HERONDAS
I. The Matchmaker
(The actor sets out his traps while his boy beats a jangling tambourine which, as an audience gathers, gives way to a sprightly jig on a flute. The actor places two stools and opens his box of props and costumes. He dons a dress, a wig, a stole. His eyes are made up female. He trots primly, with swaying bips, to one of the stools, giving a glad eye to the audience on the way. He settles himself, arranges the stole with pompous dignity, bats his eyes, purses his lips, consults an imaginary hand mirror, and becomes an important matron serenely at home. She holds this pose until the boy raps on the box, whereupon her composure is shattered and she yelps on a high note.)
METRIKHÉ
Threissa! Somebody's knocking at the front.
Go see if it’s not a country peddler
Selling door to door.
(Actor tosses his stole and wig to the boy, deftly catching a wig of younger, girlish hair, and an apron. He springs to the imaginary door, wiping his hands on the apron, looking dumb and scared. His accent becomes lower class and Thracian. He talks through the closed door.)
THREISSA
Who’s there at the door?
(He ventriloquizes the answer.)
It’s me who’s here!
THREISSA
Who’s me? You’re afraid
To come on in, aren’t you?
(Horrified by the way she has put the question, covers her mouth with both hands.)
GYLLIS
I’m as in
As I can get till you open the door.
THREISSA
Yes, but who are you?
GYLLIS
It’s Gyllis is who.
Philainion’s mother. Tell Metrikhé
I’ve come to pay her sweet self a visit.
(Switches wigs, stole for apron.)
METRIKHÉ
Who is it, pray, at the door?
GYLLIS
It’s Gyllis!
Mother Gyllis as ever was!
METRIKHÉ
Gyllis!
(To Threissa, with shooing hands.)
Malee yourself scarce, slave. Off with you now, scat.
Gyllis! What stroke of good luck brings you by?
Like a god dropping down on us mortals!
It has been months, five or six, I’ll swear,
Since I’ve had so much as a glimpse of you,
Not even in a dream. And here you are.
(Jumps into the empty space to which she was talking, catching a tackier stole and an old woman’s out-of-date bonnet on the way. Stoops at the shoulders, sucks in mouth, draws in on himself, losing height. Voice shaky but chirpy.)
GYLLIS
I don’t live near, child, and as for the road
You can sink into the mud past your knees.
I’m as weak as a housefly, anyway.
I’m old, girl. Old age is my shadow now.
METRIKHÉ
Such talk. Exaggeration, all of it.
You wouldn’t turn down a nudge, you know it.
GYLLIS
(Cackles.)
Make fun! You young women think we’re all
Just like you.
METRIKHÉ
(Pats hair, rolls eyes.)
Well, don’t include me, I’m sure!
GYLLIS
What I’ve come to see you about, my chit,
Is a word to the wise.
(Grins horribly.)
For how long now
Have you been deprived of a husband, dear?
How long alone in your bed? In Egypt,
On a business trip, is he, your Mandris?
It’s five months he has been away and not
A letter of the alphabet from him.
(Lets this sink in.)
Hasn’t he found another cup to sip?
Hasn’t he forgotten you, don’t you think?
(Wide-eyed.)
What I’ve heard of Egypt! Her very home,
The Goddess.
(Pats her groin.)
They’ve got everything there is,
Everything that grows, everything that’s made.
Rich families, gymnasiums, money,
Peace, famous places and philosophers,
Grand sights, army, charming boys, the altar
Of their god who married his own sister.
They have a good king.
(Thinks hard for more.)
A museum. Wine.
Every wonderful thing you might want!
Also, by Koré the bride of Hades,
More women than there are stars in the sky,
And every one of them, dear Metrikhé,
As pretty as the lady goddesses
Who stood naked before Paris that time
To be sized up, forgive the expression.
God forbid they hear me put it like that.
(Averts bad luck with a pious gesture.)
Whatever then can you be thinking of,
My poor girl, to sit here doing nothing?
Bird on an empty nest! All fires go out,
Leaving ashes. Old age is for certain.
Perk up, look about, have a little fun.
Does a ship have only the one anchor?
It has two! When you’re dead, you’re dead.
Why should this one life be grey and dreary?
(Quietly, reflectively.)
It’s uncertain enough for us women.
(Brightens.)
Perhaps you have somebody on the sly?
METRIKHÉ
Of course not!
GYLLIS
Then listen well to me, dear.
I’ve come here with a jolly little plan.
There is a nice young man, name of Gryllos,
Pataikos’ daughter Mataliné’s son.
Five prizes in athletics has he won.
One in the Pythian Games at Delphi
When he was a mere stripling of a boy,
Two at Korinthos, the down on his cheeks,
Two at the Olympics, men’s boxing match.
(Warms to her subject.)
And he is very well to do, sweetheart.
What’s more, he has never mashed the grass down
In that way.
(Proud of her delicacy.)
That is, he is a virgin.
He has yet to press his seal in the wax.
He is still a stranger to Kythera.
(Huddling closer.)
And Metrikhé, he has fallen for you!
At the festival parade of Misa.
He is turned around, his insides stirred up.
Knowing my skill as a good matchmaker,
He came to me, tears in his handsome eyes,
Pestered me day and night, pitifully,
Near death, and said that love has laid him low.
(Throws her arms wide, and stands hovering.)
Metrikhé, poppet, give Aphrodite
Half a chance, one lovely sweet naughty fling.
We get old, all of us, quite soon enough.
You stand to gain two ways: you’ll be loved,
And the boy is both rich and generous.
Look here, think what I am doing for you
And I’m doing it because I love you.
METRIKHÉ
(Sternly, after a longish, shocked silence with downcast eyes.)
You’re as blind, Gyllis, as your hair’s white.
By Demeter! By my faith in Mandris,
I would not so calmly have abided
Such cheek as this from anybody but you,
And that only because of your years.
