{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5222/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5222","id":"gutenberg_5222","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5222","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Rome -- Fiction","Satire, Latin -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n                            THE SATYRICON OF\n                            PETRONIUS ARBITER\n\n          Complete and unexpurgated translation by W. C. Firebaugh,\n          in which are incorporated the forgeries of Nodot and Marchena,\n          and the readings introduced into the text by De Salas.\n\n\nBRACKET CODE:\n     (Forgeries of Nodot)\n     [Forgeries of Marchena]\n     {Additions of De Salas}\n                              DW\n\n\nVOLUME 5.--AFFAIRS AT CROTONA\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH.\n\nFor a long time affairs at Crotona ran along in this manner and Eumolpus,\nflushed with success so far forgot the former state of his fortunes that\nhe even bragged to his followers that no one could hold out against any\nwish of his, and that any member of his suite who committed a crime\nin that city would, through the influence of his friends, get off\nunpunished.  But, although I daily crammed my bloated carcass to\noverflowing with good things, and began more and more to believe that\nFortune had turned away her face from keeping watch upon me, I frequently\nmeditated, nevertheless, upon my present state and upon its cause.\n\"Suppose,\" thought I, \"some wily legacy hunter should dispatch an agent\nto Africa and catch us in our lie?  Or even suppose the hireling servant,\nglutted with prosperity, should tip off his cronies or give the whole\nscheme away out of spite?  There would be nothing for it but flight and,\nin a fresh state of destitution, a recalling of poverty which had been\ndriven off.  Gods and goddesses, how ill it fares with those living\noutside the law; they are always on the lookout for what is coming to\nthem!\"  (Turning these possibilities over in my mind I left the house, in\na state of black melancholy, hoping to revive my spirits in the fresh\nair, but scarcely had I set foot upon the public promenade when a girl,\nby no means homely, met me, and, calling me Polyaenos, the name I had\nassumed since my metamorphosis, informed me that her mistress desired\nleave to speak with me.  \"You must be mistaken,\" I answered, in\nconfusion, \"I am only a servant and a stranger, and am by no means worthy\nof such an honor.\")\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIXTH.\n\n(\"You yourself,\" she replied, \"are the one to whom I was sent but,)\nbecause you are well aware of your good looks, you are proud and sell\nyour favors instead of giving them. What else can those wavy well-combed\nlocks mean or that face, rouged and covered with cosmetics, or that\nlanguishing, wanton expression in your eyes?  Why that gait, so precise\nthat not a footstep deviates from its place, unless you wish to show off\nyour figure in order to sell your favors?  Look at me, I know nothing\nabout omens and I don't study the heavens like the astrologers, but I can\nread men's intentions in their faces and I know what a flirt is after\nwhen I see him out for a stroll; so if you'll sell us what I want there's\na buyer ready, but if you will do the graceful thing and lend, let us be\nunder obligations to you for the favor.  And as for your confession that\nyou are only a common servant, by that you only fan the passion of the\nlady who burns for you, for some women will only kindle for canaille and\ncannot work up an appetite unless they see some slave or runner with his\nclothing girded up: a gladiator arouses one, or a mule-driver all covered\nwith dust, or some actor posturing in some exhibition on the stage.  My\nmistress belongs to this class, she jumps the fourteen rows from the\nstage to the gallery and looks for a lover among the gallery gods at the\nback.\" Puffed up with this delightful chatter.  \"Come now, confess, won't\nyou,\" I queried, \"is this lady who loves me yourself?\"  The waiting maid\nsmiled broadly at this blunt speech.  \"Don't have such a high opinion of\nyourself,\" said she, \"I've never given in to any servant yet; the gods\nforbid that I should ever throw my arms around a gallows-bird.  Let the\nmarried women see to that and kiss the marks of the scourge if they like:\nI'll sit upon nothing below a knight, even if I am only a servant.\"  I\ncould not help marveling, for my part, at such discordant passions, and I\nthought it nothing short of a miracle that this servant should possess\nthe hauteur of the mistress and the mistress the low tastes of the wench!\n\n     Each one will find what suits his taste, one thing is not for all,\n     One gathers roses as his share, another thorns enthrall.\n\nAfter a little more teasing, I requested the maid to conduct her mistress\nto a clump of plane trees.  Pleased with this plan, the girl picked up\nthe skirt of her garment and turned into a laurel grove that bordered the\npath.  After a short delay she brought her mistress from her hiding-place\nand conducted her to my side; a woman more perfect than any statue.\nThere are no words with which to describe her form and anything I could\nsay would fall far short.  Her hair, naturally wavy, flowed completely\nover her shoulders; her forehead was low and the roots of her hair were\nbrushed back from it; her eyebrows, running from the very springs of her\ncheeks, almost met at the boundary line between a pair of eyes brighter\nthan stars shining in a moonless night; her nose was slightly aquiline\nand her mouth was such an one as Praxiteles dreamed Diana had.  Her chin,\nher neck, her hands, the gleaming whiteness of her feet under a slender\nband of gold; she turned Parian marble dull!  Then, for the first time,\nDoris' tried lover thought lightly of Doris!\n\n     Oh Jove, what's come to pass that thou, thine armor cast away\n     Art mute in heaven; and but an idle tale?\n     At such a time the horns should sprout, the raging bull hold sway,\n     Or they white hair beneath swan's down conceal\n     Here's Dana's self!  But touch that lovely form\n     Thy limbs will melt beneath thy passions' storm!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVENTH.\n\nShe was delighted and so be witchingly did she smile that I seemed to see\nthe full moon showing her face from behind a cloud.  Then, punctuating\nher words with her fingers, \"Dear boy, if you are not too critical to\nenjoy a woman of wealth who has but this year known her first man, I\noffer you a sister,\" said she.  \"You have a brother already, I know, for\nI didn't disdain to ask, but what is to prevent your adopting a sister,\ntoo?  I will come in on the same footing only deem my kisses worthy of\nrecognition and caress me at your own pleasure!\"  \"Rather let me implore\nyou by your beauty,\" I replied.  \"Do not scorn to admit an alien among\nyour worshipers: If you permit me to kneel before your shrine you will\nfind me a true votary and, that you may not think I approach this temple\nof love without a gift, I make you a present of my brother!\"  \"What,\" she\nexclaimed, \"would you really sacrifice the only one without whom you\ncould not live'?  The one upon whose kisses your happiness depends.  