The Satyricon of Petronius ArbiterPetronius Arbiter
General
The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter
Petronius Arbiter
Rome -- Fiction; Satire, Latin -- Translations into English
Nor had he sooner said it, than the fourth consort struck up; at which
the waiters fell a dancing, and took off the upper part of the
charger, under which was a dish of cramm'd fowl, and the hinder paps
of a sow that had farrowed but a day before, well powdered, and the
middle a hare, stuck in with finns of fish in his side, that he look'd
like a flying horse; and on the sides of the fish four little images,
that spouted a relishing sauce on some fish that lay near them, all of
them brought from the river Euripus.
We also seconded the shout begun by the family, and fell merrily
aboard this; and Trimalchio no less pleas'd than our selves, cryed
"Cut"; at which the musick sounding again, the carver humour'd it, and
cut up the meat with such antick postures, you'd have thought him a
carman fighting to an organ.
Nevertheless Trimalchio in a lower note, cryed out again "Cut:" I
hearing the word so often repeated, suspecting there might be some
joke in it, was not ashamed to ask him that sate next above me, what
it meant? And he that had been often present at the like, "You see,"
said he, "him that carves about, his name is cutter; and as often as
he says 'Cut,' he both calls and commands."
The humour spoiled my stomach for eating; but turning to him that I
might learn more, I made some pleasant discourse to him at a distance;
and at last asked him what that woman was that so often scutled up and
down the room.
"It is," said he, "Trimalchio's wife, her name Fortunata, she measures
money by the bushel; but what was she not long since? Pardon me sir,
you would not have touch'd her with a pair of tongs, but now, no one
knows how, or wherefore she's got into heaven; and is Trimalchio's all
in all: In short, if she says it is mid-night at mid-day, he'll
believe her. He's so very wealthy, he knows not what he has; but she
has an eye every where; and when you least think to meet her: She's
void of all good counsel, and withal of all ill tongue; a very pye at
his bolster; whom she loves she loves; and whom she does not love, she
does not love.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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