The Ecclesiazusae
Dramatis Personae
- PRAXAGORA
- Two Women
- Blepyrus, husband of Praxagora
- A Citizen
- Chremes
- A Crier
- Three Hags
- A Girl
- A Youth
- A Servant-Maid of Praxagora
- Chorus of Women
The stage represents an Athenian street, with three houses in the background, the houses of Blepyrus, Chremes, and the husband of the second woman. The hour is 3 a.m. and the stars are still visible in the sky. A young and delicate woman, clad in masculine attire, is standing in the street, hanging up a lighted lamp in some conspicuous place. The woman is Praxagora, the wife of Blepyrus, who has just left her husband asleep within, and has come out wearing his garments, with his sturdy walking-stick in her hand, and his red Laconian shoes upon her feet. And the lamp is to serve as a signal to other Athenian women who have agreed to meet her here before the break of day. No one is yet in sight: and while she is expecting their arrival, she apostrophizes the lamp in mock-heroic style, using such language as in tragedy might be addressed to the sun or moon or to some divine or heroic personage.
Praxagora. O glowing visage of the earthen lamp, On this conspicuous eminence well-hung— (For through thy fates and lineage will we go, Thou, who, by whirling wheel of potter moulded, Dost with thy nozzle do the sun’s bright duty)— Awake the appointed signal of the flame! Thou only knowest it, and rightly thou, For thou alone, within our chambers standing, Watchest unblamed the mysteries of love. Thine eye, inspector of our amorous sports, Beholdeth all, and no one saith “Begone!” Thou comest, singeing, purifying all The dim recesses which none else may see; And when the garners, stored with corn and wine, By stealth we open, thou dost stand beside us. And though thou knowest all this, thou dost not peach. Therefore our plans will we confide to thee, What at the Scira we resolved to do. Ah, but there’s no one here who should be here. Yet doth it draw towards daybreak; and the Assembly Full soon will meet; and we frail womankind Must take the seats Phrynomachus assigned us (You don’t forget?) and not attract attention. What can the matter be? Perchance their beards Are not stitched on, as our decree commanded, Perchance they found it difficult to steal Their husband’s garments. Stay! I see a lamp Moving this way. I will retire and watch, Lest it should haply be some man approaching!
She conceals herself: enter first woman, with lamp.
1st Woman. It is the hour to start. As I was coming I heard the herald give his second—crow.
Praxagora reappears.
Pr. I have been waiting, watching for you all The whole night long; and now I’ll summon forth My neighbour here, scratching her door so gently As not to rouse her husband.
Enter second woman.
2nd Woman. Yea, I heard (For I was up and putting on my shoes) The stealthy creeping of thy finger-nail. My husband, dear—a Salaminian he— Has all night long been tossing in his bed; Wherefore I could not steal his garb till now.
1st W. O now they are coming! Here’s Cleinarete, Here’s Sostrata, and here’s Philaenete.
Enter seven women.
Semi-Chorus. Come, hurry up: for Glyce vowed a vow That whosoever comes the last shall pay One quart of chickpeas and nine quarts of wine.
1st W. And look! Melistiche, Smicythion’s wife, Wearing her husband’s shoes. She, only she, Has come away, methinks, at ease, unflurried.
2nd W. And look! Geusistrata, the tapster’s wife, In her right hand the torch.
Pr. And now the wives Of Philodoretus and Chaeretades, And many another, hurrying on I see, All that is best and worthiest in the town.
S.Ch. O honey, I’d tremendous work to come. My husband gorged his fill of sprats at supper, And he’s been cough, cough, coughing all night long.
Pr. Well, sit ye down, that I may ask you this, Now that ye’re all assembled: have ye done What at the Scira ’twas resolved to do?
1st W. I have, for one. See, underneath my arms The hair is growing thicker than a copse, As ’twas agreed: and when my husband started Off to the market-place, I’d oil my body And stand all day decocting in the sun.
2nd W. I too have done it: flinging, first of all, The razor out of doors, that so my skin Might grow quite hairy, and unlike a woman.
Pr. But have ye got the beards, which, ’twas determined, Ye all should bring, assembling here to-day?
1st W. I have, by Hecate! Look! a lovely one.
2nd W. And I, much lovelier than Epicrates’s.
Pr. And what say ye?
1st W. They nod assent: they’ve got them.
Pr. The other matters, I perceive, are done. Laconian shoes ye’ve got, and walking-sticks, And the men’s overcloaks, as we desired you.
1st W. O I’ve a splendid club I stole away (See, here it is) from Lamias as he slept.
Pr. O yes, I know: “the clubs he sweltered with.”
1st W. By Zeus the Saviour, he’s the very man To don the skins the All-eyed herdsman wore, And, no man better, tend the—public hangman.
Pr. But now to finish what remains to do While yet the stars are lingering in the sky; For this Assembly, as you know, whereto We all are bound, commences with the dawn.
1st W. And so it does: and we’re to seat ourselves Facing the Prytanes, just below the speakers.
2nd W. See what I’ve brought, dear heart: I mean to do A little spinning while the Assembly fills.
Pr. Fills? miserable woman!
2nd W. Yes, why not? O I can spin and listen just as well. Besides, my little chicks have got no clothes.
Pr. Fancy you spinning! when you must not have The tiniest morsel of your person seen. ’Twere a fine scrape, if when the Assembly’s full, Some woman clambering o’er the seats, and throwing Her cloak awry, should show that she’s a woman. No, if we sit in front and gather round us Our husbands’ garments, none will find us out. Why, when we’ve got our flowing beards on there, Who that beholds us will suppose we’re women? Was not Agyrrhius erst a woman? Yet Now that he wears the beard of Pronomus, He passes for a man, a statesman too. O by yon dawning day, ’tis just for that, We women dare this daring deed to do, If we can seize upon the helm of state And trim the ship to weather through the storm; For neither sails nor oars avail it now.
1st W. How can the female soul of womankind Address the Assembly?
Pr. Admirably well. Youths that are most effeminate, they say, Are always strongest in the speaking line; And we’ve got that by nature.
1st W. Maybe so. Still inexperience is a serious matter.
Pr. And is not that the very reason why We’ve met together to rehearse the scene? Now do make haste and fasten on your beards, And all you others who have practised talking.
1st W. Practised, indeed! can’t every woman talk?
Pr. Come, fasten on your beard, and be a man. I’ll lay these chaplets down, and do the same. Maybe I’ll make a little speech myself.
2nd W. O, here, sweet love, Praxagora: look, child! O what a merry joke this seems to me!
Pr. Joke! where’s the joke?
2nd W. ’Tis just as if we tied A shaggy beard to toasting cuttlefish.
Pr. Now, Purifier carry round the—cat. Come in! Ariphrades, don’t chatter so. Come in, sit down. Who will address the meeting?
1st W. I.
Pr. Wear this chaplet then, and luck be with you.
1st W. There.
Pr. Speak away.
1st W. What, speak before I drink?
Pr. Just listen. Drink?
1st W. Then what’s this chaplet for?
Pr. O get away. Is this what you’d have done Amongst the men?
1st W. What, don’t men drink at meetings?
Pr. Drink, fool?
1st W. By Artemis, I know they do, And strong drink too. Look at the acts they pass. Do you mean to tell me that they’d pass such nonsense If they weren’t drunk? Besides, they pour libations. Or what’s the meaning of those tedious prayers Unless they’d got some wine, I’d like to know. Besides, they quarrel just like drunken men, And when one drinks too much, and gets too noisy, In come the Archer-boys, and run him out.
