by Aristophanes
is from Salamis and all night long he is plying his oar874
under the sheets and it wasn’t till now that I got the chance
of swiping his cloak.
PRAXAGORA: Look, I see Cleinarete and Sostrate arriving, and there’s Philainete.875
LEADER: About time, too! Glyce swore that the last woman here
would be fined four liters of wine and a sack of chickpeas.
PRAXAGORA: And I see Smicythion’s wife, Melistiche,
trying to run in his boots. She was the only one,
I expect, who had no problem getting away from her man.876
MADAM A: And there’s the barkeeper’s wife, Geusistrate.
Look, she’s got a flare in her hand!
PRAXAGORA: There’s Philodoretus’ wife and the wife of Chaeretades,
and a whole pile of women—
a regular who’s who in town.
[MADAM B enters running.]
MADAM B: I had the darnedest time getting away, darling.
My husband hiccuped all through the night from guzzling
sardines at dinner.
PRAXAGORA: Now that I’ve got you all here, please seat yourselves
while I ask you if you’ve done all we agreed on at the Scira.
MADAM A: Sure! My armpits are now thicker than groves,
as we agreed. Next, when my man left for the agora,
I covered myself in oil and stood in the sun all day
to get a tan.
MADAM B: Me, the same. I immediately threw my razor away
and let myself get hairy all over—the ultimate nonfeminine.
PRAXAGORA: And you’ve brought the beards we agreed upon?
MADAM A: By Hecate we have! Take a look at mine.
MADAM B: And mine beats even the beard of Epicrates.877
PRAXAGORA: What about the rest of you?
MADAM A: They’ve all got their beards, nodding yes to a man.
PRAXAGORA: And I see you have the rest of the paraphernalia:
Spartan boots, staves, cloaks, and men’s attire—
all that we agreed to.
MADAM A: I’ve also got Lamias’ cudgel. I nipped it during his nap.878
MADAM B: That must be the cudgel he uses when he wants to fart.
PRAXAGORA: By Zeus the Savior, if he wore the leather jacket
of the giant Argus with a hundred eyes879 he’d be ripe
for summary execution. . . . But we’ve still got quite a packet
to get through while the stars are shining, so let’s start.
Parliament is due to meet at dawn.
MADAM A: Ye gods, you’re right!
We’d better make sure of our seats under the Speaker’s Platform
facing the Chairman.
MADAM B: [producing a basket of wool]
I’m jolly glad I brought my carder with me:
I’ll get some wool carded while the Assembly’s coming in.
PRAXAGORA: While they’re coming in? Don’t be silly.
MADAM B: Not at all silly. Carding doesn’t stop my listening.
My children can’t exactly go about naked.
PRAXAGORA: Well, I never! What good is dressing up as a man
if you’re going to sit there carding wool?
Not to mention the fact that it would be pretty awkward
if in full view of everybody from town
some female has to go clambering over them,
pulling her skirts up and revealing her you know what.
So we’d better make sure of being in our seats on time
and no one will twig the reason we’re swaddled tight.880
And when they see the beards we’ve managed to fix on,
whoever’s going to know that we’re not men?
A good example is Agyrrhius,881 who’s really a woman
but gets away with being a man by dint of wearing
the beard of Pronomos,882 and now, if you please, is strutting
up there in the highest echelons of the city.
If he can do it, I swear by this dawning day
that we, too, can carry out a coup and essay
something worthwhile for our city.
As things are, we lie stuck in the doldrums
with power of neither sail nor oar.
MADAM A: And how, pray, can a congregation of women
hope to address an audience of men?
PRAXAGORA: Famously, if you want to know.
It’s said that the young men who’ve been most thoroughly
squashed
are the ones who express themselves with the greatest juice,
and that, because of our natures, is exactly the case with us.
MADAM A: About that, I have qualms. It’s inexperience that numbs.
PRAXAGORA: That’s precisely why we’re here. This is a rehearsal
of what we’re going to say when we’re there.
But it’s time for you to get your beard on—the others, too.
I expect they’ve been practicing on how to waffle.
MADAM A: Waffle? There isn’t a woman here who can’t do that.
PRAXAGORA: Then fix your beard on and be a male.
I’ll set these wreaths aside for myself in case I speak.
MADAM B: [Putting on her beard and holding up a mirror.] Praxagora sweetie, how silly I look.
PRAXAGORA: Silly? I don’t see why.
MADAM A: Well, isn’t my dial like a plateful of calamaries?
PRAXAGORA: [marshaling the women]
Let the celebrant circulate with the sacrificial cat.883
The rest of you move into the sanctuary. . . . Ariphrades,884
stop jabbering . . . and take your places. . . .
Who wants to say her bit?
MADAM A: I do.
PRAXAGORA: Then put on the wreath, and good luck to you.
MADAM A: Ready?