I would have given such limping twaddle
Good reason to be lame. Better reason,
Still, to keep away from my door. Make sure,
Old woman, that you don’t come here again
With rigmarole not fit for decent ears.
And do let me sit here doing nothing,
As you put it. Nobody gets away
With insulting my Mandris to my face.
Not what you came to hear, is it, Gyllis?
(Expels breath in exasperation. Softens manner. Calls over shoulder.)
Threissa! Wipe the black cup clean with a cloth,
Pour a tot in a dribble of water.
Bring Gyllis a little nip for the road.
There, Gyllis, drink up.
GYLLIS
(Hurt.)
Thank you, dear, but no.
(Broods with pouting lip.)
Metrikhé, sweet.
(No reply.)
I’m not here to tempt you.
I’m here on Lady Aphrodite’s work
It was at the festival he found love.
So religious.
METRIKHÉ
(Throws up hands.)
On Aprhodite’s work!
GYLLIS
(Primly.)
Yes.
METRIKHÉ
Your health. Drink up. So nice you could come.
GYLLIS
(Philosophically.)
Lovely wine you have, dear. By Demeter.
(Smacks lips.)
Gyllis has never had any better.
(Drains cup, with a lick around the rim.)
I suppose now I’d best be on my way.
Sincerely yours, sweetheart. Keep well, and all.
(Seeming to change the subject.)
Myrtle and Tippy, they keep themselves young.
And myself, I can still shuffle around.
(Actor shuffles, wags his behind, winks broadly, and takes his bow.)
II. The Whorehouse Manager
(Battaros, a whorehouse manager, is pleading a case of assault and battery against one Thales, captain of a merchant ship, in a law court in Kos. The actor wears a preposterously big Scythian moustache, a black roachy wig reeking of some fruity essence sharpened by pine oil. His eyes are raccooned with violet circles, his fingers are crowded with trashy rings, his robe is decidedly the color and cut for a dinner party but not for a court of law. He speaks with the brass and vulnerable dignity of an alley lawyer. His accent is foreign, with a trace of a lisp.)
BATTAROS
(In a pitched voice, with gestures.)
Gentlemen of the court, it is not whom
We are, or the prestige we have downtown,
Nor whether Thales here owns a ship which
It is worth one hundred fifty thousand,
Or, as is true, I don’t have bread to eat,
But whether he’s going to do me dirt
Without he answers to the law for it.
(Gasps, worn out by such eloquence.)
Because if he’s to answer to the law,
He’s got a sorry lot to answer for,
Which I am about to accuse him of.
A citizen, a man of property,
Is he? Let me tell you, he has a name
Not all that different from mine in town.
We do business as we have to, to live,
Not as we, given a choice, would like to.
He backs the boxer Mennês. Me, I back
The wrestler Aristophon, as is known.
Now this Mennês has won a match or two,
Aristophon can squeeze a breath out yet,
I kid you not. See if you recognize
This Mennês after dark, but believe me
I will be escorted, rest you assured.
(Waggles eyebrows. Realizes that he has strayed far from what he ought to be saying. Collects thoughts, takes aim, and gets back to his subject.)
Thales’ plea, no doubt, is going to be
He brought a cargo of wheat from Akês
Back when we had the famine. Fine and good!
I import girls from Tyros. How is this
With the people? He did not bring them wheat
And give it to them. Nor are my girls free.
He seems to think they are though, free gratis.
If he means, because he crosses the sea,
Because he wears a coat costs three hundred
In Attika, if he means, while I wear
This thin old shirt and these worn-out sandals
And keep house on the dry land, if he means
He can get away with forcing a girl
Behind my back, in the middle of the night,
Me sound asleep for hours in my bed,
To run away with him, then I submit
This city’s no longer safe to live in.
No, not safe to live in, our proud city!
Where then is all our boasting and boosting?
He undermines us, this Thales, who should,
Like me, know his place, keep to his level,
Like me, respectful to all citizens.
(Shakes his head sadly.)
Such is not the case. The real uppercrust,
People with a name, they obey the laws.
They don’t get me out of bed at midnight,
They don’t beat me up, set fire to my house,
Haul off one of my girls against her will.
But this wildman Phrygian calling himself
Thales, whose name, gentlemen, used to be
Artimmês, has done all of the above,
Scoffing the law and the magistracy.
Now if you please, Clerk of Court, read us all
The law on assault. Let’s have the timer
Plug the water clock while he reads it out,
Or
(Making a joke, very sure of himself)
it’ll look, as the man said, as if
He’s put his bladder down for a carpet.
CLERK OF COURT
(Actor has only to stand straight, assume a voice of wheezy public rectitude, and read from an imaginary scroll.)
Whensoever any freeman shall do…
BATTAROS
(Taking over, from memory. He has done his homework.)
… a mischief unto a female slave or
Belabor her with improper intent,
His fine therefor shall be double the fine
For assault. These, gentlemen, are the words
Of Khairondas in the Code, not the words
Of one Battaros, plaintiff, bringing suit
Against one Thales, so called, defendant.
Likewise, if any man beat down a door
His fine must be no less than a mina.
And if any man set fire to a house
Or break into and enter same, his fine
Shall be one thousand drakhmas, damages
Twice that. Khairondas in the code lays down
The laws for running a city, but you,
Thales, what do you care for any law?
One day you’re off in Brikindera,
Another, in Abdera. Tomorrow,
If you could get passage, you would be off
To Phaselis. And I, to speak bluntly
And to not wear out your ears, gentlemen,
And get to the point, I have been done by
Thales like the mouse in the tar bucket.
I have been hit by his fist. My front door,
Which put me back four obols to have set,
Charged to my rent the month I had it up,
Is split, and my lintel is scorched and charred.
And—come here, Myrtalê, come testify—
(Actor leads forward an imaginary girl.)
Let the court see you. Don’t be bashful now.
All these people, look, are trying your case.
Think of them as your fathers and brothers.