Him\nwhom you love as I would have you love me?\"  Such sweetness permeated her\nvoice as she said this, so entrancing was the sound upon the listening\nair that you would have believed the Sirens' harmonies were floating in\nthe breeze.  I was struck with wonder and dazzled by I know not what\nlight that shone upon me, brighter than the whole heaven, but I made\nbold to inquire the name of my divinity.  \"Why, didn't my maid tell you\nthat I am called Circe?\"  she replied.  \"But I am not the sun-child nor\nhas my mother ever stayed the revolving world in its course at her\npleasure; but if the Fates bring us two together I will owe heaven a\nfavor.  I don't know what it is, but some god's silent purpose is beneath\nthis.  Circe loves not Polyaenos without some reason; a great torch is\nalways flaming when these names meet!  Take me in your arms then, if you\nwill; there's no prying stranger to fear, and your 'brother' is far away\nfrom this spot!\"  So saying, Circe clasped me in arms that were softer\nthan down and drew me to the ground which was covered with colored\nflowers.\n\n     With flowers like these did Mother Earth great Ida's summit strew\n     When Jupiter, his heart aflame, enjoyed his lawful love;\n     There glowed the rose, the flowering rush, the violet's deep blue,\n     From out green meadows snow-white lilies laughed.  Then from above,\n     This setting summoned Venus to the green and tender sod,\n     Bright day smiled kindly on the secret amour of the God.\n\nSide by side upon the grassy plot we lay, exchanging a thousand kisses,\nthe prelude to more poignant pleasure, (but alas!  My sudden loss of\nvigor disappointed Circe!)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT.\n\n(Infuriated at this affront,) \"What's the matter,\" demanded she; \"do my\nkisses offend you?  Is my breath fetid from fasting?  Is there any evil\nsmelling perspiration in my armpits?  Or, if it's nothing of this kind,\nare you afraid of Giton?\" Under her eyes, I flushed hotly and, if I had\nany virility left, I lost it then; my whole body seemed to be inert.  \"My\nqueen,\" I cried, \"do not mock me in my humiliation.  I am bewitched!\"\n(Circe's anger was far from being appeased by such a trivial excuse;\nturning her eyes contemptuously away from me, she looked at her maid,)\n\"Tell me, Chrysis, and tell me truly, is there anything repulsive about\nme?  Anything sluttish?  Have I some natural blemish that disfigures my\nbeauty?  Don't deceive your mistress!  I don't know what's the matter\nwith us, but there must be something!\"  Then she snatched a mirror from\nthe silent maid and after scrutinizing all the looks and smiles which\npass between lovers, she shook out her wrinkled earth-stained robe and\nflounced off into the temple of Venus (nearby.) And here was I, like a\nconvicted criminal who had seen some horrible nightmare, asking myself\nwhether the pleasure out of which I had been cheated was a reality or\nonly a dream.\n\n               As when, in the sleep-bringing night\n               Dreams sport with the wandering eyes,\n               And earth, spaded up, yields to light\n               Her gold that by day she denies,\n               The stealthy hand snatches the spoils;\n               The face with cold sweat is suffused\n               And Fear grips him tight in her toils\n               Lest robbers the secret have used\n               And shake out the gold from his breast.\n               But, when they depart from his brain,\n               These enchantments by which he's obsessed,\n               And Truth comes again with her train\n               Restoring perspective and pain,\n               The phantasm lives to the last,\n               The mind dwells with shades of the past.\n\n(The misfortune seemed to me a dream, but I imagined that I must surely\nbe under a spell of enchantment and, for a long time, I was so devoid of\nstrength that I could not get to my feet.  But finally my mental\ndepression began to abate, little by little my strength came back to me,\nand I returned home: arrived there, I feigned illness and threw myself\nupon my couch.  A little late: Giton, who had heard of my indisposition,\nentered the room in some concern.  As I wished to relieve his mind I\ninformed him that I had merely sought my pallet to take a rest, telling\nhim much other gossip but not a word about my mishap as I stood in great\nfear of his jealousy and, to lull any suspicion which he might entertain,\nI drew him to my side and endeavoured to give him some proofs of my love\nbut all my panting and sweating were in vain.  He jumped up in a rage and\naccused my lack of virility and change of heart, declaring that he had\nfor a long time suspected that I had been expending my vigor and breath\nelsewhere.  \"No!  No!  Darling,\" I replied, \"my love for you has always\nbeen the same, but reason prevails now over love and wantonness.\") \"And\nfor the Socratic continence of your love, I thank you in his name,\" (he\nreplied sarcastically,) \"Alcibiades was never more spotless when he left\nhis master's bed!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINTH.\n\n\"Believe me, 'brother,' when I tell you that I do not know whether I am a\nman or not,\" (I vainly protested;) \"I do not feel like one, if I am!\nDead and buried lies that part in which I was once an Achilles!\"  (Giton,\nseeing that I was completely enervated, and) fearing that it might give\ncause for scandal if he were caught in this quiet place with me, tore\nhimself away and fled into an inner part of the house.  (He had just gone\nwhen) Chrysis entered the room and handed me her mistress's tablets, in\nwhich were written the following words:\n\n     CIRCE TO POLYIENOS-GREETING.\n\n     Were I a wanton, I should complain of my disappointment, but as it\n     is I am beholden to your impotence, for by it I dallied the longer\n     in the shadow of pleasure.  Still, I would like to know how you are\n     and whether you got home upon your own legs, for the doctors say\n     that one cannot walk without nerves!  Young man, I advise you to\n     beware of paralysis for I never in my life saw a patient in such\n     great danger; you're as good as dead, I'm sure!  What if the same\n     numbness should attack your hands and knees?  You would have to send\n     for the funeral trumpeters!  Still, even if I have been affronted,\n     I will not begrudge a prescription to one as sick as you!  Ask Giton\n     if you would like to recover.  I am sure you will get back your\n     strength if you will sleep without your \"brother\" for three nights.\n     So far as I am concerned, I am not in the least alarmed about\n     finding someone to whom I shall be as pleasing as I was to you; my\n     mirror and my reputation do not lie.\n\n                                        Farewell (if you can).\n\n\"Such things will happen,\" said Chrysis, when she saw that I had read\nthrough the entire inditement, \"and especially in this city, where the\nwomen can lure the moon from the sky!  But we'll find a cure for your\ntrouble.  Just return a diplomatic answer to my mistress and restore her\nself-esteem by frank courtesy for, truth to tell, she has never been\nherself from the minute she received that affront.