Authors: Fletcher Flora
Lysistrata
LYSISTRATA
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
S
HE WAS
in bed.
Athens slept, and so did Lysistrata. But even as the streets of sleeping Athens were disturbed by nocturnal rowdies — in spite of the vigilance of Scythian police from marketplace to the brothels of the Piraeus — so was the sleeping mind of Lysistrata disturbed by dreams of Lycon and Lycon’s love.
It had been now seven long and barren months since he had left her for the fortress of Pylos in distant Messenia. Seven months of days since she had served him Boeotian eels and the wines of Hellas. Seven months of nights since she had received him in the service of Aphrodite. Seven months of days and nights of empty heart and aching groin. It simply did not pay in these days of endless war to be the respected wife of a citizen. One had much better become one of the hetairai, the highest of courtesans, and dye one’s hair yellow and wear flowery robes. One could then, at least, have a little fun out of life.
So Athens and Lysistrata slept, and the night passed. At dawn, since Athenians were early risers, a slave girl came into the room to start the day. The girl was called Theoris, and she had a slender and delicate body that seemed to float with an incredible grace of motion, and to glow softly in the thinning darkness. She carried a small torch which cast a distorted shadow behind her. Kneeling beside the bed of her mistress, she applied the flame of the torch to the wick of an oil lamp, a flat terra-cotta bowl standing on exquisite candelabra. The light of the lamp flickered and grew and spread softly over the sleeping Lysistrata. Leaning forward, Theoris looked upon her mistress with tenderness and compassion. It had been, after all, an intolerable time since the master had come to her on Aphrodite’s business — and chastity, which was a virtue, could quite easily, like other virtues, be overdone. With small and delicate hands, the compassionate slave girl, who had not herself been forced to an excess of virtue, shook her mistress gently awake, making in her throat as she did so a kind of solicitous crooning sound that was like a phrase of barbarous music. Waking slowly to the day and the day’s certain boredom, Lysistrata sat up and stretched in the light of the terra-cotta lamp, her body strong and supple and still firm-fleshed, itself in the light a thing of light and shadow.
“Good-morning, Theoris,” she said. “What time is it?”
“Dawn,” the slave girl said. “Earlier, I should think, than it is necessary for you to get up.”
Lysistrata stretched again, lowering her hands to caress for the briefest instant her alert breasts and the clean lines of her sides.
“Well,” she said bitterly, “I have nothing to keep me in bed in the morning, and nothing, so far as that goes, to send me there at night.”
Theoris understood her mistress’s meaning clearly, feeling almost as resentful as if she were the one who had been deserted, but she was forced by her station to use restraint in her response.
“Men are idiots,” she said.
Lysistrata laughed, patting with affection the bare shoulder of her pretty slave.
“You are certainly right,” she said. “Since they spend their lives in the practice of idiocy, it is perfectly apparent that they are idiots. I must admit, Theoris, that I am frequently astonished by your perception. How old are you?”
“I don’t know, Mistress.”
“Well, no matter. Can you remember a time when Athens was not at war?”
“No. All of my life there has been the war.”
“And almost all of mine. I was a child when it began, long ago in the time of Pericles. Well, Pericles has been dead and out of it for almost two decades now, but his precious war has gone on and on without him, except for the short time of the Peace of Nicias, which was no real peace, and it has been all this time like a hungry beast that eats our idiot men, who nourish and support it in true idiocy so that they may be eaten. Does this make sense?”
“Now that you have asked me, I confess that it doesn’t.”
“Naturally not. That’s because you are a woman and therefore sensible. Do you believe that it makes sense to the women of Sparta and Corinth and Boeotia and all the states of the Peloponnesus?”
“It does not seem likely.”
“Truly you are perceptive, Theoris, and I must say that I have great admiration for your natural intelligence. Women are women before they are Spartans or Corinthians or anything else, and while a Spartan or a Corinthian may not object to sleeping alone, a woman does. To put it mildly, we are sick of this idiocy, which you have perceived and labeled, and if we were permitted, we could do a much better job of managing things. As it is, we have all too few pleasures at present, and not many more to remember or anticipate. Truly a woman is in the worst possible state when there is no purpose in going to bed on the one hand and none for getting out of it on the other. Is the basin filled?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. I feel inclined to make myself seductive. There is nothing to be gained from this, of course, but I like to keep in practice in case things should improve. I shall bathe and oil and scent myself as if I were preparing for the arms of Lycon, and then I’ll sit around and do nothing and be bored, and perhaps later my friend Calonice will come to entertain me with some more intimate details of her relationship with her husband Acron. He is home temporarily from the war, and I honestly believe she tells me these things with the idea of satisfying me vicariously.”
