The entire scene is excessive and emphasises Trimalchio’s lack of social propriety. Overly dressed, he is carried in – presumably on a lectica –with musical accompaniment, most guests repressing their laughter upon witnessing this desire to impress, but some cannot restrain themselves since they also know when you have or haven’t got style. That his head is shaven could serve as a reminder of his former status as a slave, simultaneously celebrating the pinnacle of social standing now reached. However, the ‘etiquette’ for using a napkin – both then and now – is to place it upon one’s lap, not tuck it around the neck like a bib, which divulges his vulgarity. Moreover, the napkin itself, complete with tassels, is a mark of flamboyancy.
Trimalchio does
not belong to the senatorial class despite which the napkin displays a broad
purple stripe, which would imply that he does. According to Pliny, the
right to wear a gold ring was mainly confined to free-born equestrians (Naturalis
Historia 33.32), yet Trimalchio sports two rings, one of which is gilded
and the other made of iron i.e. neither are made of solid gold; both, like
Trimalchio himself, are superficial. Marshall* points out that stars were
commonly found on Roman amulets to ward off the evil eye. Note Petronius’ use
of “ut mihi vidēbātur” i.e. there is a difference between what Trimalchio is
attempting to suggest and the reality.
Trimalchio,
anxious to show off as much of his wealth as possible, deliberately bares his
arm to reveal the gold bracelet and ivory bangle, the term armilla often
referring specifically to the arm bracelet worn by gladiators.
It is a well
staged display but fools nobody. Trimalchio is one of a long line of similar
characters in literature and popular entertainment. British comedy is full of
people who pretend to be what they’re not. We may think of Derek Trotter’s desperate
attempts to be sophisticated in the comedy series Only Fools and Horses.
Despite his ‘gold’ rings and bracelet, and despite his trying, and failing, to
speak in French, he can never quite rid himself of the cloth cap, the symbol of
his origin. Equally, we may smile thinking of Hyacinth Bucket (which she
pronounces as bouquet) who, while organising her upper middle class candlelight
suppers, continually tries to conceal her working class relatives.
The Russians have
a word for Trimalchio’s character – poshlost’ (пошлость) – meaning vulgarity, banality or
tastelessness. Indeed, Russian literature has its own Trimalchio in the form of
the coarse Prisypkin from Mayakovsky’s The Bedbug (Kлоп; 1929). A former worker (not dissimilar to
Trimalchio’s former position as a slave), Prisypkin becomes obsessed with
status and consumerism, adopting bourgeois habits and changing his name from
the common Ivan to the aristocratic sounding Pierre.
The Romans laughed
at Trimalchio – and we still laugh at those like him.
* Catalogue of the Finger Rings, Greek, Etruscan and Roman, in the Department of Antiquities, British Museum (London: 1907)
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