(Indigantly, to the court.)
Would you look, gentlemen, at her torn dress.
(Lifts her dress.)
Look her all over, see how she is bruised
And manhandled by this ape of a man.
He has pulled every hair out of her thing!
Plucked her clean as a chicken! Were I young—
He can be thankful for my age—he would
Have breathed his own blood, I can promise you,
(Dramatic pause.)
Like Philippos the Locust of Samos.
(Pause, to follow this classical allusion with meaningful silence, which does not achieve the effect intended.)
You can laugh?
(With a furious and futile look, soon abandoned, for desperate honesty.)
So I am a pederast.
I admit it. My name is Battaros.
Sisymbras my grandfather before me
And Sisymbriskos my father were both,
As I am, in the whorehouse business.
(Ranting.)
If I were stronger, I’d choke a lion
If, by Zeus, the lion’s name was Thales!
(Recovers himself, rearranges his thoughts. Turns to Thales, pointing at him.)
Like as not, let’s say, you love Myrtalê,
Nothing at all peculiar about that.
Me, I love a square meal. I get the one,
You get the other. That’s only business.
You’re feeling horny, that’s natural.
What you do is pay Battaros the price
And you can bash what you’ve bought as you will.
(Turns to the judges.)
One point more, gentlemen, and this for you,
Not him. There were, you know, no witnesses.
You must judge this case on the face of it.
If all Thales wanted was to beat up
A poor slave and wants her to testify
Under torture, then I will take her place.
Willingly! But he must pay just the same
If he hurts me, just as if I were her.
Did Minos balance this case on his scales,
Could he try it a better way than this?
To sum up, gentlemen: if you decide
For me, it will not be for Battaros
But for all businessmen not citizens.
(Finger in air, orating.)
Now’s the time to show the mettle of Kos,
Of great Merops and his proud daughter Kos!
Glory of Thessalos and Herakles!
The place Asklepios came from Trikka!
The Place where Phoibé gave birth to Leto!
Ponder all this, bring in a right judgement,
And unless all that we’ve heard about Phrygians
Is wrong, he will be improved by the lash.
(Bow low, with sweep of hand, and a smirk.)
III. The Schoolmaster
(The actor is dressed as a harridan of a mother much given to fist-shaking, pointing, and standing aggressively with hands on hips. The skit begins with her stabbing a finger at the schoolmaster Lampriskos while bolding her truant son Kottalos by an ear. We must imagine that the scene is before a school, with statues of the Muses flanking the entrance. Their presence is indicated by oaths throughout. The mother’s voice is loud, distraught, vibrant, grating.)
METROTIMÉ
If, Lampriskos, you have any respect
For decency and order in your school,
Beat this lazy lout across the shoulders
Till his last breath is about to come out!
It’s the price of the roof over our head
That he has just lost spinning pennies.
Oh no! No knucklebones for this noodle!
(Gives three painful tugs on the boy’s ear, glares at him.)
The fact of the matter is, Lampriskos,
He’s already at his age a gambler
And a punk and probably something worse.
I doubt that he knows his way here to school,
Although I do, sadly, every month’s end
When I come to pay you his tuition,
With good King Nannakos’ tears down my cheeks
Weeping before the gods for his people.
(Stares Lampriskos down with this piece of proverbial lore. Looks at her son as if to pity his oafish ignorance.)
To that den of jerks and contraband slaves
With its nonstop crapgame, that way he knows,
And how to lead others there, the rascal.
I’m tired of picking up his wax tablet
From where he throws it down against the wall
Beside his bed when he comes in from school.
And what’s written on it? Nothing, nothing.
It’s as clean as when I waxed it for him.
Except when, having scrawled Hades on it,
He scrapes it down to keep me from seeing.
His knucklebones lie untouched in his bag
As bright as the cruet on the table.
He cannot recognize the letter A
No matter how many times I’ve showed him
When, day before yesterday, his father
Spelled him Maron, the poor fool wrote Simon!
I could kick myself for not raising him
To be a caretaker of jackasses
Instead of to read and write, in fond hope
That he could support me in my old age.
But when asked to say something from a play,
As anybody might ask a schoolboy,
Whenever I ask him, or his father,
Whose eyesight is failing, and his hearing,
What trickles out, as if from a cracked jug?
Apollo the bright, a hunter was he!
Your old granny, I say, can recite that
Without being able to read or write,
Nerd, or any Phrygian slave in the street.
But dare criticize this brat one grumble
And for three days you don’t lay eyes on him.
Off to Granny’s! She is well up in years,
And though she has to live close to the bone,
He goes through her cupboard like a famine.
Or, up on our roof and breaking the tiles,
Sits gazing between his legs like an ape.
You see what all this does to me, clearly.
How I suffer. Broken tiles to think of,
Winter’s coming, tiles cost three himaitha,
My eyes water to ponder the expense.
All the apartments know well who did it.
(Renewed outrage, harder pulls on the ear.)
Kottalos, Metrotimé’s imp, is who!
I don’t dare show a tooth to deny it.
(Still pinching an ear, lifts Kottalos’ shirt.)
Would you look at his back! It looks like bark!
This is what comes of lolling in the woods
Idle as a Delian with trap seines out.
Throws his life away! He can calculate
Feast days better than an astrologer.
He can do that in his sleep.
(Hands on hips, grim.)
As you hope,
Lampriskos, for fine favors from the gods,
Give this scapegrace no fewer than…
(Actor changes matron’s wig for thatchy one of a schoolmaster, hooks on a beard, and dons a wrinkled and patched cloak. His voice is full of bleats and clipped exactnesses of pronunciation.)
LAMPRISKOS
No more, Metrotimé, I beg of you.
He will get what he deserves. Euthiês!
(Snaps bony fingers as he calls.)
Kokkalos! Phillos! Report here to me.
Up with Kottalos now on your shoulders.
(Bares Kottalos’ bottom with professional detachment.)
