strength of ten thousand. I have only one question to ask. Did you
ever, among all the nations you passed in your flight, meet with
a similar case of mental aberration? a man of mature years riding
about on a finger-ring, moving whole mountains with a touch; bald and
snub-nosed, yet the desire of all eyes? Ah, there was another point.
What is to prevent one single ring from doing all the work? Why go
about with your left hand loaded,--a ring to every finger? nay, they
overflow; the right hand must be forced into the service. And you
have left out the most important ring of all, the one to stop your
drivelling at this absurd rate. Perhaps you consider that a stiffish
dose of hellebore would serve the turn?
_Ti._ Now, positively, Lycinus, you must have a try yourself. You find
fault with everybody else; this time we should like to hear _your_
version of a really unexceptionable wish.
_Ly._ What do I want with a wish? Here we are at the gates. What with
the valiant Samippus's single combat at Babylon, and your breakfasts in
Syria and dinners in Italy, you have used up my ground between you; and
you are heartily welcome. I have no fancy for a short-lived visionary
wealth, with the humiliating sequel of barley-bread and no butter.
That will be your fate presently. Your bliss and your wealth will take
wings; you will wake from your charming dreams of treasure and diadems,
to find that your domestic arrangements are of quite another kind, like
the actors who take the king's part in tragedies;--their late majesties
King Agamemnon and King Creon usually return to very short commons on
leaving the theatre. Some depression, some discontent at your existing
arrangements, is to be expected on the occasion. You will be the worst
off, Timolaus. Your flying-machine will come to grief, like that of
Icarus; you will descend from the skies, and foot it on the ground; and
all those rings will slip off and be lost. As for me, I am content with
the exquisite amusement afforded me by your various wishes; I would not
exchange it for all the treasure in the world, Babylon included. And
you call yourselves philosophers!
F.
DIALOGUES OF THE HETAERAE
I
_Glycera. Thais_
_Gly._ Thais, that Acarnanian soldier, who used to be so fond of
Abrotonum, and then fell in love with me--he was decorated, and wore
a military cloak--do you know the man I mean? I suppose you have
forgotten him?
_Th._ Oh no, dear, I know; why, he shared our table last harvest
festival. Well? you look as if you had something to tell me about him.
_Gly._ That wicked Gorgona (such a _friend_ of mine, to be sure!)--she
has stolen him away from me.
_Th._ What! he has given you up, and taken her in your place?
_Gly._ Yes, dear; isn't it _horrid_ of her?
_Th._ Well, Glycera darling, it _is_ wicked, of course; but it is not
very surprising; it is what all we poor girls do. You mustn't be too
much vexed; I shouldn't blame her, if I were you; Abrotonum never
blamed you about him, you know; and you were friends, too. But _I_
cannot think what he _finds_ in her; where are his eyes? has he never
found out how thin her hair is? what a lot of forehead she shows! and
her lips! all livid; they might be a dead woman's; and that scraggy
neck, veined all over; and what an amount of nose! I grant you she is
tall and straight; and she has quite a nice smile.
_Gly._ Oh, Thais, you don't think it was her _looks_ caught him. Don't
you know? her mother Chrysarium is a witch; she knows Thessalian
charms, and can draw down the moon; they do say she flies o' nights. It
was she bewitched him with drugs in his drink, and now they are making
their harvest out of him.
_Th._ Ah well, dear, you will get a harvest out of some one else; never
mind him.
H.
II
_Myrtium. Pamphilus. Doris_
_Myr._ Well, Pamphilus? So I hear you are to marry Phido the
shipmaster's daughter,--if you have not done so already! And this is
the end of your vows and tears! All is over and forgotten! And I so
near my time! Yes, that is all I have to thank my lover for; that,
and the prospect of having a child to bring up; and you know what
that means to us poor girls. I mean to keep the child, especially if
it is a boy: it will be some comfort to me to call him after you; and
perhaps some day you will be sorry, when he comes to reproach you for
betraying his poor mother. I can't say much for the lady's looks.
