Satyricon Page #2

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has never meant riches.

Never. A comforting thought,

how poverty is sister to genius.

l am very poor

and my name, it is Eumolpo.

l show you masterpieces

which could not be painted today.

They don't have the energy today.

The whole of civilisation, shagged out.

And what is the reason for

this sad fact of dilapidation?

A brabble stammer of money. Greed.

Time's flown. ldeals such as virtue

pure and simple flourished, and art left.

That fellow Eudosso grew old

in the mountains, watching the stars.

Lysippus, all his life,

drew a single model and died famished.

ln our case, wine and women

have put such masterpieces

completely out of our cognisance!

What has happened to dialectical

discussion? And what of astronomy?

We don't know of it

for all the copulation we do, you see.

You are not to wonder that

the art of painting is dead, young man.

We all of us see more beauty

in a bag of gold - l do -

than all the work of Apelles or Phidias.

Those Greeks! Too much!

l'm as bad, you see. l caught Trimalcione,

who's rich out of his ears.

You've never seen such riches.

He grows lemons, pepper, wool.

Suppose you took a fancy to a glass

of hen's milk. He'd give you a gallon.

And he's dirt, no better!

Come up from nothing.

No breeding whatever! And the agony

of it is, he thinks he's a poet!

Puerile verses.

No trace of soul, grace, poetry.

And what does the bastard call me?

''Colleague''. ''Fellow poet''.

''Soul of mine''. Cheek!

Still, always sit at his table

and drink his best wine. His invitation...

You only escape torture

because you're a citizen of Rome!

But that leaves my slaves free

to cudgel you!

Bollocks for starters! Bollocks, you cyst.

Your back should be whipped

until it's broken!

lt was broken by that ruffian your son!

- l'll prison you in the galleries!

- Pendulous fart!

(trilling)

(chanting)

(trilling)

Hey, never mind.

Even Venus was cross-eyed.

(girls titter)

(bell tolls)

(man shouts)

(shouting)

Eumolpo, it's so very good

of you to turn up.

Because you're a friend, your presence

is always commodious. You're like me.

- Too much honour.

- Bursting with genius.

Between us poets, there's real love.

(band plays)

(proposes a toast)

Friends, l beg of you,

sample my wine. Do it honour.

lt costs me nothing.

Fish have to swim. Cows graze all day.

l merely cook 'em up, and sell them.

All comes from me own property,

wherever that is.

Taranto and Terracina.

My dream is owning the whole of Sicily,

so l might perambulate

or equitate or marinate by sea

all the way to Africa

and never once leave my own estates.

Similar to the questing Ulysses,

l should level.

You catch the comparison?

A little culture at table

never does no harm.

Here is the very first beard

that l ever grew.

l was fully grown at 1 4!

And these are my household gods,

protect all our property.

Good for fortune, for business, for profit.

Praise them, thank you very much.

- Who the hell are you?

- Work in the kitchen.

- Were you born here or did l buy you?

- Not the one or the other.

l was left to you in a testament of Pansa.

Right, then. You cook sublime and big

or l shall have you cooking slops

with the other swine minders.

Heard the one about

the rich man and the poor man...

- What is a poor man?

- (laughter)

Bravo. Quite a good one.

(groans)

l'm going off to be sick.

How time do fly. Day slips and

night's on you before you're ready.

The only way is to run out

of bed straight to dinner.

So cold. Not warm. Chilly.

Not even warm in the bath, is it?

Men are less than flies, much less.

They have a certain resistance, flies.

No doubt we're bubbles is all.

Here today, gone tomorrow. Bit of this,

bit of that, as the peasant said to the pig.

This man could turn lead to gold.

Hair black as a crow.

Over 70 years old, he was, and still at it.

Not least in peril of rape

was the house dog.

(trilling)

(cheering)

Are you telling me that's cooked?

How dare you present it!

lt's not even gutted. How dare you!

The cook! At once!

You cooked this pig? Guts and all?

- Have pity, my saviour.

- Lash him!

l'm sorry. l did wrong. Have pity!

All right, then, you pitiful pisspots.

Disembowel it - here, now.

(applause)

Marvel upon marvel!

Look what tumbles forth.

Thrushes, stuffed hens,

eggs, livers of birds,

rope on rope of sausage,

tender plucked pigeons,

snails, liver wrapped in fat,

ham and lungs.

Oh, Trimalcione, your name will live!

Eumolpo!

(laughter)

What are you laughing at?

Don't you laugh at my master.

So you're richer, eh?

You give better dinners, my Lord?

You piss-quick, malodorous vagabond!

You stink.

All right, then. Son of the emperor?

We've all seen you raping the goat.

- l laugh because l laugh.

- Hold your pisser! How it stinks! Foul.

Smelly. Ugh!

l bought my own freedom.

You, have you done as much?

l feed 20 bodies and a dog.

My wife - bought her freedom.

So keep your hands off her tits, you fart!

- Try not to inflame him.

- You are merely a fart on the water.

Better close your trap, Hermerote.

Patience, patience. The rascal is young.

He's only crowing.

When you were young, you crowed too.

Give us some Homer, then. Commence.

(speaks Ancient Greek)

(Trimalcione)

At table, my pleasure is Greek.

(applause)

Eumolpo, brother poet,

have you followed the story?

Might l convolute a little on it for you?

lt seems Diomedes...

Lo and behold, our master's mosaic!

(Eumolpo speaks Latin)

Eumolpo, sit down before you topple.

Cudding nausea!

Race of slaves! Filth!

When did you pay for

a 20th of your freedom?

Suckers of chancres,

lickers of lies, sh*t-eating mange!

Eumolpo, console yourself in the fact

we poets have a difficult time of it.

Hearken to this perspication:

''Everything works out by chance,

Destiny so trips the dance.

Fortune never spares a glance.

Better the cup to circumstance.''

And these verses are mine.

Horace! Heigh-ho!

A beautiful new Horace!

(sings)

Dance, then!

No!

Oh, you misery. Go on!

Dance!

On 26th July, the following slaves were

born to Trimalcione on his Cumae estate:

male 30, female 40.

Same day saw crucified the slave Eusavio

for bestial insults against our master.

Calves born:
26.

Same day, some set fire

to the Pompeiian orchards of Trimalcione.

Come again.

When did l buy orchards in Pompeii?

Wine! Actually, hot water.

Sorry we're late.

We were kept at a banquet -

funeral in the house of Scissa, for a slave.

He poured wine over her bones.

They had everything but you, Trimalcione.

Blood sausage, cake with Spanish honey

dripping, a snail to each person.

And main course -

a bear with eggs in pastry cases.

She so golloped it down, my wife, she

spewed it all up again out of her stomach.

She said ''lf bears eat people,

people can eat bears, then!''

Hey, Scinti, Fortunata,

what are you up to?

l'll bang your heads together.

l'll be richer and fatter if l don't

have your tits off when we get home!

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