Dialogues of the Courtesans

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 242 sections

1.1.1
Thais, do you know the Acarnanian soldier, who in the old days kept Abrotonum, and afterwards fell in love with me—the dandy, I mean, with the fine military cloak—or have you forgotten the fellow?
1.1.2
No, Glycera, dearie, I know him. He drank with us last year at the harvest celebrations. But what of it? You looked as though you had something to tell me about him.
1.1.3
That nasty thing Gorgona, who pretends to be my friend, has got her claws into him and stolen him from me behind my back.
1.1.4
So now he won’t be visiting you any more, but has taken Gorgona to be his mistress.
1.1.5
Yes, Thais, and it’s hurt me very much.
1.1.6
It was a dirty trick, dearie, but only to be expected; it’s a common practice of us girls. So you mustn’t take it too hard or blame Gorgona; for, earlier on, Abrotonum didn’t blame you over him; and yet you’d been friends.
1.2.1
But I do wonder what this soldier man found in her, unless he’s absolutely blind and hadn’t noticed that her hair is thin on top and receding a long way in front; her lips are livid and her neck’s scraggy with the veins all standing out, and what a long nose she’s got! Her only good point is that she’s tall and has a good carriage and a very attractive smile.
1.2.2
Why, Thais, you don’t think the Acarnanian has fallen for her beauty? Don’t you know that her mother, Chrysarium, is a witch who knows Thessalian spells, and can bring the moon down? Why, they say she even flies of a night. She’s the one who’s sent the fellow out of his senses by giving him a drink of her brew, and now they’re making a fine harvest out of him.
1.2.3
You’ll have your harvest too, dearie; you’ll find someone else; let him go to the devil.
2.1.1
So, Pamphilus, you’re planning to marry the daughter of Philo, the shipowner. I’ve even heard you’re already married. Have all your sworn oaths and tears gone in a moment, have you forgotten your Myrtium, and at a time like this, when I’m eight months gone? All the good I’ve had from your love is that you’ve given me such an enormous belly, and I’ll soon have to bring up a child, and that’s a terrible nuisance for a lady of my kind. For I’m not going to expose the child, particularly if it’s a boy, but I’ll call him Pamphilus, and keep him to console me for my unhappy love, and one day he’ll tell you off for your treachery to his poor mother. I don’t think much of your bride’s looks. I saw her the other day with her mother at the Thesmophoria, though I didn’t know at the time that I’d never see Pamphilus again because of her. I think you’d better have a good look at her too, before it’s too late, and examine her face and her eyes; I wouldn’t like you to be vexed at the marked steel-grey colour of her eyes, or disappointed because they squint inwards. Better still you’ve seen your father-in-law, Philo, and know what his face is like. You won’t need to see the daughter after seeing him!
2.2.1
How long shall I have to listen to your nonsense about young ladies and your stories of matches with shipowning families? Do I know any bride whether snub-nosed or pretty? Or that Philo of Alopece—I presume you mean him—so much as had a daughter of marriageable age? Anyway, he’s not even on good terms with my father. I remember he was sued by him only the other day for debt. He owed my father a talent, I believe, but refused to pay, and my father had him before the Admiralty Court, and had the greatest difficulty in squeezing it out of him, and didn’t get it all, he kept saying. Even if I had decided to marry, do you think I’d have passed over the daughter of Demeas, who was a General last year, particularly as she was a cousin on my mother’s side, and be marrying Philo’s daughter instead? Wherever did you hear this story? What empty jealous ideas have you invented for yourself, Myrtium, that you lash out so blindly?
2.3.1
Then you’re not getting married, Pamphilus?
2.3.2
Are you out of your mind, Myrtium, or is it a hang-over? Though I must say we remained quite sober last night.
2.3.3
It was Doris here who gave me this nasty shock. I sent her out to buy some wool for the little stranger, and to pray to Artemis to deliver me safely, and she’d met Lesbia, she told me, and—but it’d be better for you yourself, Doris, to tell him what you heard, unless you made all this up.
