The Complete Plays

by Aristophanes

  PISTHETAERUS. Ah! I was nearly forgetting another condition. I will leave

  Heré to Zeus, but only if the young Basileia is given me in marriage.

  POSIDON. Then you don’t want peace. Let us withdraw.

  PISTHETAERUS. It matters mighty little to me. Cook, look to the gravy.

  HERACLES. What an odd fellow this Posidon is! Where are you off to? Are we going to war about a woman?

  POSIDON. What else is there to do?

  HERACLES. What else? Why, conclude peace.

  POSIDON. Oh! the ninny! do you always want to be fooled? Why, you are seeking your own downfall. If Zeus were to die, after having yielded them the sovereignty, you would be ruined, for you are the heir of all the wealth he will leave behind.

  PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by the gods! how he is cajoling you. Step aside, that I may have a word with you. Your uncle is getting the better of you, my poor friend. The law will not allow you an obolus of the paternal property, for you are a bastard and not a legitimate child.

  HERACLES. I a bastard! What’s that you tell me?

  PISTHETAERUS. Why, certainly; are you not born of a stranger woman? Besides, is not Athené recognized as Zeus’ sole heiress? And no daughter would be that, if she had a legitimate brother.

  HERACLES. But what if my father wished to give me his property on his death-bed, even though I be a bastard?

  PISTHETAERUS. The law forbids it, and this same Posidon would be the first to lay claim to his wealth, in virtue of being his legitimate brother. Listen; thus runs Solon’s law: “A bastard shall not inherit, if there are legitimate children; and if there are no legitimate children, the property shall pass to the nearest kin.”

  HERACLES. And I get nothing whatever of the paternal property?

  PISTHETAERUS. Absolutely nothing. But tell me, has your father had you entered on the registers of his phratria?

  HERACLES. No, and I have long been surprised at the omission.

  PISTHETAERUS. What ails you, that you should shake your fist at heaven? Do you want to fight it? Why, be on my side, I will make you a king and will feed you on bird’s milk and honey.

  HERACLES. Your further condition seems fair to me. I cede you the young damsel.

  POSIDON. But I, I vote against this opinion.

  PISTHETAERUS. Then all depends on the Triballian. (To the Triballian.)

  What do you say?

  TRIBALLUS. Big bird give daughter pretty and queen.

  HERACLES. You say that you give her?

  POSIDON. Why no, he does not say anything of the sort, that he gives her; else I cannot understand any better than the swallows.

  PISTHETAERUS. Exactly so. Does he not say she must be given to the swallows?

  POSIDON. Very well! you two arrange the matter; make peace, since you wish it so; I’ll hold my tongue.

  HERACLES. We are of a mind to grant you all that you ask. But come up there with us to receive Basileia and the celestial bounty.

  PISTHETAERUS. Here are birds already cut up, and very suitable for a nuptial feast.

  HERACLES. You go and, if you like, I will stay here to roast them.

  PISTHETAERUS. You to roast them! you are too much the glutton; come along with us.

  HERACLES. Ah! how well I would have treated myself!

  PISTHETAERUS. Let some bring me a beautiful and magnificent tunic for the wedding.

  CHORUS. At Phanae, near the Clepsydra, there dwells a people who have neither faith nor law, the Englottogastors, who reap, sow, pluck the vines and the figs with their tongues; they belong to a barbaric race, and among them the Philippi and the Gorgiases are to be found; ’tis these Englottogastorian Phillippi who introduced the custom all over Attica of cutting out the tongue separately at sacrifices.

  A MESSENGER. Oh, you, whose unbounded happiness I cannot express in words, thrice happy race of airy birds, receive your king in your fortunate dwellings. More brilliant than the brightest star that illumes the earth, he is approaching his glittering golden palace; the sun itself does not shine with more dazzling glory. He is entering with his bride at his side whose beauty no human tongue can express; in his hand he brandishes the lightning, the winged shaft of Zeus; perfumes of unspeakable sweetness pervade the ethereal realms. ’Tis a glorious spectacle to see the clouds of incense wafting in light whirlwinds before the breath of the Zephyr! But here he is himself. Divine Muse! let thy sacred lips begin with songs of happy omen.

