by Aristophanes
MNESILOCHUS. Bring as many as you like. But answer me; are you the mother of this brat?
SIXTH WOMAN. I carried it ten months.
MNESILOCHUS. You carried it?
SIXTH WOMAN. I swear it by Artemis.
MNESILOCHUS. How much does it hold? Three cotylae? Tell me.
SIXTH WOMAN. Oh! what have you done? You have stripped the poor child quite naked, and it is so small, so small.
MNESILOCHUS. So small?
SIXTH WOMAN. Yes, quite small, to be sure.
MNESILOCHUS. How old is it? Has it seen the feast of cups thrice or four times?
SIXTH WOMAN. It was born about the time of the last Dionysia. But give it back to me.
MNESILOCHUS. No, may Apollo bear me witness.
SIXTH WOMAN. Well, then we are going to burn him.
MNESILOCHUS. Burn me, but then I shall rip this open instantly.
SIXTH WOMAN. No, no, I adjure you, don’t; do anything you like to me rather than that.
MNESILOCHUS. What a tender mother you are; but nevertheless I shall rip it open. (Tears open the wine-skin.)
SIXTH WOMAN. Oh, my beloved daughter! Mania, hand me the sacred cup, that
I may at least catch the blood of my child.
MNESILOCHUS. Hold it below; ’tis the sole favour I grant you.
SIXTH WOMAN. Out upon you, you pitiless monster!
MNESILOCHUS. This robe belongs to the priestess.
SIXTH WOMAN. What belongs to the priestess?
MNESILOCHUS. Here, take it. (Throws her the Cretan robe.)
SEVENTH WOMAN. Ah! unfortunate Mica! who has robbed you of your daughter, your beloved child?
SIXTH WOMAN. That wretch. But as you are here, watch him well, while I go with Clisthenes to the Prytanes and denounce him for his crimes.
MNESILOCHUS. Ah! how can I secure safety? what device can I hit on? what can I think of? He whose fault it is, he who hurried me into this trouble, will not come to my rescue. Let me see, whom could I best send to him? Ha! I know a means taken from Palamedes; like him, I will write my misfortune on some oars, which I will cast into the sea. But there are no oars here. Where might I find some? Where indeed? Bah! what if I took these statues instead of oars, wrote upon them and then threw them towards this side and that. ’Tis the best thing to do. Besides, like oars they are of wood. Oh! my hands, keep up your courage, for my safety is at stake. Come, my beautiful tablets, receive the traces of my stylus and be the messengers of my sorry fate. Oh! oh! this B looks miserable enough! Where is it running to then? Come, off with you in all directions, to the right and to the left; and hurry yourselves, for there’s much need indeed!
CHORUS. Let us address ourselves to the spectators to sing our praises, despite the fact that each one says much ill of women. If the men are to be believed, we are a plague to them; through us come all their troubles, quarrels, disputes, sedition, griefs and wars. But if we are truly such a pest, why marry us? Why forbid us to go out or show ourselves at the window? You want to keep this pest, and take a thousand cares to do it. If your wife goes out and you meet her away from the house, you fly into a fury. Ought you not rather to rejoice and give thanks to the gods? for if the pest has disappeared, you will no longer find it at home. If we fall asleep at friends’ houses from the fatigue of playing and sporting, each of you comes prowling round the bed to contemplate the features of this pest. If we seat ourselves at the window, each one wants to see the pest, and if we withdraw through modesty, each wants all the more to see the pest perch herself there again. It is thus clear that we are better than you, and the proof of this is easy. Let us find out which is worse of the two sexes. We say, “’Tis you,” while you aver, ’tis we. Come, let us compare them in detail, each individual man with a woman. Charminus is not equal to Nausimaché, that’s certain. Cleophon is in every respect inferior to Salabaccho. ’Tis long now since any of you has dared to contest the prize with Aristomaché, the heroine of Marathon, or with Stratonicé.
Among the last year’s Senators, who have just yielded their office to other citizens, is there one who equals Eubulé? Therefore we maintain that men are greatly our inferiors. You see no woman who has robbed the State of fifty talents rushing about the city in a magnificent chariot; our greatest peculations are a measure of corn, which we steal from our husbands, and even then we return it them the very same day. But we could name many amongst you who do quite as much, and who are, even more than ourselves, gluttons, parasites, cheats and kidnappers of slaves. We know how to keep our property better than you. We still have our cylinders, our beams, our baskets and our sunshades; whereas many among you have lost the wood of your spears as well as the iron, and many others have cast away their bucklers on the battlefield.