It is time we gazed, like Akesaios,
On the full of the moon, oh dear me, yes.
And hasn’t our deportment been lovely?
Too good, Kottalos, to throw knucklebones?
Too big for our schoolmates, we must go dice
With the toughs, mustn’t we? But we’ll learn.
I shall make you as placid as a girl
Who never budges so much as a straw.
Hand me the oxtail whip, the one that bites,
The one I use for the hardened cases.
Be quick, before I choke on my own bile.
KOTTALOS
(Actor lies across a stool and wiggles his legs and makes frantic movements with his arms. Voice cracks to falsetto every other phrase.)
No! No! Please, Lampriskos, by the Muses,
By the beard on your chin, by my own life,
Not the oxtail! Beat me with the other!
Have mercy on your little Kottalos.
LAMPRISKOS
You are a rotten boy, my Kottalos.
What could I find good to say about you
Even if I were auctioning you off?
And I doubt that I could give you away
In the country where the mice eat iron.
KOTTALOS
How many lashes, how many lashes
Do I get, Lampriskos?
LAMPRISKOS
Ask her, not me.
KOTTALOS
Tatai! How many then, the two of you?
I mean to live to be old. As many
As your miserable hide can last through.
(Lampriskos flogs.)
KOTTALOS
Quit, quit. O Lampriskos! Enough! Enough!
LAMPRISKOS
Will you quit gambling and playing the fool?
KOTTALOS
Yes! Yes! Never again, O Lampriskos,
I swear it by the Muses at the door.
LAMPRISKOS
What an awful lot of tongue you can flap.
One more squeal and I gag you with the mouse.
KOTTALOS
I’m silent, listen. Watch it! Don’t kill me!
LAMPRISKOS
(Whistling the oxtail whip around his head.)
Turn him loose, Kokkalos. That should do it.
METROTIMÉ
Don’t stop now with the beating, Lampriskos.
Flog on till the sun goes down, I beg you.
He’s slippier by far than the Hydra.
More! He will only pretend to study.
LAMPRISKOS
No more.
Twenty more. If he learns to read
better than Klio, he needs twenty more.
K0TTALOS
(Sticks out his tongue at his mother.)
LAMPRISKOS
Go coat your tongue with honey, silly boy.
METROTIMÉ
On second thought, Lampriskos, once he’s home
I’ll get his old father to hobble him.
He’ll be hopping with his hands and feet tied
Next time you see him, disgracing these Muses.
Their cold stares can feast on him in his straps.
IV. Women at the Temple
(The actor wears an important, richly figured dress, and is cowled with a long shawl. This costume serves for both the women he portrays, as they are dressed for a sacrifice at the temple of Asklepios, god of healing. He uses a different voice for each, an assured, superior voice for Kynno, a rather giddy and rattling voice for Kokkalé her companion, whom she treats as an equal when she remembers to, but as an inferior by instinct. They are accompanied by a dull servant girl who does not speak. To be the Custodian, a temple attendant of minor rank, the actor sheds the long shawl, slips into a long-sleeved linen robe, hooks on a beard, and carries a staff.)
KYNNO
(On her knees before an imaginary altar, arms held high and wide in the traditional attitude of supplication. The prayer she recites is formulaic for eleven lines and then becomes a mixture of the spontaneous and religious catchphrases.)
Rejoice, Great Paiêon, Lord of Thikka,
Whose sweet home is Kos and Epidauros,
Hail Mother Koronis and Apollon!
And her in your right hand, Hygieia!
Hail the holy altars of Panaké
And of Epio and of Iêso,
Of Podaleiros and Makhaon who
Tore down Leomedon’s walls and mansion
And can heal the fiercest of diseases,
And of all gods and goddesses residing,
Father Paiêon, with you on your hearth.
Bless me, please, for the gift of this rooster.
He was the herald on my garden fence.
I am not rich, and my well is shallow.
Otherwise I would bring an ox or pig,
A fat pig, instead of this plain rooster,
In thanksgiving for the cure, O Great Lord,
Which you brought to me with your healing hands.
(To her companion.)
Put the dish there on Hygieia’s right,
Kokkalé.
KOKKALÉ
(Complying, piously. She admires the effect of the dish of roast rooster on the altar. Her eyes wander. She steps back, talking in the temple.)
O! dear Kynno, turn around.
Look what beautiful statuary’s here.
I wonder what sculptor cut this figure,
And who commissioned it to be placed here?
KYNNO
The sons of Prexiteles. Don’t you see
The lettering on the base? Euthiês,
Prexon’s son, see, gave it to the temple.
(Rather overdoing art appreciation.)
Paiêon bless them, and bless Euthiês too,
For such beautiful work. See, dear, the girl
Gazing right up at that apple so rapt.
I think she will faint if she can’t get it.
(Bustling about, pointing.)
And there, Kynno, that old man. Oh! but wait,
(Discovering an Eros Straddling a Swan.)
By the Fates, that small boy is choking a goose!
It’s real! You would swear that it could speak
Were you not close enough to see it’s stone.
(Babbling.)
The time will come when men will find how to
Put life in stone. Look at the step she takes,
This Batalé,
(Stooping to read.)
daughter of Myttes, here.
(Sententiously.)
If you’ve never seen Batalé herself,
See this, and you won’t need to see Batalé!
KYNNO
To see as stunning a statue, my dear,
As you will see in your life, come with me.
(To her servant.)
Kydilla, go fetch the Custodian.
(Kydilla, enthralled by the statues, pays her no attention.)
I’m talking to you! Gawking and gaping!
Pays no more attention than a statue!
So stand there and stare at me like a crab!
Fetch us, I’m saying, the Custodian.
You are as helpless here in the temple,
Idiot, as in the kitchen or street.
I ask the god to witness, Kydilla,
That you are fanning my temper just when
I can’t afford to blow up in a fit.
Go on, scratch your head like a simpleton.
