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.
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. 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,.
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. 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. 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.
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. 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.
Quartilla, spurred on by the wantonness of the others, seized hold of Giton and drew him into the bridal-chamber. 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. 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. His companions followed after him, freeing Pannychis from impending danger and relieving the rest of us from our fear.
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 ruffian whom we had done for, was still lying upon the ground and we feared detection. 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! 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.
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.
Marveling greatly, we followed, and met Agamemnon at the outer door, to the post of which was fastened a small tablet bearing this inscription:. 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. My companions laughed, but I plucked up my courage and did not hesitate, but went on and examined the entire wall.
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 asked the hall-porter what pictures were in the middle hall. 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:.
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,. 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.
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. 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.
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.
Turning his head, Trimalchio saw what was going on. 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.
To think that wine lives longer than poor little man. I offered no such vintage yesterday, though my guests were far more respectable. 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:. This skeleton before us here Is as important as we ever were! 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. 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. While he was speaking, four dancers ran in to the time of the music, and removed the upper part of the tray.
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. 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.
Well, his name is Carver. Whenever Trimalchio says Carver, carve her, by the same word, he both calls and commands! 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. 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.
Trimalchio himself has estates as broad as the flight of a kite is long, and piles of money. 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!
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. Do you see all those cushions? Not a single one but what is stuffed with either purple or scarlet wool! See the fellow reclining at the bottom of the end couch?
Only a short while ago he had to carry faggots on his own back. He posted this notice, only the other day:. And he has a right to. He saw his fortune multiplied tenfold, but he lost heavily through speculation at the last. He used to be an undertaker. More wine was spilled under his table than another has in his wine cellar.
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:. 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. 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. 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. 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.
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. 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.
Here Seleucus took up the tale. 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! He was well carried out, anyhow, in the very bed he slept in during his lifetime. He has what was coming to him, he lived respectably, and respectably he died.
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! 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.
Lead turned to gold in his hands. 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.
Saw a virgin in every one he met! How the drought does hang on! 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. And so provisions were cheap as dirt in those days. I happen to know where he got a thousand gold pieces. Nowadays, men are lions at home and foxes abroad. 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!
But the gods all have the gout now, because we are not religious; and so our fields are burning up! Our Titus has a hot head and plenty of guts and it will go to a finish. 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. 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.
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? Why, Hermogenes could trim the claws of a flying hawk, and no snake ever hatched out a rope yet! And look at Glyco! 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 honestly, what did that fellow ever do for us? 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. One hand washes the other. Well, what of it? 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. None of us was born solid! I never objected yet to anyone in my dining-room relieving himself when he wanted to, and the doctors forbid our holding it in.
Believe me, when this rising vapor gets to the brain, it puts the whole body on the burn. 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. 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! Give me the outline of your speech if you like me.
When I was a boy, I used to read those stories in Homer. 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. Call that cook! Call that cook in here immediately! Off with his clothes! How could anyone forget to draw a hog? Sausages and meat- puddings, widening the apertures, by their own weight, immediately tumbled out. As for the cook, he was given a drink and a silver crown and a cup on a salver of Corinthian bronze.
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. Think now! Tickled by our flattery, and mellowed by the wine, Trimalchio was just about drunk.
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 next. 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. 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. 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. The unexpected will turn up; Our whole lives Fortune bungles up. Falernian, boy, hand round the cup. 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? Having also served as consul of Rome, Petronius was a well-known figure around court and the Emperor Nero invited him into his closest circle of advisors. He acted as 'director of elegance', or arbiter elegantiae, where he had the last word on matters of taste and style. However, this friendship made other courtiers very jealous.
Petronius was arrested. An unusual death Rather than wait for his trial and inevitable execution, Petronius dealt with the matter himself. Later on, he hosted a luxurious banquet of his own, slowly bleeding to death over dinner. And, of course, puns cannot be translated, and apparently The Satyricon is replete with them. Alright, but much of the humor, satire and irony does come through, and what a treat it all is. All of the postmodern gurus about whose knees so many of the more sophisticated readers in GR are gathered should themselves sit at Petronius' feet quietly and listen carefully.
