Aristophanes: The Complete Plays

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