A Day In Old Athens

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[*]The exact order of these contests, and the rules of elimination
as the games proceeded, are uncertain--perhaps they varied with
time and place.

[+]This would make it 398 B.C. The Athenians dated their years by
the name of their "first Archon" ("Archon eponymos").

...The Academy is already thinning. The beautiful youths and their
admiring "lovers" have gone homeward. The last race has been run.
We must hasten if we would not be late to some select symposium.
The birds are more melodious than ever around Colonus; the red and
golden glow upon the Acropolis is beginning to fade; the night is
sowing the stars; and through the light air of a glorious evening
we speed back to the city.

Chapter XVIII. Athenian Cookery and the Symposium.

154. Greek Meal Times.--The streets are becoming empty. The
Agora has been deserted for hours. As the warm balmy night closes
over the city the house doors are shut fast, to open only for the
returning master or his guests, bidden to dinner. Soon the ways
will be almost silent, to be disturbed, after a proper interval, by
the dinner guests returning homeward. Save for these, the streets
will seem those of a city of the dead: patrolled at rare intervals
by the Scythian archers, and also ranged now and then by cutpurses
watching for an unwary stroller, or miscreant roisterers trolling
lewd songs, and pounding on honest men's doors as they wander from
tavern to tavern in search of the lowest possible pleasures.

We have said very little of eating or drinking during our visit in
Athens, for, truth to tell, the citizens try to get through the day
with about as little interruption for food and drink as possible.
But now, when warehouse and gymnasium alike are left to darkness,
all Athens will break its day of comparative fasting.

Roughly speaking, the Greeks anticipate the latter-day "Continental"
habits in their meal hours. The custom of Germans and of many
Americans in having the heartiest meal at noonday would never appeal
to them. The hearty meal is at night, and no one dreams of doing
any serious work after it. When it is finished, there may be
pleasant discourse or varied amusements, but never real business;
and even if there are guests, the average dinner party breaks up
early. Early to bed and early to rise, would be a maxim indorsed
by the Athenians.

Promptly upon rising, our good citizen has devoured a few morsels
of bread sopped in undiluted wine; that has been to him what "coffee
and rolls" will be to the Frenchmen,--enough to carry him through
the morning business, until near to noon he will demand something
more satisfying. He then visits home long enough to partake of a
substantial dejeuner ("ariston," first breakfast = "akratisma").
He has one or two hot dishes--one may suspect usually warmed over
from last night's dinner--and partakes of some more wine. This
"ariston" will be about all he will require until the chief meal of
the day--the regular dinner ("deipnon") which would follow sunset.

155. Society desired at Meals.--The Athenians are a gregarious
sociable folk. Often enough the citizen must dine alone at home
with "only" his wife and children for company, but if possible he
will invite friends (or get himself invited out). Any sort of an
occasion is enough to excuse a dinner-party,--a birthday of some
friend, some kind of family happiness, a victory in the games, the
return from, or the departure upon, a journey:--all these will answer;
or indeed a mere love of good fellowship. There are innumerable
little eating clubs; the members go by rotation to their respective
houses. Each member contributes either some money or has his slave
bring a hamper of provisions. In the find weather picnic parties
down upon the shore are common.[*] "Anything to bring friends
together"--in the morning the Agora, in the afternoon the gymnasium,
in the evening they symposium--that seems to be the rule of Athenian
life.

[*]Such excursions were so usual that the literal expression "Let
us banquet at the shore" ([Note from Brett: The Greek letters
are written out here as there is no way to portray them properly]
sigma eta mu epsilon rho omicron nu [next word] alpha kappa tau
alpha sigma omega mu epsilon nu [here is a rough transliteration
into English letters "semeron aktasomen"]) came often to mean simply
"Let us have a good time."

