Satyricon, vol 5, Crotona Affairs | Page 7

the force of the blow, she might easily have
broken my arms or my head. I groaned dismally, and especially when
she manipulated my member and, shedding a flood of tears, I covered
my head with my right arm and huddled down upon the pillow. Nor did
she weep less bitterly:
The sailor, naked from his foundered barque, Some shipwrecked
mariner seeks out to hear his woe; When hail beats down a farmer's
crop, his cark Seeks consolation from another, too. Death levels caste
and sufferers unites, And weeping parents are as one in grief; We also
will beseech the starry heights, United prayers climb best, is the belief.
She seated herself upon the other side of the bed and in quavering tones
commenced to accuse the delays of old age. At last the priestess came
in. "Why," she cried, "what has brought you into my cell as if you were
visiting a newly made grave? And on a feast-day, too, when even
mourners ought to smile!" "OEnothea," the old hag replied, "this young
man here was born under an unlucky star: he can't dispose of his goods
to either boy or girl. Such an unfortunate fellow you never saw. He has
no tool at all, only a piece of leather soaked in water! I wish you would
tell me what you think of a man who could get up from Circe's bed
without having tasted pleasure!" On hearing these words, OEnothea sat
down between us and, after shaking her head for a while, "I'm the only

one that knows how to cure that disease," said she, "and for fear you
think I'm talking to hear myself talk, I'll just have the young fellow
sleep with me for a night, and if I don't make it as hard as horn!
All that you see in the world must give heed to my mandates;
Blossoming earth, when I will it, must languish, a desert.'
Riches pour forth, when I will it, from crags and grim boulders
Waters will spurt that will rival the Nile at its flooding
Seas calm their billows before me, gales silence their howlings,
Hearing my step! And the rivers sink into their channels;
Dragons, Hyrcanian tigers stand fast at my bidding!
Why should I tell you of small things? The image of Luna
Drawn by my spells must descend, and Apollo, atremble
Backs up his horses and turns from his course at my order!
Such is the power of my word! By the rites of a virgin
Quenched is the raging of bulls; and the sun's daughter Circe
Changed and transfigured the crew of the wily Ulysses.
Proteus changes his form when his good pleasure dictates,
I, who am skilled in these arts, can the shrubs of Mount Ida
Plant in the ocean; turn rivers to flow up the mountains!"

CHAPTER THE
ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIFTH.
At this declaration, which was so awe-inspiring, I shuddered in terror,
and commenced to scrutinize the crone more narrowly. "Come now,"
said OEnothea, "obey my orders," and, carefully wiping her hands, she
bent over the cot and kissed me, once, twice! On the middle of the altar
OEnothea placed an old table, upon which she heaped live coals, then
with melted pitch she repaired a goblet which had become cracked
through age. Next she replaced, in the smoke-stained wall, a peg which
had come out when she took down the wooden goblet. Then, having
donned a mantle, in the shape of a piece of square-cut cloth, she set a
huge kettle upon the hearth and at the same time speared with a fork a
cloth hanging upon the meathooks, and lifted it down. It contained
some beans which had been laid away for future use, and a very small
and stale piece of pig's cheek, scored with a thousand slashes. When
she had untied the string which fastened the cloth, she poured some of

the beans upon the table and ordered me to shell them quickly and
carefully. I obey her mandate and with careful fingers separate the
beans from the filthy pods which contain them; but she, accusing my
clumsiness, hastily snatched them and, skillfully tearing off the pods
with her teeth, spat them upon the ground, where they looked like dead
flies. I wondered, then, at the ingenuity of poverty and its expedients
for emergency. (So ardent a follower of this virtue did the priestess
seem that it was reflected in everything around her. Her dwelling, in
particular, was a very shrine of poverty.)
No Indian ivory set in gold gleamed here, No trodden marble glistened
here; no earth Mocked for its gifts; but Ceres' festive grove: With
willow wickerwork 'twas set around, New cups of clay by revolutions
shaped Of lowly wheel. For honey soft, a bowl; Platters of