“Who? What?” cried the poet himself, hastily looking round. “What Ravidus159 is here, to take up the cudgels against my iambics?”
This quotation from Catullus, the favorite poet and model of the epigrammatist, did not fail of its point, for every one, with the single exception of the blushing Aurelius, was reminded by it that Ravidus was, in that passage, called a “crazed and witless wretch.”
“It was I,” said Aurelius coolly. “But it was not your verse that I criticised, but … however, you heard. If a woman is no more to you than the beetle, the snake that wriggles in the dust, I can but pity your experience.”
“Yours then has been more fortunate?” laughed Martial.
“I should hope so, indeed!”
Lycoris, who, though at some distance, must have heard every word, was chatting vehemently with Stephanus, her neighbor on her left, who kept his gaze alert, though with an air of reserve and dignity. Two of her companions, pretty but by no means maidenly personages, stared contemptuously at Aurelius as if to say: “Well, what a booby!”
“Here is to your health, worthy Cato of the North!” cried Martial mockingly. “Reveal his name to me, O Muse! and I will dedicate to you five and twenty epigrams on his virtue.”
“He has a sharp muzzle,” muttered Norbanus to Aurelius. “You will get the worst of it.”
“No doubt of that,” said Aurelius. “Fencing with words was never my strong ground.”
“Just my case; and I cannot stand his accursed ribaldry. These fellows are like eels, it is impossible to hold them. It is the city tone, my dear friend! Our Stephanus now – only see how the man is made up – now, full in the light. By Castor! he is touched up and painted like a wench – Stephanus again, is a master in the war of words. But he gives you a pebble for a gem; everything about him is false, even his hair. But beware of him; he will try to make mince-meat of you.”
“I say, Martial,” said a harsh voice: “Who is going to publish the epigrams you gave us to-day?”
“I do not yet know. Possibly Tryphon."160
“And when, my friend?”
“Well, in the course of the month.”
“So soon? Listen, when the book comes out, may I send to you to borrow a copy?”
“You are too kind, my dear Lupercus; but why should you give yourself and a slave so much trouble? I live quite high up on the Quirinal.161 You can get what you want much nearer to you. You pass every day by the Argiletum. There you will find a very interesting shop, exactly opposite the Forum of Caesar. Atrectus, the bookseller, will feel himself honored in selecting a beautiful copy for you – almost given away too, as I may say, for with purple letters and smoothly pumiced it costs but five or six denarii."162
“Six denarii!” exclaimed Lupercus. “That is too dear for me. I have to be saving with my money.”
“And I must be saving with my books.”
“It is not every one, who knows how to be obliging!”
“Nay, do not give up all hope,” retorted the epigrammatist scornfully. “Make your wants known at all the street-corners,163 and perhaps some costermonger164 will lend you a copy.”
“Why is Martial so hard upon him?” asked Aurelius of the praetorian guardsman. “This Lupercus seems to be in narrow circumstances.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Norbanus. “With an income of two hundred thousand sesterces…”
“Impossible! how can a man be at once so rich and so mean?”
“You are in Rome, Aurelius – do not forget that you are in Rome. Here extremes meet; here everything is possible, even the impossible.”
It was now growing dusk, and in a few minutes hundreds of costly bronze lamps were lighted, some hanging in candelabra from the ceiling, some elegantly arranged round the pilasters and columns. Indeed it was not till this moment, that the banquet really assumed the aspect intended by the artistic and extravagant imagination of the hostess. The beaten silver of the massive bowls165 and platters gleamed brightly under the wreaths of flowers and garlands of foliage, while the huge wine-jars and costly Murrhine vases,166 the jovial and purpled faces of the guests, the splendid dresses, the pearls and gems – all were doubly effective under the artificial light.
One costly delicacy was followed by another; all the productions of the remotest ends of the earth met at the banquet of Lycoris. Fish from the Atlantic ocean, Muraenae from Lake Lucrinus, Guinea-fowls from Numidia,167 young kids from the province of Thesprotis168 in Epirus, pheasants from the Caspian Sea,169 Egyptian dates,170 dainty cakes171 from Picenum, figs from Chios,172 pistachio nuts173 from Palestine – were all here of the choicest quality and elaborately prepared. Euphemus,174 Caesar’s own head-cook, could have done no more. Nor could anything be more perfect, than the grace with which the handsomely-dressed slaves offered each dainty on long slices of bread. After each dish had gone round, little boys with wings brought in magnificent onyx jars filled with perfumed water, which they poured over the hands of the guests. The long flowing hair of a female slave175 served to dry them, in the place of the more usual linen or asbestos napkin. In such trifles as these Lycoris loved to be original.
During the meal an intermezzo had now and then interrupted the eager conversation. Black-haired girls from Gades and Hispalis176 had come in, dancing to the cadence of castanets177 and cymbals; flute-players, singers and reciters had given highly-applauded evidence of their talents. But now, when the business of eating was over and the commissatio, as it was called, the drinking in short, was about to begin, as was hinted by the distribution to the guests of fresh wreaths and of perfumed oils, a buffoon or jester178 made his appearance, and soon filled the hall with Homeric laughter. His small and muscular form was clothed in gaily-colored scraps of raiment, and his face was painted in strong colors. Entering the room with a hop, skip and jump, he performed a series of somersaults with great skill; then leaping high over the guests’ heads, actually on to the table, he placed himself in front of Lycoris and began thus in a high, shrill voice:
“Highly-esteemed friends of this illustrious house, now that your empty stomachs are duly replenished your minds too are to be no less delightfully satisfied. I offer you the feast of self-knowledge; to each one of you here I will shortly and plainly tell your fortune. If I appear to you over-bold, attribute it to the functions of my office; for audacity is my vocation, as it is that of the most honored Martial.”
A storm of applause rang through the banqueting-hall, and Martial himself even laughed heartily.
“Capital, capital!” he exclaimed to the little man. “Your beginning is admirable and promises much,” and he stroked his grizzled beard with much complacency; the jester bowed and went on with his privileged impertinences. He flung some epigrammatic and pointed remark at one and another