2.3.4
Ruin take me, mistress, if I told a single lie. When I got to the town-hall, I met Lesbia who was all smiles and told me that our lover, Pamphilus, was marrying Philo’s daughter. She said that if I didn’t believe her, I was to peep into your alley and see the garlands everywhere, the girl-pipers, the commotion, and the people singing the wedding hymn.
2.3.5
Well, Doris, did you take a peep?
2.3.6
I certainly did, and I saw everything, just as she said.
2.4.1
I understand how you were misled. It wasn’t all lies that Lesbia told you, Doris. What you reported to Myrtium was true. But you were worried without reason, for the wedding wasn’t in our house, but now I recall my mother’s words, when I returned from here yesterday. “My dear Pamphilus”, she said, “Charmides, that young fellow of the same age as you, the son of neighbour Aristaenetus, is getting married at last. He’s showing some sense, but how long are you going to continue keeping a mistress ?”Listening to her on and off, I dropped off to sleep. Then I left the house early in the morning, so that I didn’t see anything of what Doris saw later on. If you don’t believe me, Doris, go out again and take a good look, not just at the lane, but at the door to see which one has the garlands. You’ll find it belongs to our neighbours’ house.
2.4.2
You’ve saved my life, Pamphilus. I’d have hanged myself, if anything like that had happened.
2.4.3
Such a thing could never have happened. I hope I’ll never be so mad as to forget Myrtium, especially now that she’s going to have my child.
3.1.1
Did you take leave of your senses at the party last night, Philinna? What came over you? Diphilus came to me early this morning in tears, and told me how you’d treated him. He said you were drunk, got up and danced in the middle of the company, though he tried to stop you, then kissed his friend, Lamprias, and, when he showed that he was annoyed with you, left him, went over to Lamprias, and threw your arms round his neck. He choked with rage, he said, at such goings on. But even later on, I imagine, you wouldn’t sleep with him, but left him weeping, and lay down by yourself on the nearby pallet, singing songs, and annoying him.
3.2.1
Of course, he didn’t tell you what he did, mother, or you wouldn’t take the part of one who behaved so outrageously. He left me and prattled with Thais, Lamprias’ girl, for Lamprias himself had not yet arrived. After he had seen that I was angry, and I’d shown him how I disapproved of his behaviour, he laid hold of the tip of Thais’ ear, bent her neck, and kissed her so hard, that she could scarcely get her lips free. I cried, but he laughed, and whispered a lot into her ear—all of it directed against me, no doubt—and Thais kept looking at me, and smiling. But after they’d seen Lamprias coming, and had at last decided they’d had enough of kissing each other, I went in spite of it all and lay by his side, so that he wouldn’t have something more to cast up to me afterwards. Thais jumped up and was the first to dance, with her dress pulled up high, as if she was the only one with a pretty pair of ankles; when she’d finished, Lamprias kept quiet and said nothing, but Diphilus praised her to the skies for her fine dancing and her outfit, for the skill of her feet in keeping time with the lyre, and for her pretty ankles, and so on ad infinitum, as if he were praising the Sosandra of Calamis, rather than Thais, whose appearance you know, as she goes to the baths with us. And how she started to mock me the next moment! “Anyone”, said she, “who isn’t ashamed of having skinny legs will get up and dance too.” What could I say, mother? I got up and danced. What else was I to do? Sit still, and prove the truth of the taunt, by allowing Thais to be queen of the party?
3.3.1
You took yourself too seriously, my dear. You shouldn’t have let it bother you. But tell me what happened next.
3.3.2
The others all praised me, but Diphilus stretched himself on his back and went on staring at the ceiling, till I tired and stopped.
3.3.3
But is it true that you kissed Lamprias, and that you went over and embraced him? Why don’t you answer? Such conduct was past forgiving.
3.3.4
I wanted to annoy him in return.
3.3.5
Then afterwards you wouldn’t sleep with him, but sang songs, while he cried? Don’t you understand, daughter, that we’re penniless? Do you forget how much he has given us, and how we’d have had to pass the last winter, if Aphrodite hadn’t sent him to us?
3.3.6
What of it? Does that mean I’ve to put up with such insults from him?