And this satire and irony is by no means bitter or cutting as opposed to so much of our contemporary literature ; even the most ridiculed character usually through his own words is not reduced to some kind of symbol to be despised - Petronius, who was no moralizer, empathizes with each and lets them breathe.
What I would give to be able to go to Trimalchio's banquet! View all 6 comments. The ancient pagans, as we all know, loved big dicks and anything that symbolized them, such as Priapus, the well-endowed fertility god. And so, many centuries later, it might have come as a shock to proper Christian bakers and the families that enjoyed their kneaded hot-cross buns at table if someone had told them that they were basically biting into a nice, warm, firm big dick.
Let me try to explain. You see, over time the Christians managed to wheedle, cajole, beat, burn or use whatever means ne The ancient pagans, as we all know, loved big dicks and anything that symbolized them, such as Priapus, the well-endowed fertility god. You see, over time the Christians managed to wheedle, cajole, beat, burn or use whatever means necessary to de-paganize and convert the heathens, which included a requirement that they give up on silly old gods like Priapus.
After all, there really was only one God, and if any god was going to be allowed to be attributed big dick status, it was Him. But the pagans, while acceding to give up the other gods, remained fond of ole Priapus and were resistant to forsaking him and his promise of tumescence. They didn't have Viagra or Levitra to fall back on back in the day.
Priapus was it, baby; he was all they had, apart from allegedly magical aphrodisiacal potions of spit and insect mush slathered on the forehead by old witches, and that foul stuff was hardly a turn-on. And besides, the Christian God seemed awfully gunshy about sex, even with his mixed messages of being fruitful and multiplying. They liked their sex, those pagans, and they liked their sex god.
No reason to rock the boat or deflate the sails, at it were. And they liked baking long phallic loaves of bread in honor of him. Deciding to use honey rather than a stinger, the Christians hit upon a compromise: the phallic loaves honoring Priapus could be kept as long as they were blessed with a Christian cross carved into them. Thus, the hot cross bun was born, and so too was the hand-off of the big baton from Priapus to God Almighty.
I bring all this up, in part, to provide a fascinating anecdote for you increasingly demanding Goodreads review mavens to chew on, but also to note how often Priapus is invoked in Petronius' masterwork, The Satyricon. The above facts about Priapus and his conversion into hot cross buns are, not surprisingly, not taught very much--nay, I vouchsafe, never--in Sunday school, nor is The Satyricon taught often enough in high schools.
I think if it were, instead of, say, The Iliad and Odyssey or The Scarlet Letter , a continuing interest in literature might be planted in otherwise idling and distracted young minds. There was a time, a few generations ago, when the Satyricon was kind of a hush-hush thing. If you could find it at all, it was probably in a limited edition, expensive leather-bound cover latched on both sides by a strap and a bronze lock and secured inside an impenetrable oaken cabinet in the off-limits environs of a respectable, well-to-do gentleman's smoking den.
Even as late as , when the Allinson translation was published, this was still classed as "erotica. Not really explicit, per se , but filled with delightful debaucheries unsuitable to delicate sensibilities. To say it is not politically correct would be an understatement. The Romans had very different ideas about sex; in many ways they were much freer. And so by the time this opus is over we've seen our lower-class protagonist scamps in many states of un-toga-ness, enjoying much boy love along with the occasional woman or girl.
At one point, when Priapus fails to raise the wilted member of our lively young anti-hero, Encolpius, an old witch tries to cure his impotence with an herbal-laced leather dildo shoved up his ass. He and an old lecher poet companion, Eumolpus, think nothing of enjoying the favors of the children of Philomela, who pimps out her kids whenever she thinks the patrons are rich in the case of Encolpius and Eumolpus, they're not; they're just big liars and thieves who go from place to place trying to evade the law and their wake of angry victims; that is, when they're not fighting among each other and their companions in jealous boy-love rages over the favors of the fair year-old Giton.