  CHORUS. Fall back! to the right! to the left! advance! Fly around this happy mortal, whom Fortune loads with her blessings. Oh! oh! what grace! what beauty! Oh, marriage so auspicious for our city! All honour to this man! ’tis through him that the birds are called to such glorious destinies. Let your nuptial hymns, your nuptial songs, greet him and his Basileia! ’Twas in the midst of such festivities that the Fates formerly united Olympian Here to the King who governs the gods from the summit of his inaccessible throne. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus! Rosy Eros with the golden wings held the reins and guided the chariot; ’twas he, who presided over the union of Zeus and the fortunate Heré. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus!

  PISTHETAERUS. I am delighted with your songs, I applaud your verses. Now celebrate the thunder that shakes the earth, the flaming lightning of Zeus and the terrible flashing thunderbolt.

  CHORUS. Oh, thou golden flash of the lightning! oh, ye divine shafts of flame, that Zeus has hitherto shot forth! Oh, ye rolling thunders, that bring down the rain! ’Tis by the order of our king that ye shall now stagger the earth! Oh, Hymen! ’tis through thee that he commands the universe and that he makes Basileia, whom he has robbed from Zeus, take her seat at his side. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus!

  PISTHETAERUS. Let all the winged tribes of our fellow-citizens follow the bridal couple to the palace of Zeus and to the nuptial couch! Stretch forth your hands, my dear wife! Take hold of me by my wings and let us dance; I am going to lift you up and carry you through the air.

  CHORUS. Oh, joy! Io Paean! Tralala! victory is thine, oh, thou greatest of the gods!

  LYSISTRATA

  Anonymous translation for the Athenian Society, London, 1912

  Originally performed in Athens in 411 BC, this comedy presents an Athenian woman’s remarkable mission to end The Peloponnesian War, by persuading the women of Greece to withhold sexual privileges from their husbands and lovers as a means of forcing the men to negotiate peace. The play is notable for its early representation of sexual relations in a male-dominated society and is of paramount importance in understanding the relationships between men and women in ancient Athens. Lysistrata was produced in the same year as The Women Celebrating the Thesmophoria, another comedy with a focus on gender issues, two years after Athens’ catastrophic defeat in the Sicilian Expedition.

  Aristophanes demonstrates an unusually modern empathy with the female condition, at a time when dramatic poets in Athens still reinforced sexual stereotyping of women as irrational creatures in need of protection from themselves and from others. In the drama, Lysistrata rejects the men’s conduct of the war as she feels there are no real men in Athens that could bring an end to the destruction and waste of lives. She must protect women from their own worst instincts before she can accomplish her primary mission to end the war, so she has to persuade them to forgo sexual activity, even binding them with an oath and later she must rally them with an oracle when they show signs of wavering. She is presented by the playwright as an exceptional woman and by the end of the play she demonstrates her mastery over the men, even the leaders, too.

  Greek vase depiction of women preparing wool, c. 300BC

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  LYSISTRATA

  Monash University’s Graduate Theatre Ensemble’s 2009 production of ‘Lysistrata’

  INTRODUCTION

  The ‘Lysistrata,’ the third and concluding play of the War and Peace series, was not produced till ten years later than its predecessor, the ‘Peace,’ viz. in 411 B.C. It is now the twenty-
first year of the War, and there seems as little prospect of peace as ever. A desperate state of things demands a desperate remedy, and the Poet proceeds to suggest a burlesque solution of the difficulty.

  The women of Athens, led by Lysistrata and supported by female delegates from the other states of Hellas, determine to take matters into their own hands and force the men to stop the War. They meet in solemn conclave, and Lysistrata expounds her scheme, the rigorous application to husbands and lovers of a self-denying ordinance— “we must refrain from the male organ altogether.” Every wife and mistress is to refuse all sexual favours whatsoever, till the men have come to terms of peace. In cases where the women must yield ‘par force majeure,’ then it is to be with an ill grace and in such a way as to afford the minimum of gratification to their partner; they are to lie passive and take no more part in the amorous game than they are absolutely obliged to. By these means Lysistrata assures them they will very soon gain their end. “If we sit indoors prettily dressed out in our best transparent silks and prettiest gewgaws, and with our ‘mottes’ all nicely depilated, their tools will stand up so stiff that they will be able to deny us nothing.” Such is the burden of her advice.