Getting up, followed by the slave girl, Lysistrata went out of the room into the Proitas, the central court around which the house was built, and in which stood the family altar and the statue of Hestia, protectress of the hearth. But Hestia, as Lysistrata saw it, had been grossly remiss in her function, and the deserted wife did not linger to offer thanks for nothing. Passing swiftly around a part of the court’s perimeter, she entered a paved bathroom. Naked, standing beside the large marble basin that Theoris had filled, she bathed and dried quickly with the slave girl’s help, and the touch of the slave reminded her suddenly of the touch of Lycon, and she shivered a little and was filled with the disruptive ambivalence of love and longing and anger. Passing again around the court past the statue of Hestia, she returned to the room in which she slept too much alone.
Without instruction, having been told already that the morning toilet would be as if for the arms of Lycon, Theoris opened a chest and began to set out the items her mistress would need. First a shining mirror to catch and reflect the shadow of beauty in the soft light of the oil lamp. Alkanet root for lips and cheeks. Antimony for the eyebrows and kohl for the lids. Oil of mastic to keep the body sweet. Thyme and marjoram, mint and myrrh. Lysistrata sat before the mirror and the mirror’s image, and she thought bitterly that the firm flesh she saw might well be dry and withered on its bones before men returned to sanity and Lycon to his home.
She sat quietly while Theoris braided and bound her hair, securing it with many pins. Afterward, working with a deft economy of motion, she applied to herself in the areas designated by proper usage the oils and paints and scented unguents. This done, she put on a white peplos, a garment in two pieces secured at the waist by a girdle, and sandals.
“I think I’ll go out into the garden for a few minutes,” she said. “I’ll have some bread and wine when I come in.”
Turning away, she went into a passage and through a gate into a small garden. Gardens were rare in Athens, and only fortunate women had one. Only extremely fortunate women had both a garden and a husband.
S
HE PASSED
the morning in desultory supervision of household slaves, who tolerated her meddling amicably, and she was aware of her futility, and was bored, and in the afternoon Calonice came. They sat in the boudoir and shared a bowl of good wine from the Cyclades. Calonice looked a little tired, as if she had not been sleeping enough, and more than a little smug.
“Are you ill, Calonice?” Lysistrata said. “I must say that you look rather peaked.”
“On the contrary,” said Calonice, “I am feeling remarkably well. I can’t remember, as a matter of fact, when I’ve felt better.”
“Really? It seems to me that you are looking distinctly tired.”
“Oh, well, I admit that I am a little tired, which is quite a different thing from being ill.” She laughed in what seemed to Lysistrata an evident tone of condescension. “Acron is absolutely
voracious,
you know. He’s a very strong fellow.”
“No doubt all husbands are like that when they are just home from the war for a few days. When you come to think of it, it’s rather disgusting.”
“Disgusting? I’m bound to say that I simply don’t understand your attitude, Lysistrata. As for me, I consider it a very fortunate state of affairs.”
“Well, you may be right, but I have been thinking about it, and it doesn’t seem to me that we are being treated at all properly in the long run. Our husbands just slip in now and then to make use of us, and then they are off again immediately to some unlikely place to kill other Greeks who merely happen to be from another town or state or something. In my opinion, there is something contemptuous in this, and it becomes, after a while, exceedingly annoying. The trouble is, we are far too accommodating.”
“It’s true that we are very accommodating, but you have to admit that there’s considerable satisfaction in it for us also.”
“Nevertheless, we are taken advantage of at every turn and made secondary to a foolish war that goes on and on forever to no purpose. Consider for a moment our incredible submission to endless impositions. We exert ourselves to make everything comfortable and pleasant at home, day and night. When our idiot husbands condescend to stay around for a while, we permit them to loaf all day in the marketplace without nagging, and in addition supervise the preparation of feasts of poultry and eels and cheese and other good things when they invariably drag several hungry guests home in the evening to dine. Finally, we are always ready to be obliging in other ways at the drop of a peplos. Is it fair, in return for such service and devotion, that we should be deserted half our lives for the questionable pleasure of killing other Greeks and making slaves of women and children?”
“When you put it that way, I can see that you have a point, but I can also see that you are feeling unnaturally bitter under the circumstances. How long has Lycon been gone to Pylos?”
“Over seven months. And since you have mentioned it, I feel free to say that I consider it unfair of you to take advantage of the situation by reporting constantly on Acron’s excessive virility. You will not be so superior when he has gone off again.”
“It’s a fact that he will soon be leaving, and after resting up a bit, I shall certainly be as dissatisfied with my condition as you are now. Would you object to my having a little more of the wine?”
“Not at all. I’ll have a little more also.”
“It’s truly excellent wine. Did you say it’s from the Cyclades?”
“Yes. It is not only pleasant to the taste, but also serves as a tonic. It restores the energy and builds up the blood.”
“As a matter of fact, I am already feeling much better than I did when I arrived. Not nearly so exhausted, that is.”
“Perhaps if you exercised a little temperance at night you would not need so much wine during the day.” Lysistrata was stopped by the look on her friend’s face. Then she said, “I’m sorry. You can see that I am only envious and therefore inclined to be nasty. Honestly, I was thinking only this morning that the hetairai have all the better of things as compared with respectable wives.”
