Two lustres had passed since the world obeyed Domitius Nero, son of Agrippina. The Romans, a herd of vile slaves, docile adulators of the infamous CÆsar, had already celebrated nine anniversaries of his happy accession to the empire, and the Flamen of Jupiter solemnly thanked the gods at each of these epochs for all the benefits that the well-beloved monarch had unceasingly lavished on the earth. Few princes, it is true, ever equalled Nero. He and his mother had poisoned Junius Silanus, the pro-consul of Asia; subsequently the young emperor made away with Agrippina, and the senate applauded that horrible crime, which was only the prelude to outrageous enterprises which astonish the historian who narrates them. The Flamen was, indeed, bound to offer up solemn thanksgivings to Jupiter for having hitherto restrained the crowned monster from the commission of evil which afterwards marked his flagitious career. It was the 64th year of the Christian era. The emperor had passed some time at Naples, whence it was thought he would go into Greece; but suddenly changing his project, he returned to the capital of the world, to prepare, it was said, a spectacle of unheard-of splendour, and such as Nero alone could conceive. One of his ancient freed-men, Caius Domitius Seba, resolved to celebrate the return to Rome, and the tenth anniversary of the reign of his master, who was now become his patron and friend. That man possessed immense riches, a formidable credit at court, and an insolence which had struck so much terror into the souls of the proudest families of the empire, that they had long since humbled themselves before him. So that it was no sooner whispered among the Roman aristocracy that the magnificent Seba intended to give a banquet, than one and all became anxious to be numbered with the guests of CÆsar’s favourite. However, days past, the time for the nocturnal festival approached, and the Invitor had not made his appearance. Among the Hebrews, nothing was more simple and unsophisticated than an invitation to dinner; Seba’s Invitor was at last announced to the two consuls of the year, Lecanius Bassus and Licinius Crassus, who accepted with tender gratitude the distinguished honour which the enfranchised slave deigned to confer upon them. After them the same favour was received with the same gratitude by the Agrippas, the Ancuses, the Cossuses, the Drususes, and all those who were the most noble, powerful, and proud in Rome. The next day, about two o’clock in the afternoon (the repast was to begin at six o’clock), an unusual movement reigned in the Palatine baths, and those of Daphnis, near the Sacred Way. The mediastini kept up a steady fire under the coppers; the capsarii folded with care the clothes of the bathers; the unguentarii sold their oils and unguents; and the fricatores, armed with the strigil—a sort of wooden, iron, or horn spoon—rubbed and scraped the skin before the tractatores came gently to manipulate the joints, and skilfully shampoo the body, which gained by this operation more elasticity and suppleness. The upper classes of the Romans never sat down to table until they had undergone all these preliminaries of minute cleanliness. The future guests return home, after the bath, to employ the skill of the barbers (tonsores), who are in waiting to give more grace to the hair, and remove, with the aid of tweezers and pumice, the first silvery indications of the lapse of years, which, though incessantly effaced, still re-appeared. A more serious occupation succeeded. Epicureans should never neglect their teeth—particularly at the approach of a banquet. Nor did the ingenious gastronomy of the first century of our era neglect to invent tooth-powder, which cleaned the enamel without injuring it, and Thus were the teeth equipped, as the comic Plautus has it; Those who had had the misfortune to lose some of those powerful gastrophagic auxiliaries substituted false ones of ivory, which art found means to render absolutely similar to their neighbours. The eye was deceived: what more could be required? But the clepsydrÆ Arrived at the atrium, the crowd of Roman nobles are conducted into the interior of the house by the parasites of Seba. The proud freed-man disturbed himself for nobody; but, like the opulent Greeks, whom he aped, he left to these ignoble familiars the care of replacing him in the honours of his palace. They enter an immense hall, decorated with unheard-of luxury, lighted by lustres, Here and there a few persons are remarked who still wear their togas, having doubtless forgotten to substitute the banqueting dress. So soon as the major-domo perceives them he