CORNUCOPIA
or, Epigrams of the Feast

A NOTE FROM THE FRUITS.

Not often is our kind much given to speech. But we'll be short, as we're only part of the evening. It seems a great gathering is being prepared, but whatever the occasion, we really couldn't say. The first of us were plucked from our vines late one night; and continued, so we count, over a course of three days. A quick rain then washed over us unlike any other, and we've been waiting ever since at the long garden table. Our cultivator's quite a restless fellow, you see. He once read that "Metaphysicians never made good gardeners,"1 and next morning it was etched on our entrance-board. We're not sure who they are, so we'd like to agree; but forgive us if we can't fill in the details. It's true we don't come from any lofty orchard, but at our core we're all honest varieties. So much from us, the first guests are arriving. May we speak again, friend, and may we see you around! And whenever you've the chance: always taste for yourself!

As Patience now tends to the Far-Western fruits, don't spoil the piquant: the bough's unabating.

I.

Before you think ill of me for not inviting Obsequity to our banquet, let me tell you, he's a thief of more than just napkins! He's wont to swipe whatever's at the table; and once full on the pillages, he'll snatch Joy, too.

II.

"Shall I be responsible for the opening word?" Please, give us something which is better than that before us! "Then take pleasure in these helpings, such as they are, and be friends with none who demand bespoke meals. But if he should appear, and at any time during our course, by duty we are bound to give him proper hospitality. This soil's our Gracious chef, deciding what goes out or not; and if he's not careful, he'll be next on the service."

III.

"It seems the fateful hour has come for us at last; shrink not one pip, but meet with it courageously." "O, woe, all is woe! For even were I not torn from the tree, I would be left but to rot in the ground. How miserable this life, how miserable to be a fruit. O, woe, all is woe!" "Well, clearly you didn't grow on any Garden." "We hope you get your wish, and not only for your own sake."

IV.

"I couldn't help but heed those hardy chompers you have; a drupe, stone and all, would be no match for them." "Why, as it happens, I grew them myself." "Those, all your own? What a happy gift for a mortal: to be able to chew as cattle on chaff!" "Careful with your words — more foodstuffs than most my teeth can take in, but what my intestines take out can be count on one finger."

V.

"Splendid, these fruits! Could it even be the Gods' nectar's no better?" "Speak for yourself! Each one is pungent and puts up a fight." True enough, that saying: ambrosia tastes bitter to unworthy tongues.

VI.

"If it's not wholly foolish what I'm about to say: I really would suppose it lesser penalty, from one whiff of this fragrance, to incur Teiresias' fate than have Pallas impound my sniffer."

VII.

Come, come, anoint the unguent! Come, come all, anoint the unguent! But don't ask whence the precious balm of the Cupids: who does not expect the unexpected won't find it.

VIII.

First collect the blossoms when consummately ripe, and fill halfway the shallow dish with semi-solid. Then each face down so the whole is pressed flat, and fix by the row till the surface is covered. And by Her who ingratiates like with like, repeated many times, the willing fat will draw the odor.

IX.

"Heavens, I think Kairos landed from on high; he couldn't have come at any better time. Let us commence the battle of wits!" And please keep it thin: I do not despise a learned work, only the one that lacks in shame. Now you nearest me up first. "Very well, but it seems I should need an assistant." Take him, and do not hesitate. "What do you do?" "I'm a politician." "You are a liar." "I am a Cretan." "Say, you don't speak lies after all." Excellent! This'll prove tough competition. Let's see if student can conquer the master. "Is that you, Fortune, I see at the crossroads? Tell me, is it on some business you're here?" "If you're asking, I'll show you, and you can decide." Ah, no need, I know well the answer. You've never sate a man, and lesser still can sate yourself." Oh, better hope She didn't hear; but no matter in the end — Fortune has it out for all of us!

X.

"What are these names as we've never heard before? All is One: She's called by Terroir."

XI.

"Why, haven't you heard of the Horae? Of them, they say there are three: Thallo, Auxo, and Carpo, and this last the patron in season." And others, that there's a fourth; but not even the one from Abdera's safe from his word. "So you're saying we cursed only one Goddess, when we should've been cursing four more?"

XII.

