if they’re all there; throw them some grain,
too, for the chicken thieves will steal them out of one’s very lap.


A lascivious dance of the old Greek comedy.  Any person who performed
this dance except upon the stage was considered drunk or dissolute.
That the dance underwent changes for the worse is manifest from the
representation of it found on a marble tazza in the Vatican (Visconti,
Mus.  Pio-Clem.  iv, 29), where it is performed by ten figures, five
Finns and five Bacchanals, but their movements, though extremely lively
and energetic, are not marked by any particular indelicacy.  Many ancient
authors and scholiasts have commented upon the looseness and sex appeal
of this dance.  Meursius, Orchest., article Kordax, has collected the
majority of passages in the classical writers, bearing upon this subject,
but from this disorderly collection it is impossible to arrive at any
definite description of the cordax.  The article in Coelius Rhodiginus.
Var.  Lect.  lib.  iv, is conventional.  The cordax was probably not
unlike the French “chalhut,” danced in the wayside inns, and it has been
preserved in the Spanish “bolero” and the Neapolitan “tarantella.”  When
the Romans adopted the Greek customs, they did not neglect the dances
and it is very likely that the Roman Nuptial Dance, which portrayed the
most secret actions of marriage had its origin in the Greek cordax.  The
craze for dancing became so menacing under Tiberius that the Senate was
compelled to run the dancers and dancing masters out of Rome but the evil
had become so deep rooted that the very precautions by which society was
to be safeguarded served to inflame the passion for the dance and
indulgence became so general and so public that great scandal resulted.
Domitian, who was by no means straight laced, found it necessary to expel
from the Senate those members who danced in public.  The people imitated
the nobles, and, as fast as the dancers were expelled, others from the
highest and lowest ranks of society took their places, and there soon
came to be no distinction, in this matter, between the noblest names of
the patricians and the vilest rabble from the Suburra.  There is no
comparison between the age of Cicero and that of Domitian.  “One could do
a man no graver injury than to call him a dancer,” says Cicero, Pro
Murena, and adds: “a man cannot dance unless he is drunk or insane.”

Probably the most realistic description of the cordax, conventional, of
course, is to be found in Merejkovski’s “Death of the Gods.”  The passage
occurs in chapter vi.  I have permitted myself the liberty of supplying
the omissions and euphemisms in Trench’s otherwise excellent and spirited
version of the novel.  “At this moment hoarse sounds like the roarings of
some subterranean monster came from the market square.  They were the
notes, now plaintive, now lively, of a hydraulic organ.  At the entrance
to a showman’s travelling booth, a blind Christian slave, for four obols
a day, was pumping up the water which produced this extraordinary
harmony.  Agamemnon dragged his companions into the booth, a great tent
with blue awnings sprinkled with silver stars.  A lantern lighted a
black-board on which the order of the program was chalked up in Syriac
and Greek.  It was stifling within, redolent of garlic and lamp oil soot.
In addition to the organ, there struck up the wailing of two harsh
flutes, and an Ethopian, rolling the whites of his eyes, thrummed upon an
Arab drum.  A dancer was skipping and throwing somersaults on a
tightrope, clapping his hands to the time of the music, and singing a
popular song:

                    Hue, huc, convenite nunc
                    Pedem tendite
                    Cursum addite

“This starveling snub-nosed dancer was old, repulsive, and nastily gay.
Drops of sweat mixed with paint were trickling from his shaven forehead;
his wrinkles, plastered with white lead, looked like the cracks in some
wall when rain has washed away the lime.  The flutes and organ ceased
when he withdrew, and a fifteen-year-old girl ran out upon the stage.
She was to perform the celebrated cordax, so passionately adored by the
mob.  The Fathers of the Church called down anathema upon it, the Roman
laws prohibited it, but all in vain.  The cordax was danced everywhere,
by rich and poor, by senators’ wives and by street dancers, just as it
had been before.

“‘What a beautiful girl,’ whispered Agamemnon enthusiastically.  Thanks
to the fists of his companions, he had reached a place in the front rank
of spectators.  The slender bronze body of the Nubian was draped only
about the hips with an almost airy colorless scarf.  Her hair was wound
on the top of her head, in close fine curls like those of Nubian woven.
Her face was of the severest Egyptian type, recalling that of the Sphinx.

“She began to dance languidly, carelessly, as if already weary.  Above
her head she swung copper bells, castanets or ‘crotals,’--swung them
lazily, so that they tinkled very faintly.  Gradually her movements
became more emphatic, and suddenly under their long lashes, yellow eyes
shone out, clear and bright as the eyes of a leopardess.  She drew her
body up to her full height and the copper castanets began to tinkle with
such challenge in their piercing sound that the whole crowd trembled with
emotion.  Vivid, slender, supple as a serpent, the damsel whirled
rapidly, her nostrils dilated, and a strange cry came crooning from her
throat.  With each impetuous movement, two dark little breasts held tight
by a green silk net, trembled like two ripe fruits in the wind, and their
sharp, thickly painted nipples were like rubies, as they protruded from
the net.

“The crowd was beside itself with passion.  Agamemnon, nearly mad, was
held back by his companions.  Suddenly the girl stopped as if exhausted.
A slight shudder ran through her, from her head down the dark limbs to
her feet.  Deep silence prevailed.  The head of the Nubian was thrown
back as if in a rigid swoon but above it the crotals still tinkled with
an extraordinary languor, a dying vibration, quick and soft as the wing
flutterings of a captured butterfly.  Her eyes grew dim but in their
inner depths glittered two sparks; the face remained severe, impersonal,
but upon the sensuous red lips of that sphinx-like mouth a smile
trembled, faint as the dying sound of the crotals.”


Double capacity of masseurs and prostitutes
Empress Theodora belonged to this class
High fortune may rather master us, than we master it
Legislation has never proved a success in repressing vice
One could do a man no graver injury than to call him a dancer
Russia there is a sect called the skoptzi
She is chaste whom no man has solicited--Ovid
Tax on bachelors
While we live, let us live

                         SIX NOTES BY MARCHENA.


The conquests of the French have resulted, during this war, in a boon to
knowledge and to letters.  Egypt has furnished us with monuments of its
aboriginal inhabitants, which the ignorance and superstition of the Copts
and Mussulmans kept concealed from civilized countries.  The libraries of
the convents of the various countries have been ransacked by savants and
precious manuscripts have been brought to light.

By no means the least interesting of the acquisitions is a fragment of
Petronius, which we offer to the public, taken from an ancient manuscript
which our soldiers, in conquering St. Gall, have sent to us for
examination.  We have made an important discovery in reading a parchment
which contains the work of St. Gennadius on the Duties of Priests, and
which, judging from the form of the letters employed, we should say was
written in the eleventh century.  A most careful examination led us to
perceive that the work by this saint had been written on pages containing
written letters, which had been almost effaced.  We know that in the dark
ages it was customary to write ecclesiastical works on the manuscripts
containing the best authors of Latinity.

At a cost of much labor we have been able to decipher a morsel which we
give to the public: and of the authenticity of which there can be no
doubt.  We render homage to the brave French army to which we owe this

It is easy to notice that there is a lacuna in that passage of Petronius
in which Encolpius is left with Quartilla, looking through a chink in the
door, at the actions of Giton and little Pannychis.  A few lines below,
it relates, in effect, that he was fatigued by the voluptuous enjoyment
of Quartilla, and in that which remains to us, there is no mention of the
preliminaries to this enjoyment.  The style of the Latin so closely
resembles the original of Petronius that it is impossible to believe that
the fragment was forged.

