Lucius Domitius Nero’s father was Caius Domitius Ænobarbus; Agrippina was his mother. He took the reins of the empire at the age of eighteen (A.D. 54), and governed at first with clemency and equity. The Roman people, transported with love for their young prince, indulged the fond hope of long and unalloyed felicity; but they were soon aroused from this delusion to a sense of the dire reality. Nero had forgotten himself in the path of virtue; he rallied by trying his hand at crime, and found at last his true vocation. Others have recounted his detestable infamies: we will merely remind our readers that he poisoned Britannicus,—that he caused his mother to be slain,—that he killed his wife Octavia by kicking her,—and that Seneca, his preceptor, only escaped his cruelty by having his veins opened. In the year 64 he took it into his head to set fire to the city of Rome, and then accused the Christians of that prodigious atrocity. Language cannot describe the unbridled luxury of this ignominious emperor. His gilded house, his ivory ceilings, his murrhine vases, the nets of gold and scarlet with which he fished, the incalculable profusion of his repasts—everything connected with Nero betrayed a species of pompous monomania, leading to excesses so immeasurable and abominable that in these days they excite doubt or incredulity.

The entire world detested the monster. Galba and the Roman army revolted against him, and the pusillanimous CÆsar fled bare-footed, and wrapped in a sordid robe. But, alarmed at the idea of the tortures he would have to undergo if he fell alive into the hands of the cohorts and the people, and finding no executioner more infamous than himself, he plunged a sword timidly into his breast, while a freed-man, Epaphroditus, guided his trembling hand. This happy event happened in the year 68. Nero had reigned thirteen years!

This prince sat down to table at mid-day, and did not quit it till midnight (Sueton. in Neron. 27),—he had reservoirs stocked with the most rare and exquisite fish,—and he gave to his boon companions suppers which vied in delicacy with their astonishing magnificence. Let this, then, plead our excuse for having classed the cruel but epicurean CÆsar among the high culinary notabilities whose names, glory, or excesses we record in this work.

HELIOGABALUS.

Heliogabalus (Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Verus), son of Antoninus Caracalla and Semiamira, immortalised himself by his follies, and merited the name of the Sardanapalus of Rome. His grandmother, Moesa, had a fancy to have him invested with the functions of Priest of the Sun, and the following year (218) the army elected him to succeed Macrinus. He was then only fourteen years old. It would be impossible to give a complete catalogue of the crimes which stained this precocious monster. His luxury knew no bounds, and his insatiable gluttony led him to send into distant provinces for rare birds, unknown in Italy. The golden lamps of his palace were supplied with a precious balm, and scented waters of exquisite delicacy were daily renewed in the vast piscina of this beardless CÆsar. His beds were adorned with coverlets of a cloth of gold, and in his kitchens none but skilfully chased silver utensils were employed. It is said that Heliogabalus invented after-dinner lotteries: his guests took the tickets at random, and fate gave to one some vase of inestimable value, to another a simple toothpick; a fortunate adventurer would receive for his allotment ten elephants, richly caparisoned, and his less lucky neighbour had to content himself with ten flies, and loud bursts of laughter from the imperial stripling.

Thank Heaven! this frightful phenomenon of turpitude and folly never attained manhood. The soldiers of his guard massacred him after a reign of something less than four years, and threw to the populace the dead body of a young man of eighteen, who, in the course of his brief existence, had exhausted the treasures of the empire, and enlarged the sphere of every crime.

The gastronomic art is, however, indebted to the odious Heliogabalus for some useful discoveries, and for that reason alone is he here mentioned.

EPICURUS.

Epicurus—born 337 years B.C., in the market-town of Gargettus, near Athens—taught in his gardens a system of philosophy, which, though indulgent towards the requirements of the senses, possessed the merit of a sovereign disdain for every kind of superstition. Epicurus had a great number of disciples among the ancient pagans, and the sensual philosophy of modern times hails him as a patron. At this very day the dainty livers rally under the joyous banner of the moralist of Gargettus, and his cherished shade inspires the guests and presides over the soothing intoxication of banquets.