However, the Athenians seldom gather to eat for the mere sake
of animal gorging. They have progressed since the Greeks of the
Homeric Age. Odysseus[*] is made to say to Alcinous that there is
nothing more delightful than sitting at a table covered with bread,
meat, and wine, and listening to a bard's song; and both Homeric
poems show plenty of gross devouring and guzzling. There is not
much of this in Athens, although Boeotians are still reproached with
being voracious, swinish "flesh eaters," and the Greeks of South
Italy and Sicily are considered as devoted to their fare, though
of more refined table habits. Athenians of the better class pride
themselves on their light diet and moderation of appetite, and
their neighbors make considerable fun of them for their failure to
serve satisfying meals. Certain it is that the typical Athenian
would regard a twentieth century "table d'hote" course dinner as
heavy and unrefined, if ever it dragged its slow length before him.

[*]"Odyssey," IX. 5-10.

156. The Staple Articles of Food.--However, the Athenians have
honest appetites, and due means of silencing them. The diet of a
poor man is indeed simple in the extreme. According to Aristophanes
his meal consists of a cake, bristling with bran for the sake
of economy, along with an onion and a dish of sow thistles, or of
mushrooms, or some other such wretched vegetables; and probably, in
fact, that is about all three fourths of the population of Attica
will get on ordinary working days, always with the addition of a
certain indispensable supply of oil and wine.

Bread, oil, and wine, in short, are the three fundamentals of Greek
diet. With them alone man can live very healthfully and happily;
without them elaborate vegetable and meat dishes are poor
substitutes. Like latter-day Frenchmen or Italians with their huge
loaves or macaroni, BREAD in one form or another is literally the
stuff of life to the Greek. He makes it of wheat, barley, rye,
millet, or spelt, but preferably of the two named first. The barley
meal is kneaded (not baked) and eaten raw or half raw as a sort of
porridge. Of wheat loaves there are innumerable shapes on sale in
the Agora,--slender rolls, convenient loaves, and also huge loaves
needing two or three bushels of flour, exceeding even those made
in a later day in Normandy. At every meal the amount of bread or
porridge consumed is enormous; there is really little else at all
substantial. Persian visitors to the Greeks complain that they
are in danger of rising from the table hungry.

But along with the inevitable bread goes the inevitable OLIVE OIL.
No latter-day article will exactly correspond to it. First of all
it takes the place of butter as the proper condiment to prevent
the bread from being tasteless.[*] It enters into every dish.
The most versatile cook will be lost without it. Again, at the
gymnasium we have seen its great importance to the athletes and
bathers. It is therefore the Hellenic substitute for soap. Lastly,
it fills the lamps which swing over very dining board. It takes
the place of electricity, gas, or petroleum. No wonder Athens
is proud of her olive trees. If she has to import her grain, she
has a surplus for export of one of the three great essentials of
Grecian life.

[*]There was extremely little cow's butter in Greece. Herodotus (iv.
2) found it necessary to explain the process of "cow-cheese-making"
among the Scythians.

The third inevitable article of diet is WINE. No one has dreamed
of questioning its vast desirability under almost all circumstances.
Even drunkenness is not always improper. It may be highly fitting,
as putting one in a "divine frenzy," partaking of the nature of
the gods. Museus the semi-mythical poet is made out to teach that
the reward of virtue will be something like perpetual intoxication
in the next world. Aeschines the orator will, ere long, taunt his
opponent Demosthenes in public with being a "water drinker"; and
Socrates on many occasions has given proof that he possessed a
very hard head. Yet naturally the Athenian has too acute a sense
of things fit and dignified, too noble a perception of the natural
harmony, to commend drunkenness on any but rare occasions. Wine
is rather valued as imparting a happy moderate glow, making the
thoughts come faster, and the tongue more witty. Wine raises the
spirits of youth, and makes old age forget its gray hairs. It
chases away thoughts of the dread hereafter, when one will lose
consciousness of the beautiful sun, and perhaps wander a "strengthless
shade" through the dreary underworld.

There is a song attributed to Anacreon, and nearly everybody in
Athens approves the sentiment:--

Thirsty earth drinks up the rain,
Trees from earth drink that again;
Ocean drinks the air, the sun
Drinks the sea, and him, the moon.
Any reason, canst thou think,
I should thirst, while all these drink?[*]

[*]Translation from Von Falke's "Greece and Rome."