"While some may be ignorant of the Gods, music is the property of all. Someone, grab the six-string and plectrum; and pleasant be your song all the evening!"

XIII.

What, pray, has wound up the philosophers? "They've been at it for hours, trying to decide whether that tree's tawny. One says it's not, only that we think it; the other's uncertain that it's tree or tawny. Which do you think is closer to the truth?" — I think it better to ask which one is less far.

XIV.

Subtle books! These are no dainties you bring us. Without caution, more hemlock and hellebore.

XV. 

To our ingrate guest who's never known a good meal: Acratophorus has come, euhoe! euhoe! My lips are now loosened, and Frankness drawn out; and if I hear you again, you'll be next in the crossfire.

XVI.

What, I wonder, could soften that well-endowed talker you are? If one bet nothing, every gambler would be a prophet. But each time, on its bidding, that I pass you more produce, that once emphatic instrument's no sound, falls mute. O evil deed! Let there be mourning, and silent mourning, lest it be reminded of glory days. This, too, I’ll give; but keep the mourning. It’s not least reputable, this itching of yours, only to suckle your finger.

XVII.

Let me say it once, shoddy wood of the garden: how do you manage to scare off every bird, but take no trouble in admitting the asses? No, something is completely backwards. And if you take any pleasure in screwing us with your impotence, I'll make you fear the sickle, and feed you the worse end of it.

XVIII.

Listen, you footnotes, always lagging behind — it's the shepherd that rears, not you! I won't take to the crook, but I'll be worse than a whip:2

XIX.

Before you ask something to compel my memory: either I do not remember, or would rather not remember.

XX.

Friend: lest I ever hide my feelings which are true, may not even Lethe's drink take the knowledge of my affection. For if I must oblige to your singing any longer, I'd consider it a better fate the river drown me.

XXI.

"Why so saddened shaded under that tree? No need to answer, please come, we're awaiting you!" (But her brooding was unswayed, something heavy kept on her.) "Oh Maiden, when my eyes dearest to me as anything first met you, I thought I glimpsed Godhead: something in you seemed divine, as the Queen Mother beside the well, victim to imagination. Would I only fetch Iambe to uplift these spirits of yours! No, not even Iambe could take care. Good grief! Ah, no, forget my clumsy words; truly, whoever called grief 'good' should've been the one swallowed by Hades." (With this, a resplendence of youth freshly touched upon her cheeks, and to each the other Maidens a share from her; this one decking her garland, this one rejoicing in song.)

XXII.

They say, threshold, that you keep castigating our guests. Why, tell the truth, this behavior of yours? "You see, they don't realize it is I who connects one with the other; I who is the guardian of chambers. No, they step over me without a care; only the hunchback looks down, and what choice he? But everyone delights in the lintel, who's closer to the Gods than I." Is that what this is, you're spiteful of the overhead? "And not only that, but a curse for him who steps on me. Would only I give out from underneath, and lead him on a more than nine-day journey! A single step, while modest, is heavier by weight in consequence."

XXIII.

If what the theologians say is true, he must have been a staircase in his past life. He seems a sturdy fellow before you step on the veneer, but he’s a one-way street: once he’s cut you down, he’ll creak, “Did I not show you to the bottom?” Some staircase! — I did not fancy an early katabasis.

XXIV.

You greedy drunks, leaving us nothing but air in our cups: our sorry last hope to replenish our stores. Now corral them, quickly, before they roll away — you're going next on the press!

XXV.

Did you catch what he said? I don't mean it as a jest. "That I couldn't say, nor think Hercules would know." Well, he's always been rather jaundiced and round in his figure. Maybe his soul's too wet; has he poured too much vino? "On that point, in truth, I haven't seen him take a sip." That settles it then! He must be drunk on the darkness.

XXVI.

"Why, don't eat me, too, I don't come from the fields! But if you've made it this far, surely you've good digestion. If I may a final word: hail all you fruits that in me gathered! Now which end will you start with? — I'm not sure how wicker goes down."


END OF CORNUCOPIA.


FOOTNOTES                                                                                                                                                                                                                 1 Vagaries; or, an Ignis Fatuus for the Spirit-Seeker, §11.24-25                                                                                                                                                                     2 There are no footnotes for the future.