makes a sign to some youths clothed in white tunics, who hasten to present to each of these guests a synthesis, or short woollen vestment of different colours, These indispensable preliminaries being terminated, the seats disappeared, and the guests stood waiting for the freed-man, Seba, who speedily entered accompanied by the two consuls, for whom places of honour had been reserved on couches beside their pompous amphitryon. The latter deigned to address a few words of welcome to his noble company, and each one stretched himself on his couch of gold and purple. The fourth couch was given up to the parasites and shadows. Meanwhile, slaves were burning precious perfumes in golden vases (acerrÆ), and young children were pouring on the hair of the guests odoriferous essences, which filled the banqueting hall with balmy fragrance. Rome had borrowed this custom from the east. The golden panelling of the hall shone with dazzling brightness as it reflected a torrent of light from the crystal candelabra, At this signal, servants, richly dressed, place within the circle formed by the couches lemon-wood tables of inestimable price, Musicians (symphoniaci) then occupy a kind of orchestra or platform, raised at one of the extremities of the hall, These musicians execute a slow, dulcet melody while the slaves are placing on the tables the statues of some of the principal gods, Some drops of the exhilarating liquid are offered to the Lares (household gods), by sprinkling it in their honour on the floor and the table. Lettuces, olives, pomegranates, Damascus plums, We will not go through the list of all the dishes which composed the antecoena. The nomenclature was offered, according to custom, to the guests of the rich freed-man, but the reader would doubtless think it a little tiresome. We must, however, inform him, that the true gastronomists—and there were many at that banquet—did no more than give note of preparation to their appetite, by plying it with pickled radishes, DESCRIPTION OF PLATE No. XXX. No. 1. A Greek Etruscan vase, or amphora, of terra cotta, for wine and water, commonly placed on the dinner table.—Hamilton. No. 2. A Greek terra cotta vase, for a particular wine.—Caylus. No. 3. Etruscan terra cotta vase, to hold wine on the table.—Caylus. No. 4. A glass amphora, or vase, of large dimensions, for Falernian wine. All found at Herculaneum.—Saint-Non. The first course was removed to the sound of music. This sort magiric magistracy was obtained by lot, or the unanimous call for a personage worthy of such a distinction. Thereupon, the latter, slightly raising his head from the downy cushions on which it rested, and supporting it from the left elbow, This speech, slightly impregnated with the epicurean philosophy so much in fashion during the reign of Nero, had at least the merit of a praiseworthy conciseness. Nor did it fail to attract applause from the auditors, whose brows and cups were speedily adorned with wreaths of roses, which young boys, clothed in white tunics, arranged with marvellous art. The slight rustling of the flowers was soon drowned by the shrill noise of the trumpets which announced the second course. A flattering buzz welcomed this profusion of viands, which encumbered the tables, and well-nigh crushed them with their weight. There were the peacock, Moreover, there were wild boars À la Troyenne, While the carvers were cutting up the meats with incredible address, to the sound of a light but animated music, Numidian slaves filled the cups from small leathern bottles with old Greek wine, In every direction trays circulated, covered with divers kinds of meats, Suddenly the symposiarch commands silence: the musicians obey—the slaves are motionless. “Let us drain our cups,” said he, “in honour of CÆsar. Let us celebrate the tenth anniversary of his glorious reign, and his happy return to the metropolis of the world. Let us drink, senators and knights, as many craters as there are letters in the cherished name of the emperor.” Sense and reason must have succumbed, had the patrician assembly toasted Caius Lucius Domitius Nero: it would have been constructive treason not to empty twenty-three cups; but they limited themselves to four, which represented the last of these names. Joy unrestrained floated with the fumy wine, furnished from large DESCRIPTION OF PLATE No. XXXI. No. 1. Curious silver dish, with Etruscan letters engraved around the head of Medusa. Petronius speaks of two silver dishes, upon which were engraved the name of Trimalcion, and the weight of each dish.—Athen.; Stuart. Nos. 2 and 3. Silver dishes.