by Aristophanes
LYSISTRATA: Fine! Where’s that Scythian girl?
[She calls and her servant, a swarthy SCYTHIAN GIRL, appears carrying a shield and glancing about her open-eyed.]
Hey, girl, what’s making you stare . . . ?
Put your shield down in front of us, bottom up, right there. . . .
Somebody fetch me the sacrificial bits and pieces.
LAMPITO: What sort of oath are we going to swear?
LYSISTRATA: What sort? One like Aeschylus’s,
with the victim slaughtered over a shield.600
LAMPITO: My dear Lysistrata, not over a shield,
not when we’re making a vow about peace.
LYSISTRATA: Then how should the vow proceed?
CALONICE: How about getting hold of a white stallion
and slicing a piece off him?
LYSISTRATA: A white stallion? Come on!
CALONICE: How are we going to swear then?
LYSISTRATA: I’ve got an idea that you might like:
we put an enormous black wine bowl in position
and over it we slaughter a skin of Thracian wine,
swearing not to . . . add a drop of water.
LAMPITO: Yeah! That’s an oath you couldn’t better.
LYSISTRATA: Will somebody go inside and bring out
a wine bowl and a skin of wine?
[The SCYTHIAN GIRL goes into the house and brings out a bulging wineskin and an enormous bowl.]
MYRRHINE: My word, girls, what a whopper!
CALONICE: Merely to touch it is to hiccup.
LYSISTRATA: Now lay your hands with mine on this mighty beast.
[solemnly intoning]
My lady Persuasion and you good Convivial Cup,
deign to accept this sacrifice from us.
[She opens the wineskin and lets the dark red wine bleed into the bowl.]
CALONICE: What a robust and a richly colored spurt!
LAMPITO: The aroma’s superb without a doubt.
MYRRHINE: Girls, I beg, be first to take the oath.
CALONICE: By Aphrodite, not so fast.
Wait and see if your lot comes first.
LYSISTRATA: Hold your hands over the bowl—Lampito, are you listening?—now, one of you repeat after me this vow: “No man whatsoever, whether husband or lover, shall . . .”
CALONICE: No man whatsoever,
whether husband or lover, shall . . .
LYSISTRATA: . . . “come near me with a rampant cock . . .” Speak up.
CALONICE: Come near me with a rampant cock.
Oh, Lysistrata, my knees are buckling!
LYSISTRATA: “I’ll live at home in continence unrutting.”
CALONICE: I’ll live at home in continence unrutting.
LYSISTRATA: “All tarted up in my saffron frock . . .”
CALONICE: All tarted up in my saffron frock . . .
LYSISTRATA: “so that my husband is bursting to erupt . . .”
CALONICE: so that my husband is bursting to erupt . . .
LYSISTRATA: “while I stay aloof and adamant.”
CALONICE: while I stay aloof and adamant.
LYSISTRATA: “And if he exercises force . . .”
CALONICE: And if he exercises force . . .
LYSISTRATA: “I’ll receive him coldly, won’t waggle my hips or
grunt . . .”
CALONICE: I’ll receive him coldly, won’t waggle my hips or grunt . . .
LYSISTRATA: “nor lift slippered feet to make it easy, nor of course . . .”
CALONICE: nor lift slippered feet to make it easy, nor of course . . .
LYSISTRATA: “crouch like a lioness waiting to be grated.”601
CALONICE: crouch like a lioness waiting to be grated.
LYSISTRATA: “And only if I keep this vow may I quaff from this cup.”
CALONICE: And only if I keep this vow may I quaff from this cup.
LYSISTRATA: “And if I don’t keep this vow may the wine be watered.”
CALONICE: And if I don’t keep this vow may the wine be watered.
LYSISTRATA: Now let all of you swear, all united.
THE WOMEN: We swear, we swear.
LYSISTRATA: Good. I’ll consecrate the cup.
[She takes a long draft.]
CALONICE: Darling, not more than your share . . . Surely we’re all on equal footing.
[While they quaff, the sound of cheering from the OLDER WOMEN reaches them.]
CALONICE: Whatever is that cheering?
LYSISTRATA: It’s what I told you:
we women have seized the Acropolis and the temple of the goddess.
Therefore, Lampito, get cracking
and go do what you have to do back home.
We can use your Spartan friends here as hostages.
[LAMPITO leaves.]
Meanwhile, let’s join the other women on the Acropolis
and help them to barricade the gates.
CALONICE: But won’t the men launch an attack on us?
LYSISTRATA: If they do, I don’t give a damn.
Just let them try with threats and fire to unbar those gates.
We’ll make them come to heel.
CALONICE: So help me, Aphrodite, so they will! Or else we women are an impossibly hopeless breed.
[All the women disappear into the Acropolis and the MEN’S CHORUS enters in a slow, shambling dance. They are old and shabby. They carry logs, unlit torches, and live coals in earthen pots as they shuffle towards the Acropolis.]
MEN’S LEADER: Forward, Dracus,602 though your shoulders
ache from carrying logs of green and heavy olive wood.