For the benefit of those who have not read the author, it is well to
state that this Quartilla was a priestess of Priapus, at whose house they
celebrated the mysteries of that god.  Pannychis is a young girl of seven
years who had been handed over to Giton to be deflowered.  This Giton is
the “good friend” of Encolpius, who is supposed to relate the scene.
Encolpius, who had drunk an aphrodisiacal beverage, is occupied with
Quartilla in peeping through the door to see in what manner Giton was
acquitting himself in his role.  At that moment a soldier enters the

Finally an old woman, about whom there is some question in the fragment,
is the same as the one who had unexpectedly conducted Encolpius to the
house of the public women and of whom mention is made in the beginning of
the work.

               Ipsa Venus magico religatum brachia nodo
               Perdocuit, multis non sine verberibus.
                                             Tibullus viii, 5.


               Vous verrez que vous avez affaire a un homme.
               You will learn that you have to deal with a man.

Fighting men have in all times been distinguished on account of the
beauty of their women.  The charming fable of the loves of Venus and
Mars, described by the most ancient of poets, expresses allegorically,
this truth.  All the demi-gods had their amorous adventures; the most
valiant were always the most passionate and the happiest.  Hercules took
the maidenheads of fifty girls, in a single night.  Thesus loved a
thousand beauties, and slept with them.  Jason abandoned Hypsipyle for
Medea, and her, for Creusa.  Achilles, the swift of foot, forgot the
tender Deidamia in the arms of his Briseis.

It has been remarked that the lovers did not have very scrupulous tastes
in their methods of attaining satisfaction from the women they loved.
The most common method was abduction and the women always submitted to
this without a murmur of any sort.  Helen was carried off by Theseus,
after having also been abducted by Paris.  The wife of Atreus was
abducted by Thyestus, and from that arose the implacable hatred between
the two families.  Rape was no less common.  Goddesses themselves and the
favorites of the Gods were at the risk of falling prey to strong mortals.
Pirithous, aided by Theseus, even attempted to snatch Proserpina from the
God of the under-world.  Juno herself was compelled to painful submission
to the pursuit of Ixion, and Thetis succumbed despite herself, to the
assaults of Peleus.  The gift of foretelling the future, with which
Apollo endowed Cassandra, did not insure her against the brutal caresses
of Ajax, son of Oileus.

In the infancy of society, there was never known any other distinction
except between the weak and the strong: the strong commanded and the weak
obeyed.  For that reason, women were regarded in the light of beings
destined by nature, to serve the pleasures and even the caprices of men.
Never did her suitors express a tender thought for Penelope, and, instead
of making love to her, they squandered her property, slept with her
slaves, and took charge of things in her house.

Circe gave herself to Ulysses who desired to slay her, and Calypso, full
blown goddess as she was, was obliged to make his advances for him.  The
fine sentiments that Virgil puts into the mouth of the shade of Creusa,
content with having died while serving against the Greeks, “she was a
Trojan, and she wedded the son of Venus”; the confession with which
Andromache, confronted by the murderer of her first husband, responds to
the question of AEneas; these ideas, I say, and these sentiments,
appertained to the polished century of Augustus and not to the epoch or,
scene of the Trojan War.  Virgil, in his AEneid, had never subscribed to
the precepts of Horace, and of common sense:

          Aut famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge
                                             Horace Ars Poet. 119.

From this manner of dealing with women arose another reason for the
possession of beauty by the valiant.  One coveted a woman much as one
would covet a fine flock of sheep, and, in the absence of laws, the one
in possession of either the one or the other of these desirable objects
would soon be dispossessed of them if he was not courageous enough to
guard them against theft.  Wars were as much enterprises for ravishing
women as they were for taking other property, and one should remember
that Agamemnon promised to retire from before Troy if the Trojans would
restore Helen and his riches to Menelaus; things which Paris had
despoiled him of.

Also, there was never any of that thing we call “conjugal honor” among
the Greeks; that idea was far too refined; it was a matter too complex
ever to have entered the heads of these semi-barbarous people.  This is
exemplified in the fact that, after the taking of Troy, Helen, who had,
of her own free will, belonged successively to Paris, and to Deiphobus,
afterwards returned to Menelaus, who never offered her any reproach.
That conduct of Menelaus was so natural that Telemachus, who, in his trip
to Sparta found Helen again with Menelaus, just as she was before her
abduction, did not show the least astonishment.

The books which bear the most remarkable resemblance to each other are
the Bible and Homer, because the people they describe and the men about
whom they speak are forerunners of civilization in pretty much the same
degree.  Sarah was twice snatched from the bosom of Abraham and he was
never displeased with his wife and continued to live on good terms with
her.  David, a newcomer on the throne, hastened to have Michol brought to
him although she had already married another man.

The best proof that, during the time of the Romans the women preferred
soldiers to other men is in the claims to successful enterprises by the
bragging soldier of Plautus.  Pyrgopolinices thought it was only
necessary to pose as a great warrior, to have all the women chasing after
him; therefore, his parasite and his slave spoke of nothing but the
passions be inspired in women.  Tradition has it that among the Samnites,
the bravest men had the choice of the fairest women, and to this custom
is attributed one of the reasons these people were so warlike.

In the times of chivalry the greatest exploits were achieved for the
pleasure of one’s Lady-Love, and there were even such valiant knights, as
Don Quixote, who went about the world proving by force of arms that their
ladies had no peer.  The poverty-stricken troubadours singing
harmoniously about their beautiful women found them flying away in the
arms of knights who had broken lances at tournaments, or had performed
the greatest feats of arms.  In fine, all the peoples of the world have
said with Dryden:

               “None but the brave deserves the fair.”


          Ses camarades se saisissent de moi et de Quartilla.
          His comrades seized hold of Quartilla and me.

The profession of Quartilla corresponded to that which is followed by
our ladies of the Palace Royal.  This Palace Royal is a sort of Babylon,
with this difference; that the former prostitute themselves all the year
round, and that they are not quite so attractive as the Chaldean
beauties.  For the rest, one of the incontestable facts of ancient
history is this prostitution of the women of Babylon in honor of Venus,
and I cannot understand why Voltaire refused to believe it, since
religions have always been responsible for the most abominable actions,
and because religious wars, the horrors of intolerance, the impostures of
priests, the despotism of kings, the degradation and stupidity of the
people, have been the direct fatal effects of religions; and seeing that
the blind fanaticism of martyrs and the brutal cruelty of tyrants is a
hundred times more deplorable than a sacrifice equally agreeable to the
victim and to the one who officiates at the sacrifice; and seeing that
the enjoyment and giving of life is no less holy than the maceration and
caging of innocent animals.

The origin of courtesans is lost in the deepest antiquity.  It appears
that it was one of the patriarchal customs to enjoy them, for Judah slept
with Thamar, widow of his two sons, and who, to seduce him, disguised
herself as a courtesan.  Another courtesan, Rahab, played a great role in
the first wars of the people of the Lord: it was this same Rahab who
married Solomon, father of Boaz, fourth forefather of David, and
thirty-second forefather of Jesus Christ, our divine Savior.  Yet the
eternal sagacity of man has failed to take notice of this profession and
to resent the injustice done it by the scorn of men.  The elected kings
of the people, the man who adopts the word father according to the
flesh, are descendants of a courtesan.

For the rest, it must be admitted that many who follow this noble
profession are unworthy of it and only too well justify the ignominy
which is levelled against the entire class.  You see these miserable
creatures with livid complexions and haggard eyes, with voices of
Stentor, breathing out at the same time the poisons which circulate in
their veins and the liquors with which they are intoxicated; you see on
their blemished and emaciated bodies, the marks of beings more hideous
than they (twenty come to satisfy their brutal passions for every one of
them); you listen to their vile language, you hear their oaths and
revolting expressions: to go to these Megeres is often to encounter
brigands and assassins: what a spectacle!  It is the deformity of vice
in the rags of indigence.

