Aristophanes: The Complete Plays – Read Now and Download Mobi

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

ACHARNIANS

KNIGHTS

CLOUDS

WASPS

PEACE

BIRDS

LYSISTRATA

WOMEN AT THESMOPHORIA FESTIVAL - Thesmophoriazusae

FROGS

A PARLIAMENT OF WOMEN - (Ecclesiazusae)

PLUTUS (WEALTH)

The first ten lines of Clouds as they would have appeared on a fourth century B.C. ms.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Aristophanes.
[Works. English. 2005]
The complete plays / Aristophanes ; translated by Paul Roche.
p. cm.

eISBN: 9781101378717

1. Aristophanes—Translations into English. 2. Athens (Greece)—Drama. I.
Roche, Paul, 1927- II. Title.

PA3877.A1R57 2005
882’.01—dc22 2004056681

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TO PATRICK HORSBRUGH
ὃ ἃλς τoυ κoσμoυ

Acknowledgments

My debt to Jeffrey Henderson, editor of the Loeb Classical Library and Professor of Classical Studies at Boston University, knows no bounds. His translations of Aristophanes in the Loeb series with accompanying Greek text is scrupulously faithful and expressed in language that is wholly contemporary. I was guided and steadied by him throughout and I found his footnotes invaluable.

I should also like to express my gratitude to Mrs. Pat Gilbert-Read, who trawled through all eleven of these plays and rescued me from many an infelicity.

Introduction

ARISTOPHANES

The dates of Aristophanes’ birth and death are variously given, but 445-375 B.C. is a possibility. We know that he was considered too young to present his first three plays in his own name: the lost Daiteleis (Banqueters), which won second prize at the Lenaea in 427 B.C., when he would have been only about eighteen; the lost Babylonians, which won second prize in 426 B.C.; and Acharnians, which brought him first prize in 425 B.C. when he was barely twenty. These plays and the four that followed over the next four years are the work of a very young man endowed with the courage to level unrelenting attacks on no less than the head of state—the demagogic Cleon.

Like the great tragedians Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides (and, I expect, the poets of all ages), he decried the destructiveness and sheer stupidity of war, and in his most celebrated plays he warned and pleaded against it. Yet for twenty-seven years of his writing life, with one brief interval, Athens was at war with Sparta in an internecine struggle that finally left her exhausted and shorn of her glory, never fully to recover.

Aristophanes had no respect for shoddy politicians like Cleon, who plunged Athens into campaigns that led to defeat and decline, and he lampooned them without mercy. He himself came from a landowning family and his political outlook was conservative. Not necessarily in favor of oligarachy, he believed that democracy was best served by the brightest minds and not by selfish, clamorous demagogues. He was conservative too in his general thought, defending religion though he laughed at the gods, and he was suspicious of contemporary philosophy. He mocked Socrates as a Sophist, knowing full well he was as anti-Sophist as Aristophanes himself; it was just too easy to use him as a scapegoat because he was well known and easy to parody. Aristophanes’ conservatism did not extend to his language, which is almost unimaginably rich and varied. The obscenity that crops up here and there is funny because it is unexpected. When one considers the milieu in which the plays were presented—“under the auspices of the State, to the entire population, at a religious festival under the presidency of a priest and on consecrated ground”¹—how could it not be hilariously incongruous? It was as if somebody (preferably the grandest dignitary present) trumpeted a fart in a solemn moment at high mass.

But it is incongruous too because the rest of Greek literature from Homer to Thucydides (if we except Sappho) is so well behaved. Yet we ought not to be surprised by the phallic thrust of Aristophanes’ jokes, because the origins of comedy are undoubtedly found in fertility rites at the dawn of drama. Sex, after all, is the oldest human hobby.

Having said all this, I feel it is important to add that the plays of Aristophanes are serious. In them he confronts and dares to laugh out of court some current trend or action or human aberration. He recognized that the prime function of the poet is to reduce to order—Shelley’s “unacknowledged legislator of this world”—in other words, to preserve a world worth living in, with the greatest political and personal freedom consonant with order, and the leisure to enjoy it all.

This is essential teaching at an organic level, and it is done not by giving information—the way of prose—but by lifting the spirit to a new plane of truth and beauty. “Ut doceat, ut demonstrat, ut delectat.”² Such is the brief of the poet, and it is this last, “to please,” which is the touchstone of lasting poetry. This does not mean that poetry deals only with the beautiful but that when it deals with ugliness it remains in itself beautiful.

Not only was Aristophanes one of the greatest poets of antiquity but, in the words of Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary, “the greatest comic dramatist in world literature: by his side Molière seems dull and Shakespeare clownish.”

Be that as it may, the lyrics of Aristophanes present the translator with an irresistible but crippling challenge, and the best he can do to meet it—if he is really trying to translate and not just to paraphrase or adapt—is ineluctably doomed to be a poor reflection of the original. Nevertheless, even this pittance is well worth trawling for.

THE PLAYS

Of Aristophanes’ forty-four comedies, only eleven have come down to us: Acharnians, which won first prize at the Lenaea in 425 B.C. when he was about twenty; Knights, a courageous attack on Cleon, then at the height of his power, which also won first prize, in 424 B.C.; Clouds, in 423 B.C., which for some reason was not a success and which he rewrote (it is this second version that survives); Wasps, winning second prize in 422 B.C.; and Peace, again with second prize, in 421 B.C.

After this came a gap of six years in which what Aristophanes wrote is unknown to us, but in 414 B.C. came Birds, perhaps his masterpiece and another second prize winner. Thereafter we have no record of prizes, but we do know that he produced Lysistrata in 411 B.C.; the Thesmophoriazusae (Women at Thesmophoria Festival) in 411 B.C.; Frogs in 405 B.C.; Ecclesiazusae (A Parliament of Women) in 392 B.C.; and Plutus (Wealth) in 388 B.C. (There were two additional comedies of which we do not even have the titles.)

In the Ecclesiazusae, produced when Aristophanes was about fifty-three—not old in our day but comparable to sixty-five or seventy then—there is a slackening of the youthful zest of his earlier comedies, and the choruses that were so essential to their lyric ebullience are greatly reduced. This perhaps is the first step in the evolution of what is known as Old Comedy into New. In Plutus (Wealth), some four years later, the transmogrification is complete.

The chief features of New Comedy are that it virtually did away with the choruses, turning them into musical interludes (a direction already taken by Euripides); it presented characters as types rather than as individuals; it constructed elaborate plots rather than letting the context itself of a story dictate the setting; it discarded topical allusions, political satire, and direct attacks on individuals, and it introduced the ups and downs, the torture and the ecstasy, of romantic love.

As to this last, New Comedy was the progenitor of the boy-meets-girl story, as well as all the clever Cox-and-Box mix-ups of mistaken identity. It is in fact the blueprint of drama such as we know it, with its complex but logical plots, its love entanglements, and its domestic comedy of manners. The chief exponent of New Comedy was Menander (circa 342-292 B.C.), the Aristophanes of his generation, of whose work we have extensive fragments and one almost-complete play, Dyskolos (Grouch). It is, however, mainly through Roman adaptors, Plautus and Terence, that we know his work.

CHORUS, COSTUMES, STRUCTURE, MUSIC

There were twenty-four actors in the Chorus, which was divided into two sets of twelve who could sing and dance against each other. The Chorus members were elaborately dressed in costumes on which large sums of money were spent. The Choruses wore masks suitable to their parts—birds, frogs, wasps—and these masks in themselves must have generated a good deal of merriment. One can imagine the laughter that must have greeted the appearance of the “dog” Cleonacur in Wasps, almost certainly wearing a mask that was an unmistakable caricature of the despised Cleon. Reflecting back to the Dionysiac fertility rituals of the Comus—the origins of comedy—the members of the chorus wore long floppy phalli strapped to them, but these need not have been always visible and could be hidden if need be by a variety of clothing.

Though the members of the Chorus were not professional actors, as were the leading players, they were rigorously trained in dance and song—at least six months’ preparation being thought necessary. Music, dance, and song were at the heart of the performance, and one wouldn’t be far wrong in regarding an Aristophanic comedy more as a musical than a play.

All parts, including female, were played by men. The naked flute girl Dardanis, for instance, in Wasps, would have been a boy or young man dressed in tights with female breasts painted on him.

As to its general structure, the Aristophanic comedy followed this pattern: (1) Prologue, which could be a dialogue; (2) Parados, or entry of the Chorus, singing and dancing in character; (3) the Agon, or debate; and (4) the Parabasis, or address of the Chorus to the audience in the name of the author. Each of these sections was characterized by its own particular meters and system of prosodic repetition akin to the strophe and antistrophe of Tragedy. The music was provided by flute, lyre, and kettledrum.

Strophe literally means “turning (one way),” so antistrophe would mean “turning the other.” These refer to movements of the Chorus: either the whole Chorus or the Chorus split into two, each part balancing the other. Normally strophe and antistrophe are identical in the number, meter, and length of lines.

THE TRANSLATION

Aristophanes is not easy to translate: he stretches the Greek language—that most elastic of tongues—to the breaking point and uses a vocabulary almost Shakespearean in its variety and richness: five or six times as large as that of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. And as if it were not enough, he puns and coins words at the drop of an iota subscript. Moreover, the plays are in verse that shifts from one intricate meter to another throughout.

Some translators have valiantly set out to reflect this teeming prosody by using rhyme, but the results for the most part seem merely forced or fussy. My own solution is first of all to reflect the meter as far as I can, and then to echo rhyme more often than to use it, though I do use it fairly strictly in the choral parts, where the sound pattern of the Greek becomes emphatic and condensed. Did Aristophanes himself use rhyme? Yes, but not in the way we do.

Greek versification compared to English is more like a plum pudding than a Jell-O mold. In a Jell-O mold, you get what you see. In a plum pudding, you get what you don’t see. Greek prosody is stuffed with every kind of syllabic analogy—assonance, consonance, alliteration, rhyme—but because Greek is a polysyllabic language, these sounds are buried in the middle of words, and even if they are at the end of lines they don’t get the same stress that they would in English. Consequently, this matching of sound with sound, Greek with English, is not subtle enough, especially when it comes to rhyme.

Putting Aristophanes into the straitjacket of English versification is like trying to turn a plum pudding into a Jell-O mold; perhaps this is a misleading simile, though, for English, far from being a Jell-O mold, shares with Greek the delight in a rich variation of sounds. The difference ultimately is between a constantly polysyllabic language and a seldomly polysyllabic one.

To use rhyme in an attempt to reflect Aristophanes’ verbal effulgence produces something that is not nearly subtle enough. For this reason, I use rhyme warily, though I do use it, and instead I put the burden of capturing Aristophanes’ variations of sound, tone, and rhythm on a novel system of prosody that I call, rather grandly, sonic intercoping. This means that the end syllable of every line is “coped,” that is, topped with or tied into the endings of other lines before and after. Thus one gets the effects of verse without actually using verse.

Let me demonstrate this by taking a page at random from Lysistrata and showing how all the lines are sonically linked. One need not be conscious of this while reading the play. It will have its effect willy-nilly, so long as the flow of a passage reads naturally and the tie-ins of the preceding and succeeding lines do not seem forced. If on occasion they do, the fault is mine.

Any reader who wants to stop and analyze the system will see that sonic intercoping is based on a play of consonance, assonance, and alliteration, occasionally bolstered by rhyme.

Let me take five lines of Greek from A Parliament of Women and trawl them for these sometimes hidden gems, then trawl in my English translation and see how much can be retrieved. But first, let us be clear about the following.

Assonance: the same vowel sound enclosed by different consonants: boat, soul

Consonance: the same consonants enclosing different vowels: boat, but Alliteration: syllables beginning with the same consonants or vowels: watered wine, angry assassins

Rhyme: the same vowel sound preceded by different consonants: boat, coat; at, bat

LINE 1: 9 assonances: τoυτ-τoυ-oυς, ϒЄ-Єπ-Єϱ, νη-τνν-μ
2 half consonances: ταν-αν
6 alliterations: τoυ-τoυ-τoƖ-την, έπ-Єϱ
2 rhymes: σαν-ϱαν

LINE 2: 5 assonances: μωμ, νЄκ-μЄν, oυτ-oυν
6 half consonances: τoλ-τoλ-τoς-τoν, oυτ-oυν
2 full consonances: μωμ-μημ
9 alliterations: τoλ-τoλ-τoς, μµμ-μЄν-μα-μω, oυτ-oυν
2 rhymes: μα-κα

LINE 3: 3 assonances: ην-τςς-βЄƖν
8 half consonances: πως-παϱ-ϱαλ-λαβ-τα-τα-πϱαϒ-ματ
9 alliterations: πως-παϱ-πϱαϒ-πoλ, της-τα-τα, λαβ-λЄως
7 rhymes: παϱ-ϱα-λα-τα-πϱα-μα-τα

LINE 4: 5 assonances: αϒ-αθ-πϱαζ, νωμ-στ
3 half consonances: θoν-την-λƖν
6 alliterations: τ αϒ-την, θ ωστ-θoν, πϱας-πoλ

LINE 5: 8 assonances: μЄν-μЄν-μЄν, oυτ-oυτ, τЄ-θЄ-Єλ
4 half consonances: νυν-μЄν-μЄν-μЄν
7 alliterations: μЄν-μЄν-μЄν, oυτ-oυτ, oμ-oμ

Sonic intercoping line endings: ϱαν-λƖν-μЄν, κα-τα

The English translation

If he can do it, I swear by this dawning day
that we too can carry out a coup and essay
something for our city, but as things are
we lie stuck in the doldrums
with power of neither sail nor oar.

LINE 1: 4 assonances: if, it, ing, this
2 half consonances: can, dawn
6 alliterations: if, it, I; do, dawn, day

LINE 2: 6 assonances: that, can, car, and; too, coup
4 half consonances: can, car; that, out
3 alliterations: can, carry, coup
4 rhymes: too, coup; day, say

LINE 3: 5 assonances: thing, things, cit; our, are
5 half consonances: thing, things; for, our, are

LINE 4: 2 assonances: stuck, drums
2 half consonances: stuck, drums
2 alliterations: dol, drums

LINE 5: 4 half consonances: power, neither, nor, oar
2 alliterations: neither, nor
2 rhymes: nor, oar

Sonic intercoping line endings: day, essay; are, oar.

Perhaps the most perennial and greatest difficulty of all is that Greek, compared to English, is devilishly condensed. A single word often can only be done justice by a phrase, or sometimes only by a whole sentence. Mere transcription is not enough. One is trying to bring over not only words but thoughts, feelings, and connotations, which the words themselves sometimes merely adumbrate. And here lies a pitfall difficult to avoid: when one discovers that in one’s efforts to bring out the fullness of the Greek one has leapt from the legitimate boundaries of translation and landed in the realm of mere paraphrase.

Fidelity to the original, too, can be a stumbling block. Fidelity, yes, but this should not mean being a slave to the literal, which can put one on the high road to the absurd. For instance (to take a current language), one wouldn’t translate the name of the Spanish newspaper Ultima Hora as The Last Hour, which is the literal meaning, but by what the idiom means: Up to the Minute. Sometimes the translator feels compelled for the sake of clarity to add a phrase or sentence that is not actually in the original. Is this being unfaithful? Not necessarily, not if the addition makes explicit that which was truly implicit in the original. One might even go as far as saying that to leave it out is not so much fidelity as pedantry.

Perhaps the final challenge of attempting to translate Aristophanes is that, unlike the three great tragedians, he did not deal with grand universal themes ineluctably germane to the human scene, but with the here and now of a particular place and particular people, with particular problems, and at a particular time in history. It’s almost as if an Athenian of the fifth century B.C. were asked to put into Attic Greek the antics, absurdities, the cleverness and sparkle of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.

The miracle is that, even if one is only half successful in doing justice to the letter and spirit of Aristophanes, and even if many of the names and places he mentions mean nothing to us, we still find him funny—so original is the cast of his imagination and so delightful his penchant for rank nonsense.

N.B.: Throughout the footnotes in the texts of the plays, Loeb stands for the Loeb Classical Library founded by James Loeb in 1911 and published by Harvard University Press and William Heinemann Ltd., London. This unique corpus of translations comprises almost the whole of Greek and Latin literature that has come down to us. The translations are literally faithful and are faced on the page by the original text.

ACHARNIANS

Acharnians was first produced in February 425 B.C. at the Lenaean Dionysia and won first prize.

THEME

The war with Sparta and Boeotia has been dragging on for six years. The countryside of Attica is a shambles and Athens itself is an overcrowded city in which plague has wreaked havoc. The Acharnians, inhabitants of a deme northwest of Athens whose land has been repeatedly ravaged, are thirsting for revenge. Aristophanes’ comedy is a plea for peace, whose fruits and comforts are contrasted with the destitution, hardships, and stupidity of war.

CHARACTERS

DICAEOPOLIS, a worthy citizen of Attica
CRIER, a herald
AMPHITHEUS, Dicaeopolis’ envoy to Sparta
SENIOR AMBASSADOR, ex-emissary to the King of Persia
PSEUDO-ARTABAS, envoy from Persia
THEORUS, envoy from King Sitalcus of Thrace
DAUGHTER, of Dicaeopolis
XANTHIAS, servant of Dicaeopolis
SERVANT, of Euripides
EURIPIDES, the tragic poet
LAMACHUS, Athenian general

MEGARIAN, from Megara on the isthmus of Corinth
FIRST GIRL, daughter of the Megarian
SECOND GIRL, daughter of the Megarian
INFORMER, a Spartan spy
BOEOTIAN, salesman of farm produce
NICARCHUS, Spartan general
HERALD
DERCETES, farmer of Attica
BEST MAN, at the wedding of an Athenian soldier
FIRST MESSENGER, from Athenian High Command
SECOND MESSENGER, from Athenian High Command
THIRD MESSENGER, from Athenian High Command
CHORUS, old Acharnian charcoal burners

SILENT PARTS

DEPUTIES, of the Assembly on the Pnyx
ASSEMBLY MEMBERS, of the Athenian Council
ARCHER POLICE, Thracian bowmen
JUNIOR AMBASSADOR, another ex-emissary to the King of
Persia
TWO EUNUCHS, citizens of Athens
PLATOON, of Odomantian soldiers
WIFE, and women of Dicaeopolis’ home
SERVANTS, of Dicaeopolis
SOLDIERS, with Lamachus
ISMENIAS, servant of the Boeotian
BAGPIPE PLAYERS, from Thebes
CHILDREN, of Dicaeopolis
PEACE, a transitory vision
THREE GRACES, accompanying Peace
BRIDESMAID, of Athenian war bride
TWO DANCING GIRLS, co-opted by Dicaeopolis

THE STORY

Dicaeopolis, an honest citizen of Athens, impatient with the ditherings of the Assembly, decides to go ahead and make peace on his own. But as he is about to celebrate the vintage festival and the return of peace, he is attacked by a group of Acharnian charcoal burners, who are furious at the ruin of their terrain and want the war to continue.

OBSERVATIONS

This is the third comedy that Aristophanes wrote and the first that we have. He was barely twenty when he wrote it, and like all poets (Shelley’s “unacknowledged legislators of the world”), he goes to the heart of the matter and decries what can be expected of war, knowing very well that the only people to profit by it are the arms dealers.

TIME AND SETTING

It is early morning outside the Pnyx, the hill west of the Acropolis where the Assembly meets to decide issues of peace and war. DICAEOPOLIS walks up and down impatiently, waiting for the Assembly to open.

DICAEOPOLIS: [with rambling thoughts]

The things that have made me eat my heart out—
uncountable as the sands of the dunes . . .
and the things that have made my heart leap with joy—
not more than four . . . let’s see . . .
There’s that five talents
which the swine Cleon had to cough up, thanks to the
Knights.³ . . .
Ah, that was a brilliant stroke,
a performance worthy of Hellas! . . .
But another pang cancels my joy:

I was sitting in the theater all agog for an Aeschylus,
when I heard the announcer call out:
“Theognis, bring on your play.”⁴
What a shock that gave my heart! Wouldn’t it yours? . . .
But I had another happy moment
when Dexitheus-of-the-calf ⁵ came on with his Boeotian songs. . . .
Oh, but this year I was stretched to the breaking point
when that bore Chaeris⁶ sidled in to play his Orthian⁷ piece....

[He looks round, disappointed.]

Never since I first washed my face
have my eyes so stung with soap as now. . . .

A day fixed for the Assembly
and, come the dawn, not a soul on the Pnyx.

They’re all nattering away in the market square
and dodging the whips.⁸
Not even the principals are here.

They’ll arrive late, of course,
elbowing one another, charging en masse,
making a beeline for the front row—you’ve no idea.

As for being concerned with peace,
they don’t give a damn.... O City, my poor City!

Meanwhile, here am I,
always first at the Assembly,
in my seat and all forlorn.

I sigh, I fidget, I yawn.
I stretch my legs, I fart, I scribble notes,
tug at my beard, do accounts,
gazing fondly all the time towards the countryside,
longing hopelessly for peace, loathing town and

homesick for my village . . .
where you don’t hear cries of “Buy my charcoal,”

“Buy my vinegar,” “Buy my oil.”
My village doesn’t include the word “buy” in its vocabulary
but simply produces all that’s needed—
with not a “buy” person in the offing.

Well, here I am, and darn well ready
to shout and heckle and insult
anyone who speaks of anything but peace.

[a buzz of noise]

Ah, here they come, the Deputies—at noon!
What did I tell you—every man jack of them
jostling for the front row just as I said!

[A throng of DEPUTIES and ASSEMBLY MEMBERS enters running and panting and heading for the best seats.]

CRIER: Move forward! Move into th’ area reserved a’ purpose!

[AMPHITHEUS bustles in.]

AMPHITHEUS: [breathless] Have the speeches begun?

CRIER: ’oo wishes to speak?

AMPHITHEUS: I do.

CRIER: ’oo are you?

AMPHITHEUS: Amphitheus.⁹

CRIER: That don’t sound like a ’uman being.

AMPHITHEUS:

It’s not. I’m immortal.
Amphitheus the first was the son of Demeter and Triptolemus.
His son Celeus married Phaenerete, my grandmother,
who bore Lycinus, who is my sire.
What’s more, to me and me alone
the gods have assigned the privilege

of negotiating peace with the Spartans.
Unfortunately, good sirs,
I haven’t a bean for the journey.
The Deputies have turned it down.
CRIER: Police!

[The ARCHER POLICE seize AMPHITHEUS and bustle him away.]

AMPHITHEUS: Triptolemus, Celeus, help! Are you just going to look on?
DICAEOPOLIS: [springing to his feet]
Esteemed Deputies, it is utterly wrong
to have that man removed.
He only wanted to arrange a truce
and enable us to hang up our shields.
CRIER: Sit down an’ shut up!
DICAEOPOLIS: By Apollo, that I will not,
unless you agree to discuss the peace.

[Amid a buzz of excitement the magnificently dressed SENIOR and JUNIOR AMBASSADORS arrive from the court of the Great King of Persia. They had been sent there from Athens eleven years previously.]¹⁰

CRIER: It’s them ambassadors back from the King.
DICAEOPOLIS: The King, my foot!
I’m fed up with ambassadors and their coxscomby
haughty-taughty way.
CRIER: Belt up!
DICAEOPOLIS: Yippee! Ecbatana¹¹ all in one!
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: You d-dispatched us to the Gr-Great King
on a salary of two d-drachmas a day
when Euthymenes was ar-archon.
DICAEOPOLIS: Don’t I know it! Drachmas down the drain!

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: My d-dear, we were worn to sh-shreds,
proceeding over the Cay-Cay-ystrian plains under c-canopies
in our luxurious super-duper l-l-litters.
It was too—too frightfully t-trying.

DICAEOPOLIS: Wasn’t it just! I was flopped out on the ramparts
in a different kind of litter.

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: M-moreover, to p-please us they gave us
the very best vintage wine, n-neat,
in g-goblets of crystal and g-gold. . . .
My dear, we simply h-had to d-drink it.

DICAEOPOLIS: My poor Athens, how lightly they treat you,
these ambassadors!

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: B-Barbarians, m’dear, only consider real men
those that can g-g-gobble and swill.

DICAEOPOLIS: With us it’s cocksuckers and arse lickers.

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: It was not till the f-fourth year
that we got to the Great King’s p-palace,
but he, m’dear, had g-gone off with the army to r-relieve himself
and stayed for eight months sh-shitting in the Golden Hills.

DICAEOPOLIS: And was it full moon when he finally closed his arsehole?
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: Then he l-left for home
and threw a tremendous b-beano:
a whole ox, m’dear, en pot-au-feu!¹²

DICAEOPOLIS: Don’t be silly!
Who’s ever seen an ox en pot-au-feu?

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: Yes, by Zeus! And once he s-served an
enormous b-bird
three times bigger than fat Cleonymus¹³—called a g-gull.

DICAEOPOLIS: Naturally! It gulled us out of all those drachmas.

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: W-we introduce to you now Pseudo-Artabas,
the G-Great King’s Eye.

DICAEOPOLIS: If only a crow would peck out yours, Mr. Ambassador!
CRIER: [with a flourish] The Great King’s Eye!

[PSEUDO-ARTABAS enters. He is grandly dressed but wears an eye patch over one eye. With him are TWO EUNUCHS.]

DICAEOPOLIS: Ye gods and Lord Heracles!
Man, you look like a battleship rounding the quay
in search of a berth. . . . What’s under that eye?

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: T-tell the Athenians, Pseudo-Artabas,
w-what the Great King sent you to s-say.

PSEUDO-ARTABAS: Parta namè xarxana satra.

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: Y-you understood him?

DICAEOPOLIS: No, by Apollo, I did not.

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: He says the K-King is going to send you
g-gold.
[to PSEUDO-ARTABAS] Louder and clearer, please,
about the gold.

PSEUDO-ARTABAS: [distinctly] Getting gold, no! Greeks arseholes!

DICAEOPOLIS: Wow, that’s pretty clear!

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: W-what is he saying?

DICAEOPOLIS: That the Greeks are gaping arseholes
if they expect gold from the Barbarians.

SENIOR AMBASSADOR: N-n-no! He means bucketfuls of gold.