—Gorrie, “Etruscan Mus.” glass amphorÆ, on which were these words: “Falernian wine of a hundred leaves, made under the consulship of Opimius.” An officer of the palace presented himself at the door of the banqueting hall. He advanced slowly, followed by two slaves, who laid on the table an object covered with a winding-sheet. “Pressing occupations,” said the imperial messenger, “prevent CÆsar from sharing with you the hospitality of Seba; but he thinks of you, and sends you a testimony of his remembrance.” “Long live CÆsar!” cry the consuls, the freed-slave, and some few trembling voices. The officer retires. The veil which shrouds Nero’s present from every eye is removed, and all perceive a silver skeleton, of terrifying truthfulness, and which, by its admirable mechanism, proclaims artist to be one of those Greeks who have come to Rome to seek fortune and celebrity. This episode engrossed the thoughts of the greater part of the guests, and the old senator, Lucius Vafra, could not help saying, with a sigh, to his neighbour, Virginius Rufus, one of the consuls of the preceding year: “Fear the Greeks: fear this disastrous present!” But the hot wine which was being served, At first healths were drunk in the Greek fashion,—that is, beginning by the most distinguished personages, he who drank bowed and said: “I wish you every kind of prosperity;” or simply: “I salute you.” In pronouncing these words, he who drank the health took only a part of the wine contained in the cup, and sent the remainder to the guest he had just designated. Many craters were then emptied in honour of the mistress of the house (dominÆ); neither were the illustrious dead nor absent friends forgotten. The formula was nearly the same for all: “To your healths,” Sometimes Drusillus, still fascinated with that dulcet poetry of the Greeks with which, when young, he had stored his mind, would take up the harmonious cadences of Horace, and thus personate, as it were, those divine chanters of Attica who have immortalised themselves by celebrating love, wine, and pleasure. One of his extempore strains, while sipping the sparkling liquor from his cup, was:— This dream of bliss maintain, prolong these happy hours, O, all-enchanting wines! perfumed with flowers Which Cos and Cyprus rear; Let nothing ever change this soul-felt, rich delight; For I would say, when parting for the realms of night, I never knew a tear. This sensual philosophy found numberless echoes in that vainglorious Rome, who exhausted her disdain, outrage, and punishments on the (so called) new fantastic folly that the Nazarenes were endeavouring to introduce. A few years more, and their doctrine will subjugate the universe! Time passed rapidly, and the meats, divided into equal portions, were served to the guests, who frequently did not touch them, but gave their share to their servants, or sent it home. So soon as the major-domo perceived that appetite began to flag, he ordered the whole to be cleared, and the dessert, spread on ivory tables, Exquisite drinks, artificial wines, delicate and light aliments, Some one proposed to replace the half-faded flowers by Egyptian wreaths, and every brow was soon bound with garlands of roses and myrtle, interspersed with little birds, which, by their fluttering and Then began the amusements of the evening. A troop of strolling players were admired for their agility and suppleness. Some rolled round a cord like a wheel which turns on its axle; they hung by the neck, by one foot, and varied these perilous exercises in a thousand different ways. Others slid down a cord, lying on the stomach, with their arms and legs extended. Some revolved as they ran along a descending cord. Some, in a word, performed feats of strength and address on the horizontal rope which were truly incomprehensible, and at an elevation from the flooring which would have rendered a fall fatal. To these acrobats succeeded prestigiators, who appeared to receive a peculiar degree of attention. One placed under cups a certain number of shells, dry peas, or little balls, and he caused them to disappear and re-appear at will. These feats were followed by an interlude, in which the parts were amusingly sustained by marionettes. The Greeks knew this childish pastime, The only thing now wanting to render Seba’s supper a worthy specimen of nocturnal Roman feasts was, to produce before the guests one of those spectacles which outrage morals and humanity. Nero’s freed-man had been too well tutored to refuse them this diversion. Young Syrians, After the voluptuous scenes of the lewd Celtiberians, blood was required: for they seem to have been formed by nature to take a strange delight in sudden contrasts. Ten