The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter Part 12

With dreadful steel, the part I wou'd have lopt, Thrice from my trembling hand the razor dropt.

Now, what I might before, I could not do, For cold as ice the fearful thing withdrew; And shrunk behind a wrinkled canopy, Hiding his head from my revenge and me.

Thus, by his fear, I'm baulkt of my design, When I in words more killing vent my spleen.

At what time, raising myself on the bed, in this or like manner, I reproacht the sullen impotent: With what face can you look up, thou shame of heaven and man? that can'st not be seriously mention'd. Have I deserv'd from you, when rais'd within sight of heavens of joys, to be struck down to the lowest h.e.l.l? To have a scandal fixt on the very prime and vigour of my years, and to be reduc'd to the weakness of an old man? I beseech you, sir, give me an epitaph on my departed vigour; tho' in a great heat I had thus said,

He still continu'd looking on the ground, Nor more, at this had rais'd his guilty head, Than th' drooping poppy on its tender stalk.

Nor when I had done, did I less repent of my ridiculous pa.s.sion, and with a conscious blush, began to think, how unaccountable it was, that forgetting all shame, I shou'd contend with that part of me, that all men of sence, reckon not worth their thoughts. A little after, relapsing to my former humour: But what's the crime, began I, if by a natural complaint I was eas'd of my grief? or how is it, that we blame our stomachs or bellies, when 'tis our heads that are distemper'd?

Did not Ulysses beat his breast, as if that had disturb'd him? And don't we see the actors punish their eyes, as if they heard the tragick scene? Those that have the gout in their legs, swear at them; Those that have it in their fingers, do so by them: Those that have sore eyes, are angry with their eyes.

Why do the strickt-liv'd Cato's of the age, At my familiar lines so gravely rage?

In measures loosly plain, blunt satyr flows, And all the people so sincerely shows.

For whose a stranger to the joys of love?

Who, can't the thoughts of such lost pleasures move?

Such Epicurus own'd the chiefest bliss, And such lives the G.o.ds themselves possess.

There's nothing more deceitful than a ridiculous opinion, nor more ridiculous, than an affected gravity. After this, I call'd Gito to me; and "tell me," said I, "but sincerely, whether Ascyltos, when he took you from me, pursu'd the injury that night, or was chastly content to lye alone?" The boy with his finger at his eyes, took a solemn oath, that he had no incivility offer'd him by Ascyltos.

This drove me to my wits end, nor did I well know what to say: For why, I consider'd, shou'd I think of the twice mischievous accident that lately befell me? At last, I did what I cou'd to recover my vigour: and willing to invoke the a.s.sistance of the G.o.ds, I went out to pay my devotions to Priapus, and as wretched as I was, did not despair, but kneeling at the entry of the chamber, thus beseecht the G.o.d:

"Bacchus and Nymphs delight, O mighty G.o.d!

Whom Cynthia gave to rule the blooming wood.

Lesbos and verdant Thasos thee adore, And Lydians, in loose flowing dress implore, And raise devoted temples to thy power.

Thou Dryad's joy, and Bacchus's guardian, hear My conscious prayer, with an attentive ear.

My hands with guiltless blood I never stain'd, Or sacrilegiously the G.o.ds prophan'd.

To feeble me, restoring blessings send, I did not thee, with my whole self offend.

Who sins thro' weakness is less guilty thought, Be pacify'd, and spare a venial fault.

On me, when smiling fate shall smiling gifts bestow, I'll not ungrateful to thy G.o.dhead go.

A destin'd goat shall on thy altar lye, And the horn'd parent of my flock shall dye.

A sucking pig appease thy injur'd shrine, And hallow'd bowls o're-flow with generous wine.

Then thrice thy frantick votaries shall round Thy temple dance, with youth and garlands crown'd, In holy drunkenness thy orgies sound."

While I was thus at prayers, an old woman, with her hair about her eyes, and disfigur'd with a mournful habit, coming in, disturb'd my devotions; when taking hold of me, she drew all fear out of the entry; and "what hag," said she, "has devour'd your manhood? Or what ominous carcase have you stumbl'd over in your nightly walks? You have not acquitted your self above a boy; but faint, weak, and like a horse o'recharg'd in a steep, tyr'd have lost your toyl and sweat; nor content to sin alone, but have unreveng'd against me, provokt the offended G.o.ds?"