\"  I gladly followed\nthe maid's advice and wrote upon the tablets as follows:\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH.\n\n     POLYAENOS TO CIRCE--GREETING.\n\n     Dear lady, I confess that I have often given cause for offense, for\n     I am only a man, and a young one, too, but I never committed a\n     deadly crime until today!  You have my confession of guilt, I\n     deserve any punishment you may see fit to prescribe.  I betrayed a\n     trust, I murdered a man, I violated a temple: demand my punishment\n     for these crimes.  Should it be your pleasure to slay me I will come\n     to you with my sword; if you are content with a flogging I will run\n     naked to my mistress; only bear in mind that it was not myself but\n     my tools that failed me.  I was a soldier, and ready, but I had no\n     arms.  What threw me into such disorder I do not know, perhaps my\n     imagination outran my lagging body, by aspiring to too much it is\n     likely that I spent my pleasure in delay; I cannot imagine what the\n     trouble was.  You bid me beware of paralysis; as if a disease which\n     prevented my enjoying you could grow worse!  But my apology amounts\n     briefly to this; if you will grant me an opportunity of repairing my\n     fault, I will give you satisfaction.\n                                             Farewell\n\nAfter dismissing Chrysis with these fair promises, I paid careful\nattention to my body which had so evilly served me and, omitting the\nbath, I annointed myself, in moderation, with unguents and placed myself\nupon a more strengthening diet such as onions and snail's heads without\ncondiments, and I also drank more sparingly of wine; then, taking a short\nwalk before settling down to sleep, I went to bed without Giton.  So\nanxious was I to please her that I feared the outcome if my \"brother\" lay\ntickling my side.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIRST.\n\nFinding myself vigorous in mind and body when I arose next morning, I\nwent down to the same clump of plane trees, though I dreaded the spot as\none of evil omen, and commenced to wait for Chrysis to lead me on my way.\nI took a short stroll and had just seated myself where I had sat the day\nbefore, when she came under the trees, leading a little old woman by the\nhand.  \"Well, Mr. Squeamish,\" she chirped, when she had greeted me, \"have\nyou recovered your appetite?\"  In the meantime, the old hag:\n\n               A wine-soaked crone with twitching lips\n\nbrought out a twisted hank of different colored yarns and put it about my\nneck; she then kneaded dust and spittle and, dipping her middle finger\ninto the mixture, she crossed my forehead with it, in spite of my\nprotests.\n\n               As long as life remains, there's hope;\n               Thou rustic God, oh hear our prayer,\n               Great Priapus, I thee invoke,\n               Temper our arms to dare!\n\nWhen she had made an end of this incantation she ordered me to spit three\ntimes, and three times to drop stones into my bosom, each stone she\nwrapped up in purple after she had muttered charms over it; then,\ndirecting her hands to my privates, she commenced to try out my virility.\nQuicker than thought the nerves responded to the summons, filling the\ncrone's hand with an enormous erection!  Skipping for joy, \"Look,\nChrysis, look,\" she cried out, \"see what a hare I've started, for someone\nelse to course!\"  (This done, the old lady handed me over to Chrysis, who\nwas greatly delighted at the recovery of her mistress's treasure; she\nhastily conducted me straight to the latter, introducing me into a lovely\nnook that nature had furnished with everything which could delight the\neye.)\n\n          Shorn of its top, the swaying pine here casts a\n          summer shade\n          And quivering cypress, and the stately plane\n          And berry-laden laurel.  A brook's wimpling waters strayed\n          Lashed into foam, but dancing on again\n          And rolling pebbles in their chattering flow.\n          'Twas Love's own nook,\n          As forest nightingale and urban Procne undertook\n          To bear true witness; hovering, the gleaming grass above\n          And tender violets; wooing with song, their stolen love.\n\nFanning herself with a branch of flowering myrtle, she lay, stretched out\nwith her marble neck resting upon a golden cushion.  When she caught\nsight of me she blushed faintly; she recalled yesterday's affront, I\nsuppose.  At her invitation, I sat down by her side, as soon as the\nothers had gone; whereupon she put the branch of myrtle over my face and\nemboldened, as if a wall had been raised between us, \"Well, Mr.\nParalytic,\" she teased, \"have you brought all of yourself along today?\"\n\"Why ask me,\" I replied, \"why not try me instead?\"  and throwing myself\nbodily into her arms, I revelled in her kisses with no witchcraft to stop\nme.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SECOND.\n\nThe loveliness of her form drew me to her and summoned me to love.  Our\nlips were pressed together in a torrent of smacking kisses, our groping\nhands had discovered every trick of excitation, and our bodies, clasped\nin a mutual embrace, had fused our souls into one, (and then, in the very\nmidst of these ravishing preliminaries my nerves again played me false\nand I was unable to last until the instant of supreme bliss.) Lashed to\nfury by these inexcusable affronts, the lady at last ran to avenge\nherself and, calling her house servants, she gave orders for me to be\nhoisted upon their shoulders and flogged; then, still unsatisfied with\nthe drastic punishment she had inflicted upon me, she called all the\nspinning women and scrubbing wenches in the house and ordered them to\nspit upon me.  I covered my face with my hands but I uttered no complaint\nas I well knew what I deserved and, overwhelmed with blows and spittle, I\nwas driven from the house. Proselenos was kicked out too, Chrysis was\nbeaten, and all the slaves grumbled among themselves and wondered what\nhad upset their mistress's good humor.  I took heart after having given\nsome thought to my misfortunes and, artfully concealing the marks of the\nblows for fear that Eumolpus would make merry over my mishaps or, worse\nyet, that Giton might be saddened by my disgrace, I did the only thing I\ncould do to save my self-respect, I pretended that I was sick and went to\nbed.  There, I turned the full fury of my resentment against that\nrecreant which had been the sole cause of all the evil accidents which\nhad befallen me.\n\n               Three times I grasped the two-edged blade\n               The recreant to cut away;\n               Three times by Fear my hand was stayed\n               And palsied Terror said me nay\n               That which I might have done before\n               'Twas now impossible to do;\n               For, cold with Fear, the wretch withdrew\n               Into a thousand-wrinkled mare,\n               And shrank in shame before my gaze\n               Nor would his head uncover more.\n               But though the scamp in terror skulked,\n               With words I flayed him as he sulked.\n\nRaising myself upon my elbow I rebuked the shirker in some such terms as\nthese: \"What have you to say for yourself, you disgrace to gods and men,\"\nI demanded, \"for your name must never be mentioned among refined people.