DICAEOPOLIS: Bucketfuls, my eye! Off with you, you damn fraud!
I’ll do the questioning myself.

[The disconcerted SENIOR and JUNIOR AMBASSADORS leave and DICAEOPOLIS mounts the rostrum.]

DICAEOPOLIS: [shaking his stick at PSEUDO-ARTABAS]
See here, fellow: answer yes or no,
or I’ll ruddy you with this and you won’t need Sardian dye.¹⁴
Does the Great King really intend to send us gold?

[PSEUDO-ARTABAS and the TWO EUNUCHS shake their heads.]

So our ambassadors are hoodwinking us?

[They nod vigorously.]

How very Greek, the way these eunuchs nod!
They come from hereabouts most likely.

[stepping closer]

Why, this eunuch’s none other than Cleisthenes¹⁵
son of Siburtius. . . . You, you monkey of a mincing sissy!
You horny hotted-up arsehole shaver!
You come here all togged up as a eunuch?

And this other bugger? . . . Why, it’s Strato!
CRIER: Sit down an’ ’old yer tongue!
The Council’s asked this ’ere King’s Eye to the Banquet ’all.

[PSEUDO-ARTABAS and the TWO EUNUCHS leave.]

DICAEOPOLIS:
That’s a sodding throttler!
Here am I dawdling, left in the lurch,
while for those other creatures the doors of the Banquet Hall
yawn in everlasting welcome.
All right, then!
I’m going to take a giant step.
Amphitheus, where are you?

AMPHITHEUS: Right here, sir.

DICAEOPOLIS: Do this for me, will you?
Take these eight drachmas and go and hatch
a private truce with Sparta:
just for me, my siblings, and my wife.

[to the audience]

The rest of you can go on with your gawping embassies.

[AMPHITHEUS leaves.]

CRIER: Attention! ’ere’s Theorus, come from King Sitalces.¹⁶

[THEORUS enters.]

THEORUS: Here I am!
DICAEOPOLIS: O Lord, another sham!
THEORUS: We wouldn’t have lingered so long in Thrace if . . .

DICAEOPOLIS: By Zeus, you wouldn’t have if . . .
it weren’t for the whacking pay you were getting.

THEORUS: . . . if the whole of Thrace hadn’t been locked in snow
and the rivers frozen solid.

DICAEOPOLIS: Whilst here we were frozen solid by Theognis’ play.¹⁷

THEORUS:
I at the time was drinking with King Sitalces.
What an admirer of Athens he is, a real Athenophile!
We made his son an honorary citizen, and then
the boy could hardly wait to eat the sausages
when the celebrations began.
He begged his father to support his adopted country,
and his father, amid floods of wine,
promised to send such a horde of help
it would make the Athenians yelp:
“Holy mackerel! A locust swarm is on us!”

DICAEOPOLIS: I’m jiggered if I believe a word of what you say,
except about the locusts.

THEORUS: And now Sitalces sends you
the most pugnacious tribe in Thrace.

DICAEOPOLIS: [eyeing a ruffian PLATOON of Odomantian soldiers in
kilts]
I can see that!

CRIER: ’ey, you Thracian lot what Theorus brought, step forward.

[The Thracians advance.]

DICAEOPOLIS: What on frigging earth . . . ?
THEORUS: The Odomantian Guards, sir.¹⁸

DICAEOPOLIS: [lifting the kilt of one of the Guards]
Don’t tell me these men are Odomantians!
Who’s been docking their cocks?¹⁹

THEORUS: Give them pay of two drachmas a day
and they’ll flatten the whole of Boeotia.²⁰

DICAEOPOLIS:
Two drachmas a day for these mutilated pricks?
The sailors who man the ships that keep our city safe
would be appalled.

[The Odomantians charge DICAEOPOLIS and snatch his bag.]

Hey, knock it off! My garlic’s in that.
Odomantians, drop my garlic!

THEORUS: Cool it, sir! I wouldn’t mess with Odomantians
once they’ve had a spot of garlic.

DICAEOPOLIS:
You Deputies out there, didn’t you see what happened—
how I’m treated in my own country
and by Barbarians at that?
I insist that the Assembly turns down
all question of pay for the Thracians.
Indeed, I’ve just had a sign from heaven—a raindrop.²¹

CRIER: Them Thracians can go but ’ave to come back in two days’
time.
The Deputies ’ave declared the Assembly dissolved.

[Everyone leaves except DICAEOPOLIS.]

DICAEOPOLIS: Drat it, my salad’s been ruined!
But here comes Amphitheus back from Sparta.

[AMPHITHEUS comes running in.]

Good day, Amphitheus!
AMPHITHEUS: Not at all good! . . . Sorry, can’t stop:
the Acharnians are after me . . . got to get clear.
DICAEOPOLIS: What’s up?

AMPHITHEUS:
I was hurrying back here with a load of truces,
when some Acharnian veterans got to hear of it.
They’re tough old blighters:
hard as oak or maple—they fought at Marathon.²²
They started shouting: “Traitor, you dare bring treaties
when our vines are being hacked to pieces?”
That’s when I bolted,
and they came after me—yelling.

DICAEOPOLIS: Let them yell.... You’ve got the pledges?²³

AMPHITHEUS: I have indeed. There’s a choice of three.
This one matures in five years—have a sip?

DICAEOPOLIS: Shit!

AMPHITHEUS: What’s wrong?

DICAEOPOLIS: This one’s horrible:
smells of tar and caulking for men-of-war.²⁴

AMPHITHEUS: Try this one. It’s good for ten years.

DICAEOPOLIS: This one stinks too—a vinegary smell
like squeezed allies.²⁵

AMPHITHEUS: Well, here we have a pledge to last thirty years
over land and sea.

DICAEOPOLIS:
Sweet Dionysus! This one has a bouquet
of nectar and ambrosia,
and of not having to hear: “Your three days’ rations, mate.”
This one says to my mouth:
“Go wherever you please.”
Yes, I’ll take this one,
I’ll pour it out and drain it to the dregs,
and I’ll say to the Acharnians:
“To hell with you! Goodbye!”

AMPHITHEUS: Well, the Acharnians are here. . . . I’m off.

[The sounds of the approaching CHORUS of veterans can be heard as AMPHITHEUS hurries away.]

DICAEOPOLIS: As for me, I’m rid of war and destitution;
I’m off to live it up at the Country Dionysia.

[DICAEOPOLIS removes himself as the angry old men of the CHORUS march in.]

STROPHE

LEADER:
This way, everyone, go after him and ask
All-and-sundry where the blighter is. We’ll whisk

Him away. O what a triumph for our town!
If any of you has an inkling where the fellow
Is heading with the truces,
Tell us.

CHORUS:

He’s fled, he’s got away, and O
Cursed be these legs of mine!
Never in my younger days
Would he have got away,
Nor needed I excuses
When I could hoist a sack of coal
Or come in second after Phayllus.²⁶
It would have been no use
To this slippery bearer of truce:
None at all.

ANTISTROPHE

LEADER:

But now because of my arthritic limbs and old
Lacrateides’²⁷ wobbly legs, the man has flown,
Got clean away. It’s up to us to go after
Him. The fellow musn’t brag he diddled us
Acharnians, however
Old we are.

CHORUS:

No matter who he is, O Father
Zeus and all you deities,
The fellow has contrived a truce
With our enemies
And I will fight with fervor
To defend my lands, and shall not cease
Till with a stake slim as a reed

I pierce them to the hilt,
So they’ll learn never again
To trample my vines.

LEADER:

We’ve simply got to search for the man
And hunt him from land to land
And pelt him when we’ve found
Him, with every stone at hand.

DICAEOPOLIS: [from within] Silence! Holy silence, please!
LEADER:

Men, be quiet, all of you.
Didn’t you hear a call for silence?
I think this is the man we’re after.
Stand ready, everyone.
He’s coming out to sacrifice.
DICAEOPOLIS: [emerging] Silence! Holy silence, please!

[DICAEOPOLIS comes out of the house with his WIFE and DAUGHTER and two SERVANTS carrying a large ceremonial phallus.]

DICAEOPOLIS: Basket carrier, step to the front.
Xanthias, hold that phallus up erect. . . .
Now, daughter, lay the basket down and I’ll begin.

DAUGHTER: Mother, hand me the spoon for the sauce
and I’ll ladle some sauce over the cake.

DICAEOPOLIS: Okeydokey, here goes!
Hail, Dionysus. Lord, may you find
this ritual and sacrifice full of grace,
and may I and my family celebrate
the Country Dionysia full of happiness
seeing that at last I’m free
from all that nasty campaign stress.
So let the truce of Thirty Years of Peace
be a success. . . .
Now, my sweet daughter, carry that basket sweetly
with your sweetest smile—
Oh what a lucky dog he’s going to be who weds you
and gets on you a litter of small
pussies as cute and pretty as you
and smelling as sweet as dawn.
Now, onwards, all of you,
but in the crowds let me warn
you against pickpockets who sneak up and steal
your jewels. . . . Now you and Xanthias
walk behind the basket bearer, keeping the phallus
erect, and I’ll bring up the rear
to sing the ode to the phallus; and you, wifey dear,
can watch me from the roof up there. . . . Proceed.

[DICAEOPOLIS spreads his hands dramatically and delivers the following verses in a kind of chant.]

Phales,²⁸ comrade of Bacchus, pal
Of his orgies, prowler at night, lover
Of girls and boys, a shedder
Of seed, six years have passed and now
I am returning home
Joyously since I
Have made a peace all of my own,
Saving you from turmoil and war,
Not to mention Lamachuses.²⁹
But, Phallus, O Phales,
It’s infinitely nicer
To grab a young girl in the bud
As she is collecting wood—
That Thracian wench perhaps, from the back of beyond—
To squeeze her by the middle,
Throw her to the ground
And crack her kernel.

CHORUS:

It’s him, it’s him, the man, it’s him.
Stone him, stone him, stone him, stone him!
Give it to him thick and thin!
Got a stone there? Got a stone?

DICAEOPOLIS: Great Heracles! What’s going on? You’ll break my
pot.

CHORUS: It’s you we’ll break, you horrid deadhead!
DICAEOPOLIS: You venerable dodderers—for what?
CHORUS:

What a question to ask,
You filthy rat, you cursed
Betrayer of your people!
The only one in our midst
To settle
A separate peace:
You dare look me in the face?

DICAEOPOLIS: Oughtn’t you first to know my reasons? Listen.

CHORUS: Listen to you? You’re finished, and we’ll flatten
you under heaps of stone.

DICAEOPOLIS: Not before you’ve heard me, please!
Forbear, good people, I appeal.

CHORUS:

Forbear, I’ll not,
Nor do we want a spiel.
I hate you even more than Cleon,³⁰
Whom I intend to cut up as leather for shoes
For the noble knights to use.

LEADER: I’m not going to listen to lengthy speeches
from one who goes in for making truces
with the Spartans, so what I’ll do
is just punish you.

DICAEOPOLIS: Good gentlemen, let’s forget the Spartans just for now
and concentrate on the truce I made.
Was I right to make it, anyhow?

LEADER: How can you possibly ask if it’s right
to deal with people who don’t abide
by any altar, faith, or oath?

DICAEOPOLIS: All I know is that the Spartans, whom we so loathe,
are not the only reason for our woes.

LEADER: Not the only? You frigging heel, you have the gall
to say this to my face and think we’re going to spare you?

DICAEOPOLIS: Not the only reason, I repeat: not the only.
In fact, with a little dissertation I could show you
how in many ways the Spartans are the wronged party.

LEADER: What a truly awful thing to say!
A brazen exculpation of our enemy—
enough to cause a heart attack.

DICAEOPOLIS: Very well, if what I say
doesn’t seem right and true to all the people
I’m ready to speak with my head on the butcher’s block.

LEADER: Fellow demesmen, why do we delay?
Why don’t we flay the rascal
till he’s as red as a Spartan cloak?³¹

DICAEOPOLIS: Ah, sons of Acharneus, that was a spark
that flared up in you then, but won’t you listen?
Please, just listen?

LEADER: Listen, we shall not.

DICAEOPOLIS: Then I’ll be hurt.

LEADER: I would rather die.

DICAEOPOLIS: Acharnians, don’t say that!

LEADER: You’re the one that’s going to die—immediately.

DICAEOPOLIS:
In that case I’ll sting and murder in return:
yes, the most loved ones of your loves—and presently.
They’re hostages. Let me go and get them
and cut their throats.

[DICAEOPOLIS goes inside.]

LEADER: Comrade Acharnians, what does he mean by these threats? Is there someone locked up in his home? Otherwise, why is he so sassy?

[DICAEOPOLIS comes out with a large knife and a basket of charcoal.]

DICAEOPOLIS: So go ahead and stone me and I’ll slaughter these,
and I’ll soon see which of you is fussy
about the way your blessed coal behaves.

LEADER: No, no, it’ll be the end of us.
That basket of charcoal is from my home.
Don’t do it. Oh please don’t!

DICAEOPOLIS: Yowl away and make a fuss, but kill I will.

LEADER: You’d kill me, too—the lover of charcoal?

DICAEOPOLIS: When I pleaded a moment ago you were dumb.

CHORUS: All right, mean what you meant:
That the Spartan is your friend.
This wee basket I’ll not desert.

DICAEOPOLIS: First empty those stones onto the ground.

LEADER: See, they’re on the ground, so put your weapon down.

DICAEOPOLIS: Sure no stones are tucked away inside your gown?

CHORUS:

Look, it’s shaken down to the ground.
Can’t you see it’s shaken down?
No going back on what you said.
Just put that sword of yours to bed.
Look, I’m whirling round and round.

DICAEOPOLIS:
How ready you were just now to shake me with your shouts
when some Parnesian³² charcoals all but died
just because their demesmen went berserk.
My basket in a panic, like a squid,
squirted me with charcoal dust. How sad
that any should succumb to suchlike fits

of bitterness, hurl stones and bark
and refuse to listen to anything I say for Sparta,
even though I’m ready to put my head on the chopping block;
and I’m a man who’d rather keep his life instead.

CHORUS:
Then go ahead, you difficult man, and put the block
outside your door and give us the speech we’re waiting for.
Whatever is on your mind, I can hardly wait to hear.

LEADER: Yes, bring the block out here—the whole thing’s your idea
and just the way you want it—then begin your speech.

[DICAEOPOLIS goes into the house and comes out with a butcher block.]

DICAEOPOLIS:
So here is the man and there is the butcher block,
and this is where he’s primed himself to make his pitch.
Don’t be nervous. I’m unarmed, I swear, and speak
just to put the Spartan case as best I may.
But I am nervous, all the same. I know the way
country folk respond: how easy it is to con
them with flattery of themselves or of their city,
whether true or not and however shitty.
Of which they’re completely unaware. I know
too how the old ones think and want to sting
by how they vote. And I know how I got stung
last year by Cleon because of my comedy,³³
when he had me hauled before the Council and blew
his top off, slandering, lying, lashing, roaring—exactly
like the river Cycloborus flooding—as he drenched me
in abuse until I was all but annihilated
by a sickly-slimy-sewery slush³⁴ of smeary hatred.
Well now, before I launch into my apologia,
Allow me, please, to dress up in pathetic gear.

CHORUS: What are all these clever delaying tactics?
For all I care, you can go and get yourself a wig
from Hieronymus,³⁵ a shaggy, unkempt camouflage.

LEADER: Let’s get to the bottom of your Sisyphean tricks.³⁶
There’s no excuse for any delay—not one bit.

DICAEOPOLIS: The time has come to show a stalwart heart at large.
I’ll call on Euripides.

[He walks to the door of EURIPIDES’ house and knocks.]

Boy! Boy!
SERVANT: Who is it?
DICAEOPOLIS: Is Euripides in, please?
SERVANT: He’s in, yet not in. . . . If you get my meaning.
DICAEOPOLIS: How can he be in, yet not in?

SERVANT: Quite easily, old sir.
His mind’s outside collecting verses, so his mind’s not in,
but the man himself is inside, though in the air,
working on tragedies.

DICAEOPOLIS: Thrice-fortunate Euripides,
having a servant who knows exactly where you are!
Call him out.

SERVANT: I can’t.

DICAEOPOLIS: Don’t be silly! [EURIPIDES’ SERVANT slams the door.]
Well, I’m not going. I’ll keep knocking.
Euripides, dear Euripides, won’t you listen?
Listen now if you’ve ever listened to anyone.
It’s Dicaeopolis of Cholleidai‡ calling.

EURIPIDES: [from a window] I’m busy.
DICAEOPOLIS: Just get yourself wheeled out.
EURIPIDES: I can’t.

DICAEOPOLIS: Oh please!
EURIPIDES: Very well, I’ll be wheeled out.

[EURIPIDES is wheeled into view on a couch high above the ground.]

DICAEOPOLIS: Euripides!
EURIPIDES: What is it?

DICAEOPOLIS:
Why do you write up in the air
when you could be down here?
No wonder your characters walk on thin air! And why do you wear
such pitiable tatters—is it for tragedies?
It’s not surprising you make them all beggars.
But seriously, I’m asking on bended knee³⁷
for the loan of a few rags from that old play of yours.
I have to give a lengthy harangue to the Chorus presently
and if I’m not effective it’s the end of me.

EURIPIDES: What kind of rags?
Like what pathetic old Oeneus³⁸ wore when he came onstage?

DICAEOPOLIS: No, not from Oeneus. Something more pathetic.

EURIPIDES: From poor blind old Phoenix³⁹ then?

DICAEOPOLIS: No, not Phoenix. Someone even more of a drudge.

EURIPIDES: What kind of shreds of clothing does the fellow mean?
Does he mean what the tattered castaway Philoctetes⁴⁰ had on?

DICAEOPOLIS: No, someone much more down and out.

EURIPIDES: What about the disgusting outfit
the lame Bellerephon⁴¹ wore?

DICAEOPOLIS: Not Bellerephon, though the man I mean
was also a lame beggar and had the gift of the gab.

EURIPIDES: Ah, you mean Telephus of Mysia?⁴²

DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, Telephus: that’s the geezer.
I want the baby clothes from his crib.

EURIPIDES: Hey, boy, go and fetch the remnants of Telephus.
They’re on top of the remnants of Thyestes,
between them and Ino’s.⁴³

[The SERVANT goes off and comes back immediately.]

SERVANT: ’ere y’ are: take these.

DICAEOPOLIS: [sorting through the remnants] O Zeus, who sees over and under all things, I want to be got up in the foulest way I can. . . . Euripides, you’ve been so generous in everything, will you give me what goes with it, that little Mysian cap? I’ve got to act the beggar today and be who I am, yet not be so. The audience, of course, must know who I am, but the Chorus—dumb clucks in the making—must stand there gaping, while I bamboozle them with irony and wordplay.

EURIPIDES: Take it—you deserve it; you’re so full of subtlety.

DICAEOPOLIS: Charming of you! Meanwhile I’m concentrating on
Telephus.
Honestly, I’m already chock-full of witty gags.
But I do need a beggar’s staff.⁴⁴

EURIPIDES: Take this, and depart from this marbled house.

DICAEOPOLIS: Sod all, Soul, that’s a bit stiff!

Expelled from here when I don’t have nearly enough
of the props I need for putting on a needy and pathetic show
of being down to the dregs.
Euripides, give me a little basket
with a lamp shining through it.

EURIPIDES: What d’you want a basket for, you bozo?

DICAEOPOLIS: I simply don’t know
but I’d like to have it.

EURIPIDES: You’re being a nuisance. Please leave my house.

DICAEOPOLIS: More’s the pity. . . . But God bless you and your mother.

EURIPIDES: Go, please!

DICAEOPOLIS: One other
thing: give me a little cup with a chipped rim.

EURIPIDES: Here, take this, and to hell with you. You’re an absolute pest, you bum.

DICAEOPOLIS: Zeus be my witness, you still don’t know
how much you’ll miss me.
But, Euripides, sweetie pie,
just hand me that little bottle plugged with a sponge.

EURIPIDES: Fella, you’re filching my entire repertoire.

DICAEOPOLIS:
Hold on, what am I doing?
There’s still an item I haven’t got,
which if I haven’t got I’m lost.
Listen, Euripides, you gooey darling,
once I’ve got it I’ll be off and never bother you again:
some withered leaves for my little basket.

EURIPIDES: Here you are, but you’re doing me in: my plays have
gone.

DICAEOPOLIS: [pretending to leave]
Enough! I’m really going. I’m such a nuisance, I know,
though I never thought the grand protagonists would hate me
so. . . .⁴⁵
Hang on, I’m buggered! I’ve forgotten one essential thing
on which depends—everything.

O sweetest, dearest Euripideekins,
may I die the death if I ask anything of you again:
but just one thing, one teeny-weeny item—
some chervil from your mother’s stall.

EURIPIDES: The man’s beyond the pale. . . . Batten down my home.

[EURIPIDES is wheeled away.]

DICAEOPOLIS:
Brave heart, albeit chervilless, march forth
and concentrate upon the coming challenge
when you put the case for our Spartan enemies.
Onward, my soul! You know your range.
Why are you hanging back?
You should be full of go and faith
after that quaff of Euripides.
Coraggio! Be a brick,
my silly heart, and get me to where
I have to lose my noodle, but not until
I’ve made clear my whole position.
Get moving then, be strong. . . .
O heart, well done!

CHORUS:
What will you do and what will you say?
Do you see
What a man of iron you are?
You have no common sense at all,
Insisting on speaking, opposing us all:
Without a quaver
Offering your neck to the town—very well,
Speak as you will.

DICAEOPOLIS:
Friends, I trust that none of you spectators
will think ill of me dressed up as a beggar
and having the nerve to address the Athenian people
in a comedy, but even comedy writers
can tell the truth, and the truth that I’ll relate
is shocking but it is the truth. Moreover,
this time Cleon no way can accuse
me of blackening the city’s name when
foreigners are present; there are none
here today: we are on our own
at the Lenaean competitions and no news
arrives of troops from the city-states,
nor of the officials who handle the rates
of contributions;⁴⁶ we are on our own.
And if I may call our resident aliens bran
we are at present winnowed from the chaff.
So let me tell you bluntly, I abhor
the Spartans, and I couldn’t rejoice enough
if Poseidon of Taenarum⁴⁷ sent
a quake and shook their houses to the core.
For I, like you, have had my vineyards rent.
Nonetheless, since only friends are here
listening to me, let me ask you: are
we to blame the Spartans for everything?
Some of our own people here—I’m not
saying the city; please remember that—
I do not say the city but a gang
of spurious obnoxious hooligans
who kept denouncing the Megarians
for importing jackets without paying the tax.
If they saw a cucumber or a rabbit,
a piglet, clove of garlic, lump of salt,
“Megarian!” they’d shout and confiscate the lot,
then sell it off at a knockdown price—
typical and trivial of us but the facts.
And then a bunch of tipsy cottabus-throwing yobs⁴⁸
rollicks off to Megara and grabs
Simaetha the courtesan;⁴⁹ then you
Megarians, to even the odds,
with garlic in your blood abduct two
of Aspasia’s⁵⁰ tarts. So all it takes to be the cause
of plunging the whole of Hellas into wars
are three whores.

Then Pericles, from Olympian heights,
rolling out his thunder and his lights,
stirred up the whole of Greece with laws
that sounded just like drinking songs: “Depart,
Megarians, from earth and sea, depart;
even from the mart, I say, depart.”
The poor ravenous Megarians then
betook themselves to Sparta, thinking them
somehow able to get the decree of the three
sluts repealed. And the Spartans actually
asked several times for this, but we
refused. That is how the clash of shields
began. It shouldn’t have, someone’ll say.
Then tell me, what should the Spartans have done?
Let’s suppose some Spartan makes a deal:
gets hold of a puppy from Seriphus⁵¹
imported in a dinghy over the sea;
says it’s a miserable cur but sells it,
would you just sit at home and keep mum?⁵²
No, you would make an awful fuss:
launch three hundred ships of war, I bet.
And the city would be raucous with the shouts
of soldiers; sailors milling round their skippers;
pay disbursed; figureheads of Pallas
gilded; hubbub in the Colonnade;
rations meted out, wineskins filled,
oarlocks checked, people buying jars
of garlic, olives, netted onions, flowers;
flute girls and . . . black eyes.
The dockyard’d be alive with the sound of oars
being planed, pegs hammered, row ports drilled,
bosuns whistling, horns tooting, strains
of pipes playing . . . you would have had the lot.
So should we think that Telephus would not?
Then we’re quite devoid of brains.

-

[The CHORUS splits in two, each with its own LEADER.]

FIRST LEADER: So you say, you absolute scum, you villain!
How dare you, a miserable beggar, whine
at us because we have informers in our midst?

SECOND LEADER: Holy Poseidon! The man is absolutely right.
There’s not a single thing he’s missed.

FIRST LEADER: Even so, who gave him leave to say it?
He’ll regret he delivered that palaver.

[FIRST LEADER leaps up and makes for DICAEOPOLIS.]

SECOND LEADER: Hey, what are you doing? Stay where you are.
If you touch that man you’re going to be hanged.

[The two CHORUSES advance on each other and in struggle the SECOND CHORUS comes off best.]

FIRST CHORUS:
O General Lamachus,⁵³ lightning banger,
Come to our aid in your waving feathers:
General Lamachus, friend and fella
Clansman, or any storm trooper near,
Or military man: come if you can
And rescue us. It would be nice,
And on the dot. I’m in a vise.

[LAMACHUS in full battle dress appears with a platoon of SOLDIERS.]

LAMACHUS: What’s all this battle din about?
Charge! But in what direction?
Ballyhoo! Ballyhoo! Who woke my Gorgon?⁵⁴

DICAEOPOLIS: O General Lamachus, my champion!
What flying plumes! What platoons!

FIRST LEADER: Lamachus, you ought to know this hothead
has been ranting against our State.

LAMACHUS: Has he, indeed?
Wretch of a beggar, how dare you!

DICAEOPOLIS: [eating humble pie]
Oh, General Lamachus, my hero, don’t be irate
if I said something out of place.

LAMACHUS: About me? What?
Speak up, man.

DICAEOPOLIS: I don’t think I can.
I come over all dizzy at the sight of armor.

