Deipnosophistae

Athenaeus of Naucratis

Athenaeus. The Deipnosophists or Banquet Of The Learned Of Athenaeus. Yonge, Charles Duke, translator. London: Henry G. Bohn, 1854.

But Theocritus the Syracusan, in his poem entitled

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Berenice, calls the fish which is called leucus the sacred fish, speaking thus—

And if a mortal seeks the gods with prayer
For a successful hunt, or plenteous gold,
A man who lives by the sea, whose nets he makes
His ploughs to raise his crops; then let him come,
And just at nightfall sacrifice with prayer
To this same goddess the most sacred fish,
Which men call leucus, (loveliest he of fish,)
Then let him bend his nets; and soon he shall
Draw them back from the waters full of prey.

But Dionysius, who was surnamed the Iambic, in his treatise on Dialects, writes thus—

We have heard accordingly an Eretrian fisherman, and many other fishermen, too, of other countries, call the pompilus the sacred fish. Now the pompilus is a sea fish, and is very commonly seen around ships, being something like the tunny called pelamys. However, some one spoken of by the poet catches this fish;—
Sitting upon a high projecting rock
He caught the sacred fish.
Unless, indeed, there be any other kind which is likewise called the sacred fish. But Callimachus in his Galatea calls the chrysophrys the sacred fish, where he says—
Or shall I rather say the gold-brow'd fish,
That sacred fish, or perch, or all the rest
Which swim beneath the vast unfathom'd sea.
But in his Epigrams the same poet says—
The sacred sacred hyca.
But some understand by the term sacred fish, one let go and dedicated to the god, just as people give the same name to a consecrated ox. But others consider that sacred is here only equivalent to great, as Homer speaks of
The sacred might of Alcinous.
And some think that it is only called ἱερὸς as ἱέμενος πρὸς τὸν ῥοῦν (going down stream).

But Clitarchus, in the seventh book of his treatise on Dialects, says—

The nautical people call the pompilus the sacred fish, because it conducts ships out of the open sea into harbour, on which account it is called πόμπιλος from πέμπω, being the same fish as the chrysophrys.

And Eratosthenes in his Mercury says—

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They left a share of all their booty there;
Still living centipedes, the bearded mullet,
The sea-thrush, with dark spots embroider'd o'er,
Or the swift sacred fish with golden brows.

Now after all this discussion of ours about fish, the excellent Ulpian may ask why Archestratus, speaking in those excellent suggestions of his of the cured fish on the Bosphoru, says—

Those which do come from the Bosphoric seas
Are whitest; only let there be no sample
Of the hard meat o' the fish which grow around
The Lake Mæotis; not in verse can I
That fish correctly name.

What is the fish, which he says it is not proper to mention in poetry?

Anchovies must be next considered. And, indeed, Aristonymus uses the word in the singular number, in his Shivering Sun— So that there really is not one anchovy. But of the anchovies there are many kinds, and the one which is called aphritis[*](From ἀφρὸς, foam.) is not produced from roe, as Aristotle says, but from a foam which floats upon the surface of the water, and which collects in quantities when there have been heavy rains. There is also another kind called cobitis, and that is produced from some little worthless gudgeons which are generated in the sand; and from this anchovy itself another kind is produced, which is called the encrasicholus. There is also another anchovy which is the offspring of the sprat; and another which comes from the membras; and another still which comes from the small cestris, which is engendered in the sand and slime. But of all these kinds the aphritis is the best. But Dorion, in his treatise on Fishes, speaks of a fish called the cobites, as good boiled, and also of the spawn of the atherina; and atherina is the name of a fish; and some also call the triglitis an anchovy. But Epicharmus, in his Hebe's Marriage, enumerates the anchovies among the shrimps or membrades; making a distinction between this and what is called the seed. And Icesius says,

Of the anchovy, there is one sort which is white and very thin and frothy, which some people also call the cobitis. And there is another which is not so clean as that, and which is larger; but the
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clean and thin one is the better of the two.

