Mimes of the Courtesans, by Lucian: The Philosopher

CHELODONION, a courtesan

DROSIS, her courtesan friend

NEBRIS, a slave

THE PHILOSOPHER

So little Clinias has stopped visiting your house? I haven't seen him for some time.

It is true, Chelidonion. His master has shut him up in their rooms. He stops the boy from coming to see me.

Whom are you talking about? You don't mean Diotimos who is teaching at the gymnasium? Diotimos is a good friend of mine.

You mean the long-faced, funereal man with the shaggy whiskers? He takes the little fellows for walks thru the Poikile.

Yes, that is the faker. I wish he'd die in a hurry! May the executioner drag him to his peace by his whiskers!

I don't know, Chelidonion. The boy hasn't set his foot in my street for the last three days; I am rather worried. It was I, you know, who taught him what woman is; and he hasn't slept with another woman since his first lesson. Having bad presentiments in regard to my Clinias, I sent Nebris, my slave, to see if he was at the Agora or in the Poikile. Nebris tells me she saw him walking with Aristainetos. She nodded to the boy from a distance, and Clinias blushed and was discomfited but did not look at her again. Then they reëntered the city. Nebris followed as far as the Dipylon, but, since they did not come out again, she returned without learning anything more.

You can imagine how worried I have been since then. I don't know what will become of the boy. I have always treated him fairly. At first I was afraid some other woman had got him and his love for me had

turned to hate. It also seemed possible that his father forbade him to see his Drosis. This evening, however, Dromon, the boy's slave, came to me with this letter. Take it and read, Chelidonion. You can read, can't you?

Let us see now. The penmanship is not especially good. You can see this letter was written in a hurry. He writes:

Oh, how much I love you, my Drosis! The gods, every one of them, will vouch for the degree of my affection. Know, therefore, that it is not by reason of dislike but by necessity that I have come to be separated from you. My father has intrusted me to Aristainetos to study philosophy, and my master has found out everything about the two of us and has scolded me severely, saying it was not meet for the son of Architeles and Erasicleia to carry on with a courtesan. He says that he will convince me that virtue is preferable to voluptuousness.

May the imbecile suffer an apoplectic fit! Think of teaching such philosophy to a young man!

So that I am forced to obey my master. He follows me wherever I go and guards me carefully and lets no woman approach me. He promises me that if I learn his kind of wisdom and do what he requires of me, I shall, after some efforts, become a virtuous and happy man. I write this letter hurriedly. I hope no one is looking.

Be happy and think sometimes of your,

Lost forever,

CLINIAS.

The words of an uncultivated Scythian, Drosis. However, the last two lines suggest some possibilities. All in all, in my opinion, your Clinias will never become a great poet.

That's what I think, too. But I am dying for the little fellow's love. He is like a kitten. Dromon tells me that Aristainetos is reputed to have a weakness for young boys. That is, under the pretext of teaching them rhetoric and philosophy, the whiskered codger

lives with the most handsome of his pupils. According to Dromon, Aristainetos has already had an interesting conversation with Clinias on the subject and promises to make the boy like to the gods. He reads to him of the love affairs that the old philosophers had with their disciples, and tells him that the gods don't interest themselves in women, but prefer the company of good philosophers like himself. However, Dromon threatens to complain to the boy's father.

I have already done it, though there is little need of a gift to win him to my side. My Nebris, you know, rather tickles the slave's fancy.

In that case, do not worry, Drosis. Everything will turn out fine. In my opinion you ought to leave an inscription on the part of the Keramic wall where Architeles takes his daily walk. He will understand the danger his son is in and will save him from his doom.

It will be done at night, Drosis, with a piece of charcoal that we shall pick up on the way.

Fine! Stand with me, Chelidonion, in my fight against the pedant. We courtesans must not allow those whiskered philosophers to mislead the young generation.