A single, curling feather plume draws the eye upward, but it is the sly, conspiratorial gesture of the older figure that holds the viewer’s attention. In The Examination of the Herald (Lysistrata), every line is deliberate, every contour a sly wink to the audience. The older man, hunched and sharp-featured, leans in with a knowing smile, his finger poised in mid-accusation or inquiry.

The younger figure stands statuesque and unbothered, draped in flowing, almost theatrical garb, the exaggerated curves and boots lending an air of both parody and pageant. The negative space is as important as the ink, creating a sense of tension and anticipation between the two figures. The composition invites the viewer to wonder about the power dynamic at play, and whether the scene is one of interrogation, seduction, or farce. Emerging from the decadent spirit of the 1890s, works like this print—dated here to around 1926—speak to the enduring fascination with both classical themes and modern wit.

Aubrey Beardsley’s name, visible in the corner, evokes the world of fin-de-siècle illustration, where artists turned to ancient comedy and myth to comment on the follies of their own time. Such prints were often commissioned for private circulation or for the pages of daring literary editions, their bold lines and risqué humor intended to both amuse and provoke. While little is recorded about the journey of this particular sheet, its presence in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s open access collection today ensures that its sly humor and sharp style continue to invite fresh scrutiny.

Look again at the faces: are they mocking us, or each other?