\nDid I deserve to be lifted up to heaven and then dragged down to hell by\nyou?  Was it right for you to slander my flourishing and vigorous years\nand land me in the shadows and lassitude of decrepit old age?  Give me\nsome sign, however faint, I beg of you, that you have returned to life!\"\nI vented my anger in words such as these.\n\n               His eyes were fixed, and with averted look\n               He stood, less moved by any word of mine\n               Than weeping willows bending o'er a brook\n               Or drooping poppies as at noon they pine.\n\nWhen I had made an end of this invective, so out of keeping with good\ntaste, I began to do penance for my soliloquy and blushed furtively\nbecause I had so far forgotten my modesty as to invoke in words that part\nof my body which men of dignity do not even recognize.  Then, rubbing my\nforehead for a long time, \"Why have I committed an indiscretion in\nrelieving my resentment by natural abuse,\" I mused, \"what does it amount\nto?  Are we not accustomed to swear at every member of the human body,\nthe belly, throat, or even the head when it aches, as it often does?  Did\nnot Ulysses wrangle with his own heart?  Do not the tragedians 'Damn\ntheir eyes' just as if they could hear?\n\n\"Gouty patients swear at their feet, rheumatics at their hands,\nblear-eyed\npeople at their eyes, and do not those who often stub their toes blame\ntheir feet for all their pain?\n\n               \"Why will our Catos with their frowning brows\n               Condemn a work of fresh simplicity'?\n               A cheerful kindness my pure speech endows;\n               What people do, I write, to my capacity.\n               For who knows not the pleasures Venus gives?\n               Who will not in a warm bed tease his members?\n               Great Epicurus taught a truth that lives;\n               Love and enjoy life!  All the rest is embers.\n\n\"Nothing can be more insincere than the silly prejudices of mankind, and\nnothing sillier than the morality of bigotry,\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THIRD.\n\nI called Giton when I had finished my meditation: \"Tell me, little\nbrother,\" I demanded, \"tell me, on your honor: Did Ascyltos stay awake\nuntil he had exacted his will of you, the night he stole you away from\nme?  Or was he content to spend the night like a chaste widow?\"  Wiping\nhis eyes the lad, in carefully chosen words took oath that Ascyltos had\nused no force against him.  (The truth of the matter is, that I was so\ndistraught with my own misfortunes that I knew not what I was saying.\n\"Why recall past memories which can only cause pain,\" said I to myself.\nI then directed all my energies towards the recovery of my lost manhood.\nTo achieve this I was ready even to devote myself to the gods;\naccordingly, I went out to invoke the aid of Priapus.) {Putting as good a\nface upon the matter as I could} I knelt upon the threshold of his shrine\nand invoked the God in the following verses:\n\n              \"Of Bacchus and the nymphs, companion boon,\n               Whom fair Dione set o'er forests wide\n               As God: whom Lesbos and green Thasos own\n               For deity, whom Lydians, far and wide\n               Adore through all the seasons of the year;\n               Whose temple in his own Hypaepa placed,\n               Thou Dryad's joy and Bacchus', hear my prayer!\n               To thee I come, by no dark blood disgraced,\n               No shrine, in wicked lust have I profaned;\n               When I was poor and worn with want, I sinned\n               Not by intent, a pauper's sin's not banned\n               As of another!  Unto thee I pray\n               Lift thou the load from off my tortured mind,\n               Forgive a light offense!  When fortune smiles\n               I'll not thy glory shun and leave behind\n               Thy worship!  Unto thee, a goat that feels\n               His primest vigor, father of the flocks\n               Shall come!  And suckling pigs, the tender young\n               Of some fine grunting sow!  New wine, in crocks\n               Shall foam!  Thy grateful praises shall be sung\n               By youths who thrice shall dance around thy shrine\n               Happy, in youth and full of this year's wine!\"\n\nWhile I was engaged in this diplomatic effort in behalf of the affected\nmember, a hideous crone with disheveled hair, and clad in black garments\nwhich were in great disorder, entered the shrine and, laying hands upon\nme, led me {thoroughly frightened,} out into the portico.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOURTH.\n\n\"What witches\" (she cried,) \"have devoured your manhood?  What filth did\nyou tread upon at some crossroads, in the dark?  Not even by the boy\ncould you do your duty but, weak and effeminate, you are worn out like a\ncart-horse at a hill, you have lost both labor and sweat!  Not content\nwith getting yourself into trouble, you have stirred up the wrath of the\ngods against me {and I will make you smart for it.\"}  She then led me,\nunresisting, back into the priestess's room, pushed me down upon the bed,\nsnatched a cane that hung upon the door, and gave me another thrashing:\nI remained silent and, had the cane not splintered at the first stroke,\nthereby diminishing the force of the blow, she might easily have broken\nmy arms or my head.  I groaned dismally, and especially when she\nmanipulated my member and, shedding a flood of tears, I covered my head\nwith my right arm and huddled down upon the pillow.  Nor did she weep\nless bitterly:\n\nThe sailor, naked from his foundered barque,\nSome shipwrecked mariner seeks out to hear his woe;\nWhen hail beats down a farmer's crop, his cark\nSeeks consolation from another, too.\nDeath levels caste and sufferers unites,\nAnd weeping parents are as one in grief;\nWe also will beseech the starry heights,\nUnited prayers climb best, is the belief.\n\nShe seated herself upon the other side of the bed and in quavering tones\ncommenced to accuse the delays of old age.  At last the priestess came\nin.  \"Why,\" she cried, \"what has brought you into my cell as if you were\nvisiting a newly made grave?  And on a feast-day, too, when even mourners\nought to smile!\"  \"OEnothea,\" the old hag replied, \"this young man here\nwas born under an unlucky star: he can't dispose of his goods to either\nboy or girl.  Such an unfortunate fellow you never saw.  He has no tool\nat all, only a piece of leather soaked in water!  I wish you would tell\nme what you think of a man who could get up from Circe's bed without\nhaving tasted pleasure!\"  On hearing these words, OEnothea sat down\nbetween us and, after shaking her head for a while, \"I'm the only one\nthat knows how to cure that disease,\" said she, \"and for fear you think\nI'm talking to hear myself talk, I'll just have the young fellow sleep\nwith me for a night, and if I don't make it as hard as horn!\n\n     All that you see in the world must give heed to my mandates;\n\n     Blossoming earth, when I will it, must languish, a desert.'\n\n     Riches pour forth, when I will it, from crags and grim boulders\n\n     Waters will spurt that will rival the Nile at its flooding\n\n     Seas calm their billows before me, gales silence their howlings,\n\n     Hearing my step!  