Satyricon, vol 2, Trimalchio | Page 6

at home on one as he is in the other. For that reason, I put nothing
on that sign for fear of weighing down my own destiny. Bulldozers and
gluttons are born under the Lion, and women and fugitives and
chain-gangs are born under the Virgin. Butchers and perfumers are
born under the Balance, and all who think that it is their business to
straighten things out. Poisoners and assassins are born under the
Scorpion. Cross-eyed people who look at the vegetables and sneak
away with the bacon, are born under the Archer. Horny-handed sons of
toil are born under Capricorn. Bartenders and pumpkin-heads are born
under the Water-Carrier. Caterers and rhetoricians are born under the
Fishes: and so the world turns round, just like a mill, and something
bad always comes to the top, and men are either being born or else
they're dying. As to the sod and the honeycomb in the middle, for I
never do anything without a reason, Mother Earth is in the centre,
round as an egg, and all that is good is found in her, just like it is in a
honeycomb."
CHAPTER THE
FORTIETH.
"Bravo!" we yelled, and, with hands uplifted to the ceiling, we swore
that such fellows as Hipparchus and Aratus were not to be compared
with him. At length some slaves came in who spread upon the couches
some coverlets upon which were embroidered nets and hunters stalking
their game with boar-spears, and all the paraphernalia of the chase. We
knew not what to look for next, until a hideous uproar commenced, just
outside the dining-room door, and some Spartan hounds commenced to
run around the table all of a sudden. A tray followed them, upon which

was served a wild boar of immense size, wearing a liberty cap upon its
head, and from its tusks hung two little baskets of woven palm fibre,
one of which contained Syrian dates, the other, Theban. Around it hung
little suckling pigs made from pastry, signifying that this was a
brood-sow with her pigs at suck. It turned out that these were souvenirs
intended to be taken home. When it came to carving the boar, our old
friend Carver, who had carved the capons, did not appear, but in his
place a great bearded giant, with bands around his legs, and wearing a
short hunting cape in which a design was woven. Drawing his hunting-
knife, lie plunged it fiercely into the boar's side, and some thrushes flew
out of the gash. fowlers, ready with their rods, caught them in a
moment, as they fluttered around the room and Trimalchio ordered one
to each guest, remarking, "Notice what fine acorns this forest-bred boar
fed on," and as he spoke, some slaves removed the little baskets from
the tusks and divided the Syrian and Theban dates equally among the
diners.
CHAPTER THE
FORTY-FIRST.
Getting a moment to myself, in the meantime, I began to speculate as to
why the boar had come with a liberty cap upon his head. After
exhausting my invention with a thousand foolish guesses, I made bold
to put the riddle which teased me to my old informant. "Why, sure," he
replied, "even your slave could explain that; there's no riddle,
everything's as plain as day! This boar made his first bow as the last
course of yesterday's dinner and was dismissed by the guests, so today
he comes back as a freedman!" I damned my stupidity and refrained
from asking any more questions for fear I might leave the impression
that I had never dined among decent people before. While we were
speaking, a handsome boy, crowned with vine leaves and ivy, passed
grapes around, in a little basket, and impersonated Bacchus-happy,
Bacchus-drunk, and Bacchus- dreaming, reciting, in the meantime, his
master's verses, in a shrill voice. Trimalchio turned to him and said,
"Dionisus, be thou Liber," whereupon the boy immediately snatched
the cap from the boar's head, and put it upon his own. At that

Trimalchio added, "You can't deny that my father's middle name was
Liber!" We applauded Trimalchio's conceit heartily, and kissed the boy
as he went around. Trimalchio retired to the close-stool, after this
course, and we, having freedom of action with the tyrant away, began
to draw the other guests out. After calling for a bowl of wine, Dama
spoke up, "A day's nothing at all: it's night before you can turn around,
so you can't do better than to go right to the dining-room from your bed.
It's been so cold that I can hardly get warm in a bath, but a hot drink's
as good as an overcoat: I've had some long pegs, and between you and
me, I'm a bit groggy; the booze has gone to my head."
CHAPTER THE
FORTY-SECOND.
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