Diminutive dramas

Scene.—A room in Lucullus’s house. Discovered: Lucullus (an old man) and his Cook.

Lucullus. Of course, I don’t say that it wasn’t a good dish; but it was not Neapolitan peacock.

The Cook. They were straight from Naples; the same as we’ve always had, sir.

Lucullus (irritated). I’m not talking about the bird, but about the dish. You know as well as I do that Neapolitan peacock without anemone seed is not Neapolitan peacock. And then the nightingales’ tongues were over-roasted. They ought to be roasted for twenty-three minutes and not one second longer.

The Cook. They were only twenty-four minutes on the roast.

Lucullus. There, you see, it was that extra minute that spoilt them. You might just as well not roast them at all as roast them for twenty-four minutes. And then there were too many butterflies’ wings round the sturgeon.

The Cook. The chief slave——

Lucullus. I’ve told you over and over again, till I’m tired of saying it, that the chief slave has nothing to do with the arrangement of the dishes. That is your affair. The chief slave can arrange the table, but he must not touch the dishes. The look of a dish is just as important as the taste of it. And then there was a pinch too much salt in the wild boar sauce.

The Cook. The first sauceman has just lost his wife.

Lucullus. That’s not my affair. Please make it clear that this must not happen again. The fact is, Æmilius, you’re falling off—last night’s dinner wasn’t fit to eat; it was filthy; the kind of food one gets at Cæsar’s—sent for from round the corner.

The Cook. If I may be so bold as to say so, we were saying in the kitchen that these rehearsals of dinners the night before the real dinner make us nervous—

Lucullus. All I can say is, if you can’t cook a good dinner twice running you’d better get another place. The dinner wasn’t fit to eat, and if it’s anything like that to-night I advise you to give up trying to cook and to take to wrestling. That’s all; you can go.

[The Cook blushes scarlet and goes out.

Enter a Slave

The Slave. Can you see Portia, the wife of Brutus?

Lucullus. Yes; show her in.

Enter Portia

Portia. It’s such a beautiful morning that I thought a nice brisk walk would do me good, and as I was passing your door I couldn’t help just looking in.

Lucullus. I’m delighted.

Portia (sitting down). I wanted to ask you whether you would mind giving your patronage to the Old Slaves’ Pensions Fund? Cicero has helped us a great deal, and Cæsar has promised. By the way, is Cæsar dining with you to-night?

Lucullus. Yes, I believe he is.

Portia. Well, he particularly wants to see Brutus, and he said something about meeting us here to-night, and as I had heard nothing from you I thought I would just ask. The slaves are so stupid about letters—not that I want very much to dine out. You see I’m very busy just at this moment, and there’s a Committee Meeting to-night for the O.S.P.F. (She sighs.) But one can’t always think of oneself, and Brutus has been so depressed lately. He sleeps badly, and we’ve tried everything. The new Greek doctor has done him no good, and we’ve tried fomented eucalyptus and poppy soup, and the cold-water cure; but it all seems to make him worse, and the doctors say that what he wants is society, and we so seldom see any one.

Lucullus. I shall be quite delighted if you both could come to-night. (He calls out) Lucius. (Enter Slave.) Tell Æmilius at once we shall be two extra to dinner to-night; and tell him to get some more hoopoe’s eggs.

Portia. Of course, I didn’t mean to propose myself (she laughs nervously)—you mustn’t think that; and have you really got room for us?

Lucullus. Oh, there’s plenty of room. (Pensively) Do you like hoopoe’s eggs?

Portia (simpering). Well, they’re dreadfully indigestible, but I must say I never can resist a good hoopoe’s egg. (Getting up) Then I can count on your patronage?

Lucullus. Certainly; is there a subscription?

Portia. Not for the patrons. You see——

Lucullus. Yes, I see.

Portia. Good-bye. Thank you so much.

[Exit Portia. Lucullus sees her to the door and returns.

Lucullus (pensively). Brutus never drinks wine.

Enter Slave

Slave. The Queen of Egypt is here. Æmilius says it’s too late to cook dinner for twelve now without spoiling it; he says we’re one too many as it is, and that he can’t get any more hoopoe’s eggs, and that there won’t be enough to go round.

Lucullus. Show the Queen in.

[Exit Slave.

Enter Cleopatra

Cleopatra. Don’t get up, Lucullus; I’m not going to keep you a minute. I want to know if you could possibly dine with me to-night. I’ve got some dancing; a little Persian girl—so clever—she does a parakeet dance with live birds.

Lucullus. There’s nothing I should like so much, dear Egypt; but I’ve got a dinner of my own. Do you want a man?

Cleopatra. I want two men, dreadfully.

Lucullus. I’ll tell you who are coming—Mark Antony.

Cleopatra. I don’t know him.

Lucullus. Cicero.

Cleopatra. I’m afraid he wouldn’t do.

Lucullus. Brutus and his wife.

Cleopatra (laughing). They don’t know me.

Lucullus. Catullus. Oh, I forgot Cæsar and his wife.