[pointing at the snake-haired Medusa on LAMACHUS’ shield]

Please remove that horrible face.

LAMACHUS: [covering his shield with his scarlet cloak]
That better?

DICAEOPOLIS: Put it upside down.

LAMACHUS: There you are.

DICAEOPOLIS: Now give me a helmet feather or two.

LAMACHUS: Here’s a cluster.

DICAEOPOLIS: Now hold my head while I puke.
Helmet crests make me go all queer.

LAMACHUS: Hey, you’re not going to vomit on my feathers, are
you?

DICAEOPOLIS: What bird are they from? A greater bragtale?
LAMACHUS: Now you’re done for!

DICAEOPOLIS: Lamachus, what the heck!
I know you’re very strong, but strength isn’t the point—
though with all your armory you could certainly dock
my you-know-what.

LAMACHUS: You creep! A beggar giving lip to a general!

DICAEOPOLIS: Me, a beggar?

LAMACHUS: Aren’t you? . . . Well?

DICAEOPOLIS: Aren’t I? I’m an honest citizen, I grant,
not a social climber, and since the war
a simple soldier, not a profiteer,
whereas you since the war began have been a well-paid
cipher.

LAMACHUS: I was appointed, you know.

DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, by three cuckoos. . . . That’s what made me spew
and fix up a truce when I saw old graybeards in the ranks
drawing no pay, while young men like you
were getting three drachmas a day—for being hunks:
some on the shores of Thrace, like Horsey-faced Phainippus
or Codswallop Hipparchides, and some with Mister-nice
Chares.
Others went to Chaeonia (Pie-in-the-Skyia),
like Geretheodorous (God’s-favorite Dodderer)
a phony from Diomeia (Blasphemia),

and still others to Giggleton, Grincity, and Defunctia.⁵⁵
LAMACHUS: All by appointment.

DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, and all drawing pay,
whereas the rest of you wherever you are
never get any.

[turning to CHORUS]

Tell me, Emberson,⁵⁶ graybeard though you are,
Have you ever served on embassies?
What, never? Never, he says,
though he’s steady and able-bodied.
And you, Barbecue, Father Bird, and Oakenhearted,
has any one of you had a glimpse of Ecbatana
or the natives of Chaonia?⁵⁷
What, never?
But Coisyra’s⁵⁸ son has, and so has Lamachus,
despite the fact that only yesterday,
because of their unpaid bills and dues,
their friends were advising them to keep out of reach—
as if they had to dodge slops from open windows.

LAMACHUS: Democracy! Democracy! This is too much!

DICAEOPOLIS: Not as long as Lamachus gets his pay!

LAMACHUS: That’s it then! I’ll damn well go after Spartans with ships and men—might and main.

[LAMACHUS marches off with his SOLDIERS.]

DICAEOPOLIS: And I for my part announce free trade between me and
all Spartans, Megarians, and Boeotians—
but not Lamachus.

[DICAEOPOLIS retires.]

LEADER: [speaking in the name of Aristophanes for the Parabasis]
The man has excelled and changed the people’s
minds on the peace.
Let’s roll up our sleeves and tackle the anapests.⁵⁹
Never till now
Since your Producer first began writing
comedies, has he
Come forward and boasted to you the spectators
that he was clever,
But now that there’re those who have charged him before
you the Athenians
(Who jump to conclusions) of wanting to sneer
at city and people,
He’d like to petition you the Athenians
to unjump conclusions.
Our poet insists that he really deserves
your accolade
For having prevented your being hoodwinked
by foreigners’ twaddle
And being seduced by flattery till you
are resident inmates
Of insanity city. Before he did that
what happened was this:
The allied ambassadors out to deceive you
began to salute you
As “violet-crowned,” and that crown soon had you
sitting all pretty.
If anyone came gushing and saying,
“O dazzling Athens!”
That “dazzling” which was perfectly suited
for a school of sardines,
Would get him the best of everything.
For telling you this,

Your poet has brought you lavish rewards,
and also by giving
A good demonstration of how the allied
States “democratically”
Get to be managed. That is the reason
the allied emissaries
Continue to come, impatient to meet
this brilliant poet
Who had the nerve to steer the Athenians
towards what’s right.
Word of his courage has spread so wide
that even the King,⁶⁰
During his interview with the delegates
from Sparta, asked
First of all, which of the fleets
on either side
Was the more powerful. Immediately next:
which of the sides
Had the poet most fiercely reviled?
For they’d be the ones
To be kept on their toes and succeed in the war,
because of him.
And this is the reason the Spartans offer you
terms of peace;
Demanding, however, the return of Aegina,⁶¹
not that they really
Care a damn for Aegina but only because
they want the poet.
So, listen, I beg you. Don’t let him go,
for he means to continue
Concocting his comedies about what is right.
And he promises never

To stint in giving you goodly advice,
so you’ll be blessed,
And never to flatter you or deceive
you by waving
Phony inducements to bluff and beguile you
and butter you up.
He’ll furnish you always with the best
guidance he can.

Now that this is all in the open
Let Cleon continue his weaving and dealing
And setting his traps, hoping to catch me.
The right and the good will be my champion.
And towards our city, never
Shall I behave the way he does:
The creep of a coward and a howling bugger.

STROPHE

CHORUS:

Come, you Muse, tempered in flame,
Come with the energy of fire—
Acharnian fire that leaps with a beam
From oaken charcoal fanned to a blaze.
And there on the side
Lie the herrings to be fried,
And someone mixes the Thracian sauce
While someone fillets the gleaming fish.
So come shouting a rustic song
Like our folklore fathers sang.
Celebrate with one
Who is a fellow Acharnian.

LEADER:

We old men, we the oldsters must complain:
We have been neglected grossly by the town
In our dotage as if we’d never fought at sea:
We’ve been treated callously:

Old men embroiled in courts of law and all forlorn,
Outsmarted by smart-alecky young men. . . .
Us old dodderers reduced to silence, spent and done,
Supported only by our walking sticks,
Standing in the dock mumbling like some ancient relic,
Seeing through a haze some whippersnapper who
Has wangled the cushy job of dismantling him
With a wrestler’s throw,
Hits him with sophisticated oral vim
And double-talk, to haul him up for questioning
In a third degree of verbal traps till the poor old thing
Struggles and flusters and fumbles, decrepit as Tithonus.⁶²
It’s no use.
He ends
Convicted and weeping and whining and saying to his
friends:
“The money I saved for my funeral
Now goes to the greedy tribunal.”

ANTISTROPHE

CHORUS:

How can it ever be right to wreck
A man because he’s timed by the clock
As an elderly man grizzled and gray,
Who long ago struggled at your side
Mopping the copious
Manly sweat from his brow
When he bravely fought at Marathon
In defense of our city. Yes indeed,
At Marathon we sent them scattering.
But other enemies face us now,
Out to scatter us.
Can anyone deny this thing?

LEADER:

How can it ever be right that a bent old man
of Thucydides’⁶³ age
Should be wiped out by that Scythian scum,⁶⁴
that creature here,
That waffling litigant, Cephisodemus’ son.‡
I had to brush away a tear
and felt such shame
For a noble veteran being undone
by a bowman.
In the days of Thucydides’ prime,
this I swear,
He would have taken on a champion
like Artachaees§
And terrified three thousand bowmen
with a yell,
And shot down in their tracks whole families
of that mouthpiece,¶
And thrown ten Euathluses. But if you won’t
let us old men
Sleep in peace, allow us please
this at least,
To have our writs made separate from the young.
Let one
Old toothless gaffer sue
a toothless other,
And the young men use that mincing sissy
Cleinias’ son,

Alcibiades;⁶⁵ and from now on,
when it comes
To fines and exiles, only the old
should ostracize
The old, and young the young.

[DICAEOPOLIS comes out of the house with stakes to mark out boundaries, leather straps, and a small table.]

DICAEOPOLIS:

These are for the boundaries of my trading.
Within them all the people of Peloponnese,
of Megara and Boeotia are free to trade
and to sell to me: all except Lamachus.
These three straps for flogging
I appoint as market officers.
I want no stool pigeon here
or any sycophantic fraud.
Now I’ll go and get the column for my truce
and set it up for all to see in the market square.

[He goes into the house as a MEGARIAN arrives with two small GIRLS aged about eight.]

MEGARIAN:⁶⁶
Marketplace of Athens, how d’yer do!
By Zeus god of friendship, we be friends of you.
I’ve missed yer like a son his mother.

[turning to the two GIRLS]

And now yer twa miserable lasses of a feeble father,
if you’d like some’at to eat,
go up them steps and see what yer can find there.

[He points to the steps outside DICAEOPOLIS’ front door.]

But ’earken to me and give me yer complete
tummy-rumbling atten-shun.
Would yer rather starve or be put up for sale?

GIRLS: [unanimously] Up for sale! Up for sale!

MEGARIAN:
Yeah, yeah—that’s the deal.
And I ’ave a brain wave—Oh so Megarian!—
I’ll dress ye up as twa wee swine.
So now put on them piggy trotters
and be the piglets of a real swinish mother.
If yer come ’ome unsold, I swear by ’ermes,
ye’ll ken what real famine is.
Now put on them little snouts and get into the sack
and start squealing an’ oinking just like—
just like the piggies at the Eleusinian sacrifice.
I’ll shout for Dicaeopolis. . . . Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS: [coming out of the house]
Well I’m damned! A Megarian?

MEGARIAN: We’re ’ere to sell.

DICAEOPOLIS: How are you all doing?

MEGARIAN: Just fine! As I started out
our bigwigs were driving ’emselves silly
trying ter figure out the best and quickest way
of scuttling the State.

DICAEOPOLIS: That’ll be a blessing, won’t it?

MEGARIAN: Man, yer right!

DICAEOPOLIS: Anything else going on in Megara? The price of
grain?

MEGARIAN: Where we are it’s ’igh as ’eaven.

DICAEOPOLIS: What’s in the sack—salt?

MEGARIAN: Salt? That’s what you control.

DICAEOPOLIS: Garlic, then?

MEGARIAN: [shaking his head] Garlic, na, and it’s yor fault.
Ev’ry time ye raid us, yor people
dig it up—more like mice than men!

DICAEOPOLIS: Well, what do you have?

MEGARIAN: Some Mystery piggies. DICAEOPOLIS: Good, let’s see them.

MEGARIAN: [uncovering the sack] Beauties, eh? Like what yer see?
Real plump an’ pretty.

DICAEOPOLIS: [looking into the sack and seeing one of the GIRLS] God in heaven, what is this?

MEGARIAN: A piggy, by Zeus.

DICAEOPOLIS: A piggy? . . . Don’t be dotty!

MEGARIAN: A reel Megarian piggy—no?

DICAEOPOLIS: It doesn’t look like a piggy to me.

MEGARIAN: [to the audience] Can yer beat it? The disbelieving jerk! ’e says this ain’t a little pork. Tell yer what: I bet yer some thyme-scented salt this ’ere’s a real piglet . . . in the Greek sense of the word.

DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, but it takes after a human being.

MEGARIAN: Of course it does—by Diocles!⁶⁷
It takes after me. . . . ’oo’s d’yer think it is?
Like it to squeal?

DICAEOPOLIS: I certainly would.

MEGARIAN: Piggy sweet, let’s ’ave it right now—a squeal.

[not a sound]

Sod all! You perishing kiddo!
It’s ’ome yer’ll go.

FIRST GIRL: Grunt! Grunt!

MEGARIAN: See—isn’t that a piggy?

DICAEOPOLIS: Seems like a piggy now, but in a while
once grown up it’ll be a cunt.

MEGARIAN: Yer can be sure o’ that. She’ll be just like her mother.

DICAEOPOLIS: This one’s not ripe for sacrifice.

MEGARIAN: What d’ yer mean, not ripe for sacrifice?

DICAEOPOLIS: She hasn’t got a tail.⁶⁸

MEGARIAN: She’s young yet, but when grown into full piggy’ood
she’ll get ’erself a ruddy great thick ’un.

[displaying the other sack]

’ere’s another nice
piggy for yer to fatten up—if that’s what yer want.

DICAEOPOLIS: Hers is the twin of the other—the cunt.

MEGARIAN: Sure, she ’as the same mother an’ same father.
When she fills out a bit and gets a little bush,
she’ll be a choice piggy for sacrifice to Aphrodite.⁶⁹

DICAEOPOLIS: Pigs aren’t sacrificed to Aphrodite.

MEGARIAN: Pigs not sacrificed to Aphrodite? Tush! They’re only sacrificed to ’er, and ’ow scrumptious they are spitted on a skewer!

DICAEOPOLIS: Can they eat without their mother?

MEGARIAN: Aye, by Poseidon, and without their father.

DICAEOPOLIS: What do they like most?

MEGARIAN: Whatever yer give ’em. Ask ’em.

DICAEOPOLIS: [addressing FIRST GIRL] Piglet, oh piglet!

FIRST GIRL: Wee wee!

DICAEOPOLIS: Do you like chickpeas?

FIRST GIRL: Wee wee!

DICAEOPOLIS: And figs from Phibalis?‡

FIRST GIRL: Wee wee!

DICAEOPOLIS: [to SECOND GIRL] And you, too?

SECOND GIRL: Wee wee wee!

DICAEOPOLIS: How the word fig makes you squeal—both of you! Hey, someone in the house bring out some figs for the two wee pigs.

[XANTHIAS comes on the double with some dry figs and DICAEOPOLIS tosses some into each sack.]

Do they like figs?
My word, how they guzzle! Holy Heracles,
where are they from, these piggies?
Probably from the Goatland town of Gobbleallia.⁷⁰

MEGARIAN: They ’aven’t eaten every single fig.
’ere’s one they’ve missed and that’s for me.

DICAEOPOLIS: My God, what entertaining little rogues they are!
How much are you asking for them, please?

MEGARIAN: A rope of garlic for this one ’ere.
For t’other a peck of salt, if yer like.

DICAEOPOLIS: I’ll take them. Wait here.

MEGARIAN: [as DICAEOPOLIS hurries into the house] Done! O ’ermes god of barter, can I sell me wife as well—and what about me mother?

[An INFORMER enters and sidles up to the MEGARIAN.]

INFORMER: Where yer from, fella?

MEGARIAN: Megara—a pig dealer.

INFORMER: [looking into the sacks] That’s it then: I’ll denounce them piglets as illegal—and you as well.

MEGARIAN: ’ere we go again! This is ’ow the ’ole bloody show began.

INFORMER: Megarian lip! You’ll be sorry for it. ’and over that sack.

MEGARIAN: Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis! Quick,
we have a rat.

DICAEOPOLIS: [running out of the house and cracking his leather straps
threateningly]
Snooper, denouncer—where?
You damn market police,
aren’t you ever going to keep these informers out?

[staring at the INFORMER insultingly]

Where did you learn to expose yourself without a wick?⁷¹
INFORMER: What? Yer mean expose my enemies?
DICAEOPOLIS: You’d better not.
Go and do your exposing somewhere else.

[The INFORMER runs off.]

MEGARIAN: In Athens they’re an absolute curse.

DICAEOPOLIS: Cheer up, Megarian!
Take this garlic and salt
at the price we agreed for the piggies,
and all good luck to you ahead.

MEGARIAN: Luck’s not in our line.

DICAEOPOLIS: Forgive me for meddling, then.

MEGARIAN: [ruefully] Piggies, with no father to ’elp
try to get some salt at least to nibble with yer bread.

[MEGARIAN leaves and DICAEOPOLIS takes the GIRLS into the house.]

CHORUS:

How lucky he is, this man, did you
See how beautifully his plan
Is working out?
In the market see him sit
Amid the fruits of his design.
If Ctesias⁷² comes sauntering through
Or any other snooping creep
He’ll kick him in the rump; no sneak

Will come annoying you or jump
The queue;
Nor a man like Prepis⁷³ wipe
His smelly bottom off on you;
Nor will you have to bump
Into Cleonymus; you’ll stride
Through your market brightly clad;
And never will you come across
A tiresome Hyperbolus⁷⁴
Armed with legal summonses;
Nor in your mart will you collide
With a Cratinus⁷⁵ strolling through
With his noodle neatly cut
On his way to adultery. Note,
You’ll never meet an Artemon⁷⁶
With his armpits smelling worse
By far even than his verse:
Verily his father’s son
From the land of Billygoat.

And in your market you will not
Be ridiculed by Plaguey Pauson⁷⁷
Nor by Lysistratus, the awesome
Shame of Cholargus,
Who’s sozzled in self-loathing or
Ravenously shivering for some
Thirty days or more a moon.

[A BOEOTIAN arrives from Thebes with his servant ISMENIAS. They are laden with baskets and sacks bursting with country produce. They are followed by a raucous group of young men playing bagpipes.]

BOEOTIAN:⁷⁸ ’oly ’eracles! Me shoulders are near raw.
Ismenias, boy, ’andle them chamomiles with care.
And ye piper fellas from Thebes,
blow on them there bones and give us the tune
of “ ’ow’s my doggie’s arse.”

DICAEOPOLIS: [charging out of the house]
Stop that wasp-sting din at once and go to hell!
Whatever got them to my door,
this murderous bunch of Chaeridian⁷⁹ bumblebees?

BOEOTIAN: By Iolaus,⁸⁰ ye’ll ’ave done me a good turn there, pal. All the darn way down from Thebes these fellas ’ave followed puffin’ and blowin’ fit to blast the petals off me chamomile. But lookee, ’ow d’yer like to buy some’at the goodies I got . . . or some of them four wingers?⁸¹

DICAEOPOLIS: Fine, dear Boeotian of the muffin eaters! So let’s see what you’ve got.

BOEOTIAN:
I got the tops
of what my country ’as—just about the lot:
oregano, chamomile, lamp wicks, doormats,
daws, ducks, cormorants, coots,
plovers, snipe, quail. . . .

DICAEOPOLIS: My word!
You’ve hit the bird market like a fowl-weather squall.

BOEOTIAN: Aye, but I’ve also got
geese, hares, foxes, moles,
hedgehogs, cats, badgers, weasels, Lake Copais eels.⁸²

DICAEOPOLIS: You gastronomic prince of men,
if you have eels, will you deign
to introduce them.

BOEOTIAN: [fishing an eel out of a crate]
O fairest of all Copais’ fifty daughters,
show thyself to this ’ere gent.

DICAEOPOLIS: [in mock grand manner]
Come, darling, you most yearned for of creatures,
here at last, you inspiration for the comic chorus to invent,
come, you paramour of Morychus.⁸³
Servants, on the double,
bring forth the brazier and the bellows.

[A brazier and bellows are fetched and DICAEOPOLIS’ children gather round.]

Behold, children, this splendid eel;
we’ve waited six years for her,
so, children, say how d’you do to the mademoiselle.
Let us honor her with coals,
and let her recline on her divan.
Even in death on a bed of beets
may I be parted from you never.⁸⁴

BOEOTIAN: ’ey, man, when do I get paid for ’er?

DICAEOPOLIS: Shall we say she’s a substitute for the market tariff?
And you can sell me some of your other stuff, right?

BOEOTIAN: It’s all for sale.

DICAEOPOLIS: Good. How much?
Or would you rather swap for something here?

BOEOTIAN: I would that: something Athens ’as
and us Boeotians ’aven’t.

DICAEOPOLIS: What about sardines from Phalernum?⁸⁵
Or would you rather pottery?

BOEOTIAN: Mm! Sardines or pottery? It ain’t a match:
we ’ave ’em both back ’ome.
Got to be some’at we don’t ’ave any of
and you ’ave much too much of. . . . See?

DICAEOPOLIS: [thinking hard] I’ve got it: informers.
We could pack one up for you like china and export him.

BOEOTIAN: Great Zeus-twice-over!
What a fortune I could make exporting ’im
chock-full of ’is monkey tricks!

DICAEOPOLIS: Watch out! Here comes Nicarchus⁸⁶ to denounce us.

[NICARCHUS enters.]

BOEOTIAN: There ain’t much to ’im.

DICAEOPOLIS: But every inch of it stinks.

NICARCHUS: Whose stuff is this?

BOEOTIAN: Mine—from Thebes—Zeus my witness!

NICARCHUS: Smuggled, I reckon. I denounce.

BOEOTIAN: Man, what’s up with you—
taking arms against me birdies?

NICARCHUS: Against them, yes, and you, too.

BOEOTIAN: What ’ave I ever done to yer?

NICARCHUS: For the sake of those standing here,
let me tell you: you’re importing lamp wicks
from countries we’re at war with.

DICAEOPOLIS: [breaking in] What! You denounce him for lamp wicks?

NICARCHUS: A lamp wick can burn down the docks.

DICAEOPOLIS: A wick burn down docks?

NICARCHUS: I think so.

DICAEOPOLIS: How could it?

NICARCHUS: Let’s say some fellow from Boeotia

stuck a wick on the back of a beetle,
lit it and sent it through a gutter
till a whiff of north wind came to hustle
it towards the ships and set them on fire. . . . ⁸⁷

DICAEOPOLIS: [losing his temper and lashing out with his leather thongs]
Set yourself on fire, you goddam fraud [thwack],
and from a beetle [thwack],
with a wick on its back [thwack].

NICARCHUS: Witnesses! Observe!

DICAEOPOLIS: Lock up his mouth.
Give me some sawdust and I’ll pack him like china for dispatch
so he doesn’t get chipped in the move.

LEADER: With care, my hero, pack up the goods For this guest of ours who comes from abroad. It mustn’t get smashed on the road.

DICAEOPOLIS: Of course I’ll take the greatest care. It’s popping and crackling like a fire As if deserted by the gods.

LEADER: What’s it going to be used for?

DICAEOPOLIS: For every kind of possible thing:
A mug for something . . . that’s not nice;
A pestle to pound writs of error;
A lamp to illumine official vice;
A chalice for every kind of malice.

LEADER: But how could anyone not tremor Using such a jug as this, And one that’s making such a clamor?

DICAEOPOLIS: It’s quite robust, my friend. It won’t Crumble even if you dangle It by the feet at any angle.

LEADER: [to the BOEOTIAN] You’ve got yourself a real boon.

BOEOTIAN: Yes, I’m on the brink of fortune.

LEADER: Reap your reward, good visitor.
Fling him at once into your pack
And off with him to wherever you want:
A perfect specimen, I warrant,
Of the universal skunk.

DICAEOPOLIS: Quite a job of it I had Packing up the wretched cad. So, Boeotian, load the stack.

BOEOTIAN: [to ISMENIAS, his servant]
Ismenias, hoist ’im up, m’lad.

DICAEOPOLIS: So carry him home with the greatest care, Even though your load is far from fair. But if you make a profit from this import You’re on your way to make a pack From informer export.

[The BOEOTIAN and ISMENIAS leave as XANTHIAS runs in shouting.]

XANTHIAS: Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS: Hey, what’s all the shouting for?

XANTHIAS: What indeed, sir, just this:
Lamachus submits an order
for some thrushes for the Feast of Pitcher,⁸⁸
a drachma’s worth, and three drachmas for
an eel from Lake Copais.

DICAEOPOLIS: But which of the Lamachuses is it with the eel
order?

XANTHIAS: The formidable one, the tough-as-bulls’-hide one,
the one who flashes his Gorgon shield
nodding his waving cloud of plumes.

DICAEOPOLIS: It’s no use, by Zeus! Even if he presents me with his shield. So let him twiddle away his plumes for salted mackerel. If he stirs up trouble I’ll call the market police. Meanwhile, I’m going inside to my rooms with all this stuff. . . . I’m flying off on the wings of blackbird and of thrush.

[DICAEOPOLIS loads himself up with cages, boxes, and sacks, and staggers into the house. XANTHIAS saunters off the way he came.]

STROPHE

CHORUS:

All of you there, I hope you’ll note
This resourceful, brilliant man.
What a wonderful stock he’s got
Of things for sale because of the truce:
Some of which can be put to use
Around the house, some eaten hot.

LEADER: Every possible benefit can

Come willy-nilly to this man.
I’ll never invite the god of war
Into my house or let him recline
Beside me singing the Harmodius song,⁸⁹
For when he’s drunk he’s a boisterous bore.
We were having a wonderful time
With masses of everything until
He crashed in, upsetting all,
Barging his way, fighting and spilling,
And the more I wheedled him with “Please,
Relax with a loving cup—be willing,”
The more he set our poles ablaze
And poured on the ground the juice of vines.

ANTISTROPHE

CHORUS:

But now he’s departed for his dinner
With something of a change of mind:
He’s jettisoned outside his door
His plumes of war. . . . Oh look who’s here!
Aphrodite’s favorite friend,
Peace, and the beloved Graces.⁹⁰

LEADER: [addressing PEACE]

I never knew how sweet your face is.
It makes me itch for Eros here—
The Eros in the picture where
He’s drowned in flowers—to get us together.
You probably think I’m a spent old man.
All the same, I bet I’d come
Once I had you in my arms.
I’d hit the bull’s-eye three times running:
First with a strike of vines in a row;
Next with a burst of fig tree cuttings;
Third, a festoon of grapes I’d grow
(Old that I am, I’m so well hung),
Round which I’d plant an olive grove—
We’d oil ourselves the New Moon long.

[Enter HERALD.]

HERALD: Attention, people, for the feast!
Drain your mugs of wine according to tradition
and the one who finishes first
gets a wineskin as ample as the belly of Ctesiphon.⁹¹

[An inner scene is revealed in which DICAEOPOLIS and his household are preparing for a banquet.]

DICAEOPOLIS: [fussing]
Hey, boys and girls, what are you doing?
Weren’t you listening?
Didn’t you hear the herald speaking?
Grill those hare fillets nicely,
then turn and yank them off the spit, but briskly.
Get the garlands and the trestles.
Give me some skewers for the throstles.⁹²

CHORUS:
I so admire your expert plan
And even more
Your cornucopia.
Come, sit beside us, man.

DICAEOPOLIS: Wait till you see thrush-on-spit.

CHORUS: I expect that you are right.

DICAEOPOLIS: Poke up the fire.

CHORUS: What a master of cuisine!
What a deft grill-side manner!
What a superb party planner!

[The farmer DERCETES enters, near to tears.]

DERCETES: God help me, I am done!

