Woe betide you if you give them an inch, no matter how cautiously:
once they’re through the door, who can stop these women? Forget about that!
They’ll wage war on the high seas, they’ll build ships for themselves,
and just think of what woes if they devote themselves to horsemanship!
They’ll sweep away all our cavalry—
It’s a well known fact that woman know much about saddlery,
When they spread their legs they’re hot to trot!
I’ve even seen them in paintings, artists depict them,
They rout armed men, their name is Amazons.
But we must tame these shameless hussies!
The chorus of old women unleashed themselves in a counterattack, though from a prudent distance. As you look at me now, I may seem harmless, but take care, because deep within, I am a she-boar! If you provoke me, I’ll shave you bald and take your beard, and you’ll be calling your friends in vain! Here the women broke off, and saw that the old men were bare-chested: they had stripped down for a fistfight, and now they were standing there a little baffled; in fact, to tell the truth, a few of them had started sneezing. With a triumphant shout, the old women too doffed their chitons: let them catch a whiff of the scent of ferocious women, out with the fangs! If a man comes up against me, I won’t leave him enough teeth to chew a clove of garlic. Just say a single wrong word, and you’ll see what becomes of you! Then the Old Woman stepped forward to make her summation.
As long as Lampito is here, I don’t worry about you,
not even if the assembly were to vote a hundred bills
of those that have made you despised by all peoples.
Just the other day it was the feast of Hekate,
I invite a few young women over, and yet another beloved girl,
a Boeotian eel: and can you believe it? They wouldn’t send her to me!
Because of your decrees, it’s been some time since any such eels have been seen.
Be done, from this day forth, with all your decrees,
Otherwise you’ll see that our women will break your necks!
The Old Woman seemed ready to go on for a while, uttering the word “decrees” over and over again, each time with greater disgust, but then she stopped short, because the music had abandoned her, the rhythm had changed, and the door was opening . . .
14
The door of the storage room swung open, and Cimon stuck his head in. He saw the jar rolling on the floor, and Glycera who was just getting to her feet, painfully, Charis with her hands clapped over her mouth, but most especially the light pouring in through the gap in the roof tiles, and understood it all in a flash. A ferocious sneer played over his lips, and his eyes sparkled with joy.
“So the two of you were hoping to escape!”
He came in, ducking his head to avoid the doorjamb, and grabbed the first of the two young women who came within reach, and since she was kicking to defend herself, he kicked too, even harder; Charis squealed in pain, and Cimon took advantage of the opportunity to knock her off balance and drag her screaming out the door.
“Leave her alone!” shouted Glycera, and she too came out of the storeroom.
Charis got back on her feet and limped feebly over to her friend. Cimon and Argyrus looked at the two of them and, overheated with wine as they were, liked what they saw: two naked, bruised beggar girls, smeared and stained with charcoal, staring wildly like hunted beasts.
“You wanted to escape,” Cimon said again. “Don’t you like it here? Aren’t you enjoying yourselves?”
The young women, heads bowed, made no reply.
“And if you had escaped, then what would you have done, eh?” Cimon continued. “Who would you have turned to, naked as you were? Would you have gone home? And just what kind of a story were you hoping to tell?”
Cimon went over to Glycera and took her by the chin; Glycera tried to dodge him, but she had her back to the wall. Cimon pressed in even closer and crushed her against it.
“You two came here, to someone else’s home, all alone, no one forced you. Here are your figs. What story were you planning to tell? That we were mean to you? And who’s going to believe you? Two young women who go to a man’s house all by themselves!”
“Let us go,” Glycera implored. Cimon turned nasty, reached out his hand and grabbed her by the hair, and with the other hand grabbed her in the crotch. Glycera shrieked and tried to kick, but couldn’t move.
“Now you’re going to do everything we tell you to do, and then if you’re both good girls, we’ll let you go home,” he whispered into her ear.
“All right,” Glycera said in a hurry. “Don’t hurt me.”
“All right, master,” Cimon corrected her.
“All right, master.”
Cimon relaxed, let her go, and took a couple of steps back. He shot a glance at Argyrus, to see if he had been properly impressed. You see, eh? That’s the way we break a filly.
“Now,” said Cimon, “o Argyrus, what do you say, these two slave girls tried to run away, didn’t they? And what do we do to slaves that run away?”
“We punish them,” said Argyrus, with evident satisfaction.
“Exactly!” Cimon exulted. “Now I’ll go and find the cane that my father uses. You keep an eye on these two, and make sure they don’t try to run away again.”
Glycera and Charis exchanged a frightened glance. Neither of the two young women knew what to do. Then Charis, without warning, burst into tears.
“Please, let us go,” she said again, to no avail. “Please.”
Argyrus didn’t even answer.
Cimon came back with a rope and a cane.
“Here we are!” he said. “Which one should we start with?”
“That one,” said Argyrus, pointing to Glycera.
“No, please!” she begged.
“Would you prefer we start with your little girlfriend?” Cimon asked politely.