couples of gladiators, armed with swords and bucklers, occupied a space assigned to them, and ten horrible duels recreated the attentive assembly. For a long time nothing was heard but the clash of arms; but the thirst for conquest animated those ferocious combatants, and they rushed with loud cries on one another. Blood flowed on all sides; the couches were dyed with it, and the white robes of the guests were soon spotted. Some of the combatants fell, and the rattles announced approaching death; others preserved, in their last struggle, a funereal silence, or endeavoured to fix their teeth in the flesh of their enemies standing erect beside them. The deed was applauded; servants washed the tables and the floor with perfumed water, and these stirring scenes were soon forgotten. A last cup was drunk to the good genius, Meantime a stifling atmosphere pervades every part of the hall, and a hollow noise, rumbling in the distance, excites at intervals in the minds of the guests a sort of undefinable apprehension—the ordinary presage of an unknown but imminent catastrophe. The consuls raise themselves on their couches and listen; their host endeavours to calm their fears; but at this moment a slave, panting for breath, rushes towards Seba, and pronounces a few inarticulate words. “Fire!” cries the anguished freed-man. “Where is the fire?” inquire all the terrified guests, who have heard but this one sinistrous word. “Everywhere!” replies the slave; “it has burst forth simultaneously in every part of the city!” No one waits to hear more. Consuls, senators, knights, musicians, and servants, jostle one another; and, abandoning those who fall, arrive pell-mell at the atrium. The porter still chained, trembles at his We will not attempt to depict the mute but terrible despair of those proud patricians, at bay in the midst of an ocean of fire, in which they are fated ere long to perish. The wreaths of flowers which bind their brows are already parched by the scorching breath of those roaring flames, which engulf and consume everything as they sweep along. A thick smoke begrimes the lustrous robes, whose graceful folds erewhile displayed the exquisite urbanity of Seba’s guests, and which now exhibit only a sad emblem of festive joys. The dread of death, and I know not what strange anguish at this all-important moment, blanch those human faces, to which the choicest wines of Greece and Italy had just given a hue of purple. These men feel—instinct tells them—that life is theirs no longer, and they have not the courage to die! The opulent freed-man calls to his slaves, and promises them their liberty if they consent to risk their lives in an attempt to save his. But the vile herd is already dispersed; the porter alone remains—for no one has thought to liberate him—and he, in his impotent fury, replies by insulting clamours to the cowardly supplications of his quondam master. This horrible scene soon changed by the very action of that torrent of fire which was pursuing its devastating course; and the next day, when Aurora appeared, a heap of ruins was all that remained of the odious Seba’s magnificent palace. The two consuls and some of the senators were fortunate enough to escape the common danger. Less besotted, perhaps, by the wine and good cheer, and finding in despair that incredible energy which sometimes operates the same prodigies as courage, they rushed through the flames, and gained the country, or those obscure portions of the city which the son of Agrippina had apparently forgotten. Thus it was that Lucius Domitius Nero celebrated the tenth anniversary of his glorious reign. While the fire was rolling on with its resistless flood of flame from temples to palaces, and from the Circus to the Pantheon, the young, poetic CÆsar, his brow bound with laurel, and holding in his hands a golden lyre, viewed from the top of a tower—where he was surrounded by a troop of histrions and buffoons—the conflagration he had just kindled. And while the imperial Apollo sang some melancholy verses on the fatal destiny of the antique city of Troy, his ignoble courtiers cried with enthusiasm: “May the Gods preserve Nero, their august son, and the delight of the human race!” Such was the last gorgeous feast at which the magiric genius presided in that Rome which Romulus had founded, and which engulfed the treasures and wonders of the world. Destroyed by the imperial incendiary, it arose from its ashes with increased beauty and voluptuousness; and the wild joy of its new banquets caused the thoughtless queen of nations quickly to forget the disasters of the past, and the sinistrous presages of the future. |