Pr. Begone and sit you down, for you’re no good.
1st W. Good lack, I wish I’d never worn a beard; I’m parched to death with thirst, I really am.
Pr. Would any other like to speak?
2nd W. Yes, I.
Pr. Put on this chaplet and be quick. Time presses. Now lean your weight upon your walking-stick, And speak your words out manfully and well.
2nd W. I could have wished some more experienced man Had risen to speak, while I sat still and listened. But now I say I’ll not permit, for one, That in their taverns men should make them tanks Of water. ’Tis not proper, by the Twain.1
Pr. How! by the Twain? Girl, have you lost your wits?
2nd W. Why, what’s amiss? I never asked for drink.
Pr. You are a man, and yet invoked the Twain. All else you said was excellently right.
2nd W. O yes, by Apollo!
Pr. Mind then, I won’t move Another step in this Assembly business, Unless you are strict and accurate in this.
2nd W. Give me the chaplet, and I’ll try again. I’ve thought of something very good to say. In my opinion, O assembled women,
Pr. O monstrous! women, idiot, when they’re men?
2nd W. ’Twas all Epigonus: he caught my eye And so, methought ’twas women I harangued.
Pr. You, too, retire and sit you down again, For I myself will wear the chaplet now Your cause to further: and I pray the gods That I may haply prosper our design. I have, my friends, an equal stake with you In this our country, and I grieve to note The sad condition of the State’s affairs. I see the State employing evermore Unworthy ministers; if one do well A single day, he’ll act amiss for ten. You trust another: he’ll be ten times worse. Hard, hard it is to counsel wayward men, Always mistrusting those who love you best, And paying court to those who love you not. There was a time, my friends, we never came To these Assemblies; then we knew full well Agyrrhius was a rogue: we come here now, And he who gets the cash applauds the man, And he who gets it not, protests that they Who come for payment ought to die the death.
1st W. By Aphrodite now, but that’s well said!
Pr. Heavens! Aphrodite! ’Twere a pleasant jest, If in the Assembly you should praise me so!
1st W. Ah, but I won’t.
Pr. Then don’t acquire the habit. This League2 again, when first we talked it over, It seemed the only thing to save the State. Yet when they’d got it, they disliked it. He Who pushed it through was forced to cut and run. Ships must be launched; the poor men all approve, The wealthy men and farmers disapprove. You used to hate Corinthians, and they you; They are friendly now: do you be friendly too. Argeius was a fool: now Jerome’s wise. Safety just showed her face: but Thrasybulus, No more called in, is quite excluded now.
1st W. Here’s a shrewd man!
Pr. Ah, now you praise me rightly. Ye are to blame for this, Athenian people, Ye draw your wages from the public purse, Yet each man seeks his private gain alone. So the State reels, like any Aesimus. Still, if ye trust me, ye shall yet be saved. I move that now the womankind be asked To rule the State. In our own homes, ye know, They are the managers and rule the house.
1st W. O good, good, good! speak on, speak on, dear man.
Pr. That they are better in their ways than we I’ll soon convince you. First, they dye their wools With boiling tinctures, in the ancient style. You won’t find them, I warrant, in a hurry Trying new plans. And would it not have saved The Athenian city had she let alone Things that worked well, nor idly sought things new? They roast their barley, sitting, as of old: They on their heads bear burdens, as of old: They keep their Thesmophoria, as of old: They bake their honied cheesecakes, as of old: They victimize their husbands, as of old: They still secrete their lovers, as of old: They buy themselves sly dainties, as of old: They love their wine unwatered, as of old: They like a woman’s pleasures, as of old: Then let us, gentlemen, give up to them The helm of State, and not concern ourselves, Nor pry, nor question what they mean to do; But let them really govern, knowing this, The statesman-mothers never will neglect Their soldier-sons. And then a soldier’s rations, Who will supply as well as she who bare him? For ways and means none can excel a woman. And there’s no fear at all that they’ll be cheated When they’re in power, for they’re the cheats themselves. Much I omit. But if you pass my motion, You’ll lead the happiest lives that e’er you dreamed of.
1st W. O, good! Praxagora. Well done, sweet wench. However did you learn to speak so finely?
Pr. I and my husband in the general flight Lodged in the Pnyx, and there I heard the speakers.
1st W. Ah, you were clever to some purpose, dear. And if you now succeed in your designs We’ll then and there proclaim you chieftainess. But what if Cephalus, ill fare, insult you, How will you answer him in full Assembly?
Pr. I’ll say he’s frenzied.
1st W. True enough; but all The world know that.
Pr. I’ll say he’s moody-mad.
1st W. They know that too.
Pr. That he’s more fit to tinker The constitution than his pots and pans.
1st W. If Neocleides, blear-eyed oaf, insult you?
Pr. “Peep at a puppy’s tail, my lad,” quoth I.
1st W. What if they interrupt?
Pr. I’ll meet them there, I’m quite accustomed to that sort of thing.
1st W. O but suppose the archers hale you off, What will you do?
Pr. Stick out my elbows, so. They shan’t seize me, the varlets, round my waist.
Semi-Chorus. Aye, and we’ll help: we’ll bid the men let go.
1st W. Then that we’ve settled, wonderfully well. But this we’ve not considered, how to mind We lift our hands, and not our feet, in voting. We’re more for lifting feet than lifting hands.
Pr. A knotty point. However, we must each Hold up one arm, bare from the shoulder, so. Now then, my dears, tuck up your tunics neatly, And slip your feet in those Laconian shoes, Just as ye’ve seen your husbands do, whene’er They’re going out, mayhap to attend the Assembly. And next, so soon as everything is right With shoes and tunics, fasten on your beards, And when ye’ve got them neatly fitted on, Then throw your husbands’ mantles over all, Those which ye stole; and leaning on your sticks Off to the Meeting, piping as ye go Some old man’s song, and mimicking the ways Of country fellows.
1st W. Good! but let ourselves Get on before them: other women soon Will come I know from all the countryside Straight for the Pnyx.
Pr. Be quick, for ’tis the rule That whoso comes not with the early dawn Must slink abashed, with never a doit, away.
Praxagora and first and second women depart; the rest remain and form the chorus.
Semi-Chorus. Time to be moving, gentlemen! ’tis best we keep repeating This name of ours, lest we forget to use it at the Meeting. For terrible the risk would be, if any man detected The great and daring scheme which we in darkness have projected.
Semi-Chorus. On to the Meeting, worthy sirs: for now the magistrate avers That whoever shall fail to Arrive while the dusk of the Morning is grey, All dusty and smacking of Pickle and acid, that Man shall assuredly Forfeit his pay. Now Charitimides, Draces, and Smicythus, Hasten along: See that there fall from you Never a word or a Note that is wrong. Get we our tickets, and Sit we together, and Choose the front rows. Vote we whatever our Sisters propose. Our sisters! My wits are gone gleaning! Our “brothers,” of course, was my meaning.
Enter band of twelve countrywomen.
S.Ch. We’ll thrust aside this bothering throng which from the city crowds along, These men, who aforetime When only an obol they Got for their pay Would sit in the wreath-market, Chatting away. Ah well, in the days of our Noble Myronides None would have stooped Money to take for Attending the meetings, but Hither they trooped, Each with his own little Goatskin of wine, Each with three olives, two Onions, one loaf, in his Wallet, to dine. But now they are set The three-obol to get, And whenever the State business engages, They clamour, like hodmen, for wages.
The chorus leave the orchestra for a time. Enter Blepyrus in his wife’s dress.