There are many reproaches we have the right to bring against men. The most serious is this, that the woman, who has given birth to a useful citizen, whether taxiarch or strategus should receive some distinction; a place of honour should be reserved for her at the Sthenia, the Scirophoria, and the other festivals that we keep. On the other hand, she of whom a coward was born or a worthless man, a bad trierarch or an unskilful pilot, should sit with shaven head, behind her sister who had borne a brave man. Oh! citizens! is it just, that the mother of Hyperbolus should sit dressed in white and with loosened tresses beside that of Lamachus and lend out money on usury? He, who may have done a deal of this nature with her, so far from paying her interest, should not even repay the capital, saying, “What, pay you interest? after you have given us this delightful son?”
MNESILOCHUS. I have contracted quite a squint by looking round for him, and yet Euripides does not come. Who is keeping him? No doubt he is ashamed of his cold Palamedes. What will attract him? Let us see! By which of his pieces does he set most store? Ah! I’ll imitate his Helen, his lastborn. I just happen to have a complete woman’s outfit.
SEVENTH WOMAN. What are you ruminating over now again? Why are you rolling up your eyes? You’ll have no reason to be proud of your Helen, if you don’t keep quiet until one of the Prytanes arrives.
MNESILOCHUS (as Helen). “These shores are those of the Nile with the beautiful nymphs, these waters take the place of heaven’s rain and fertilize the white earth, that produces the black syrmea.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. By bright Hecaté, you’re a cunning varlet.
MNESILOCHUS. “Glorious Sparta is my country and Tyndareus is my father.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. He your father, you rascal! Why, ’tis Phrynondas.
MNESILOCHUS. “I was given the name of Helen.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. What! you are again becoming a woman, before we have punished you for having pretended it a first time!
MNESILOCHUS. “A thousand warriors have died on my account on the banks of the Scamander.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. Why have you not done the same?
MNESILOCHUS. “And here I am upon these shores; Menelaus, my unhappy husband, does not yet come. Ah! how life weighs upon me! Oh! ye cruel crows, who have not devoured my body! But what sweet hope is this that sets my heart a-throb? Oh, Zeus! grant it may not prove a lying one!”
EURIPIDES (as Menelaus). “To what master does this splendid palace belong? Will he welcome strangers who have been tried on the billows of the sea by storm and shipwreck?”
MNESILOCHUS. “This is the palace of Proteus.”
EURIPIDES. “Of what Proteus?”
SEVENTH WOMAN. Oh! the thrice cursed rascal! how he lies! By the goddesses, ’tis ten years since Proteas died.
EURIPIDES. “What is this shore whither the wind has driven our boat?”
MNESILOCHUS. “It’s Egypt.”
EURIPIDES. “Alas! how far we are from our own country!”
SEVENTH WOMAN. But don’t believe that cursed fool. This is Demeter’s
Temple.
EURIPIDES. “Is Proteus in these parts?”
SEVENTH WOMAN. Ah, now, stranger, it must be sea-sickness that makes you so distraught! You have been told that Proteas is dead, and yet you
ask if he is in these parts.
EURIPIDES. “He is no more! Oh! woe! where lie his ashes?”
MNESILOCHUS. ’Tis on his tomb you see me sitting.
SEVENTH WOMAN. You call an altar a tomb! Beware of the rope!
EURIPIDES. “And why remain sitting on this tomb, wrapped in this long veil, oh, stranger lady?”
MNESILOCHUS. “They want to force me to marry a son of Proteus.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. Ah! wretch, why tell such shameful lies? Stranger, this is a rascal who has slipped in amongst us women to rob us of our trinkets.
MNESILOCHUS (to Seventh Woman) “Shout! load me with your insults, for little care I.”
EURIPIDES. “Who is the old woman who reviles you, stranger lady?”
MNESILOCHUS. “’Tis Theonoé, the daughter of Proteus.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. I! Why, my name’s Critylla, the daughter of Antitheus, of the deme of Gargettus; as for you, you are a rogue.
MNESILOCHUS. “Your entreaties are vain. Never shall I wed your brother; never shall I betray the faith I owe my husband Menelaus, who is fighting before Troy.”
EURIPIDES. “What are you saying? Turn your face towards me.”