3.3.7
Be angry by all means, my daughter, but don’t insult him back. Lovers insulted love no longer, but speak severely to themselves. You’ve always been hard on the fellow. Remember the proverb, and take care that we don’t strain the rope to breaking point.
4.1.1
Bacchis, do you know any old woman of the kind called Thessalians? There are said to be a lot of them around. They use incantations and can make a woman to be loved, no matter how much she is hated before. My blessings on you, if you can bring one of them to me. I would gladly give up these dresses and all this gold, if I could only see Charinus returning to me, and hating Simiche as he now hates me.
4.1.2
What’s that? Don’t you live together any more? Has Charinus gone off to Simiche, and left you, Melitta, you for whose sake he had to face all that parental fury, when he refused to marry that rich girl who, they said, brought a dowry of five talents? I heard that from your own mouth.
4.1.3
That’s all over now, Bacchis, and for five days now I haven’t so much as set eyes on him, while the gentleman in question and Simiche have been carousing with Pammenes, his companion.
4.2.1
That is rotten for you, Melitta. But what parted you? It must have been something serious.
4.2.2
I can’t tell you the whole story. But the other day, when he came back from the Piraeus—his father had sent him there to recover some debt, I believe—he didn’t look at me when he came in, or take me in his arms when I ran over to him in my usual way, but he pushed me away when I tried to embrace him, and he said, “Go off with you to Hermotimus, the shipowner, or read what’s written on the walls at the Ceramicus, where your names are scribbled on a tombstone.” “What Hermotimus?” I said, “Who’s he? What tombstone do you mean?” He wouldn’t answer or take anything to eat, and then went to bed with his back turned to me. You can imagine all the tricks I tried in this situation. I tried to hug him, and to turn him to me, and kissed his back, though he kept turned away from me. He didn’t soften a bit, but said, “If you bother me any more, I’ll leave this instant, even though it is midnight.”
4.3.1
Did you know Hermotimus, though?
4.3.2
May you see me in a more miserable state than at present, my dear, if I know any shipowner called Hermotimus. But next morning, as soon as the cock crowed, he was up and away, but I remembered his saying that the name was written on some wall in the Ceramicus, and I sent Acis to look, but all she could find was this, written near the Dipylon Gate on the right as you go in; “Melitta loves Hermotimus”, and again, a little lower down, “The shipowner Hermotimus loves Melitta.”
4.3.3
Oh, those meddlesome youths! I understand it all. Somebody wished to annoy Charinus, and wrote it up, knowing he was jealous, and he believed it at once. If I see him, I’ll have a word with him. He’s a child still, and has no experience.
4.3.4
Where can you see him, when he has shut himself up with Simiche? His parents are still looking for him at my house. But if only, Bacchis, we could find an old woman, as I said! Her presence could save me.
4.4.1
Well, my dearest, there is a most useful witch, a Syrian, who’s still very fresh and firm. Once, when Phanias was angry with me without reason, just as Charinus is with you, she reconciled him with me after four whole months, when I’d already despaired of him; but he was brought back to me by her incantations.
4.4.2
What did she charge, if you can still remember?
4.4.3
She doesn’t ask a big fee, Melitta—just a drachma and a loaf; besides that you must put out seven obols, sulphur, and a torch along with the salt. These are taken by the old woman; she must also have a bowl of wine mixed, and drink it by herself. You’ll also need something belonging to the man himself, such as clothing or boots or a few of his hairs or anything of that sort.
4.4.4
I have his boots.
4.5.1
She hangs these on a peg and fumigates them with sulphur, sprinkling salt over the fire, and mumbles both your names. Then she plucks out a magic wheel from her bosom, and whirls it round, rattling off an incantation full of horrible outlandish names. That’s what she did on that occasion, and shortly afterwards, though at one and the same time his friends told him off, and Phoebis, the lady whose company he was keeping, pleaded desperately with him, he returned to me; and it was mainly the charm that brought him back. Yes, and she impressed on me this spell for turning him against Phoebis—to look out for any footprints she left, to erase them, place my right foot where her left had been, and vice versa, with feet pointing the other way, and say, “I trample on you and am on top of you.” These instructions I carried out.