And Archestratus the contriver of delicate dishes, says,—

Use all anchovies for manure, except
The Attic fish; I mean that useful seed
Which the Ionians do call the foam;
And take it fresh; just caught within the bays,
The sacred bays of beautiful Phalerum.
Good is it too, when by the sea-girt isle
Of Rhodes you eat it, if it's not imported.
And if you wish to taste it in perfection,
Boil nettles with it—nettles whose green leaves
On both sides crown the stem; put these in the dish
Around the fish, then fry them in one pan,
And mix in fragrant herbs well steep'd in oil.

But Clearchus the Peripatetic, in his treatise on Proverbs, speaks of the anchovy, and says—

Because they want very little fire for the frying-pan, Archestratus recommends people to put them into a pan which is already hot, and to take them off as soon as they hiss. And they are done, and begin to hiss in a moment, like oil; on which account it is said, 'Anchovy, look at the fire.'

And Chrysippus the philosopher, in his treatise on the Things which deserve to be sought for their own Sakes, says,

The anchovy which is found in the sea at Athens, men despise on account of its abundance, and say that it is a poor man's fish; but in other cities they prize it above everything, even where it is far inferior to the Attic anchovy. Moreover some people,

says he,

endeavour to rear the Adriatic fowls in this place, which are much less useful than our own kinds, inasmuch as they are smaller. But the people in the Adriatic, on the contrary, send for our breed from hence.

Hermippus, too, uses the word ἀφύη in the singular number, in his Demotæ, where he says,—

You seem not now to move even an anchovy.

And Calcias, in his Cyclops, says—

In preference to the best anchovy.

And Aristonymus, in his Shivering Sun, says—

So that there is not really one anchovy.

But Aristophanes uses the diminutive form, and calls them ἀφύδια in his Friers, saying—

Nor these little Phaleric ἀφύδια.

But Lynceus the Samian, in his letter to Diagoras,

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praising the Rhodian anchovies, and comparing many of the productions of Attica to those of Rhodes, says—

We may compare to the anchovies of Phalerum those which are called the Aeniatides, and you may compare the ellops and the orphus with the glauciscus; and with the Eleusinian plaice and turbot, and whatever other fish there may be among them enjoying a reputation higher than that of Cecrops, Rhodes has the fox fish to compare.

But the author of the Delight of Life, exhorts the man who is unable to purchase enough to satisfy his appetite, to get fish to eat by robbery, rather than go without it. But Lynceus calls Archestratus an epicure, who in that much celebrated poem of his speaks thus of the shark:—

Are you at Rhodes? e'en if about to die,
Still, if a man would sell you a fox shark,
The fish the Syracusans call the dog,
Seize on it eagerly; at least, if fat:
And then compose yourself to meet your fate
With brow serene and mind well satisfied.

The acharnus is mentioned by Callias in his Cyclops—

A harp-fish roast, besides a ray,
The head too of a tunny,
And eel, some crabs, and this acharnus,
The great Aenean dainty.

The ray, roach, or sea frog may also be mentioned. They are mentioned under the two former names by Aristotle in his treatise on Animals, where he classes them under the head of cartilaginous fish. And Eupolis, in his Flatterers, says—

At Callias's house there is much pleasure,
For he has crabs for dinner, rays besides,
And hares, and women with light twinkling feet.

And Epicharmus says, in his Marriage of Hebe—

And there were rays and sea-frogs, sawfish, sharks,
Camitæ, roach, and lobsters with hard shells.

And in his Megarian Woman he writes—

Its sides were like a ray,
Its back was altogether like a roach,
Its head was long, far more like a stag's,
Its flanks were like a scorpion's, son of the sea.

And Sannyrion says, in his Laughter—

O rays, O dainty grayling.

And Aristotle in the fifth book of his treatise on the Parts of

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Animals, says that the following are cartilaginous fish; the ray, the turtle, the sea cow, the lamprey, the sea eagle, the sea frog, and the whole of the shark tribe. But Sophron in his Farces, gives one fish the name of botis, saying,

The cestres eat the botis,

though it is possible that he may be speaking of some herb. But with respect to the sea frog, the wise Archestratus gives us the following advice in his Apophthegms—

Whenever you behold a frog, why roast him
* * * *
And . . . . prepare his stomach.