MNESILOCHUS. “I dare not; my cheeks show the marks of the insults I have been forced to suffer.”
EURIPIDES “Oh! great gods! I cannot speak, for very emotion…. Ah! what do I see? Who are you?”
MNESILOCHUS. “And you, what is your name? for my surprise is as great as yours.”
EURIPIDES. “Are you Grecian or born in this country?”
MNESILOCHUS. “I am Grecian. But now your name, what is it?”
EURIPIDES. “Oh! how you resemble Helen!”
MNESILOCHUS. And you Menelaus, if I can judge by those pot-herbs.
EURIPIDES. “You are not mistaken, ’tis that unfortunate mortal who stands before you.”
MNESILOCHUS. “Ah! how you have delayed coming to your wife’s arms! Press me to your heart, throw your arms about me, for I wish to cover you with kisses. Carry me away, carry me away, quick, quick, far, very far from here.”
SEVENTH WOMAN. By the goddesses, woe to him who would carry you away! I should thrash him with my torch.
EURIPIDES. “Do you propose to prevent me from taking my wife, the daughter of Tyndareus, to Sparta?”
SEVENTH WOMAN You seem to me to be a cunning rascal too; you are in collusion with this man, and ’twas not for nothing that you kept babbling about Egypt. But the hour for punishment has come; here is the magistrate come with his archer.
EURIPIDES. This grows awkward. Let me hide myself.
MNESILOCHUS. And what is to become of me, poor unfortunate man?
EURIPIDES. Be at ease. I shall never abandon you, as long as I draw breath and one of my numberless artifices remains untried.
MNESILOCHUS. The fish has not bitten this time.
THE PRYTANIS. Is this the rascal of whom Clisthenes told us? Why are you trying to make yourself so small? Archer, arrest him, fasten him to the post, then take up your position there and keep guard over him. Let none approach him. A sound lash with your whip for him who attempts to break the order.
SEVENTH WOMAN. Excellent, for just now a rogue almost took him from me.
MNESILOCHUS. Prytanis, in the name of that hand which you know so well how to bend, when money is placed in it, grant me a slight favour before I die.
PRYTANIS. What favour?
MNESILOCHUS. Order the archer to strip me before lashing me to the post; the crows, when they make their meal on the poor old man, would laugh too much at this robe and head-dress.
PRYTANIS. ’Tis in that gear that you must be exposed by order of the
Senate, so that your crime may be patent to the passers-by.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! cursed robe, the cause of all my misfortune! My last hope is thus destroyed!
CHORUS. Let us now devote ourselves to the sports which the women are accustomed to celebrate here, when time has again brought round the mighty Mysteries of the great goddesses, the sacred days which Pauson himself honours by fasting and would wish feast to succeed feast, that he might keep them all holy. Spring forward with a light step, whirling in mazy circles; let your hands interlace, let the eager and rapid dancers sway to the music and glance on every side as they move. Let the chorus sing likewise and praise the Olympian gods in their pious transport.
’Tis wrong to suppose that, because I am a woman and in this Temple, I am going to speak ill of men; but since we want something fresh, we are going through the rhythmic steps of the round dance for the first time.
Start off while you sing to the god of the lyre and to the chaste goddess armed with the bow. Hail! thou god who flingest thy darts so far, grant us the victory! The homage of our song is also due to Heré, the goddess of marriage, who interests herself in every chorus and guards the approach to the nuptial couch. I also pray Hermes, the god of the shepherds, and Pan and the beloved Graces to bestow a benevolent smile upon our songs.
Let us lead off anew, let us double our zeal during our solemn days, and especially let us observe a close fast; let us form fresh measures that keep good time, and may our songs resound to the very heavens. Do thou, oh divine Bacchus, who art crowned with ivy, direct our chorus; ’tis to thee that both my hymns and my dances are dedicated; oh, Evius, oh, Bromius, oh, thou son of Semelé, oh, Bacchus, who delightest to mingle with the dear choruses of the nymphs upon the mountains, and who repeatest, while dancing with them, the sacred hymn, Evius, Evius, Evoe. Echo, the nymph of Cithaeron returns thy words, which resound beneath the dark vaults of the thick foliage and in the midst of the rocks of the forest; the ivy enlaces thy brow with its tendrils charged with flowers.
SCYTHIAN ARCHER. You shall stay here in the open air to wail.
MNESILOCHUS. Archer, I adjure you.