I’ll give you a reason to hold your head!
KOKKALÉ
Don’t upset yourself for nothing, Kynno.
She’s only stupid. All slaves are stupid.
KYNNO
But they’re already opening the doors.
The temple will be full in just a bit.
KOKKALÉ
Aren’t you looking, dear Kynno, at all
These grand works of art? These now, you could say,
Are Athene’s work, bless her holy name.
(Making on, with gestures, before a painting.)
That naked boy there, look, I could pinch him
And leave a welt. His warm flesh is so bright
That it shimmers like sunlight on water.
And his silver fire tongs, wouldn’t Myllos
Send his eyes out on stalks in wonderment,
Or Lamprion’s son Pataikiskos try
To steal them! For they are indeed that real!
The ox, the herd, and the girl who’s with them,
The hooknosed man with his hair sticking up,
They are as real as in everyday life.
If I weren’t a lady, I might scream
At the sight of that convincing big ox
Watching us out of the side of his eye.
(Realizing that Kokkalé’s art criticism is entirely to trompel’oeil effects.)
The style of Apelles the Ephesian
Is true, my dear, whatever his subject.
He painted everything equally well.
Whatever caught his imagination
He painted straight off, and to perfection.
To look at his paintings and not admire
Ought to be punished with being hung up
By the feet in a shop.
(Sees Custodian coming.)
Ah, here he is.
CUSTODIAN
(Aiming to please.)
Ladies, your sacrifice was propitious,
And liturgically correct as well.
Surely Paiêon was very well pleased.
(Piously, lifting his staff.)
Let us pray. O blessed Paiêon, O
Look with favor on these thy worshipers,
And on their husbands, blessed Paiêon,
And on all their kin. May this come to pass.
KYNNO
Amen. So be it, O Greatest! May we
Return in health to sacrifice again,
With worthier offerings, and with us
Bring our husbands and children.
(Pointedly.)
Kokkalé,
Carve a drumstick for the Custodian,
And give the snake a morsel, quietly,
(with unctuous knowledge of the ritual)
In sacred silence, there on the altar.
(Briskly.)
We’ll eat, don’t forget, the rest at home.
(To the Custodian.)
Stay well, my fellow. Here now, have some bread.
We’ll begin with you, close to the god,
In passing it around on the way home.
V. The Jealous Woman
(The actor has four parts: a mature matron named Bitinna; her slave and bedmate Gastron, who is young, and whose name, Stomach, alludes not to his body but to his sensual appetite; her servant Kydilla who is the same age as her daughter; and an older slave Pyrrbiês, whose two lines of dialogue do not need a costume change. A wig and a stole are sufficient to make the actor into Bitinna, a raucous and furious woman. Beneath the stole is a slave’s smock that will do for both Gastron and Kydilla. The only prop is a rope, which the actor tangles around himself to be Gastron tied up.)
BITINNA
(In a rage.)
Out with it, Gastron! You are tired of me,
So full of my legs wide open in bed
You’re sniffing Menon’s Amphytaiê!
GASTRON
Me? Amphytaiê! I’ve never even
Seen her. Who is she?
BITINNA
New lies every day!
(Doing the engaging sulk of a spoiled male.)
Bitinna, you own me. Own my body!
Day and night you drink my blood, yes you do.
BITINNA
(Enraged the more.)
What a lot of tongue on you! Kydilla!
Where’s Pyrrhiês? Go tell him I want him.
PYRRHIÊS
(From another part of the house.)
What is it?
BITINNA
(Pointing to Gastron, fire in her eyes, singing her words.)
Tie him up—don’t just stand there!
The well rope. Go get it. Tie him with it.
(To Gastron.)
If I don’t make an example of you,
I’ll not answer to the name of woman.
I’m a Phrygian if I don’t make up for
Being fool enough to let you in my bed
As a somebody. Once a fool, twice wise.
(To Pyrrhiês.)
Strip him, be quick, and bind him hand and foot.
GASTRON
(On his knees.)
No, Bitinna, no! I beg you, don’t, please.
BITINNA
Strip him, I tell you.
You need reminding
That I bought you, you slave, for three minas.
Damn the day you turned up here. Pyrrhiês!
(Pointing sarcastically.)
You call that tying up! Start all over.
What a fool. Bind his elbows behind him
So tight the rope saws his skin if he squirms.
GASTRON
Forgive me, Bitinna! I cheated once.
I gave in to her because I’m a man.
Men can’t help it. I’ll let you tattoo me
If I do it again.
BITINNA
You waste your breath.
Save your slick words for your Amphytaiê
While you’re rolling with her, thinking me
To be the doormat where you wipe your feet.
PYRRHIÊS
There! Well bound.
BITINNA
See that he can’t wiggle loose.
And now drag him, trussed up as you have him,
Off to Hermon the executioner,
Who is to beat him a thousand lashes
Across his back, and a thousand lashes
Across his stomach.
GASTRON
(Naked, in a tangle of rope.)
Will you kill me, then,
Bitinna, before proving me guilty?
Didn’t you just beg me to forgive you?
Bitinnll, forgive me. My ears heard you.
GASTRON
I said that only to cool your temper.
BITINNA
(In a fury, to Pyrrhiês.)
What are you standing there and staring at?
Do what I tell you to do! Kydilla!
Whop this clod on the snout. And you, Drekhon,
Go along with them to see they get there.
(Frantically, on the crest of her anger.)
Talee that rag, Kydilla, tie it around
His hips to hide the bastard’s little dick
As he’s dragged naked through the marketplace.
A thousand here,
(Whacks his back.)
and a thousand more here.
(Pokes his belly with her toe.)
Repeat that, hear, Pyrrhiês, to Hermon.
Malee sure you do, or be prepared to pay
Debt plus interest with your own backside.
Get on with it. Don’t go by Mikkalê’s
For a short cut. Right down the highway!
