As for the Cæsars of the Eastern Empire, they were rather Oriental despots than either Greek or Roman monarchs, just as the Byzantines were ever more Asiatics than Europeans. The sovereigns, for the most part, ate at golden tables, and were served like gods. Some of them, like Romanus, were respectable cooks, and more than one was discussing the merits of a new sauce or dish, when the Saracens were knocking at the frontier gates of the empire. The sort of merry humour indulged in by others may be judged of by a single trait of Michael the Drunkard. This amiable sovereign started up, one day, from table, ere the imperial dinner was well over, and assuming an episcopal dress, he descended into the streets followed by his courtiers. The latter bore the vinegar and mustard that had been on the monarch’s side-board, and mixing the condiments together, they stopped all passers-by, compelled them to kneel, and with horrible profanity and mock psalmody, administered the Sacrament with the above-named horribly compounded elements. Such was one of the Eastern Cæsars at and after dinner, and the easy Byzantines were not much scandalized thereat. Indeed, they troubled themselves very little about the affairs of the government, or the doings of the governors; and it would never have entered the head of a Byzantine subject to say of his son what the American citizen once remarked, touching his heir, to Mrs. Trollope, namely, that he would much sooner that his son got drunk three times a week than that he should refrain from meddling with the politics of his times.
From the palaces of the Cæsars, let us now pass into the mansions of miscellaneous majesties, and see how the first gentlemen of their respective days comported themselves “at meat.” Yes, at meat; for “la viande du Roi” was the consecrated phrase, and guards presented arms, and courtiers bowed low, as the king’s “meat” was solemnly carried to the royal table, or borne to the bed-side, where it remained under the name of an en cas, “in case” the august appetite should be lively before morning.
THEIR MAJESTIES AT MEAT.
There was an old custom at Pisa, the origin of which may be traced to the anti-judaical days of persecution. On a certain day in the year, I believe, Good Friday or Easter Sunday, every Jew discovered in the streets, was hunted down by the populace. When the game was caught he was weighed, and compelled to ransom himself by paying his own weight of sweetmeats. It was an advantage, then, at Pisa for a Jew to be of a Cassius cast. It was different in other days, and climes, with regard to kings. Nations used to weigh their monarchs yearly, and if the register showed an increase of dignified obesity, great was the popular rejoicing thereat. If, on the other hand, the too, too solid flesh of the potentate had yielded to irresistible influences, and the father of his people exhibited a falling away in his material greatness, the body of loyal subjects went into mourning and tears, and deplored the evil days on which they had fallen, when monarchs could not be kept up to the old monarchical standard of corpulency. Kings who cared for the affections of their people were, accordingly, disinterestedly solicitous to support their corporeal requirements; for to be fat was to be virtuous, and he was really the greatest of monarchs who required the greatest circumference of belt. You must understand, however, that if kings encouraged their own increase, it was disloyal in the people to imitate them. The monarchs of old, in this respect, were like our Henry VIII, who never stinted his own appetite, but who imprisoned the Earl of Surrey in Windsor Castle, for daring to touch a lamb chop on a Friday.
The most gigantic of royal feeders placed on the record of ancient history, was Thys, king of Paphlagonia, at whose table “the entire animal” was served by hundreds. When he fell into the power of Persia he exhibited more appetite than grief, and banqueted in such a style that the courtiers spoke of it wonderingly to their king Artaxerxes. He replied significantly, “Thys is making the most of the shortness of life.”
The kings of Persia were but sorry hosts to dine with. Their table was in a little recess divided from the outward hall by a low curtain. The king sat alone in his alcove, and could behold, without being seen, the guests in the outer hall. The latter were of the highest rank; mere younger brothers, civilians, and undignified people of that sort, sat at meat in the galleries. It was only on two or three high days that the king sat at the same table with his subjects. The royalty of old Persia had once a reputation for temperance, but to be “royally drunk” was no uncommon characteristic of his majesty and the princes of the blood. He generally made drinking parties of a dozen favourites. These sat on the ground, while the king lay on a gold couch, and the conclave drank like dragoons, and got infinitely more tipsy.
In the banquets of state there were a few singularities. Horses and ostriches appear in the bill of fare, among a hundred other delicacies; but no guest did more than just taste what was placed before him; and what he did not eat, he carried home with him. A dainty bit from the king’s table was a present meet for lover to make to his lady; and a wooer who brought a rump-steak of horse-flesh in his hand, straight from the regal banquet, was scarcely a man to be refused anything.
There was something of grandeur in the banquets of Cleopatra, when Antony dined with her. The service was in gold, and she made a present of it to her visitor. On the following day there was a new service, and it was again presented to “the favoured guest.” Antony himself exhibited infinitely less taste at Athens. He erected in the public theatre a scene representing the grotto of Bacchus, dressed himself like the god, and, with a party of followers as worthless as himself, sat down at day-break, in presence of an admiring and crowded “house,” and got dreadfully drunk before breakfast-time. And this knave aspired to rule in Rome!
Alexander, and, as may be seen in another page, Augustus, was given to this sort of theological masquerading. The first-named accepted banquets from his great officers; and these exhibited their taste by having all the fruit on the table covered thickly with gold, which, when the fruit itself was presented to the guests, was torn off and flung on the ground, for the benefit of the servants. The father of Alexander had shown in his time a better example of economy. He had but one gold cup, and to prevent that from being stolen, he placed it every night under his pillow, and went to sleep upon it. The mad Antiochus, of Syria, was of another kidney, for whenever he heard of a drinking bout in his own city, he used to order his chariot, and taking with him a measure of wine and a goblet, he would rush down to the place and take a seat uninvited. He was such indifferent company, however, that the guests could not be prevailed upon to tarry, and even the offer of his golden goblet was unable to bribe a man to sit and get drunk with a witless king.
But the most extraordinary meal I have ever heard of was that made by Cambes, king of Lydia. He was a great eater, a great drinker, and of insatiable voracity. It is told of him that he one night cut up his wife and devoured her, and that he awoke the next morning, with one of her hands sticking in his mouth. But I have little doubt that something of an allegory lies under this royal story. Cambes probably had had an argument with his consort,—a lady of the sort spoken of by Dr. Young as one who