Ah!  But these are not courtesans, they are the dregs of cities.  A
courtesan worthy of the name is a beautiful woman, gracious and amiable,
at whose home gather men of letters and men of the world; the first
magistrates, the greatest captains: and who keeps men of all professions
in a happy state of mind because she is pleasing to them, she inspires in
them a desire for reciprocal pleasure: such an one was Aspasia who, after
having charmed the cultured people of Athens was for a long time the good
companion of Pericles, and contributed much, perhaps, towards making his
century what it was, the age of taste in arts and letters.  Such an
one also was Phryne, Lais, Glycera, and their names will always be
celebrated; such, also, was Ninon d’Enclos, one of the ornaments of
the century of Louis XIV, and Clairon, the first who realized all the
grandeur of her art; such an one art thou, C-----, French Thalia, who
commands attentions, I do not say this by way of apology but to share the
opinion of Alceste.

A courtesan such as I have in mind may have all the public and private
virtues.  One knows the severe probity of Ninon, her generosity, her
taste for the arts, her attachment to her friends.  Epicharis, the soul
of the conspiracy of Piso against the execrable Nero, was a courtesan,
and the severe Tacitus, who cannot be taxed with a partiality for
gallantry, has borne witness to the constancy with which she resisted the
most seductive promises and endured the most terrible tortures, without
revealing any of the details of the conspiracy or any of the names of the

These facts should be recognized above that ascetic moral idea which
consists of the sovereign virtue of abstinence in defiance of nature’s
commands and which places weakness in these matters along with the most
odious crimes.  Can one see without indignation Suetonius’ reproach of
Caesar for his gallantries with Servilia, with Tertia, and other Roman
ladies, as a thing equal to his extortions and his measureless ambitions,
and praising his warlike ardor against peoples who had never furnished
room for complaint to Rome?  The source of these errors was the theory of
emanations.  The first dreamers, who were called philosophers imagined
that matter and light were co-eternal; they supposed that was all one
unformed and tenebrous mass; and from the former they established the
principle of evil and of all imperfection, while they regarded the latter
as sovereign perfection.  Creation, or, one might better say
co-ordination, was only the emanation of light which penetrated chaos,
but the mixture of light and matter was the cause of all the inevitable
imperfections of the universe.  The soul of man was part and parcel of
divinity or of increased light; it would never attain happiness until it
was re-united to the source of all light; but for it, we would be free
from all things we call gross and material, and we would be taken into
the ethereal regions by contemplation and by abstinence from the
pleasures of the flesh.  When these absurdities were adopted for the
regulation of conduct, they necessarily resulted in a fierce morality,
inimical to all the pleasures of life, such, in a word, as that of the
Gymnosophists or, in a lesser measure, of the Trappists.

But despite the gloomy nonsense of certain atrabilious dreamers, the
wonderful era of the Greeks was that of the reign of the courtesans.
It was about the houses of these that revolved the sands of Pactolus,
their fame exceeded that of the first men of Greece.  The rich offerings
that decorated the temples of the Gods were the gifts of these women,
and it must be remembered that most of them were foreigners, originating,
for the most part, in Asia Minor.  It happened that an Athenian
financier, who resembled the rest of his tribe as much as two drops of
water, proposed once to levy an impost upon the courtesans.  As he spoke
eloquently of the incalculable advantages which would accrue to the
Government by this tax, a certain person asked him by whom the courtesans
were paid.  “By the Athenians,” replied our orator, after deliberation.
“Then it would be the Athenians who would pay the impost,” replied the
questioner, and the people of Athens, who had a little more sense than
certain legislative assemblies, hooted the orator down, and there was
never any more question about a tax upon courtesans.

Corinth was famous for the number and beauty of its courtesans, from
which comes the proverb: “It is not given to every man to go to Corinth”;
there they ran the risk of losing their money and ruining their health.
The cause of this great vogue of courtesans in Greece was not the
supposed ugliness of the sex, as the savant Paw imagined, and
contradicted by the unanimous evidence of ancient authors and of modern
travellers; but rather, the retired and solitary life which the women of
the country led.  They lived in separate apartments and never had any
communication with the streets or with the residences of men “the inner
part of the house which was called the women’s apartments,” said
Cornelius Nepos (preface).  Strangers never visited them; they rarely
visited their nearest relations.  This was why marriage between brothers
and sisters was authorized by law and encouraged by usage; the sisters
were exposed to the attacks of their brothers because they lived
separated from them.

With the Romans, as with us, the virtuous women corrupted somewhat the
profession of the courtesans.  The absolute seclusion of women was never
the fashion at Rome and the stories we have on the authority of Valerius
Maximus on the chastity and modesty of the first Roman matrons merit the
same degree of belief as the legend of Romulus and Remus being brought up
by a wolf, the rape of Lucretia or the tragic death of Virginia.  On the
contrary, in Livy, a great admirer of the customs of the early days of
Rome, we find that in those times a great number of Roman women of the
noblest families were convicted of having poisoned their husbands and
condemned to death for this hideous crime: that, by no means shows a very
exquisite and tender conjugal sentiment.  During the period of the second
Punic War with what energy they went about the city seeking the repeal of
the law which took out of their hands the custody of jewels and precious
stones!  A repeal which they obtained despite the opposition of Cato the
Censor.  It appears that the profession of the courtesan was generally
practised by the freed-women; their manner necessarily showed the results
of their education.  But the young sparks of Rome never paid much
attention to them, they preferred to have love affairs with the wives of
their friends.  For one Sallust who ruined himself with freedwomen, there
were five Cupienniuses; “Cupiennius, that admirer of the pudenda garbed
in white,” Hor. Sat. I, ii, 36.  Delia, Lesbia, Ipsythillia, Corinna,
Nemesis, Neeria, Cynthia, Sulpitia, Lycimnia, and almost all the women to
whom, under real or assumed names, Catullus, Tibullus, Propertius, Ovid,
Horace, and others, addressed their erotic compositions, were Roman
married women.  Horace is the only one who celebrated a freedwoman in
some of his odes.  This is due, however, to his taste for variety and
perhaps also, to his birth, for he himself was the son of a freedwoman.
Ovid’s Art of Love and the Satires of Juvenal reveal the extent to which
gallantry was the fashion at Rome and Cato would never have praised the
conduct of that young man who had recourse to a public house if that had
been an ordinary course of procedure.

In Europe of the middle ages, the priests and abbots helped to some
extent in reviving the profession of the courtesans.  Long before, Saint
Paul had stated in his Epistles that it was permitted to the apostles
of the Lord to take with them everywhere a sister for charity.  The
deaconesses date from the first century of the church.  But the celibacy
of the clergy was not universally and solidly established until about the
eleventh century, under the pontificate of Gregory VII.  During the
preceding century, the celebrated Marozie and Theodore had put their
lovers successively upon the chair of St. Peter, and their sons and
grandsons, as well.  But after the priests had submitted to celibacy they
ostensibly took the concubines of which, alas!  our housekeepers of today
are but feeble vestiges.  The Spanish codes of the middle ages were often
concerned with the rights of the concubines of priests (mancebas de los
clerigos) and these chosen ones of the chosen ones of the Lord invariably
appeared worthy of envy.  Finally the courtesans appeared in all their
magnificence in the Holy City, and modern Rome atoned for the rebuffs and
indignities these women had been compelled to endure in ancient Rome.
The princes of the church showered them with gifts, they threw at their
feet the price of redemption from sin, paid by the faithful, and the age
of Leo X was for Rome a wonderful epoch of fine arts, belles lettres, and
beautiful women.  But a fanatical monk from Lower Germany fell upon this
calm of the church and this happy era of the harlots; since then the
revenues of the sacred college have continued to decrease, the beautiful
courtesans have abandoned the capital of the Christian world, and their
pleasures have fled with them.  And can anyone longer believe in the
perfection of the human race, since the best, the most holy of human
institutions has so visibly degenerated!


