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A monologue from the play by Aristophanes
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Aristophanes: The Eleven Comedies. Trans. Anonymous. London: The Athenian Society, 1922.
CHORUS OF WOMEN
Nay, never play the brave man, else when you go back home, your own mother won’t know you. But, dear friends and allies, first let us lay our burdens down; then, citizens all, hear what I have to say.
I have useful counsel to give our city, which deserves it well at my hands for the brilliant distinctions it has lavished on my girlhood. At seven years of age, I was bearer of the sacred vessels;
at ten, I pounded barley for the altar of Athené; next, clad in a robe of yellow silk, I was little bear to Artemis at the Brauronia; presently, grown a tall, handsome maiden, they put a necklace of dried figs about my neck,
and I was Basket-Bearer. So surely I am bound to give my best advice to Athens. What matters that I was born a woman, if I can cure your misfortunes? I pay my share of tolls and taxes, by giving men to the State.
But you, you miserable greybeards, you contribute nothing to the public charges; on the contrary, you have wasted the treasure of our forefathers, as it was called, the treasure amassed in the days of the PersianWars.
You pay nothing at all in return; and into the bargain you endanger our lives and liberties by your mistakes. Have you one word to say for yourselves? . . . Ah! don’t irritate me, you there, or I’ll lay my slipper across your jaws;
and it’s pretty heavy. By the blessed goddesses, if you anger me, I will let loose the beast of my evil passions, and a very hailstorm of blows will set you yelling for help.
Come, dames, off tunics, and quick’s the word; women must scent the savour of women in the throes of passion. . . . Now just you dare to measure strength with me, old greybeard, and I warrant you you’ll never eat garlic or black beans more.
No, not a word! My anger is at a boiling point, and I’ll do with you what the beetle did with the eagle’s eggs. I laugh at your threats, so long as I have on my side Lampita here, and the noble Theban, my dear Ismenia. . . .
Pass decree on decree, you can do us no hurt, you wretch abhorred of all your fellows. Why, only yesterday, on occasion of the feast of Hecaté, I asked my neighbors of Bœotia for one of their daughters for whom my girls have a lively liking–
a fine, fat eel to wit; and if they did not refuse, all along of your silly decrees! We shall never cease to suffer the like, till someone gives you a neat trip-up and breaks your neck for you!