And the rivers sink into their channels;\n\n     Dragons, Hyrcanian tigers stand fast at my bidding!\n\n     Why should I tell you of small things?  The image of Luna\n\n     Drawn by my spells must descend, and Apollo, atremble\n\n     Backs up his horses and turns from his course at my order!\n\n     Such is the power of my word!  By the rites of a virgin\n\n     Quenched is the raging of bulls; and the sun's daughter Circe\n\n     Changed and transfigured the crew of the wily Ulysses.\n\n     Proteus changes his form when his good pleasure dictates,\n\n     I, who am skilled in these arts, can the shrubs of Mount Ida\n\n     Plant in the ocean; turn rivers to flow up the mountains!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIFTH.\n\nAt this declaration, which was so awe-inspiring, I shuddered in terror,\nand commenced to scrutinize the crone more narrowly.  \"Come now,\" said\nOEnothea, \"obey my orders,\" and, carefully wiping her hands, she bent\nover the cot and kissed me, once, twice!  On the middle of the altar\nOEnothea placed an old table, upon which she heaped live coals, then with\nmelted pitch she repaired a goblet which had become cracked through age.\nNext she replaced, in the smoke-stained wall, a peg which had come out\nwhen she took down the wooden goblet.  Then, having donned a mantle, in\nthe shape of a piece of square-cut cloth, she set a huge kettle upon the\nhearth and at the same time speared with a fork a cloth hanging upon the\nmeathooks, and lifted it down.  It contained some beans which had been\nlaid away for future use, and a very small and stale piece of pig's\ncheek, scored with a thousand slashes.  When she had untied the string\nwhich fastened the cloth, she poured some of the beans upon the table and\nordered me to shell them quickly and carefully.  I obey her mandate and\nwith careful fingers separate the beans from the filthy pods which\ncontain them; but she, accusing my clumsiness, hastily snatched them and,\nskillfully tearing off the pods with her teeth, spat them upon the\nground, where they looked like dead flies.  I wondered, then, at the\ningenuity of poverty and its expedients for emergency.  (So ardent a\nfollower of this virtue did the priestess seem that it was reflected in\neverything around her.  Her dwelling, in particular, was a very shrine of\npoverty.)\n\n          No Indian ivory set in gold gleamed here,\n          No trodden marble glistened here; no earth\n          Mocked for its gifts; but Ceres' festive grove:\n          With willow wickerwork 'twas set around,\n          New cups of clay by revolutions shaped\n          Of lowly wheel.  For honey soft, a bowl;\n          Platters of green bark wickerwork, a jar\n          Stained by the lifeblood of the God of Wine;\n          The walls around with chaff and spattered clay\n          Were covered.  Flanging from protruding nails\n          Were slender stalks of the green rush; and then\n          Suspended from the smoky beam, the stores\n          Of this poor cottage.  Service berries soft,\n          Entwined in fragrant wreaths hung down,\n          Dried savory and raisins by the bunch.\n          An hostess here like she on Attic soil,\n          Of Hecate's pure worship worthy she!\n          Whose fame Kallimachos so grandly sang\n          'Twill live forever through the speaking years.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIXTH.\n\nIn the meantime, (having shelled the beans,) she took a mouthful of the\nmeat and with the fork was replacing the pig's cheek, which was coeval\nwith herself, upon the meat-hook, when the rotten stool, which she was\nusing to augment her height, broke down under the old lady's weight and\nlet her fall upon the hearth.  The neck of the pot was broken, putting\nout the fire, which was just getting a good start, her elbow was burned\nby a flaming brand, and her whole face was covered by the ashes raised by\nher fall.  I jumped up in dismay and, not without laughing, helped the\nold lady to her feet.  She hastily scurried out into the neighborhood to\nreplenish the fire, for fear anything should delay the sacrifice.  I was\non my way to the door of the cell when lo! and behold! three sacred geese\nwhich were accustomed, I suppose, to demand their feed from the old woman\nat midday, made a rush at me and, surrounding me, made me nervous with\ntheir abominable rabid cackling.  One tore at my tunic, another undid the\nlacings of my sandals and tugged at them, but one in particular, the\nringleader and moving spirit of this savage attack, did not hesitate to\nworry at my leg with his serrated bill.  Unable to see the joke, I\ntwisted off one of the legs of the little table and, thus armed, began to\nbelabor the pugnacious brute.  Nor did I rest content with a light blow,\nI avenged myself by the death of the goose.\n\n               'Twas thus, I ween, the birds of Stymphalus\n               To heaven fled, by Herakles impelled;\n               The Harpies, too, whose reeking pinions held\n               That poison which the feast of Phineus\n               Contaminated.  All the air above\n               With their unwonted lamentations shook,\n               The heavens in uproar and confusion move\n               {The Stars, in dread, their orbits then forsook!}\n\nBy this time the two remaining geese had picked up the beans which had\nbeen scattered all over the floor and bereft, I suppose, of their leader,\nhad gone back into the temple; and I, well content with my revenge and my\nbooty, threw the dead goose behind the cot and bathed the trifling wound\nin my leg with vinegar: then, fearing a scolding, I made up my mind to\nrun away and, collecting together all my belongings, started to leave the\nhouse.  I had not yet stepped over the threshold of the cell, however,\nwhen I caught sight of OEnothea returning with an earthen vessel full of\nlive coals.  Thereupon I retraced my steps and, throwing off my garments,\nI took my stand just inside the door, as if I were awaiting her return.\nShe banked her fire with broken reeds, piled some pieces of wood on top,\nand began to excuse her delay on the ground that her friend would not\npermit her to leave until after the customary three drinks had been\ntaken.  \"But what were you up to in my absence?\"  she demanded.  \"Where\nare the beans?\"  Thinking that I had done a thing worthy of all praise, I\ninformed her of the battle in all its details and, that she might not be\ndowncast any longer, I produced the dead goose in payment for her loss.\nWhen the old lady laid eyes upon that, she raised such a clamor that you\nwould have thought that the geese had invaded the room again.  Confounded\nand thunderstruck at the novelty of my crime, I asked her why she was so\nangry and why she pitied the goose rather than myself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY SEVENTH.\n\nBut, beating her palms together, \"You villain, are you so brazen that you\ncan speak?\"  she shrieked.  \"Don't you know what a serious crime you've\ncommitted?  You have slaughtered the delight of Priapus, a goose, the\nvery darling of married women!  And for fear you think that nothing\nserious has happened, if the magistrates find this out you'll go to the\ncross!  