Or the lover whose success in love is based on lies
And does not produce the gifts he promises;
Or an aged crone who brings to her bed with bribes young
men;
Or the flirt accepting presents and cheating the presenter;
Or the barman or the barmaid who serves short measure:
Curse all suchlike with malediction and
Pray that they and their kin come to a sticky end.
But as to the rest of you, we beg the gods
To bless you all and shower you with goods.
So let us join your prayers with ours
That these wishes come true for the people at large
And true of course for the State as well.
We pray that the wisest of you women
Will be the one who’s put in charge.
As to any who let us down,
Break their solemn vows, or annul
Our laws or dare to betray
Our secrets to our enemies
Or make overtures to the Medes
And be in their pay—all these
Act sacrilegiously
And desecrate their city.
Great Zeus Almighty,
Confirm this our supplication
And ensure the help of heaven
Though we be only women.
CRITYLLA: Attention please! The following motion has been passed
by the Women’s Assembly, proposed by Sostrate
with Timocleia in the chair, calling a special session
for dawn on the second day of the Thesmophoria—
that being the least pressured time—to ask
what steps if any should be taken
against Euripides, whom we all
brand as criminal.
Does anyone want to say anything?
MICA: I do.
CRITYLLA: [handing her the speaker’s garland] Don this garland first.
LEADER: Attention! Quiet please! She’s clearing her throat
like a professional.
It looks as if a lengthy speech is coming.
MICA: Ladies, by the Twin Goddesses, I’ve risen
with no wish to promote myself. The reason
is because I can no longer stand the way
you’ve been besmirched by Euripides, the son
of that cabbage seller, who’s subjected you
to a whole litany of slanders. What mud and mire
has he not plunged us in? Wherever there’s a theater,
audience, tragic actors, and choruses
has he not slammed us with his vilifications,
making out we’re cock-teasers, procuresses,
whiners, traitors, gossips, lost in machinations,
essentially sick, and mankind’s greatest curse?
So, of course, men come home from the theater
and immediately start casting suspicious eyes at us,
and looking into cupboards for a hidden lover.
In no way can we behave the natural way we ought,
so thoroughly has this fellow poisoned our men’s thoughts.
If a woman so much as even plaits a wreath,
it’s for a lover of course. And if she drops a pitcher,
her husband barks: “Good grief! Got your mind on someone?
I expect it’s on that young Corinthian lodger.”695
And if a girl begins to look a little off-color,
“Aha! What’s the minx been up to?” says her brother.696
What’s more, say a childless woman wants
to pretend a certain baby is her own. She can’t
because our husbands insist they have to plant
themselves right in the offing. He’s also queered the pitch
of the doddering old gent who’s rich and has an itch to hitch
himself up to a youthful bride but finds he daren’t
because of Euripides’ sneer: “The elderly groom has gone
and got himself a termagant.”697
And if that were not enough, because of this man
our rooms are made impregnable with locks and bolts,
and trained Molossian hounds are reared to keep away
any lad who’s ripe for a bit of fun.
All that’s pardonable, I suppose, but now what jolts
is that we’re not even allowed to carry out
our old household jobs, like keeping stock of what
foods we have and dispensing flour, oil, and wine,
because our husbands’ keys are on them all the time—
vicious-looking things with rows of teeth—from Sparta.
In the old days all we needed to open the larder
was a fitted signet ring that cost only three obols,
but now that damn busybody Euripides
has got them carrying nasty perforated seals.
What I propose is that we set ourselves to concoct
a recipe for getting rid of him either by poison
or by some other instrument we can rely on that he dies on.
What I’ve just said is the gist of this whole matter.
I’ll work out a formal draft with the clerk later.
STROPHE698
CHORUS: No one’s ever heard the like Of a woman as smart as this: Everything she says Is on the ball, is right: Every aspect looked at, Every angle probed,
With the total scanning of every episode
Supported by sound argument.
I really think that in a contest
Between her and Xenocles699
Carcinus’ son she’d come off best.
There’s no doubt that he would lose.
[The WREATH SELLER steps up to speak, taking the speaker’s garland from MICA and putting it on.]
WREATH SELLER: I’m here to add a few words, and though this lady’s put the case most admirably I must needs speak about what I went through myself. My husband died in Cyprus, leaving me with five small children whom I struggled to maintain by weaving wreaths of myrtle for the market and have kept them all alive—at least half and half. But now this fellow in his tragedies has made people believe that the gods don’t exist and my sales in consequence have halved. That’s why I’m urging you all to punish this man for his numerous misdeeds. His treatment of us, dear ladies, has been disgraceful even though he himself was raised among the weeds.700 Well, I’m off to market for I’ve got a commission to fashion twenty wreaths for a group of twenty gentlemen.
[Amid general applause, the WREATH SELLER takes off the garland, picks up her things, and departs.]