I saw her only the other day, with her mother, at the Thesmophoria;
little did I know then that she was to rob me of my Pamphilus! Hadn't
you better see what she is like first? Take a good look at her eyes;
and try not to mind the colour, and the cast (she has such a squint!).
Or no: there is no need for you to see her: you have seen Phido; you
know what a face _he_ has.
_Pa._ How much more nonsense are you going to talk about shipowners and
marriages? What do I know about brides, ugly or pretty? If you mean
Phido of Alopece, I never knew he had a grown-up daughter at all. Why,
now I think of it, he is not even on speaking terms with my father.
They were at law not long ago--something about a shipping contract.
He owed my father a talent, I think it was, and refused to pay; so he
was had up before the Admiralty Court, and my father never got paid
in full, after all, so he said. Do you suppose if I wanted to marry I
should pass over Demeas's daughter in favour of Phido's? Demeas was
general last year, and she is my cousin on the mother's side. Who has
been telling you all this? Is it just a cobweb spun in that jealous
little brain of yours?
_Myr._ Pamphilus! You mean to say you are _not_ going to be married?
_Pa._ Are you mad, or what is the matter with you? We did not have much
to drink yesterday.
_Myr._ Ask Doris; it is all her fault. I sent her out to buy some wool,
and to offer up prayer to Artemis for me. And she said that she met
Lesbia, and Lesbia ---- Doris, tell him what Lesbia said, unless you
invented it all yourself.
_Dor._ May I die, miss, if I said a word more than the truth! Just by
the town-hall Lesbia met me, and 'Doris,' says she, smiling, 'your
young gentleman is to marry Phido's daughter. And if you don't believe
me,' says she, 'look up their street, and you will see everything
crowned with garlands, and a fine bustle going on; flutes playing, and
people singing the wedding-song.'
_Pa._ Well; and you did?
_Dor._ That I did, sir; and it was all as Lesbia had said.
_Pa._ Ah, now I see! You have told your mistress nothing but the truth;
and there was some ground for what Lesbia told you. However, it is a
false alarm. The wedding is not at our house. I remember now. When
I went back home yesterday, after leaving you, 'Pamphilus,' said my
mother, 'here is neighbour Aristaenetus's son, Charmides, who is no
older than you, just going to marry and settle down: when are _you_
going to turn over a new leaf?' And then I dropped off to sleep. I went
out early this morning, so that I saw nothing of all that Doris has
seen. If you doubt my word, Doris can go again; and look more carefully
this time, Doris; mark the house, not the street only, and you will
find that the garlands are next door.
_Myr._ I breathe again! Pamphilus, if it had been true, I should have
killed myself!
_Pa._ _True_, indeed! Am I mad, that I should forget Myrtium, so soon
to become the mother of my child?
F.
III
_Philinna. Her Mother_
_Mother._ You must be mad, Philinna; what _was_ the matter with you at
the dinner last night? Diphilus was in tears this morning when he came
and told me how he had been treated. You were tipsy, he said, and made
an exhibition of yourself, dancing when he asked you not to; then you
kissed his friend Lamprias, and when Diphilus did not like that, you
left him and went and put your arms round Lamprias; and he choking
with rage all the time. And afterwards you would not go near him, but
let him cry by himself, and kept singing and teasing him.
_Phi._ Ah, mother, he never told you how _he_ behaved; if you knew how
rude he was, you would not take his part. He neglected me and made up
to Thais, Lamprias's girl, before Lamprias came. I was angry, and let
him see what I thought of him, and then he took hold of Thais's ear,
bent her neck back and gave her--oh, such a kiss! I thought it would
never end. So I began to cry; but he only laughed, and kept whispering
to her--about me, of course; Thais was looking at me and smiling.
