Dialogues of the Courtesans

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 242 sections

13.3.1
But I acted boldly and advanced out there, wearing just as fine armour as the Paphlagonian, and encased in gold from head to toe just like him, so that a shout arose immediately, both from our men and from the barbarians, for they too recognised me by my shield in particular and by my spangles and my crest. Tell us, Chenidas, whom did they all think I resembled then?
13.3.2
Achilles, of course, son of Peleus and Thetis. So distinguished was your helmet, so bright your purple, so resplendent your shield.
13.3.3
When we met, the barbarian struck first, wounding me slightly by grazing me with his spear just above the knee, but I drove my lance through his shield, and penetrated right through to his chest. Then I rushed at him, lopped off his head with my blade without any difficulty, and returned, not only with his arms, but carrying his head fixed on my lance, and bathed in blood.
13.4.1
Stop, Leontichus. Your stories about yourself are repulsive and gruesome, and no girl would ever look again at a fellow who takes such pleasure in bloodshed, far less drink with him, or spend the night with him. So I’ll be off.
13.4.2
I offer you double the money.
13.4.3
I couldn’t bear to sleep with a murderer.
13.4.4
Don’t be afraid, Hymnis. These exploits are all over and happened in Paphlagonia; for the moment I’m at peace.
13.4.5
But you’re unclean, and the blood dripped over you from his head, when you carried it on your spear. And then you expect me to embrace and kiss a fellow like that? May the Graces save me from that! He’s no better than the public executioner.
13.4.6
But, if you’d seen me in heavy armour, I’m sure you’d have fallen in love with me.
13.4.7
Merely to listen to you, Leontichus, makes me feel sick and shudder and imagine I see the ghosts and phantoms of those you butchered and particularly of that poor captain with his head split in two. What do you think would have happened if I’d seen the deed itself, and the blood, and the dead bodies lying there? I think I went faint as it was. I’ve never to this day even seen a cock being killed.
13.4.8
Are you really so cowardly and poor-spirited, Hymnis? I thought you’d be delighted to hear my tale.
13.4.9
Keep such tales for the delight of any women of Lemnos or daughters of Danaus you find; but I’m running away to mother, while it’s still daylight. And you’d better come with me, Grammis. Goodbye, bravest colonel, you murderer of as many as you choose.
13.5.1
Stay, Hymnis, stay.—She’s gone.
13.5.2
Yes, Leontichus. You frightened the simple young girl by brandishing your plumes and recounting your incredible feats. I could see at once how pale she grew before you’d finished that story about the captain, and how she puckered her brow, and shivered when you said you’d split his head.
13.5.3
I thought it would make me seem more attractive to her; but you helped to spoil things for me, Chenidas, by suggesting the single combat.
13.5.4
Well, wasn’t I to help by adding my lies to yours, when I saw why you were boasting? But you made the story much too frightening. It was all very well for you to cut off the head of that poor Paphlagonian, but why did you go on to stick it on your spear, so that the blood poured over you?
13.6.1
That was indeed repulsive, Chenidas; the tale we’d made up hadn’t been at all bad up till then! But be off with you and coax her into spending the night with me.
13.6.2
Am I to say, then, that your whole story was a pack of lies, because you wished to appear a hero in her eyes?
13.6.3
I’d be ashamed if you did.
13.6.4
But that’s the only way she’ll come. You’ve only two choices; you can either be hated and retain your reputation for valour, or you can spend the night with Hymnis and admit you’ve been lying.
13.6.5
Either choice goes against the grain; but I choose Hymnis. So go, Chenidas, and tell her that I did He, but it wasn’t all lies.
14.1.1
So, Myrtale, you shut the door in my face now that I’ve Beggared myself because of you, though, when I brought all those gifts, I was your darling, your man, your lord, your all! But now that I’ve been drained completely dry, and you have found your Bithynian merchant to love you, I’m shut out and stand before your doors in tears, while he enjoys your kisses at night, spending the whole night alone with you, and you say you’re about to have his child.
14.1.2
That’s what riles me most of all, Dorio—the way you keep saying you’ve been generous to me and have Beggared yourself for me. Just start from the beginning and reckon up all the gifts you’ve brought me.
14.2.1
An excellent idea, Myrtale; let’s do that. First, a pair of shoes from Sicyon worth two drachmas. Put down two drachmas.
14.2.2
But you spent two nights with me.
14.2.3
Then, when I came from Syria, a vase of Phoenician perfume, also costing two drachmas, I swear it by Poseidon.
14.2.4
But, when you had to sail, I gave you that little waistcoat to wear while rowing. Epiurus, the officer of the fo’c’sle, had left it here by mistake, when he spent a night with me.
14.2.5