     Le Soldat ordonne a embasicetas de m’accabler de ses impurs baisers.

     The soldier ordered the catamite to beslaver me with his stinking

One of the reasons which caused the learned and paradoxical Hardouin to
assert that all the works which have been attributed to the ancients,
with the exception of the Georgics and the Natural History of Pliny, were
the compositions of monks, was doubtless the very frequent repetition of
scenes of love for boys, which one notices in most of these writings:
this savant was a Jesuit.  But this taste is not peculiar to convents; it
is to be found among all peoples and in all climates; its origin is lost
in the night of the centuries; it is common in the most polished nations
and it is common among savage tribes.  Profound philosophers have argued
in favor of it; poets have sung the objects of this sort of love in their
tender and passionate compositions, and these compositions have always
been the delight of posterity.  What stupid or unfeeling reader can read
without emotion that beautiful eclogue of Virgil where Corydon sighs his
hopeless love for the beautiful Alexis?  The most passionate ode of
Horace is that one in which he complains of the harshness of Ligurinus.
The tender Tibullus, deceived by his Marathus, brings tears to all who
have hearts.  The delicate Anacreon, praising his Bathylle, and the
valiant Alceus giving himself up after his labors in war to sing of the
dark eyes and black hair of Lycus .  .  .  “with dark eyes and black hair
beautiful.”  It is not to over-civilized refinements of society which,
according to certain misanthropists, degrade nature and corrupt it, that
this taste is due; it is found among the south sea islanders, and the
evidence of the first Spaniards attests that it was common among the
hordes of American Indians before the discovery of the new world.  Paw
had attempted to explain this as resulting from defects in the formation
of the organs of pleasure among the natives; but a peculiar cause is not
sufficient explanation for a universal effect.

At the time of the Patriarchs, Greek love was so general that in the four
cities, Sodom, Gomorrah, Adama, and Seboim, it was impossible to find ten
men exempt from the contagion; that number would have sufficed, said the
Lord, to withhold the punishment which he inflicted upon those cities.

It should be noted here that most of the assertions about the morals of
the Israelites which are to be found in the Erotica Biblon of Mirabeau
are either false or pure guesswork.  It is a bizarre method of judging
the morals of a people, that of taking their legal code and inferring
that the people were accustomed to break all the laws which are forbidden
by that code.  Nevertheless, that is the method which the author of the
Erotica Biblon adopts for portraying the morals of the Jewish people.
Again, he has not even understood this code; he has believed that the law
against giving one’s seed to the idol Moloch meant giving the human
semen; and he is ignorant of the fact that this seed, as spoken of in the
Bible, means the children and descendants.  Thus it is that the land of
Canaan is promised to the seed of Abraham, and the perpetuity of the
reign on Sion to that of David.  Moloch was a Phoenician deity, the same
one to which, in Carthage, they sacrificed children; the Romans believed
him to be a reincarnation of their Saturn, but Saturn was an Etruscan
divinity who could never have had any connection with the Gods of
Phoenicia.  He (Mirabeau) has translated “those who polluted the temple”
 as meaning those who were guilty of some obscenity in the temple; and he
does not know that the temple was “polluted” by a thousand acts, declared
impure by law, and which were not obscene.  The entrance of a woman into
a sacred place, less than forty days after her accouchement, or the
entrance of a man who had touched an impure animal, constituted a
pollution of the House of the Lord.  When one wishes to make a parade of
erudition he should make some attempt to understand the things which he
pretends to make clear to others.  Or is it that this Mirabeau was merely

The love of boys was so thoroughly the fashion in Greece that we have
today given it the name “Greek Love.”  Orestes was regarded as the “good
friend” of Pylades and Patroclus as the lover of Achilles.  In this
taste, the Gods set the example for mortals, and the abduction of
Ganymede for the service of the master of thunder, was not the least
cause for annoyance given the chaste but over-prudish Juno.  Lastly,
Hercules was not content with the loves of Omphale and Dejanira, he also
loved the beautiful Hylas, who was brought up by the nymphs.

The Greeks boasted, without blushing, of this love, which they considered
the only passion worthy of men, and they did blush at loving a woman,
intimacy with whom, they said, only rendered her adorers soft and
effeminate.  In the Dialogue of Plato, entitled “The Banquet,” which is
concerned entirely with discussions of the various forms of love, they
dismiss love for women as unworthy of occupying the attention of sensible
men.  One of the speakers, I believe it was Aristophanes, explaining the
cause of this fire which we kindle in the bosoms of our loved ones,
affirms that the first men were doubles which multiplied their force and
their power.  This, they abused and, as punishment, Jupiter struck them
with lightning and separated them.  By their love for each other they
came together again to regain their primitive state.  But the effeminates
sought out only the women because they were only half men, half women;
while those whose tastes were masculine and courageous wanted to become
double men again.

Phedre has put into the mouth of AEsop an explanation of that love which
would certainly not have been relished by the Greeks.  He says that while
Prometheus was occupied with modelling his man and woman, he was invited
to a feast given by Jupiter, to the Gods; he came back intoxicated and,
by mistake, applied the sexual parts of one to the body of the other.

For the rest, the Greeks were all in accord in their profound contempt
for women.  The theatrical writers, especially, who studied more
particularly the general opinions and catered to them in order to obtain
the applause of the public, were distinguished by their bitterness
against the sex.  Euripides maintained that Prometheus deserved to be
chained to Mount Caucasus with the vulture gnawing at his entrails,
because he had fashioned a being so pernicious and hateful as woman.  The
shade of Agamemnon, in the Odyssey advised Ulysses not to put any faith
in Penelope and did not stop talking until he had enumerated the entire
list of the vices of the sex.  The first Latin authors imitated the
Greeks in their invectives against women; the comedies of Plautus,
especially, teem with virulent attacks upon them.

At Rome, however, the great freedom permitted to women, soon brought
about other opinions in regard to them; they often played an important
role in public and private affairs, and the men convinced themselves
that, like men, women were capable of the greatest crimes and of the most
heroic virtues.  The noble stoicism of Arria is not the only example of
courageous virtue displayed by the Roman women at a time when crowned
monsters governed the empire.  The young Paulina opened her veins with
her husband, the philosopher, Seneca; Mallonia preferred to die in
torments rather than give herself up to the odious he-goat of Capri.
Who does not admire the noble independence, the conjugal love, and the
matronly virtues of Agrippina, the wife of Germanicus?

Moreover, men began to avow their love for women, and we have here
occasion to observe the rapid progress of gallantry among the Romans.
However, the love for boys was no less universally in vogue in Rome, and
Cicero charges, in his letters to Atticus, that the judges who had so
scandalously white-washed Clodius of the accusation of having profaned
the mysteries of the “Good Goddess,” had been publicly promised the
favors of the most illustrious women and the finest young men of the
first families.  Caesar himself, in his early youth had yielded to the
embraces of Nicomedes, King of Bithynia; moreover, after his triumph over
the Gauls, on the solemn occasion when it was customary to twit the
victor with all his faults, the soldiers sang: “Caesar subdued the Gauls,
Nicomedes subdued Caesar.  But Caesar who subdued the Gauls, triumphed,
and Nicomedes, who subdued Caesar did not.”  Cato said of him that he was
loved by the King, in his youth and that, when he was older, he loved the
queen and, one day, in the senate, while he was dwelling on I know not
what request of the daughter of Nicomedes, and recounting the benefits
which Rome owed to that monarch, Cicero silenced him by replying: “We
know very well what he has given, and what thou hast given him!”  At
last, during the time when the first triumvirate divided all the power,
a bad joker remarked to Pompey: “I salute thee, O King,” and, addressing
Caesar, “I salute thee, O Queen!”  His enemies maintained that he was the
husband of all the women and the wife of all the husbands.  Catullus, who
detested him, always called him “the bald catamite,” in his epigrams: he
set forth that his friendship with Mamurra was not at all honorable; he
called this Mamurra “pathicus,” a name which they bestowed upon those who
looked for favors among mature men or among men who had passed the stage
of adolescence.