157. Greek Vintages.--All Greeks, however, drink their wine so
diluted with water that it takes a decided quantity to produce a
"reaction." The average drinker takes three parts water to two of
wine. If he is a little reckless the ratio is four of water to
three of wine; equal parts "make men mad" as the poet says, and are
probably reserved for very wild dinner parties. As for drinking
pure wine no one dreams of the thing--it is a practice fit for
Barbarians. There is good reason, however, for this plentiful
use of water. In the original state Greek wines were very strong,
perhaps almost as alcoholic as whisky, and the Athenians have no
Scotch climate to excuse the use of such stimulants.[*]

[*]There was a wide difference of opinion as to the proper amount
of dilution. Odysseus ("Odyssey," IX. 209) mixed his fabulously
strong wine from Maron in Thrace with twenty times its bulk of
water. Hesiod abstemiously commended three parts of water to one
of wine. Zaleucus, the lawgiver of Italian Locri, established the
death penalty for drinking unmixed wine save by physicians' orders
("Atheneus," X. 33).

No wine served in Athens, however, will appeal to a later-day
connoisseur. It is all mixed with resin, which perhaps makes it
more wholesome, but to enjoy it then becomes an acquired taste.
There are any number of choice vintages, and you will be told that
the local Attic wine is not very desirable, although of course it
is the cheapest. Black wine is the strongest and sweetest; white
wine is the weakest; rich golden is the driest and most wholesome.
The rocky isles and headlands of the Aegean seem to produce the
best vintage--Thasos, Cos, Lesbos, Rhodes, all boast their grapes;
but the best wine beyond a doubt is from Chios.[*] It will fetch
a mina ($18 [1914 or $310.14 2000]) the "metreta," i.e. nearly 50
cents [1914 or $8.62 2000] per quart. At the same time you can
buy a "metreta" of common Attic wine for four drachmae (72 cents
[1914 or $12.41 2000]), or say two cents [1914 or 34 cents 2000]
per quart. The latter--when one considers the dilution--is surely
cheap enough for the most humble.

[*]Naturally certain foreign vintages had a demand, just because
they were foreign. Wine was imported from Egypt and from various
parts of Italy. It was sometimes mixed with sea water for export,
or was made aromatic with various herbs and berries. It was
ordinarily preserved in great earthen jars sealed with pitch.

158. Vegetable Dishes.--Provided with bread, oil, and wine, no
Athenian will long go hungry; but naturally these are not a whole
feast. As season and purse may afford they will be supplanted by
such vegetables as beans (a staple article), peas, garlic, onions,
radishes, turnips, and asparagus; also with an abundance of
fruits,--besides figs (almost a fourth indispensable at most meals),
apples, quinces, peaches, pears, plums, cherries, blackberries,
the various familiar nuts, and of course a plenty of grapes and
olives. The range of selection is in fact decidedly wide: only
the twentieth century visitor will miss the potato, the lemon, and
the orange; and when he pries into the mysteries of the kitchen a
great fact at once stares him in the face. The Greek must dress
his dishes without the aid of sugar. As a substitute there is an
abundant use of the delicious Hymettus honey,--"fragrant with the
bees,"--but it is by no means so full of possibilities as the white
powder of later days. Also the Greek cook is usually without fresh
cow's milk, and most goat's milk probably takes its way to cheese.
No morning milk carts rattle over the stones of Athens.

159. Meat and Fish Dishes.--Turning to the meat dishes, we at once
learn that while there is a fair amount of farm poultry, geese,
hares, doves, partridges, etc., on sale in the market, there is
extremely little fresh beef or even mutton, pork, and goat's flesh.
It is quite expensive, and counted too hearty for refined diners.
The average poor man in fact hardly tastes flesh except after one
of the great public festivals; then after the sacrifice of the
"hecatomb" of oxen, there will probably be a distribution of roast
meat to all the worshipers, and the honest citizen will take home
to his wife an uncommon luxury--a piece of roast beef. But the
place of beef and pork is largely usurped by most excellent fish.
The waters of the Aegean abound with fish. The import of salt fish
(for the use of the poor) from the Propontis and Euxine is a great
part of Attic commerce. A large part of the business at the Agora
centers around the fresh fish stalls, and we have seen how extortionate
and insolent were the fishmongers. Sole, tunny, mackerel, young
shark, mullet, turbot, carp, halibut, are to be had, but the choicest
regular delicacies are the great Copaic eels from Boeotia; these,
"roasted on the coals and wrapped in beet leaves," are a dish
fit for the Great King. Lucky is the host who has them for his
dinner party. Oysters and mussels too are in demand, and there is
a considerable sale of snails, "the poor man's salad," even as in
present-day France.