4.5.2
Hurry, hurry, Bacchis. Fetch the Syrian woman at once. And you, Acis, get ready the loaf and the sulphur and all the other things for the spell.
5.1.1
We’ve been hearing strange things about you, Leaena. They say that Megilla, the rich Lesbian woman, is in love with you just like a man, that you live with each other, and do goodness knows what together. Hullo! Blushing? Tell me if it’s true.
5.1.2
Quite true, Clonarium. But I’m ashamed, for it’s unnatural.
5.1.3
In the name of Mother Aphrodite, what’s it all about? What does the woman want? What do you do when you are together? You see, you don’t love me, or you wouldn’t hide such things from me.
5.1.4
I love you as much as I love any woman, but she’s terribly like a man.
5.2.1
I don’t understand what you mean, unless she’s a sort of woman for the ladies. They say there are women like that in Lesbos, with faces like men, and unwilling to consort with men, but only with women, as though they themselves were men.
5.2.2
It’s something like that.
5.2.3
Well, tell me all about it; tell me how she made her first advances to you, how you were persuaded, and what followed.
5.2.4
She herself and another rich woman, with the same accomplishments, Demonassa from Corinth, were organising a drinking party, and had taken me along to provide them with music. But, when I had finished playing, and it was late and time to turn in and they were drunk, Megilla said, “Come along Leaena, it’s high time we were in bed; you sleep here between us.”
5.2.5
And did you? What happened after that?
5.3.1
At first they kissed me like men, not simply bringing their lips to mine, but opening their mouths a little, embracing me, and squeezing my breasts. Demonassa even bit me as she kissed, and I didn’t know what to make of it. Eventually Megilla, being now rather heated, pulled off her wig, which was very realistic and fitted very closely, and revealed the skin of her head which was shaved close, just as on the most energetic of athletes. This sight gave me a shock, but she said, “Leaena, have you ever seen such a good-looking young fellow?” “I don’t see one here, Megilla,” said I. “Don’t make a woman out of me,” said she. “My name is Megillus, and I’ve been married to Demonassa here for ever so long; she’s my wife.” I laughed at that, Clonarium, and said, “Then, unknown to us, Megillus, you were a man all the time, just as they say Achilles once hid among the girls, and you have everything that a man has, and can play the part of a man to Demonassa?” “I haven’t got what you mean,” said she, “I don’t need it at all. You’ll find I’ve a much pleasanter method of my own.” “You’re surely not a hermaphrodite,” said I, “equipped both as a man and a woman, as many people are said to be?”; for I still didn’t know, Clonarium, what it was all about. But she said, “No, Leaena, I’m all man.”
5.4.1
“Well,” I said, “I’ve heard the Boeotian flute-girl, Ismenodora, repeating tales she’d heard at home, and telling us how someone at Thebes had turned from woman to man, someone who was also an excellent soothsayer, and was, I think, called Tiresias. That didn’t happen to you, did it?” “No, Leaena,” she said, “I was born a woman like the rest of you, but I have the mind and the desires and everything else of a man.” “And do you find these desires enough?” said I. “If you don’t believe me Leaena,” said she, “just give me a chance, and you’ll find I’m as good as any man; I have a substitute of my own. Only give me a chance, and you’ll see.” Well I did, my dear, because she begged so hard, and presented me with a costly necklace, and a very fine linen dress. Then I threw my arms around her as though she were a man, and she went to work, kissing me, and panting, and apparently enjoying herself immensely.
5.4.2
What did she do? How? That’s what I’m most interested to hear.
5.4.3
Don’t enquire too closely into the details; they’re not very nice; so, by Aphrodite in heaven, I won’t tell you!
6.1.1
Well, Corinna, now you know that it’s by no means as terrible as you thought for a maiden to become a woman. You’ve been with a handsome lad, and you’ve earned for your first fee a mina , out of which presently I’ll buy you a necklace.
6.1.2
Yes, mummy darling. I’d like it to have bright red beads like the one Philaenis has.
