Theocritus was a third-century-B.C.E. Greek author who wrote poems and brief plays, which are collectively termed idylls. He came from the island of Sicily, perhaps from its largest city of Syracuse. In this idyll two women who had moved from Syracuse to Alexandria attend the annual festival of Adonis, the Greek god of male beauty. In the Hellenistic period Adonis became identified with various gods who died and then were resurrected, and thus became the center of one of the mystery religions. The festival in the idyll is being sponsored by Arsinoe, the sister and wife of Ptolemy II; she was an actual historical person and a contemporary of Theocritus.

GORGO: Praxinoa at home?

PRAXINOA: Dear Gorgo! at last! she is at home. I quite thought you’d forgotten me. (to the maid ) Here, Eunoa, a chair for the lady, and a cushion in it.

GORGO: No, thank you, really.

PRAXINOA: Do sit down.

GORGO: O what a silly I was to come! What with the crush and the horses, Praxinoa, I’ve scarcely got here alive. It’s all big boots and people in uniform. And the street was never-ending, and you can’t think how far your house is along it.

PRAXINOA: That’s my lunatic [husband]; came and took one at the end of the world, and more an animal’s den, too, than a place for a human being to live in, just to prevent you and me being neighbours, out of sheer spite, the jealous old wretch! He’s always the same.

GORGO: My dear, pray don’t call your good Dinon such names before Baby. See how he’s staring at you. (to the child) It’s all right, Zopy, my pet. It’s not dad-dad she’s talking about.

PRAXINOA: Upon my word, the child understands.

GORGO: Nice dad-dad.

PRAXINOA: And yet that dad-dad of his the other day — the other day, now I tell him “Daddy, get mother some soap and rouge from the shop,” and, would you believe it? back he came with a packet of salt, the great six feet of folly!

GORGO: Mine’s just the same. Diocleidas is a perfect spendthrift. Yesterday he gave seven shillings apiece for mere bits of dog’s hair, mere pluckings of old handbags, five of them, all filth, all work to be done over again. But come, my dear, get your cloak and gown. I want you to come with me to call on our high and mighty Prince Ptolemy to see the Adonis. I hear the Queen’s getting up something quite splendid this year.

PRAXINOA: Fine folks, fine ways.

GORGO: Yes; but sightseers make good gossips, you know, if you’ve been and other people haven’t. It’s time we were on the move….

(They go into the street.)

PRAXINOA: Heavens, what a crowd! How we’re to get through this awful crush and how long it’s going to take us, I can’t imagine. Talk of an antheap! I must say, you’ve done us many a good turn, my good Ptolemy, since your father went to heaven. We have no villains sneaking up to murder us in the streets nowadays in the good old Egyptian style. They don’t play those awful games now…!

Gorgo dearest! what shall we do? The Royal Horse! Don’t run me down, my good man. That bay’s rearing. Look, what temper! Stand back, Eunoa, you reckless girl! He’ll be the death of that man. Thank goodness I left Baby at home!

GORGO: It’s all right, Praxinoa. We’ve got well behind them, you see. They’re all where they ought to be, now.

PRAXINOA: And fortunately I can say the same of my poor wits. Ever since I was a girl, two things have frightened me more than anything else, a horrid slimy snake and a horse. Let’s get on. Here’s ever such a crowd pouring after us.

GORGO (to an Old Woman): Have you come from the palace, mother?

OLD WOMAN: Yes, my dears.

GORGO: Then we can get there all right, can we?

OLD WOMAN: Trying took Troy, my pretty; don’t they say where there’s a will there’s a way?

GORGO: That old lady gave us some oracles, didn’t she?

PRAXINOA: My dear, women know everything. They know all about Zeus marrying Hera.

GORGO: Do look, Praxinoa; what a crowd there is at the door!

PRAXINOA: Marvellous. Give me your arm, Gorgo; and you take hold of Eutychis’ arm, Eunoa; and you hold on tight, Eutychis, or you’ll be separated. We’ll all go in together. Mind you keep hold of me, Eunoa. Oh dear, oh dear, Gorgo! my summer cloak’s torn right in two. (to a stranger) For Heaven’s sake, as you wish to be saved, mind my cloak, sir.

FIRST STRANGER: I really can’t help what happens; but I’ll do my best.

PRAXINOA: The crowd’s simply enormous; they’re pushing like a drove of pigs.

FIRST STRANGER: Don’t be alarmed, madam; we’re all right.

PRAXINOA: You deserve to be all right to the end of your days, my dear sir, for the care you’ve been taking of us. (to Gorgo) What a kind considerate man! Poor Eunoa’s getting squeezed. (to Eunoa) Push, you coward, can’t you?

That’s all right. All inside, as the bridegroom said when he shut the door.

GORGO: Praxinoa, do come here. Before you do anything else I insist upon your looking at the embroideries. How delicate they are! and in such good taste! They’re really hardly human, are they?

PRAXINOA: Lady Athena! the weavers that made that material and the embroiderers who did that close detailed work are simply marvels. How realistically the things all stand and move about in it! they’re living! It is wonderful what people can do. And then the [statue of] the Holy Boy; how perfectly beautiful he looks lying on his silver couch, with the down of manhood just showing on his cheeks. The thrice-beloved Adonis, beloved even [by the dead] down below!

SECOND STRANGER: Oh dear, oh dear, ladies! do stop that eternal cooing. (to the bystanders) They’ll weary me to death with their ah-ah-ah-ing.

PRAXINOA: My word! where does that person come from? What business is it of yours if we do coo? Buy your slaves before you order them about, pray. You’re giving your orders to Syracusans. If you must know, we’re Corinthians by extraction, like Bellerophon himself. What we talk’s Peloponnesian. I suppose Dorians may speak Doric, mayn’t they? Persephone! Let’s have no more masters than the one we’ve got. I shall do just as I like. Pray don’t waste your breath.

GORGO: Be quiet, Praxinoa. She’s just going to begin the song, that Argive person’s daughter, you know, the “accomplished vocalist” that was chosen to sing the dirge last year. You may be sure she’ll give us something good. Look, she’s making her bow.

The Dirge

Lover of Golgi and Idaly and Eryx’ steepy hold,

O Lady Aphrodite with the face that beams like gold,

Twelve months are sped and soft-footéd Heav’n’s pretty laggards, see,

Bring o’er the never-tarrying stream Adonis back to thee.…

Of eighteen years or nineteen is turned the rose-limbed groom;

His pretty lip is smooth to sip, for it bears but flaxen bloom.

And now she’s in her husband’s arms, and so we’ll say good-night.…

“Adonis sweet, Adonis dear,

Be gracious for another year;

Thou’rt welcome to thine own alwáy,

And welcome we’ll both cry to-day

And next Adonis-tide.”

GORGO: O Praxinoa! what clever things we women are! I do envy her knowing all that, and still more having such a lovely voice. But I must be getting back. It’s Diocleidas’ dinner-time, and that man’s all pepper; I wouldn’t advise anyone to come near him even, when he’s kept waiting for his food. Good-bye, Adonis darling; and I only trust you may find us all thriving when you come next year.

Source: Adapted from The Greek Bucolic Poets, trans. J. M. Edmonds, Loeb Classical Library, vol. 28 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1912), pp. 177–195.

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