When leading me, obedient to all her commands, a second time to the cell of a neighbouring priestess of Priapus, she threw me upon the bed, and taking up a stick that fastened the door, reveng'd her self on me, that very patiently receiv'd her fury: and at the first stroak, if the breaking of the stick had not lessned its force, she might have broke my head and arm.

I groan'd, and hiding with my arm my head, in a flood of tears lean'd on the pillow: Nor did she then, less troubled, sit on the bed, and began in a shrill voice, to blame her age, till the priestess came in upon us; and "what," said she, "do you do in my chappel, as if some funeral had lately been, rather than a holy-day, in which, even the mournful are merry?"

"Alas, my Enothea!" said she, "this youth was born under an ill star; for neither boy nor maid can raise him to a perfect appet.i.te; you ne're beheld a more unhappy man: In his garden the weak willow, not the l.u.s.ty cedar grows; in short, you may guess what he is, that cou'd rise unblest from Circe's bed."

Upon this, Enothea fixt her self between us, and moving her head a while; "I," said she, "am the only one that can give remedy for that disease; and not to delay it, let him sleep with me to night; and next morning, examine how vigorous I shall have made him.

"'All Nature's works my magick powers obey, The blooming earth shall wither and decay, And when I please, agen be fresh and gay.

From rugged rocks, I make sweet waters flow, And raging billows to me humbly bow.

With rivers, winds, when I command, obey, And at my feet, their fans contracted lay, Tygers and dragons too, my will obey.

But these are small, when of my magick verse, Descending Cynthia does the power confess.

When my commands, make trembling Phbus reign, His fiery steeds, their journey back again.

Such power have charms, by whose prevailing aid The fury of the raging bulls was laid.

The Heaven-born Circe, with her magic song, Ulysses's men, did into monsters turn.

Proteus, with this a.s.sum'd, what shape he wou'd.

I, who this art so long have understood, Can send proud Ida's top into the main, And make the billows bear it up again.'"

I shook with fear at such a romantick promise, and began more intensively to view the old woman: Upon which, she cry'd out, "O Enothea, be as good as your word"; when, carefully wiping her hands, she lay down on the bed, and half smother'd me with kisses.

Enothea, in the middle of the altar, plac'd a turf-table, which she heapt with burning coals, and her old crack cup (for sacrifice) repair'd with temper'd pitch; when she had fixt it to the smoaking-wall from which she took it; putting on her habit, she plac'd a kettle by the fire, and took down a bag that hung near her, in which, a bean was kept for that use, and a very aged piece of a hog's forehead, with the print of a hundred cuts out; when opening the bag, she threw me a part of the bean, and bid me carefully strip it. I obey her command, and try, without daubing my fingers, to deliver the grain from its nasty coverings; but she, blaming my dullness, s.n.a.t.c.ht it from me, and skilfully tearing its sh.e.l.ls with her teeth, spit the black morsels from her, that lay like dead flies on the ground. How ingenious is poverty, and what strange arts will hunger teach? The priestess seem'd so great a lover of this sort of life, that her humour appear'd in every thing about her, and her hut might be truly term'd, sacred to poverty.

Here s.h.i.+nes no glittering ivory set with gold, No marble covers the deluded mold, By its own wealth deluded; but the shrine With simple natural ornaments does s.h.i.+ne.

Round Cere's bower, but homely willows grow, Earthen are all the sacred bowls they know.

Osier the dish, sacred to use divine: Both course and stain'd, the jug that holds the wine.

Mud mixt with straw, make a defending fort, The temple's brazen studs, are k.n.o.bs of dirt.

With rush and reed, is thatcht the hut it self, Where, besides what is on a smoaky shelf, Ripe service-berries into garlands bound, And savory-bunches with dry'd grapes are found.

Such a low cottage Hecale confin'd, Low was her cottage, but sublime her mind.

Her bounteous heart, a grateful praise shall crown, And muses make immortal her renown.