The masters of the empire never showed any hesitancy in trying and even
in overdoing the pleasures which all their subjects permitted themselves.
Alas!  A crown is such a weighty burden!  The road of domination is
strewn with so many briars that one would never be able to pass down it
if he did not take care that they were pressed down under the roses.  The
Roman emperors adopted that plan; they longed for pleasures and they took
the pleasures which offered themselves without delay and in a spirit of
competition.  Caligula was so little accustomed to waiting that, while
occupied in offering a sacrifice to the Gods, and the figure of a priest
having pleased him, he did not take time to finish the sacred ceremonies
before taking his pleasure of him.

A remarkable thing is that among almost all peoples, the baths are the
places where the prostitution of men by their own sex is the most common.
We see in Catullus that the “cinaedi” (catamites), a noun which my chaste
pen refuses to translate into French, haunted the baths incessantly to
carry out their practices.  Among the Orientals, of all modern peoples
who have retained this taste most generally, this same fact holds good.
It was at the bath that Tiberius, impotent through old age and
debauchery, was made young again by the touch little children applied to
his breasts; these children he called “‘little fishes,” they sucked his
withered breasts, his infected mouth, his livid lips, and finally his
virile parts.  Hideous spectacle of a tyrant disgraced by nature and
struggling against her maledictions!  But in vain did he invent new
pleasures, in vain did he take part in these scenes in which groups of
young men by threes and fours assumed all sorts of lascivious postures,
and were at the same time active and passive; the sight of these
indulgences of the “sprintriae” (for that is the name which was given
there) did not enable him to resuscitate his vigor any more than the
glamor of the throne or the servile submission of the senate served to
mitigate his remorse.

But of all the emperors, the ones who carried their taste for young boys
to the greatest lengths were, Nero, Domitian and Hadrian.  The first
publicly wedded the young eunuch Sporus, whom he had had operated upon so
that he might serve him like a young woman.  He paid court to the boy as
he would to a woman and another of his favorites dressed himself up in a
veil and imitated the lamentations which women were accustomed to utter
on nuptial nights.  The second consecrated the month of September to his
favorite and the third loved Antinous passionately and caused him to be
deified after death.

The most ample proof of the universality of the taste for young boys
among the Romans is found in the Epithalamium of Manilius and Julia, by
Catullus, and it might be cause for surprise that this has escaped all
the philologists, were it not a constant thing that men frequently
reading about these centuries fail to perceive the most palpable facts
in their authors, just as they pass over the most striking phenomena of
nature without observing them.  It appears, from this epithalamium, that
young men, before their marriage, had a favorite selected from among
their slaves and that this favorite was charged with the distribution of
nuts among his comrades, on the day, they in turn, treated him with
contempt and hooted him.  Here follows an exact translation of this
curious bit.  The favorite could not refuse the nuts to the slaves when
by giving them it appeared that he owned that his master had put away his
love for hire.

              “Lest longer mute tongue stays that
                 In festal jest, from Fescennine,
               Nor yet deny their nuts to boys,
                 He-Concubine! who learns in fine
                   His lordling’s love is fled.

               Throw nuts to boys thou idle all
                 He-Concubine! wast fain full long
               With nuts to play: now pleased as thrall
                 Be thou to swell Talasios’ throng
                   He-Concubine throw nuts.

               Wont thou as peasant-girls to jape
                 He-whore! Thy Lord’s delight the while:
               Now shall hair-curling chattel scrape
                 Thy cheeks: poor wretch, ah’ poor and vile:--
                   He-Concubine, throw nuts.”

and further on, addressing the husband:

             “‘Tis said from smooth-faced ingle train
               (Anointed bridegroom!) hardly fain
               Hast e’er refrained; now do refrain!
                 O Hymen Hymenaeus io,
                   O Hymen Hymenaeus!

               We know that naught save licit rites
               Be known to thee, but wedded wights
               No more deem lawful such delights.
                 O Hymen Hymenaeus io,
                   O Hymen Hymenaeus.”
                                         (LXI.  Burton, tr.)

The Christian religion strongly prohibits this love; the theologians put
it among the sins which directly offend against the Holy Ghost.  I have
not the honor of knowing just why this thing arouses his anger so much
more than anything else; doubtless there are reasons.  But the wrath of
this honest person has not prevented the Christians from having their
“pathici,” just as they have in countries where they are authorized by
the reigning deities.  We have even noticed that they are the priests of
the Lord and especially the monks who practice this profession most
generally amongst us.  The children of Loyola have acquired well-merited
renown in this matter: when they painted “Pleasure” they never failed to
represent him wearing trousers.  Those disciples of Joseph Calasanz who
took their places in the education of children, followed their footsteps
with zeal and fervor.  Lastly, the cardinals, who have a close
acquaintance with the Holy Ghost, are so prejudiced in favor of Greek
love that they have made it the fashion in the Holy City of Rome; this
leads me to wonder whether the Holy Ghost has changed His mind in regard
to this matter and is no longer shocked by it; or whether the theologians
were not mistaken in assuming an aversion against sodomy which He never
had.  The cardinals who are on such familiar terms with him would know
better than to give all their days over to this pleasure if He really
objected to it.

I shall terminate this over-long note with an extract from a violent
diatribe against this love which Lucian puts into the mouth of Charicles.
He is addressing Callicratidas, a passionate lover of young boys, with
whom he had gone to visit the temple of Venus at Cnidus.

“O Venus, my queen!  to thee I call; lend me your aid while I plead your
cause.  For everything over which you deign to shed, be it ever so
little, the persuasion of your charms, reaches absolute perfection, above
all, erotic discourses need your presence, for you are their lawful
mother.  In your womanhood, defend the cause of woman, and grant to men
to remain men as they have been born.  At the beginning of my discourse,
I call as witness to the truth of my arguments the first mother of all
created things, the source of all generation, the holy Nature of this
universe, who, gathering into one and uniting the elements of the
world--earth, air, fire and water--and mingling them together, gave life
to everything that breathes.  Knowing that we are a compound of
perishable matter, and that the span of life assigned to each of us was
short, she contrived that the death of one should be the birth of
another, and meted out to the dying, by way of compensation, the coming
into being of others, that by mutual succession we might live forever.
But, as it was impossible for anything to be born from a single thing
alone, she created two different sexes, and bestowed upon the male the
power of emitting semen, making the female the receptacle of generation.
Having inspired both with mutual desires, she joined them together,
ordaining, as a sacred law of necessity, that each sex should remain
faithful to its own nature--that the female should not play the male
unnaturally, nor the male degrade himself by usurping the functions of
the female.  Thus intercourse of men with women has preserved the human
race by never-ending succession: no man can boast of having been created
by man alone; two venerable names are held in equal honor, and men
revere their mother equally with their father.  At first, when men were
filled with heroic thoughts, they reverenced those virtues which bring
us nearer to the Gods, obeyed the laws of Nature, and, united to women
of suitable age, became the sires of noble offspring.  But, by degrees,
human life, degenerating from that nobility of sentiment, sank to the
lowest depths of pleasure, and began to carve out strange and corrupt
ways in the search after enjoyment.  Then sensuality, daring all,
violated the laws of Nature herself.  Who was it who first looked upon
the male as female, violating him by force or villainous persuasion?
One sex entered one bed, and men had the shamelessness to look at one
another without a blush for what they did or for what they submitted to,
and, sowing seed, as it were, upon barren rocks, they enjoyed a
short-lived pleasure at the cost of undying shame.

