Martin Millar - The Goddess of Buttercups and Daisies

Philippus appeared, waiting for his cue to go back onstage.

‘What’s happening —’ he began, but halted at the sight of Metris. He looked at her in wonder.

‘Take her onstage,’ yelled Aristophanes. ‘And get her as close to the judges as you can.’

Philippus, a solid professional, swiftly overcame his surprise and led Metris out onto the stage. As she walked past the chorus, their phalluses shot in the air, comically erect. The crowd cheered wildly.

‘They’re huge!’

‘Best phalluses ever!’

Aristophanes smiled. He had a shrewd idea that it wasn’t just the comedy penises of the chorus that had suddenly gone erect. Metris, clad in only a few daisies, was quite a sight. It was difficult not to react. If Dionysus was looking down on the festival, he surely would have approved.

Trygaeus led Metris around the stage. There was terrific applause from the audience. The nymph smiled at everyone. The warmth of her smile permeated the amphitheatre, and if felt like they were all touched by the cheerful, intoxicated sexual desire that was appropriate at the Dionysia, but had been missing so far. For someone who’d never been on stage before, Metris knew how to milk the applause. She and Trygaeus deliberately took a long time before finally coming to a halt in front of the judges. These judges, five in number, were seated in a prominent position in the front row. They were just as affected by Metris as everyone else, leaning forward in their seats with lustful expressions quite surprising for some of them, given their age.

‘Esteemed panel of judges,’ said Philippus, declaiming grandly. ‘You see what I’m offering you?’

He looked towards Metris, and grinned. ‘You get plenty of good things when you award Aristophanes the prize! Athens gets peace, the farmers get their vineyards back, and we all retire for some feasting and debauchery!’

That went down well with the crowd. They all liked feasting and debauchery.

Apart from Socrates, I suppose, thought Aristophanes . Maybe Euripides too.

‘Hey,’ said Luxos, appearing at his elbow. ‘What’s the idea of offering Metris to the judges? She’s not a prostitute.’

‘It’s just part of the play, you idiot. He’s not really offering her. It’s metaphorical. How did you end up with such a beautiful girl anyway? You’re the city’s most notorious layabout. By the way, thanks for reciting your poem at the start.’

‘And saving the day?’

‘Possibly. I expect my play would have triumphed anyway.’

The chorus, also fans of feasting and debauchery, were doing one of their choreographed happy dances. The audience were cheering and clapping along. The third actor onstage, taking on the personality of a weapons manufacturer, wrung his hands in misery at the prospect of peace.

‘My weapons factory!’ he wailed. ‘I’ll be ruined!’

The musicians played as the chorus danced. Metris moved in time with the rhythm. The sight of this produced further roars of approval. The scene had now become so riotous, with the crowd baying, the chorus dancing, the judges laughing and smiling, that it took Trygaeus a while to calm everyone down enough for him to make himself heard.

I’ve saved all of Greece

From the north to the south

By finally shutting

Hyperbolus’s mouth!

Aristophanes looked over to Hyperbolus in the audience. He was furious, naturally, but he controlled his temper, even as some of his opponents poured scorn on him. It was not the done thing to show anger or offer violence in the theatre. If you were ridiculed from the stage, you just had to take it, in public at least. Aristophanes knew there might be trouble ahead. Hyperbolus might follow Kleon’s example and prosecute him in court. For now, he didn’t care. He knew how well his play had been received. Peace had gone down far better than Leucon’s The Clansmen or Eupolis’s The Flatterers . As the sun began to sink over the acropolis above, the audience were cheering the final scenes, where Trygaeus was marrying Metris in a symbolic celebration of peace, surrounded by a happy crowd of revellers. Even Bremusa looked happy, something Aristophanes had never seen before. He thought she had a pleasant smile, when she wasn’t looking fierce.

Torches were lit as dusk arrived. The audience were laughing and joking as they made their way from the amphitheatre. Friends called to each other, repeating their favourite lines from the day’s comedies.

‘Do you feel that?’ said Nicias to Socrates, near the exit. ‘Aristophanes’ comedy has changed the whole atmosphere. It’s like a weight has lifted from the city. Even our Spartan guests look cheerful. You know, I think we’re going to make peace!’

Nicias and the Spartan General Antimachus bowed politely to each other. They were heading for the conference room at the north of the building, pressed into service as the location for the last session of the peace conference. The other Spartan delegates were close behind, and various important Athenians, scattered throughout the theatre, also began to make their way to the conference room.

At the same time, five more Athenians, randomly chosen as judges, were entering the smaller conference room. There they’d deliberate on the comedies they’d seen, and place them first, second and third. Most of the departing audience assumed that Aristophanes would win. His play hadn’t gone perfectly, but it had certainly made them laugh the most. The girl at the end had been spectacular. She was a topic of conversation in the city for many weeks afterwards.

I would much prefer to see

the graceful way she carries herself

and the radiance of her features

than talk of war-chariots or hoplites

Sappho

After the play, everyone was in high spirits backstage. The lead actors and members of the chorus strutted around, telling each other how good they’d been or, even better, letting other people tell them. The chorus were particularly ecstatic. As amateurs, they weren’t used to the stresses involved. Though they’d all tried to hide it during rehearsals, they’d been terrified of the play being a flop, and finding themselves ridiculed by their fellow citizens. The sense of relief they felt was overwhelming, and the wine was flowing freely. A few of their wives had appeared from the audience to share in their celebration. Everyone knew the play had been good, and Aristophanes was roundly congratulated on all sides. Hermogenes’ wife wasn’t there, though the young man on whom he spent most of his money was. Luxos and Metris were sitting in a corner, staring lovingly at each other.

‘Well, Aristophanes, you’ve done it again,’ said Hermogenes. ‘Another triumph.’

He was smiling broadly. Aristophanes tried to smile back, but he found it difficult. After the brief elation at the end of the play, he’d started to worry again.

‘I hope the judges liked it,’ he muttered. ‘You can never trust them to get it right.’

The statesman Nicias arrived. ‘Aristophanes! I’m on my way to the conference but I just had to call in and congratulate you. What a splendid comedy! You made the warmongers look like fools. You know, it may just have tipped things in our favour!’

Nicias seemed genuinely optimistic. He really thought it might have made a difference. After he departed, Hermogenes’ smile grew even broader. ‘Even Nicias liked it and he’s one of the most important men in the city. This is a great day, Aristophanes.’

‘I suppose so.’