Glycera’s head was spinning. She’d had such high hopes of running away; and now she felt helpless. And the worse thing was that the young man had a point: even if they had managed to get out onto the roof, what would they have done? They could just go drown themselves in the pond, that’s what they could do.
“Then you’ll let us go?” she whispered. Because it all depended on that: they had to be able to get out of there with their clothing and their house keys, and then no one would know a thing. One way or another, they’d find a way to conceal their marks and bruises.
“You obey and you’ll see,” said Cimon.
Glycera looked at Charis, then took a step forward. Charis wept as she watched her. Cimon ran the rope around Glycera’s neck, knotted it, then gave a good hard jerk. Glycera staggered.
“Hands on your knees!” Cimon ordered.
Glycera bent over.
Argyrus looked at the cane with interest.
“It’s so big! One time my father punished a slave with a cane like this one, in front of the whole household. Afterwards the man hanged himself!”
That wasn’t true: it had happened to someone else, he’d only heard the story. But it seemed to him that such a story made his father look more important. With Cimon, son of Eubulus, you always had to be careful not to give him a chance to trample you underfoot.
Charis was sobbing louder and louder.
“What if we shut that one up again in the storeroom?” Argyrus suggested. Cimon shook his head.
“No, she has to watch, it’s her turn next. But you keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t slip through our fingers.”
Charis, in desperation, shut her eyes, but she couldn’t cover her ears. She tried to think of any other sound to cover up that of the cane: the squeak of a turning grindstone, the gloomy rumble of streams swollen with rain in the fall, the footfall of cr
owds in procession, but Glycera was screaming and sobbing, and it was impossible to keep from hearing her. Charis clenched her teeth, then mentally prayed to the goddess, opened her eyes, and saw the two young men with the cane in their grip, next to Glycera bent double, with a rope around her neck: without thinking twice, she lunged at them. She hit Argyrus square in the chest and the two of them rolled on the floor. Cimon lost his balance and let go of the rope, while Glycera ran to take shelter in a corner. Charis bit and scratched, Argyrus shouted, and Cimon began to club her in a blind rage until she finally let go of him. Breathless, Cimon stopped, Argyrus got to his feet, then the two of them began kicking Charis.
“You’re killing her! Leave her alone! Please,” Glycera implored them.
The two young men stopped, panting.
“You promised us you’d let us punish you!” Cimon objected shrilly.
“I let you beat me!” Glycera objected. Then she realized that by saying that, she seemed to be accusing Charis, and she fell silent, openmouthed. But she recovered immediately. “And her too, just look at what you’ve done to her!”
They both had shoulders and backs bruised from the beatings.
“Please give us something to drink,” Glycera pleaded.
Cimon heaved a sigh of irritation.
“Go get them some water,” he ordered after a moment. Argyrus looked at him, offended, but obeyed. He came back with a goblet of water. The two young women drank.
“And now what are we going to do?” asked Argyrus.
“Now that they’ve learned their lessons, we take them to bed,” said Cimon.
Glycera lowered her goblet.
“Please, just let us go home now,” she said. “We can’t take it anymore.”
No, no, thought Cimon, that would be easy. We’re in charge of whether or not to send you home. We’re the masters, not you two fleabags.
He noticed that it was cold now. All that was left in the fireplace were embers.
“First go and get some charcoal and build up the fire,” he ordered. The two young women exchanged an uncertain glance.
“Give us back our clothing.”
“Sure, that way you can try to run away again! We’ll give you back your clothing when we’re done. For now, you’re fine like this.”
Glycera looked at Charis, whose teeth had begun to chatter once again: she couldn’t control herself.
“Come on, let’s go,” she murmured.
The two young men sat down on the cushions and watched them as they struggled to drag a basket of charcoal and poke up the fire. Cimon was beaming. A show like this is something that not even my father has ever offered his guests, he thought to himself. Out of the corner of his eye Cimon watched Argyrus and saw that he couldn’t stop looking at them. He also noticed that his friend’s excitement manifested itself quite concretely, lifting his tunic, and his good mood was ruined. Because in contrast, he continued to show no effects whatsoever. As he was beating Glycera, he had noticed that his blood had begun to stir, but now it had all faded away once again. I need to beat her again, he thought, and it seemed to him that, at the sound of those words whirling through his brain, something once again began to stir . . .
15
The door swung open and Lysistrata walked back out on stage. She’d changed her mask, and now she expressed contempt and rage. The Old Woman spoke to her with concern.
“Lady, mistress, we’re all here at your command, why do you have such a grim face, what is it that’s irritating you?”
Lysistrata ignored her, walked the length of the stage, stamped her feet, and then strode back.
“These women! Discouraging indeed!” she muttered. “Go and trust a woman’s heart.”
“But what are you doing?” the Old Woman insisted.
Lysistrata stopped and threw wide her arms.
“Can’t you see? I’m striding nervously back and forth!”
A few people in the audience guffawed.
“But what is it that’s happened, what’s so terrible?”
