But it was not to be supposed that men satiated with the brutal shows of the amphitheatre, even if enervated by their frequentation of the Suburra, could, on leaving the city, be always content with simple pleasures, rural occupations, or pleasure-sails.  Habit demanded something more exciting; and the ready tragedy of a fish-pond filled with ravenous eels fed upon human flesh furnished the needed excitement.  For men blase with the spectacles of lions and tigers lacerating the bestiarii.  It was much more exciting to witness a swarm of sea-eels tearing to pieces an awkward or rebellious slave.  Vedius Pollio, a Roman knight of the highest distinction, could find nothing better to do for his dear Muraenae than to throw them slaves alive; and he never failed to have sea-eels served to him after their odious repast, says Tertullian.  It is true, these wretched creatures generally deserved this terrible punishment; for instance, Seneca speaks of one who had the awkwardness to break a crystal vase while waiting at supper on the irascible Pollio.

Pisciculture was carried so far that fish-ponds were constructed on the roofs of houses.  More practical persons conducted a stream of river-water through their dining-rooms, so that the fish swam under the table, and it “was only necessary to stoop and pick them out the moment before eating them; and as they were often cooked on the table, their perfect freshness was thus insured.  Martial (Lib.  X., Epigram.  XXX., vv. 16-25) alludes to this custom, as well as to the culture and taming of fish in the piscina.

  “Nec seta largo quaerit in mari praedam,
  Sed e cubiclo lectuloque jactatam
  Spectatus alte lineam trahit piscis. 
  Si quando Nereus sentit Aeoli regnum,
  Ridet procellas tula de suo mensa. 
  Piscina rhombum pascit et lupos vernas,
  Nomenculator mugilem citat notum
  Et adesse jussi prodeunt senes mulli.”

It having been remarked that the red mullet passed through many changes of color in dying, like the dolphin, fashion decreed that it should die upon the table.  Served alive, inclosed in a glass vessel, it was cooked in the presence of the attentive guests, by a slow fire, in order that they might gloat upon its sufferings and expiring hues, before satisfying their appetites with its flesh.

It will not surprise us to learn that the eminent gourmand Apicius offered a prize to the inventor of a new sauce made of mullets’ livers.

But we may remark, that fish, like all other natural objects, were studied by the ancients only to pet or to eat.  All their views of Nature were essentially selfish; none were disinterested, reverential, deductive, or scientific.  Nature ministered only to their appetites, in her various kinds of food,—­to their service, in her beasts of burden,—­or to their childish or ferocious amusement, with talking birds, as the starling, with pet fish, or with pugnacious