DICAEOPOLIS: Heavens, who is this?

DERCETES: A ruined man.

DICAEOPOLIS: Then keep it to yourself, please.

DERCETES: Be a good fellow. You are the only one
who cornered a truce for yourself; lend me a piece . . .
of peace . . . say a five-year morsel.

DICAEOPOLIS: What’s the trouble?

DERCETES: Lost my oxen—my couple.

DICAEOPOLIS: Where?

DERCETES: At Phyle, snaffled by the Boeotians.

DICAEOPOLIS: Why, thrice-unlucky one, are you dressed in white?

DERCETES: I couldn’t before, with all that manure.

DICAEOPOLIS: Well, what do you want me to do?

DERCETES: My eyesight’s gone, weeping for my bullocks,
so if you have any feeling—even slight—
for Dercetes of Phyle, rub some peace on my eyes now.

DICAEOPOLIS: Bollocks! I’m not a doctor.

DERCETES: Oh please, I beg you. Then perhaps I’ll find my oxen.

DICAEOPOLIS: No. Go to Doctor Pittalus’ clinic.⁹³

DERCETES: Oh please, just a teeny drop of peace: You can drop it into this hollow stick.

DICAEOPOLIS: No, not the weeniest drop. Go and find another place to whine in.

DERCETES: Gone! Gone! My darling yoke of oxen.

[DERCETES walks away dejected.]

CHORUS: The man has unearthed a prize
In his truce
And naturally he wants.
To keep to himself its use.

DICAEOPOLIS: Honey the sausages, grill the squid.

CHORUS: My, what authority!

DICAEOPOLIS: Brown the eels.

CHORUS: Have mercy on our palates, please, We’re near to death with the aroma And the savory syllables you utter.

DICAEOPOLIS: Get those stewing, get these fried.

[A BEST MAN enters with a BRIDESMAID.]

BEST MAN: Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS: Who the blazes, the damn blazes?

BEST MAN: There’s a wedding party going on
and the bridegroom sends you this viand.

DICAEOPOLIS: Generous of him whoever he is.

BEST MAN: What he asks in return,
so’s not to get called up for campaign
and can start shagging without a pause,
is a dollop of peace—here in this little vase.

DICAEOPOLIS: Away with the viand—away with it! Don’t tempt me!
Not for a thousand drachmas would I part with a drop. . . .
Who’s she?

BEST MAN: The bridesmaid,
and she has a personal message for you from the bride.

DICAEOPOLIS: Really? What sort of message?

[The BRIDESMAID steps up and whispers in his ear.]

Dear gods, that’s a laugh! She wants a pledge
that her husband’s cock be kept from the draft
and on the hearth.
Bring the truce here,
I’m going to give her a spoonful—and only to her—
she’s a poor female and oughtn’t to suffer because of war.
Hey, my girl, hold the vase up.
D’you know the procedure?
Tell the bride that when there’s a call-up
she’s to massage his prick at night with this.

[BEST MAN leaves with BRIDESMAID.]

Remove the truce and bring me the wine stoup
so’s I can ladle wine into the flasks.
LEADER: Look, there’s a man coming, obviously distraught,
as if he had something unpleasant to announce.

[FIRST MESSENGER enters and bangs on LAMACHUS’ front door, exclaiming in a mournful voice.]

FIRST MESSENGER: Oh brother! Battles, Lamachuses, fatigues, and tasks!

LAMACHUS: [coming out snarling]
Who’s banging my brass knockers into naught?

FIRST MESSENGER: Marching orders for the dy, from the ’igh command. Destinyshun—snow drifts. Objective—guarding hof the passes. News ’as just come hin that a gang of Boeotians ’as it in mind to hattack during the Pot and Pitcher Festival.

[FIRST MESSENGER salutes briskly and leaves.]

LAMACHUS: Drat the generals! Too many and too stupid! So I’m not going to be allowed to enjoy the festival.

DICAEOPOLIS: Three cheers for Lamachus the Intrepid!

LAMACHUS: So you think it’s funny as well?

DICAEOPOLIS: [teasing, as he picks up a fat roasted locust] How d’ you like to fight with this—a real Geryon.⁹⁴

LAMACHUS: Piss off! That message was messy enough.

DICAEOPOLIS: And here’s another messenger—all panty-hot-breath.

[Enter SECOND MESSENGER.]

SECOND MESSENGER: Dicaeopolis!

DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, what?

SECOND MESSENGER:
You’re to go to dinner on the dot.
Bring your pannier and your flagon,
the priest of Dionysus asks you, but hurry.
You’re keeping the dinner waiting.
Everything’s ready:
couches, tables, cushions,
quilts, perfumes, garlands,
tarts—I mean broads—biscuits, cakes and icing,
dancing girls—real pearls—like the ones
in Harmodius’ song, sesame honey buns. . . .
So hurry . . . come along!

LAMACHUS: [moaning] I am beset with things going wrong.

DICAEOPOLIS: Blame yourself: you’re your own damper, pinning yourself to a Gorgon.⁹⁵

[calling a SERVANT]

Pack up the pannier, boy, and quick.

LAMACHUS: And, boy, boy, bring me my knapsack.

DICAEOPOLIS: And, boy, boy, bring me my hamper.

LAMACHUS: Fetch the sea salt and the onion.

DICAEOPOLIS: For me just fish. I’ve had it with onions.

LAMACHUS: And, boy, bring me a smoked herring on a fig leaf.

DICAEOPOLIS: And stuff a fig leaf for me. I’ll cook it there.

LAMACHUS: And my twin helmet plumes—bring them here.

DICAEOPOLIS: Bring the thrushes and the pigeons.

LAMACHUS: How beautiful is an ostrich plume—its white fluff!

DICAEOPOLIS: How beautiful is pigeon meat—its brown stuff!

LAMACHUS: Sir, plumes are part of my armor—not a joke.

DICAEOPOLIS: Sir, stop ogling my thrushes—you complete jerk.

LAMACHUS: Sir, kindly stop addressing me—you right berk!

DICAEOPOLIS: I’m not. I’m conferring with my servant here.

[turns to his SERVANT]

Shall we toss up or let Lamachus decide which are tastier,
locusts or thrushes?

LAMACHUS: What a nerve!

DICAEOPOLIS: He’s pro-locust a hundred percent.

LAMACHUS: Boy, bring my triple crest out of the chest.

DICAEOPOLIS: And serve me some casserole of hare.

LAMACHUS: I can’t believe it: moths have had a go at my crests.

DICAEOPOLIS: I can’t believe it: I’m having hare as an hors d’oeuvre.

LAMACHUS: Boy, boy, remove my spear off the wall
and bring it here.

DICAEOPOLIS: Boy, boy, remove the shish kebab from the grill
and bring it here.

LAMACHUS: Now, laddy, I’ll draw my lance from its case. Hold tight.

DICAEOPOLIS: And you, laddy, hold the skewer while I pull.

[DICAEOPOLIS removes the kebab from the skewer.]

LAMACHUS: Boy, bring me a prop for my shield.

DICAEOPOLIS: And bring me a titbit for my prop.

LAMACHUS: Bring me the round buckler with the Gorgon boss.

DICAEOPOLIS: And me a pizza with a cheese base.

LAMACHUS: Flat-out impertinence! Who wouldn’t be appalled?

DICAEOPOLIS: A scrumptious pizza this. Who wouldn’t say it
excelled?

LAMACHUS: [preparing to polish his shield] Pour on the oil, boy. I see the reflection of an elderly gent charged with cowardice.⁹⁶

DICAEOPOLIS: Pour on the honey:
I see an elderly gent laughing at Lamachus.

LAMACHUS: Hand me, boy, my chain mail corselet.

DICAEOPOLIS: And me, boy, my corselet flagon.

LAMACHUS: With it I can face the foe.

DICAEOPOLIS: With it I can face fellow boozers off the wagon.

LAMACHUS: Laddy, lash my bedding to the buckler.

DICAEOPOLIS: Laddy, lash my dinner to the hamper.

LAMACHUS: I’ll carry my pack on my own back.

DICAEOPOLIS: And I’ll get dressed in my best and go.

LAMACHUS: Up with the shield, boy, and come along. . . . Sods! It’s snowing. A dismal wintry show!

DICAEOPOLIS: [to another SERVANT] Up with the dinner—a very festive show.

[LAMACHUS and DICAEOPOLIS leave in different directions.]

LEADER:

Success to you both in your enterprise.
How different are the paths you tread!

He’ll be garlanded and drink full measure.
You’ll be on guard and you will freeze.
He’ll be in bed
With a lovely girl full of surprise
And teasing
A throbbing prick under pressure.

CHORUS:

Antimachus⁹⁷ son of the Spatterer, the contract writer,
And to be absolutely frank
The writer of very poor songs:
Him may Zeus obliterate.
For, of all things,
He was the one who sent me away
At the Lenaean Festival without any dinner.
I’d very much like
To see him ravenous for squid one day
By the shore
And have it come grilled and sizzling to his plate
And just as he’s about to take a bite
Have a mongrel snatch it and bolt away.
That’s one disaster for him. Here’s another:
Let this curse
Happen at night when he’s walking homewards shivering
After galloping his horse.
Let some drunken bugger
Mad as Orestes⁹⁸ give him a crack
On the head,
And when he tries to find a rock
He fumbles in the dark
And grasps a brand-new turd,
And with this sleek weapon in his hand
Let him attack

But miss his adversary and go smack
Into the face of Cratinus.

[THIRD MESSENGER enters shouting and bangs on LAMACHUS’ door.]

THIRD MESSENGER:
Water, water! Servants of Lamachus’s home,
get hot water ready quick,
and ointment, poultices, bandages, lint:
he’s done his ankle grievous harm.
He hit a stake when jumping a ditch
and twisted his ankle out of joint,
cracking his head upon a rock. . . .
He certainly awoke
the Gorgon on his shield by that!
And when he saw
his helmet feathers scattered on the stone,
he let out a most pathetic roar:
“You glorious face of the Sun,
I look on you for the last stretch—
my days are done.”
He said this as he hit the ditch
but roused himself and rallied his fleeing men
and went after the Boeotian brigands with his spear. . . .
And they ran.
But here he is. Throw open the door.

[LAMACHUS comes in limping on crutches, supported by SOLDIERS.]

LAMACHUS:
Ouch! Ah! Ouch!
The horrible ice of my pains is worse than hell.
The enemy’s lance has lanced me to the ground:
But an agony worse than all
would be to let Dicaeopolis see my wound
and gloat to see me in this bind.

[DICAEOPOLIS totters in drunk held up by two DANCING GIRLS.]

DICAEOPOLIS: Gee whiz! Yippie! Nice! Such tits—round and plump as quince! Give me a kiss, my golden lassies: this one smack on the kisser, the other lolling her tongue in my mouth, because of the drinking bout I won.

LAMACHUS: What I am suffering couldn’t be worse. My wounds, oh my wounds—the curse!

DICAEOPOLIS: Hi there! Hullo, my little Lamachins!

LAMACHUS: I’m quite beyond pity.

DICAEOPOLIS: [to one of the girls] Ooh! Are you offering your titty?

LAMACHUS: My misery’s fierce.

DICAEOPOLIS: D ’you mean at the Pitcher Festival you had to pay for
tickets?

LAMACHUS: Paean! Apollo! God of healing, come!

DICAEOPOLIS: But it’s not his feast day today.

LAMACHUS: Coddle this leg of mine, my friends. I’m lame.

DICAEOPOLIS: And you two girls,
coddle my thick cock.

LAMACHUS: My head whirls . . . struck with a stone . . .
swimming in the dark.

DICAEOPOLIS: I, too, am ready for bed,
and stiff as a pole
and dying to fuck in the dark.

LAMACHUS: Carry me gently, friends, to Pittalus’ clinic.

DICAEOPOLIS: And me to the judges and the festival head.
I want the wineskin I won.

LAMACHUS: I’m pierced right through by a spear,
right to the bone.

[LAMACHUS is carried away.]

DICAEOPOLIS: [drinks from a pitcher, then holds it up] Behold, there’s nothing in it! Salute a winner.

LEADER: Bravo! Bravo! As you order,
you senior champion!

DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, yes, the wine was neat
and I swilled it down.

LEADER: Well done, old fellow! You’ve won a wineskin.

DICAEOPOLIS: So I have. Rejoice and follow. Sing: Cheers for the hero!

CHORUS: And we in homage follow,
singing: Long live the champion—he and his skin of wine.

KNIGHTS

Knights was first produced in the late winter of
424 B.C. at the Lenaean Dionysia and took first
prize, defeating Cratinus, who came in second
with Satyrs.

THEME

Cleon, a self-made politician though only a tanner by trade, and other warmongers like him are all that Aristophanes detests: shifty, ambitious, scrambling for personal status, blackmailers and embezzlers, smooth talkers who stop at nothing to feather their own nests, but worst of all, deceivers of the people, tricking them into supporting a ruinous and unnecessary war.

CHARACTERS

NICIAS, servant of Demos (Athenian general)
DEMOSTHENES, servant of Demos (Athenian general)⁹⁹
SAUSAGEMAN, seller of sausages (Aristophanes?)
PAPHLAGON, steward of Demos (Cleon)
DEMOS, Attic householder (People of Athens)
CHORUS, knights of Athens

SILENT PARTS

SERVANT BOY, offered by Sausageman
TWO TRUCES, two girls
SERVANTS, of Demos

THE STORY

Demos has bought himself a new steward, Paphlagon (“Scolder”),¹⁰⁰ who turns out to be a bully. The servants complain but can do nothing. Then they discover among Paphlagon’s papers a prediction that a sausageman will appear and supplant him. Such a sausage seller duly appears; in chicanery and lack of scruples, he is more than a match for Paphlagon. After he ousts Paphlagon from his post as steward, he then returns to being the honest character he really is. The sausageman makes Demos young again by boiling him in a pot, and Demos, with the sausage seller as his guide, abjures his past mistakes and is happily sent home to his farm, taking with him a fetching “joyboy” and two girls.

OBSERVATIONS

Knights was Aristophanes’ fourth play but the first that he produced in his own name, the other three being produced by Callistratus, an experienced producer and comic poet. In Acharnians, produced the year before, he ranged his wit and humor against the idiocy of war, contrasting it with the blessings of peace. But the Athenians, enjoying the comedy though they did (and awarding it first prize), were not to be dissuaded from pursuing their war with Sparta. In Knights, Aristophanes felt compelled to make another onslaught against the warmongers, singling out Cleon and Demosthenes as the chief culprits—particularly Cleon, whom he lampoons with vicious effect.

Cleon was then in his prime as a demagogic politician, having just brought off a small but significant military coup. The Athenian general Demosthenes had captured Pylos in the western Peloponnese, opposite which, on the island of Sphacteria, 292 Spartan hoplites found themselves stranded.

Nobody seemed to know what to do next, for the hoplites would certainly resist capture and fight to the last man, as they did at Marathon. Then, seeing that Nicias and the other generals were nervous about attacking the Spartans, Cleon rose in the Assembly and declared that, if he were given the authority and sent to Pylos, he would kill or capture the Spartans within three weeks.

Cleon must have been a very persuasive talker (far too smooth for Aristophanes’ liking) because not only did the Assembly agree to the proposal, but the Spartan soldiers themselves, far from resisting, allowed themselves to be captured without raising a spear and brought as prisoners to Athens, where Cleon was the hero of the hour and the war party triumphant.

Yet this precisely was the moment that Aristophanes chose to make his onslaught against Cleon. Foolhardy it may have been, but it showed amazing courage: undoubtedly the courage of an “angry young man,” for Aristophanes was, at the most, still only thirty or thirty-one years old. What is also amazing is that the Athenians, who generally supported the war, should have given him first prize. It speaks well for their open-mindedness.

The Knights—Hippeis—were an equestrian order within a fourfold economic structure of Athenian society, which varied considerably and was by no means permanent. First came the Eupatridai—the aristocracy—whose property yielded five hundred measures of grain or oil; next, the Knights, whose property yielded three hundred measures, enabling them to afford to keep horses; third, the yeoman class, with two hundred measures; and last, the artisans and workmen, with less than two hundred.

TIME AND SETTING

The time is about midday outside the house of DEMOS on Pnyx Hill,¹⁰¹ where one of DEMOS’ servants is seen sitting disconsolately. His mask shows him to represent the general DEMOSTHENES. A second servant, wearing a mask representing the general NICIAS, comes running out of the house howling.

NICIAS: Ooh! . . . It hurts! . . . Ouch! Ooh! Damn and blast that upstart Paphlagon! I wish the gods would snuff him out—him and his chicaneries!

Ever since he came into this house
he gets us beaten, on and on,
and we’re homebred servants, too.
DEMOSTHENES: I know!
I’d like to scuttle the whole Paphlagon species—
him first, lies and all. Wouldn’t you?

NICIAS: You poor thing! . . . How are you doing?
DEMOSTHENES: As bad as you are.

NICIAS: Come and join me and let’s start howling.
A fluty duet out of Olympus¹⁰² will do.

NICIAS AND DEMOSTHENES: Boohoo boohoo boohoo boohoo boohoo.

NICIAS: What’s the point of our howling here?
We ought to be thinking of how to save our skins—
not just howling.

DEMOSTHENES: All right, say “get a,” but run it together.

NICIAS: Getta.

DEMOSTHENES: Now after “getta” say “wiggle on.”

NICIAS: Getta wiggle on.

DEMOSTHENES: Good. Now pretend you’re jerking off
and say “getta wiggle on,” but faster and faster.

NICIAS: [pulling at his stage phallus]
Getta getta getta wiggle on—I’m off!

DEMOSTHENES: There, wasn’t that nice!

NICIAS: Zeus, yes . . . But I worry about my skin.

DEMOSTHENES: Why on earth?

NICIAS: Because wankers get to lose their skin.

DEMOSTHENES: Well then, the next best thing
is to find a suitable god and grovel before his image.

NICIAS: Image be hanged! Don’t tell me you believe in the gods?

DEMOSTHENES: Sure do.

NICIAS: What’s your proof ?

DEMOSTHENES: The gods and I are at crossed swords. Isn’t that enough?

NICIAS: Enough for me,
but there are other things we’ve got to think of.
P’raps I should put our audience in the picture.

DEMOSTHENES: Not a bad idea, but ask them seriously
to make it absolutely clear
by the look on their faces
whether they’re enjoying our comedy.

NICIAS¹⁰³: Right, let me explain.
We have a master with a farmer’s mind:
a crusty old grouch known as Demos of Pnyx Hill—
a half-deaf flaky little man.
Last market day he bought a servant, a tanner
by the name of Paphlagon—a real heel
and a consummate liar.
Forthwith, this leathery rascal,
this Paphlagon, studies every phase of his master’s character
and proceeds to fawn and flatter,
oiling up and toadying,
all to get on the right side of him
with offerings of phony scraps of leather,
and saying things like: “Oh don’t you bother
with more than one hearing at a time,”
and “Here’s a little titbit for you:
I’ve upped the fee to three obols a case. . . .
Like me to cook you a little supper?”
Whereupon this Paphlagon swipes
whatever one of us has put together
and serves it up as his own to the master.
The other day, for instance,
I baked a cake with Pylos in it
and Paphlagon sidles up, snatches it,
and passes it off as his own—
my bloody cake, that is.
He blocks us off from the boss
and won’t let anyone near him, and while the master
is having dinner he stands by with a leather swatter¹⁰⁴

and wallops any politicians in the offing.
Then, knowing what a simpleton the master is
and how he dotes on sibyls,
he chants oracles.
Oh this Paphlagon’s a genius at fibbing
and tells lies about us all so’s we’ll get a beating.
“You saw how I got young Hylas strapped,” he says.
“Better make a deal with me if you value your lives.”
We pay up of course; otherwise
the old man’ll whip the shit out of us
at eight times the price.

[turning to DEMOSTHENES]

So, pal, what we’ve got to figure out at once
is where to go from here and to whom.
DEMOSTHENES: Pal, you’re right, and the best course
is that one of “get a wiggle on.”

NICIAS: I know, but you can’t keep anything from Paphlagon.
One leg’s plonked firm
in Pylos and the other just as firm on the Pnyx;
and they’re spread so wide apart that his bottom’s fixed
plumb over Universal Buggerland,
with his fingers dipping into I-till-ia
and his mind in Kleptomania.

DEMOSTHENES: In that case it’s easier just to die.

NICIAS: Maybe, but we’ve got to die in the manliest way.

DEMOSTHENES: That needs thought: how to die in the manliest way.

NICIAS: Exactly: the manliest way?
Drinking bull’s blood is the answer surely:
dying the death that Themistocles chose.¹⁰⁵

DEMOSTHENES: I don’t think so. Better a cup of neat wine
and a prayer to Providence to propose
the right solution.

NICIAS: Hark at him! Neat wine!
You never miss a chance of having a swill.
How can a drunk come up with anything intelligent?

DEMOSTHENES: Is that so? You wishy-washy-gush-of-twaddle!
You have the gall to scoff at wine, so wholly beneficent.
Can you think of anything more heaven-sent?
The prosperous are precisely those who imbibe:
success is theirs, they win in court,
they are happy people, and they help their friends.
So go this minute
and fetch me a flagon of wine.
I need to irrigate my mind
and hit on something brilliant.

NICIAS: O Lord! You and your drink! Where is it going to end?

DEMOSTHENES: Well, go and get it.

[NICIAS goes into the house.]

I’ll sprawl on the ground meanwhile flat out,
and when I’m sozzled I spatter everything around
with plots and strategems and every sort of cleverness.

NICIAS: [returning with a jug, a goblet, and a wreath] Lucky I wasn’t caught nicking this booze!

DEMOSTHENES: What’s old Paphlagon up to, tell me?

NICIAS: The stinker’s been licking off the gravy
from confiscated properties.
At the moment he’s flat on his back, completely woozy,
snoring away on a stack of hides.

DEMOSTHENES: In that case, pour me a good, untampered-with stiff
one.

NICIAS: [pouring] Here you are, and may it fill you with inspiration.

DEMOSTHENES: [drinking] Guzzle, guzzle, sweet Providence and
Pramian wine.¹⁰⁶
[suddenly] What a great idea, yours, not mine!

NICIAS: What idea, pray tell?

DEMOSTHENES: Quick, go and swipe Paphlagon’s oracles on the
double while he snoozes.

NICIAS: [running into the house] All very well,
but I’ve got a feeling that our sweet Providence
may not turn out so sweet at all.

DEMOSTHENES: In that case, I’ll have another drink.
One has to water the mind to come up with surprises.

NICIAS: [returning with a parchment] Paphlagon’s in such a
dense
snoring, farting slumber, he never twigged
I was snaffling his scared oracle—and just think,
the one he guards as extra-special.

DEMOSTHENES: You genius, let’s have it! Let me scan it
while you pour me a little swig.

[unfolding the parchment]

Mm, what’s in here? Let’s see—what prophecy?
Quick, I need a drink.

NICIAS: Well, what’s the oracle say?

DEMOSTHENES: [holding out his cup] A refill, please.

NICIAS: “A refill, please”? The oracle says that?

DEMOSTHENES: Great prophet Bacis¹⁰⁷—yes!

NICIAS: What else?

DEMOSTHENES: Give me the cup and no delay.

NICIAS: The prophet certainly likes his juice.

DEMOSTHENES: [pulls out and peruses a scroll] Paphlagon, you utter
rotter,
you were on your guard all the time! No wonder
you were scared stiff by what
the oracle says of you.

NICIAS: And what was that?

DEMOSTHENES: It foretells herein how he makes his end.

NICIAS: And?

DEMOSTHENES: The oracle expressly says
that first a rope peddler appears¹⁰⁸
and he takes over the city’s affairs.

NICIAS: So that’s peddler number one. Who follows?

DEMOSTHENES: After him another peddler, this time a sheep seller.¹⁰⁹

NICIAS: That makes two peddlers. What happened to the second?

DEMOSTHENES: He goes on flourishing until another bastard appears
even more disgusting than he is, so he goes under,
for this bastard is none other than our own Paphlagon:
leather seller, robber, and a howler
with a voice like the Cycloborus in full flood.

NICIAS: So that seller’s done in by the hide seller?

DEMOSTHENES: Precisely.

NICIAS: What the heck! All we need now is to add
one more seller from somewhere.

DEMOSTHENES: Quite likely! . . . As a matter of fact,
there is one in the offing with a most unusual trade.

NICIAS: Who’s he?

DEMOSTHENES: Sure you want to know?

NICIAS: I certainly do.

DEMOSTHENES: A sausage seller, and that’s who does him in.

NICIAS: What! . . . A sausage seller? . . . Holy Poseidon,
fancy a trade like that!
Come on, get going. We’ve got to find the man.

DEMOSTHENES: It’ll take some searching. . . .
Look, there he is on the way to the market.
What a coincidence!

[SAUSAGEMAN appears carrying brazier and utensils.]

Come, immortal Sausageman.
Come, dear comrade, this way, this way, savior of our land
and our salvation.

SAUSAGEMAN: What’s all this? Why the salutation?

DEMOSTHENES: Approach and learn that from now on
you are gloriously fortunate and heaped with every blessing.

NICIAS: Yes, yes, but relieve him of his trestle
and tell him about the god’s oracle
while I go and keep an eye on Paphlagon.

[He goes into the house.]

DEMOSTHENES: Well now, the first thing to be done
is to put down all your paraphernalia
and prostrate yourself before the gods.

SAUSAGEMAN: Say, what is all this palaver?

DEMOSTHENES: Fortunate one,
you are rich; it is in the cards:
a cipher today, tomorrow a giant, and master
of Athens, that brilliant town.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’d appreciate it, sir,
if you’d just let me
wash my tripe and sell my sausages
and stop making fun of me.

DEMOSTHENES: Tripe indeed! You mutton head!
Just take a look over there.
D’you see these serried ranks of stooges?

SAUSAGEMAN: Of course I do.

DEMOSTHENES: You’re going to boss the lot:
market, port, Pnyx, the Assembly—bah!—you’ll tread
it underfoot and cut
the generals down to size;
chain people up, put them behind bars,
go fucking in the Town Hall.

SAUSAGEMAN: What, me?