And concerning the ray, he says—

A boiled ray is good about midwinter.
Eat it with cheese and assafœtida;
But all the sons o' the sea whose flesh is lean
Should, as a rule, be dress'd in such a fashion;
And thus I recommend you now again.

And Ephippus the comic poet, in his play called Philyra, (now Philyra is the name of a courtesan), says—

A. Shall I first cut a ray in slender slices
And boil it? aye? or like the cooks in Sicily
Shall I prefer to roast it?
B. Copy Sicily.

There are also fish called boaxes. Aristotle, in his treatise entitled Concerning Animals or Fish, says,

The following animals are marked on the back; the boax and others—the following are marked transversely, the kind of tunny fish called colias.

And Epicharmus in his Marriage of Hebe, speaks thus—

And in addition to all these the boax,
The smarides, anchovies, crabs and lobsters.

And Numenius, in his Art of Fishing, calls them boeces, saying—

The white synodons, the boeces, and trinchi.

But Speusippus and the rest of the Attic writers call them boaces. Aristophanes in his play called The Women who occupy Tents, says—

But having had a bellyful of boaces,
I turn'd my steps towards home.

And they derived their name from the noise (βοὴ) which they make, on which account it used to be said that the fish was sacred to Mercury, as the harp fish was to Apollo. But

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Pherecrates in his Ant-Men, saying—

They say that there is no other fish whatever, which has any voice at all;

ads afterwards,—

By Castor and Pollux, there is at least no other fish except the boax.

And Aristophanes the Byzantian says—

That we are wrong to call the fish boax, when we ought to call it boops, since, though it is but a little fish, it as very large eyes, so that it might be called boops, having bulls' eyes.

But we may reply to him, If we are wrong in naming him as we do, why do we say coracinus, not corocinus? For he derives his name from moving the pupils of his eyes (ἀπὸ τοῦ τὰς κόρας κινεῖν). And so too, why do we not call the fish σείουρος instead of σίλουροσ? for he has his name from continually shaking his tail (ἀπὸ τοῦ σείειν τὴν οὐράν)?

With respect to the small kind of anchovy called membras, Phrynicus, in his Tragedians, says—

O golden-headed membrades, sons of the sea.

But Epicharmus in his Hebe's Wedding, calls them bambradones, and says—

Bambradones and sea-thrushes, and hares,
And furious dragons.

And Sophron in his Manly Qualities, says—

The bambradon, and the needle fish.

And Numenius says, in his Treatise on Fishing,

Or a small sprat, or it may be a bembras,
Kept in a well; you recollect these baits.

And Dorion in his book on Fishes, says—"Having taken off the head of a bembras, if it be one of a tolerable size, and having washed it with water, and a small quantity of salt, then boil it in the same manner as you do a mullet; and the bembras is the only kind of anchovy from which is derived the condiment called bembraphya; which is mentioned by Aristonymus in the Sun Shivering—

The carcinobates of Sicily
Resembles the bembraphya.

Still the Attic writers often call them bembrades. Aristomenes says in his Jugglers—

Bringing some bembrades purchased for an obol.

And Aristonymus in his Sun Shivering, says—

The large anchovy plainly is not now,
Nor e'en the bembras, quite unfortunate.

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And Aristophanes says in his Old Age—

Fed on the hoary bembrades.

And Plato in his Old Men, says—

O Hercules, do just survey these bembrades.

But in the Goats of Eupolis we may find the word written also with a μ (not βεμβρὰς but μεμβρὰς). And Antiphanes says, in his Cnœsthis;—

They do proclaim within the fishmarket
The most absurd of proclamations,
For just now one did shout with all his voice'
That he had got some bembrades sweet as honey;
But if this be the case, then what should hinder
The honey-sellers crying out and saying,
That they have honey stinking like a bembras?

And Alexis in his Woman leading the Chorus, writes the word with a μ—

Who to the young folks making merry, then
Put forth but lately pulse and membrades,
And well-press'd grapes to eat.

And in his Protochorus he says—

No poorer meal, by Bacchus now I swear,
Have I e'er tasted since I first became
A parasite; I'd rather sup on membrades
With any one who could speak Attic Greek;
It would be better for me.