STROPHE
MEN’S CHROUS: Live a long life and much will surprise you, such as we elders Are witnessing now. Oh yes, Strymodorus, can you believe we’d Ever be told these pestilent females reared in our homes Had taken possession of Pallas’s image On the Acropolis and now have control? And that’s not the end of their damnable damage: They’ve bolted and blocked every entry and portal.
MEN’S LEADER: To the Acropolis, forward Philurgus, as fast as you can. Let us arrange around these women logs in a circle. They are the ones who have thought up this deplorable plan.
Let’s make a bonfire and sizzle them up with our own hands, Yes, every one of them, starting with Lycon’s lecherous wife.603
ANTISTROPHE
MEN’S CHORUS: Holy Demeter, I’ll not have them laughing while I have life, Especially not Cleomēnes,604 the first who ever besieged This place, and in spite of the bellicose Spartan spirit he breathed He surrendered to us and scurried away In the flimsiest jacket without his arms, Dirty, disheveled, and needing a shave. For six years he hadn’t deigned to wash his limbs.
MEN’S LEADER: Yes, I was fierce and that’s the way I dealt with this fellow. We camped before the gates in ranks of seventeen. And now will I simply stand and watch these brazen women, Enemies of Euripides605 and of heaven? Oh, I might as well wipe out the glories of Marathon.
STROPHE
MEN’S CHORUS: A little bit more and the slogging is done. The steepest stretch is the last to come Before the Acropolis, and I strain to reach the spot. How can we lug these logs along? We need a donkey—that’s for sure. This log is making my shoulders sore But I’ve got to reach that blessed gate And also keep this fire alight; I simply mustn’t let it go out
Until I’m where I should be at.
Phew! Phew!
Fuck! Fuck! The smoke, the smoke!
ANTISTROPHE
Lord Heracles help me—this bloody smoke
Plunges out of the bucket and bites
Both my eyes like a bitch gone mad, a bitch in heat,
The fire’s a volcano. Yuk! Yuk!
My poor eyes, how they ache!
They must be a couple of bloodshot holes.
But I’ve got to get to the Acropolis,
And run, run, run if I can
To rescue the goddess Pallas Athena.
Laches, could the time be better?
&
nbsp; Phew! Phew!
Fuck! Fuck! The smoke, the smoke!
MEN’S LEADER: This fire’s a lively thing. Thank heavens it’s awake. Let’s put our logs down here and dip our torches in the coals to get them lit. Then we’ll batter the gates like rams and summon the women to surrender. But if they won’t and refuse to open the gates, we’ll set the doors on fire and smoke them out. But first, let’s set the logs down here. Phew! Phew! This bloody smoke! I wish some of you admirals at Samos606 could lend us a hand with this damned wood.
[The OLD MEN unshoulder the logs and lay them down.]
Oh brother! At last I’ve freed my poor back!
Now it’s all yours, you coals in the bucket.
My lady Victory, secure us a triumph over this womanhood
on the Acropolis. Bring us luck—it
is high time to punish them for their cheek.
[The CHORUS OF WOMEN, middle-aged and elderly, comes into view. They are better dressed than the old men and carry pitchers of water. When names are used, they are, as with the men, generic.]
WOMEN’S LEADER: Women, I can see sparks and smoke. There’s a bonfire somewhere. Hurry.
STROPHE
WOMEN’S CHORUS: Wings, wings, Nicodicé,
Fly to Critilla, Calicé,
And quench the galloping flames
Fanned by malevolent breezes
And nasty old men whose aims
Are to kill us. But are we
Too late for the crisis?
We’ve come from the well with our pitchers
And filled them to the brims:
A task that was hardly easy
With the crush and the clatter and din,
And elbowing maids from the homesteads
And branded slaves, but I heaved my
Pitcher on my head,
Rushing to help my neighbor
And rescue her with water.
ANTISTROPHE607
Fanatic old men, it appears,
Are gadding about with timbers
Costing a lot, and heading
Towards the Acropolis, stokers
Bawling their heads off, saying:
“We’ll burn you women to cinders.”
Grant, O Pallas Athena
We’ll not be set on fire.
See us as heroines rather,
Saving Hellas from warfare
And folly. That is the reason,
O golden helmeted one.
Defender of your temple,
They’ve pounced on your holy shrine.
Divinity, I implore
You to be our helper
And if they should light a bonfire
Be nearby with water.
[WOMEN’S LEADER steps forward just as the OLD MEN are about to charge the gates.]
WOMEN’S LEADER: Stop it, you disgusting men! What d’you think you’re doing? No decent men would behave the way you are.
MEN’S LEADER: We’ve got an unexpected problem—women,
outside the gates, simply swarming.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Worried are you? Don’t tell me we’re
too hot to handle? You aren’t seeing
a thousandth part of our forces yet.
MEN’S LEADER: Phaedrus, are we going to let
them go on blabbing?
It’s time we got those logs and conked them on the nut.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Women, put your pitchers down and free your
hands.
We may have to withstand a charge.