CHORUS: This second indictment proves to be Even more telling than the first and her argument Very straightforward and to the point Presented extremely logically And making a most convincing case. Therefore this fellow deserves to be punished accordingly Without a flicker of remorse.
[MNESILOCHUS steps forward to speak, putting on the speaker’s garland.]
MNESILOCHUS: It’s obvious, ladies, that you’re very irritated
by these accounts of Euripides’ criminal record:
all the same, fair and open discussion should be our aim
and since we’re all one family here
nothing of what we say will find its way abroad.
We have to ask ourselves why we’re so upset with him
for homing in on a handful of our crimes
when there are a thousand more
he knows we’ve perpetrated.
I myself have a lot of naughty things to answer for.
Let me mention the first and perhaps the worst.
I’d been married just three days
and my hubby lay asleep beside me.
It so happened that the boy who’d deflowered me
when I was seven came tapping at the back door.
I knew exactly who it was—
you see, he was still turned on by me—
so I edged out of bed and my husband said:
“Where are you going? Downstairs?”
br /> “Where?” I said. “I’ve got a tummy ache, lovey.
I’m going to the john.”
“Go on, then,” and he starts pounding juniper berries
with dill and sage while I
pretend to flush the loo with water
but run out to my boyfriend by Apollo’s pillar.701
I bend over clinging to the laurel tree
and get, oh, what a lovely fuck!
Now Euripides doesn’t have anything that slick
in a play—has he?
I bet he doesn’t say anything either
about the way we get a goodly humping
from the slaves or stable lads
if there’s no one else to be had.
No mention of that!
Or how when we’ve spent the night getting balled by somebody or
other
we chew garlic in the morning
so when hubby comes home after a night of Wall duty
he takes one sniff and thinks: “Well,
she couldn’t have been misbehaving
with a stink like that!”
Euripides doesn’t say a thing about that, does he? . . .
As to Phaedra, I don’t care a rap.
Then there’s the wife who for ten days
pretends to have labor pains
while a search is being made for a baby she can buy.
The husband chases around the city
buying up drugs to speed the delivery.
Meanwhile an old woman appears with a baby
secreted in a bucket—
its mouth plugged with a honeycomb to stop it crying.
At the right moment, at a tip from the old crone,
the wife hollers: “Off with you, hubby darling,
it’s really happening.”
(Indeed, there was a thumping coming from the bucket.)
Off he ran, delirious with joy,
while the baby has its mouth unplugged and sets up a racket.
So the dirty old woman hurries after the husband all smiles.
“Sir, you’ve got a real lion of a boy,” she calls.
“And he’s the dead spit of you—
right down to the snug little acorn of his toodley-oo.”
Don’t we get up to such hanky-pankies?
By Artemis, we certainly do!
Yet we’re all worked up about Euripides,
though he’s done nothing worse than these.
ANTISTROPHE702
CHORUS: [antagonistic and shocked by what they have heard] This is quite insufferable. Where was she unearthed, this female? What country gave her birth? The utter nerve she has Right before our eyes, The despicable old hag, Regaling us with such indecencies! It seems that nothing is impossible And the ancient saying is proven right: Look under every stone And you’ll find a charlatan. There’s no doubt that he will bite.
LEADER: There’s nothing worse than a woman born disreputable—
except perhaps another woman.
[Everybody glares at MNESILOCHUS.]
MICA: [springing to her feet]
Ladies, you’re off your rockers—are you ill?
Or are you under a spell?
You simply can’t allow this harridan
to get away with her abuse.
Are there any volunteers out there who will . . .
forget it . . . If there aren’t,
I and my servants will ourselves apply hot coals to her cunt
and singe the grass from the scumbag’s pussy.
That’ll teach her, a woman,
to be a little fussy before she ever again
slanders women.
[Three WOMEN advance threateningly as MNESILOCHUS clutches his crotch apprehensively.]
MNESILOCHUS: For peace sake, dear ladies, not my precious hymen. All I did was use the privilege of free oration, which we all have here—every citizen—and I spoke up for Euripides. You can’t condemn me, surely, to defoliation?
MICA: So you shouldn’t be punished, eh? The only woman brazen enough to go against us about a man who’s done us so much damage, going out of his way to dig up stories about notorious women—the baleful image of a Melanippe or a Phaedra,703 never has he created a Penelope.704 Oh no, she’s too virtuous a woman!
MNESILOCHUS: And I can tell you why. There isn’t a single woman today who’s a Penelope. We’re all Phaedras.
MICA: Just listen, ladies, to the way
this shameless slattern taunts us over and over again.
MNESILOCHUS: By God, I haven’t told you anything you weren’t
itching to hear.
MICA: There’s nothing more for you to say. You’ve emptied yourself to the last drop.
MNESILOCHUS: Not a bit of it! Not even the thousandeth part. I haven’t said a word, for instance, about
how we take those things you scratch your back with
in the bath, you know, and use them to scoop up
the grain from—705
MICA: You should be rubbed out.