DEMOSTHENES: You indeed, and that’s not all.
Climb up on your table.
See those islands dotted around?

SAUSAGEMAN: I do.

DEMOSTHENES: Isn’t that enough to make you happy? Just take a glance with your right eye towards Cairo, and swivel the other left towards Carthage.

SAUSAGEMAN: Ooh! . . . What a pledge! . . . But I’ll be cockeyed,
damn it!

DEMOSTHENES: It’s all yours to buy and sell. You’ll be the biggest shot on this planet—according to the oracle.

SAUSAGEMAN: Fine, but please explain:
how can I ever be such—I, a sausageman?

DEMOSTHENES: Precisely because that’s what’s going to make you
great.
You’re common, pushy, and off the street.

SAUSAGEMAN: But I don’t think I’m worthy of being Mr. Big.

DEMOSTHENES: Bullshit! How can you say you’re not worthy?
Don’t tell me that you’re not a bad egg
and that your family has a reputation.

SAUSAGEMAN: Shucks, no! We’re lowest of the low.

DEMOSTHENES: Thank God for that!
In the rat race that’s a start.

SAUSAGEMAN: But, sir, I have no education.

DEMOSTHENES: Not to worry!
Your only handicap is having no money.
Politics, these days, is no occupation
for an educated man, a man of character.
Ignorance and total lousiness are better.
Don’t jettison such god-given advantages
and what the oracle promises.

SAUSAGEMAN: What does the oracle promise, then?

DEMOSTHENES: Wondrous things, in a lofty enigmatic tongue.
[reading from the scroll ] “Amen! Amen!¹¹⁰
When the hidebound eagle with his crooked claws
Shall the clumsy bloodsucking serpent seize,
Then shall the garlicky breath of Paphlagons expire
And the sellers of tripe be ripe
For divine munificence; unless of course
Selling sausages is more
What they require.”

SAUSAGEMAN: But how’s all that apply to me? Explain.

DEMOSTHENES: [pointing a finger at Cleon, who was in the audience]
This Paphlagon here is the hidebound one.

SAUSAGEMAN: Then who’s the one with crooked claws?

DEMOSTHENES: Him of course!
He grabs whatever he gets his talons on.

SAUSAGEMAN: And the snake, who’s he?

DEMOSTHENES: That’s obvious, too, because
a snake is long and a sausage is long
and both are greedy—greedy for blood,
and the oracle says the snake will beat the bird,
unless, of course, fiddled out of it by words.

SAUSAGEMAN: This prophecy makes me feel real good,
but what amazes me is the idea
that I could ever run the country.

DEMOSTHENES: Nothing to it, my dear sir. Just do what you are doing: make hash and salami of everything in your pantry, with sweet pickle for the People in the form of twaddle, while pursuing everything you already have or need: a rasping voice, paltry origins, and being morally a mess. You have the complete recipe for political success. On top of that, you have both Delphi and the oracle on your side.

[holding out the garland and the goblet]

So put the garland on,
pour a toast to the good god Goofy
and watch out for Paphlagon.

SAUSAGEMAN: But who will I have to help me? The rich are all a-quiver and the poor get diarrhea.

DEMOSTHENES: You’ll have the Knights, a thousand strong,
who have no love for him and will cheer you on,
and every decent upright citizen.

Then, of course, there’s me as well,
and every person of goodwill.
Don’t be dismayed by the fact that the face you see
is hardly anything like him.
The mask makers were too jittery to make a copy.
But you spectators are smart enough to spot him.¹¹¹

NICIAS: [ from inside the house] Hey, look out! Paphlagon’s about to emerge.

[PAPHLAGON stomps out of the house.]

PAPHLAGON: You’ll never get away with this, I swear
by all the twelve Olympians:
not a chance you’ll be able to dodge
even with your unending machinations. . . .
Ho ho! What’s that Chaldean goblet doing there.
It can only mean one thing: inciting
the Chaldeans to rebel.
Well, you’re finished, done for, you disgusting couple.

DEMOSTHENES: [as SAUSAGEMAN gets ready to run]
Noble Sausageman, don’t run away.
You musn’t fail us in the struggle.
Help, men of the cavalry!
Help in the nick of the fray!
Simon and Panaetius,¹¹² attack him on the right.
Sausageman, our forces are near, come back
and put up a fight.
They are almost here, scattering the dust
as they gallop to attack.
Turn and face him, for we must
repel and chase him.

[The CHORUS of KNIGHTS marches into view, chanting in trochaic octameter.]

CHORUS: Smite him, smite him, smite the villain
who upsets our knightly clan.
He’s the pitfall, he’s the tax man,
he’s the most voracious suck man.
Villain, villain, I’ll say villain,
which he is all through the day.
Smite him, chase him, rout him, shake him,
and as we do, greatly hate him.
With a battle cry attack him
but take care in case he may
Elude you, for this is not a
path he doesn’t know as well as
Eucrates¹¹³ when he skedaddled
to his mill and got away.

PAPHLAGON: Elders of the jury help me,
you whom I have made my brothers,
And to three obols upped your fee:
you whom my bullying furthers
Whether I be right or wrong.
Come to my defense, for I am
At this moment being unstrung
by these practitioners of crime.

CHORUS: We have every right to do so
because you help yourself to public
Funds for office—an abuse so
like a man who goes to pick
Figs and squeezes one and thereby
discovers whether it is ripe
Or still too green, or if nearby
some poor rich and guileless chap
Who’s afraid of litigation
is a juicy one to tap;
And even distant isolation
isn’t safety from attack.
With lies and slanders you’ll extract
a person from the far Crimea

And twist his arms behind his back
and trip him headlong on his ear.

PAPHLAGON: So you’re joining in the attack?
You ought to know that it’s for you
That I’m being battered. It’s a fact.
I was just about to do
You a favor and to move
a motion making it a must
That a statue be approved
in timely honor of your guts.

LEADER: What a faker! What a fraud!
Did you notice how he did his
Best to get us on his side
as if to trick old doddering biddies?
Well, that way out he’ll get the stick
And this way, if he dares, a kick.

PAPHLAGON: My city! My people! What kind of creatures
Are here and now disemboweling me?

SAUSAGEMAN: Bawl your head off: it’s your usual way
Of intimidating our poor city.

PAPHLAGON: Bawl I shall, and you’ll be first to get the jitters.

LEADER: If your bawling has him crawling
You’re the champion of the hour,
But if he trounces you in yawling
We’re the ones who win the wager.

PAPHLAGON: A stake for a steak and I’ll do what it takes
To denounce the smuggling of nautical stakes
For the triremes of Sparta.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I, by Zeus, will do the same
And denounce this man who dares to come
To our City Hall with an empty belly
And leave it again with a bursting one.

DEMOSTHENES: Precisely that! And he sneaks away
With bread and meat and fish fillet:
Titbits that even Pericles
Was never given, if you please.

PAPHLAGON: Submit to the fact that you are dead.

SAUSAGEMAN: I can outshout you three times over.

PAPHLAGON: And I’ll blast your shouts out of your head.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll holler and make your shouting wither.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll slander you—as I slander a commander.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll batter your bottom, you mongrel cur.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll swallow you up in a mighty yelp.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll cut you off from your lines of escape.

PAPHLAGON: You, who can’t look me in the face!

SAUSAGEMAN: Very like me—we’re a common disgrace.

PAPHLAGON: Any more lip and I’ll make you rip.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll chuck you away, you dirty turd.

PAPHLAGON: I’m ready to own I’m a thief—you aren’t.

SAUSAGEMAN: Hermes of the market knows I’m bent.
Caught red-handed, I’ll say it’s absurd.

PAPHLAGON: Then you’re a thief of others’ rackets,
And I’ll report you to the police
For the possession of tripish titbits
Belonging to the gods. And that’s not nice,
Especially when you evade the tax.

CHORUS: You lousy and you loathsome and you bold
Bellowing rat,
Your effrontery knows no hold,
Filling Parliament and land,
The fiscal and the legal system and every court.
You trash collector plunging our city into oceans of muck
Who has made all Athens deaf with your din
As you scan the sea from a high rock
Like a tuna fisher hoping to spot
Where the tribute shoals are thick and where they are thin.

PAPHLAGON: This conspiracy was stitched together long ago.

SAUSAGEMAN: If you can’t stitch
I can’t make sausages. . . . Oh,
You’re the expert at slicing the hide
Of a substandard ox with sleight of hand
And making it look oh so solid and thick,
Then selling it to farmers at a phony price;
Yet after a day’s wear
It somehow seems to spread.

DEMOSTHENES: Yes, by Zeus, I got caught in the same snare: My friends and neighbors thought it very funny When my shoes turned into paddles On the way to Pergase.¹¹⁴

CHORUS: [to PAPHLAGON]
From the beginning it seems you have practiced the fiddles
Indispensable to every politician:
Relying on them you pick the fruit
Off the juiciest visitors coming in
While Hippodamus’ son¹¹⁵
Looks on in tears.
However, I am glad to say
There is someone here
Even slimier than you are,
Who from the very start I think we’ll see
Outsleaze and outclass you
In vice, trickery, and brass.

LEADER: [to SAUSAGEMAN]
All right then,
Since you were reared
In the environment that makes men what they are,
Explain why a decent upbringing is bizarre.

SAUSAGEMAN: [pointing to PAPHLAGON] Fine!
I’ll show you what it’s done for this here citizen.

PAPHLAGON: But first listen to me.

SAUSAGEMAN: Why should I? In sliminess I’m equal to you.

DEMOSTHENES: If that doesn’t disarm him, then
tell him that your forebears were slimy, too.

PAPHLAGON: So you won’t hear me speak first?

SAUSAGEMAN: Absolutely not!

PAPHLAGON: Absolutely, yes!

SAUSAGEMAN: Holy Poseidon, I’ll fight you on the spot.

PAPHLAGON: If you don’t hear me first, I’m going to burst.

SAUSAGEMAN: Let me repeat: I won’t.

DEMOSTHENES: For the gods’ sakes, let him, let him burst.

PAPHLAGON: What makes you think you’re fit to speak against me?

SAUSAGEMAN:¹¹⁶ Because I’m as good as you at making a
mess . . . see?
Talk of speaking, I can just see you flogging some
dead horse of a case with grim thoroughness, thinking it a
success.
Well, if you ask me, most people do the same.
You, for instance, probably waffled brilliantly
in a grungy little lawsuit against some poor immigrant
after spending half the night getting it by heart,
mumbling it in the streets, forswearing drink,
and going over it again and again among your pals
till you were driving them up the walls.
And all this began to make you think
you were a stupendous rhetorician.
You damn fool! It’s pure delusion.
So tell us the potent brew that’s enabled you
to strike the whole town dumb
with the brilliance of your tongue.

PAPHLAGON: What kind of man do you take me for?
I’m someone who can down
a plate of tuna steaming hot,
chase it with a flagon of unwatered wine—
yes, on the spot—then, what is more,
chew those ruddy generals up at Pylos.

SAUSAGEMAN: And for me it’s chitlins and tripe to dine on,
chased with greasy gravy, then
with unwashed hands to go and choke those clueless
politicians and chew up Nicias.

DEMOSTHENES: Most of what you’ve said is on the ball
but I’m not so sure about that guzzling the gravy all
by yourself.

PAPHLAGON: [to SAUSAGEMAN]
But I don’t see you being all gung-ho for devouring
the Milesian big fish and sending them scattering¹¹⁷.

SAUSAGEMAN: Me? I’ll just have spareribs and invest in ore.

PAPHLAGON: And I’ll do more.
I’ll pounce on the Assembly and give it a battering.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I’ll stuff your arsehole like a black pudding.

PAPHLAGON: And I’ll grab you by the rump upside down.

DEMOSTHENES: If you grab him you’ll have to grab me, too.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll fix you to a stake like glue.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll denounce you for a cowardly clown.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll use your carcass as hide for leather.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll pluck off your eyebrows with a tweezer.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll have your skin to make a suitcase.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll turn you into mince for pies.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll peg you to the ground.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll scoop out your insides.

DEMOSTHENES: Yes, by s’truth, and we’ll tack his mouth
Like butchers do, and drag out his tongue.
And we’ll scrutinize the hole in his bum
To make sure there isn’t a worm.

As to the word Milesian, I want to suggest that we have here a major problem. The Milesians were the inhabitants of Miletus, the capital of Ionia in Asia Minor. It was part of the Delian confederacy dominated by Athens but in 412 B.C. it revolted, that is, a whole twelve years after Aristophanes produced Knights in 424 B.C., and ten years after Cleon was killed at the battle of Amphipolis in 422 B.C. Why should Aristophanes have even mentioned Milesia when Cleon had nothing to do with it and he is writing about Cleon?

There was, however, something with which Cleon had everything to do: the revolt of Mitylene on the island of Lesbos in 428 B.C. Cleon forthwith in 427 B.C. (only three years before Aristophanes produced Knights) urged the Assembly in Athens to punish the Mitylenians by sending a force to massacre the entire male population and sell the women and children into slavery. But the next day, after a speech by Diodorus decrying such cruelty, the Assembly had a change of heart and sent the swiftest trireme they could find to overtake the first trireme, which had a start of some twenty-four hours. The Mitylenian ambassador was on board and “provided wine and barley for the crew and promised great rewards if they arrived in time. . . . The men kept on rowing while they took their food . . . taking it in turn to sleep. Luckily they had no wind against them. . . .” (Thucydides, 3.38.2). The trireme arrived just minutes before the massacre was due to start, and only the ringleaders in the revolt were put to death.

So what I am suggesting is that Aristophanes in his indictment of Cleon never wrote the word Milesian but Mitylenian. He was not thinking of Miletus. It had nothing to do with Cleon and in any case didn’t come on the scene for another twelve years. He was thinking of the horrible speech Cleon made in the Assembly to massacre the Lesbians. So am I daring to suggest that the scholiast wrote Milesian when he meant Mitylenian? Just that. It wouldn’t be the first time that a scholiast made a boo-boo. The fact that Milesian is used again in line 932 doesn’t alter matters, but only compounds the error.

CHORUS: So here we have something hotter than fire, just as there are
Words more wordily blazing with verve
Than the speeches one listens to in the city.
So it isn’t a little thing we have to tackle:
No, it’s a matter of pluck and nerve
And knocking him giddy. Don’t pull a punch.
You’ve got the man really and truly
Hooked by the middle.

LEADER: Indeed, if you soften him up in the first clinch You’ll soon discover a weakling. I know the kind.

SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, the kind of person he’s been his entire life,
and now he poses as a real man
by filching a harvest at secondhand.¹¹⁸
He came back with ears of grain,
keeps them in stock until they’re dry.
Afterwards he’ll show them off
and use them to bargain with.¹¹⁹

PAPHLAGON: I’m not afraid of any of you
so long as the Council still exists
and Demos goes on in full view
sitting gaping with his silly face.

CHORUS: See how he cleaves to his brazen farce, Preserving his usual color without a tremor. If I don’t detest you may I become A measly blanket in Cratinus’¹²⁰ house And be taught by Morsimus¹²¹ how to hum A tragic song. Oh what a curse You are, flitting from spot to spot And sipping from bloom to blossomy bribe: There’s nowhere where you’re not. I hope these sips in the end will make you sick, For only then can I sing ad lib: “On this auspicious occasion Drink like stink!”

LEADER: And I expect Ulius,‡ that old hearty
auctioneer of grain would whip up a crazy bacchic paean.

PAPHLAGON: So help me, Poseidon!
You’re not trying to outdo me in degradation,
are you? Or I’ll never again
go to Zeus-of-the-marketplace’s party.

SAUSAGEMAN: From all the slashes and whacks I’ve had,
time without number, since I was a lad,
I think that I’m equipped to shoot you down on this,
or I’ve grown to be a big boy all for nothing—
and that on a platter of scraps.

PAPHLAGON: What, table crumbs for titbits?¹²² Is that the kind of dog food you’ve been getting and now expect to face a ferocious hound like me?

SAUSAGEMAN: So what? I learned to be a trickster from the cradle:
at the butcher’s I’d say: “Hey, boys, see—
a swallow! Spring’s here.” And when they looked I swiped a steak.

DEMOSTHENES: A meaty snatch indeed, like grasping a nettle,
but you only get the chance when the swallows come.

SAUSAGEMAN: I never got caught red-handed. The trick
if anyone should spot me was
to stuff it up my crotch and swear to Zeus my innocence.
Once a politician saw me doing this
and he observed: “Mark my words, a time will come
when this boy one day will rule the realm.”

DEMOSTHENES: He got it right, but only because
you told a lie—which is no surprise—
and hid the meat between crotch and arse.

PAPHLAGON: I’m going to put a stopper on your cockiness,
yes, both of you, and blow you to smithereens
in an overwhelming squall over all lands and seas.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I’ll unfurl my sausages
and run with the wind and shout goodbye to you over the
waves.

DEMOSTHENES: And I’ll bail like hell if there springs a leak.

SAUSAGEMAN: [to PAPHLAGON]¹²³
I swear by Demeter you shan’t get away
with the mountains of money
you’ve filched from the wretched Athenians.

DEMOSTHENES: Ship ahoy there! Ease the sheets! The gale’s about to peak and blow us a nor’easter—or a sneak.¹²⁴

SAUSAGEMAN: [to PAPHLAGON] I know all about the ninety grand
you scooped out of the Potidaea affair.‡

PAPHLAGON: So what . . . ? Care
to have one of them to keep mum?

DEMOSTHENES: He’ll take it like a shot. Shorten the lanyards, someone, the wind’s dropping and . . .

SAUSAGEMAN: [to PAPHLAGON] I’ll sue you for bribery on four distinct occasions at thirty grand a time.

PAPHLAGON: And I’ll stick you for draft dodging—six grand—
and another thirty grand for cheating in exchange finance.

SAUSAGEMAN: Strikes me your ancestry
stems from the original assassins who violated the sanctuary
of Pallas Athena.¹²⁵

PAPHLAGON: Strikes me your grandpa was one of the toughs who
once . . .

SAUSAGEMAN: Go on.

PAPHLAGON: . . . were bodyguards of Hippias’ bride,
Persinè, and had the toughest hide.

SAUSAGEMAN: Crook!

PAPHLAGON: Scum!

DEMOSTHENES: Belt him a good one.

PAPHLAGON: Oy! Ow! This is a plot.

DEMOSTHENES: Pummel him hard, whack him with tripe. Let those sausages really rip. Give the rotter all you’ve got.

LEADER: [to SAUSAGEMAN]
What a wonderful fellow you are in guts and brawn!
A real revelation that’s come to our town
and all who dwell in it.
How beautifully timed and carried out
was the onslaught of your verbal assault.
How can we ever find words to fit
our delight?

PAPHLAGON: So help me, Demeter! I know exactly how this plot
was glued together, sealed and locked.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I know exactly what you’re cooking up in Argos:
sucking up to the Argives as if they were one of us
but actually making a deal with the Spartans on the sly.

DEMOSTHENES: Just like a blacksmith, if you get my point.

SAUSAGEMAN: Aye—that’s it!
Forging away, welding irons
for those prisoners he’s going to use as pawns.¹²⁶

DEMOSTHENES: Well done! You’ve put it so well.
He charged us with gluing;
you’ve got him forging.

SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, they’re hammering away at the anvil:
he and the ones on the other side.¹²⁷ [turning to PAPHLAGON]
Go ahead,
bribe me anyway you like, silver, gold,
sending round your toadies,
but one thing you won’t do is
stop me from spilling the beans to the Athenian people.

PAPHLAGON: All right then,
I’m off to the Senate this very moment
to let them know all the tricks you’ve been up to, every stunt:
the assignations under cover of dark in the town
with the Persians and their king,‡
and your cheesy machinations with the Boeotians.§

SAUSAGEMAN: Cheese? What’s it cost now in Boeotia?

PAPHLAGON: I’ll flatten you, by Heracles.

[He walks away.]

DEMOSTHENES: What d’you think about all this? Got an idea?
We’d like to hear it, please.
If you really did stuff that piece of meat inside your crotch,

you’d better hightail it to the Senate
because he’s going to crash in there
frothing at the mouth with slanders and breathing blue murders.

SAUSAGEMAN: Sure, I’m on my way.
I’ll leave my tripe and tackle in your care.

DEMOSTHENES: Yes, but remember to oil your neck¹²⁸
so’s you can slip out of his nasty slanders.

SAUSAGEMAN: Good idea! . . . You ought to be a wrestling
coach.

DEMOSTHENES: You’re right. . . . Munch this and swallow it.
SAUSAGEMAN: What for?

DEMOSTHENES: It’s garlic: just the thing, my lad, before a fight.¹²⁹
Now go!

SAUSAGEMAN: I’m off!

DEMOSTHENES: But remember you’re not to come home
till you’ve plucked him, cussed him,
swallowed his wattles, and chewed up his comb.

[SAUSAGEMAN runs off. ]

LEADER:‡ Go into action, success be with you.
Do what has to be done, and may
Zeus of the Agora guide and attend you.
Come back triumphant, dripping in garlands.
Now we shall ask you all to attend to
What we shall say in our anapest way:
A form you are good at for you are surpassing
In all kinds of art.
If a producer of comic productions,
some time ago,
Had tried to entice us on to the boards
to make an address,

I doubt he would have succeeded, but now
matters have altered
Because he detests the same people we do,
and isn’t afraid
Of speaking the truth; or to bravely advance
into eddy and whirlwind:
Now there’s a question he’s often asked
and I must answer:
Why did he wait so long before
requesting a chorus?¹³⁰
Well, he’s given permission to me
to answer, and says
That producing a comedy’s a devilish job:
many have courted
The Muse of Comedy but few have impressed her.
He’s conscious, too,
How fickle you are and change every year.
Look how you tired
Of others before him as they grew older!
He remembers, too,
What happened to Magnes¹³¹ as soon as he sprouted
a few gray hairs;
Yet he was a poet who so often
had beaten his rivals.
He was a genius at mimicking noises:
throbbings or flappings
Or even parroting a Lydian song.
He could buzz like a bee,
And stain himself as green as a frog,
but this didn’t save him
When he grew old and past his heyday.
In the end

He found himself hooted off the stage: he’d lost his acumen. Our poet remembered the fate of Cratinus,¹³² once so applauded: Borne along on waves of ovation sweeping him onwards Over prairie and meadow, carrying away oaks and planes As well as his rivals, torn from their roots. And he was once The soul of a party. There’d be songs like “My Lady Kickback Of Squeaky Scandals,” and “Let’s Chant a Him.” He was then in his prime, But look at him now, doddering around like an unstrung Musical instrument: warped, out of tune; and one doesn’t feel sorry. He’s just an old, dithering dotard, all washed-up. Like a senile Connus¹³³ in a crinkled crown and dying of thirst, Though his earlier triumphs ought to have earned him drinks on the house In the Town Hall, and he shouldn’t be tottering but at the theater

In the front row beside Dionysus.¹³⁴
And how about Crates?¹³⁵
You weren’t very nice to him though he regaled you
with snacks of plays
Full of humor all baked to perfection,
but even he
Hardly kept his head above water,
winning and losing. . . .
These are some of the reasons our poet
held himself back.
He also thought one must learn how to row,
before grabbing the tiller,
And one must work on deck for a bit
and study the weather
Before presuming to be a skipper.
These were the reasons
That urged him to caution, instead of flinging
himself to the front
Spouting a mindless babble, so swell
your applause for our poet
Eleven hours of accolade
befitting the Lenaea,
And he can go home brimming with happiness,
the shine of success
Glistening on the dome of his bald pate.

CHORUS: Poseidon, master of the horse
And thrill of the ring of the iron hoof,
The neighing steed and the fast sloop
Nuzzled in blue to ram through,
And the well-paid crew . . .
This and the lusty zest of youth:
Charioteers on the eternal course
Towards fame or pit of the dead—
Come to our dancing, come to us here,
Lord of the Dolphins under the head

Of Sunium,¹³⁶ son of Cronus and
Phormio’s¹³⁷ favorite god
And Athens’, too, in time of proof
When it comes to war
And taking a stand.

LEADER: Let us glory in our pedigree, those men
Fit to be heroes of this land, Athena’s land:
The fighters who on foot or on the main
Were triumphant everywhere, the kind
To adorn our city; not a single one of them
Ever cringed before the enormous count
Of enemy hordes or wavered at the hint
Of battle, and in the turmoil if he fell,
Up he’d spring, shake off the dust and yell:
“I fall? Of course not! Not on your life,”
And throw himself once more into the strife.
Not a commander in those days would go
To Cleainetus‡ demanding payment by the State,
Whereas today unless they get a front row seat
And Town Hall dinners, they refuse to fight.
Meanwhile, our one ambition now
Is to fight with honor for our town and gods.
And when there’s peace again and the struggle’s over,
The only thing we ask of you is this:
Not to make remarks about how long our hair is
Or about our various fancy bathroom needs
When we take a shower.

CHORUS: Pallas, you, our city’s defender,
Lady of this blessed land,
So brilliant in battle, the arts, and power:
Come to us now and bring our ally
Who never fails to lend a hand

In every campaign when we’re at war—
Victory, the goddess,
Our partner in the choral ballet,
Who’s on our side every time—
O come!
You’re needed now as never before
To give these Knights complete success.

LEADER: Let us laud our horses to the skies.
The way they have behaved is worthy of praise,
Enduring with us so many trials and taxing chores,
So many attacks and skirmishes. But should we be
astounded
When what they did at sea was even more amazing.
After they’d gone shopping for billikens and things
Like onions and garlic, they simply bounded
Aboard the troop ships, and then sitting at the oars
Like ordinary human beings, they dipped their oar blades,
neighing,
“Pull away, Horsey! Dip your oars! Heave ho, tars!”
And: “You over there, watch your stroke!”
At Corinth they leapt ashore and with their hooves the colts
Scooped out billets and then went off to forage.
The fodder they found and ate was not Persian clover
But crabs, if you please, wherever they could manage
To catch them crawling ashore or went fishing for.
According to Theorus,¹³⁸ a Corinthian crab protested:
“O Lord Poseidon, neither in the deep nor on the shore
Can I escape those Knights, and I am bested.”

