Fletcher Flora - Lysistrata

She 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.”