Blepyrus. What’s up? Where’s my wife gone? Why, bless the woman, It’s almost daybreak and she can’t be found. Here am I, taken with the gripes abed, Groping about to find my overcloak And shoes i’ the dark; but hang it, they’re gone too: I could not find them anywhere. Meanwhile Easums kept knocking hard at my back-door; So on I put this kirtle of my wife’s, And shove my feet into her Persian slippers. Where’s a convenient place? or shall I say All are alike convenient in the dark? No man can see me here, I am sure of that. Fool that I was, worse luck, to take a wife In my old age. Ought to be thrashed, I ought! ’Tis for no good, I warrant, that she’s out This time of night. However, I can’t wait.
Enter citizen, another husband.
Citizen. Hey-day! who’s this? Not neighbour Blepyrus? Sure and it’s he himself. Why, tell me, man, What’s all that yellow? Do you mean to say You’ve had Cinesias at his tricks again?
Bl. No, no; I wanted to come out, and took This little yellow kirtle of my wife’s.
Ci. But where’s your cloak?
Bl. I’ve not the least idea. I searched amongst the clothes, and ’twasn’t there.
Ci. Did you not ask your wife to find the thing?
Bl. I didn’t. No. For why? She wasn’t there. She’s wormed herself away out of the house; Some revolution in the wind, I fear.
Ci. O by Poseidon, but your case is just The same as mine. My wife has stolen away, And carried off my cloak. And that’s not all, Hang her, she’s carried off my shoes as well: At least I could not find them anywhere.
Bl. No more can I: I could not anywhere Find my Laconians: so, my case being urgent, I shove her slippers on, and out I bolt For fear I soil my blanket; ’twas a clean one.
Ci. What can it be? can any of her gossips Have asked her out to breakfast?
Bl. I expect so. She’s not a bad one: I don’t think she is.
Ci. Why, man, you are paying out a cable: I Must to the Assembly, when I’ve found my cloak, My missing cloak: the only one I’ve got.
Bl. I too, when eased; but now an acrid pear Is blocking up the passage of my food.
Ci. As Thrasybulus told the Spartans, eh?
Exit.
Bl. By Dionysus, but it grips me tight, And that’s not all: whatever shall I do? For how the food I am going to eat hereafter Will find a passage out, I can’t imagine; So firm and close this Acridusian chap Has fastened up its pathway to the door. Who’ll fetch a doctor, and what doctor, here? Which of the pathics knows this business best? Amynon knows: but perhaps he won’t admit it. Fetch, fetch Antisthenes, by all means fetch him. He’s just the man (to judge from his complaints) To know the pangs from which I’m suffering now. Great Eileithyia, let me not remain Thus plugged and barricaded, nor become A public nightstool for the comic stage.
Enter Chremes, the other neighbour.
Chremes. Taking your ease, good neighbour?
Bl. No, I’m not. ’Tis true I have been, but I’ve finished now.
Chr. O, and you’ve got your lady’s kirtle on!
Bl. ’Twas dark indoors: I caught it up by chance. But whence come you?
Chr. I’m coming from the Assembly.
Bl. What, is it over?
Chr. Aye, betimes to-day. And O, dear Zeus, the fun it was to see The way they spattered the vermilion round.
Bl. Got your three-obol?
Chr. No, not I, worse luck. I was too late: I’m carrying home, ashamed, This empty wallet: nothing else at all.
Bl. Why, how was that?
Chr. There gathered such a crowd About the Pnyx, you never saw the like; Such pale-faced fellows; just like shoemakers We all declared; and strange it was to see How pallid-packed the whole Assembly looked. So I and lots of us could get no pay.
Bl. Shall I get any if I run?
Chr. Not you! Not had you been there when the cock was giving Its second crow.
Bl. O weep, Antilochus, Rather for me, the living, than for him, The loved and lost—three-obol. All is gone! Whatever was it though that brought together So vast a crowd so early?
Chr. ’Twas determined To put this question to the assembled people, “How best to save the State.” So first and foremost Came Neocleides, groping up to speak. And all the people shouted out aloud, “What scandal that this blear-eyed oaf, who cannot Save his own eyesight for himself, should dare To come and teach us how to save the State.” But he cried out, and leered around, and said, “What’s to be done?”
Bl. “Pound garlic up with verjuice, Throw in some spurge of the Laconian sort, And rub it on your eyelids every night.” That’s what, had I been present, I’d have said.
Chr. Next came Evaeon, smart accomplished chap, With nothing on, as most of us supposed, But he himself insisted he was clothed. He made a popular democratic speech. “Behold,” says he, “I am myself in want Of cash to save me; yet I know the way To save the citizens, and save the State. Let every clothier give to all that ask Warm woolen robes, when first the sun turns back. No more will pleurisy attack us then. Let such as own no bedclothes and no bed, After they’ve dined, seek out the furriers, there To sleep; and whoso shuts the door against them In wintry weather, shall be fined three blankets.”
Bl. Well said indeed; and never a man would dare To vote against him, had he added this: “That all who deal in grain shall freely give Three quarts to every pauper, or be hanged.” That good, at least, they’d gain from Nausicydes.
Chr. Then, after him, there bounded up to speak A spruce and pale-faced youth, like Nicias. And he declared we ought to place the State Into the hands of (whom do you think?) the women! Then the whole mob of shoemakers began To cheer like mad; whilst all the country folk Hooted and hissed.
Bl. They showed their sense, by Zeus.
Chr. But less their numbers; so the lad went on, Speaking all good of women, but of you Everything bad.
Bl. What?
Chr. First of all he called you An arrant rogue.
Bl. And you?
Chr. Let be, awhile. Also a thief.
Bl. Me only?
Chr. And by Zeus, A sycophant.
Bl. Me only?
Chr. And by Zeus, All our friends here.
Bl. Well, who says nay to that?
Chr. And then the woman is, he said, a thing Stuffed full of wit and moneymaking ways. They don’t betray their Thesmophorian secrets, But you and I blab all State secrets out.
Bl. By Hermes, there at least he told no lie.
Chr. And women lend each other, said the lad, Their dresses, trinkets, money, drinking-cups, Though quite alone, with never a witness there. And all restore the loan, and none withhold it. But men, he said, are always doing this.
Bl. Aye to be sure: though witnesses were there.
Chr. They don’t inform, or prosecute, or put The people down: but everything that’s right. And much, besides, he praised the womankind.
Bl. What was determined?
Chr. You’re to put the State Into their hands. This was the one reform Not yet attempted.
Bl. ’Twas decreed?
Chr. It was.
Bl. So then the women now must undertake All manly duties?
Chr. So I understand.
Bl. Then I shan’t be a dicast, but my wife?
Chr. Nor you support your household, but your wife.
Bl. Nor I get grumbling up in early morn?
Chr. No: for the future that’s your wife’s affair. You’ll lie abed: no grumbling any more.
Bl. But hark ye, ’twould be rough on us old men If, when the women hold the reins of State, They should perforce compel us to—
Chr. Do what?
Bl. Make love to them.
Chr. But if we’re not prepared?
Bl. They’ll dock our breakfasts.
Chr. Therefore learn the way How to make love, and eat your breakfast too.
Bl. Upon compulsion! Faugh!
Chr. If that is for The public good, we needs must all obey. There is a legend of the olden time, That all our foolish plans and vain conceits Are overruled to work the public good. So be it now, high Pallas and ye gods! But I must go. Farewell.
Bl. And farewell, Chremes.
Exeunt.
Enter chorus.
