To go into details would take too long. We entered the bath, finally,
and after sweating for a minute or two in the warm room, we passed
through into the cold water. But short as was the time, Trimalchio had
already been sprinkled with perfume and was being rubbed down, not with
linen towels, however, but with cloths made from the finest wool.
Meanwhile, three masseurs were guzzling Falernian under his eyes, and
when they spilled a great deal of it in their brawling, Trimalchio
declared they were pouring a libation to his Genius. He was then wrapped
in a coarse scarlet wrap-rascal, and placed in a litter. Four runners,
whose liveries were decorated with metal plates, preceded him, as also
did a wheel-chair in which rode his favorite, a withered, blear eyed
slave, even more repulsive looking than his master. A singing boy
approached the head of his litter, as he was being carried along, and
played upon small pipes the whole way, just as if he were communicating
some secret to his master's ear. Marveling greatly, we followed, and met
Agamemnon at the outer door, to the post of which was fastened a small
tablet bearing this inscription:
NO SLAVE TO LEAVE THE PREMISES
WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM THE MASTER.
PENALTY ONE HUNDRED LASHES.
In the vestibule stood the porter, clad in green and girded with a
cherry-colored belt, shelling peas into a silver dish. Above the
threshold was suspended a golden cage, from which a black and white
magpie greeted the visitors.