Epiurus recognised it in Samos the other day, and got it back, though, by heaven, we had quite a fight over it. Then I brought you onions from Cyprus, five fish from the Nile, and four perches, on our return from the Bosporus. Oh yes, and a basket with eight ship’s loaves, and a jar of dried figs from Caria, and another time a pair of gilded sandals from Patara, you ungrateful creature! And I remember the time I brought you that great cheese from Gythium.
14.2.6
All this comes to perhaps five drachmas, Dorio.
14.3.1
Oh Myrtale, I brought you all a seaman could afford out of his pay. Recently I’ve been put in charge of the starboard hands, and you despise me! Not so long ago, when it was the feast of Aphrodite, didn’t I put a silver drachma at the feet of the goddess on your account? Then again I gave your mother two drachmas for a pair of shoes, and many’s the time I’ve slipped two or even four obols into the hand of Lyde here. All these together amounted to the whole worldly wealth of any sailor.
14.3.2
The onions, you mean, Dorio, and those fish from the Nile?
14.3.3
Yes, I’d nothing more to give you. I shouldn’t be an oarsman, if I were a man of means. Why, I’ve never to this day brought my mother a single head of garlic. I wish you’d told me what gifts you had from the Bithynian.
14.3.4
Well, first take a look at this dress. He bought it, and the thicker of my necklaces.
14.3.5
It came from him, did it? I knew you’d had it for a long time.
14.3.6
No, the one you knew was much thinner, and had no emeralds. Then there’s these earrings and that rug, and only the other day he gave me two minas, and paid our rent for us. That’s a little different from sandals from Patara or Gythian cheese, or rubbish like that!
14.4.1
But won’t you tell me what sort of a lover you find him? He must be well over fifty, he’s going thin at the front, and he has the colour of a crawfish. And haven’t you noticed his teeth? By Castor and Pollux, the graces have been kind to him, particularly when he sings, and tries to show his good taste! He’s like the proverbial donkey treating himself to a solo on the harp. Good luck to you, for he’s just what you deserve, and I hope your child takes after his father! For my part I’ll find a Delphis or a Cymbalium who’s more my own sort, or perhaps it’ll be your neighbour who plays the pipe, but I’ll certainly find somebody. We don’t all have rugs or necklaces or presents of two minas to give you.
14.4.2
What a lucky girl it’ll be that gets you for her lover, Dorio! You’ll bring her onions from Cyprus, and cheese any time you come from Gythium!
15.1.1
Why these tears, Parthenis? How did you break these pipes you’re carrying?
15.1.2
It was that soldier from Aetolia, the big fellow who loves Crocale. He slapped me when he found me playing at Crocale’s house, when I’d been hired by his rival Gorgos, and bursting in smashed my pipes, overturned the table while we were still at dinner, and spilt the wine out of the bowl. Then he dragged Gorgos, that poor fellow from the country, out of the room by the hair, and both the soldier himself—Dinomachus I think he’s called—and his comrade, stood over him beating him up. And so I don’t know whether the fellow will survive, Cochlis, for blood poured in streams from his nose, and his whole face is swollen and all black and blue.
15.2.1
Was the fellow out of his senses or was it a drunken fit?
15.2.2
It was jealousy, my dear, and excess of love. Crocale, I believe, had asked for two talents, if he wanted to keep her all to himself. When he refused to pay, she banged the door shut in his face, so they said, and asked in Gorgos of Oenoe, a rich farmer, an admirer of long standing, and an excellent fellow, drank with him and brought me in to give them some music. The wine had begun to flow, I was striking up one of my Lydian airs, the farmer was just getting up to dance, Crocale was clapping, and everything was most pleasant, when we heard crashes and shouts, there was a battering on the front door, and a moment later eight or nine strapping young fellows including that yahoo came rushing in. Well everything was turned upside down at once, and Gorgos, as I said, was knocked about, and kicked as he lay on the ground. Somehow Crocale was quick enough to escape next door to Thespias’ house, but I was slapped by Dinomachus, who then threw my broken pipes after me, and told me to “get to blazes out of it”. Now I’m hurrying off to tell my master about this, while the farmer is on his way to see some friends in town, who will bring that yahoo before the magistrates.
15.3.1
That’s the profit one may get from having these soldiers for lovers—violence and suits in the law-courts. Besides, though they claim to be Generals and colonels, when the time comes to pay, they say, “Wait for pay-day, and the time I’m paid for my soldiering, and I’ll do anything you ask.” Oh, a plague on them with their empty boasts! I’m glad I’ve nothing at all to do with them. Give me a fisherman or sailor or farmer of my own class, who may have little skill in paying compliments, but gives lots of presents. But as for these fellows who shake their plumes and tell us all about their battles, why, Parthenis, they’re nothing but noise!

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