Chorus. Step strong! March along! But search and scan if any man be somewhere following in our rear. Look out! Wheel about! And O be sure that all’s secure; for many are the rogues, I fear. Lest someone, coming up behind us, in this ungodly guise should find us. Be sure you make a clattering sound with both your feet against the ground. For dismal shame and scandal great Will everywhere upon us wait, if our disguise they penetrate. So wrap your garments round you tight, And peep about with all your might, Both here and there and on your right, Or this our plot to save the State will in disaster terminate. Move on, dear friends, move on apace, for now we’re very near the place From whence we started, when we went to join the men in Parliament. And there’s the mansion, full in view, where dwells our lady chieftain, who The wise and noble scheme invented to which the State has just assented. So now no longer must we stay, no longer while the time away, False-bearded with this bristly hair, Lest someone see us and declare our hidden secret everywhere. So draw ye closer, at my call, Beneath the shadow of the wall, And glancing sideways, one and all, Adjust and change your dresses there, and bear the form which erst ye bare. For see the noble lady fair, our chieftainess, approaching there. She’s coming home with eager speed from yon Assembly; take ye heed, And loathe upon your chins to wear that monstrous equipage of hair; For ’neath its tickling mass, I know, they’ve all been smarting long ago.
Praxagora is seen returning from the Assembly. She is still wearing her husband’s garments, and enters the stage alone. We hear no more of the two women who had been her companions there before. And nobody else comes on the stage.
until Blepyrus and Chremes emerge from their respective houses, twenty lines below.
Pr. So far, dear sisters, these our bold designs Have all gone off successfully and well. But now at once, or ere some wight perceive us, Off with your woollens; cast your shoes; unloose The jointed clasp of thy Laconian reins: Discard your staves. Nay, but do you, my dear, Get these in order: I myself will steal Into the house, and ere my husband see me, Put back his overcloak, unnoticed, where I found it, and whatever else I took.
Praxagora retires into her house (the house of Blepyrus) to change her dress, whilst the Chorus change theirs in the orchestra. She almost immediately returns, and henceforth all the women are clothed in their proper habiliments.
Ch. We have done your behest, and as touching the rest, We will do whatsoever you tell us is best. For truly I ween that a woman so keen, Resourceful and subtle we never have seen.
Pr. Then all by my side, as the councillors tried Of the office I hold, be content to abide; For there, in the fuss and hullabaloo, Ye proved yourself women most manly and true.
Enter Blepyrus and Chremes from their respective houses.
Bl. Hallo, Praxagora, whence come you?
Pr. What’s that To you, my man?
Bl. What’s that to me? That’s cool.
Pr. Not from a lover; that you know.
Bl. Perchance From more than one.
Pr. That you can test, directly.
Bl. Marry and how?
Pr. Smell if my hair is perfumed.
Bl. Does not a woman sin unless she’s perfumed?
Pr. I don’t, at all events.
Bl. What made you steal Away so early with my overcloak?
Pr. I was called out ere daybreak, to a friend In pangs of childbirth.
Bl. Why not tell me first, Before you went?
Pr. Not haste to help her in Such straits, my husband?
Bl. After telling me. Something’s wrong there.
Pr. Nay, by the Twain, I went Just as I was; the wench who came besought me To lose no time.
Bl. Is that the reason why You did not put your mantle on? You threw it Over my bed and took my overcloak, And left me lying like a corpse laid out; Only I’d never a wreath, or bottle of oil.
Pr. The night was cold, and I’m so slight and fragile, I took your overcloak to keep me warm. And you I left well snuggled up in warmth And rugs, my husband.
Bl. How came my staff to form One of your party, and my red Laconians?
Pr. I took your shoes to save your overcloak; Aping your walk, stumping with both my feet, And striking down your staff against the stones.
Bl. You’ve lost eight quarts of wheat, I’d have you know, Which the Assembly would have brought me in.
Pr. Well, never mind; she’s got a bonny boy.
Bl. Who? the Assembly has?
Pr. No, fool, the woman. But has it met?
Bl. I told you yesterday ’Twas going to meet.
Pr. O yes, I now remember.
Bl. Have you not heard then what’s decreed?
Pr. No, dear.
Bl. Then sit you down and chew your cuttlefish. The State, they say, is handed over to you!
Pr. What for? To weave?
Bl. No, govern.
Pr. Govern what?
Bl. All the whole work and business of the State.
Pr. O here’s a lucky State, by Aphrodite, We’re going to have!
Bl. How so?
Pr. For many reasons. For now no longer shall bold men be free To shame the city: no more witnessing, No false informing—
Bl. Hang it, don’t do that. Don’t take away my only means of living!
Chr. Pray, sir, be still, and let the lady speak.
Pr. No thefts of overcloaks, no envyings now, None to be poor and naked any more. No wranglings, no distraining on your goods.
Chr. Now, by Poseidon, wondrous news if true.
Pr. Aye and I’ll prove it, so that you’ll support me, And he himself have nought to say against it.
Ch. Now waken your intellect bright, Your soul philosophic, that knows So well for your comrades to fight. For all to our happiness goes The project your tongue will disclose, As with thousands of joys you propose The citizen life to endow. Now show us what things you can do! It is time; for the populace now Requires an original new Experiment; only do you Some novelty bring from your store Never spoken or done heretofore. The audience don’t like to be cheated With humours too often repeated. So come to the point, and at once; for delay Is a thing the spectators detest in a play.
Pr. I’ve an excellent scheme, if you will but believe it; But I cannot be sure how our friends will receive it; Or what they will do, if the old I eschew, And propound them a system erratic and new. This makes me a trifle alarmed and faint-hearted.
Bl. As to that, you may safely be fearless and bold: We adore what is new, and abhor what is old. This rule we retain when all else has departed.
Pr. Then all to the speaker in silence attend, And don’t interrupt till I come to the end, And weigh and perpend, till you quite comprehend, The drift and intent of the scheme I present. The rule which I dare to enact and declare, Is that all shall be equal, and equally share All wealth and enjoyments, nor longer endure That one should be rich, and another be poor, That one should have acres, far-stretching and wide, And another not even enough to provide Himself with a grave: that this at his call Should have hundreds of servants, and that none at all. All this I intend to correct and amend: Now all of all blessings shall freely partake, One life and one system for all men I make.
Bl. And how will you manage it?
Pr. First, I’ll provide That the silver, and land, and whatever beside Each man shall possess, shall be common and free, One fund for the public; then out of it we Will feed and maintain you, like housekeepers true, Dispensing, and sparing, and caring for you.
Bl. With regard to the land, I can quite understand, But how, if a man have his money in hand, Not farms, which you see, and he cannot withhold, But talents of silver and Darics of gold?
Pr. All this to the stores he must bring.
Bl. But suppose He choose to retain it, and nobody knows; Rank perjury doubtless; but what if it be? ’Twas by that he acquired it at first.
Pr. I agree. But now ’twill be useless; he’ll need it no more.
Bl. How mean you?
Pr. All pressure from want will be o’er. Now each will have all that a man can desire, Cakes, barley-loaves, chestnuts, abundant attire, Wine, garlands and fish: then why should he wish The wealth he has gotten by fraud to retain? If you know any reason, I hope you’ll explain.
Bl. ’Tis those that have most of these goods, I believe, That are always the worst and the keenest to thieve.
Pr. I grant you, my friend, in the days that are past, In your old-fashioned system, abolished at last; But what he’s to gain, though his wealth he retain, When all things are common, I’d have you explain.
Bl. If a youth to a girl his devotion would show, He surely must woo her with presents.
