Described BY

Quintus Horatius Flaccus.

Satirarum Liber II. VIII. Transl. By P. Francis.

[This is obviously a satire on a person of bad taste giving a dinner to men of superior rank, where every delicacy of the season, though commended with ostentation by the host, is either tainted by being kept too long, or spoiled by bad cookery, and disgraced by the awkwardness of the attendants.]

Horace, Fundanius

Horace.

They told me that you spent the jovial night With Nasidienus, that same happy wight, From early day, or you had been my guest; But, prithee, tell me how you liked the feast.

Fundanius.

Sure never better.

Horace.

Tell me, if you please, How did you first your appetite appease ?

Fundanius.

First, a Lucanian boar, of tender kind, Caught, says our host, in a soft southern wind: Around him lay whatever could excite, With pungent force, the jaded appetite; Rapes, lettuce, radishes, anchovy brine, With skerrets and the lees of Coan wine. This dish removed, a slave, expert and able, With purple napkin wiped a maple table;

Another sweeps the fragments of the feast,

That nothing useless might offend the guest.

Like Ceres' priestess dark Hydaspes rears

A bowl that Caecuba's rich vintage bears,

White of the Chian grape, the much-famed juice,

But dead and vapid, Alcon's hand produce.

" If Alban or Falernian please you more,"

So says our host, "you may have both, good store."

Poor wealth, indeed !

Horace.

But, tell me, who were there, Thus happy, to enjoy such luscious fare ?

Fundanius.

On the first couch I haply lay between

Viscus and Varius, if aright I ween;

Servilius and Vibidius both were there,

Brought by Maecenas; and with him they share

The middle bed. Our master of the feast

On the third couch, in seat of honor placed,

Porcius betwixt and Nomentanus lies Porcius, who archly swallows custard pies While Nomentanus, with his finger, shows

Each hidden dainty, which so well he knows;

For we, poor folk, unknowing of our feast,

Eat fish and wild fowl - of no common taste.

But he, to prove how luscious was the treat,

With a broiled flounder's entrails crowds my plate.

Then told me: Apples are more ruddy bright,

If gathered by fair Luna's waning light.

He best can tell you where the difference lies But here Servilius to Vibidius cries:

" Sure to be poison'd, unrevenged we die,

Unless we drink the wretched talker dry.

Slave, give us larger glasses ! " Struck with dread,

A fearful pale our landlord's face o'erspread;

Great were his terrors of such drinking folk, Because with too much bitterness they joke. Or that hot wines, dishonoring his feast, Deafen the subtle judgment of the taste.

When our two champions had their goblets crown'd, We did them justice, and the glass went round; His parasites alone his anger fear'd. And the full flask unwillingly they spar'd. In a large dish an outstretch'd lamprey lies, With shrimps all floating round; the master cries: " This fish, Maecenas, full of roe was caught, For, after spawning time, its flesh is naught. The sauce is mixed with olive-oil; the best And purest from the vats Venafran press'd. And as it boil'd we pour'd in Spanish brine, Nor less than five year old Italian wine. A little Chian 's better when 'tis boil'd, By any other it is often spoil'd. Then was white pepper o'er it gently pour'd, And vinegar of Lesbian vintage sour'd. I, first among the men of sapience, knew, Roquets and herbs in cockle brine to stew; Though in the same rich pickle, 'tis confess'd, His unwash'd crayfish sage Curtillus dress'd."

But lo ! the canopy that o'er us spreads, Tumbled in hideous ruin on our heads; With dust, how black ! not such the clouds arise When o'er the plain a northern tempest flies. Some horrors yet more horrible we dread, But raise us when we found the danger fled.

Poor Rufus droop'd his head, and sadly cried, As if his only son untimely died. Sure he had wept, till weeping ne'er had end, But Nomentanus thus upraised his friend: " Fortune, thou crudest of powers divine, To joke poor mortals is a joke of thine."

While Varius, with a napkin, scarce suppress'd

His laughter. Balatro, who loves a jest,

Cries: " Such is the lot of life, nor must you claim

For all your toils a fair return of fame.

While you are tortured thus, and torn with pain,

A guest like me, polite to entertain,

With bread well baked, with sauces season'd right,

With slaves in waiting, elegantly tight,

Down rush the canopies, a trick of fate,

Or a groom footman, stumbling, breaks a plate.

Good fortune hides, adversity calls forth

A landlord's genius and a leader's worth."

To this mine host: " Thou ever gentle guest, May all thy wishes by the gods be bless'd, Thou best good man ! " But when we saw him rise, From bed to bed the spreading whisper flies. No play was half so fine.

Horace.

But prithee say, How afterwards you laugh'd the time away.

Fundanius.

" Slaves (cries Vibidius), have you broach'd the cask ?

How often must I call for the other flask ? "

With some pretended joke our laugh was dress'd,

Servilius ever seconding the jest;

When you, great host, return'd with alter'd face,

As if to mend with art your late disgrace.

The slaves behind, in mighty charger bore A crane, in pieces torn, and powder'd o'er With salt and flour, and a white gander's liver Stuff'd fat with figs, bespoke the curious giver, Besides the wings of hares, for, so it seems, No man of luxury the back esteems.

Then saw we blackbirds, with o'erroasted breast, Laid on a board, and ring-doves rumpless dress'd !

Delicious fare ! did not our host explain Their various qualities in endless strain, Their various natures; but we fled the feast, Resolved in vengeance nothing more to taste; As if Canidia, with empoison'd breath, Worse than a serpent's, blasted it with death.