PRAXAGORA: Start.
MADAM A: What, without a drink first?
PRAXAGORA: A drink?
MADAM A: Why else, dearie, do I have a wreath on?
PRAXAGORA: Get off the rostrum. You’d shame us at the Parliament
proper.
MADAM A: You mean they don’t drink in the Parliament proper?
PRAXAGORA: Just listen to you: “Don’t they drink?”
MADAM A: They drink all right, swill it down, and when you think
of the wacky decrees they promulgate, they really must be
sozzled to the brim. How d’you suppose they don’t drink
when the wine’s flowing and they’re making toasts
and bawling at one another in their cups till the police arrive
and cart away the sodden blokes?
PRAXAGORA: Please go and sit down. You’re simply too naive.
MADAM A: But it’s true. Meanwhile this beard’s reducing me to
nought
and I’m suffering from drought.
PRAXAGORA: Would anyone else like to spout?
MADAM B: I would.
PRAXAGORA: Put on the wreath then. Things are going fine. Be forceful, bang your stick, and rant away like a man.
MADAM B: Oh dear, I’d much rather that speechifying
was left to one of the experts and I be left alone.
However, I don’t mind saying
that my vote is for abolishing barrels of water
in the bars. It’s a damn bad idea, I swear
by Persephone and Demeter.
PRAXAGORA: By Persephone and Demeter? You nincompoop, where’s your brain?
MADAM B: What’s the matter? I wasn’t asking for wine.
PRAXAGORA: I know, but you swore by Persephone and Demeter885
when you’re supposed to be a man.
The rest of what you said was nonsense, too.
MADAM B: Honestly, by Apollo . . . !
PRAXAGORA: You’ve said enough. Give me the wreath. I’m finished with being a woman in Parliament if we don’t do things right.
&n
bsp; MADAM B: Give me the wreath back. I want to speak again. The whole thing’s clear to me now, good ladies assembled here. . . .
PRAXAGORA: Another blooper! You’re supposed to be speaking to men.
MADAM B: It’s because I caught a glimpse of Epigonus over there886
and naturally thought I was talking to women.
[PRAXAGORA seizes the Speaker’s wreath and mounts the rostrum.]
PRAXAGORA: You buzz off and get back to your chair. It’s obvious from your performance, my poor dear, that I must assume the wreath and make a speech. So let me beg the gods to bring to fruition whatever we may decide in today’s resolution. My concern for the welfare of this State is no less than your own. And I’m upset
and not a little peeved by what is going on
in our city, because without the slightest doubt
she elects for her leaders the worst of men,
and if any of them manage to be honest for a single day
he’ll prove himself the worst of scoundrels for ten.
Then the search begins for someone who is better
and he turns out to be an even greater shyster.
It isn’t easy, of course, to reason with men
as unreasonable as you Athenians, who shun
those who want to help them and go after
those who don’t. Once upon a time, we women never
convened assemblies but at least we always knew
that Agyrrhius was a rascal, and now we do887
convene them, and the people who draw a salary think he’s
marvelous,
while those who don’t think those who do are fit for the noose.
MADAM A: [to the sound of clapping] Bravo, by Aphrodite!
PRAXAGORA: Pathetic! Swearing by Aphrodite!
Wouldn’t that go down well in Parliament!
MADAM A: I’d not have said it there.
PRAXAGORA: Then don’t get used to saying it here. . . . As for the
alliance,888
when it was mooted, the people were vociferous,
claiming that if we didn’t confirm it the city
would come to a stop, but when we did confirm it finally
the people were glum, and those who had enthusiastically
supported it had to flee.
Meanwhile, we really ought to have a fleet.889
The rich man and the farmer vote no, the pauper votes yes,
and everyone’s furious with the Corinthians and they with us.
They’re really decent people, so we should be, too.
The Argives are idiots though Hieronymus is shrewd,
and every now and then a light comes into view
only to be scotched by Thrasybulus, who’s in a rage
because no one ever asked him to take charge.890
[after another burst of clapping]
Thanks. Thanks for your approval, but you the people
have landed us in this muddle,
because though drawing your salaries from the taxpayer’s purse
every one of you is out for himself, and of course,
all semblance of public spirit dwindles,
just as you see poor old General Aesimus dwindle.891
But if you pay attention to me you’ll soon see
a solution to your puzzle.
My proposal is that the management of the city
be handed over to us women. After all,
it’s we women who already
look after our households and finances.
MADAM B: Hear, hear! Spot on!
MADAM A: Please continue, my good man.