Pr. O no. All women and men will be common and free, No marriage or other restraint there will be.
Bl. But if all should aspire to the favours of one, To the girl that is fairest, what then will be done?
Pr. By the side of the beauty, so stately and grand, The dwarf, the deformed, and the ugly will stand; And before you’re entitled the beauty to woo, Your court you must pay to the hag and the shrew.
Bl. For the ladies you’ve nicely provided no doubt; No woman will now be a lover without. But what of the men? For the girls, I suspect, The handsome will choose, and the ugly reject.
Pr. No girl will of course be permitted to mate Except in accord with the rules of the State. By the side of her lover, so handsome and tall, Will be stationed the squat, the ungainly and small. And before she’s entitled the beau to obtain, Her love she must grant to the awkward and plain.
Bl. O then such a nose as Lysicrates shows Will vie with the fairest and best, I suppose.
Pr. O yes, ’tis a nice democratic device, A popular system as ever was tried, A jape on the swells with their rings and their pride. “Now, fopling, away,” Gaffer Hobnail will say, “Stand aside: it is I have precedence to-day.”
Bl. But how, may I ask, will the children be known? And how can a father distinguish his own?
Pr. They will never be known: it can never be told; All youths will in common be sons of the old.
Bl. If in vain to distinguish our children we seek, Pray what will become of the aged and weak? At present I own, though a father be known, Sons throttle and choke him with hearty goodwill; But will they not do it more cheerily still, When the sonship is doubtful?
Pr. No, certainly not. For now if a boy should a parent annoy, The lads who are near will of course interfere; For they may themselves be his children, I wot.
Bl. In much that you say there is much to admire; But what if Leucolophus claim me for sire, Or vile Epicurus? I think you’ll agree That a great and unbearable nuisance ’twould be.
Chr. A nuisance much greater than this might befall you.
Bl. How so?
Chr. If the skunk Aristyllus should call you His father, and seize you, a kiss to imprint.
Bl. O hang him! Confound him! O how I would pound him!
Chr. I fancy you soon would be smelling of mint.
Pr. But this, sir, is nonsense: it never could be. That whelp was begotten before the Decree. His kiss, it is plain, you can never obtain.
Bl. The prospect I view with disgust and alarm. But who will attend to the work of the farm?
Pr. All labour and toil to your slaves you will leave; Your business ’twill be, when the shadows of eve Ten feet on the face of the dial are cast, To scurry away to your evening repast.
Bl. Our clothes, what of them?
Pr. You have plenty in store, When these are worn out, we will weave you some more.
Bl. Just one other thing. If an action they bring, What funds will be mine for discharging the fine? You won’t pay it out of the stores, I opine.
Pr. A fine to be paid when an action they bring! Why bless you, our people won’t know such a thing As an action.
Bl. No actions! I feel a misgiving. Pray what are “our people” to do for a living?
Chr. You are right: there are many will rue it.
Pr. No doubt. But what can one then bring an action about?
Bl. There are reasons in plenty; I’ll just mention one. If a debtor won’t pay you, pray what’s to be done?
Pr. If a debtor won’t pay! Nay, but tell me, my friend, How the creditor came by the money to lend? All money, I thought, to the stores had been brought. I’ve got a suspicion, I say it with grief, Your creditor’s surely a bit of a thief.
Chr. Now that is an answer acute and befitting.
Bl. But what if a man should be fined for committing Some common assault, when elated with wine; Pray what are his means for discharging that fine? I have posed you, I think.
Pr. Why, his victuals and drink Will be stopped by command for awhile; and I guess That he will not again in a hurry transgress, When he pays with his stomach.
Bl. Will thieves be unknown?
Pr. Why, how should they steal what is partly their own?
Bl. No chance then to meet at night in the street Some highwayman coming our cloaks to abstract?
Pr. No, not if you’re sleeping at home; nor, in fact, Though you choose to go out. That trade, why pursue it? There’s plenty for all: but suppose him to do it, Don’t fight and resist him; what need of a pother? You can go to the stores, and they’ll give you another.
Bl. Shall we gambling forsake?
Pr. Why, what could you stake?
Bl. But what is the style of our living to be?
Pr. One common to all, independent and free, All bars and partitions for ever undone, All private establishments fused into one.
Bl. Then where, may I ask, will our dinners be laid?
Pr. Each court and arcade of the law shall be made A banqueting-hall for the citizens.
Bl. Right. But what will you do with the desk for the speakers?
Pr. I’ll make it a stand for the cups and the beakers; And there shall the striplings be ranged to recite The deeds of the brave, and the joys of the fight, And the cowards’ disgrace; till out of the place Each coward shall slink with a very red face, Not stopping to dine.
Bl. O but that will be fine. And what of the balloting-booths?
Pr. They shall go To the head of the market-place, all in a row, And there by Harmodius taking my station, I’ll tickets dispense to the whole of the nation, Till each one has got his particular lot, And manfully bustles along to the sign Of the letter whereat he’s empanelled to dine. The man who has A shall be ushered away To the Royal Arcade; to the next will go B; And C to the Cornmarket.
Bl. Merely to see?
Pr. No, fool, but to dine.
Bl. ’Tis an excellent plan. Then he who gets never a letter, poor man, Gets never a dinner.
Pr. But ’twill not be so. There’ll be plenty for all, and to spare. No stint and no grudging our system will know, But each will away from the revelry go, Elated and grand, with a torch in his hand And a garland of flowers in his hair. And then through the streets as they wander, a lot Of women will round them be creeping, “O come to my lodging,” says one, “I have got Such a beautiful girl in my keeping.” “But here is the sweetest and fairest, my boy,” From a window another will say, “But ere you’re entitled her love to enjoy Your toll to myself you must pay.” Then a sorry companion, flat-visaged and old, Will shout to the youngster “Avast! And where art you going, so gallant and bold, And where are you hieing so fast? ’Tis in vain; you must yield to the laws of the State, And I shall be courting the fair, Whilst you must without in the vestibule wait, And strive to amuse yourself there, dear boy, And strive to amuse yourself there.” There now, what think ye of my scheme?
Bl. First-rate.
Pr. Then now I’ll go to the market-place, and there, Taking some clear-voiced girl as crieress, Receive the goods as people bring them in. This must I do, elected chieftainess To rule the State and start the public feasts; That so your banquets may commence to-day.
Bl. What, shall we banquet now at once?
Pr. You shall. And next I’ll make a thorough sweep of all The flaunting harlots.
Bl. Why?
Pr. That these free ladies May have the firstling manhood of our youths. Those servile hussies shall no longer poach Upon the true-love manors of the free. No, let them herd with slaves, and lie with slaves, In servile fashion, snipped and trimmed to match.
Bl. Lead on, my lass. I’ll follow close behind; That men may point and whisper as I pass, There goes the husband of our chieftainess.
Chr. And I will muster and review my goods, And bring them all, as ordered, to the stores.
Exeunt Praxagora, Blepyrus, & Chremes. (Here was a choral song, now lost, during which Chremes is preparing to bring out his chattels from the house.)
Chr. My sweet bran-winnower, come you sweetly here. March out the first of all my household goods, Powdered and trim, like some young basket-bearer. Aye, many a sack of mine you have bolted down. Now where’s the chair-girl? Come along, dear pot, (Wow! but you’re black: scarce blacker had you chanced To boil the dye Lysicrates employs), And stand by her. Come hither, tiring-maid; And pitcher-bearer, bear your pitcher here. You, fair musician, take your station there, You whose untimely trumpet-call has oft Roused me, ere daybreak, to attend the Assembly. Who’s got the dish, go forward; take the combs Of honey; set the olive branches nigh; Bring out the tripods and the bottles of oil; The pannikins and rubbish you can leave.