6.1.3
So it shall. Let me give you the rest of my instructions about what to do and how to behave with the men; for we have no other means of livelihood, daughter, and you must realise what a miserable life we’ve had these two years since your father died, God rest his soul. But, while he lived, we had plenty of everything; for he was a smith with a great name in the Piraeus, and you can hear anyone swear there never will be another smith to follow Philinus. After his death, first of all I sold his tongs, his anvil and his hammer for two minae, and that kept us for seven months; since then I’ve barely provided a starvation diet, now by weaving, now by spinning thread for woof or warp. I’ve fed you and waited for my hopes to be realised.
6.2.1
Do you mean the mina?
6.2.2
No, but I worked out that when you were as old as you are now, it would be easy for you both to keep me and provide yourself with clothes, that you would be rich, and have purple dresses and maids.
6.2.3
How so? What do you mean by that, mother?
6.2.4
By associating with young men, drinking and sleeping with them for money.
6.2.5
Like Daphnis’ daughter, Lyra?
6.2.6
Yes.
6.2.7
But she’s a courtesan.
6.2.8
There’s nothing terrible in that. You too will be rich just like her, and have many lovers. Why do you weep, Corinna? Don’t you see how many courtesans there are, how much they are in demand, and what money they earn? Dear lady Adrastia, I certainly know that Daphnis’ daughter wore rags before she grew up, but you can see what a figure she cuts now, when she goes out with her gold, her gay dresses and her four maids.
6.3.1
How did Lyra get all that?
6.3.2
In the first place, she dresses attractively and looks neat; she’s gay with all the men, without being so ready to cackle as you are, but smiles in a sweet bewitching way; later on, she’s very clever when they’re together, never cheats a visitor or an escort, and never throws herself at the men. If ever she takes a fee for going out to dinner, she doesn’t drink too much—that’s ridiculous, and men hate women who do—she doesn’t gorge herself—that’s ill-bred, my dear—but picks up the food with her finger-tips, eating quietly and not stuffing both cheeks full, and, when she drinks, she doesn’t gulp, but sips slowly from time to time.
6.3.3
Even if she’s thirsty, mother?
6.3.4
Then most of all, Corinna. Also, she doesn’t talk too much or make fun of any of the company, and has eyes only for her customer. These are the things that make her popular with the men. Again, when it’s time for bed, she’ll never do anything coarse or slovenly, but her only aim is to attract the man and make him love her; these are the things they all praise in her. If you can learn all this, we’ll be just as prosperous as she is. For, in all else, compared with her, you’re a long way—but, good Nemesis, I won’t mention that, but only pray for long life for you.
6.4.1
Tell me, mother, are all the customers like Eucritus, with whom I slept last night?
6.4.2
Not all of them; some are better. Some are already men; some again are not at all good-looking.
6.4.3
And must I sleep with men like that?
6.4.4
Certainly, daughter. They pay more, let me tell you, while the handsome wish only to be handsome by way of payment. You too must always think of the bigger fee, if you want all the women soon to point you out and say, “See how very rich Corinna, Crobyle’s daughter, is, and how she’s made her mother prosperous three times over!” What do you say? Will you do it? I know you will, and you’ll easily beat all the others. Now go and take a bath, in case your boy Eucritus comes again today. He promised he would.
7.1.1
If we find another lover like Chaereas, Musarium, we’ll have to sacrifice a white goat to earthly Aphrodite, and a heifer to the statue of heavenly Aphrodite in the Gardens, and offer a wreath to Demeter, Giver of Wealth! We shall be prosperous and more than doubly blessed! You can see how much we’re getting from the young fellow at present! He has never given you so much as a penny, or a dress, or a pair of shoes, or a bottle of scent. Always there are excuses and promises and hopes for the distant future, and he keeps saying, “If only my father—” or “If I get my inheritance,” or “It will all be yours.” And you say he’s promised on oath to make you his lawful wedded wife.
7.1.2
Yes, mother, he swore by the two goddesses and by the Protectress of Athens.