Until this day my dwelling has been inviolate and you have\npolluted it with blood!  You have conducted yourself in such a manner\nthat any enemy I have can turn me out of the priesthood!\"\n\n     She spoke, and from her trembling head she tore the snow-white hair,\n          And scratched her cheeks: her eyes shed floods of tears.\n     As when a torrent headlong rushes down the valleys drear,\n          Its icy fetters gone when Sprint appears,\n     And strikes the frozen shackles from rejuvenated earth\n          So down her face the tears in torrents swept\n          And wracking sobs convulsed her as she wept.\n\n\"Please don't make such a fuss,\" I said, \"I'll give you an ostrich in\nplace of your goose!\"  While she sat upon the cot and, to my\nstupefaction, bewailed the death of the goose, Proselenos came in with\nthe materials for the sacrifice.  Seeing the dead goose and inquiring the\ncause of her grief, she herself commenced to weep more violently still\nand to commiserate me, as if I had slain my own father, instead of a\npublic goose.  Growing tired of this nonsense at last, \"See here,\"\nsaid I, \"could I not purchase immunity for a price, even though I had\nassaulted you'?  Even though I had murdered a man?  Look here!  I'm\nlaying down two gold pieces, you can buy both gods and geese with them!\"\n\"Forgive me, young man,\" said OEnothea, when she caught sight of the\ngold, \"I am anxious upon your account; that is a proof of love, not of\nmalignity.  Let us take such precautions that not a soul will find this\nout.  As for you, pray to the gods to forgive your sacrilege!\"\n\n          The rich man can sail in a favoring gale\n             And snap out his course at his pleasure;\n          A Dance espouse, no Acrisius will rail,\n             His credence by hers he will measure;\n          Write verse, or declaim; snap the finger of scorn\n             At the world, yet still win all his cases,\n          The rabble will drink in his words with concern\n             When a Cato austere it displaces.\n          At law, his \"not proven,\" or \"proved,\" he can have\n             With Servius or Labeo vieing;\n          With gold at command anything he may crave\n             Is his without asking or sighing.\n          The universe bows at his slightest behest,\n             For Jove is a prisoner in his treasure chest.\n\nIn the meantime, she scurried around and put a jar of wine under my hands\nand, when my fingers had all been spread out evenly, she purified them\nwith leeks and parsley.  Then, muttering incantations, she threw\nhazel-nuts into the wine and drew her conclusions as they sank or\nfloated; but she did not hoodwink me, for those with empty shells, no\nkernel and full of air, would of course float, while those that were\nheavy and full of sound kernel would sink to the bottom.  {She then\nturned her attention to the goose,} and, cutting open the breast, she\ndrew out a very fat liver from which she foretold my future.  Then, for\nfear any trace of the crime should remain, she cut the whole goose up,\nstuck the pieces upon spits, and served up a very delectable dinner for\nme, whom, but a moment before, she had herself condemned to death, in\nher own words!  Meanwhile, cups of unmixed wine went merrily around (and\nthe crones greedily devoured the goose which they had but so lately\nlamented.  When the last morsel had disappeared, OEnothea, half-drunk by\nthis time, looked at me and said, \"We must now go through with the\nmysteries, so that you may get back your virility.\")\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHTH.\n\n(As she said this OEnothea brought) out a leathern dildo which, when she\nhad smeared it with oil, ground pepper, and pounded nettle seed, she\ncommenced to force, little by little, up my anus.  The merciless old\nvirago then anointed the insides of my thighs with the same decoction;\nfinally mixing nasturtium juice with elixir of southern wood, she gave my\ngenitals a bath and, picking up a bunch of green nettles, she commenced\nto strike me gently all over my belly below the navel. {The nettles stung\nme horribly and I suddenly took to my heels, with the old hags in full\npursuit.}  Although they were befuddled with wine and lust they followed\nthe right road and chased me through several wards, screaming \"Stop\nthief.\"  I made good my escape, however, although every toe was bleeding\nas the result of my headlong flight.  (I got home as quickly as I could\nand, worn out with fatigue, I sought my couch, but I could not snatch a\nwink of sleep for the evil adventures which had befallen me kept running\nthrough my brain and, brooding upon them, I came to the conclusion that\nno one could be so abjectly unfortunate.  \"Has Fortune, always inimical\nto me, stood in need of the pangs of love, that she might torture me more\ncruelly still,\" I cried out; \"unhappy wretch that I am!  Fortune and Love\nhave joined forces to bring about my ruin.  Cruel Eros himself had never\ndealt leniently with me, loved or lover I am put to the torture!  Take\nthe case of Chrysis:  she loves me desperately, never leaves off teasing\nme, she who despised me as a servant, because, when she was acting as her\nmistress's go-between, I was dressed in the garments of a slave: she, I\nsay) that same Chrysis, who looked with contempt upon your former lowly\nlot, is now bent upon following it up even at the peril of her life; (she\nswore that she would never leave my side on the day when she told me of\nthe violence of her passion: but Circe owns me, heart and soul, all\nothers I despise.  Who could be lovelier  than  she?)  What  loveliness\nhad Ariadne or Leda to compare with hers?  What had Helen to compare with\nher, what has Venus?  If Paris himself had seen her with her dancing\neyes, when he acted as umpire for the quarreling goddesses, he would have\ngiven up Helen and the goddesses for her!  If I could only steal a kiss,\nif only I might put my arms around that divine, that heavenly bosom,\nperhaps the virility would come back to this body and the parts, flaccid\nfrom witchcraft would, I believe, come into their own.  Contempt cannot\ntire me out: what if I was flogged; I will forget it!  What if I was\nthrown out!  I will treat it as a joke!  Only let me be restored to her\ngood graces!\n\n     At rest on my pallet, night's silence had scarce settled down\n\n     To soothe me, and eyes heavy-laden with slumber to lull\n\n     When torturing Amor laid hold of me, seizing my hair\n\n     And dragging me, wounding me, ordered a vigil till dawn.\n\n     'Oh heart of stone, how canst thou lie here alone?' said the God,\n\n     'Thou joy of a thousand sweet mistresses, how, oh my slave?'\n\n     In disarrayed nightrobe I leap to bare feet and essay\n\n     To follow all paths; but a road can discover by none.\n\n     One moment I hasten; the next it is torture to move,\n\n     It irks me again to turn back, shame forbids me to halt\n\n     And stand in the midst of the road.  Lo! the voices of men,\n\n     The roar of the streets, and the songs of the birds, and the bark\n\n     Of vigilant watch-dogs are hushed!  Alone, I of all\n\n     Society dread both my slumber and couch, and obey\n\n     Great Lord of the Passions, thy mandate which on me was laid.