Clearly, then, if one is not captious or gluttonous, there should
be no lack of good eating in Athens, despite the reputation of the
city for abstemiousness. Let us pry therefore into the symposium
of some good citizen who is dispensing hospitality to-night.

160. Inviting Guests to a Dinner Party.--

Who loves thee, him summon to they board;
Far off be he who hates.

This familiar sentiment of Hesiod, one Prodicus, a well-to-do
gentleman, had in mind when he went to the Agora this morning to
arrange for a dinner party in honor of his friend Hermogenes, who
was just departing on a diplomatic mission to the satrap of Mysia.
While walking along the Painted Porch and the other colonnades he
had no difficulty in seeing most of the group he intended to invite,
and if they did not turn to greet him, he would halt them by sending
his slave boy to run and twitch at their mantles, after which the
invitation was given verbally. Prodicus, however, deliberately
makes arrangements for one or two more than those he has bidden.
It will be entirely proper for his guests to bring friends of their
own if they wish; and very likely some intimate whom he has been
unable to find will invite himself without any bidding.

At the Agora Prodicus has had much to do. His house is a fairly
large and well-furnished one, his slaves numerous and handy, but he
has not the cook or the equipment for a really elaborate symposium.
At a certain quarter on the great square he finds a contractor
who will supply all the extra appointments for a handsome dinner
party--tables, extra lamps, etc. Then he puts his slave boy to
bawling out:

"Who wants an engagement to cook a dinner?"

This promptly brings forward a sleek, well-dressed fellow whose
dialect declares that he is from Sicily, and who asserts he is an
expert professional cook. Prodicus engages him and has a conference
with him on the profound question of "whether the tunnies or the
mullets are better to-day, or will there be fresh eels?" This
point and similar minor matters settled, Prodicus makes liberal
purchases at the fish and vegetable stalls, and his slaves bear
his trophies homeward.

161. Preparing for the Dinner. The Sicilian Cook.--All that
afternoon the home of Prodicus is in an uproar. The score of
slaves show a frantic energy. The aula is cleaned and scrubbed:
the serving girls are busy handing festoons of leaves and weaving
chaplets. The master's wife--who does not dream of actually sharing
in the banquet--is nevertheless as active and helpful as possible;
but especially she is busy trying to keep the peace between the old
house servants and the imported cook. This Sicilian is a notable
character. To him cookery is not a handicraft: it is the triumph,
the quintessence of all science and philosophy. He talks a strange
professional jargon, and asserts that he is himself learned in
astronomy--for that teaches the best seasons, e.g. for mackerel and
haddock; in geometry,--that he might know how a boiler or gridiron
should be set to the best advantage; in medicine, that he might
prepare the most wholesome dishes. In any case he is a perfect
tyrant around the kitchen, grumbling about the utensils, cuffing
the spit-boy, and ever bidding him bring more charcoal for the fire
and to blow the bellows faster.[*]

[*]The Greeks seem to have cooked over a rather simple open fireplace
with a wood or charcoal fire. They had an array of cooking utensils,
however, according to all our evidence, elaborate enough to gladden
a very exacting modern CHEF.