“We are your friends, come, tell us all!”
“Anyone would be ashamed to say it . . . ” Lysistrata began. The whole chorus of old women hurried to the foot of the stage, eagerly. Lysistrata had put a hand over her mouth. She looked around, then she exhaled: “ . . . but to leave it unsaid is impossible.”
The old women were clamoring and squawking. Lysistrata looked at her fingers, then extended the middle digit, held it up to the audience, and deliberately and slowly simulated an obscene gesture. The old women, openmouthed, followed the movement of her finger, their heads bobbing up and down.
“We’re dying to fuck, that’s the long and the short of it!” Lysistrata suddenly burst out.
“O Zeus!” the old women cried in dismay.
“What does Zeus have to do with any of it?” Lysistrata warmed to her topic. “That’s just the way it is! I cannot stop them any longer from lusting after the men. They are all for deserting. I caught one of them enlarging the hole with her fingers . . . What do you think I was talking about?” she upbraided the old women who had put their faces in their hands. “That hole in the wall where the god Pan has his grotto! Another was letting herself down by a rope and pulley, hoping to desert. Yesterday one, perched on a bird’s back, was just taking wing for the city, when I seized her by the hair. One and all, they are inventing excuses to be off home.”
In fact, a woman came running out the door and darted to one side when she realized that Lysistrata was there.
“Here’s one now! Hey, woman, where are you rushing off to?”
The woman slowed to a halt, but was clearly anxious to be away.
“I want to go home. I have new wool at home, and the moths will be chomping it down.”
“What moths! Come back here!”
“I’ll be back right away, by the gods! Just long enough to spread it out on the bed.”
Lysistrata lost her patience.
“Here no one’s spreading anything out on any beds! Don’t leave!”
Thrasyllus stared in disbelief: right in front of him, the long-haired young man was smooching his young woman.
Thrasyllus elbowed Polemon in the ribs.
“What is it?”
With a glance, Thrasyllus directed his attention to the two young people. Polemon furrowed his brow.
“Can you believe young people today!”
Thrasyllus became agitated, and finally couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He tapped the young man on the shoulder.
“Would you cut it out?”
This time the young man really got irritated.
“Listen, what’s-your-face, if you don’t quit busting my ass, something nasty’s going to happen to you.”
“What did you just say?” Thrasyllus said, stunned.
“I say that you need to mind your own business, you piece of shit!”
Thrasyllus’s heart started racing. He was already about to stand up, when Polemon held him back. Around them, more than one audience member was hushing them.
“That’s enough, men!”
Thrasyllus, half choking, showed the young man his paralyzed arm. The youngster shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and sat back down. His woman glared at Thrasyllus with a disgusted expression, then stuck out her tongue at him and sat down next to the young man.
On the stage, in the meantime, another woman had rushed out.
“Poor me, poor poor me, my flax! I left it at home without pounding it!”
“Here’s another woman who needs some good pounding! Come back here!”
The audience burst out laughing. The woman came to a halt, but she didn’t retrace her steps.
“I swear by the goddess, as soon as I’ve smoothed it out, I’ll be back.”
“No you don’t, you’re not going to smooth anything out!�
�� Lysistrata screeched, beside herself. “If I let you start, then someone else is going to want to go!”
In the meantime, the first woman had snuck offstage; the actor had left and now returned wearing another mask. Beneath the chiton his belly was swollen, and he was muttering a litany for the goddess who aids women in childbirth: slow it down a little, goddess, just give me time to get out of the sacred precinct! Lysistrata glared at her and addressed her with a harsh voice.
“What nonsense are you talking?”
“I am going to have a baby right now, this very minute!” the woman shrieked, trying to twist free.
“But you weren’t pregnant yesterday!”
“Well, I am today. Let me go home, Lysistrata, I need the midwife right away!”
“What foolishness is all this? What’s this, so hard?” Lysistrata queried, feeling it.
“A little son,” the woman mewed.
Lysistrata knocked with her knuckles.
“But it rings hollow, and it feels like it’s metal. Just let me take a look!”
The woman tried to wrench loose, but Lysistrata grabbed her chiton, and a bronze helmet rolled across the floor.
“Buffoon! You stole the helmet of the goddess, and you claim you’re pregnant!”
“But I am pregnant, by the gods!”
“Then what were you doing with this?”
“For fear my labor pains should seize me in the Acropolis; I mean to lay my eggs in this helmet, as doves do when they nest.”
“What nonsense? All empty excuses: there’s no doubting what’s happened here. Perhaps you wanted to baptize it too, the helmet!?”
The woman changed her tone.
“I can’t stand sleeping in the Acropolis any longer. I’m afraid of the sacred serpent!”
The flute played the first few notes of a hymn everyone knew: the hymn of the priestesses of Athena who bring the honey-cakes to the sacred serpent of the Erechtheion. When the serpent fails to eat, all Athens trembles: a worse omen for the city doesn’t exist.
The Athenian Women Page 15