MEN’S LEADER: Two or three hefty socks in the jaw, ye gods,
would shut them up.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Okeydoke, here’s my mug. I won’t budge. Have a sock and see if it quells. But if you do, I’m the bitch that bites off balls.
MEN’S LEADER: Shut your damned gob,
or I’ll bang you out of your ancient hide.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Just lift a little finger, slob,
and I, Stratyllis,608 will . . .
MEN’S LEADER: Will what? Got a secret weapon to stop
me knocking you flat?
WOMEN’S LEADER: I’ll tear your chest wide
apart and rip your entrails out.
MEN’S LEADER: Euripides got it right. “No beast’s so bloody as a woman,” he said.
WOMEN’S LEADER: [calling to the others] Rhodippe and everybody, get your pitchers ready.
MEN’S LEADER: So, you god-detested crone, you’ve brought water,
have you?
WOMEN’S LEADER: So up yours, too! You’ve brought fire for a funeral, have you?
MEN’S LEADER: Not mine. The pyre’s for your cronies.
WOMEN’S LEADER: [thrusting out her pitcher]
And I’ll put it out with this.
MEN’S LEADER: You’ll put out my fire, will you?
WOMEN’S LEADER: That’s what you’re going to witness.
MEN’S LEADER: While I roast your backside with my torch.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Need a bath? Got soap?
MEN’S LEADER: You give me a bath—you witch?
WOMEN’S LEADER: A bath for the bridegroom, creep.
MEN’S LEADER: The barefaced impudence!
WOMEN’S LEADER: I’m quite free, you know, to be the bride.
MEN’S LEADER: I’ll put a plug in your loudmouthed insolence.
WOMEN’S LEADER:
If that puts a stop to your jury work, don’t be surprised.609
MEN’S LEADER: Forward, troops! Fire—her hair.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Ready, girls—the river.
[The WOMEN raise their pitchers and souse the MEN with a flood.]
MEN’S LEADER: I’m drowning.
WOMEN’S LEADER: Water’s right temperature, I hope?
MEN’S LEADER: Right temperature? Stop it!
What d’you think you’re doing?
WOMEN’S LEADER: Watering you to make you sprout.
MEN’S LEADER: I’m shivering dry.
WOMEN’S LEADER: [in mothering accents] You’ve got fire,
haven’t you? Sit and warm yourself, you dope.
[A MAGISTRATE arrives, attended by his SERVANTS and FOUR SCYTHIAN ARCHER POLICE.]
MAGISTRATE: So once again we have the glaring libidinous show
of women’s excesses:
bongo drums, Bacchic hymns, rooftop Adonis séances.
I’ve heard it all before.
Once when I was sitting in Parliament
and that bore Demostratus was telling us
that an armada to Sicily should be sent,
his wife was on the top of a roof, bleating:
“Adonis, oh, the poor, poor youth!”610
Then while Demostratus was trying
to get a bill passed
enlisting Zakynthian infantry, his wife,
half sozzled up there on a roof,
was moaning: “O ... h, women, beat your breasts for Adonis!”
He took no notice
and just went on with his blithering motions.
What a godforsaken lousy, mouth-frothing, blustering ass!
That’s the kind of topsy-turvy nonsense
that comes with women.
MEN’S LEADER: [pointing to the WOMEN’S CHORUS] Wait till you hear how they’ve gone completely beyond the pale with their jars of water and almost drowned us so that we had to wring out our clothing later as if we’d peed in it.
MAGISTRATE: Great briny Poseidon, we get
exactly what we deserve.
We ourselves collaborate with our womenfolk
and abet them in behavior that’s absurd.
What follows is a blooming herbacious border
of nonsense. We go into a jeweler’s and say something like:
“Goldsmith, you know that torque,
the one you made my wife.
She was dancing with it on
the other night, and the prong
slipped out of its groove.
I have to go to Salamis, so do you think
y
ou could spare the time one evening
to pop into her
and fit the prong inside her groove?”
Or a husband tells a cobbler—
a young jock with a strapping cock—
“Hey, cobbler, my wife’s sandal cord
is pinching her wee tootsy and making it sore;
do you think you could come—sometime after luncheon—
I mean, could you stretch it a bit and fit it
into smoother play with the puncheon?”
That’s the sort of thing that is apt to harden
into the climax we face now.
Here am I, a magistrate,
with a commission to buy timber for oars,
who comes here to get the necessary brass
and finds himself standing outside the gate
locked out by women. So
[to the SERVANTS]
bring on the crowbars and I’ll put a stopper to this farce.
[to one POLICEMAN and then to another POLICEMAN]
What are you gawking at, you damn fool?
And you? See something interesting? A wine bar? Ale?
I said crowbars, that’s all.
Wedge those crowbars under the gates and start levering on your side.
I’ll do the same on mine.
LYSISTRATA: No levering, if you don’t mind.
I’m here of my own accord
and I don’t see why you have to lever.
It’s not levers you want but nous and common sense.
MAGISTRATE: Is that so, you minx? . . . Where’s the police?