By the time evening is at hand Prodicus and his house are in
perfect readiness. The bustle is ended; and the master stands by
the entrance way, clad in his best and with a fresh myrtle wreath,
ready to greet his guests. No ladies will be among these. Had
there been any women invited to the banquet, they would surely
be creatures of no very honest sort; and hardly fit, under any
circumstances, to darken the door of a respectable citizen. The
mistress and her maids are "behind the scenes." There may be a woman
among the hired entertainers provided, but for a refined Athenian
lady to appear at an ordinary symposium is almost unthinkable.[*]

[*]In marriage parties and other strictly family affairs women were
allowed to take part; and we have an amusing fragment of Menander
as to how, on such rare occasions, they monopolized the conversation.

162. The Coming of the Guests.--As each guest comes, he is seen
to be elegantly dressed, and to wear now, if at no other time, a
handsome pair of sandals.[*] He has also taken pains to bathe and
to perfume himself. As soon as each person arrives his sandals
are removed in the vestibule by the slaves and his feet are bathed.
No guest comes alone, however: every one has his own body servant
with him, who will look after his footgear and himation during
the dinner, and give a certain help with the serving. The house
therefore becomes full of people, and will be the scene of remarkable
animation during the next few hours.

[*]Socrates, by way of exception to his custom, put on some fine
sandals when he was invited to a banquet.

Prodicus is not disappointed in expecting some extra visitors. His
guest of honor, Hermogenes, has brought along two, whom the host
greets with the polite lie: "Just in time for dinner. Put off
your other business. I was looking for you in the Agora and could
not find you."[*] Also there thrusts in a half genteel, half
rascally fellow, one Palladas, who spends all his evenings at
dinner parties, being willing to be the common butt and jest of the
company (having indeed something of the ability of a comic actor
about him) in return for a share of the good things on the table.
These "Parasites" are regular characters in Athens, and no symposium
is really complete without them, although often their fooleries
cease to be amusing.[+]

[*]It is with such a white fib that the host Agathon salutes
Aristodemus, Socrates's companion in Plato's "Symposium."

[+]Of these "Parasites" or "Flies" (as owing to their migratory
habits they were sometimes called), countless stories were told,
whereof the following is a sample: there was once a law in Athens
that not over thirty guests were to be admitted to a marriage feast,
and an officer was obliged to count all the guests and exclude the
superfluous. A "fly" thrust in on one occasion, and the officer
said: "Friend, you must retire. I find one more here than the
law allows." "Dear fellow," quoth the "fly," "you are utterly
mistaken, as you will find, if you kindly count again--only BEGINNING
WITH ME."

163. The Dinner Proper.--The Greeks have not anticipated the Romans
in their custom of making the standard dinner party nine persons on
three couches,--three guests on each. Prodicus has about a dozen
guests, two on a couch. They "lie down" more or less side by side
upon the cushioned divans, with their right arms resting on brightly
striped pillows and the left arms free for eating. The slaves bring
basis of water to wash their hands, and then beside each couch is
set a small table, already garnished with the first course, and
after the casting of a few bits of food upon the family hearth
fire,--the conventional "sacrifice" to the house gods,--the dinner
begins.

Despite the elaborate preparations of the Sicilian cook, Prodicus
offers his guests only two courses. The first consists of the
substantial dishes--the fish, the vegetables, the meat (if there is
any). Soups are not unknown, and had they been served might have
been eaten with spoons; but Athens like all the world is innocent
of forks, and fingers take their place. Each guest has a large
piece of soft bread on which he wipes his fingers from time to time
and presently casts it upon the floor.[*] When this first course
is finished, the tables are all taken out to be reset, water is
again poured over the hands of the guests, and garlands of flowers
are passed. The use of garlands is universal, and among the
guests, old white headed and bearded Sosthenes will find nothing
more undignified in putting himself beneath a huge wreath of lilies
than an elderly gentleman of a later day will find in donning
the "conventional" dress suit. The conversation,--which was
very scattering at first,--becomes more animated. A little wine
is now passed about. Then back come the tables with the second
course--fruits, and various sweetmeats and confectionary with
honey as the staple flavoring. Before this disappears a goblet of
unmixed wine is passed about, and everybody takes a sip: "To the
Good Genius," they say as the cup goes round.

[*]Napkins were not used in Greece before Roman days.

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.

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