  After no little demur, this plan of campaign is adopted, and the assembled women take a solemn oath to observe the compact faithfully. Meantime as a precautionary measure they seize the Acropolis, where the State treasure is kept; the old men of the city assault the doors, but are repulsed by “the terrible regiment” of women. Before long the device of the bold Lysistrata proves entirely effective, Peace is concluded, and the play ends with the hilarious festivities of the Athenian and Spartan plenipotentiaries in celebration of the event.

  This drama has a double Chorus — of women and of old men, and much excellent fooling is got out of the fight for possession of the citadel between the two hostile bands; while the broad jokes and decidedly suggestive situations arising out of the general idea of the plot outlined above may be “better imagined than described.”

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  LYSISTRATA.

  CALONICÉ. MYRRHINÉ.

  LAMPITO.

  STRATYLLIS.

  A MAGISTRATE.

  CINESIAS.

  A CHILD.

  HERALD OF THE LACEDAEMONIANS.

  ENVOYS OF THE LACEDAEMONIANS.

  POLYCHARIDES.

  MARKET LOUNGERS.

  A SERVANT.

  AN ATHENIAN CITIZEN.

  CHORUS OF OLD MEN.

  CHORUS OF WOMEN.

  SCENE: In a public square at Athens; afterwards before the gates of the Acropolis, and finally within the precincts of the citadel.

  LYSISTRATA

  LYSISTRATA (alone). Ah! if only they had been invited to a Bacchic revelling, or a feast of Pan or Aphrodité or Genetyllis, why! the streets would have been impassable for the thronging tambourines! Now there’s never a woman here-ah! except my neighbour Calonicé, whom I see approaching yonder…. Good day, Calonicé.

  CALONICÉ. Good day, Lysistrata; but pray, why this dark, forbidding face, my dear? Believe me, you don’t look a bit pretty with those black lowering brows.

  LYSISTRATA. Oh! Calonicé, my heart is on fire; I blush for our sex. Men will have it we are tricky and sly….

  CALONICÉ. And they are quite right, upon my word!

  LYSISTRATA. Yet, look you, when the women are summoned to meet for a matter of the last importance, they lie abed instead of coming.

  CALONICÉ. Oh! they will come, my dear; but ’tis not easy, you know, for women to leave the house. One is busy pottering about her husband; another is getting the servant up; a third is putting her child asleep, or washing the brat or feeding it.

  LYSISTRATA. But I tell you, the business that calls them here is far and away more urgent.

  CALONICÉ. And why do you summon us, dear Lysistrata? What is it all about?

  LYSISTRATA. About a big affair.

  CALONICÉ. And is it thick too?

  LYSISTRATA. Yes indeed, both big and great.

  CALONICÉ. And we are not all on the spot!

  LYSISTRATA. Oh! if it were what you suppose, there would be never an absentee. No, no, it concerns a thing I have turned about and about this way and that of many sleepless nights.

  CALONICÉ. It must be something mighty fine and subtle for you to have turned it about so!

  LYSISTRATA. So fine, it means just this, Greece saved by the women!

  CALONICÉ. By women! Why, its salvation hangs on a poor thread then!

  LYSISTRATA. Our country’s fortunes depend on us — it is with us to undo utterly the Peloponnesians….

  CALONICÉ. That would be a noble deed truly!

  LYSISTRATA. To exterminate the Boeotians to a man!

  CALONICÉ. But surely you would spare the eels.

  LYSISTRATA. For Athens’ sake I will never threaten so fell a doom; trust me for that. However, if the Boeotian and Peloponnesian women join us, Greece is saved.

  CALONICÉ. But how should women perform so wise and glorious an achievement, we women who dwell in the retirement of the household, clad in diaphanous garments of yellow silk and long flowing gowns, decked out with flowers and shod with dainty little slippers?

  LYSISTRATA. Nay, but those are the very sheet-anchors of our salvation — those yellow tunics, those scents and slippers, those cosmetics and transparent robes.

  CALONICÉ. How so, pray?

  LYSISTRATA. There is not a man will wield a lance against another …

  CALONICÉ. Quick, I will get me a yellow tunic from the dyer’s.

  LYSISTRATA. … or want a shield.

  CALONICÉ. I’ll run and put on a flowing gown.

  LYSISTRATA. … or draw a sword.

  CALONICÉ. I’ll haste and buy a pair of slippers this instant.

