The Satyricon
Went to my favorite used book store and found a copy of the Satyricon, translated to english by William Burnaby in 1694. The book was written, during the Imperial Roman era by Titus Petronius. Nothing is known of Petronius except for a few fragments believed to be of the same man:
From Tacitus, Annals. Greenway’s translation, 1622 (no care made to preserve archaic spelling)
“Of C. Petronius, a few things above recited are here again to be repeated. He passed the day in sleep, and the night in delightful sports, or rather affairs of life. And as others, industry; so this man, sloth had raised to fame: a riotous and wasteful spender he was, not accounted like many, which run through all, but using riot to his credit. And his words and deeds how much the freer, and showing a certain carelessness; so much the more gratefully received, as favoring somewhat of simplicity. Notwithstanding being Proconsul of Bithynia, and anon after Consul, he showed himself quick and stout, and able to wade through great matters. Then falling again to his vices, or else show of vices, was received esteeming nothing pleasant or delightful, unless Petronius, had approved it. Thereupon grew Tigellinus malice against him, as great as a concurrent, or one more skillful in pleasure than himself, whetting Nero’s cruelty (unto which all other lusts gave place) against him: objecting the friendship he had with Scevinus, corrupting a slave to be his accuser: taking from him all means of defense, and the greatest part of his family drawn into prison. By chance about that time Caesar went to Campania, and Petronius gone as far as Cumas, was there stayed; and not able any longer to endure the lingering between hope, or fear, yet did not rashly kill himself, but cutting his veins, and binding them up as pleased him, opened them again, and talked with his friends, though not of any serious matter, or worthy to purchase the glory of constancy: but gave care to those which discoursed with him, yet nothing of the immortality of the soul, or opinions of wise men, but of light verses, and easy songs. On some of his slaves he bestowed gifts, and on some stripes. He went sometimes abroad, and gave himself to sleep, that although death was constrained, yet it should be like a casual death. Neither in his Testament (as most men are wont to do) did he flatter Nero or Tigellinus or any other favorite, but wrote down the unclean life of the prince, under fained names of stale calamities abused against nature and of women, with the strangeness of the abuse of either of them; and sealed up, sent it to Nero, and break the seal, lest afterward it might serve to breed danger to others.”
From Pliny the Elder, History of the World. Philemon Holland’s Translation, 1601 (no care made to preserve archaic spelling):
“Titus Petronius, late Consul of Rome, when he lay at the point of death, called for a fair broad-mouthed cup of Cassidoine, which had cost him before-time three hundred thousand sesterces, and presently broke it in pieces in hatred and despite of Nero for fear lest the same prince might have seized upon it after his decease, and therewith furnished his own board.”
Having read these clips in the store I had little choice but to shell out the $10 and read the rest. About 30 pages in I became aware that the book had a plot line roughly analogous to a seedy area of Second Life or some such MMORPG with preposterously proportioned avatars madly humping everything in sight.
I’m not easily deterred by books so I pressed on. You can imagine my horror when events developed in such a way as to deliver a triple dose of satyricon (love potion) to the oversexed protagonist. I admit that at this point I was a bit intrigued? Will it actually be possible for the author to step it up? Is it possible to cram more sex scenes, per page than that already achieved? Mercifully the answer turned out to be “no”. As the sexual component was let slide in favor of the other two main plot movers, thievery and assault, and then turning to a new vice, gluttony.
I haven’t read the complete book as yet, but I have no trouble recommending that you buy it immediately via my kick-back link to Amazon. I would probably not recommend the Burnaby translation unless you read a lot of Shakespeare. Personally, I can barely follow this book, but English prior to, say 1950, is not my forte. The second issue with the Burnaby translation is that it makes me imagine the characters roaming about Elizabethan England instead of Imperial Rome. The third drawback of Burnaby is that complex English tends to work its way into one’s writing and conversation to such an extent as to have one pelted with insults by one’s friends and family. To wit, you are condemned a knave merely for speaking in a precise manner.
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