The characters fight and fart and fuck. And when they fart, the characters laugh. Mel Brooks and Beavis and Butthead would have felt right at home. So, yes, it's that kind of book. It's the Iliad and Odyssey of illicit and ornery. The Candide of cock. The Don Quixote of dong. The Canterbury Tales of tail. It's all in the grand Western literary tradition of the great journey. Like Voltaire's Candide the action is fleet, the forward motion is sweeping; fortunes change quickly, up and down; the situations are outrageous, comical, bawdy and raucous.
Hot passions, animus and temporal alliances wax and wane at the drop of a toga, which is often. Luckily, deus ex machina are always ever present whenever a new story wrinkle or an escape is needed. It proceeds with an almost naive, wide-eyed sense of good humor. After reading it, I wondered how Fellini in could have made such a dour movie out of this breezy concoction.
I think the Italian master director kind of missed the point. Several chapters are devoted to describing an amazing multi-course feast hosted by a foolish egotistical bourgeosie named Trimalchio.
It has to rank as one of the marvels of literature and historical insight. The kinds of things people used to eat and the ways in which the dishes and attendant frivolities were served to impress guests is inherently fascinating to me.
Along the way there also are lovely ruminations on mortality, art, and love as well as prescient portents about the fate of the empire not just of Rome, but of later ones, eg. The book is episodic, to be sure, and I felt like I could probably read it backwards without there being much difference.
But what we do have is golden, though admittedly it probably works best in Latin, dependent as most of us are on translations of varying quality. As a literary read, I give it three stars; as an invaluable record from antiquity I give it five. I split the difference I think there might be one quote in the book that sums up its ethos: "So much better does it profit a man to train his member than his mind!
And that you may not think I'm doing at random, I require the young fellow to sleep one night with me, and see if I don't make it stiff as horn!
I could restrain my tears no longer, but smiting my breast again and again, "Where is your anger now," I exclaimed, "and all your domineering ways? There you lie, a prey to the fishes and monsters of the deep; you who so short a while ago proudly boasted your despotic powers, have never a plank left of your great ship. Go to, mortals; swell your hearts with high-flown anticipations.
Go to, ye men of craft; arrange the disposal for a thousand years to come of the wealth you have got by fraud. Ye Gods! Nor is it the sea alone that disappoints men's hopes like this.
The warrior is betrayed by his arms; the householder in the act of paying his offerings to heaven is overwhelmed in the ruin of his own penates. One is thrown from his car, and breathes his last hurried breath; the glutton dies of an over-hearty meal, the frugal man of fasting.
Reckon it aright, and there is shipwreck everywhere. But then a drowned man misses burial, you object. As if it made one scrap of difference how the perishable body is consumed,--by fire, by water, or by time.
Do what you will, these all end in the same result. The instant a man has got a verse to stand on its feet and clothed a tender thought in appropriate language, he thinks he has scaled Helicon right off. Many others, after long practice of forensic talents, finally retreat to the tranquil calm of verse-making as to a blessed harbor of refuge, imagining a poem is easier put together than an argument all embroidered with scintillating conceits.
But a mind of nobler inspiration is revolted by this flippancy; and no intellect that is not flooded with a mighty tide of learning, can either conceive or bring to birth a worthy poetic child. E'en Age itself was deaf to Virtue's voice, And all its court to sordid interest paid, Beneath whose feet lay trampled Majesty.
E'en Cato's self was by the crowd exiled, Whilst he who won suffused with blushes stood, Ashamed to snatch the power from worthier hands. Thus wretched Rome her own destruction bought, Herself the merchant, and herself the ware. Besides, in debt was the whole Empire bound, A prey to Usury's insatiate jaws; Not one could call his house, or self, his own; But debts on debts like silent fevers wrought, Till through the members they the vitals seized.