After which, she tasted of the flesh, and hanging the rest, old as her self, on the hook again; the rotten stool on which she was mounted breaking, threw her into the fire, her fall spilt the kettle, and what it held put out the fire; she burnt her elbow, and all her face was hid with the ashes that her fall had rais'd.

Thus disturb'd, I arose, and laughing, took her up; immediately, lest any thing shou'd hinder the offering, she ran for new fire to the neighbourhood, and had hardly got to the door, e're I was set upon by three sacred geese, that daily, I believe, about that time were fed by the old woman; they made an hideous noise, and, surrounding me, one tears my coat, another my shoes, while their furious captain made nothing of doing so by my legs; till seeing my self in danger, I began to be in earnest, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up one of the feet of our little table, made the valiant animal feel my arm'd hand; nor content with a slight blow or two, but reveng'd my self with its death.

Such were the birds Alcides did subdue, That from his conquering arm t'ward Heaven flew: Such sure the harpyes were which poyson strow'd, On cheated Phineus's false deluding food.

Loud lamentations shake the trembling air, The powers above the wild confusion share, Horrours disturb the orders of the sky, And frighted stars beyond their courses fly.

By this time the other two had eat up the pieces of the bean that lay scatter'd on the floor, and having lost their leader, return'd to the temple. When glad of the booty and my revenge, I heal'd the slight old woman's anger, I design'd to make off; and taking up my cloaths, began my march; nor had I reacht the door, e're I saw Enothea bringing in her hand an earthen pot fill'd with fire; upon which I retreated, and throwing down my cloaths, fixt my self in the entry, as if I were impatiently expecting her coming.

Enothea, entring, plac'd the fire, that with broken sticks she had got together, and having heapt more wood upon those, began to excuse her stay, that her friend wou'd not let her go before she had, against the laws of drinking, taken off three healths together. When looking about her, "What," said she, "have you been doing in my absence?

Where's the bean?"

I, who thought I had behav'd my self very honourably, told her the whole fight; and to end her grief for the loss of her bean, presented the goose: when I shew'd the goose, the old woman set up such an out-cry, that you wou'd have thought the geese were re-entring the place.

In confusion and amaz'd at so strange a humour, I askt the meaning of her pa.s.sion? or why she pity'd the goose rather than me.

But wringing her hands, "you wicked wretch," said she, "d'ye speak too? D'ye know what you've done? You've killed the G.o.ds delight, a goose the pleasure of all matrons: And, lest you shou'd think your self innocent, if a magistrate shou'd hear of it, you'd be hang'd.

You have defil'd with blood my cell, that to this day had been inviolate. You have done that, for which, if any's so malicious, he may expel me my office."

She said, and trembling, rends her aged hairs, And both her cheeks with wilder fury tears: Sad murmurs from her troubl'd breast arise, A shower of tears there issu'd from her eyes.

And down her face a rapid deluge run, Such as is seen, when a hills frosty crown, By warm Favonius is melted down.

Upon which, "I beseech you," said I, "don't grieve, I'll recompence the loss of your goose with an ostrich."

While amaz'd I spoke, she sat down on the bed, lamented her loss; at what time Proselenos came in with the sacrifice, and viewing the murder'd goose, and enquiring the cause, began very earnestly to cry and pity me, as it had been a father, not a goose I had slain. But tired with this stuff, "I beseech ye," said I, "tell me, tho' it had been a man I kill'd, won't gold wipe off the guilt? See here are two pieces of gold: with these you may purchase G.o.ds as well as geese."

Which, when Enothea beheld, "Pardon me, young man," said she, "I am only concern'd for your safety, which is an argument of love, not hatred; therefore we'll take what care we can to prevent a discovery: You have nothing to do, but intreat the G.o.ds to forgive the sin."

"Who e're has money may securely sail, On all things with all-mighty gold prevail.

May Danae wed, or rival amo'rous Jove, And make her father pandar to his love.

May be a poet, preacher, lawyer too: And bawling win the cause he does not know: And up to Cato's fame for wisdom grow.

Wealth without law will gain at bar renown, How e're the case appears, the cause is won, Every rich lawyer is a Littleton.

In short of all you wish you are possest, All things prevent the wealthy man's request, For Jove himself's the treasure of his chest."