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINTH.\n\n(Such thoughts as these, of lovely Circe's charms so wrought upon my mind\nthat) I disordered my bed by embracing the image, as it were, of my\nmistress, (but my efforts were all wasted.)  This obstinate (affliction\nfinally wore out my patience, and I cursed the hostile deity by whom I\nwas bewitched.  I soon recovered my composure, however, and, deriving\nsome consolation from thinking of the heroes of old, who had been\npersecuted by the anger of the gods, I broke out in these lines:)\n\n     Hostile gods and implacable rate not me alone pursue;\n\n     Herakles once suffered the weight of heaven's displeasure too\n\n     Driven from the Inachian coast: Laomedon of old\n\n     Sated two of the heavenly host: in Pelias, behold\n\n     Juno's power to avenge an affront; and Telephus took arms\n\n     Knowing not he must bear the brunt; Ulysses feared the storms\n\n     Angry Neptune decreed as his due.  Now, me to overwhelm\n\n     Outraged Priapus ever pursues on land and Nereus' realm.\n\n(Tortured by these cares I spent the whole night in anxiety, and at dawn,\nGiton, who had found out that I had slept at home, entered the room and\nbitterly accused me of leading a licentious life; he said that the whole\nhousehold was greatly concerned at what I had been doing, that I was so\nrarely present to attend to my duties, and that the intrigue in which I\nwas engaged would very likely bring about my ruin.  I gathered from this\nthat he had been well informed as to my affairs, and that someone had\nbeen to the house inquiring for me.  Thereupon,) I began to ply Giton\nwith questions as to whether anyone had made inquiry for me; \"Not today,\"\nhe replied, \"but yesterday a woman came in at the door, not bad looking,\neither, and after talking to me for quite a while, and wearing me out\nwith her far-fetched conversation, finally ended by saying that you\ndeserved punishment, and that you would receive the scourging of a slave\nif the injured party pressed his complaint.\"  (This news afflicted me so\nbitterly that I levelled fresh recriminations against Fortune, and) I had\nnot yet finished grumbling when Chrysis came in and, throwing herself\nupon me, embraced me passionately.  \"I have you,\" she cried, \"just as I\nhoped I would; you are my heart's desire, my joy, you can never put out\nthis flame of mine unless you quench it in my blood!\"  (I was greatly\nembarrassed by this wantonness of Chrysis and had recourse to flattery\nin order that I might rid myself of her, as I feared that her passionate\noutcries would reach the ears of Eumolpus who, in the arrogance of\nsuccess, had put on the manner of the master.  So on this account, I did\neverything I could think of to calm Chrysis.  I feigned love, whispered\ncompliments, in short, so skillfully did I dissimulate that she believed\nI was Love's own captive.  I showed her what pressing peril overhung us\nshould she be caught in that room with me, as Eumolpus was only too ready\nto punish the slightest offense.  On hearing this, she left me hurriedly,\nand all the more quickly, as she caught sight of Giton, who had only left\nme a little before she had come in, on his way to my room.  She was\nscarcely gone when) one of the newly engaged servants rushed in and\ninformed me that the master was furiously angry with me because of my two\ndays' absence from duty; I would do well, therefore, to prepare some\nplausible excuse, as it was not likely that his angry passion would be\nplacated until someone had been flogged.  (Seeing that I was so vexed and\ndisheartened, Giton said not a word about the woman, contenting himself\nwith speaking of Eumolpus, and advising me that it would be better to\njoke with him than to treat the matter seriously.  I followed this lead\nand appeared before the old fellow, with so merry a countenance that,\ninstead of showing severity, he received me with good humor and rallied\nme upon the success of my love affairs, praising the elegance of my\nfigure which made me such a favorite with the ladies.  \"I know very\nwell,\" he went on, \"that a lovely woman is dying for love of you,\nEncolpius, and this may come in handy for us, so play your part and I'll\nplay mine, too!\")\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTIETH.\n\n(He was still speaking, when in came a) matron of the most exclusive\nsocial set, Philumene by name, who had often, when young, extorted many\na legacy by means of her charms, but an old woman now, the flower of her\nbeauty faded, she threw her son and daughter in the way of childless old\nmen and through this substitution she contrived to continue her\nestablished policy.  She came to Eumolpus, both to commend her children\nto his practical judgment and to entrust herself and her hopes to his\ngood nature, he being the only one in all the world who could daily\ninstruct young children in healthy precepts.  In short, she left her\nchildren in Eumolpus' house in order that they might hear the words that\ndropped from his lips, as this was the only legacy she could leave to\nthem.  Nor did she do otherwise than as she had promised, but left in\nhis bed chamber a very beautiful daughter and her brother, a lad, and\npretended that she herself was compelled to go out to a temple to offer\nup her vows.  Eumolpus, who was so continent that even I was a boy in his\neyes, lost no time in inviting the damsel to sacrifice to the Aversa\nVenus; but, as he had told everyone that he was gouty and that his back\nwas weak, and as he stood in danger of upsetting the whole farce if he\ndid not carefully live up to the pretence, he therefore, that the\nimposture might be kept up, prevailed upon the young lady to seat herself\nupon that goodness which had been commended to her, and ordered Corax to\ncrawl under the bed upon which he himself was lying and after bracing\nhimself by putting his hands upon the floor, to hoist his master up and\ndown with his own back.  Corax carried out the order in full and\nskillfully seconded the wriggling of the girl with a corresponding\nseesaw.  Then, when the crisis was about due, Eumolpus, in a ringing\nvoice, called out to Corax to increase the cadence.  And thus the old\nlecher, suspended between his servant and his mistress, enjoyed himself\njust as if he were in a swing.  Time and again Eumolpus repeated this\nperformance, to the accompaniment of ringing laughter in which he himself\njoined.  At last, fearing I might lose an opportunity through lack of\napplication, I also made advances to the brother who was enjoying the\ngymnastics of his sister through the keyhole, to see if he would prove\namenable to assault.  Nor did this well trained lad reject my advances;\nbut alas!  I discovered that the God was still my enemy.  (However, I was\nnot so blue over this failure as I had been over those before, and my\nvirility returned a little later and, suddenly finding myself in better\nfettle I cried out,) \"Great are the gods who have made me whole again!\nIn his loving kindness, Mercury, who conducts and reconducts the souls,\nhas restored to me that which a hostile hand had cut away.  Look!  You\nwill find that I am more graciously endowed than was Protestilaus or any\nother of the heroes of old!\"  So saying, I lifted up my tunic and showed\nEumolpus that I was whole.  