There is also a fish called the blennus, and it is mentioned by Sophron, in his play entitled The Fisherman and the Countryman, and he calls it the fat blennus. It is something like the tench in shape. But Epicharmus in his Hebe's Wedding speaks of a fish which he calls baiones, where he says—

Come now and bring me high-backed mullets,
And the ungrateful baiones.

And among the Attic writers there is a proverb,

No baion for me; he is a poor fish.

There is also a shell-fish called buglossus. And Archestratus, the Pythagorean, says, because of his temperate habits,

Then we may take a turbot plump, or e'en
A rough buglossus in the summer time,
If one is near the famous Chalcis.

And Epicharmus, in his Hebe's Wedding, says—

There were buglossi and the harp-fish there.

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But the fish called cynoglossus differs from the buglossus. And of them too Epicharmus speaks—

There were the variegated plotides,
And cynoglossi, and sciathides.

But the Attic writers call the buglossus the psetta.

There are also fish called congers. Icesius says that these are coarser than the common eels; and that their flesh is less firm and less nutritious, and that they are very deficient in palatable juice; but still, that they are good for the stomach. But Nicander, the epic poet, in the third book of his Treatise on Dialects, says that they are also called grylli. But Eudoxus, in the sixth book of his Circuit of the Earth, says that there are numbers of congers caught off Sicyon, each large enough to be a load for a man; and some of them even big enough to be a load for a cart. And Philemon, the comic poet, himself mentioning the extraordinary congers at Sicyon, represents a cook as priding himself on his skill, and saying in the play entitled the Soldier,—

How great a wish has now come over me
To tell to heaven and earth the way in which
I did prepare that supper. Aye, by Pallas,
How sweet it is when everything goes right!
How tender was my fish! and how I dress'd it!
Not done with cheese, or powder'd o'er with dyes,
But looking as he did in life, though roasted.
So mild and gentle was the fire which I
Did to the fish apply, you'd scarce believe it.
It was as when a hen does seize some food,
And carries it away to eat at leisure:
She runs all round with care; another sees her,
And straightway follows her to take it from her.
So here, the man who first found out the pleasure
Of dainty eating, sprang up high and ran
All round and round, with his dish in his hand.
The rest pursued him—it was fine to see them:
Some got a little, some got nothing, some
Got all they wanted. Well, as I was saying,
I took some river fish, eaters of mud.
What if I'd had a scare, or blue-back'd fish
From Attic waters, O thou saving Jupiter!
Or boar from Argive woods, or noble conger
From Sicyon's bay, the conger which the god
Of the deep sea doth bear aloft to heaven,
Fit banquet for his brethren. Then no doubt
The guests who ate would all have seem'd like gods;
I should have been immortal, since the dead
By the mere smell of my meat I bring to life again.

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I swear by Minerva that Menecrates the Syracusan himself would not have made such a boast as that, he who was nick-named Jupiter—a man who gave himself airs as being, by his skill in medicine, the only person who could cause man to live. Accordingly he compelled all who came to be cured by him of what is called the sacred disease, to enter into a written agreement that if they recovered they would be his slaves. And they followed him, one wearing the dress of Hercules, and being called Hercules, (and the man who was so called was Nicostratus, an Argive, who had been cured of the sacred disease, and he is mentioned by Ephippus, in his Peltast, where he says—

Did not Menecrates call himself a god,
And Nicostratus of Argos a second Hercules?)

and another followed him in the dress of Mercury, having on a cloak and bearing a caduceus, and wings besides. As Nicagoras of Zelia did, who also became afterwards the tyrant of his country, as Baton relates in the history of the Tyrants at Ephesus. And Hegesander says that he called Astycreon, who had been cured by him, Apollo. And another of those who had been cured by him, went about with him to his cost, wearing the dress of Aesculapius. But Jupiter Menecrates himself, clad in purple, and having a golden crown upon his head, and holding a sceptre, and being shod with slippers, went about with his chorus of gods. And once, writing to Philip the king, he began his letter thus—

"Menecrates Jupiter to Philip greeting.