MNESILOCHUS: Or how we whip the sacrificial lamb chops from
the Apaturia706 festival table to give to our pimps
and then say the cat got them.
MICA: What rot!
MNESILOCHUS: And Euripides says nothing about
another woman who clumps
her husband to the ground with an ax, or the one
who sends her mate round the bend with drugs, or the
Acharnian
housewife who buried under the kitchen sink. . . .
MICA: Lay off it!
MNESILOCHUS: . . . her own father.
MICA: Do we have to listen to this?
MNESILOCHUS: Or how your maid produced a baby boy and you a
girl,
so you swapped them around because you’d rather—
MICA: By the twin goddesses, you’ll not get away with this.
I’ll pluck your fuzz from you with my own hands.
MNESILOCHUS: Not with your little finger you won’t.
MICA: Just watch me!
MNESILOCHUS: Just watch me!
MICA: Philiste707 dear, hold my jacket in your hands.
MNESILOCHUS: Lay a finger on me, by Artemis, and you’ll—
MICA: Yes, I’ll . . . ?
MNESILOCHUS: Make you shit that sesame cake you ate.
CRITYLLA: You two, stop slamming one another.
I see a woman hurrying to our affair.
This set-to must end. I want quiet
so’s we can hear what she’s going to utter.
[CLEISTHENES enters, smooth of chin, effeminately dressed, and bubbling with gossip.]
CLEISTHENES: Ladies—oh my dears!—I feel so much at home with you, even to these smooth cheeks like yours. I think of you ladies all the time and I want to serve you. That’s why I’m here, because a little while ago I heard some gossip in the marketplace that affects you and I’ve come to put you on your guard and stop something too, too awful—a tragedy.
CRITYLLA: What is it, laddie . . . Oh, sorry,
but with those smooth cheeks of yours
you do look like a little chap.
CLEISTHENES: Rumor has it that Euripides today
has sent an old man up here, a relative of his.
CRITYLLA: To do what? I wonder what his purpose is?
CLEISTHENES: To spy on you and find out what you women plan
and what you have to say.
CRITYLLA: But how can a man pass off as a woman?
CLEISTHENES: Sheared and plucked by Euripides
and everything possible done
to make him female.
MNESILOCHUS: D’you credit that? What man, pray tell, would stand and let himself be plucked? Twin holy Goddesses, I doubt it!
CLEISTHENES: Nonsense! Do you think I would have come here to tell you if I hadn’t heard it from a reliable source?
CRITYLLA: This is serious news. Ladies, we can’t just sit around. We’ve got to unearth this man and find out
where he’s been lurking in disguise. And you, Mr. Worldly-wise, must help us in our errand . . . and make us beholden to you twice.
CLEISTHENES: The time has come to cross-examine.
MNESILOCHUS: I’m through.
CLEISTHENES: [to MICA] Let’s see: you first. Who are you?
MNESILOCHUS: [to himself ] How the deuce can I get out of this?
MICA: Want to know who I am? Wife of Cleonymus.
CLEISTHENES: And this woman here? D’you all know her?
CRITYLLA: We do. Get on with the rest.
CLEISTHENES: This one here, then: the one with the brat.
MICA: She’s my baby’s nurse. No doubt of that.
MNESILOCHUS: [moving away] It’s getting too darn close.
CLEISTHENES: You there, where are you off to? Something wrong?
MNESILOCHUS: [with tremendous dignity] Kindly allow me to pass.
I wish to make water. . . . Impertinent creature!708
CLEISTHENES: Then get along. . . . I’ll wait here.
CRITYLLA: Yes, and keep her well in your sights. She’s the only woman, sir, we can’t account for.
CLEISTHENES: [calling out to MNESILOCHUS] You’re taking a long time to make your water.
MNESILOCHUS: [calling back] Ah, my dear fellow, it’s after
those cress seeds I ate yesterday. You know how it sits!
CLEISTHENES: Cress seeds, if you please? Come here.
[He goes into the bathroom and lays hands on MNESILOCHUS.]
MNESILOCHUS: Unhandle me, sir. Can’t you see I’m not well?
CLEISTHENES: All right! Who’s your husband?
MNESILOCHUS: [thinking hard]
You want to know who my husband is? . . . Well, now . . .
you know the fellow right enough. . . . He’s the fellow
from . . . er . . . Cocktown.
CLEISTHENES: Which fellow?
MNESILOCHUS: Why, the fellow who used to be, you know,
son of the fellow who was the fellow who—
CLEISTHENES: Oh stop gibbering! . . . Been here before?
MNESILOCHUS: Sure, every year.
CLEISTHENES: Your roommate? With whom d’you share?
MNESILOCHUS: With whom? . . . A lass.
CLEISTHENES: Lord above, this makes no sense!