At first he was startled, then, that he might\nbelieve his own eyes, he handled this pledge of the good will of the gods\nwith both hands.  (Our good humor was revived by this blessing and we\nlaughed at the diplomacy of Philumene and at the skill with which her\nchildren plied their calling, little likely to profit them much with us,\nhowever, as it was only in hopes of coming into a legacy that she had\nabandoned the boy and girl to us.  Meditating upon this unscrupulous\nmethod of getting around childless old men, I began to take thought of\nthe present state of our own affairs and made use of the occasion to warn\nEumolpus that he might be bitten in biting the biters.  \"Everything that\nwe do,\" I said, \"should be dictated by Prudence.) Socrates, {whose\njudgment was riper than that} of the gods or of men used to boast that he\nhad never looked into a tavern nor believed the evidence of his own eyes\nin any crowded assembly which was disorderly: so nothing is more in\nkeeping than always conversing with wisdom.\n\n     Live coals are more readily held in men's mouths than a secret!\n\n     Whatever you talk of at home will fly forth in an instant,\n\n     Become a swift rumor and beat at the walls of your city.\n\n     Nor is it enough that your confidence thus has been broken,\n\n     As rumor but grows in the telling and strives to embellish.\n\n     The covetous servant who feared to make public his knowledge\n\n     A hole in the ground dug, and therein did whisper his secret\n\n     That told of a king's hidden ears: this the earth straightway\n     echoed,\n\n     And rustling reeds added that Midas was king in the story.\n\nEvery word of this is true,\" I insisted, \"and no one deserves to get into\ntrouble more quickly than he who covets the goods of others!  How could\ncheats and swindlers live unless they threw purses or little bags\nclinking with money into the crowd for bait?  Just as dumb brutes are\nenticed by food, human beings are not to be caught unless they have\nsomething in the way of hope at which to nibble!  (That was the reason\nthat the Crotonians gave us such a satisfactory reception, but) the ship\ndoes not arrive, from Africa, with your money and your slaves, as you\npromised.  The patience of the fortune-hunters is worn out and they have\nalready cut down their liberality so that, either I am mistaken, or else\nour usual luck is about to return to punish you!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIRST.\n\n(\"I have thought up a scheme,\" replied Eumolpus, \"which will embarrass\nour fortune-hunting friends sorely,\" and as he said this, he drew his\ntablets from his wallet and read his last wishes aloud, as follows:)\n\"All who are down for legacies under my will, my freedmen only excepted,\nshall come into what I bequeath them subject to this condition, that they\ndo cut my body into pieces and devour said pieces in sight of the crowd:\n{nor need they be inordinately shocked} for among some peoples, the law\nordaining that the dead shall be devoured by their relatives is still in\nforce; nay, even the sick are often abused because they render their own\nflesh worse!  I admonish my friends, by these presents, lest they refuse\nwhat I command, that they devour my carcass with as great relish as they\ndamned my soul!\"  (Eumolpus had just started reading the first clauses\nwhen several of his most intimate friends entered the room and catching\nsight of the tablets in his hand in which was contained his last will and\ntestament, besought him earnestly to permit them to hear the contents.\nHe consented immediately and read the entire instrument from first to\nlast.  But when they had heard that extraordinary stipulation by which\nthey were under the necessity of devouring his carcass, they were greatly\ncast down, but) his reputation for enormous wealth dulled the eyes and\nbrains of the wretches, (and they were such cringing sycophants that they\ndared not complain of the outrage in his hearing.  One there was,\nnevertheless, named) Gorgias, who was willing to comply, (provided he did\nnot have too long to wait!  To this, Eumolpus made answer:) \"I have no\nfear that your stomach will turn, it will obey orders; if, for one hour\nof nausea you promise it a plethora of good things: just shut your eyes\nand pretend that it's not human guts you've bolted, but ten million\nsesterces!  And beside, we will find some condiment which will disguise\nthe taste!  No flesh is palatable of itself, it must be seasoned by art\nand reconciled to the unwilling stomach.  And, if you desire to fortify\nthe plan by precedents, the Saguntines ate human flesh when besieged by\nHannibal, and they had no legacy in prospect!  In stress of famine, the\ninhabitants of Petelia did the same and gained nothing from the diet\nexcept that they were not hungry!  When Numantia was taken by Scipio,\nmothers, with the half-eaten bodies of their babes in their bosoms, were\nfound!  (Therefore, since it is only the thought of eating human flesh\nthat makes you squeamish, you must try to overcome your aversion, with\nall your heart, so that you may come into the immense legacies I have put\nyou down for!\"  So carelessly did Eumolpus reel off these extravagances\nthat the fortune-hunters began to lose faith in the validity of his\npromises and subjected our words and actions to a closer scrutiny\nimmediately; their suspicions grew with their experience and they came\nto the conclusion that we were out and out grafters, and thereupon those\nwho had been put to the greatest expense for our entertainment resolved\nto seize us and take it out in just revenge; but Chrysis, who was privy\nto all their scheming, informed me of the designs which the Crotonians\nhad hatched; and when I heard this news, I was so terrified that I fled\ninstantly, with Giton, and left Eumolpus to his fate.  I learned, a few\ndays later, that the Crotonians, furious because the old fox had lived\nso long and so sumptuously at the public expense, had put him to death\nin the Massilian manner.  That you may comprehend what this means, know\nthat) whenever the Massilians were ravaged by the plague, one of the poor\nwould offer himself to be fed for a whole year upon choice food at public\ncharge; after which, decked out with olive branches and sacred vestments,\nhe was led out through the entire city, loaded with imprecations so that\nhe might take to himself the evils from which the city suffered, and then\nthrown headlong (from the cliff.)\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\nETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\nDeath levels caste and sufferers unites\nFace, rouged and covered with cosmetics\nFor one hour of nausea you promise it a plethora of good things\nIn the arrogance of success, had put on the manner of the master\nLive coals are more readily held in men's mouths than a secret\nPutting as good a face upon the matter as I could\nRumor but grows in the telling and strives to embellish\nSomething in the way of hope at which to nibble\nStained by the lifeblood of the God of Wine\nTo follow all paths; but a road can discover by none\nWhatever you talk of at home will fly forth in an instant","title":"The Satyricon \u2014 Volume 05: Crotona Affairs","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":9918}