Delphi Complete Works of Lucian

by Lucian Samosata

  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.

  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 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.

  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.

  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.

  Phi. At present, however, sir free-lance, Pannychis is mine. She has had one talent, and will have another as soon as my cargoes are disposed of. Come along, Pannychis; the colonel can keep his colonelling for the Odrysians.

  Dor. She is a free woman; it is for her to say whether she will come along or not.

  Pa. What shall I do, Dorcas?

  Dor. Better go in; Polemon is too angry to talk to now, and a little jealousy will only whet his appetite.

  Pa. Well, if you think so, let us go in.

  Po. I give you both fair warning that you drink your last drink to-day; I ought to know by this time how to part soul from body. Parmenon, the Thracians. Full armour, battle array, this alley blocked. Pikemen in the centre, slingers and archers on the flanks, and the remainder in the rear.

  Phi. You take us for babies, Mr. Mercenary, to judge from your appeal to our imaginations. Now I wonder whether you ever shed as much blood as runs in a cock’s veins, or ever looked on war; to stretch a point in your favour, I dare say you may have been corporal in charge of a bit of wall somewhere.

  Po. You will know ere long, when you look upon our serried ranks of glittering steel.

  Phi. Oh, pack up your traps and come, by all means. I and my Tibius — I have only one man, you see — will scatter you so wide with a few stones and bricks that you shall never find one another again.

  XI

  Tryphaena. Charmides

  Try. Well, to be sure! Get a girl to keep company with you, and then turn your back on her! Nothing but tears and groans! The wine was not good enough, I suppose, and you didn’t want a tête-à-tête dinner. Oh yes, I saw you were crying at dinner too. And now it is one continued wail like a baby’s. What is it all about, Charmides? Do tell me; let me get that much out of my evening with you.

  Ch. Love is killing me, Tryphaena; I can stand it no longer.

  Try. It is not love for me, that is clear. You would not be so cold to me, and push me away when I want to put my arms round you. It really is not fair to keep me off like this! Never mind, tell me who it is; perhaps I may help you to her; I know one ought to make oneself useful.

  Ch. Oh, you two know each other quite well; she is quite a celebrity.

  Try. Name, name, Charmides!

  Ch. Well then — Philematium.

  Try. Which? there are two of them; one in Piraeus, who has only just come there; Damyllus the governor’s son is in love with her; is it that one? or the other, the one they call The Trap?

  Ch. Yes, that is she; she has caught me and got me tight, poor mouse.

  Try. And the tears were all for her?

  Ch. Even so.

  Try. Is this recent? or how long has it been going on?

  Ch. Oh, it is nothing new. I saw her first at the Dionysia; that makes seven months.

  Try. Had you a full view of her, or did you just see her face and as much as a woman of forty-five likes to show?

  Ch. Oh, come! I have her word for it she will be two-and-twenty next birthday.

  Try. Well, which are you going to trust — her word, or your own eyes? Just take a careful look at her temples some day; that is the only place where her own hair shows; all the rest is a thick wig; but at the temples, when the dye fades a little, you can easily detect the grey. But that is nothing; insist on seeing more than her face.

  Ch. Oh, but I am not favoured so far as that.

  Try. No, I should think not. She knows what the effect would be; why, she is all over — oh, talk of leopard-skins! And it was she made you cry like that, was it? I dare say, now, she was very cruel and scornful?

  Ch. Yes, she was, dear; and such a lot of money as she has from me! Just now she wants a thousand drachmas; well, I am dependent on my father, and he is very close, and I could not very well get it; so she is at home to Moschion, and will not see me. That is why you are here; I thought it might vex her.

  Try. Well, I’m sure I never never would have come if I had been told what it was for — just to vex somebody else, and that
somebody old coffin-ripe Philematium! I shall go away; for that matter the third cock-crow is past.

  Ch. No, no, not so fast, Tryphaena. If it is all true — the wig, the dye, and the leopard-skin — I shall hate the sight of her.

  Try. If your mother has ever seen her at the bath, ask her. As to the age, you had better ask your grandfather about that, if he is alive.

  Ch. Well, as that is what she is like, come up close to me. Give me your arms — and your lips — and let us be friends. Philematium be hanged!

  XII

  Joessa. Pythias. Lysias

  Jo. Cross boy! But I deserve it all! I ought to have treated you as any other girl would do, — bothered you for money, and been engaged when you called, and made you cheat your father or rob your mother to get presents for me; instead of which, I have always let you in from the very first time, and it has never cost you a penny, Lysias. Think of all the lovers I have sent away: Ethocles, now a Chairman of Committees, and Pasion the ship-owner, and young Melissus, who had just come into all his father’s money. I would not have a word to say to one of them; I kept myself for you, hard-hearted Phaon that you are! I was fool enough to believe all your vows, and have been living like a Penelope for your sake; mother is furious about it, and is always talking at me to her friends. And now that you feel sure of me, and know how I dote on you, what is the consequence? You flirt with Lycaena under my very eyes, just to vex me; you sit next to me at dinner, and pay compliments to Magidium, a mere music-girl, and hurt my feelings, and make me cry. And that wine-party the other day, with Thraso and Diphilus, when Cymbalium the flute-girl was there, and Pyrallis: you know how I hate that girl: as for Cymbalium, whom you kissed no less than five times, I didn’t mind so much about that, — it must have been sufficient punishment in itself: — but the way in which you were always making signs to Pyrallis to notice your cup, and whispering to the boy, when you gave it back to him, that he was not to fill it for any one but Pyrallis! and that piece of apple that you bit off and shot across right into her lap, when you saw that Diphilus was occupied with Thraso, — you never even tried to conceal it from me! and she kissed it, and hid it away beneath her girdle. What is the meaning of it all? What have I ever done to you? Did I ever displease you? ever look at any other man? Do I not live for you alone? A brave thing, is it not, Lysias, to vex a poor weak woman who loves you to distraction! There is a Nemesis who watches such deeds. You will be sorry some day, perhaps, when you hear of my hanging myself, or jumping head first into a well; for die I will, one way or another, rather than live to be an eyesore to you. There will be an achievement for you to boast of! You need not look at me like that, nor gnash your teeth: if you have anything to say against me, here is Pythias; let her judge between us. Oh, you are going away without a word? — You see what I have to put up with, Pythias!