“Some pushed their cruelty so far as to outrage Nature with the
sacrilegious knife, and, after depriving men of their virility, found in
them the height of pleasure.  These miserable and unhappy creatures, that
they may the longer serve the purposes of boys, are stunted in their
manhood, and remain a doubtful riddle of a double sex, neither preserving
that boyhood in which they were born, nor possessing that manhood which
should be theirs.  The bloom of their youth withers away in a premature
old age: while yet boys they suddenly become old, without any interval of
manhood.  For impure sensuality, the mistress of every vice, devising one
shameless pleasure after another, insensibly plunges into unmentionable
debauchery, experienced in every form of brutal lust.  Whereas, if each
would abide by the laws prescribed by Providence, we should be satisfied
with intercourse with women, and our lives would be undefiled by shameful
practices.  Consider the animals, which cannot corrupt by innate
viciousness, how they observe the law of Nature in all its purity.
He-lions do not lust after he-lions, but, in due season, passion excites
them towards the females of their species: the bull that rules the herd
mounts cows, and the ram fills the whole flock of ewes with the seed of
generation.  Again, boars mate with sows, he-wolves with shewolves,
neither the birds that fly through the air, nor the fish that inhabit the
deep, or any living creatures upon earth desire male intercourse, but
amongst them the laws of Nature remain unbroken.  But you men, who boast
idly of your wisdom, but are in reality worthless brutes, what strange
disease provokes you to outrage one another unnaturally?  What blind
folly fills your minds, that you commit the two-fold error of avoiding
what you should pursue, and pursuing what you should avoid?  If each and
all were to pursue such evil courses, the race of human beings would
become extinct on earth.  And here comes in that wonderful Socratic
argument, whereby the minds of boys, as yet unable to reason clearly, are
deceived, for a ripe intellect could not be misled.  These followers of
Socrates pretend to love the soul alone, and, being ashamed to profess
love for the person, call themselves lovers of virtue, whereat I have
often been moved to laughter.  How comes it, O grave philosophers, that
you hold in such slight regard a man who, during a long life, has given
proofs of merit, and of that virtue which old age and white hairs become?
How is it that the affections of the philosophers are all in a flutter
after the young; who cannot yet make up their minds which path of life to
take?  Is there a law, then, that all ugliness is to be condemned as
vice, and that everything that is beautiful is to be extolled without
further examination?  But, according to Homer, the great interpreter of
truth--‘One man is meaner than another in looks, but God crowns his words
with beauty, and his hearers gaze upon him with delight, while he speaks
unfalteringly with winning modesty, and is conspicuous amongst the
assembled folk, who look upon him as a God when he walks through the
city.’  And again he says: ‘Your beauteous form is destitute of
intelligence; the wise Ulysses is praised more highly than the handsome
Nireus.’  How then comes it that the love of wisdom, justice, and the
other virtues, which are the heritage of the full-grown man, possess no
attraction for you, while the beauty of boys excites the most vehement
passion!  What! should one love Phoedrus, remembering Lysias, whom he
betrayed?  Could one love the beauty of Alcibiades, who mutilated the
statues of the Gods, and, in the midst of a debauch, betrayed the
mysteries of the rites of Eleusis?  Who would venture to declare himself
his admirer, after Athens was abandoned, and Decelea fortified by the
enemy--the admirer of one whose sole aim in life was tyranny?  But, as
the divine Plato says, as long as his chin was beardless, he was beloved
by all; but, when he passed from boyhood to manhood, when his imperfect
intelligence had reached its maturity, he was hated by all.  Why, then,
giving modest names to immodest sentiments, do men call personal beauty
virtue, being in reality lovers of youth rather than lovers of wisdom?
However, it is not my intention to speak evil of distinguished men.  But,
to descend from graver topics to the mere question of enjoyment, I will
prove that connection with women is far more enjoyable than connection
with boys.  In the first place, the longer enjoyment lasts, the more
delight it affords; too rapid pleasure passes quickly away, and it is
over before it is thoroughly appreciated; but, if it lasts, it is thereby
enhanced.  Would to heaven that grudging Destiny had allotted us a longer
lease of life, and that we could enjoy perpetual health without any
sorrow to spoil our pleasure; then would our life be one continual feast.
But, since jealous Fortune has grudged us greater blessings, those
enjoyments that last the longest are the sweetest.  Again, a woman, from
puberty to middle age, until the last wrinkles furrow her face, is worth
embracing and fit for intercourse; and, even though the prime of her
beauty be past, her experience can speak more eloquently than the love of

“I should consider anyone who attempted to have intercourse with a youth
of twenty years to be the slave of unnatural lust.  The limbs of such,
like those of a man, are hard and coarse; their chins, formerly so
smooth, are rough and bristly, and their well-grown thighs are disfigured
with hairs.  As for their other parts, I leave those of you who have
experience to decide.  On the other hand, a woman’s charms are always
enhanced by an attractive complexion, flowing locks, dark as hyacinths,
stream down her back and adorn her shoulders, or fall over her ears and
temples, more luxuriant than the parsley in the fields.  The rest of her
person, without a hair upon it, shines more brilliantly than amber or
Sidonian crystal.  Why should we not pursue those pleasures which are
mutual, which cause equal enjoyment to those who receive and to those who
afford them?  For we are not, like animals, fond of solitary lives, but,
united in social relations, we consider these pleasures sweeter, and
those pains easier to bear, which we share with others.  Hence, a common
table was instituted, the mediator of friendship.  When we minister to
the wants of the belly, we do not drink Thasian wine, or consume costly
food by ourselves alone, but in company: for our pleasures and enjoyments
are increased when shared with others.  In like manner, the intercourse
of men with women causes enjoyment to each in turn, and both are alike
delighted; unless we accept the judgment of Tiresias, who declared that
the woman’s pleasure was twice as great as the man’s.  I think that those
who are not selfish should not consider how they may best secure the
whole enjoyment for themselves, but should share what they have with
others.  Now, in the case of boys, no one would be mad enough to assert
that this is the case; for, while he who enjoys their person reaches the
height of pleasure--at least, according to his way of thinking--the
object of his passion at first feels pain, even to tears, but when, by
repetition, the pain becomes less keen, while he no longer hurts him, he
will feel no pleasure himself.  To mention something still more curious
--as is fitting within the precincts of Venus--you may make the same use
of a woman as of a boy, and thereby open a double avenue to enjoyment;
but the male can never afford the same enjoyment as the female.

“Therefore, if you are convinced by my arguments, let us, men and women,
keep ourselves apart, as if a wall divided us; but, if it is becoming for
men to have intercourse with men, for the future let women have
intercourse with women.  Come, O new generation, inventor of strange
pleasures!  As you have devised new methods to satisfy male lust, grant
the same privilege to women; let them have intercourse with one another
like men, girding themselves with the infamous instruments of lust, an
unholy imitation of a fruitless union; in a word, let our wanton Tribads
reign unchecked, and let our women’s chambers be disgraced by
hermaphrodites.  Far better that a woman, in the madness of her lust,
should usurp the nature of a man, than that man’s noble nature should be
so degraded as to play the woman!”


          Embasicetas fut bientot au comble de ses voeux.
          The Catamite soon reached the height of his passion.