(Fumes. Paces. Imagines with gleaming eyes. Smiles with wicked satisfaction. Her blood boils and she relishes the steam. Pause. Face drains of expression. Reason steals back from banishment.)
I’m not thinking! Call them back, Kydilla.
Call them back, slave! Before they get too far.
(Hollering through her bands.)
Pyr-rhi-ês! Come back! Are you deaf? Come bad!
(No response from down the road.)
Damn! He’s dragging him along like a sack.
He treats him as if he was a robber,
And him his buddy! Pyrrhiês! You lout!
You like bullying him tied up like that,
Don’t you, dragging him off to be tortured.
These two eyes will see you not five days off
Sporting Akhaian chains on your ankles.
Antidoros has fitted them on you
At the smithy before, and will again.
It’s not that long since you were wearing them.
BITINNA
(To Pyrrhiês.)
You! Bring him back, keep him tied, dump him here.
Go fetch Kosis and his tattoo needles,
And his ink.
(To Gastron.)
He will decorate your hide
All over and make the one job of it,
Without let or stint, hanging, trussed, and gagged,
Like any proud Davos of a butler.
KYDlLLA
(Interfering boldly.)
No, please, Missy, just this one time be kind.
Give a thought to Batyllis, her wedding,
Sweet grandbabies to dandle on your lap.
For this happy thought pardon him this once.
I beg you.
Quit pestering, Kydilla,
Before I boot you one out of the house.
(Draws herself to full height and quivers.)
Let this slave seven times over get off!
No, the world would be right to spit in my face.
No, by the Great Mother of us all, no.
He cannot help being a man. he says.
He knows that much, and he will know some more
When we, to remind him he is a man,
Tattoo KNOW THYSELF all over his face.
KYDILLA
(Counting on her fingers.)
The Gerenia is only four days off!
(Happy to have remembered a religious law.)
Today’s the twentieth. You can’t…
BITINNA
(Thwarted, and perhaps welcoming a way out.)
Yes, well.
(With a patient sigh.)
I’ll let you escape this once. You can thank
Kydilla for it. If she can get around me,
It is because I raised her in these arms.
I love her as I love my Batyllis,
Like a daughter.
(Grimly, savoring a new revenge.)
After the festival,
After we have drunk to the sleeping dead,
You can look forward to as much pleasure
As theirs, day after day, my fine fellow.
You have tasted your last of the honey.
(Snaps her fingers in haughty triumph.)
VI. A Private Talk Between Friends
(The actor impersonates two women seated on stools. He has but to switch from one stool to the other and change shawls of distinctive design to be alternately the two. Their shoes should be in fashion, and their conversation that of women of the world in the swim of things.)
KORITTO
(Welcoming her friend, who has come to visit.)
Do have a seat, Metro.
((Realizes that there is none. Wheels on her servant girl, shouting and making hysterical gestures with her arms.)
Get up! A stool
For this lady! Must I say what to do
Or you don’t lift a finger? Is that it?
Are you some kind of rock, or a servant?
The liveliness of a corpse! Except, of course,
When I measure out your ration of meal.
You count the grains. If I spill a little,
You grumble and pout until I wonder
The walls don’t sigh in sympathy, and fall.
(Ominous pause. Finds new angle of attack.)
Just now wiping the stool clean, aren’t you?
And why, pray, hasn’t it been kept dusted?
You can be very thankful there’s a guest,
Else wouldn’t you taste the flat of my hand!
(Sympathetically, complacently.)
We wear the same yoke, my dear Koritto.
I have to bark like a dog day and night
At these lazy and unspeakable oafs.
(Pulls her stool closer.)
What I’ve come about…
KORTTO
(Suddenly jumps up and runs toward servants, flapping her dress.)
Out from underfoot, all you shiftless sluts!
You sneaks and gossips! All ears and tongues
And nothing else to you but idle butts!
(Sits. Composes herself.)
METRO
(Tries again.)
You must tell me now,
Korino dear, who made you your dildo,
The beautifully stitched red leather one.
KORITTO
(Agape with surprise.)
But how now, when, where can you have seen it?
METRO
Erinna’s daughter had it given her
Day before yesterday, Nossis, you know.
What a beautiful present for a girl.
KORITTO
(Befuddled and alarmed.)
METRO
If I tell,
Will you tell on me?
KORITTO
(Touching eyelids with fingers.)
These sweet eyes, Metro!
Koritto’s mouth lets out naught.
METRO
Eubylé,
Bitas’ wife, gave it to her. Promised her,
What’s more, nobody would be the wiser.
KORITTO
Women! That woman will uproot me yet.
I let her have it because she begged me.
Metro, I hadn’t yet used it myself!
And she treats it like something she has found,
And makes an improper present of it.
Goodbye and goodbye to a friend like, her,
Is what I say. She can find other friends.
She has lent my property to Nossis!
Adresteia forgive me for speaking
Stronger than a woman should. But Nossis!
I wouldn’t give her my old worn-out one
Even if I still had a thousand more.
METRO
Now, now, Koritto. Keep your dander down.
Better to enjoy an even temper.
I shouldn’t have babbled. I talk too much.
It would be an improvement all around
Were I to lose my tongue. But, to get back,
Who did make it? Do tell me, as a friend.
Why are you looking at me so funny?
I’m Metro, not a stranger, after all.
What is this prudishness? Be a sport, now.
Who’s the craftsman that made it? What’s his name?
KORITTO
(Laughing.)
What a pitiful plea! Kerdon made it.
METRO
Which Kerdon? The grey-eyed one, the Kerdon
Who’s Kylaithis’ Myrtalinê’s neighbor?
He couldn’t make a plectrum for a harp.
Near Hermodoros’ apartment house
Off Main Street, there’s another, somebody
In his day but getting old, I would think.
He used to do it with Pylaithis when
She was living. Gone but not forgotten,
Poor dear, if her kin ever think of her.
KORITTO
Neither of those, Metro, as you’ve figured.
