“I am somewhat a believer in the doctrine of metempsychosis,” said Mr. De Gex.
“What has such a horrid thing to do with roses?” asked his wife.
“Merely that, if it be true, I may have seen finer and more numerous flowers long, long ago.”
“Explain,” I exclaimed.
“Well, when in another form I may, at the beginning of the Christian era, have been present at the regatta near lovely Baiæ and seen the whole surface of the Lucrine Sea strewn with these flowers, according to custom; or I may have been present at some of old Nero’s banquetings, when he caused showers of rose-leaves to be rained down upon the assembled guests; or, in fact, I may have been at Heliogabalus’ dinner party, when such heaps of these same flowers were flung over the revelers that several were smothered to death. That frail beauty, Cleopatra, was wont to spend immense sums on roses, and at one entertainment, that she gave in honor of her friend Anthony, she had the whole floor covered more than a yard deep.”
“How delightful!” chorused the ladies.
“The Sybarites used to sleep upon beds stuffed with rose-leaves. That old tyrant Dionysius, at his revels, constantly reclined on a couch made of the blossoms. Verres, with whom Cicero had the tussle, was accustomed to travel through his province reclining gracefully on a mattrass full of them; and not content with this, he had a wreath of roses round his head and another around his neck, with leaves intertwined. And Antiochus, when he wanted to be uncommonly luxurious, would sleep in a tent of gold and silver upon a bed of these flowers.”
“Did they indulge in attar?”
“I cannot say, but at his parties, Nero—that champion fiddler of Rome—would have his fountains flinging up rose-water; and while the jets were pouring out the fragrant liquid, white rose-leaves were on the ground, in the cushions on which the guests lay, hanging in garlands on their noble brows, and in wreaths around their necks. The couleur de rose pervaded the dinner itself, and a rose pudding challenged the appetites of the guests, while, to assist digestion, they indulged in rose wine. Heliogabalus was so fond of this wine that he used to bathe in it.”
“What a waste!” said my wife.