However, when they heard Lamprias coming, and had had enough of each
other at last, I did take my place by him all the same, not to give
him an excuse for a fuss afterwards. It was Thais got up and danced
first, showing her ankles ever so much, as if no one else had pretty
ones. And when she stopped, Lamprias never said a word, but Diphilus
praised her to the skies--such perfect time! such varied steps! foot
and music always right; and what a lovely ankle! and so on, and so on;
it might have been the _Sosandra_ of Calamis he was complimenting, and
not Thais; what she is really like, _you_ know well enough. And how she
insulted me, too! 'If some one is not ashamed of her spindle-shanks,'
she said, 'she will get up and dance now.' Well, that is all, mammy; of
course I did get up and dance. What was I to do? take it quietly and
make her words seem true and let her be queen?
_Mother._ You are too touchy, my lass; you should have taken no notice.
But go on.
_Phi._ Well, the others applauded, but Diphilus lay on his back and
looked up at the ceiling, till I was tired and gave up.
_Mother._ But what about kissing Lamprias? is that true? and going
across and embracing him? Well, why don't you speak? Those are things I
cannot forgive.
_Phi._ I wanted to pay him out.
_Mother._ And then not sitting near him! singing while he was in tears!
Think how poor we are, girl; you forget how much we have had from him,
and what last winter would have been if Aphrodite had not sent him to
us.
_Phi._ I dare say! and I am to let him outrage my feelings just for
that?
_Mother._ Oh, be as angry as you like, but no tit for tat. You ought
to know that if a lover's feelings are outraged his love ends, and he
finds out his folly. You have always been too hard on the lad; pull too
tight, and the rope breaks, you know.
H.
IV
_Melitta. Bacchis_
_Me._ Bacchis, don't you know any of those old women--there are
any number of them about, 'Thessalians,' they call them--they have
incantations, you know, and they can make a man in love with you, no
matter how much he hated you before? Do go and bring me one, there's
a dear! I'd give the clothes off my back, jewellery and all, to see
Charinus here again, and to have him hate Simiche as he hates me at
this moment.
_Ba._ Melitta! You mean to tell me that Charinus has gone off after
Simiche, and that after making his people so angry because he wouldn't
marry the heiress, all for your sake? She was to have brought him five
talents, so they said. I have not forgotten what you told me about that.
_Me._ Oh, that is all over now; I have not had a glimpse of him for
the last five days. No; he and Simiche are with his friend Pammenes
enjoying themselves.
_Ba._ Poor darling! But it can't have been a trifle that drove him
away: what was it all about?
_Me._ I don't know exactly. All I can say is, that he came back the
other day from Piraeus (his father had sent him there to collect some
money), and wouldn't even look at me! I ran to meet him, expecting him
to take me in his arms, instead of which he pushed me away! 'Go to
Hermotimus the ship-owner,' he said; 'go and read what is written on
the column in the Ceramicus; you will find your name there, and his.'
'Hermotimus? column? what do you mean?' said I. But he would tell me
nothing more; he went to bed without any dinner, and never gave me so
much as a look. I tried everything: I lavished all my endearments on
him, and did all I could to make him look at me. Nothing would soften
him: all he said was, 'If you keep on bothering, I shall go away this
minute, I don't care what time it is.'
_Ba._ But you _did_ know Hermotimus, I suppose?
_Me._ My dear, if I ever so much as heard of a Hermotimus who was a
ship-owner, may I be more wretched than I am now!--Next morning, at
cock-crow, Charinus got up, and went off. I remembered his saying
something about my name being written up in the Ceramicus, so I sent
Acis to have a look; and all she found was just this, chalked up
close by the Dipylus, on the right as you come in: _Melitta loves
Hermotimus_; and again a little lower down: _Hermotimus the ship-owner
loves Melitta_.