Cleopatra. Of course Cæsar would do beautifully, but I suppose you couldn’t spare him.

Lucullus. To tell you the truth, I’ve got too many guests and not enough hoopoe’s eggs to go round, but——

Cleopatra. Well, I happened to meet Cæsar quite by chance this morning, and he said that poor Calpurnia had got one of her headaches and was dying not to dine out, but you know how dear and unselfish she is. So if you should put them off, I think it would be rather a relief to her, and then Cæsar could just run in for a moment to my dinner.

Lucullus. Certainly; I’ll say I’ve mistaken the date.

Cleopatra. That is charming of you; thank you so much. And you must come and dine quite quietly with me one night, and you might bring Mark Antony; I want to know him so much.

Lucullus. He’s not interesting; he bolts his food.

Cleopatra. How funny! Just like Cæsar. Good-bye; I must fly.

[Exit Cleopatra.

Enter Slave

Slave. Clodia, the wife of Metellus Celer, wishes to see you.

Lucullus. Show her in, and tell Æmilius we shan’t be two extra.

Enter Clodia

Clodia. It’s too bad of me, Lucullus, to disturb you so early in the morning.

Lucullus. On the contrary——

Clodia. What a charming room. (Pointing to a statue of Hermes) That’s a Praxiteles, isn’t it?

Lucullus. No; it’s only a copy I had made by a little man at Puteoli.

Clodia. I think it’s wonderful.

Lucullus. It is clever.

Clodia. You got my note?

Lucullus. Yes; I’m delighted you can come.

Clodia. Well, that’s just what I wanted to explain. Metellus says you’ve asked Catullus, and last night we were all dining with Pollio, and Catullus was there. Of course, I don’t know him very well, but I’ve always been civil to him because of Metellus, who happens to like him. Well, last night he was so rude to my father-in-law that I don’t feel as if I could meet him again to-night. I mean I don’t think it would be right. Couldn’t you put him off and say he made you thirteen?—otherwise I don’t think I can come, and I wouldn’t miss your dinner for worlds.

Lucullus (enchanted). Quite delighted, I assure you, to render you the smallest service. I will write at once. (He scribbles two notes.) Lucius! (Enter a Slave.) Take this note to Caius Valerius Catullus at once, and this one to the Queen of Egypt, and tell Æmilius we shall only be nine. (To Clodia) I assure you it won’t matter to him, as Cleopatra is giving a dinner to-night and is looking out for a man. I have written to tell her.

Clodia. Cleopatra! Oh!

Lucullus. Yes; don’t you like her?

Clodia. Metellus hates Greeks; and I only just know her, but I do admire her. Metellus thinks she’s so second-rate. I don’t see it.

Lucullus. She’s cultivated.

Clodia. Yes; Greeks always are.

Enter a Slave with a letter, which he gives to Lucullus

The Slave. Waiting for an answer.

Lucullus. May I read this?

Clodia. Please.

[Lucullus opens the letter and looks at the signature.

Lucullus. It’s from one of my guests—Cynthia. I can’t read it; I’m so short-sighted and I left my emerald upstairs.

Clodia. Shall I read it for you?

Lucullus. That would be very kind.

Clodia (reads). “Dear Lucullus—I find I can come to dinner after all. I have just found a letter which has been going all over Rome for me for the last week, from the King of Nubia, who had asked me to-night (and of course it was a command), saying that his dinner is put off. So I shall be delighted to come to-night if I may.—Cynthia.” That will just make you a woman over, won’t it; but it will be all right if I don’t come.

Lucullus. On the contrary——

Clodia. Of course it will. You see I may just as well come another night, and Metellus will come without me—husbands are always so much nicer without their wives. As a matter of fact, Metellus didn’t much want me to come, because my throat’s been rather bad lately, and he thinks I oughtn’t to go out at night; so it all fits in. Good-bye, Lucullus.

Lucullus. Good-bye. (Exit Clodia.) She’ll go to Cleopatra’s—after all, food is wasted on women. Lucius!

Enter the Slave

The Slave. If you please, sir, Æmilius has killed himself!

Lucullus. Then who’s going to cook the dinner?

The Slave. The head sauceman says he can manage the nightingales’ tongues and the fish, but he’s no experience of peacock.

Lucullus. Peacock! I should think not. He’s not to touch the peacock. (He walks up and down in great agitation, thinking.) Tell the head sauceman—who is it—Balbus?

The Slave. Yes, sir.

Lucullus. Tell Balbus I will have dinner in my room an hour and a half before the other dinner. He can give soup, fish, pheasant, nightingales’ tongues, the cold boar pie which was left from yesterday, and some hoopoe’s eggs—and as for the dinner, you can send out for it. Send now to Varro’s shop and order dinner for nine—eight courses—anything you like. Go at once. They may not be able to do it in time.

The Slave. If you please, sir, one of the slaves was over at Varro’s this morning about the extra slaves to wait, and they said they had a dinner ordered and countermanded by Calpurnia on their hands.

Lucullus. That will do. But tell Balbus if my nightingales are not satisfactory he shall be impaled.

Curtain.