SCYTHIAN. ’Tis labour lost.
MNESILOCHUS. Loosen the wedge a little.
SCYTHIAN. Aye, certainly.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! by the gods! why, you are driving it in tighter.
SCYTHIAN. Is that enough?
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! la, la! oh! la, la! May the plague take you!
SCYTHIAN. Silence! you cursed old wretch! I am going to get a mat to lie upon, so as to watch you close at hand at my ease.
MNESILOCHUS. Ah! what exquisite pleasures Euripides is securing for me! But, oh, ye gods! oh, Zeus the Deliverer, all is not yet lost! I don’t believe him the man to break his word; I just caught sight of him appearing in the form of Perseus, and he told me with a mysterious sign to turn myself into Andromeda. And in truth am I not really bound? ’Tis certain, then, that he is coming to my rescue; for otherwise he would not have steered his flight this way.
EURIPIDES (as Perseus). Oh Nymphs, ye virgins who are dear to me, how am I to approach him? how can I escape the sight of this Scythian? And Echo, thou who reignest in the inmost recesses of the caves, oh! favour my cause and permit me to approach my spouse.
MNESILOCHUS (as Andromeda). A pitiless ruffian has chained up the most unfortunate of mortal maids. Alas! I had barely escaped the filthy claws of an old fury, when another mischance overtook me! This Scythian does not take his eye off me and he has exposed me as food for the crows. Alas! what is to become of me, alone here and without friends! I am not seen mingling in the dances nor in the games of my companions, but heavily loaded with fetters I am given over to the voracity of a Glaucetes. Sing no bridal hymn for me, oh women, but rather the hymn of captivity, and in tears. Ah! how I suffer! great gods! how I suffer! Alas! alas! and through my own relatives too! My misery would make Tartarus dissolve into tears! Alas! in my terrible distress, I implore the mortal who first shaved me and depilated me, then dressed me in this long robe, and then sent me to this Temple into the midst of the women, to save me. Oh, thou pitiless Fate! I am then accursed, great gods! Ah! who would not be moved at the sight of the appalling tortures under which I succumb? Would that the blazing shaft of the lightning would wither… this barbarian for me! (pointing to the Scythia
n archer) for the immortal light has no further charm for my eyes since I have been descending the shortest path to the dead, tied up, strangled, and maddened with pain.
EURIPIDES (as Echo). Hail! beloved girl. As for your father, Cepheus, who has exposed you in this guise, may the gods annihilate him.
MNESILOCHUS (as Andromeda). And who are you whom my misfortunes have moved to pity?
EURIPIDES. I am Echo, the nymph who repeats all she hears. ’Tis I, who last year lent my help to Euripides in this very place. But, my child, give yourself up to the sad laments that belong to your pitiful condition.
MNESILOCHUS. And you will repeat them?
EURIPIDES. I will not fail you. Begin.
MNESILOCHUS. “Oh! thou divine Night! how slowly thy chariot threads its way through the starry vault, across the sacred realms of the Air and mighty Olympus.”
EURIPIDES. Mighty Olympus.
MNESILOCHUS. “Why is it necessary that Andromeda should have all the woes for her share?”
EURIPIDES. For her share.
MNESILOCHUS. “Sad death!”
EURIPIDES. Sad death!
MNESILOCHUS. You weary me, old babbler.
EURIPIDES. Old babbler.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! you are too unbearable.
EURIPIDES. Unbearable.
MNESILOCHUS. Friend, let me talk by myself. Do please let me. Come, that’s enough.
EURIPIDES. That’s enough.
MNESILOCHUS. Go and hang yourself!
EURIPIDES. Go and hang yourself!
MNESILOCHUS. What a plague!
EURIPIDES. What a plague!
MNESILOCHUS. Cursed brute!
EURIPIDES. Cursed brute!
MNESILOCHUS. Beware of blows!
EURIPIDES. Beware of blows!
SCYTHIAN. Hullo! what are you jabbering about?
EURIPIDES. What are you jabbering about?
SCYTHIAN. I go to call the Prytanes.
EURIPIDES. I go to call the Prytanes.
SCYTHIAN. This is odd!
EURIPIDES. This is odd!
SCYTHIAN. Whence comes this voice?
EURIPIDES. Whence comes this voice.
SCYTHIAN. Ah! beware!
EURIPIDES. Ah! beware!
SCYTHIAN (to Mnesilochus). Are you mocking me?
