ed at the prospect of
busying ourselves with such vile fare, Trimalchio urged us to fall to:
"Let us fall to, gentlemen, I beg of you, this is only the sauce!"

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.

While he was speaking, four dancers ran in to the time of the music,
and removed the upper part of the tray. Beneath, on what seemed to be
another tray, we caught sight of stuffed capons and sows' bellies, and in
the middle, a hare equipped with wings to resemble Pegasus. At the
corners of the tray we also noted four figures of Marsyas and from their
bladders spouted a highly spiced sauce upon fish which were swimming
about as if in a tide-race. All of us echoed the applause which was
started by the servants, and fell to upon these exquisite delicacies,
with a laugh. "Carver," cried Trimalchio, no less delighted with the
artifice practised upon us, and the carver appeared immediately. Timing
his strokes to the beat of the music he cut up the meat in such a fashion
as to lead you to think that a gladiator was fighting from a chariot to
the accompaniment of a water-organ. Every now and then Trimalchio would
repeat "Carver, Carver," in a low voice, until I finally came to the
conclusion that some joke was meant in repeating a word so frequently, so
I did not scruple to question him who reclined above me. As he had often
experienced byplay of this sort he explained, "You see that fellow who is
carving the meat, don't you? Well, his name is Carver. Whenever
Trimalchio says Carver, carve her, by the same word, he both calls and
commands!"

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.

I could eat no more, so I turned to my whilom informant to learn as much
as I could and sought to draw him out with far-fetched gossip. I
inquired who that woman could be who was scurrying about hither and yon
in such a fashion. "She's called Fortunata," he replied. "She's the
wife of Trimalchio, and she measures her money by the peck. And only a
little while ago, what was she! May your genius pardon me, but you would
not have been willing to take a crust of bread from her hand. Now,
without rhyme or reason, she's in the seventh heaven and is Trimalchio's
factotum, so much so that he would believe her if she told him it was
dark when it was broad daylight! As for him, he don't know how rich he
is, but this harlot keeps an eye on everything and where you least expect
to find her, you're sure to run into her. She's temperate, sober, full
of good a