CHORUS: Wow! This calls for celebration.
Lift your voices in exultation:
Hurrah! For such splendid news:
Of all that’s happened it’s the climax.
Every detail, if you please;
I’d go miles, without a doubt
Just to hear it.

So, you doughty champion, spout.
We’re all agog, leave nothing out.
We want to know the facts.

SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, and the facts are well worth knowing.
I hurried after him and caught up with him in the Assembly
Hall,
where he was spewing
a volcano of yells,
ranting away as he attacked the Knights
with an avalanche of blitz,
calling them traitors, which he then tried to prove.
As to the Assembly members
as he continued to rave,
weeds began to grow out of their ears,
and mustard out of their eyes,
and their foreheads were furrowed with wonder.
I began to realize
that they were actually falling for his lies
and being bamboozled by his ballyhoo.
So I shouted out: “Come, you
fiends of mouthwash and of sham,
of manipulation and of rank malpractice, come,
O come to my rescue!
And you, my dear Marketplace,
where I was nurtured since very young:
inspire me with effrontery, a barefaced voice,
and a vicious tongue.”
As I was musing on this petition,
some blighter on my lucky side, my right,
confirmed it with a fart . . . in recognition.
I bowed in acknowledgment
and backed into the swing gate with my bum and bent
it off its hinges; at the same time
opening my jaws wide and bawling:
“Hey, Senators, I’m
the first with tremendous news:
never since the war began have sardines
been so cheap.” Whereat, their faces glowed with happiness
and they voted to reward me with a crown.
I, in return,
told them of a ruse
which they must keep to themselves as a senatorial tip,
that because sardines were now so cheap,
they must commandeer every dish and jar in the potters’ yards.¹³⁹
But that stinker Paphlagon was there and heard my words
and knew exactly how to butter up the Senators
and he declared, just for starters:
“Gentlemen, to celebrate this welcome news,
I think that we should offer up a hundred bulls to please
our Lady Pallas.”
At which the Assembly switched from me to him.
So when I realized I was being outbid in cow pats,
I raised my bid to two hundred bulls,
suggesting at the same time
that if tomorrow’s sardines or sprats
should sell at a hundred for ten cents,
they should sacrifice a thousand goats
to Artemis—huntress of the glens.
Whereat, the Assembly switched from him to me,
while he—Paphlagon—was utterly nonplussed, to say the least,
and began to gibber till the officials and the police
bundled him away
as the Senators sprang to their feet
yelling about sardines.
He pleaded with them: “Wait until you hear
what the Spartan envoy has to say:
he’s come to talk about a truce.”
That raised a universal wail.
“A truce indeed!” they began to jeer.
“Just because they’ve heard how cheap sardines are here.
To hell with a truce!”
“We will continue with the war,” they railed,
“and take the field.”
They clamored for the meeting to adjourn

and leapt over the courtbars right and left.
I made a beeline for the marketplace
and bought up all the coriander and the leeks,
which I dealt out to the Senators as largesse
and a fitting dressing to adorn
those sardines. . . . They all went overboard with thanks,
cheering lustily. And I’ve come back
with the whole Assembly eating out of my hands—
all for ten cents of coriander.

CHORUS: How completely you’re a commander!
How you show a winning streak!
How that twister’s met his match!
One who outdoes him as a rogue
In every kind of slimy touch
And a wicked wily tongue.
But the fight’s not over yet,
So take care of what’s to come.
We are your friends—up to the hilt.
SAUSAGEMAN: Here comes Paphlagon bobbing along
on a groundswell of rage, thrashing and plunging,
and obviously meaning to push me under.

[PAPHLAGON storms in.]

PAPHLAGON: If I’m not still the greatest rotter
and can’t blot you out, let me go bust.

SAUSAGEMAN: Hear, hear to that! But I have to laugh
at your silly cock-a-doodle boast.

PAPHLAGON: I swear by Demeter I’ll quit this life
if I don’t swallow you whole out of the earth.

SAUSAGEMAN: Ditto for me if I don’t devour you,
though the swallowing will make me spew.

PAPHLAGON: By the front row seat I collected with
my Pylos job, I’ll wipe you out.

SAUSAGEMAN: Front row seat? My, my! That’ll be great!
How amusing it’ll be to see you—right at the back!

PAPHLAGON: I’ll clap you in the stocks, by heaven!

SAUSAGEMAN: Nasty! Nasty! Need a little something to peck?
What’s your favorite dish—purse strings al dente?

PAPHLAGON: With my bare nails, your innards shall be riven.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I’ll have the Town Hall stop your free dinner
bounty.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll drag you before the People and get justice done.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll drag you, too, and I’m a better liar.

PAPHLAGON: The People, you airhead, ignore everything you say,
whereas I have them wrapped around my little finger.

SAUSAGEMAN: Round your little finger? There’s no doubt of that.

PAPHLAGON: Yes, I know exactly the mush to feed them on.

SAUSAGEMAN: I know. It’s right up your track.
Like a nanny, you chew their fodder to make it soft,
give them a scrap, then tuck in to the rest—
which is three times the amount.

PAPHLAGON: That, by God, is not everything I meant.
I can make people open up or close. It’s a knack.

SAUSAGEMAN: That’s nothing. I can do the same with my arse.

PAPHLAGON: Well, fellow, I’m not going to let you get away
with taking a crack at me in the Assembly.
We’ll go to the People. We’ll go to Demos.

SAUSAGEMAN: Sure. There’s nothing stopping us.
Let’s be off without delay.

PAPHLAGON: [knocking on DEMOS’ door] Come on out, Demos.

[no reply]

SAUSAGEMAN: Father Demos, oh do come out.

PAPHLAGON: Sweet, dearest Demotikins, come out, please.

DEMOS: [from within]: What’s all this din about?
Get away from my door.
You’re wrecking my harvest wreath.¹⁴⁰
Paphlagon, what’s bugging you?

PAPHLAGON: These young hooligans are beating me up,
and all because of you.

DEMOS: [emerging] What?

PAPHLAGON: Because I’m fond of you, dear Demos: I’m your
lover.

DEMOS: [to SAUSAGEMAN] And who are you?

SAUSAGEMAN: His rival for your love, I hope.
I’ve yearned so long for you and for your welfare,
as have so many folk,
but we’re blocked because of this man here.
And you are like those amorous boy toys
who reject offers from honest gentlemen
and fling themselves upon
lamp sellers, cobblers, tanners¹⁴¹—
and suchlike with their trashy wares.

PAPHLAGON: While I serve Demos in a proper manner.

SAUSAGEMAN: Do you really? I long to hear.

PAPHLAGON: Do you? Well,
I was the one and not the generals
who brought off that coup at Pylos:
sailed to the spot and came back with the Spartans.

SAUSAGEMAN: And me? I, like you, am one of the smart ’uns,
mooning around somewhat clueless,
then sneaking into a bistro and pinching someone else’s stew.

PAPHLAGON: Well, as the matter stands, Demos, sir,
I suggest you summon the Assembly right away
and find out which of us really loves you,
then lavish on him all your care.

SAUSAGEMAN: All right, Demos,
go ahead and decide between us,
but not in the Assembly on the Pnyx.

DEMOS: I refuse to sit anywhere else,
so it’s at the Pnyx we meet.

[All move into the orchestra pit, where DEMOS seats himself upon a rock.]

SAUSAGEMAN: Shucks! I’m done for, I bet.
At home the old geezer is quite intelligent

but once he sits on rocks
he might as well be chewing a fig.

CHORUS: This is the time to let out your sail
and carry your argument
With unimpeachable verve and force,
so to topple him down;
For your antagonist’s a crafty dog,
a wizard at reverse
And making doable what can’t be done.
Then fall upon your man
With the force of a gale.

LEADER: Keep your eyes tight open and, well before he’s upon you, fling out a grapple and draw alongside his vessel.

PAPHLAGON: To you, Lady Athena, sovereign of my town, I utter this prayer: If it be true that I have been the greatest benefactor of the State (apart from Lysicles, Salabaccio and Cynna),¹⁴² may I go on having my Town Hall dinners as a reward for doing nothing? But if I am no longer in your good graces anymore and fighting your battles, then murder me, cut me in two, and slice me up for saddles.

SAUSAGEMAN: And, Demos, as for me,
if I don’t love and cosset you,
chop me up for hamburgers, or put me in a stew,
and if you can’t believe me,
grate me into Parmesan on this very counter,
or yank me away by the balls with a flesh hook
to the Potters’ Quarter.

PAPHLAGON: And, Demos, how could there possibly be
anyone who cares for you as much as I do?
When I was a Senator
I boosted the accounts and cooked the books for you
by stretching men and squeezing them

or pressing them to cough up
regardless of what it did to them
and only what it did for you.

SAUSAGEMAN: That’s nothing I can’t cap
or do any less to please you:
I’ll steal the bread that others bake
and serve it to you as my own.
But my primary boon to you is to make you understand
that he’s no friend of yours or your supporter.
It’s your fire, your hearth, he’s after.
At Marathon you smashed the Medes to defend our land,
leaving a legacy of superlatives for orators in the future.
This man’s not concerned that you’re sitting on hard stone,
whereas I bring you this—a cushion:
made by me just for you.
Get up for a moment. . . . Now sit down. . . .
There, isn’t that better?
It’s right to pamper the bottom which sat
plying the oar at the Battle of Salamis.¹⁴³

DEMOS: Who are you, man?
Surely not a descendant of the famous Harmodius clan?¹⁴⁴
Anyway, what you’ve just done
is a really Demosly motivated service.

PAPHLAGON: Pooh! What a little fawning it takes to turn
you into a Demos fan!

SAUSAGEMAN: Nothing to compare with the puny bait
that you used for hooking him.

PAPHLAGON: No one, before me, I dare assert,
has championed Demos and cared for him
the way I have. And I’ll stake my head on it.

SAUSAGEMAN: Balls! . . . How can you claim to love him
when for the last eight years you’ve watched him without pity
living in shanties and cubbyholes,

miserably cooped up in the city,
while you’ve done your best to shut him in
so’s you can get at what’s within?
And when Neoptolemus¹⁴⁵ came with peace proposals,
you tore them up; and the envoys suing for a truce
you drove from the city with a kick in the pants.
PAPHLAGON: Naturally, I did
because one day, according to the oracle,
Demos is destined to advance
and rule over all of Greece.
He’ll be hearing cases in Arcadia¹⁴⁶ at five obols a day,
that is, if he can stick the course.
And anyhow, I’ll be nurturing him and providing for his
board
and making sure by hook or crook that he gets his pay.

SAUSAGEMAN: Bullshit! You don’t give a damn
about his being all cock-of-the-hoop in Arcadia
but only about blackmail and bribery
of the allied States and how you can
so outwit and befog poor old Demos with talk of war
that he’s quite blind to your scenes of crime.
He’ll be tugging at your apron strings in desperation
just to get his pay for jury
and enough to live on.
But if Demos ever gets back to his peaceful farm
and becomes his real self again,
spooning porridge into his mouth and eating pressed olives,
he’ll realize how you cheated him and how it sucks
that you put him on the dole, and
he’ll turn on you in rustic fury
and wallop you at the ballot box.
This possibility of how he behaves
is on your mind, so you go on bamboozling him
with your dreams of glory.

PAPHLAGON: I think it’s disgusting the way you’re demeaning
and slandering me before Demos and the Athenian people
after all I’ve done for them: very much more, by Demeter,
than Themistocles ever did for the city.¹⁴⁷

SAUSAGEMAN: “City of Argos, just listen to what he’s saying.”¹⁴⁸

[to PAPHLAGON]

So you dare compare yourself to Themistocles
who found our city’s cup half full and left it overflowing.
The Piraeus was a cake he baked for her luncheon pudding,
and he brightened her menu with new titbits from the sea,
while keeping those she had already.
Whereas, all you’ve tried to achieve
is turn the Athenians into little suburban nothings,
humming pop songs while they sit by their Ouija boards.
On a par with Themistocles? I don’t think so.
And now he’s banished and you—you
are wiping your fingers on the crumbs of “Achilles’ Buns.”¹⁴⁹
PAPHLAGON: Demos, don’t you find it shocking,
the things he says against me just because I care for you?

DEMOS: Stuff it! Paphlagon, stuff it!
We want no more of your slimy muckraking.
You’ve been fooling us for long enough.

SAUSAGEMAN: Demos, sweetie pie, he’s a fucking crook—
a first-class twister.
While you are gazing into outer space

he’s snapping off the succulent stalks
of retirement benefits and wolfing them;
then with palms wide-open he scoops up the juice
of people’s savings.

PAPHLAGON: Never fear! I won’t fail to nail you for
the thousands you’ve been nicking.

SAUSAGEMAN: My, my! What a big splash you’re making
for someone who’s ill treated the Athenian people
so abominably! . . . I swear by Demeter
I’ll show up your whole affair
at Mytilene and the thousands you managed to wangle.¹⁵⁰

CHORUS: You miraculous and manifest helper of mankind,
How I admire the glibness of your tongue!
Never let it slacken and you will be among
The greatest men of Greece with total sway
Over the city and our allies. In your hand
A trident well designed
To shake and make them tremble
And make for you a bundle.

LEADER: So don’t let the fellow get away
now that you’ve got him in a hold. . . .
With a manly chest like yours,
you’ll floor him with ease.

SAUSAGEMAN: Hang on a minute. . . . I’ve just thought of something.
If you really cared a tinker’s cuss for the People,
you’d not have left those shields hanging by the handle.
Don’t you see, Demos, it’s a trick
to forestall any retribution you may be wanting
to deal out to this bloke.
A gang of young and husky tanners screen him
in a medley of fellows selling honey, selling cheeses.
They’re a self-supporting clique,
and the moment you start looking glum
and fingering the ostra shards,¹⁵¹

they’ll take those shields down by night
and it’s on the cards they’ll pounce on our granary yards
like greased lightning.

DEMOS: So the shields have every handle at the ready!
You cheating bastard, Paphlagon, how long
have you been blinding me
to the way you’ve been cheating the People?

PAPHLAGON: My good sir,
don’t believe everything you hear,
and don’t imagine that you’ll ever find a better friend.
It was I, all by myself, who put paid
to a cabal of plotters. Oh yes, there’s no conspiracy
I don’t know about and quash immediately.
SAUSAGEMAN: Indeed you do!
You’re like those fellows eel fishing:
when the water’s clear and still
they don’t catch a thing,
but when they stir it up they get an eel.
That’s the way you get an eel when you stir the city up.
But there’s one thing I’d like to know:
you say you really care for Demos
but when your leather selling’s going well,
do you ever think of giving him a tiny scrap
just to patch a sandal?

DEMOS: No, by Apollo, he never does!

SAUSAGEMAN: Now do you see the kind of man he is?
I on the other hand bring you this:
take it with my compliments—a pair of shoes.

DEMOS: You are in my opinion, of everyone I know,
the most dedicated to the cause of Demos,
to the city, and to my toes.

PAPHLAGON: I’m aghast that a pair of shoes
should loom so large and what I’ve done for you so little,
when it was I who got rid of the pansy boys
and deprived Grypus¹⁵² of the vote.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I’m surprised that you should go on an arse
hunt
after pansy boys when it’s obvious
you got rid of them because you’re jealous
of their political mettle.
On top of that, here is poor old Demos without a coat
and it’s never occurred to you that he ought
to have a coat in winter with two sleeves.
Here, take mine, Demos, please.

DEMOS: And it never occurred to Themistocles either,
though I have to admit that his Piraeus idea¹⁵³
was a good one. . . . Still, not as important as this coat.

PAPHLAGON: What a load of monkey tricks!

SAUSAGEMAN: No, just borrowing some of yours,
as one might a pair of slippers at a party
to go rushing to the jakes to shit.

PAPHLAGON: There’s no one better at buttering up than I am, smarty.

[He takes off his coat and tries to force it on DEMOS.]

DEMOS: What a stink of ox hide, yuk! Piss off!

SAUSAGEMAN: He put it on you just to stifle you,
as once he tried before when that asafetida stuff¹⁵⁴
was going cheap—remember?

DEMOS: Of course, I do.

SAUSAGEMAN: He rigged the market hoping that would cause
everyone to buy and eat this fare,
so that when the court was sitting, a single whiff
would gas the justices to death.

DEMOS: By Poseidon, yes! Precisely what a fellow
from Excreta City told me.

SAUSAGEMAN: And doubtless your united puff
turned you all brown and yellow?

DEMOS: By God, it did! A burnished freak, you could have called me.

PAPHLAGON: Scum head, what a puerile gimmick to upset me!

SAUSAGEMAN: Maybe, but the goddess told me
to whisk you into waffle flannel.

PAPHLAGON: There’ll be no need of whisking, Demos, you can bet,
and for doing nothing, I’ll make sure you get
a bowl of dole to slurp.

SAUSAGEMAN: And my contribution is this little jar of embrocation
to rub into your shanks.

PAPHLAGON: Mine will be to pull your white hairs out
and make you full of youthful pranks.

SAUSAGEMAN: And here’s a rabbit’s tail for dabbing your lovely
eyes.

PAPHLAGON: Have a nose blow, Demos,
and for wiping your fingers use the hair of my head.¹⁵⁵

SAUSAGEMAN: No, no, mine instead.

PAPHLAGON: [to SAUSAGEMAN]
No, mine! No, mine! And for a prize
I’ll make you captain of a bark:
A rotting hulk with tattered sails.
To fit her out’ll make you broke
And you will see just how it feels.

SAUSAGEMAN: The fellow’s bubbling, on the boil.
Stop it! Stop it! Or you’ll spill.
Draw the fire, lower the heat:
His threats are coming to the top.
Here’s a ladle, skim the pot.

PAPHLAGON: Just you wait. I’ll fix your tax
And have you classed as deluxe.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll not threaten, but have a dream:
Your dish of squid is on the flame,
Nicely sizzling and you’re down
To make a motion, propose a plan

About Miletus.¹⁵⁶ If it’s passed,
A thousand grand’ll be your graft.
But you’re dashing for your squid,
Bolting it and hoping you’d
Not be late for the session.
And as you guzzle squid with passion
A man comes in to make you speed,
And you choke to death because of greed.

LEADER: By Zeus, Apollo, and Demeter, I say well done!

DEMOS: I say so, too.
How long it’s been since we had a man like him!
As for you, Paphlagon,
when you say how fond of me you are
it fills me with such gloom
that I have to ask you here and now to surrender me my seal.
You’re not my steward anymore.

PAPHLAGON: Here it is then, but of this be sure:
if I’m not your steward anymore,
a greater fraud will soon appear—far greater still.

DEMOS: [staring at the seal]
That’s not my ring. It has a different seal. . . .
Or has my eyesight changed?

SAUSAGEMAN: Let’s have a peek. . . . What was your seal?

DEMOS: A hamburger rampant.

SAUSAGEMAN: That’s not what’s here. How strange!

DEMOS: Not rampant? Then, what?

SAUSAGEMAN: A gaping seagull with its pecker vacant
ranting at the people from a rock.

DEMOS: Heaven help us!

SAUSAGEMAN: Now what?

DEMOS: [to PAPHLAGON] Away with the ring. It was never mine.
It belonged to Cleonymus.¹⁵⁷
Have this one instead and be my steward from now on.

PAPHLAGON: Good master, wait:
at least until you’ve heard what my oracles predict.

SAUSAGEMAN: And mine as well.

PAPHLAGON: You’ll be listening to hot air.

SAUSAGEMAN: And if you listen to him you’ll be skinning your prick.

PAPHLAGON: My prophecies predict
you’ll wear a crown of roses and be a swell,
ruling all the nations that there are.

SAUSAGEMAN: And mine predict you’ll wear a crown,
adorned in a raiment splashed with crimson,
and be carried in a golden carriage,
and put Smicythe and his boss on trial.

LEADER: Well, go and get the oracles for him to hear.

DEMOS: Sure will.

LEADER: [to PAPHLAGON] And you get yours.

PAPHLAGON: Of course!

SAUSAGEMAN: Of course! What are we waiting for?

[SAUSAGEMAN and PAPHLAGON retire.]

STROPHE

CHORUS: Sweet and bright will be the morn
That shines on citizen and alien
And sees the extinguishing of Cleon.
But at the chancery I heard
Two ancient legal relics claim,
Thrashing out the pros and cons,
That had not a Cleon been reared
In the town, loud and strong,
One thing wouldn’t be the same:
We’d have no pestle and no spoon.

ANTISTROPHE

But what is difficult to twig
Is his upbringing as a pig.
The boys who were at school with him
Say how he would often hum
With his lyre to a Dorian tune
And wouldn’t learn another one.
This drove his music master mad,
Who expelled him finally and said:
“This boy’s stuck with the Doric tribe,
What interests him is how to bribe.”¹⁵⁸

[PAPHLAGON enters with bundles of scrolls.]

PAPHLAGON: Just look at them, and that’s not all.

[SAUSAGEMAN enters, also laden with scrolls.]

SAUSAGEMAN: Phew! I’m whacked, and that’s not all.

DEMOS: What are they?

PAPHLAGON: Oracles.

DEMOS: What, all?

PAPHLAGON: Surprised? I don’t wonder, by Zeus!
And I’ve got another boxful.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ve got an attic full,
not to mention two flats full.

DEMOS: Let’s have a display. . . . What’s their source?

PAPHLAGON: Mine are from Bacis.¹⁵⁹

DEMOS: And yours?

SAUSAGEMAN: Mine are from Glanis‡—Fishface—Bacis’ big brother.

DEMOS: And they are about—what?

PAPHLAGON: Athens and Pylos, you and me, everything of course.

DEMOS: And what are yours about?

SAUSAGEMAN: They’re about Spartans, pea soup, the grainmonger
in the market who gives you short measure,
about you, about me . . . and him? What the fuck! He sucks.

DEMOS: Come on, read them out,
especially the one about me being an eagle in the clouds—
my favorite.¹⁶⁰

PAPHLAGON: [opening a scroll] All right,
pay attention and listen to the truth it sheds.
“Hearken, son of Erectheus
to the burden of what Apollo
Boomed from his shrine through the tripods:
see that thou cherish the watchdog,
Sacred and sharp of tooth,
who yawns at thy feet and for thee
Barks his terrible head off;
who sees thou art given fair wages
And would rather die than fail thee.
For many are the jays¹⁶¹ around him,
Cawing with hate against him.”

DEMOS: Holy Demeter, I haven’t an inkling of what this is all about:
Erectheus mixed up with dogs and daws!

PAPHLAGON: The watchdog is me. He barks on your behalf. Apollo bids you to keep him—that’s me—safe.

SAUSAGEMAN: That’s not what the oracle says.
That dog’s sneaking around wolfing whole dollops of oracle.
I have another version of that dog—the real.

DEMOS: Fine, let’s have it,
but let me find a stone first.
I don’t want to be bitten by an oracle.

SAUSAGEMAN: [unrolling a scroll and reading] “Hearken, son of Erectheus, the dog Cerberus‡ That makes men cringing slaves wags his tail at you

When you’re sitting at table
and fixes you with a stare,
But while you’re gazing at the view
he gobbles your dinner.
During the night unseen
into the kitchen he prowls
And with his doggy tongue
licks the platters clean,
And the islands in between.”¹⁶²

PAPHLAGON: [unrolling his scroll again] Listen, mate, before you judge. “In holy Athens shall a certain woman bear A lion, which will fight for Demos valiantly As if he were his cub. Make sure you guard him well, And raise a wooden wall¹⁶³ and towers of steel.” Do you know what is meant?

DEMOS: By Apollo, I do not!

PAPHLAGON: The god is plainly telling you to look after me: I’m the lion that is meant.

DEMOS: Lion or Liar? What d’you think?

SAUSAGEMAN: There’s one item of the prophecy he’s not
expounding,
the wooden wall and towers of steel
behind which Apollo told you to keep this shithead safe.

DEMOS: And the god intended . . . ? What’s your belief?

SAUSAGEMAN: He was telling you to clap the fellow in the stocks,
the wooden five-holed stocks.

DEMOS: I hope that prophecy works.

PAPHLAGON: [continuing to read from the scroll] “Be not shocked, it is only the raven and crow that squawk Against me. Have faith in the hawks who delivered into your hands In chains the Spartan fledglings.”¹⁶⁴

SAUSAGEMAN: The truth is, Paphlagon was zonked out of his mind
when he made that reckless fling.

[reads from his scroll]

“Why dost thou think this so marvelous,
thou witless scion of Cecrops?¹⁶⁵
A woman can bear every bit
as much burden as man,
But fight she cannot,
or she will certainly shit.”

PAPHLAGON: You also have to consider what the god said
about Pylos being before Pylos.
“There’s a Pylos before Pylos,” he said.¹⁶⁶

DEMOS: “A Pylos before Pylos”? . . . I’m lost.

SAUSAGEMAN: Next, he says he’s going to destroy
every bath in the bathhouse.

DEMOS: So I can’t have a bath today?

SAUSAGEMAN: You cannot, because
he’s commandeered all the baths ....¹⁶⁷
Here’s what he says about the navy. Attend closely.

DEMOS: I shall, but I hope you’re going to tell me
how I’m going to pay my tars.

SAUSAGEMAN: [reading again] “Scion of Aegeus,¹⁶⁸ beware of the fox dog who will trick thee. He is crafty and fast, spare and a subtle deceiver.” Do you know who he is?

DEMOS: Of course! The fox dog’s Philostratus.¹⁶⁹

SAUSAGEMAN: Wrong! The fox dog’s the one
who’s constantly pressing you
for wing-footed ships to round up some revenue.
Apollo’s forbidding you

to give him any such thing.

DEMOS: But how can a trireme be a fox dog?

SAUSAGEMAN: Because a trireme, like a fox dog, is speedy.

DEMOS: But why do you have to tack fox onto dog?

SAUSAGEMAN: Because sailors are like little foxes—greedy:
they gobble up the grapes in the vineyard.

DEMOS: How else are the “little foxes” going to get their
food?

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll see to it, and within three days. Meanwhile, listen to what Apollo says.

[He reads from the scroll.]

“Keep clear of the wily Cyllene.”¹⁷⁰
DEMOS: Who, pray, is Cyllene?