Now another door opens, the door upon which Praxagora had stealthily scratched, 34 above, and the husband of the second woman again comes out, as he did 327 above.
Ci. I bring my goods to the stores! That were to be A hapless greenhorn, ill endowed with brains. I’ll never do it; by Poseidon, never! I’ll test the thing and scan its bearings first. I’m not the man to fling my sweat and thrift So idly and so brainlessly away, Before I’ve fathomed how the matter stands. —You there! what means this long array of chattels? Are they brought out because you’re changing house, Or are you going to pawn them?
Chr. No.
Ci. Then why All in a row? Are they, in grand procession, Marching to Hiero the auctioneer?
Chr. O no, I am going to bring them to the stores For the State’s use: so run the new-made laws.
Ci. (in shrill surprise) You are going to bring them!
Chr. Yes.
Ci. By Zeus the Saviour, You’re an ill-starred one!
Chr. How?
Ci. How? Plain enough.
Chr. What, must I not, forsooth, obey the laws?
Ci. The laws, poor wretch! What laws?
Chr. The new-made laws.
Ci. The new-made laws? O what a fool you are!
Chr. A fool?
Ci. Well, aren’t you? Just the veriest dolt In all the town!
Chr. Because I do what’s ordered?
Ci. Is it a wise man’s part to do what’s ordered?
Chr. Of course it is.
Ci. Of course it is a fool’s.
Chr. Then won’t you bring yours in?
Ci. I’ll wait awhile, And watch the people what they’re going to do.
Chr. What should they do but bring their chattels in For the State’s use?
Ci. I saw it and believed.
Chr. Why, in the streets they talk—
Ci. Ay, talk they will.
Chr. Saying they’ll bring their goods—
Ci. Ay, say they will.
Chr. Zounds! you doubt everything.
Ci. Ay, doubt they will.
Chr. O, Heaven confound you.
Ci. Ay, confound they will. What! think you men of sense will bring their goods? Not they! That’s not our custom: we’re disposed Rather to take than give, like the dear gods. Look at their statues, stretching out their hands! We pray the powers to give us all things good; Still they hold forth their hands with hollowed palms, Showing their notion is to take, not give.
Chr. Pray now, good fellow, let me do my work. Hi! where’s the strap? These must be tied together.
Ci. You are really going?
Chr. Don’t you see I’m tying These tripods up this instant?
Ci. O what folly! Not to delay a little, and observe What other people do, and then—
Chr. And then?
Ci. Why then put off, and then delay again.
Chr. Why so?
Ci. Why, if perchance an earthquake came, Or lightning fell, or a cat cross the street, They’ll soon cease bringing in, you blockhead you!
Chr. A pleasant jest, if I should find no room To bring my chattels!
Ci. To receive, you mean. ’Twere time to bring them, two days hence.
Chr. How mean you?
Ci. I know these fellows; voting in hot haste, And straight ignoring the decree they’ve passed.
Chr. They’ll bring them, friend.
Ci. But if they don’t, what then?
Chr. No fear; they’ll bring them.
Ci. If they don’t, what then?
Chr. We’ll fight them.
Ci. If they prove too strong, what then?
Chr. I’ll leave them.
Ci. If they won’t be left, what then?
Chr. Go, hang yourself.
Ci. And if I do, what then?
Chr. ’Twere a good deed.
Ci. You are really going to bring them?
Chr. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I see my neighbours bringing theirs.
Ci. O ay, Antisthenes for instance. Heavens, he’d liefer Sit on the stool for thirty days and more.
Chr. Be hanged!
Ci. Well, but Callimachus the poet, What, will he bring them?
Chr. More than Callias can.
Ci. Well, here’s a man will throw away his substance.
Chr. That’s a hard saying.
Ci. Hard? when every day We see abortive resolutions passed! That vote about the salt, you mind that, don’t you?
Chr. I do.
Ci. And how we voted, don’t you mind, Those copper coins.
Chr. And a bad job for me That coinage proved. I sold my grapes, and stuffed My cheek with coppers; then I steered away And went to purchase barley in the market; When just as I was holding out my sack, The herald cried, “No copper coins allowed! Nothing but silver must be paid or taken!”
Ci. Then that late tax, the two-and-a-half per cent, Euripides devised, weren’t we all vowing ’Twould yield five hundred talents to the State? Then every man would gild Euripides. But when we reckoned up, and found the thing A Zeus’s Corinth, and no good at all, Then every man would tar Euripides.
Chr. But times have altered; then the men bare sway, ’Tis now the women.
Ci. Who, I’ll take good care, Shan’t try on me their little piddling ways.
Chr. You’re talking nonsense. Boy, take up the yoke.
Enter a crier to summon all citizens to the banquet.
Crier. O all ye citizens (for now ’tis thus), Come all, come quick, straight to your chieftainess. There cast your lots; there fortune shall assign To every man his destined feasting-place. Come, for the tables now are all prepared And laden heavily with all good things: The couches all with rugs and cushions piled! They’re mixing wine: the perfume-selling girls Are ranged in order: collops on the fire: Hares on the spit; and in the oven, cakes; Chaplets are woven: comfits parched and dried. The youngest girls are boiling pots of broth; And there amongst them, in his riding-suit, The gallant Smoius licks their platters clean. There Geron too, in dainty robe and pumps, His threadbare cloak and shoon discarded now, Struts on, guffawing with another lad. Come, therefore, come, and quickly: bread in hand The pander stands; and open wide your mouths.
Exit.
Ci. I’ll go, for one. Why stand I idly here, When thus the city has declared her will?
Chr. Where will you go? You haven’t brought your goods.
Ci. To supper.
Chr. Not if they’ve their wits about them Until you’ve brought your goods.
Ci. I’ll bring them.
Chr. When?
Ci. My doings won’t delay the job.
Chr. Why not?
Ci. Others will bring them later still than I.
Chr. You are going to supper?
Ci. What am I to do? Good citizens must needs support the State As best they can.
Chr. If they say no, what then?
Ci. At them, head foremost.
Chr. If they strike, what then?
Ci. Summon the minxes.
Chr. If they jeer, what then?
Ci. Why, then I’ll stand beside the door, and—
Chr. What?
Ci. Seize on the viands as they bear them in.
Chr. Come later then. Now Parmeno and Sicon Take up my goods and carry them along.
Ci. I’ll help you bring them.
Chr. Heaven forbid! I fear That when I’m there, depositing the goods Beside the chieftainess, you’ll claim them yours.
Exit.
Ci. Now must I hatch some crafty shrewd device To keep my goods, and yet secure a part In all these public banquets, like the rest. Hah! Excellent! ’Twill work. Away! Away! On to the banquet-hall without delay.
Exit.
(Here again was a choral song, now lost.)
The scenery seems to have remained unchanged throughout the play; and Blepyrus comes out of the central house at 1128 below just as he has already done at 311 and 520 above. But the houses on either side, hitherto the residences of Chremes and the Second Woman respectively, have changed their occupants; and one of them has become the abode of an ancient hag and a young girl.
Hag. Why don’t the fellows come? The hour’s long past: And here I’m standing, ready, with my skin Plastered with paint, wearing my yellow gown, Humming an amorous ditty to myself, Trying, by wanton sportiveness, to catch Some passer-by. Come, Muses, to my lips, With some sweet soft Ionian roundelay.