You, indeed, are king of Macedonia, but I am king of medicine; and you are able, when you please, to put men to death, who are in health.; but I am able to save those who are sick, and to cause those who are in good health, if they only follow my advice, to live to old age without being attacked by disease. Therefore the Macedonians attend you as body-guards; but all who wish to live attend me; for I, Jupiter, give them life.

And so Philip wrote back to him as to a man out of his senses,—

Philip wishes Menecrates soundness.

And he wrote in similar style to Archidemus, also the king of the Lacedæmonians, and to every one else to whom he wrote at all; never omitting to give himself the name of Jupiter. And once Philip invited him and all his gods to supper, and

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placed them all on the centre couch, which was adorned in the loftiest and most holy-looking and beautiful manner. And he had a table placed before them on which there was an altar and first-fruits of the different productions of the earth. And whenever eatables were placed before the other guests, the slaves placed incense before Menecrates, and poured libations in his honour. And at last, the new Jupiter, with all his subordinate gods, being laughed at by every one, ran away and fled from the banquet, as Hegesander relates. And Alexis also makes mention of Menecrates in his Minos.

And Themiso the Cyprian, the friend of Antiochus the king as Pythermus the Ephesian relates in the eighth book of his History, not only used to have his name proclaimed in the public assemblies,

Themiso, the Macedonian, the Hercules of Antiochus the king;

but all the people of that country used to sacrifice to him, addressing him as Hercules Themiso; and he himself would come when any of the nobles celebrated a sacrifice, and would sit down, having a couch to himself, and being clad in a lion's skin, and he used also to bear a Scythian bow, and in his hand he carried a club. Menecrates then himself, though he was such as we have said, never made such a preposterous boast as the cook we have been speaking of,—

I am immortal, for I bring the dead,
By the mere smell of my meat, to life again.

But the whole tribe of cooks are conceited and arrogant, as Hegesander says in his Brothers. For he introduces a cook, saying—

A. My friend, a great deal has been said already
By many men on the art of cookery,
So either tell me something new yourself,
Unknown to former cooks, or spare my ears.
B. I'll not fatigue you; know that I alone
Of present men have sounded all the depths
Of culinary science and invention;
For I have not been just a short two years
Learning my art with snow-white apron girt,
But all my life I have devoted anxiously
To the investigation of each point
Of moment; I have inquired into all
The different kinds of herbs and vegetables;
I know the habits of the bembrades,
I know the lentils in their various sorts;
In short, this I can say—Whene'er I am
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At a funereal feast as minister,
As soon as men come back from the funeral,
Clad in dark garments, I take off the lids
Of all my saucepans, and the weeping guests
I clothe with smiling faces in a moment;
And such a joy runs through each heart and frame
As if they were a marriage feast attending.
A. What! serving up lentils and bembrades?
B. These are some accidental dishes only;
But when I've got my necessary tools,
And once have properly arranged my kitchen,
That which in old time happen'd with the Sirens
You shall again behold repeated now.
For such shall be the savoury smell, that none
Shall bring themselves to pass this narrow passage;
And every one who passes by the door
Shall stand agape, fix'd to the spot, and mute,
Till some one of his friends, who's got a cold
And lost his smell, drags him away by force.
A. You're a great artist.
B. Do not you then know
To whom you speak? I do declare to you
I have known many of the guests, who have,
For my sake, eaten up their whole estates.

Now, I beg you, tell me, in the name of all the gods at once, in what respect this man appears to you to differ from the Celedones in Pindar, who, in the same manner as the Sirens of old, caused those who listened to them to forget their food through delight, and so to waste away?

But Nicomachus, in his Ilithyia, himself also introduces a cook, who in arrogance and conceit goes far beyond the artists on the stage. This cook then speaks to the man who has hired him in this way,—