_Ba._ Ah, mischievous boys! I see what it is! Some one must have
written it up to tease Charinus, knowing how jealous he is. And he took
it all in at once! I must speak to him if I see him anywhere. He is a
mere child, quite unsophisticated.
_Me._ If you see him, yes: but you are not likely to. He has shut
himself up with Simiche; his people have been asking for him, they
think he is here still. No, Bacchis, I want one of those old women; she
would put all to rights.
_Ba._ Well, love, I know a capital witch; she comes from Syria, such a
brisk, vigorous old thing! Once when Phanias had quarrelled with me in
the same way, all about nothing, she brought us together again, after
four whole months; I had quite given him up, but her spells drew him
back.
_Me._ What was her fee? do you remember?
_Ba._ Oh, she was most reasonable: one drachma, and a loaf of bread.
Then you have to provide salt, of course, and sulphur, and a torch,
and seven pennies. And besides this, you must mix her a bowl of wine,
which she has to drink all by herself; and then there must be something
belonging to the man, his coat, or his shoes, or a lock of hair, or
something.
_Me._ I have got his shoes.
_Ba._ She hangs them up on a peg, and fumigates them with the sulphur,
throwing a little salt into the fire, and muttering both your names.
Then she brings out her magic wheel, and spins it, and rattles off an
incantation,--such horrid, outlandish words! Well, she had scarcely
finished, when, sure enough, in came Phanias; Phoebis (that was the
girl he was with) had begged and implored him not to go, and his
friends declared it was a shame; but the spell was too strong for them.
Oh yes, and she taught me a splendid charm against Phoebis. I was to
mark her footsteps, and rub out the last of them, putting my right foot
into her left footprint, and my left into her right; and then I was to
say: _My foot on thy foot; I trample thee down_! I did it exactly as
she told me.
_Me._ Oh, Bacchis, dear, do be quick and fetch the witch. Acis, you see
to the bread and sulphur and things.
F.
VII
MUSARIUM. HER MOTHER
_Mother._ Well, child, if we get another gallant like Chaereas, we must
make some offerings; the earthly Aphrodite shall have a white kid,
the heavenly one in the Gardens a heifer, and our lady of windfalls
a garland. How well off we shall be, positively rolling in wealth!
You see how much this boy brings in; not an obol, not a dress, not a
pair of shoes, not a box of ointment, has he ever given you; it is all
professions and promises and distant prospects; always, _if_ my father
_should_----, and I _should_ inherit, everything _would_ be yours. And
according to you, he swears you shall be his wife.
_Mu._ Oh yes, mother, he swore it, by the two Goddesses[4] and Polias.
_Mother._ And you believe it, no doubt. So much so that the other day,
when he had a subscription to pay and nothing to pay with, you gave him
your ring without asking me, and the price of it went in drink. Another
time it was the pair of Ionian necklaces that Praxias the Chian captain
got made in Ephesus and brought you; two darics apiece they weighed; a
club-dinner with the men of his year it was that time. As for shirts
and linen, those are trifles not worth mention. A mighty catch he has
been, to be sure!
_Mu._ He is so handsome with his smooth chin; and he loves me, and
cries as he tells me so; and he is the son of Laches the Areopagite and
Dinomache; and we shall be his _real_ wife and mother-in-law, you know;
we have great expectations, if only the old man would go to bye-bye.
_Mother._ So when we want shoes, and the shoemaker expects to be paid,
we are to tell him we have no money, 'but take a few expectations.'
And the baker the same. And on rent-day we shall ask the man to wait
till Laches of Collytus is dead; he shall have it after the wedding.
Well, I should be ashamed to be the only pretty girl that could not
show an earring or a chain or a bit of lace.
_Mu._ Oh well, mother, are the rest of them happier or better-looking
than I am?
_Mother._ No; but they have more sense; they know their business better
than to pin their faith to the idle words of a boy with a mouthful of
lover's oaths. But you go in for constancy and true love, and will have
nothing to say to anybody but your Chaereas. There was that farmer from
Acharnae the other day; his chin was smooth too; and he brought the two
mina he had just got for his father's wine; but oh dear me no! you send
him away with a sneer; none but your Adonis for you.