Girl. This once then, Mother Mouldy, you’ve forestalled me, And peeped out first; thinking to steal my grapes, I absent; aye, and singing to attract A lover; sing then, and I’ll sing against you. For this, even though ’tis irksome to the audience, Has yet a pleasant and a comic flavour.
Hag. Here, talk to this, and vanish: but do you, Dear honey piper, take the pipes and play A strain that’s worthy you, and worthy me, (singing) Whoever is fain love’s bliss to attain, Let him hasten to me, and be blest; For knowledge is sure with the ripe and mature, And not with the novice, to rest. Would she be as faithful and true to the end, And constant and loving as I? No: she would be flitting away from her friend, And off to another would fly, Would fly, would fly, would fly, And off to another would fly.
Girl. (affettuosamente) O grudge not the young their enjoyment. For beauty the softest and best Is breathed o’er the limbs of a maiden, And blooms on the maidenly breast. You have tweezered your brows, and bedizened your face, And you look like a darling for—death to embrace.
Hag. (con fuoco) I hope that the cords of your bedstead will rot, I hope that your tester will break, And O when you think that a lover you’ve got, I hope you will find him a snake, A snake, a snake, a snake, I hope you will find him a snake!
Girl. (teneramente) O dear, what will become of me? Where can my lover be flown? Mother is out; she has gone and deserted me, Mother has left me alone. Nurse, nurse, pity and comfort me, Fetch me my lover, I pray; So may it always be happy and well with thee, O, I beseech thee, obey.
Hag. (fortissimo) These, these, are the tricks of the harlotry This, the Ionian itch!
Girl. (con spirito) No! no! you shall never prevail with me, Mine are the charms that bewitch.
Hag. Aye, aye, sing on: keep peeping, peering out Like a young cat. They’ll all come first to me.
Girl. What, to your funeral? A new joke, hey?
Hag. No, very old.
Girl. Old jokes to an old crone.
Hag. My age won’t trouble you.
Girl. No? Then what will? Your artificial red and white, perchance.
Hag. Why talk to me?
Girl. Why peeping?
Hag. With bated breath to dear Epigenes.
Girl. I thought old Geres was your only dear.
Hag. You’ll soon think otherwise: he’ll come to me. O here he is, himself.
Enter Youth, bearing a torch.
Girl. Not wanting aught Of you, Old Plague.
Hag. O yes, Miss Pineaway.
Girl. His acts will show. I’ll slip away unseen.
Exit.
Hag. And so will I. You’ll find I’m right, my beauty.
Youth. O that I now might my darling woo! Nor first be doomed to the foul embrace Of an ancient hag with a loathsome face; To a free-born stripling a dire disgrace!
Hag. That you never, my boy, can do! ’Tis not Charixena’s style to-day; Now the laws you must needs obey Under our democratical sway. I’ll run and watch what next you are going to do.
Yo. O might I catch, dear gods, my fair alone, To whom I hasten, flushed with love and wine.
Girl. (re-appearing above) That vile old Hag, I nicely cozened her. She deems I’m safe within, and off she’s gone. But here’s the very lad of whom we spake. (Singing) This way, this way. Hither, my soul’s delight! O come to my arms, my love, my own, O come to my arms this night. Dearly I long for my love; My bosom is shaken and whirls,
My heart is afire with a wild desire For my boy with the sunbright curls.
Ah me, what means this strange unrest, This love which lacerates my breast? Oh God of Love, I cry to thee; Be pitiful, be merciful, And send my love to me.
Youth. (singing) Hither, oh hither, my love, This way, this way. Run, run down from above, Open the wicket, I pray: Else I shall swoon, I shall die! Dearly I long for thy charms, Longing and craving and yearning to lie In the bliss of thy snow-soft arms.
Oh Cypris, why my bosom stir, Making me rage and rave for her? Oh God of Love, I cry to thee, Be pitiful, be merciful, And send my love to me.
Enough, I trow, is said to show the straits I’m in, my lonely grieving. Too long I’ve made my serenade: descend, sweet heart, thy chamber leaving, Open, true welcome show, Sore pangs for thee I undergo.
Oh Love, bedight with golden light, presentment fair of soft embraces, The Muses’ bee, of Love’s sweet tree the flower, the nursling of the Graces, Open, true welcome show, Sore pangs for thee I undergo.
Exit Girl.
Hag. (re-appearing) Hi! knocking? seeking me?
Youth. A likely joke.
Hag. You banged against my door.
Youth. Hanged if I did!
Hag. Then why that lighted torch? What seek you here?
Youth. Some Anaphlystian burgher.
Hag. What’s his name?
Youth. No, not Sebinus; whom you want, belike.
Hag. By Aphrodite, will you, nill you, sir.
The Hag tries to drag him into her house.
Youth. Ah, but we’re not now taking cases over Sixty years old: they’ve been adjourned till later; We’re taking now those under twenty years.
Hag. Aha, but that was under, darling boy, The old regime: now you must take us first.
Youth. Aye, if I will: so runs the Paetian law.
Hag. You didn’t, did you, dine by Paetian law.
Youth. Don’t understand you: there’s the girl I want.
Hag. Aye, but me first: you must, you rogue, you must.
Youth. Oh, we don’t want a musty pack-cloth now.
Hag. I know I’m loved; but oh, you wonder, don’t you, To see me out of doors: come, buss me, do.
Youth. No, no, I dread your lover.
Hag. Whom do you mean?
Youth. That prince of painters.
Hag. Who is he, I wonder.
Youth. Who paints from life the bottles for the dead. Away! Begone! He’ll see you at the door.
Hag. I know, I know your wishes.
Youth. And I yours.
Hag. I vow by Aphrodite, whose I am, I’ll never let you go.
Youth. You’re mad, old lady.
Hag. Nonsense! I’ll drag you recreant to my couch.
Youth. Why buy we hooks to raise our buckets then, When an old hag like this, let deftly down, Could claw up all the buckets from our wells?
Hag. No scoffing, honey: come along with me.
Youth. You’ve got no rights, unless you’ve paid the tax, One-fifth per cent on all your wealth—of years.
Hag. Oh yes, you must; oh yes, by Aphrodite, Because I love to cuddle lads like you.
Youth. But I don’t love to cuddle hags like you, Nor will I: never! never!
Hag. Oh yes, you will, This will compel you.
Youth. What in the world is this?
Hag. This is a law which bids you follow me.
Youth. Read what it says.
Hag. Oh yes, my dear, I will.
“Be it enacted,” please to listen, you, “By us the ladies: if a youth would woo A maiden, he must first his duty do By some old beldame; if the youth refuse, Then may the beldames lawful violence use And drag him in, in any way they choose.”
Youth. A crusty law! A Procrustean law!
Hag. Well, never mind; you must obey the law.
Youth. What if some Man, a friend or fellow-burgher, Should come and bail me out?
Hag. A Man, forsooth? No Man avails beyond a bushel now.
Youth. Essoign I’ll challenge.
Hag. Nay, no quillets now.
Youth. I’ll sham a merchant.
Hag. You’ll repent it then.
Youth. And must I come?
Hag. You must.
Youth. Is it a stern Necessity?
Hag. Yes, quite Diomedean.
Youth. Then strew the couch with dittany, and set Four well-crushed branches of the vine beneath; Bind on the fillets; set the oil beside; And at the entrance set the water-crock.
Hag. Now, by my troth, you’ll buy me a garland yet.
Youth. A waxen garland. So, by Zeus, I will! You’ll fall to pieces, I expect, in there!