A. You do display a gentlemanlike taste
And kind; but one thing still you have omitted.
B. How so?
A. You never have inquired it seems
How great a man I am. Or had you heard it
From some one else who was acquainted with me,
And so was that the reason you engaged me?
B. By Jove I never heard or thought about it.
A. Perhaps you do not know how great the difference
Is that exists between one cook and another?
B. Not I, but I shall know now, if you tell me.
A. To take some meat that some one else has bought,
And then to dress it tolerably, is
What any cook can do.
B. O Hercules!
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A. A perfect cook is quite another thing.
For there are many admirable arts,
All of which he must master thoroughly
Who would excel in this. He first must have
A smattering of painting; and indeed
Many the sciences are which he must learn
Before he's fit to begin learning cookery,—
And you should know them ere you talk to me,—
Astrology, and Medicine, and Geometry.
For by these arts you'll know the qualities
And excellences of the various fish.
You'll learn to guide your dishes by the seasons;
And when this fish is in, and this is out,
For there is great variety in the pleasures
That from the table spring. Sometimes, for instance,
A boax will be better than a tunny.
B. Perhaps; but what on earth has that to do
With your geometry
A. Why this. We say
The kitchen is a sphere; this we divide,
And take one portion, as may suit our art,
Borrowing the principles of mensuration.
B. I understand; that's quite enough of that.
Where does your medical skill display itself?
A. Know there are meats hard, indigestible,
Pregnant with flatulence, causing only torture
To the unhappy eater, and no nourishment.
Yet those who sup at other folks' expense
Are always greedy and not temperate.
For these and similar viands, remedies
Must come from the resources of our art;
And how to marshal everything in order
With wisdom and propriety, we learn
By borrowing from the science of the General.
To count the guests requires arithmetic.
And no one else has all these parts of knowledge
Except myself.
B. Now in your turn, awhile
Listen to me.
A. Say on.
B. Give no more trouble
To me nor to yourself: but just keep quiet,
And rest yourself all day for all I care.

And the cook in the Younger Philemon wishes to be a sort of tutor, and speaks in this fashion—

There, let things be as they are. Only take care
The fire may not too small be or too slow
To roast the joints. (As a fire like that
Makes meat not roast but sodden.) Nor too fierce.
(For that again does burn whate'er it catches,
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And yet is far from cooking the meat through.)
It is not every one who has a spoon
And knife about him that we call a cook,
Nor every one who puts his fish in a pan;
There is more wit and reason in the business.

And the cook in Diphilus's Painter tells us also to whom he thinks it worth his while to hire himself, saying—

A. I will not use your meat, nor give my aid
Unless I'm sure that I shall have all means
Which needful are to make a proper show;
Nor do I e'er go anywhere till first
I know who 'tis who makes the sacrifice,
Or what the cause may be which prompts the banquet,
,Or who the guests are who have been invited.
For I have got a regular list at home
Of where I choose to go, and where I don't.
As first, to speak of the commercial class;
Some captain of a ship may take a sacrifice
Just to discharge some vow, made when he lost
His mast, pr broke the rudder of his vessel,
Or, having sprung a leak, threw overboard
His cargo. I'll have nought to do with him:
For he does nothing willingly, but only
Just so much as he thinks he cannot help.
And every time a cup is fill'd with wine,
He makes a calculation of the sum
Which he can charge his owners or his passengers,
And thinks that what his guests do eat and drink
Is his own flesh and blood. Another came,
But three days since, from the Byzantine port,
Safe and successful; joyful in a profit
Of ten or twelve per cent; talking of nothing
But freight and interest, spending all his love
On worn-out panders. Soon as he did quit
The ship and set his foot upon the land,
I blew my nose, gave him my hand, and utter'd
Audible thanks to saving Jupiter,
And hasten'd forth to wait on him. For this
Is always my way; and I find it answer.
Again, an amorous youth will feast and squander
His sire's estate; to him I go at call.
But those who feast in shares, and throw together
Into one dish their petty contributions,
Though they may tear their clothes, and cry aloud,
Come, who will cook us our new-purchased supper.
I let bawl on. For if you go to them,
First there is language hard and blows to bear;
Secondly, one must slave the livelong night;
And when at last you ask them for your pay,
First bring the pot,
say they. "There was no vinegar
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In all that salad." Ask again. "Aye, you
Shall be the first to be well beaten here."
I could recount ten thousand facts like this.
B. But where I take now is a rich brothel,
Where a rich courtesan with other friends
Desires to celebrate with great abundance
A joyous feast in honour of Adonis,
And where you may enjoy yourself in style.