SAUSAGEMAN: The verse implies that he’s the itching palm
reaching for a handout.

PAPHLAGON: You’ve not got it right. By Cyllene, Apollo means, I assume,

the crooked hand of Diopeithes.¹⁷¹
No matter, here’s a prophecy about you—
a flying one: you’re going to be an eagle
and monarch of all you survey.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ve had a dream, too:
You’ll rule over the whole
earth—including the Red Sea, and you’ll
preside as judge in the courts of Ecbatana
nibbling your canapé.
PAPHLAGON: Ah, but I’ve had a dream of no less than Pallas Athena
ladling out prosperity on Demos with a big spoon.
SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, but wait till you hear mine.
I, too, saw Pallas Athena coming from the Acropolis with an owl
perched on her helmet,
and over Demos’ head she poured a jug of ambrosia,
but over yours a jar of pickled garlic.

DEMOS: Hear, hear, to that!
Glanis,¹⁷² you’re the smartest of the lot
and I hereby ask you to be my housekeeper:
“To guide my steps when old age comes,
and thereby my way of life remake.”¹⁷³

PAPHLAGON: Not yet, oh wait, please!
Give me another chance and I’ll serve you barley every day.

DEMOS: I’m sick of barley. . . . It’s all part of the way
that you and Thuphanes^§
have been diddling me.

PAPHLAGON: But I’ll give you already ground self-raising barley.

SAUSAGEMAN: Me? I’ll give you already cooked cakes of barley,
all you can eat.

DEMOS: Thrash it out between you, you two,
and whichever of you pampers me the most gets the post
of holding the reins of government on the Pnyx.

PAPHLAGON: I’ll beat you to it.

SAUSAGEMAN: I bet you won’t.

[SAUSAGEMAN and PAPHLAGON scamper into the house, SAUSAGEMAN leading.]

STROPHE

CHORUS: O Demos, you have what it takes:
All humanity quakes
Near your tyrannical power,
But you’re easy to flatter
And lead down a spurious way,
Taken in by a lie.
Every Tom, Dick, and Harry
Spouting his head off can carry
You away. And as for your mind,
It’s difficult to find.

ANTISTROPHE

If you think I’m not very cool
Your long locks harbor a fool.
And as a matter of fact
I know very well what I’m at.
What I really enjoy
Is being a sort of decoy
For some political chap—
A rascal of course—and fatten him,
And when he’s all puffed up
To flatten him.

STROPHE

Well, you’re exceedingly smart:
Your behavior’s so much a part
Of the way you really are—
Perfectly packed with craft:
Fattening men that are spare
Like victims for sacrifice

On the Pnyx. And what is so nice
Is that when you are ready for dinner
You choose as an act of grace
One who used to be thinner.

ANTISTROPHE

Like to see how it’s done?
Can be a lot of fun!
They think they’re oh so clever
And I’m completely dumb.
But I have them undercover
Though I seem not even to see them
Gorging themselves with plunder.
Of course in the end I get them
And make them disgorge their fodder
With the probe of a long subpoena.

[SAUSAGEMAN and PAPHLAGON, jostling each other, come in, each carrying a large basket.]

PAPHLAGON: Get out of my blooming way.

SAUSAGEMAN: Scumbag, get out of mine.

PAPHLAGON: Ah, Demos, sir! I’ve been sitting here
for thousands of years—and all in vain
just to be your special attaché.

SAUSAGEMAN: And I’ve been sticking around
for a thousand thousand thousand . . . more than a billion.
DEMOS: Me? I’ve been kicking my heels for more than a zillion
and getting thoroughly bored with both of you.

SAUSAGEMAN: D’you know what you should do?

DEMOS: I know that if I don’t you’re going to tell me.

SAUSAGEMAN: Line us up at the post, that jerk and me,
and see which of us reaches you first to serve you.

SAUSAGEMAN AND PAPHLAGON: Ready, steady . . .

DEMOS: Go!

[SAUSAGEMAN and PAPHLAGON race towards the house.]

SAUSAGEMAN: Hey, he’s crossing my tracks!

DEMOS: They’re both so infatuated with me
that if I play it right I’m going to be mighty happy.

[SAUSAGEMAN and PAPHLAGON have reached the house and come back, each carrying something.]

PAPHLAGON: See, I’m first back,
bringing a stool for you.

SAUSAGEMAN: But no table. I’m first with that.

PAPHLAGON: Look, and here’s a cake
made with flour from Pylos.

SAUSAGEMAN: And here’s a brioche shaped and baked
by the ivory hand of the goddess.

DEMOS: With an elephantine touch, no doubt, dear Goddess.¹⁷⁴

PAPHLAGON: Here’s a really savory pea soup stirred by the goddess
at Pylos.

SAUSAGEMAN: What I see with my own eyes, Demos,
is the goddess showing her care for you
by holding a pot of beef tea over your head.

DEMOS: I’m not surprised. How else could our city have survived
if she hadn’t done this in public view?

PAPHLAGON: This piece of fish is for Pallas-Striker-of-Armies-Dead.

SAUSAGEMAN: And for Pallas Athena-Strong-as-her-Dad¹⁷⁵
is this beef Stroganoff, tripe, and belly of pork.

DEMOS: I expect she’s thanking us for the robe we gave her.¹⁷⁶

PAPHLAGON: The Lady-of-the-Horrible-Helmet says you ought
to eat these specialities I’ve brought:
they’ll help our rowers to row better.

SAUSAGEMAN: Take these, too.

DEMOS: What do I do with all this stuff and the belly of pork?

PAPHLAGON: They’re for the triremes. The goddess has sent them to you
to show how much she cares. . . .

Here, have a drink: mixed a pint-and-a-half to a quart.¹⁷⁷
Cheers!

DEMOS: [drinking] Good stuff, by Zeus!
Especially the pint-and-a-half.

SAUSAGEMAN: It darn well ought to be nice:
Athena-the-Whacker whacked it into a quaff.

PAPHLAGON: What about a slice of cake—first-class?
A present from me.

SAUSAGEMAN: And as a present from me, the whole cake.

PAPHLAGON: But you can’t get a hare for him—I can.

SAUSAGEMAN: [to himself ] Blast and damn!
Where do I get a hare from? Think,
soul, think! It’s time for a brain wave.

PAPHLAGON: [displaying a hare] Take a good look at it, you dumb cluck!

SAUSAGEMAN: To hell with it! The hare you can have
because here come ambassadors laden with silver
and wanting to see me.

PAPHLAGON: [dropping the hare] Where? Where?

SAUSAGEMAN: Why should you care?
You shouldn’t be messing with aliens.

[He picks up the hare.]

Dear little Demos, the hare’s for you—from me.

PAPHLAGON: What cheek! He’s filched my hare—most unfairly.

SAUSAGEMAN: I’m just doing what you did at Pylos
with the Lacedaemonians.¹⁷⁸

PAPHLAGON: Lord above, I’m no match for his brass and glibness!

SAUSAGEMAN: Demos, why don’t you make up your mind about us?
Which is the better man for you and for your belly?

DEMOS: Then what kind of decision d’you think the audience
would consider snappy?

SAUSAGEMAN: Not another word!
Just pick up my basket
and see what’s inside.
Same with Paphlagon’s. . . . Cheer up! You’ll guess it right!

DEMOS: [opening SAUSAGEMAN’s basket] Yes, let’s see what’s inside.

SAUSAGEMAN: As you can see for yourself, Daddykins, it’s empty.
Why? Because I brought everything to the table.

DEMOS: Generosity itself—after my own heart!

SAUSAGEMAN: Now come and see what Paphlagon’s hoarded
in his.

DEMOS: Good heavens, it’s stuffed with goodies—
all for himself to gobble.
And think of the measly slice of cake he cut for me!

SAUSAGEMAN: It’s what he’s been doing all the time:
chucking a pittance your way
and heaping himself a mammoth pile.

DEMOS: You perishing sod, robbing me in broad day
when I was garlanding you and heaping you with presents!

PAPHLAGON: I only robbed for the public good.

DEMOS: Off with that wreath! I’m putting it on him.
SAUSAGEMAN: Right now, you scum!

PAPHLAGON: I won’t. I have a Pythian prediction that warrants
it’ll be clearly understood
who is to get the better of me.

SAUSAGEMAN: Namely, me. Quite clearly!

PAPHLAGON: If that’s so, I’ll have to question you
to see if you fit the prophecy.
May I ask what school you went to as a boy?

SAUSAGEMAN: The School of Hard-knocks-and-knuckles.

PAPHLAGON: No? Don’t say it! There’s a worry growing in my soul
about the oracle.
What were the holds you learned at the wrestling school?

SAUSAGEMAN: How to swear black and blue that I didn’t pinch a
thing.

PAPHLAGON: “Phoebus Apollo Lord of Lycia,
what art thou doing to me?”¹⁷⁹
And when you grew up what was your career?

SAUSAGEMAN: Selling sausages and buggery.

PAPHLAGON: Well, I’m jiggered! “Any hope that I shall make the shore is waning.”¹⁸⁰ Tell me, did you sell your sausages in the market square or at the city gates?

SAUSAGEMAN: At the city gates where the salted fish is sold.

PAPHLAGON: Dear me, that’s what I figured!
The god’s dread prophecy’s being fulfilled.
Wheel me within, me, this man of fate.
I leave. Goodbye to my crown!
Though that is not what I would have willed.
“Some other man will take you for his own:
No worse a thief perhaps than me but more fortunate.”¹⁸¹

[PAPHLAGON throws his crown to SAUSAGEMAN, then faints and is wheeled away on the eccyclema.]¹⁸²

SAUSAGEMAN: Great Zeus of Greece be praised, the fight is won!

DEMOSTHENES: [appearing in the doorway]
Yes indeed! Congratulations to the champion!
But don’t forget I helped you to succeed,
and in return there is a trifle I would ask:
that you make me your notary the way Phanus was to Cleon
and that I be seated on your woolsack.¶

DEMOS: [to SAUSAGEMAN] Your name, please.

SAUSAGEMAN: Mark Inplace, because I learned my profession
in the marketplace.

DEMOS: Then I put myself in your charge, Mark Inplace,
and make you my Paphlagon.

SAUSAGEMAN: Me, Demos, you can depend upon. You’ll never find another man in Athens to surpass me, or a smarter, streetwiser smart-arse.

[DEMOS and SAUSAGEMAN go into the house.]

STROPHE

CHORUS: The song of the charioteers
With their thundering horses
Begins and ends without jeers
At Lysistratus¹⁸³ or by endorsing
Fun to be had with Humantis,¹⁸⁴
Who’s homeless and hungry, or taunt his
Continually pouring out tears.
How he clings to your quiver, Apollo,
In the holy seat of the Pytho‡
Begging to be less hollow.

LEADER: There’s nothing shameful in showing up the shameful.
It’s a good foil for showing up the good,
though I shouldn’t have to add
a bad name to a man already bad
or contrast him with a friend of mine who’s careful.
And when it comes to music, I know the bad from good
and can tell an Arignotus from his brother Ariphrades.§
They couldn’t be more different: Ariphrades is slimy;
But he isn’t mere slimy, or I might have passed him by;
He’s gone much further and given “slimy” quite a new
dimension with shameful tricks like licking up the dew
in brothels till he sullies
his beard and upsets the hot-stuff ladies . . .

like a horny Polymnestus or Oenichus his crony.¹⁸⁵
Anyone who doesn’t hate the guts of such a man
shan’t ever share a cup with me again.

ANTISTROPHE

CHORUS: So often in dead of night
Submerged in buried thought
I’ve asked myself how on earth
Does that Cleonymus manage
To wangle himself a bite?
They say, to tell you the truth,
He hangs about in the ménage
Of the rich, and round their trough
And though they beg him to beat it
They never can get him off.

LEADER: Apparently our triremes met the other day
and a senior dame was heard to say:
“Ladies, aren’t any of you bothered by what’s going on in the city?
Rumor has it that somebody,
in fact that crabbed old Hyperbolus,¹⁸⁶
has proposed that a hundred of us
be sent on an expedition to Carthage.
We triremes were shocked at this
and declared it was an outrage.
Then a virgin vessel among us,
a young lady who’s never been manned,
piped up and said: ‘I’d rather rot away here
and fall to pieces than have that jerk as my commander.’
‘By every plank on my body, I swear,’ said another,
‘that if that man ever gets to command Miss Trireme Shapely,
the daughter of Shipley, it’s going to be up yours, mister.’
If this is the kind of thing the Athenians are after,

we may as well all sail away to never-never land
or take refuge with the Furies.
I couldn’t bear to see our Athens poltrooned
with him as our admiral. So if he’s
so set on sailing, let him paddle away on one of his lamp trays,
all alone, to cloud-cuckoo land.”

[SAUSAGEMAN enters in a jubilant mood.]

SAUSAGEMAN: The nicest thing you can say just now is—nothing at all.
That includes witnesses and courts of law—
which you Athenians have such a passion for.
Instead of that, let the audience give a joyous lip
to a paean of thanks for the reformation that has taken place.
LEADER: You shining hope of holy Athens!
You bulwark of her scattered islands!
What is the happy news you bring
that should make us make our air
savory with sacrifice?

SAUSAGEMAN: I’ve simmered Demos down for you
and changed him from disheveled to something quite engaging.

LEADER: Where is he now, you genius, who are able to renew?

SAUSAGEMAN: He lives in the Athens that was and is again the violet
crowned.

LEADER: How can we see him? What is he dressed in? What is he like?

SAUSAGEMAN: Like what he used to be when he dined
in the mess with Aristides, Miltiades, and people of that ilk.¹⁸⁷
You’ll see him in a moment; the gates are opening.
Hurrah for the rebirth of the Athens of old!
So stunning, so sung of, so famous the home of
no less than Demos!

[A curtain parts and there are revealed the lineaments of a splendid city.]

CHORUS: O shining Athens,
violet-crowned showpiece of the world, display to us
the monarch of all Greece, the monarch of this land.

[DEMOS steps into view, sleek, young and good-looking.]

SAUSAGEMAN: Behold our hero!
And look at the golden grasshopper brooch¹⁸⁸
he always used to wear,
and note the fragrance, not of slips for the vote
but of truces and treaties smelling of myrrh.

CHORUS: [to DEMOS] We salute you, king of the Greeks! We share
your happiness and triumph, so worthy of our city
and of the days of Marathon.

DEMOS: [to SAUSAGEMAN] Dearest hero of the market square, come here!
You’ve worked a miracle by melting me down.

SAUSAGEMAN: What, me? . . . Why, my dear fellow,
if you had the slightest idea of what you were like before,
you’d worship me like a god.

DEMOS: But what was I like? How did I behave?

SAUSAGEMAN: Well, to begin with, if someone in the Assembly
came out with “I love you so much, I think only
of your well-being and your good,”
and that sort of thing, you flapped your wings
and wobbled your horns.

DEMOS: What, was I that naive?

SAUSAGEMAN: The result was, he ripped you off.

DEMOS: You don’t say! I was that oblivious?

SAUSAGEMAN: You certainly were.
You opened and shut like an umbrella
to whatever they said. That was obvious.

DEMOS: Was I that dumb? That much of a goof?

SAUSAGEMAN: I’m afraid you were.
And if a couple of Senators were discussing whether
to build ships or spend the money on paying the crew,
the paying-the-crew man would win hands down, wouldn’t he?
Hey, why are you hanging your head?

DEMOS: I’m so ashamed of being so blind.

SAUSAGEMAN: You’re not to blame. . . . Don’t take that line. The blame lies with those who tricked you. . . . Now tell me if some smart-aleck lawyer says to you: “You jurymen in this case are not being paid unless you convict,” what would be your response to this smart-aleck-lawyer-prick?

DEMOS: I’d fling him from the top of the Acropolis into the ravine
with Hyperbolus round his neck.

SAUSAGEMAN: Now you’re talking! That’s absolutely fine! And how would your other policies go?

DEMOS: I’ll pay a ship’s crew the moment it docks,
and in full—whatever it comes to.

SAUSAGEMAN: You’re bringing joy to the squashed bottoms of a lot of
blokes.

DEMOS: And no infantry man
is going to get himself transferred to another division
simply by pulling strings. . . .
He’ll damn well stay where he began.

SAUSAGEMAN: That’ll put a dent in poor old Cleonymus’s buckler.¹⁸⁹

DEMOS: And none of those beardless things
are to go celebrating in the market square.

SAUSAGEMAN: Then where are Cleisthenes and Strato going to go
for their cerebrating?¹⁹⁰

DEMOS: I’m talking of those teenage eggheads at the drugstore
babbling away with: “Oh my dear,
Phaeax‡ is too too terribly clever:

the way he overturned that verdict and saved his bacon!”
“I know, m’dear,
he was so absolutely epigrammatically and glossologically
formidable,
so energetic and overwhelmingly spot-on
when he supererogatively terminated the intractable.”

SAUSAGEMAN: So you’re not sympathetic towards twaddle.

DEMOS: God, no! And I’m going to put a stopper
to their law-drafting obsession.
And send them all off riding to the hounds.

[At the behest of SAUSAGEMAN a SERVANT BOY comes in with a camp stool.]

SAUSAGEMAN: In that case, accept from my hands a folding stool,
and also this well-hung lad, who’ll hold it for you,
and when you want he’ll unfold his tool.

DEMOS: Great! I’m living again the good old times!

SAUSAGEMAN: You’ll say so without a doubt when I offer
you the two thirty-year truces. . . . Girls,¹⁹¹ come on out!

[Enter TWO TRUCES.]

DEMOS: Holy Zeus, they’re pretty! Yummy, yummy!
Can I consummate the deal on the spot? . . .
Where did you find them?

SAUSAGEMAN: The truces were in your house all the time. Paphlagon had them hidden so’s you wouldn’t get hold of them. Here they are. Take them: take them home to your farm.

DEMOS: What dastardly behavior on the part of Paphlagon!
What punishment do you plan?

SAUSAGEMAN: Nothing more than taking on my job. He’ll have a sausage stand all to himself at the curb of the city gates, with hot dogs and donkey hash instead of politics and fiddle mash.

DEMOS: Splendid! You’ve hit on the perfect retribution:
set-tos with sluts and bathhouse lackeys.
My reward to you is an invitation
to the city dining hall to sit where that scapegoat sat.
Here, don this frog green robe and follow me.
You others take Paphlagon

to his new business place,

where our foreign allies who suffered his abuse

can gloat at him in his disgrace.

[To the sound of fife and drum, DEMOS, SAUSAGEMAN, SERVANT BOY, and the TWO TRUCES lead off the CHORUS in the exodus march. PAPHLAGON is ignominiously pushed out of sight by two SERVANTS of DEMOS.]

CLOUDS

Clouds was first produced at the Dionysia of 423
B.C. and was placed third (much to the anger of
Aristophanes); first prize went to Cratinus’ Wine
Flask, and second to Ameipsias’ Beard.

THEME

Aristophanes, a conservative young man of only twenty-three or so,
doesn’t have a very high opinion of the “New Thought” going around,
expressed and promoted by the Sophists, and especially by Socrates,
whom Aristophanes rather unfairly lumps together with them, partly because he knows that Socrates is easy to parody. Clouds is a lively spoof of
the newfangled ideas about the education of youth. Aristophanes sets out
to have fun damning them and reducing the new techniques to absurdity.

CHARACTERS

STREPSIADES,¹⁹² elderly countryman of Attica
PHIDIPPIDES, his son
XANTHIAS, slave of Strepsiades
FIRST PUPIL, of Socrates
SOCRATES, the philosopher
MR. GOOD REASON, a way of arguing
MR. BAD REASON, a way of arguing
FIRST CREDITOR, pursuing Strepsiades

SECOND CREDITOR, pursuing Strepsiades
SECOND PUPIL, of Socrates
CHORUS, of Clouds

SILENT PARTS

OTHER PUPILS, of Socrates
SERVANTS, of Strepsiades
WITNESS, with First Creditor
BYSTANDERS

THE STORY

Strepsiades, now living in Athens because of the prolonged war with Sparta, is in despair because of the debts his horse-loving son has landed him in. He has heard of Socrates and the Thinkpot, where for a fee one can learn to prove that wrong is right, and he decides to send his son there to be taught how to prove that a debt is not a debt. But Phidippides refuses to go and the old man decides to go himself and be trained. However, he finds he is too stupid to learn. Meanwhile, the two Arguments appear: Mr. Good Reason, a respectable old gentleman who upholds traditional values, and Mr. Bad Reason, a dapper young scamp. They have a go at each other until Mr. Good Reason is ousted. Mr. Bad Reason then offers to teach Phidippides how it is done and leads him into the Thinkpot. Some time later, Socrates presents Phidippides to his father as a perfect sophist. Two Creditors appear, one after the other, clamoring for payment. Strepsiades, using the little he learned, is able to confound them each in turn. Meanwhile, Strepsiades and his son have been having disagreements at the dinner table and the next thing one sees is Strepsiades being pursued by Phidippides wielding a baton. When the latter says he is going to beat his mother, too, Strepsiades, horror-stricken at the reversal of values, of which he is really the cause, dashes off with his servant Xanthias and burns down the Thinkpot.

OBSERVATIONS

Strepsiades is something of a country bumpkin, both a simpleton and a singleton—simpleminded enough to think that he can avoid paying his debts and single-minded enough to pursue this end by learning how to cheat. However, it is finally by the realization of his folly that Aristophanes has him (and us) acknowledge that newfangled ideas are no match for tradition.

Phidippides is a smart young man who knows on which side his bread is buttered but who is obviously spoiled by his parents. He has no illusions about his father’s character and no scruples about running him into debt.

A somewhat wacky but potentially dangerous old bore, Socrates taught young men how to be successful in a world they could dismantle for their own purposes. He was the high priest of the New Learning, and besides dabbling in astronomy, meteorology, and the sciences, he ran a small school where students were taught how to prove that wrong is right and right is wrong. Aristophanes of course knew that this portrayal was a travesty but it reflected the prejudices of the ignorant, and Plato suggests in his Apologia that it even contributed to Socrates’ condemnation.

The Clouds are a typical Greek chorus in the way they comment and suggest, less typical in the way they are ready to lead down the garden path to their undoing anyone whose conduct is devious. Remarkable is the variety and beauty of their siren songs. If only we had the music to go with their words!

Stage scenery had become more sophisticated by the time of Aristophanes. In the opening of Clouds, for instance, there would have been no difficulty in showing the inside of Strepsiades’ house with people asleep on the floor, though the rest of the play takes place outside. Otherwise one must suppose that Strepsiades and his household wake up in the street!

TIME AND SETTING

It is still dark, an hour before dawn. The main room of STREPSIADES’ house is strewn with sleeping figures lying wrapped up on the floor. STREPSIADES yawns, sits up, and stretches.

STREPSIADES: Bloody hell! . . . What a night, Lord Zeus! It goes on and on. Will daylight never come?

I heard a cock crow ages ago
but the household is still snoring.
There was a time they wouldn’t have dared.
Damn the war! It’s done me in.
I can’t even clip the tail of my own slaves.¹⁹³

[He prods the sleeping form of PHIDIPPIDES.]

Look at this strapping young fellow here:
he won’t stir till dawn—farting away
all bundled up in his quintuplicate swaddle of covers.
Very well then, let’s all swaddle and snore.

[He sinks under the blankets but after a few moments pops up again.]

It’s no use. I can’t sleep. I’m all fucked-up,
eaten alive by bills, stable dues, debts—
because of this son of mine: him of the lanky locks,
with his horse riding, his chariot racing, his horse dreaming,
while I’m all broken up and stare at the moon:
as she heads for the twentieth—day of my doomsday deficit.

[He moves to the prone figure of XANTHIAS and pokes him.]

Boy, light a lamp,
and bring me the account book:
I want to see my list of creditors
and the interest due them.

[XANTHIAS fetches the ledger and stands with a lamp behind STREPSIADES.]

Hm, let’s see the damage.
Twelve minas to Pasias . . . To Pasias? Whatever for?
Ah yes, for that branded nag I bought—idiot!
A stone in the eye would have made more sense.

PHIDIPPIDES: [calling out in his sleep] Philon, you’re cheating. Keep to your own lane.

STREPSIADES: You see? That’s what’s destroying me.
He’s on horseback even in his dreams.

PHIDIPPIDES: How many laps for the martial chariot race?

STREPSIADES: As many as you’re making your poor father go.

[He turns back to the ledger.]

Where was I? . . . After Pasias how much?
Yes, three minas to Amynias
for a chariot seat and a pair of wheels.

PHIDIPPIDES: Lead him off, that horse. Give him a good roll.

STREPSIADES:
Yes, dear boy, it’s me you’re rolling—
clean off my estate. . . . What with losing lawsuits
and bailiffs clamoring for my property in lieu of interest.

PHIDIPPIDES: [sitting up] Really, Father,
tossing and growling all through the night!

STREPSIADES: There’s a bailiff in the blankets biting me.

PHIDIPPIDES: [lying down and turning on his side]
For God’s sake, let me get a wink of sleep.

STREPSIADES:
Sleep away, but remember this:
one day all these debts will land on your head.
Lord, how I wish someone had throttled that matchmaker
who talked me into marrying your mother!
Mine was a cozy life once:
messy, untrimmed, delightfully idle,
happy with my honeybees, my sheep, my pressed olives.
Then I went and married the niece of Megacles,¹⁹⁴
the son of Megacles; I a country boy,
she from town:
grand, fastidious, and as spoiled as Coisyra.¹⁹⁵

I smelling of ripe fruit, figs drying, sheepskins,
and cornucopia;
she, of scent and saffron,
tongue-swapping, wastefulness and greed, sex and cunt.
Still, I won’t say she was lazy.
My, she wove fast!¹⁹⁶
I used to point at this cloak of mine and say:
“Wife, you get through the thread at a heck of a lick.”

[XANTHIAS appears with an unlit lamp in his hands.]

XANTHIAS: This lamp’s got no oil in it, sir.

STREPSIADES: Damn you, you lit the lamp that guzzles.
Come and get thrashed!

XANTHIAS: Thrashed for what?

STREPSIADES: For putting in a bloody fat wick.

