164. Beginning the Symposium.—Prodicus at length gives a nod to the chief of his corps of servers.
“Bring in the wine!” he orders. The slaves promptly whisk out the tables and replace them with others still smaller, on which they set all kinds of gracefully shaped beakers and drinking bowls. More wreaths are distributed, also little bottles of delicate ointment. While the guests are praising Prodicus’s nard, the servants have brought in three huge “mixing bowls” (craters) for the wines which are to furnish the main potation.
So far we have witnessed not a symposium, but merely a dinner; and many a proper party has broken up when the last of the dessert has disappeared; but, after all, the drinking bout is the real crown of the feast. It is not so much the wine as the things that go with the wine that are so delightful. As to what these desirable condiments are, opinions differ. Plato (who is by no means too much of a philosopher to be a real man of the world) says in his Protagoras that mere conversation is the thing at a symposium. “When the company are real gentlemen and men of education, you will see no flute girls nor dancing girls nor harp girls; they will have no nonsense or games, but will be content with one another’s conversation.”[*] But this ideal, though commended, is not always followed in decidedly intellectual circles. Zenophon[+] shows us a select party wherein Socrates participated, in which the host has been fain to hire in a professional Syracusian entertainer with two assistants, a boy and a girl, who bring their performance to a climax by a very suggestive dumb-show play of the story of Bacchus and Ariadne. Prodicus’s friends, being solid, somewhat pragmatic men—neither young sports nor philosophers—steer a middle course. There is a flute girl present, because to have a good symposium without some music is almost unimaginable; but she is discreetly kept in the background.
[*] Plato again says (Politicus, 277 b), “To intelligent persons, a living being is more truly delineated by language and discourse than by any painting or work of art.”
[+] In his Symposium—which is far less perfect as literature than Plato’s, but probably corresponds more to the average instance.
165. The Symposiarch and his Duties.—“Let’s cast for our Symposiarch!” is Prodicus’s next order, and each guest in turn rattles the dice box. Tyche (Lady Fortune) gives the presidency of the feast to Eunapius, a bright-eyed, middle-aged man with a keen sense of humor, but a correct sense of good breeding. He assumes command of the symposium; takes the ordering of the servants out of Prodicus’s hands, and orders the wine to be mixed in the craters with proper dilution. He then rises and pours out a libation from each bowl “to the Olympian Gods,” “to the Heroes,” and “to Zeus the Saviour,” and casts a little incense upon the altar. The guests all sing a Pæan, not a warrior’s charging song this time, but a short hymn in praise of the Wine-God, some lilting catch like Alcæus’s
In mighty flagons hither bring
The deep red blood of many a vine,
That we may largely quaff and sing
The praises of the God of wine.
166. Conversation at the Symposium.—After this the symposium will proceed according to certain general rules which it is Eunaius’s duty to enforce; but in the main a “program” is something to be avoided. Everybody must feel himself acting spontaneously and freely. He must try to take his part in the conversation and neither speak too seldom nor too little. It is not “good form” for two guests to converse privately among themselves, nor for anybody to dwell on unpleasant or controversial topics. Aristophanes has laid down after his way the proper kind of things to talk about.[*] “[Such as]‘how Ephudion fought a fine pancratium with Ascondas though old and gray headed, but showing great form and muscle.’ This is the talk usual among refined people [or again] ‘some manly act of your youth; for example, how you chased a boar or a hare, or won a torch race by some bold device.’ [Then when fairly settled at the feast] straighten your knees and throw yourself in a graceful and easy manner upon the couch. Then make some observations upon the beauty of the appointments, look up at the ceiling and praise the tapestry of the room.”
[*] Wasps, 1174-1564.
As the wine goes around, tongues loosen more and more. Everybody gesticulates in delightful southern gestures, but does not lose his inherent courtesy. The anecdotes told are often very egoistic. The first personal pronoun is used extremely often, and “I” becomes the hero of a great many exploits. The Athenian, in short, is an adept at praising himself with affected modesty, and his companions listen good-humoredly, and retaliate by praising themselves.