Here full many a patient dies from want of sleep; but that exhaustion is produced by the undigested food that loads the fevered stomach. For what lodging-houses allow of sleep? None but the very wealthy can sleep at Rome.[159] Hence is the source of the disease. The passing of wagons in the narrow curves of the streets, and the mutual revilings of the teamdrivers[160] brought to a stand-still, would banish sleep even from Drusus and sea-calves.[161] If duty calls him,[162] the rich man will be borne through the yielding crowd, and pass rapidly over their heads on the shoulders of his tall Liburnian, and, as he goes, will read or write, or even sleep inside his litter,[163] for his sedan with windows closed entices sleep. And still he will arrive before us. In front of us, as we hurry on, a tide of human beings stops the way; the mass that follows behind presses on our loins in dense concourse; one man pokes me with his elbow, another with a hard pole;[164] one knocks a beam against my head, another a ten-gallon cask. My legs are coated thick with mud; then, anon, I am trampled upon by great heels all round me, and the hob-nail of the soldier's caliga remains imprinted on my toe. Do you not see with what a smoke the sportula is frequented? A hundred guests! and each followed by his portable kitchen.[165] Even Corbulo[166] himself could scarcely carry such a number of huge vessels, so many things piled upon his head, which, without bending his neck, the wretched little slave supports, and keeps fanning his fire as he runs along.[167] Tunics that have been patched together are torn asunder again. Presently, as the tug approaches, the long fir-tree quivers, other wagons are conveying pine-trees; they totter from their height, and threaten ruin to the crowd. For if that wain, that is transporting blocks of Ligustican stone, is upset, and pours its mountain-load upon the masses below, what is there left of their bodies? Who can find their limbs or bones? Every single carcass of the mob is crushed to minute atoms as impalpable as their souls. While, all this while, the family at home, in happy ignorance of their master's fate, are washing up the dishes, and blowing up the fire with their mouths, and making a clatter with the well-oiled strigils, and arranging the bathing towels with the full oilflask. Such are the various occupations of the bustling slaves. But the master himself is at this moment seated[168] on the banks of Styx, and, being a novice, is horrified at the grim ferry-man, and dares not hope for the boat to cross the murky stream; nor has he, poor wretch, the obol in his mouth to hand to Charon.