Lysistrata

8

Lysistrata found Calonice, as Theoris had directed, waiting in the court near the statue of Hestia. It was apparent at once, even from a distance, that Calonice was truly in a state of excitement. Her dark eyes sparkled, her body seemed actually to vibrate beneath its peplos, and she looked at Lysistrata as if the latter had somehow undergone metamorphosis since the day before yesterday, becoming in the interim a strange and incredible person.

“What on earth has happened to you, Calonice?” Lysistrata said. “You look as if you were in danger of exploding at any moment.”

“I don’t believe it for an instant,” Calonice said. “I didn’t believe you were capable of it when you were advocating such a course for me, and I don’t believe it now.”

“Will you kindly be good enough to tell me what it is you don’t believe?”

“You know perfectly well what it is. Acron has told me that you refused accommodation to Lycon. Is it true? If you tell me that it is, I suppose I’ll be compelled to believe it then, but I shall find it difficult.

“May I ask how Acron happens to be informed on such a matter?”

“Why, Lycon told him, of course. Or so he claims. How else would he become informed?”

“I am astonished that he’s informed at all. In fact, it is quite distressing and is further evidence of masculine irresponsibility. Men are always accusing us of having loose tongues, but they themselves cannot retain the most delicate matters. Do you suppose it becomes a topic of conversation in the marketplace every time we make love?”

“I do wish you wouldn’t try to evade answering my question, Lysistrata. Besides, this is not a case of Lycon’s reporting that you made love, but that you refused to do so. You will have to admit that there’s a distinction.”

“The principle, I think, is the same.”

“Well, you may be as technical as you choose about it, but all I want to know is, is it true or not true?”

“It is perfectly true.”

“That was the night before last, however. I imagine that conditions have changed since then.”

“On the contrary, conditions are exactly the same.”

“It’s absolutely incredible. As I thought, I am having difficulty believing it. Could you possibly have a motive for lying about such a matter?”

“That’s something you will have to determine for yourself, although I feel obligated to say that I resent your attitude somewhat, Calonice. I advised you to adopt such a policy with Acron, and now I have adopted it with Lycon, and that’s all there is to it.”

“What, may I ask, do you hope to gain from such a policy, besides depriving yourself needlessly of simple pleasure which is available, because of the war, all too seldom at best?”

“Perhaps I hope to make it available more frequently. Regularly, as a matter of fact. At any rate, I am determined to play for all or nothing. Lycon will stay sensibly at home and be a husband, or I shall quit being a wife. This is, in my opinion, a perfectly fair position.”

“Suppose he refuses to concede.”

“Then I have no husband, and he has no wife. Since this is a state which prevails most of the time anyhow, the loss would not be nearly so great as might be at first imagined. On the other hand, the gain, if I am successful, will be considerable.”

“I see that you have thought the matter through admirably.”

“If I do say so myself, I believe I have. I have even considered the consequences if all the wives of Athens were to follow my example.”

“The first consequence, as I see it, would be to drive all the husbands into the arms of the hetairai and the pornai of the Piraeus immediately. Do you wish us to be replaced entirely by whores?”

“The hetairai and the pornai don’t have enough arms to take care of all the husbands. Besides, such women are not satisfactory indefinitely and would fail to provide adequate compensation. When a man loses a wife, he loses more than a bedmate, as you know. He loses a mother and a housekeeper and a priestess and a minor physician, and most of all he loses what he considers in his heart a piece of property. This is the hardest possible blow to his foolish pride, as well as to his sense of economy.”

“Do you really imagine that the wives of Athens would follow you in such a program?”

“It’s at least conceivable.”

“And if so, do you imagine the husbands would come to terms?”

“That’s also conceivable.”

“What then? Do the Spartans invade Attica and slaughter us all in our beds while we are making up lost time?”

“You are pursuing the same line of questioning as Lycon last night, and I will give you the same answer. It would be necessary, of course, to arrange matters so that the Spartans would be occupied at home as we would be. Also the Boeotians and all the other parties to this stupid and boring war.”

“Under the same kind of coercion?”

“Precisely.”

“A world revolution of wives?”