_Mu._ Mother, you could not expect me to desert Chaereas and let that
nasty working-man (faugh!) come near me. Poor Chaereas! he is a pet and
a duck.
_Mother._ Well, the Acharnian did smell rather of the farm. But there
was Antiphon--son to Menecrates--and a whole mina; why not him? he is
handsome, and a gentleman, and no older than Chaereas.
_Mu._ Ah, but Chaereas vowed he would cut both our throats if he caught
me with him.
_Mother._ The first time such a thing was ever threatened, I suppose.
So you will go without your lovers for this, and be as good a girl as
if you were a priestess of Demeter instead of what you are. And if that
were all!--but to-day is harvest festival; and where is his present?
_Mu._ Mammy dear, he has none to give.
_Mother._ They don't all find it so hard to get round their fathers;
why can't he get a slave to wheedle him? why not tell his mother he
will go off for a soldier if she doesn't let him have some money?
instead of which he haunts and tyrannizes over us, neither giving
himself nor letting us take from those who would. Do you expect to be
eighteen all your life, Musarium? or that Chaereas will be of the same
mind when he has his fortune, and his mother finds a marriage that will
bring him another? You don't suppose he will remember tears and kisses
and vows, with five talents of dowry to distract him?
_Mu._ Oh yes, he will. They have done everything to make him marry now;
and he wouldn't! that shows.
_Mother._ I only hope it shows true. I shall remind you of all this
when the time comes.
H.
VIII
_Ampelis. Chrysis_
_Am._ Well, but, Chrysis, I don't call a man in love at all, if he
doesn't get jealous, and storm, and slap one, and clip one's hair, and
tear one's clothes to pieces.
_Ch._ Is that the only way to tell?
_Am._ To tell a serious passion, yes. The kisses and tears and vows,
the constant attendance,--all that only shows that he's _beginning_ to
be in love; it's still coming on. But the real flame is jealousy, pure
and simple. So if Gorgias is jealous, and slaps you, as you say, you
may hope for the best; pray that he may always go on as he has begun!
_Ch._ Go on slapping me?
_Am._ No, no; but getting angry if you ever look at any one else. If he
were not in love with you, why should he mind your having another lover?
_Ch._ Oh, but I _haven't_! It's all a mistake! He took it into his
head that old Moneybags had been paying me attentions, because I just
happened to mention his name once.
_Am._ Well, that's very nice, too. You want him to think that there are
rich men after you. It will make him all the more angry, and all the
more liberal; he'll be afraid of being cut out by his rivals.
_Ch._ But Gorgias never gives me anything. He only storms and slaps.
_Am._ Oh, you wait. Nothing tames them like jealousy.
_Ch._ Ampelis, I believe you _want_ me to be slapped!
_Am._ Nonsense! All I mean is this: if you want to make a man wildly
in love with you, let him see that you can do without him. When he
thinks that he has you all to himself, he is apt to cool down. You see
I've had twenty years' experience: whereas you, I suppose, are about
eighteen, perhaps not that. Come now; I'll tell you what happened to
me, not so many years ago. Demophantus was my admirer in those days;
the usurer, you know, at the back of the Poecile. He had never given
me more than five drachmae at a time, and he wanted to have everything
his own way. The fact was, my dear, his love was only skin-deep. There
were no sighs or tears with him; no knocking me up at unearthly hours;
he would spend an evening with me now and then--very occasionally--and
that was all. But one day when he called, I was 'not at home'; I had
Callides the painter with me (he had given me ten drachmae). Well,
at the time Demophantus said some very rude things, and walked off.