This one is Khian or Erythraian,
One or the other, baldheaded and little.
He is the spit image of Prexinos
But talks altogether different, though.
He does his work at home behind closed doors,
You never know where revenue spies lurk.
Real Khoan, his stitching and polishing.
You’d think Athena had done it, not Kerdon.
Well, I—he brought me two of them, Metro—
thought my eyes would pop out with staring.
I can tell you this, we are all alone,
No man was ever hung like these beauties,
So long and stiff, and as smooth as a dream,
And the leather straps are as soft as wool.
What a godsend to women, this cobbler!
METRO
Why didn’t you buy the other one too?
KORITTO
What didn’t I do to get it, Metro!
I tried every persuasion, I kissed him,
Fondled his bald head, gave him a sweet drink,
Called him my pet, tickled his hairy ears,
Everything but open my legs to him.
METRO
But you should have, if that’s what he wanted.
KORITTO
Yes, but I really didn’t have the chance.
Bitas’ Euboulé was here grinding meal
On my millstone, as she does day and night,
Wearing it out, I’ll need a new one soon,
I swear, Bitas being too tightfisted
To spend four obols for one of his own.
METRO
How did he know to come here, Koritto?
Don’t fib.
KORITTO
Artemis sent him, Kandas’ wife,
She showed him my house.
METRO
Aiei! Artemis,
She’s always into things, more than Thallo,
Especially with anything sexy.
But if he wouldn’t sell you both of them,
Didn’t you ask who ordered the other?
Yes I did. He wasn’t about to tell.
Somebody he hopes to seduce, I’ll vow.
METRO
(Rising, arranging her shawl for the street.)
Well, I think I’d better be leaving you.
I just might happen upon Artemis
And find out when I can find Kerdon in.
(Blows a kiss.)
Wish me luck, Korino.
(Breaks into a salacious grin.)
A sweet longing
Buzzes around in a certain person.
(Lellves.)
KORITTO
(To a servant.)
Go close the front door, you fool of a girl,
And then go count the chickens in the yard,
And throw them some darnel while you’re there.
People steal anything nowadays, for sure,
Even your pet hen and her on your lap.
VII. The Shoemaker
(The actor wears a cobbler’s smock over which he can put an ample stole to be his customer Metro, as hard-to-get-along-with a shopper as ever drove a shoe clerk to distraction. The women who have come with Metro can be indicated by gestures toward them, nudges, winks, and smirks.)
(Expansively, with middle-class condescension toward an inferior.)
Kerdon, I bring you these women friends here
To look at some of your beautiful work.
KERDON
(Overdoing it, as with all his fawning.)
No wonder, Metro, I’m your admirer!
(To a servant.)
Put the settle outside for these ladies.
(Nothing happens.)
It’s you I mean, Drimylos. Are you deaf?
Asleep again!
(To another servant.)
Hit him on the nose, you!
Pistos! Kick the sleep out of that sad lout!
The behind! The neck! Twist both his arms off!
(To Drimylos.)
Up, you scoundrel! We can make it rougher.
(Seethes. More scandal.)
Dusting the bench, are you, at this late date?
Why, you white-assed punk, wasn’t it kept clean?
I’ll dust your seat, just you wait, with a plank.
(To the women.)
Be seated, Metro, do.
(To a servant.)
That cabinet,
Pistos, open it up. No, not that one,
The other one up there on the third shelf.
Bring us those beauties here. What luck, Metro!
What shoes you’re going to see.
(To Pistos.)
Careful,
You pig, with that showcase.
(To the women.)
This shoe, Metro,
Perfectly shaped from various leathers,
Is a dandy. See, ladies, these firm soles,
These neat straps, the rounding off of the toe.
Nothing shoddy anywhere, all first rate.
Take the color, now—may Pallas answer
Your heart’s prayer for the shoe of your dreams—
You won’t find such color at the dyer’s,
Nor yet such shine in an artist’s beeswax.
Cost three minas day before yesterday,
That pair did, from Kandas the wholesaler,
And a pair like them, I tell you the truth,
On my word, there is no point in tying,
I hope never to prosper in business
If he didn’t say he was giving me
These items as a personal favor,
So to speak, what with the price of leather
Going up everyday at the tanners.
A work of art’s what you’ll be buying,
Practically stealing it from my poor hands.
Night and day I wear out my bench working,
No time to eat, even, until sunset.
The din is worse than Mikion’s wild beasts.
Not to mention the thirteen slaves I need,
Lazy dogs, the lot of them, they are too.
Business falls off a bit, and all you hear
Out of them is Give me this, give me that.
Business is brisk, they roost around like hens
Keeping their between the legs good and warm.
(Realizing that his digression isn’t selling shoes.)
You can’t spend promises on anything,
As they say: cash on the barrel for these,
Or for as good a pair, we have lots more.
We’ll keep showing until you’re pleased.
Bring out all the cabinets here, Pistos.
What a pity if you don’t find a pair.
But you will. Look here. There is every style:
Sikonian and Ambrakidian,
Nossises, Khian, parrots and hemp soles,
Saffron mules and around the house slippers,
Ionian button tops and night walkers,
High ankles, crab claws, Argeian sandals,
Cockscombs, cadets, flat heels. Just tell me now.
Ladies, what’s your heart’s desire. Speak right out.
Women and dogs, as we all know, eat shoes.
METRO
How much are you asking for that first pair?
And don’t talk such a storm, you’ll drive us
Out of your shop with all this jabbering.
KERDON
(Unfazed, inured to nattering women.)
Price it yourself, dear madam, whatever
You think is just, or this pair, or this.
What’s fairer than that? How could I cheat you
If I let you set the value yourself?
If you know true work, make me an offer.
May a fox make its den in my grey hair,
My hair grey as ashes, if I don’t sell you
Fine shoes today and eat well tomorrow.