“All the world of immediate consequence to us, at any rate.”

“Lysistrata, I declare that you are suffering from delusions of grandeur.”

“Not at all. I conceive of women united in good sense, which is surely no more impossible than the union for twenty years of men in idiocy.”

“Do you expect the men to capitulate immediately?”

“Not immediately.”

“After how long?”

“I’ll not venture an exact prediction. Sooner than you might think, I dare say.”

“It would require organization and simultaneous action.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I cannot think how you even begin to accomplish it.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes, I am. I admit that also. Acron would certainly beat me unmercifully and do as he pleased in spite of my protests.”

“This might be uncomfortable for you, but it would be little or no satisfaction to him. Passive resistance will accomplish wonders.”

“That’s easy enough to say, but in the matter of accommodation I confess that I invariably have an irresistible urge to cooperate actively.”

“Consider the ultimate objective, Calonice. Would you rather eat a seed than grow an olive tree?”

“Well, I refuse to become involved with figures of speech. They are only confusing to me and cause me to see virtues where none exist.”

At that moment another woman entered the court and hurried across it toward Lysistrata and Calonice. She was tall and rather angular and walked with a flurry of elbows and knees. It was Nausica, wife of Cadmus, and she was obviously bursting with curiosity.

“It is clear,” said Lysistrata, “that Cadmus has also had a report on affairs in my bed chamber, which he has promptly passed on, no doubt with embellishment, to our friend Nausica.”

“As you say,” said Calonice, “it’s clear.”

It was equally clear that Nausica had been walking rapidly and was short of breath. Without greetings, she began to speak in short bursts of words with little breaks between for gasps of air.

“Can you imagine, Lysistrata, what that fool husband of mine, Cadmus, has told me? The most preposterous story, I assure you. He has told me that you have refused accommodation to Lycon.”

“It’s true,” said Lysistrata. “I may as well admit it immediately.”

“You are just in time,” said Calonice, “to be the first disciple of our friend Lysistrata, which is an honor I willingly relinquish. She is planning a world rebellion of wives.”

“What’s this? What’s this? Explain yourself, please.”

“I mean that she plans to organize all the wives of all the citizens of all the countries involved in the Peloponnesian War into a great rebellion. No husband shall be accommodated until peace is assured.”

“What an absolute stroke of genius, Lysistrata! How ever did you think of it?”

“Well, it began with my personal grievances and developed quite naturally from there.”

“I knew at once that there was something more significant in this than Cadmus was willing to tell. The fool stuttered and stammered and related it most reluctantly. As a matter of fact, he volunteered nothing, and I had literally to force the truth from him after detecting that he was exceedingly disturbed. He is absolutely incapable of hiding his feelings, you know. What frightens him is that I may be influenced by the example.”

“Why should you be influenced?” said Calonice. “It is well known that Cadmus does not go to war.”

“True. He is like a grandmother with his ailments, none of which seem to handicap him in the least bit after dark. On the other hand, I have reached a time when accommodation, except on special occasions, is more of a nuisance than a pleasure. I think I should find Lysistrata’s rebellion exciting and satisfying, to say nothing of a relief.”

“Really?” said Lysistrata. “Do you consent, then, Nausica, to become my first disciple?”

“I do. I declare this instant that I do.”

“Good. I welcome you to the cause, and I must say that I admire you more than certain other people I could mention.”

“Thank you. I believe, however, that this rebellion can never be sustained in the home. The wives could not hold out. We must fortify ourselves, Lysistrata.”

“I agree that we must remove ourselves from temptation, and also from accessibility.”

“What place do you suggest?”

“There is only one place adequate.”

“Not the Acropolis!”

“Nothing else.”

“Lysistrata, you are becoming more and more daring all the time. Could it be managed?”

“I’m convinced that it could. The Acropolis is in the custody of old men who should be easily expelled by sufficiently determined women.”

“Why, I am all over goose pimples in anticipation of it! We must work out our strategy most carefully.”

“You are certainly right. Let us go inside and discuss it and have a little wine.”

“I shall come, too,” said Calonice, “although I feel that I am sure to regret it later.”