The theologians class this species of lascivious feeling with pollution
which is complete when it produces a result.  The Holy Scripture tells us
of Onan, son of Judas, grandson of Jacob, and husband of Thamar, who was
slain by the Lord because he spilled his semen, “he poured his semen upon
the ground.”  We may be reproached, perhaps, for citing the Holy Bible
too frequently, but that book contains the knowledge of salvation, and
those who wish to be saved should not fail to study it with assiduity.
That this study has occupied a good part of our life, we admit, and we
have always found that study profitable.  To vigorous minds that
admission may seem ridiculous, but we are writing only for pious souls,
and they will willingly applaud this courageous profession of our piety.

The theologians have also classified onanism and pollution among the sins
against the Holy Ghost, and this being the case, there is no being in the
world who has been sinned against so often.  A medium indulgence in this
sin furnished the pleasure of a queen, the severity of one Lucretia does
not repel a thousand Tarquins.  Men with vivid imaginations create for
themselves a paradise peopled with the most beautiful houris, more
seductive than those of Mahomet; Lycoris had a beautiful body but it was
unfeeling; the imagination of her lover pictured her as falling before
his caresses, he led her by the hand over pressed flowers, through a
thick grove and along limpid streams; in that sweet reverie his life
slipped by.

     Here icy cold fountains, here flower covered meadows, Lycoris;
     Here shady groves; life itself here would I dream out with thee.

                                        Virgil Bucol.  Ecl.  X, 41.

In the minds of the theologians pollution is synonymous with all
pleasures with persons of the opposite or the same sex, which result in a
waste of the elixir of life.  In this sense, love between woman and woman
is pollution and Sappho is a sinner against the Holy Ghost.

(Notwithstanding), however (these caprices of the third person of the
trinity) I cannot see why pleasure should be regulated, or why a woman
who has surveyed all the charms of a young girl of eighteen years should
give herself up to the rude embraces of a man.  What comparisons can be
made between those red lips, that mouth which breathes pleasure for the
first time, those snowy and purplous cheeks whose velvet smoothness is
like the Venus flower, half in bloom, that new-born flesh which
palpitates softly with desire and voluptuousness, that hand which you
press so delicately, those round thighs, those plastic buttocks, that
voice sweet and touching,--what comparison can be made between all this
and pronounced features, rough beard, hard breast, hairy body, and the
strong disagreeable voice of man?  Juvenal has wonderfully expended all
his bile in depicting, as hideous scenes, these mysteries of the Bona
Dea, where the young and beautiful Roman women, far from the eyes of men,
give themselves up to mutual caresses.  Juvenal has painted the eyes of
the Graces with colors which are proper to the Furies; his tableau,
moreover, revolts one instead of doing good.

The only work of Sappho’s which remains to us is an ode written to one of
her loved ones and from it we may judge whether the poetess merited her
reputation.  It has been translated into all languages; Catullus put it
into Latin and Boileau into French.  Here follows an imitation of that of

               Peer of a God meseemeth he,
               Nay passing Gods (and that can be!)
               Who all the while sits facing thee
               Sees thee and hears
               Thy low sweet laughs which (ah me!) daze
               Mine every sense, and as I gaze
               Upon thee (Lesbia!) o’er me strays

               My tongue is dulled, limbs adown
               Flows subtle flame; with sound its own
               Rings either ear, and o’er are strown
               Mine eyes with night.

                                        (LI.  Burton, tr.)

After that we should never again exhort the ministers and moralists to
inveigh against love of women for women; never was the interest of men
found to be so fully in accord with the precepts of divine law.

Here I should like to speak of the brides of the Lord; but I remember
“The Nun” of Diderot, and my pen falls from my hand.  Oh, who would dare
to touch a subject handled by Diderot?


     Giton venait de la deflorer, et de remporter une victoire sanglante.
     Giton the victor had won a not bloodless victory.

All people have regarded virginity as something sacred, and God has so
honored it that he willed that his son be born of a virgin, fecundated,
however, by the Holy Ghost.  Still, it appears problematical whether the
Virgin Mary, complete virgin that she was, did not have the same pleasure
as those who are not virgins, when she received the divine annunciation.
Father Sanchez has discussed the question very fully “whether the Virgin
Mary ‘spent’ in copulation with the Holy-Ghost,” unhappily, he decided in
the negative, and I have too much veneration for Father Sanchez not to
submit to his decision; but because of it, I am vexed with the Virgin
Mary and the Holy Ghost.

Notwithstanding this, the daughters of the people of the Lord were not
content to remain virgins; a state of being which, at bottom has not much
to recommend it.  The daughter of Jephtha before being immolated for the
sake of the Lord, demanded of her father a reprieve of two months in
which to weep for her virginity upon the mountains of Gelboe; it seems it
should not have taken so long had she had nothing to regret.  Ruth had
recourse to the quickest method when she wished to cease being a virgin;
she simply went and lay down upon the bed with Boaz.  The spirit of God
has deemed it worth while to transmit this story to us, for the
instruction of virgins from century to century.

The pagan Gods thought highly of maidenheads, they often took them and
always, they set aside the virgins for themselves.  The Phtyian, from
whose organ Apollo was foreordained to come, proved to be only a virgin;
the spirit of God did not communicate itself to anyone who had ever been
sullied by contact with a mortal.  It was to virgins that the sacred
fires of Vesta were entrusted, and the violation of their virginity was a
capital crime which all Rome regarded as a scourge from wrathful heaven.

The Sybils lived and died virgins; in addressing the Cumaean Sybil,
AEneas never failed to bestow that title upon her.

Most of the immortals have preserved their virginity, Diana, Minerva, et
cet.  But what is the most astonishing is that the companions of Venus
and Amor, the most lovable of all divinities, the Graces, were also
virgins.  Juno became a virgin again every year, by bathing in the waters
of a magic fountain; that must have rendered Jupiter’s duties rather

There are some reasons for this passion of mankind for maidenheads.  It
is so wonderful to give the first lessons of voluptuousness to a pure and
innocent heart, to feel under one’s hand the first palpitations of the
virginal breasts which arouses unknown delights, to dry the first tears
of tenderness, to inspire that first mixture of fear and hope, of vague
desires and expectant inquietude; whoever has never had that satisfaction
has missed the most pleasurable of all the delights of love.  But taken
in that sense, virginity is rather a moral inclination, as Buffon says,
than a physical matter, and nothing can justify the barbarous precautions
against amorous theft which were taken by unnatural fathers and jealous

In those unhappy countries which are bent under oppression, in those
countries where heaven shows its heat in the beauty of the sex, and
where beauty is only an object of speculation for avid parents; in such
countries, I say, they resort to the most odious methods for preserving
the virginity of the young and beautiful daughters who are destined to be
sold like common cattle.  They put a lock over the organ of pleasure and
never permit it to be opened except when it is strictly necessary for
carrying out those animal functions for which nature destined them.

The locks of chastity were long known in Europe; the Italians are accused
with this terrible invention.  Nevertheless, it is certain that they were
used upon men, at least, in the time of the first Roman emperors.
Juvenal, in his satire against women, VI, says: “If the singers please
them there is no need for locks of chastity for those who have sold their
voices to the praetors, who keep them.”

               Si gaudet cantu, nullius fibula durat
               Vocem vendentis praetoribus.
                                        Sat.  VI, 379.

     If pleased by the song of the singer employed by the praetor
     No fibula long will hold out, free, the actor will greet her.

Christianity, most spiritual, most mystical of ancient religions,
attempts to make out a great case for celibacy.  Its founder never
married, although the Pharisees reproached him for frequenting gay women,
and had, perhaps, some reason for so doing.  Jesus showed a particular
affection for Mary Magdalen, to the point of exciting the jealousy of
Martha, who complained that her sister passed her time in conversation
with Jesus and left her with all the housework to do.  “Mary has chosen
the better part,” said the Savior.  A good Christian must not doubt that
the colloquies were always spiritual.