Enter Girl.
Girl. Where drag you him?
Hag. I’m taking home my husband!
Girl. Not wisely then: the lad is far too young To serve your turn. You’re of an age, methinks, To be his mother rather than his wife. If thus ye carry out the law, erelong Ye’ll have an Oedipus in every house.
Hag. You nasty spiteful girl, you made that speech Out of sheer envy, but I’ll pay you out.
Exit.
Youth. Now by the Saviour Zeus, my sweetest sweet, A rare good turn you have done me, scaring off That vulturous Hag; for which, at eventide, I’ll make you, darling, what return I can.
Enter Second Hag.
Second Hag. Hallo, Miss Break-the-law, where are you dragging That gay young stripling, when the writing says I’m first to wed him?
Youth. Miserable me! Whence did you spring, you evil-destined Hag! She’s worse than the other, I protest she is!
Second Hag. Come hither.
Youth. (to the Girl) Oh my darling, don’t stand by, And see this creature drag me!
Second Hag. ’Tis not I, ’Tis the law drags you!
Youth. ’Tis a hellish vampire, Clothed all about with blood, and boils, and blisters.
Second Hag. Come, chickling, follow me, and don’t keep chattering.
Youth. Oh let me first, for pity’s sake, retire Into some draught-house. I’m in such a fright That I shall yellow all about me else.
Second Hag. Come, never mind; you can do that within.
Youth. More than I wish, I fear me. Come, pray do! I’ll give you bail with two sufficient sureties.
Second Hag. No bail for me!
Enter Third Hag. A struggle ensues.
Third Hag. (to Youth) Hallo, where are you gadding Away with her?
Youth. Not “gadding”: being dragged. But blessings on you, whosoever you are, Sweet sympathizer. Ah! Oh! Heracles! Ye Pans! ye Corybants! Twin sons of Zeus! She’s worse than the other! Miserable me! What shall I term this monstrous apparition? A monkey smothered up in paint, or else A witch ascending from the Greater Mother?
Third Hag. No scoffing: come this way.
Second Hag. This way, I tell you.
Third Hag. I’ll never let you go.
Second Hag. No more will I.
Youth. Detested kites, ye’ll rend me limb from limb.
Second Hag. Obey the law, which bids you follow me.
Third Hag. Not if a fouler, filthier, hag appears.
Youth. Now if betwixt you two I am done to death, How shall I ever reach the girl I love?
Third Hag. That’s your look-out; but this you needs must do.
Youth. Which shall I tackle first, and so get free?
Second Hag. You know; come hither.
Youth. Make her let me go.
Third Hag. No, no, come hither.
Second Hag. Zeus! I’ll not let you go.
Third Hag. No more will I.
Youth. Rough hands ye’d prove as ferrymen.
Second Hag. Why so?
Youth. Ye’d tear your passengers to bits by pulling!
Second Hag. Don’t talk, come hither.
Third Hag. No, this way, I tell you.
Youth. Oh, this is like Cannonus’s decree, 1 To play the lover, fettered right and left! How can one oarsman navigate a pair?
Second Hag. Tush, eat a pot of truffles, foolish boy.
Youth. Oh me, I’m dragged along till now I’ve reached The very door.
Third Hag. That won’t avail you aught; I’ll tumble in beside you.
Youth. Heaven forbid! Better to struggle with one ill than two!
Third Hag. Oh yes, by Hecate, will you, nill you, sir.
Youth. Thrice hapless me, who first must play the man With this old rotten carcase, and when freed From her, shall find another Phryne there, A bottle of oil beside her grinning chaps! Ain’t I ill-fated? Yea, most heavy-fated! Oh Zeus the Saviour, what a wretch am I Yoked with this pair of savage-hearted beasts! And oh, should aught befall me, sailing in To harbour, towed by these detested drabs, Bury my body by the harbour’s mouth! And take the upper hag, who still survives, And tar her well, and round her ankles twain Pour molten lead, and plant her on my grave, The staring likeness of a bottle of oil!
Exeunt.
Enter Praxagora’s Maid.
Maid. Oh lucky People, and oh happy me, And oh my mistress, luckiest of us all, And ye who now are standing at our door, And all our neighbours, aye, and all our town, And I’m a lucky waiting-maid, who now Have had my head with unguents rich and rare Perfumed and bathed; but far surpassing all Are those sweet flagons full of Thasian wine. Their fragrance long keeps lingering in the head, Whilst all the rest evaporate and fade. There’s nothing half so good; great gods, not half! Choose the most fragrant, mix it neat and raw, ’Twill make us merry all the whole night through! But tell me, ladies, where my master is; I mean, the husband of my honoured mistress.
Chorus. If you stay here, methinks you’ll find him soon.
Maid. Aye, here he comes. (Enter Blepyrus and the children.) He’s off to join the dinner. Oh master, oh you lucky, lucky man!
Blepyrus. What, I?
Maid. Yes, you, by Zeus, you luckiest man! What greater bliss than yours, who, out of more Than thrice ten thousand citizens, alone, Have managed, you alone, to get no dinner?
Chorus. You tell of a happy man, and no mistake!
Maid. Hi! Hi! Where now?
Blepyrus. I’m off to join the dinner.
Maid. And much the last of all, by Aphrodite! Well, well, my mistress bade me take you, sir, You and these little girls and bring you thither. Aye, and there’s store of Chian wine remaining, And other dainties too; so don’t delay! And all the audience who are well disposed, And every judge who looks not otherwards, Come on with us; we’ll freely give you all!
Blepyrus. Nay, no exceptions; open wide your mouth, Invite them all in free and generous style, Boy, stripling, grandsire; yea, announce that all Shall find a table all prepared and spread For their enjoyment, in—their own sweet homes. But I! I’ll hurry off to join the feast, And here at least I’ve got a torch all handy!
Chorus. Then why so long keep lingering here, nor take These little ladies down? And as you go, I’ll sing a song, a Lay of Lav-the-dinner. But first, a slight suggestion to the judges.
Let the wise and philosophic choose me for my wisdom’s sake, Those who joy in mirth and laughter choose me for the jests I make; Then with hardly an exception every vote I’m bound to win. Let it nothing tell against me, that my play must first begin; See that, through the afterpieces, back to me your memory strays; Keep your oaths, and well and truly judge between the rival plays. Be not like the wanton women, never mindful of the past, Always for the new admirer, always fondest of the last. Now ’tis time, ’tis time, ’tis time, Sisters dear, ’tis time for certain, if we mean the thing to do, To the public feast to hasten. Therefore foot it neatly, you, First throw up your right leg, so, Then the left, and away to go, Cretan measure.
Blepyrus. Aye, with pleasure.
Chorus. Now must the spindleshanks, lanky and lean, Trip to the banquet, for soon will, I ween, High on the table be smoking a dish Brimming with game and with fowl and with fish, All sorts of good things. Plattero-filleto-mulleto-turboto-Cranio-morselo-pickleo-acido-Silphio-honeyo-pouredonthe-topothe-Ouzelo-throstleo-cushato-culvero-Cutleto-roastingo-marrowo-dippero-Leveret-syrupo-gibleto-wings. So now ye have heard these tidings true, Lay hold of a plate and an omelette too, And scurry away at your topmost speed, And so you will have whereon to feed.
Blepyrus. They’re guzzling already, I know, I know.
Chorus. Then up with your feet and away to go. Off, off to the supper we’ll run. With a whoop for the prize, hurrah, hurrah, With a whoop for the prize, hurrah, hurrah, Whoop, whoop, for the victory won!