“I confess that I have often thought myself that respectability has many disadvantages.”
“The truth is, we are expected to serve our husbands and rear children and supervise the slaves and behave ourselves always with perfect virtue, and I am prepared to state that it gets pretty dull. If we give offense, we are subject to being beaten and divorced out of hand, whereas our husbands can be divorced only for adultery, and this is no great threat to them because we are kept so close that we would never discover it if they were sleeping with every second woman in Athens. To be perfectly honest, we are considered little better than scented simpletons, as Euripides said, but the hetairai study philosophy and write poetry and frequently become the mistresses of famous men. They are not only allowed to have fun, it is even expected of them.”
“You are absolutely right, of course. I have heard that Aspasia gave pleasure to Socrates the philosopher before Pericles acquired her. Do you believe it?”
“Certainly I believe it, because it has been established. I don’t believe, however, that she procured other women for Pericles, as was charged at her trial. That is simply too much.”
“It is also too much to believe, if you ask me, that some of them have received as much as a thousand drachmas a night as a fee.”
“Oh, such stories become exaggerated, naturally, but the point is that the hetairai are permitted to entertain at home and enjoy themselves and are not compelled by custom to waste away and grow old in interminable waiting. In the process of enjoying themselves, moreover, they frequently become renowned and are recorded in history as exceptional women. On the other hand, can you name a single respectable wife who has been recorded as exceptional?”
“I am trying to think of one, and I admit that I can’t.”
“You see? In return for our devotion and service, we are rewarded with neglect and oblivion.”
Calonice sighed and helped herself without asking to more of the good wine from the Cyclades. Lysistrata also helped herself. The wine, although diluted with water, was quite comforting. Calonice sipped it with pleasure and thought that it was really getting quite late and that she had better say good-by and leave at once if she was to get home ahead of Acron, who would be petulant if she didn’t. She finished the wine and sighed again and stood up.
“Well,” she said, “I positively must run. Thank you very much for the wine, Lysistrata. It has quite restored me.”
“Is it necessary to go so early?”
“It isn’t early, actually, and Acron will be returning soon from the marketplace. As you remarked a while ago, he will undoubtedly bring guests unannounced to be prepared for, and later, when he has been sufficiently inflamed by odes and eels and wine, he will certainly come to my apartment to be accommodated. All this, as you may remember, requires considerable preparation and places quite a strain on a wife’s ingenuity and endurance. So I must go, although I would otherwise be pleased to stay for some more of the wine.”
“In my judgment,” said Lysistrata, “you would be wise to refuse Acron accommodation.”
“What? What’s that?”
Calonice could not believe her ears. She stared at Lysistrata with an incredulous expression, her mouth gaping slightly. The truth was, Lysistrata was rather surprised herself. She had not really intended saying any such thing, but now that she had said it, she began immediately to see merit in the advice.
“You would be wise to refuse Acron accommodation,” she repeated. “He has come home to satiate himself like a pig after having neglected you grossly, and it would serve him right if he were denied. Moreover, I am convinced that you would gain from it in the long run.”
“Well, I never heard anything so preposterous in my life before, and I’m compelled to tell you so. Please tell me what I could possibly gain.”
“It would teach Acron a good lesson that he badly needs. If he were taught to expect such treatment every time he returns, perhaps he would think twice before running off so frequently to this foolish war with other Greeks who should also be at home taking care of things.”
“That’s all very well for you to say, Lysistrata, for you have nothing to lose at the moment in advocating such a scheme, but I predict that you will think otherwise when Lycon comes home.”
“It is apparent,” said Lysistrata, “that you are truly just as eager as Acron is.”
“As for that,” said Calonice, “I’ll not deny it. There is great satisfaction for both parties in accommodation, and you know it perfectly well.”
“I know it and admit it, but you should take the long view. If Acron could be prevailed upon to stay at home more, even at the price of some sacrifice now, you would achieve more accommodation over a period of time, which would be an improvement. Surely that is obvious.”
“What’s obvious,” said Calonice, “is that I must leave at once to prepare for Acron, and I absolutely will not waste any more time listening to such nonsense, which must have been put into your head by prolonged abstinence. At least,” she said, “I will not listen to any more of it until I have completed the short run and Acron has gone off to war again.”
After so qualifying herself, she went, and Lysistrata decided that she would have just a few more swallows of the good wine. Far from befuddling her, the wine actually seemed to sharpen her wits and make them active, and she began to amuse herself by imagining what would happen if all the wives of Athens refused to accommodate their husbands, as she had suggested impetuously to Calonice, and it seemed to her that this would surely have some very entertaining consequences. Soon she began to consider specifically the consequences of refusing accommodation to Lycon when he returned, if ever, and though she didn’t know it, Lycon was at that moment on his way home.