St. Paul counseled virginity and most of the apostolic fathers practiced
it.  Among others, St. Jerome lived his whole life among women and never
lost his purity.  He answered his enemies who reproached him with his
very great intimacy with the Saintly Sisters, that the irrefutable proof
of his chastity was that he stank.  That stinking of St. Jerome, which is
not a veritable article of faith in the Church, is, however, an object of
pious belief; and my readers will very gladly assent to it.

When the Christian clergy wishes to form a body of doctrines to be
submitted to by all the common people it thinks that by separating its
interests and those of the common people as far as possible it must
tighten those ropes by which it binds its fellow citizens.  Also the Pope
who was the most jealous of ecclesiastical power and the one who abused
it most, Hildebrand, rigorously prohibited the marriage of priests and
enunciated the most terrible warnings against those who did not retain
their celibacy.  However, although neither priests nor monks were
permitted to marry, the epithet “virgins” cannot be justly applied to all
priests and all monks without exception.  Nor shall I repeat here the
naughty pleasantries of Erasmus, of Boccaccio, and all the others,
against the monks; without doubt maliciousness has developed more
“satyrical” traits that they have brought out; beyond that, I have
nothing to say.


                    Alors une vielle. . . .
                    Finally an old woman . . .

The question here has to do with a procurers or go-between.  That
profession has gradually fallen into discredit by I know not what
fatality, which befalls the most worthy things.  Cervantes the only
philosophic author Spain has produced, wanted that calling to be
venerated in cities above all others.  And truly, when one thinks how
much finesse is necessary to pursue that profession with success, when
one considers that those who practice that truly liberal art are the
repositories of the most important as well as the most sacred secrets,
one would never fail to have the greatest respect for them.  The
tranquillity of homes, the civil state of persons they hold at their
discretion, and still, though they drink in insults, though they endure
abuse, very rarely do these beings, true stoics, compromise those who
have confided in them.

In their Mercury, the ancients realized their beau ideal or archetype
of go-between which they called; in vulgar language “pimp”.  That God,
as go-between for Jupiter, was often involved in the most hazardous
enterprises, such as abducting Io, who was guarded by Argus of the
hundred eyes; Mercury I say, was the God of concord, or eloquence,
and of mystery.  Except to inspire them with friendly feeling and kind
affections, Mercury never went among mortals.  Touched by his wand,
venomous serpents closely embraced him.  Listening to him, Achilles
forgot his pride, extended hospitality to Priam and permitted him to take
away the body of Hector.  The ferocious Carthaginians were softened
through the influence of this God of peace, and received the Trojans in
friendship.  Mercury it was who gathered men into society and substituted
social customs for barbarism.  He invented the lyre and was the master of
Amphion, who opened the walls of Thebes by the charm of his singing.
Mercury or Hermes gave the first man knowledge; but it was enveloped in a
mysterious veil which it was never permitted the profane to penetrate,
which signifies that all that he learned from God, concerning amorous
adventures, should be wrapped in profound silence.  How beautiful all
these allegories are!  And how true!  How insipid life would be without
these mysterious liaisons, by which Nature carries out her designs,
eluding the social ties, without breaking them!  Disciples of Mercury, I
salute you, whatever be your sex; to your discretion, to your persuasive
arts are confided our dearest interests, the peace of mind of husbands,
the happiness of lovers, the reputation of women, the legitimacy of
children.  Without you, this desolated earth would prove to be, in
reality, a vale of tears; the young and beautiful wife united to decrepit
husband, would languish and grow weak, like the lonely flower which the
sun’s rays never touch.  Thus did Mexence bind in thine indissoluble
bands the living and the dead.

Fate, however, has often avenged the go-betweens on account of the
misunderstandings from which they suffer at the hands of the vulgar.
Otho opened the way to the empire of the world by his services as a
go-between for Nero.  And the go-betweens of princes, and even of
princesses, are always found in the finest situations.  Even Otho did not
lose all his rights; Nero exiled him with a commission of honor, “because
he was caught in adultery with his own wife, Poppaea.”  “Uxoris moechus
coeperate esse suae” (Suet.  Otho, chap.  111), said malicious gossip at


To the scholar contemplating an exhaustive study  of Petronius, the
masterly bibliography compiled by  Gaselee is indispensable, and those
of my readers who  desire to pursue the subject are referred to it.
The  following is a list of editions, translations, criticisms  and
miscellaneous publications and authors from which I have derived benefit
in the long and pleasant hours  devoted to Petronius.

EDITIONS, Opera Omnia.

Frellon             Lyons          1615.
Hadrianides         Amsterdam      1669.
Bourdelot           Paris          1677.
Boschius            Amsterdam      1677.
Burmann             Utrecht        1709.
Anton               Leipzig        1781.
Buecheler           Berlin         1862.
Herxus (Buecheler)  Berlin         1911.

                    Amsterdam      1670.
                    (Containing Frambotti’s

Gaselee             Cambridge      1915.


Cardinals prejudiced in favor of Greek love
Fierce morality, inimical to all the pleasures of life
Hardouin on homosexuality in priests
Religions responsible for the most abominable actions
Remarkable resemblance to each other are the Bible and Homer
Stinking of St. Jerome
Wars were as much enterprises for ravishing women


Affairs start to go wrong, your friends will stand from under
Believes, on the spot, every tale
Boys play in the schools, the young men are laughed at
Cardinals prejudiced in favor of Greek love
Death is never far from those who seek him
Death levels caste and sufferers unites
Deferred pleasures are a long time coming
Desire no possession unless the world envies me for possessing
Doctor’s not good for anything except for a consolation
Double capacity of masseurs and prostitutes
Egyptians “commercialized” that incomparable art
Either ‘take-in,’ or else they are ‘taken-in’
Empress Theodora belonged to this class
Errors committed in the name of religion
Esteeming nothing except what is rare
Everybody’s business is nobody’s business
Everything including the children, is devoted to ambition
Face, rouged and covered with cosmetics
Fierce morality, inimical to all the pleasures of life
For one hour of nausea you promise it a plethora of good things
Hardouin on homosexuality in priests
He can teach you more than he knows himself
High fortune may rather master us, than we master it
In the arrogance of success, had put on the manner of the master
Laughed ourselves out of a most disgraceful quarrel
Learning’s a fine thing, and a trade won’t starve
Legislation has never proved a success in repressing vice
Live coals are more readily held in men’s mouths than a secret
Love or art never yet made anyone rich
Man is hated when he declares himself an enemy to all vice
Men are lions at home and foxes abroad
No one will confess the errors he was taught in his school days
No one can show a dead man a good time
One could do a man no graver injury than to call him a dancer
Platitudes by which anguished minds are recalled to sanity
Priests, animated by an hypocritical mania for prophecy
Propensity of pouring one’s personal troubles into another’s ear
Putting as good a face upon the matter as I could
Religions responsible for the most abominable actions
Remarkable resemblance to each other are the Bible and Homer
Rumor but grows in the telling and strives to embellish
Russia there is a sect called the skoptzi
See or hear nothing at all of the affairs of every-day life
She is chaste whom no man has solicited--Ovid
Something in the way of hope at which to nibble
Stained by the lifeblood of the God of Wine
Stinking of St. Jerome
Tax on bachelors
The loser’s always the winner in arguments
The teachers, who must gibber with lunatics
They secure their ends, save by setting snares for the ears
They seize what they dread to lose most
To follow all paths; but a road can discover by none
Too many doctors did away with him
Wars were as much enterprises for ravishing women
We know that you’re only a fool with a lot of learning
Whatever we have, we despise
Whatever you talk of at home will fly forth in an instant
Whenever you learn a thing, it’s yours
While we live, let us live
You can spot a louse on someone else

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