However, the days went by, and I never sent to him; and at last
(finding that Callides had been with me again) even Demophantus began
to catch fire, and to get into a passion about it; so one day he stood
outside, and waited till he found the door open: my dear, I don't know
what he didn't do! cried, beat me, vowed he would murder me, tore my
clothes dreadfully! And it all ended with his giving me a talent;
after which I saw no one else for eight months on end. His wife told
everybody that I had bewitched him with some drug. 'Twas easy to see
what the drug had been: jealousy. Now you should try the same drug upon
Gorgias. The boy will have money, if anything happens to his father.
F.
IX
_Dorcas. Pannychis. Philostratus. Polemon_
_Dor._ Oh, miss, we are lost, lost! Here is Polemon back from the wars
a rich man, they say. I saw him myself in a mantle with a purple border
and a clasp, and a whole train of men at his back. His friends when
they caught sight of him crowded round to get their greetings in. I
made out in the train his man who went abroad with him. So I said How
d'ye do, and then asked, 'Do tell me, Parmenon, how you got on; have
you made anything to repay you for all your fighting?'
_Pa._ Ah, you should not have begun with that. Thanks to all the Gods
you were not killed (you ought to have said), and most of all to Zeus
who guards the stranger and Athene who rules the battle! My mistress
was always trying to find out how you were doing and where you were.
And if you had added that she was always weeping and talking of
Polemon, that would have been still better.
_Dor._ Oh, I said all that right at the beginning; but I never thought
of telling you that; I wanted to get on to the news. This was how I
began to Parmenon: 'Did you and your master's ears burn, Parmenon?' I
said; 'mistress was always talking of him and crying; and when any one
came back from the last battle and reported that many had been killed,
she would tear her hair and beat her breast, and grieve so every time!'
_Pa._ Ah, that was right, Dorcas.
_Dor._ And then after a little while I went on to the other questions.
And he said, 'Oh, yes, we have come back great men.'
_Pa._ What, straight off like that? never a word of how Polemon had
talked or thought of me, or prayed he might find me alive?
_Dor._ Yes, he said a good deal of that. But his real news was enormous
riches--gold, raiment, slaves, ivory. As for the money, they didn't
count it, but measured it by the bushel, and it took some time that
way. On Parmenon's own finger was a huge queer-shaped ring with one of
those three-coloured stones, the outer part red. I left him when he
wanted to give me the history of how they crossed the Halys and killed
somebody called Tiridates, and how Polemon distinguished himself in the
battle with the Pisidians. I ran off to tell you, and give you time to
think. Suppose Polemon were to come--and you may be sure he will, as
soon as he has got rid of his company--and find when he asked after you
that Philostratus was here; what _would_ he do?
_Pa._ Oh, Dorcas, we _must_ find some way out of it. It would be
shabby to send Philostratus about his business so soon after having
that talent from him; and he is a merchant, and if he keeps all his
promises----. And on the other hand, it is a pity not to be at home
to Polemon now he is come back such a great man; besides, he is so
jealous; when he was poor, there was no getting on with him for it; and
what _will_ he be like now?
_Dor._ Here he comes.
_Pa._ Oh, Dorcas, what _am_ I to do? I shall faint; how I tremble!
_Dor._ Why, here is Philostratus too.
_Pa._ Oh, what will become of me? oh that the earth would swallow me
up!
_Phi._ Well, my dear, where is that wine?
_Pa._ (Now he has gone and done it!) Ah, Polemon, so you are back at
last; are you well?
_Po._ Who is this person coming to you? What, no answer? Oh, mighty
fine, Pannychis! Here have I come on the wings of love--the whole way
from Thermopylae in five days; and all for a woman like this! But I
deserve it; I ought to be grateful; I shall not be plundered any more,
that is something.
_Phi._ And who may you be, good sir?
_Po._ Polemon, deme Stiria, tribe Pandionis; will that do for you? late
colonel, now general of division, and Pannychis's lover, so long as he
supposed a mere man was good enough for her.