7.1.3
And you believe him, of course. That’s why, the other day when he couldn’t pay his share of the party, you gave him your ring without telling me, and he sold it and spent the money on drink—yes, and the two Ionian necklaces, weighing two Darics apiece, which Praxias, the Chian shipowner had made in Ephesus and brought for you? Chaereas needed to pay his contribution for a dinner with his fellows. Need I mention your gowns and fine linen? He has indeed been a godsend and blessing to us!
7.2.1
But he’s handsome and smooth-chinned, says he loves me, and cries; he’s the son of Dinomache and Laches, the Areopagite, and says he’ll marry me, and we’ve great hopes of him, if only the old man will fall asleep.
7.2.2
Well, Musarium, if we want a pair of shoes, and the cobbler asks for two drachmas, we’ll say to him, “We have no money, but let us give you a few of our hopes.” We’ll say the same to the barleymerchant, and, if we’re asked for the rent, we’ll say, “Wait until Laches of Colyttus dies; I’ll pay you after the wedding.” Aren’t you ashamed that you’re the only courtesan without an earring, a necklace, or a lace wrap?
7.3.1
What of it, mother? Are they happier than I am or prettier?
7.3.2
No, but they’re more sensible, and know their job; they don’t trust idle words, or young men with promises on the tips of their tongues. But you are constant and affectionate, and won’t have anyone near you but Chaereas. Yes, the other day when the Acharnian farmer came with two minas, though he had smooth cheeks too, and money from the wine his father had sent him to sell, you turned up your nose at him, and slept with your Adonis, Chaereas.
7.3.3
What of it? Was I to leave Chaereas and take that clodhopper smelling of goats? To use the common expression, I find Chaereas smooth, and the Acharnian a rough pig.
7.3.4
Very well, the other’s a rustic and smells nasty. But what about Antipho, the son of MeneCrates, who promised one mina? You wouldn’t have him either. Wasn’t he handsome and polished and just as young as Chaereas?
7.4.1
But Chaereas threatened to slit the throats of both of us, if he ever caught me with him.
7.4.2
But ever so many others make that threat. Will you, then, remain without lovers because of that, and live a chaste life, as though you were not a courtesan but a priestess of Demeter, Giver of Laws? Well, I won’t say any more. It’s the Harvest Home to-day; what has he given you for the feast?
7.4.3
He has nothing to give, mummy dear.
7.4.4
Is he the only one who hasn’t found a way of tricking his father, or sent a slave to hoodwink him, or begged from his mother, and threatened to sail off to the wars, if he’s not given anything? No, there he sits, bringing us to ruin, giving nothing himself, and forbidding you to take from those who will give. Do you think you’ll be eighteen for ever, Musarium, or that Chaereas will feel the same when he’s a rich man himself, and his mother finds him a rich match? Do you think he’ll still remember his tears and his kisses and his oaths, when he sees a dowry of five talents or so?
7.4.5
He will remember. I can prove it. He’s still unmarried, and has refused to take a wife despite all the bullying and browbeating he’s had to face.
7.4.6
I only hope he won’t play you false. I’ll remind you of my words, Musarium, when that day comes.
8.1.1
If a man isn’t jealous or angry, Chrysis, and never hits you, cuts your hair off, or tears your clothes, is he still in love with you?
8.1.2
Are these the only signs of a man’s love, then?
8.1.3
Yes, these are the signs of a burning love. All else, the kisses, the tears, the vows and the frequent visits are the signs of a love that is beginning and still growing. But the real flame comes from jealousy. And so, if Gorgias hits you, and shows jealousy, as you say, you may be hopeful, and should pray that he always continues in the same way.
8.1.4
In the same way? What do you mean? That he should go on hitting me for the rest of his days?
8.1.5
No, but that he should be hurt, whenever you have eyes for another man. For, unless he’s in love with you, why should he be angry at your having another lover?
8.1.6
I haven’t one. But he wrongly imagined the rich fellow was in love with me, just because I happened to mention his name once.
8.2.1
That again is nice for you—having him thinking you’re sought after by rich men. It will hurt him the more, and make him the more eager not to be outdone by his rivals for your affection.
8.2.2
But all he does is show temper and hit me. He never gives me anything.
8.2.3
He will—for he’s jealous—particularly if you hurt him.

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