PRAXAGORA: You see, they’re absolutely better than we men. To begin with, they dye their wool in boiling water, every one of them, just as they’ve always done. Which the Athenian government’s disallowed—the dunces—though this worked really fine, in favor of some newfangled innovation, and all the while the women go on with their cooking just as usual, and just as usual carry burdens on their heads, and celebrate the Thesmophoria festival, just as they’ve always done, and bake breads, just as they’ve always done, and drive their men up the pole, just as they’ve always done, and hide away their lovers, just as they’ve always done, and treat themselves to titbits, just as they’ve always done,
and drink their wine as usual, just as they’ve always done,
and enjoy their fucking, just as they’ve always done. . . .
Wherefore, my good fellows, let us let the women
take control of the government of our city,
and don’t let’s argy-bargy about the way they do it,
but let them just get on with it, provided only
that their first concern is to shield our soldiers,
just as our second is—wouldn’t you agree?—
to send them generous food parcels because you love them.
Nobody compares with women as money raisers
and once in power no one will ever get away
with cheating them—not a bit of it—for they
themselves are masters of the art. . . . I won’t go on
with details. If you’ll just accept my proposition,
you’ll live a life of blissfullest abandon.
MADAM B: Praxagora, you sweetie pie, what you say
is so impressive. Wherever did you learn to speak that way?
PRAXAGORA: From listening to the speakers on the Pnyx when
I lived there with my husband during the Spartan invasion.
MADAM A: Then I’m not surprised, my dear,
that you’ve learned to be so formidable and so shrewd.
What’s more, we fellow women will appoint you our commander
in chief
in this enterprise of yours if we succeed.
But what if that clever speaker Cephalus892
makes mincemeat of you in Parliament and you come to grief?
How will you deal with his abuse?
PRAXAGORA: I’ll inform him that he’s bonkers and obtuse.
MADAM A: Yes, we all know that as well as you.
PRAXAGORA: I’ll tell him he’s a manic-depressive.
MADAM A: We know that, too.
PRAXAGORA: Then I’ll tell him that one who’s such a massive
flop at making pottery will make a shoddy city.
MADAM A: There’s cross-eyed Neocleides, too.893 What if he disapproves of you?
PRAXAGORA: Pray direct your gaze, I’ll say, up a dog’s behind.
MADAM A: But what if they attempt to screw you?
PRAXAGORA: In screwing, I know a thing or two—I’ll screw.
MADAM A: But there’s something you must bear in mind.
What will you do if the police pin you down?
PRAXAGORA: I’ll jab them with my elbow, so. They won’t get near enough for a clinch.
LEADER: And if they carry you off I have a hunch
we’ll just tell them to set you down again.
MADAM A: So we’ve got it all well arranged
except for one thing. When we vote, how can we be certain
to raise our hands when we’re so used to raising our legs?
PRAXAGORA: That’s a stiff one! But remember this at least.
Free your arm when you vote and raise your fist.
Now let’s get on with things.
Hitch up your skirts right away and put on your boots—
the way you see your husband do when he goes off
to Parliament or some mission. And when that’s done
fix on your beards—making sure that your beard fits—
put on the manly cloaks you filched, pick up your staff,
and start to sing a good old farmers’ song.
LEADER: Excellent advice.
PRAXAGORA: Other women’ll be arriving from the country, so hurry on
and get ahead of them.894 It would be nice
to reach the Pnyx before them. Otherwise at dawn,
when this whole show is over and done,
&n
bsp; you’ll go home with not so much as a clothes peg to your name.
[PRAXAGORA leaves together with MADAM A and MADAM B.]
LEADER: It’s time for us, you fellows, to press on
and never let us forget that that is what we are.
The risk of getting caught is not a trifling danger,
togged up as we are for a bold and dark affair.
STROPHE
CHORUS:
Come on, you fellows, it’s time we were off. The magistrate
Just now has sounded the summons
And if you arrive too late
Though you be covered in dust
And garlic and soup were your breakfast,
And your eyes are sharp as lemons,
You’ll miss your three obols a day.
Hullo, Charímedes! Hey,
Smithycus and Draces!895
Hurry yourselves along
Taking care that no
Discord comes among you
And undermines our mission
And the part we’re taking on.
When we reach our stands
We’ll stick together like glue
Ready to raise our hands
Supporting every issue
We are pushing as women.
Whoops! What am I saying?
I should have said “as men.”
ANTISTROPHE
Let’s give the Parliament men from town a rough time.
They never bothered before today
To show up here and come
When an obol was the pay.
They sat in the shops that sell wreaths
Passing the hour of the day.
But now they’re fighting for seats.
Not once in the time
Of Myronides the Great896
(A golden age) would they
Have had the face to take
On the affairs of State
For a stash of paltry cash.
Everyone would come
With his little bag of lunch:
Bread and something to drink,
Two onions and three olives.
Today they’d make a stink
If they didn’t get three obols
For ministering to the people
And doing what is noble.
[The CHORUS retires and the old man BLEPYRUS enters. He is wearing slippers and a woman’s slip.]
BLEPYRUS: Where’s my wife? What’s going on? It’s nearly dawn
