The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter/Chapter 45
CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIFTH. “Don’t be so down in the mouth,” chimed in Echion, the ragman; “if it wasn’t that it’d be something else, as the farmer said, when he lost his spotted pig. If a thing don’t happen today, it may tomorrow. That’s the way life jogs along. You couldn’t name a better country, by Hercules, you couldn’t, if only the men had any brains. She’s in hot water right now, but she ain’t the only one. We oughtn’t to be so particular; heaven’s as far away everywhere else. If you were somewhere else, you’d swear that pigs walked around here already roasted. Think of what’s coming! We’ll soon have a fine gladiator show to last for three days, no training-school pupils; most of them will be freedmen. Our Titus has a hot head and plenty of guts and it will go to a finish. I’m well acquainted with him, and he’ll not stand for any frame-ups. It will be cold steel in the best style, no running away, the shambles will be in the middle of the amphitheatre where all the crowd can see. And what’s more, he has the coin, for he came into thirty million when his father had the bad luck to die. He could blow in four hundred thousand and his fortune never feel it, but his name would live forever. He has some dwarfs already, and a woman to fight from a chariot. Then, there’s Glyco’s steward; he was caught screwing Glyco’s wife. You’ll see some battle between jealous husbands and favored lovers. Anyhow, that cheap screw of a Glyco condemned his steward to the beasts and only published his own shame. How could the slave go wrong when he only obeyed orders? It would have been better if that she-piss-pot, for that’s all she’s fit for, had been tossed by the bull, but a fellow has to beat the saddle when he can’t beat the jackass. How could Glyco ever imagine that a sprig of Hermogenes’ planting could turn out well? Why, Hermogenes could trim the claws of a flying hawk, and no snake ever hatched out a rope yet! And look at Glyco! He’s smoked himself out in fine shape, and as long as he lives, he’ll carry that stain! No one but the devil himself can wipe that out, but chickens always come home to roost. My nose tells me that Mammea will set out a spread: two bits apiece for me and mine! And he’ll nick Norbanus out of his political pull if he does; you all know that it’s to his interest to hump himself to get the best of him. And honestly, what did that fellow ever do for us? He exhibited some two cent gladiators that were so near dead they’d have fallen flat if you blew your breath at them. I’ve seen better thugs sent against wild beasts! And the cavalry he killed looked about as much like the real thing as the horsemen on the lamps; you would have taken them for dunghill cocks! One plug had about as much action as a jackass with a pack-saddle; another was club-footed; and a third who had to take the place of one that was killed, was as good as dead, and hamstrung into the bargain. There was only one that had any pep, and he was a Thracian, but he only fought when we egged him on. The whole crowd was flogged afterwards. How the mob did yell ‘Lay it on!’ They were nothing but runaways. And at that he had the nerve to say, ‘I’ve given you a show.’ ‘And I’ve applauded’, I answered; ‘count it up and you’ll find that I gave more than I got! One hand washes the other.’