  LYSISTRATA. Now tell me, would not the women have done best to come?

  CALONICÉ. Why, they should have flown here!

  LYSISTRATA. Ah! my dear, you’ll see that like true Athenians, they will do everything too late…. Why, there’s not a woman come from the shoreward parts, not one from Salamis.

  CALONICÉ. But I know for certain they embarked at daybreak.

  LYSISTRATA. And the dames from Acharnae! why, I thought they would have been the very first to arrive.

  CALONICÉ. Theagenes wife at any rate is sure to come; she has actually been to consult Hecaté…. But look! here are some arrivals — and there are more behind. Ah! ha! now what countrywomen may they be?

  LYSISTRATA. They are from Anagyra.

  CALONICÉ. Yes! upon my word, ’tis a levy en masse of all the female population of Anagyra!

  MYRRHINÉ. Are we late, Lysistrata? Tell us, pray; what, not a word?

  LYSISTRATA. I cannot say much for you, Myrrhiné! you have not bestirred yourself overmuch for an affair of such urgency.

  MYRRHINÉ I could not find my girdle in the dark. However, if the matter is so pressing, here we are; so speak.

  LYSISTRATA. No, but let us wait a moment more, till the women of Boeotia arrive and those from the Peloponnese.

  MYRRHINÉ Yes, that is best…. Ah! here comes Lampito.

  LYSISTRATA. Good day, Lampito, dear friend from Lacedaemon. How well and handsome you look! what a rosy complexion! and how strong you seem; why, you could strangle a bull surely!

  LAMPITO. Yes, indeed, I really think I could. ’Tis because I do gymnastics and practise the kick dance.

  LYSISTRATA. And what superb bosoms!

  LAMPITO. La! you are feeling me as if I were a beast for sacrifice.

  LYSISTRATA. And this young woman, what countrywoman is she?

  LAMPITO. She is a noble lady from Boeotia.

  LYSISTRATA. Ah! my pretty Boeotian friend, you are as blooming as a garden.

  CALONICÉ. Yes, on my word! and the garden is so prettily weeded too!

  LYSISTRATA. And who is this?

  LAMPITO. ’Tis an honest woman, by my faith! she comes from Corinth.

  LYSISTRATA. Oh! honest, no doubt th
en — as honesty goes at Corinth.

  LAMPITO. But who has called together this council of women, pray?

  LYSISTRATA. I have.

  LAMPITO. Well then, tell us what you want of us.

  LYSISTRATA. With pleasure, my dear.

  MYRRHINÉ. What is the most important business you wish to inform us about?

  LYSISTRATA. I will tell you. But first answer me one question.

  MYRRHINÉ. What is that?

  LYSISTRATA. Don’t you feel sad and sorry because the fathers of your children are far away from you with the army? For I’ll undertake, there is not one of you whose husband is not abroad at this moment.

  CALONICÉ. Mine has been the last five months in Thrace — looking after

  Eucrates.

  LYSISTRATA. ’Tis seven long months since mine left me for Pylos.

  LAMPITO. As for mine, if he ever does return from service, he’s no sooner back than he takes down his shield again and flies back to the wars.

  LYSISTRATA. And not so much as the shadow of a lover! Since the day the Milesians betrayed us, I have never once seen an eight-inch-long godemiche even, to be a leathern consolation to us poor widows…. Now tell me, if I have discovered a means of ending the war, will you all second me?

  MYRRHINÉ. Yes verily, by all the goddesses, I swear I will, though I have to put my gown in pawn, and drink the money the same day.

  CALONICÉ. And so will I, though I must be split in two like a flat-fish, and have half myself removed.

  LAMPITO. And I too; why, to secure Peace, I would climb to the top of

  Mount Taygetus.

  LYSISTRATA. Then I will out with it at last, my mighty secret! Oh! sister women, if we would compel our husbands to make peace, we must refrain….

  MYRRHINÉ. Refrain from what? tell us, tell us!

  LYSISTRATA. But will you do it?

  MYRRHINÉ. We will, we will, though we should die of it.

  LYSISTRATA. We must refrain from the male organ altogether…. Nay, why do you turn your backs on me? Where are you going? So, you bite your lips, and shake your heads, eh? Why these pale, sad looks? why these tears? Come, will you do it — yes or no? Do you hesitate?