(Aside, to the audience, hamming his lines like a traditional villain, rubbing his greedy hands.)
Hermes the Fox and Peitho the Vixen!
I shall haul something in for supper
With this cast of the net, or know why not!
METRO
Why do you mutter and ramble on so
And not give the price with an honest tongue?
KERDON
Look high, look low, this pair is a mina.
Ladies, if you were Pallas Athena
The price would be the same, not a cent less.
METRO
(Her patience gone, fire in her eye.)
I see now why your cabinets are full,
Kerdon. Works of art, indeed, that you keep
For yourself, clearly not for customers.
(Archly.)
The twentieth of Taureon, you know,
Is Hekatê’s daughter Artakenê’s
Wedding, for which new shoes will be needed.
They will all come here, I am sure they will,
So you’d better get a sack for a purse
For what they’ll spend, and you can dread thieves.
KERDON
(Unimpressed.)
For Hekatê as for Artakenê
The price is still a mina, be assured,
As it is for you, when you make your choice.
METRO
(With practiced sarcasm.)
Is it not your luck, Kerdon, to touch
Charming feet which love and desire have touched,
And you the scab off of a running sore?
(Looks around among her friends, pleased with herself, for having put this scum of a merchant in his place. Moves in on Kerdon for the kill.)
Now you can, you think, manipulate me,
But not my friend here. What will you charge her
For that pair? Think again before you speak.
KERDON
(Undaunted, brassy as ever.)
Five staters, by the gods, are offered me
Daily by Eveteris the psaltrist
For that pair, but I wouldn’t sell them to her
If she were to make the price four darics.
She flits around making fun of my wife
And she can go barefoot for all I care.
(Changing tactics while be has the upper hand.)
If you indeed want them, take these three pairs,
But for nothing less than seven darics.
I couldn’t dream of it. Seven darics.
(Leaps to fill the vacuum of their hesitation.)
How could I deny you, Metro, anything?
(Smiling foxily.)
You, Metro, whose voice lifts me to the gods,
A shoemaker, a very stone, you lift.
(Imagines he is quoting from poetical speeches be has heard at the theatre.)
For your tongue is not a tongue but a whisk
For delights. Like one of the gods is he,
Ah! who hears you talking day in day out!
Stick your tiny foot out now and let me
Slip this shoe on it.
(Throws up hands in wonderment.)
Fits to perfection!
What possible improvement could you want?
(Quotes again, finger beside nose.)
Beautiful things belong to the beautiful!
You would think that Athena made this shoe.
(Quickly, to another woman.)
You, if you please, your foot.
(Removes her shoe and holds it up for all to see.)
What! Did an ox
Make you this shoe, imitating its hoof?
(Fits on one of his shoes.)
If my knife had followed your foot’s outline,
Could the fit of this shoe have been nicer?
By my household altar, it’s perfect!
(To another woman, who is already leaving.)
You at the door snickering like a horse
At me and my wares, seven darics now,
And this pair is all yours, what do you say?
(The women are all gathering themselves to leave, having seen every shoe in the place.)
Well, you need sandals for around the house.
Or bedroom slippers. So just send a slave.
(On a hopeful note.)
Remember, Metro, red shoes by the ninth,
In good time for the wedding, keep in mind.
Winter clothes must be made in summer heat.
(Looks heavenward in disgust.)
VIII. The Dream
[A COMIC POET]
(To his Servants.)
Get up, Psylla! Get up, girl. If you snooze
The whole day away, who’s to slop the pig?
She’s out there famished, grunting for breakfast.
Are you waiting for the sun to come up!
A nine-year night would be too short for you!
You sleep so hard it makes you tired. Get up!
Light the lamps. Put the pig out to pasture.
She’s driving me crazy. Grumble and scratch!
(Pokes the slave Psylla with a stick.)
There! Next time I’ll dent your lazy head.
Megallis! You in the Latmian cave?
You’re everlastingly tired, O yes.
But certainly not tired from carding wool.
I need a strand now for a sacrifice
And there’s not a wisp anywhere about.
Get up, you rascal!
(To a slave already up and about.)
Anna, a moment
With you, please. You are my one sane servant.
Come listen to a dream I had last night.
I was dragging a goat down a gully,
A fine goat with big horns and a long beard,
As they do dancing to Dionysos
And then some dived headfirst into the dust,
And rolled, and some flopped wildly on their backs.
All this was both comic and pitiful,
[Ten lines unreadable.]
Puffing and blowing, stamping with his foot.
Out of my sight, or, old man that I am,
I will cripple you with my walking stick!
I cried out: O all you people, I die
For my country if this old man hits me.
I stand well with this boy, as he will say,
Just as the goatherds rent and ate the goat,
So do the critics savage my poems.
They kick me about before the Muses.
Here’s what I think it means. I take first prize
In balancing best on the greased wineskin.
Of all those trying to keep their footing
I alone kept from falling, I alone
Aroused the old man’s envy, old Hipponax.
By the Muses! The iambic Muses!
I shall take the prize for comic poems,
Master of satire in all Ionia.
IX. The Breakfast
WOMAN
Let’s all sit. And where now is the baby?
Maia, hand him here. Eveteira, too.
(The rest is lost.)
X. Molpinos
(Speaker unknown.)
You’ve had, Gryllos, sixty rounds of the sun.
Die now, Gryllos, and mingle with the dust.
The last turns of the track are blindly run.
Go. The light is dying, as all light must.
(The rest is lost.)
XI. The Working Girls
(Speaker unknown.)
Hugging as tight as a limpet its rock.
(The rest is lost.)
(Speaker unknown.)
A family with trouble is hard
To find. For every problem you solve,
There’s another ready to take its place.
(The rest is lost.)
XIII. [The Little Boy]
(Speaker unknown.)
Playing blind man’s bluff, banging the cookpot,
Flying a junebug tethered by a thread,
He destroyed his grandpa’s afternoon nap.
(The rest is lost.)