Jul 07, P. A collection of fragments alleged to be the first novel in Western literature. A farcical mixbag of daily life and cant, with poetry, parodies and pastiches, and don't forget a good coating of saucy and nonsensical episodes. C'est pourquoi Ajax est fou, et tout de suite, il va vous en donner la preuve. For the longest time, I always wished we had the missing books of the Annals.
Reading all these fragmentary or incomplete sources nothing could trump my desire to see what Tacitus had to say about Caligula. Today, I add another source I wish was more complete: the Satyricon. It was so frustrating reading this and having such great leaps in the story due to how fragmentary parts are. I felt keenly interested in reading more about the bumbling Encolpius and his misadventures. The Satyricon is by f For the longest time, I always wished we had the missing books of the Annals.
The Satyricon is by far the most bizarre piece I have ever read from the Roman world. This piece is profoundly sexual, perhaps the most sexual I have read from the Roman world so far. More than any other Roman work I have read, I felt that I could not fully appreciate the piece because it was in translation. The editor attempted and did help alleviate lost in translation meaning, but I could not shake the feeling that I was missing otherwise important elements. Sexual jokes can be funny regardless of language, but the poetry, puns, and witticisms did not impact me as much as they should have.
This is especially the case for the Civil War poem. While we are told that this is a poor rendition of Lucan, it cannot be fully appreciated in English. Oh well, just another reason to keep learning Latin. Petronius' Satyrica more than lives up to its bawdy reputation. Those ancient pagans sure were a riot, let me tell you. Sadly, due to its fragmentary nature only two books have survived , it fails in ever truly making the reader - well, this one at least - care about the actual story.
As a series of vignettes it sort of works, but not as a novel. Furthermore, this particular translator Folio Society edition I feel was too liberal in his approach. The many modern references the United Nations Petronius' Satyrica more than lives up to its bawdy reputation. The many modern references the United Nations, really? Guess that makes me a purist. Gorgeous presentation and illustrations, though. Just wished for a different translation. View all 4 comments.
Shelves: greek-and-roman. The Satiricon is a novel that is sure to please communists and sexual deviants in that it combines a dizzying sequence of unnatural sexual acts with a rigorous analysis of the class structure of Rome at the time of Nero written by a contemporary.
The Satiricon is simply hilarious. It describes the picaresque journey of the sexually amphibious Encolpe through Roman Society. The reader is presented with a delightful collection of rogues including long-winded poets, underhanded sodomites, rich vulga The Satiricon is a novel that is sure to please communists and sexual deviants in that it combines a dizzying sequence of unnatural sexual acts with a rigorous analysis of the class structure of Rome at the time of Nero written by a contemporary.
The reader is presented with a delightful collection of rogues including long-winded poets, underhanded sodomites, rich vulgarians, lewd women and pompous pedants finishing with a cannibalistic dinner. It is by far the best novel of the classical era by its humour, rebounding inventiveness, and its vivacious portrait of characters and morals. I am proud as a Frenchman to note that Petronius was a native of Marseille. A book that I would call a literary artefact rather than a novel, other readers have expanded on this.
One key word can give the plot away: debauchery. Firebaugh in which are incorporated the forgeries of Nodot and Marchena and the readings introduced into the text by De Salas. I suspect that most readers who are not accustomed to this type of literature will not enjoy this book, this is a book to be appreciated by a niche audience. Erotic literature of the Roman Empire, written about two thousand years ago.
What reached us is only fragments from the original novel. This was one of the findings of my second year of Latin at University. Thanks God, we were allowed to read it in translation - the point of that year was just taking contact with Roman literature. Another finding of that course? The Golden Asse by Apuleius - of course. Classic Bingo This is very bawdy, but not graphic. Surprisingly modern in writing and style, and pretty wild in the plot.
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