[XANTHIAS slips away and STREPSIADES picks up the account book again.]

Then when this son of ours was born,
to me and my high-flown wife, that is,
we began to bicker over names.
She wanted horse in everything:
Goldtrot, Hackjoy, Beautybronc,¹⁹⁷
I wanted Meanypop‡—after his grandfather.
We battled over this for a bit
and came up with the compromise of Shyhorse.^§
She used to pick up this kid and coo:
“When you’re a big boy you’ll drive into town in a frock coat
just like Megacles,” and I would retort:
“No, you’ll drive the goats off the shingle

just like your dad did, in leather duds.”
He never took the slightest notice
and now he has horsified my whole estate.
All night long I’ve been searching for a way out
and I’ve hit on a solution—an absolutely fiendish solution.
If only I can talk this boy into it
I’m out in the clear. But first I’ve got to wake him up.
What, I wonder, is the nicest way . . . ? What?

[He stoops over the sleeping PHIDIPPIDES and breathes into his ear.]

Phidippides! Phidippidippikins!

[The young man stirs and lifts his head.]

PHIDIPPIDES: What’s up, Dad?

STREPSIADES: Give me a kiss and your right hand.

PHIDIPPIDES: There. So what?

STREPSIADES: Tell me truly: do you love me?

PHIDIPPIDES: By Poseidon lord of the horse, I do.

STREPSIADES: Less of the horse, please!
That deity is the cause of my troubles.
But if you love me from the bottom of your heart, my boy, listen.

PHIDIPPIDES: What for?

STREPSIADES: To reverse the course of your life in a single stroke
and go and learn what I’m going to propose.

PHIDIPPIDES: Out with it, then. What do you want me to learn?

STREPSIADES: And you’ll do it?

PHIDIPPIDES: By Dionysus, I will.

STREPSIADES: Capital! [He walks PHIDIPPIDES out the front door.]
Take a look over there.
Do you see that little door and that little hut?

PHIDIPPIDES: I do. Get to the point, Dad.

STREPSIADES:
That’s the Thinkpot for the brilliant.
Inside are clever people who can prove to you
that the sky is the lid of a broiler
and that it envelops us and that we are the charcoal.

PHIDIPPIDES: Who are these people?

STREPSIADES:
I don’t exactly know
but they are deep-ruminating cerebrationalists,
nice beautiful people.

PHIDIPPIDES:
Yuk! I know them. Boy, are they poison!
You’re talking of a bunch of frauds:
that barefoot dough-faced lot like that pitiful Socrates
and that Chaerephon.¹⁹⁸

STREPSIADES:
Hey, hey, hold on! Utter no such nonsense!
And if you care a damn for your father’s daily bread,
forget about horses and become one of them.

PHIDIPPIDES: No! By Dionysus absolutely not!
Not even if you got me some of those pheasants Leogoras¹⁹⁹ rears.

STREPSIADES: Please, I’m begging you—you the one I love most—
go and be trained.

PHIDIPPIDES: What d’you want me to learn?

STREPSIADES:
They say that in there are a couple of Reasons,
the Good—whatever that may be—and the Bad.
And one of those, the Bad—so I am told—the Bad
can plead the Wrong and make it Right.
So all you have to do for me
is learn the Bad Reason
and I won’t have to pay a penny
of all those debts I owe because of you.

PHIDIPPIDES: No, I’ll not do it.
I couldn’t look my horse pals in the eye with a clean face.

STREPSIADES:
Then you’ll not have a bite of mine to eat:
not you, not your yoke horse, not your favorite Thoroughbred . . .
and to hell out of here!

PHIDIPPIDES: Well, my uncle Megacles won’t see me go horseless.
I’m off. And as for you, I don’t give a damn.

[PHIDIPPIDES stomps back into the house.]

STREPSIADES:
Fine! I’m not taking this trip-up lying down.
I’ll wing a prayer and go off to the Thinkpot myself for training.
But how is an old relic like me,²⁰⁰
forgetful and lumbering, going to master the art
of logic chopping and hairsplitting?

[starts walking again]

But I’ve got to go.

[He reaches the hut of the Thinkpot and stands wavering outside.]

Why am I shilly-shallying like this?
Why don’t I just knock on the door?

[He bangs on the door, shouting.]

Hey, boy! Boyakins!

FIRST PUPIL: [from inside] Go to blazes, whoever’s banging on my
door!

[He opens the door.]

STREPSIADES: Strepsiades son of Phidon, from Cicynna.

FIRST PUPIL: A real dumbo, by God! Kicking the door down
and causing a thought to miscarry!

STREPSIADES: Please excuse me. My home’s in the country,
but do tell me about the thought that’s got miscarried.

FIRST PUPIL: To tell anyone not a pupil is a sacrilege.

STREPSIADES: Oh don’t bother!
I’ve really come to the Thinkpot to be a pupil myself.

FIRST PUPIL:
All right, I’ll tell you but you’ve got to realize
this is holy stuff—hush-hush.
Socrates has just been asking Chaerephon
on how many of its own feet a flea can jump.
You see, a flea just bit Chaerephon’s eyebrow
and then jumped onto Socrates’ pate.

STREPSIADES: And Socrates is measuring the terrain?

FIRST PUPIL:
Yes, he melted some wax,
took the flea, and dipped its feet in it
so when the wax cooled
the flea had fancy Persian slippers on.
These he removed to measure the distance.

STREPSIADES: Lord above, what subtlety!

FIRST PUPIL: Like to hear another brilliant idea of Socrates?

STREPSIADES: Another? I can’t wait.

FIRST PUPIL:
Chaerephon of Sphettus asked him
what his position on gnats was:
do they whine from their mouths or their bottoms?

STREPSIADES: So? What did he say about the gnat?

FIRST PUPIL:
The gnat’s inside is narrow, he affirmed,
so the air gets pressed through a restricted space rumpwards,
and because of the force of the wind
the arsehole’s opening to the narrow passage
lets out a tune.

STREPSIADES:
So the bottom becomes a trumpet?
Three cheers for such sharp-sightedness!
Anyone with such an intimate knowledge of a gnat’s inside
has to be an invincible defendant.

FIRST PUPIL: Yes, and he’s just had another wonderful insight,
but ’twas snatched away by a lizard.

STREPSIADES: Really? Do tell me.

FIRST PUPIL:
He was scrutinizing the byways of the moon,
gazing upwards in the dark with his mouth open
when a gecko shat on him from the ceiling.

STREPSIADES: Oh I like that: a gecko shitting on Socrates!

FIRST PUPIL: And yesterday when we had nothing to eat for
dinner . . .

STREPSIADES: What? He wangled something?

FIRST PUPIL:
He sprinkled a layer of ash on the table,
tried to use a bent skewer for a compass,
then produced a gay he’d picked up from the wrestling school
and undressed him.²⁰¹

STREPSIADES: And we think Thales²⁰² was a marvel!

[They walk to the entrance of the Thinkpot.]

Open up, open up, open the Thinkpot
and show me this Socrates at once;
I’m crazy to know more.
Come on, open up the door!

[As FIRST PUPIL opens the door the eccyclema²⁰³ is wheeled out to reveal a number of intent students in various contorted positions.]

Great Heracles, where did you dig up this menagerie?
FIRST PUPIL: Why the surprise? What do they seem like to you?

STREPSIADES: Like the Spartan prisoners of war from Pylos²⁰⁴. . . .
But those over there—why are they staring at the ground?

FIRST PUPIL: They’re investigating the nether sphere.

STREPSIADES: Oh, it’s bulbs they’re after! Don’t give it a thought.

[He turns to the other PUPILS.]

I know where there are lovely fat ones.

[He turns back to the FIRST PUPIL.]

And these here,
what are they all doing doubled up?

FIRST PUPIL: They’re trying to see what’s underneath hell.

STREPSIADES: With bottoms gazing at the heavens?

FIRST PUPIL: Yes, independently studying the stars.

[He turns to the other PUPILS.]

Inside with you—he mustn’t find you here.
STREPSIADES: Not yet, not yet, let them stay a little.
I have a small problem I’d like to share with them.

FIRST PUPIL: They’re not allowed to spend too long outside in the open air.

[The rest of the PUPILS are hustled inside; lying around outside the Thinkpot are piles of instruments and maps.]

STREPSIADES: Good Lord! What on earth are those?

FIRST PUPIL: Well, this here is for astronomy.

STREPSIADES: And that one?

FIRST PUPIL: For geometry.

STREPSIADES: And what’s this thing used for?

FIRST PUPIL: For measuring land.

STREPSIADES: You mean land for allotments?

FIRST PUPIL: No, just land in general.

STREPSIADES: My word, how clever! And democratic, too!

FIRST PUPIL: And see, here is a map of the entire world—
look, there’s Athens.

STREPSIADES: [gazing intently] Nonsense! I don’t believe it. I can’t see any jury sitting.²⁰⁵

FIRST PUPIL: Be that as it may ... here lies Attica—
there’s no doubt about it.

STREPSIADES: Then where are the people from my village—Cicynna?

FIRST PUPIL: Over there ... and here, as you see, is Euboea—
in a great long stretch.

STREPSIADES: Don’t I know it! We and Pericles²⁰⁶ did the stretching.... But where is Sparta?

FIRST PUPIL: Oh ... er? ... Right here.

STREPSIADES: Far too close! Think again! Get it away from us!

FIRST PUPIL: Can’t be done!

STREPSIADES: Zeus alive! You’ll regret it if you don’t. Good heavens, who’s that man hanging in a basket?

FIRST PUPIL: Him.

STREPSIADES: Who’s him?

FIRST PUPIL: Why, Socrates.

STREPSIADES: Hi, Socrates!

[turns to FIRST PUPIL]

Go on, shout to him for me.
FIRST PUPIL: Shout yourself. I don’t have time.

[FIRST PUPIL hurries back into the Thinkpot.]

STREPSIADES: Oh Socrates! My own little Socrakitten!

SOCRATES: Ephemeral thing! Do you address me?

STREPSIADES: Yes, and for a start, do tell me what you’re doing.

SOCRATES: I tread the air and scrutinize the sun.

STREPSIADES: Looking down on the gods from a basket?
Why not look up at them from the ground?

SOCRATES:
Because to glean accurate knowledge of the heavens
I have to suspend thought and meld my cerebral vibrations
with the homogenous air.
If I’d been down here and looked up there
I wouldn’t have discovered a thing.
The earth, you see, is forced to attract
the moisture of thought.
Watercress does the same.

STREPSIADES: You don’t say! The mind draws moisture into watercress? Oh Socrakitty, do come down to me at once and teach me all I’ve come to learn.

SOCRATES: [descending] So what have you come for?

STREPSIADES:
A yearning to learn how to speak.
I’m being harassed and stripped and plundered
by the most vulturine creditors.

SOCRATES: How did achieving bankruptcy manage to slip your mind?

STREPSIADES: A voracious equine cancer consumed me; so teach me one of your two Arguments: the one that lets you off a debt. I’ll pay cash down—I swear by the gods—whatever your fee.

SOCRATES: You’ll swear by the gods, will you?
Get this straight: the gods aren’t legal tender here.

STREPSIADES: So what do you swear by:
minted iron, like in Byzantium?

SOCRATES: Do you really want to know the real truth about the gods?

STREPSIADES: Absolutely! If that’s possible.

SOCRATES: And to converse with the Clouds—our very own deities?

STREPSIADES: Totally.

SOCRATES: Then seat yourself on this sacred couch.

STREPSIADES: Right! I’m sitting.

SOCRATES: Now take in your hands this wreath.

STREPSIADES: The wreath? Oh dear,
you’re not going to sacrifice me, Socrates, like Athamas?²⁰⁷

SOCRATES: Of course not!
We do this for all initiates.

STREPSIADES: And what does it do for me?

SOCRATES:
In speaking you’ll become as smooth as a salesman,
voluble as a rattle, insidious as pollen.
Now don’t move.

STREPSIADES: [He sees SOCRATES taking a handful of flour from a bag.]
No, by Zeus, you won’t fool me:
pollenized by sprinkled flour!

[SOCRATES takes up a wand and priestlike begins to incant.]²⁰⁸

SOCRATES:
Let the dotard hold his tongue
And listen to my orison.
O Lord and King, unmeasured Air
Who holds the earth up everywhere,
And you the sparkling atmosphere,
And Clouds, you holy goddesses
Of lightning’s thunderous prodigies:
Arouse yourselves on high, appear
To the contemplator here.

STREPSIADES: [hurriedly throwing a cloak over his head]
Not yet, not yet until I’m cloaked
And keep myself from being soaked.

To think I left the house with not
Even a cap on! What a clot!

SOCRATES: Come, you gorgeous Clouds, appear. Show yourselves to this fellow here. Whether you’re lolling on Olympus now On pinnacles in drifts of snow, Or whether you set the nymphs in motion Among the flowers of Father Ocean, Or whether the waters of the Nile are sucked By you in vessels golden-cupped, Or if by Lake Maeotis you Dwell above in steeps of snow, Accept this offering of mine And let these rituals be benign.

CHORUS: [from a distance]
Clouds ever-floating, come:
Let us flow on high and show
our dewy-glistening shapes
Over the deep and hissing boom
of our father the Sea,
Over mountain pyramids
coiffed in trees,
With visions of faraway views, and over
The earth we drench with water for crops,
And the blessed rivers swirling and rushing,
And the crashing main throwing down its thunder,
And the wide-awake eyes of ubiquitous air
bright with sight
And the gaze of its rays.
So let us dismantle
the rain-sodden haze
That droops on our deathless contours, and peer
Down on the earth with an eye
that brings it all near.

SOCRATES:
Oh holy Clouds,
you have hearkened to my summons and come!

[turning to STREPSIADES]

I hope you noticed the way the thunder
rumbled in concert with their voices.

STREPSIADES: Yes, I as well am full of respect for your eminent band And honor your claps of thunder by breaking wind.

SOCRATES: No need to be rude, nor should you copy those second-rate comics, So keep your mouth shut: There’s a swarming mass of singing goddesses coming.

CHORUS: [nearer]
Rain-laden maidens,
Come, let us visit the glittering land of Pallas
To see the country of Cecrops,²⁰⁹ as well as
See its magnificent men: a land that adopts
Unutterable rites, and where the aspirants
File into the temple, its gates thrown open
During the mystic all-hallowed feasts²¹⁰
When offerings are made to the gods in the heaven
In towering temples full of their busts,
Where godly processions for the sainted ones happen
Amid beautifully garlanded festive victims
At all times and when spring comes
With the grace of Bacchus
Choruses melodiously compete—
To the full-toned burdens of the flute.

STREPSIADES:
In the name of Zeus, Socrates, tell me
Who are these females
Mouthing this sanctified hymn?
They’re surely not, are they,
Some sort of feminine heroes?

SOCRATES:
No, not a bit of it—heavenly clouds,
the layabout’s goddesses:
Those purveyors of judgment and brainy acumen,
Dialectics and fanciful circumlocution
In a palaver of thrust and parry.

STREPSIADES:
So this is the reason my spirit went soaring
at the sound of their voice
And gives me a craving to go splitting hairs,
And babble about the wonders of smoke,
And muster a premise to counter a premise,
And puncture a thought with the point of a thought.
So if I can I’m craving to see them—
right up close.

SOCRATES: Then take a look towards Mount Parnes.
I see them there silently descending.

STREPSIADES: Where? Tell me, where?

[The CLOUDS enter, quietly filing into their choral positions.]

SOCRATES: They’re moving in over there, the total throng,
infiltrating bushes and gaps
and sidling along.

STREPSIADES: I don’t get it. I don’t see them.

SOCRATES: There by the ingress.

STREPSIADES: Ah, now I almost see them!

SOCRATES: Of course you do, unless your eyes are pumpkins.

STREPSIADES: Praised be Zeus! Now I see them.
They penetrate everything.

SOCRATES: And you never realized they were goddesses,
still less believed it.

STREPSIADES: Good heavens, no! I thought they were mist
and dew and smoke.

SOCRATES: Of course you didn’t. You had no inkling that they feed a whole tribe of sophists, genius doctors, long-haired-indolent-onyx-ringed-loafers,²¹¹ tune-twisting songsters for circular dances: excitable men they maintain in their laziness because they are the music makers of these very Clouds.

STREPSIADES:
So that’s why they concoct verses like:
“damp bedraggled braceleted and zooming clouds,”
and “hairy hundred-headed Typhus,” and
“galloping gales,” and “airy airiness,”
and “crooked-clawed fowls swimming on high,”
and “wet rainy damp-laden clouds.”
For these performances they get to be rewarded
by guzzling gargantuan fillets of mullet
and the bird flesh of thrushes.²¹²

SOCRATES: But thanks to these clouds, don’t they deserve it?

STREPSIADES:
Well, tell me this:
if these are really clouds
why do they look like ordinary women
When we know they are not?

SOCRATES: Then what exactly are they?

STREPSIADES:
I hardly know.
Real clouds look like scatterings of fleece,
not like women at all, but these have noses.

SOCRATES: No matter, I have a few questions to ask.

STREPSIADES: Fire away!

SOCRATES: Have you ever looked up and seen a cloud
like a centaur, a leopard, a wolf, or a bull?

STREPSIADES: I certainly have. What of it?

SOCRATES:
Clouds can change themselves into whatever they want.
Thus if they see a long-haired oaf,

one of those hirsute creatures, say like Xenophantus’ son,
they make fun of his fetishes
by turning themselves into centaurs.

STREPSIADES: And if they look down and see an embezzler like Simon,²¹³
what do they do?

SOCRATES: They expose him at once and turn into wolves.

STREPSIADES:
Ah, that must be why the other day
when they saw Cleonymus, the deserter,
they turned into deer.

SOCRATES: Then when they caught sight of Cleisthenes²¹⁴ just now,
as you saw, they turned into women.

STREPSIADES: Greetings, mighty ladies:
If ever you’ve done a celestial favor, do one now
and let out a roar—oh please, you lordly queens!

CHORUS LEADER:
Greetings, old man, born aeons ago,
tracker of abstruse verbosity;
And you, high priest of flimsiest twaddle,
please tell us, will you,
What we can do for you whom we rank higher
than any other contemporary pie-in-the-skyer,
Except for Prodicus^‡—so wise and so clever—
Yes, you who swagger through these alleys
with your slyly sideways-glancing sallies,
Po-faced and shoeless, who, keeping us well,
puts up with hell.

STREPSIADES: Great Mother Earth, what a delivery!
How awesome and holy and fabulous!

SOCRATES: Naturally! These are the only genuine goddesses.
The rest are frauds.

STREPSIADES: By the Earth, you don’t mean to say
that Zeus is not an Olympian god?

SOCRATES: What do you mean “Zeus”? Stop gibbering.
Zeus doesn’t exist.

STREPSIADES: What d’you mean? Who makes it rain?
Go no further till you answer me that.

SOCRATES:
Why these, of course,
and I’ll give you indisputable proof.
Have you ever seen rain without clouds?
Otherwise Zeus would have to produce the rain himself
when the clouds are not at home.

STREPSIADES:
Apollo be praised!
How cleverly you’ve grafted this
onto what you said before!
And I always thought that rain
was Zeus pissing through a sieve. . . .
But who’s the one, do tell me,
who makes the thunder and makes me shiver?

SOCRATES: [pointing to the CLOUDS]
These make the thunder, by wobbling around.

STREPSIADES: Come on, you genius, how?

SOCRATES:
When they’re swollen and sopping with water
they have to wander away
and they start barging into one another,
and being so swollen they burst and crash.

STREPSIADES: But who makes them go wandering away?
Isn’t that Zeus?

SOCRATES: Not a bit of it! Centrifugal pressure. Spin.

STREPSIADES:
Centrifugal pressure? I never thought of that.
So it’s no more Zeus! Centrifugal pressure reigns.
But you’ve still got to tell me
who produces the clap of thunder.

SOCRATES:
Weren’t you listening?
When the clouds are sodden with water, as I told you,
and barge into one another, they explode.

STREPSIADES: Get on with you! Who’d ever believe it?

SOCRATES:
Learn from your own experience.
Have you ever filled your tummy with soup
at the Panathenaeic Festival,
then felt a sudden rumble and upheaval?

STREPSIADES:
Yes, by Apollo, yes.
There’s an awful shudder just like thunder
and that swill of soup goes careering round and round
and growling . . . mildly at first: pappax pappax;
then putting on the pressure: papapappax;
and then I shit like thunder: papapappax—
the way those Clouds do.

SOCRATES:
Consider next the fart you let off
from such a tiny tummy.
Doesn’t it follow that the limitless empyrean
would blast a mighty clap?

STREPSIADES:
So that’s why the words are so similar: clap and crap!
Ah, but the bolt of lightning—explain that:
blazing and burning up as it strikes,
incinerating everyone around.
It’s perfectly obvious
that that’s what Zeus propels against all perjurers.

SOCRATES:
You clot with Old-timers’ disease,²¹⁵ you absolute ninny!
If he’s a perjurer-striker, why hasn’t he stricken
Simon or Cleonymus or Theorus, those assiduous
perjurers?
Instead he strikes his own temple
and Sunium the headland off Athens
as well as the mighty oaks. What is he up to?
The oak tree is hardly a perjurer.²¹⁶

STREPSIADES: I don’t know. You have a point. . . .
All right, what is the thunderbolt?

SOCRATES:
When a dry wind rises into the atmosphere
it gets locked up in these Clouds
and the wind blows them up like a bladder
and then by pressure it bursts them asunder
because of the density and
it scorches itself to nothing
because of the friction and speed.

STREPSIADES:
Once at the feast of Diasia²¹⁷
the same thing happened to me
when I was cooking haggis²¹⁸ for the family
and forgot to prick it first.
Of course it began to inflate and then it burst,
spattering a gory mess in my eyes and my face.

LEADER: O man who craves of us the source of knowledge,
how blessed in Athens and all of Greece you will be
if you have a good memory
and are able to think and judge and persevere
and stand or walk without fear
of tiring and are not upset by the cold
and are not excessively pulled
towards breakfast, and if you will avoid
wine and gymnasiums and suchlike foolishness,
and if you will agree, as must a man of sense,
that triumph and excellence
in everything is wrung
from deed and thought and tongue . . .

STREPSIADES: Yes, if it’s a rugged soul you want
with a fretful curiosity and a frugal half-starved belly

feasting on greens—then have no fear, I am your man
and present myself now for you to work upon.

SOCRATES: I take it for granted then
that now you believe in what we believe in:
the Void, the Clouds, the Tongue—
these three alone?

STREPSIADES:
Yes, I wouldn’t so much as nod to other deities
if I met them in the street,
nor make them offerings or pour libations
or burn incense before them.

CHORUS:
So tell us now forthrightly
what we can do for you.
No harm can come to you
so long as thou payest us respect and esteem
and hast a yen to learn.

STREPSIADES:
Good mistresses, just this:
that right here and now you promise
that I become by a hundred miles
the cleverest speaker in Greece.

CHORUS:
Our pleasure! Exactly that!
So from now on no one in the Boulé²¹⁹
will carry more motions than you.

STREPSIADES:
No, no, not making speeches, sorry!
That’s not what I was after,
but simply to screw up the law to suit myself
and give my creditors the slip.

CHORUS:
Be it done according to your will,
for what you wish to know is not beyond our scope,
so boldly without a peep
put yourself in the hands of our agents here.

STREPSIADES:
That I do, say no more,
I the slave of necessity,
hounded by those branded horses
and the marriage that was my calamity.

[He breaks into song.]

Over to them, then, with no further thought
To do as they like with: here is my body.
Beat it, starve it, smear it, parch it,
Freeze it, flense it into wineskin,
If that will make me flee my debts,
If that will give me human status:
Make me brassy, glib, and gall-full as it gets;
Giddy and a stinking liar,
Gobbledygooker, oily waffler,
Assassin of the legal body,
Chattering charlatan, a fox,
Piss hole, slimy talker, fraud,
Pariah, prick, and slippery grease spot,
Infestation, cudgel fodder,
Trifle tinker.
All this they can call me freely
And please themselves how they treat me,
Yes, by Demeter!
Let them turn me into sausage for the thinker.

CHORUS:
My word, this fellow’s full of spunk:
Nothing he’s not ready for.

[turning to STREPSIADES]

Once you have mastered all this from us you’ll be
the glorious peak of humanity.

STREPSIADES: Of what more could I think?

CHORUS: To live with us for the rest of your life:
the most envious life possible to man.

STREPSIADES: Am I really going to see this happen?

CHORUS:
You really are:
people camping by the legion outside your door
screaming to meet you and sort out
their legal problems and their claims
encompassing enormous sums,
more than eager to consult a man of your mental clout.

[to SOCRATES]

Set the old man on the course you plan for him.
Get his mind moving and test his cerebral vim.

SOCRATES: [to STREPSIADES]
Come along now, describe for me your main
features. Once I know that
I can begin to plan a campaign.

STREPSIADES: Campaign? Do you mean I’m under siege?

SOCRATES: No, no, just a question or two. For instance, how’s your memory?

STREPSIADES: Just so-so, by Zeus! Owed something by a creditor—excellent. Owing to a creditor—no use.

SOCRATES: Is it in your character to speak well?

STREPSIADES: To speak well? No, only to cheat well.

SOCRATES: In that case how do you expect to learn?

STREPSIADES: I’ll manage somehow.

SOCRATES: Well, now, when I toss you a juicy piece of cosmology,
grab it on the spot.

STREPSIADES: So I’m going to gulp down knowledge like a dog?

SOCRATES: The man’s a barbarian, a complete clot.
I’m afraid you’ll have to be whipped, you dotard.
Come, let’s see how you respond to a blow.

STREPSIADES: When hit, I pause. I summon witnesses.
Without delay I wait again; then off to court I go.

SOCRATES: Take off your coat.

STREPSIADES: What have I done wrong?

SOCRATES: It’s just that we take coats off before going in.

STREPSIADES: I wasn’t planning to stuff my coat with loot.

SOCRATES: Oh do put it down and stop gibbering!

STREPSIADES: There you are! Now tell me this:
if I’m all attention and work hard
which of your students will I be?

SOCRATES: You’ll be the dead spit of Chaerephon.

STREPSIADES: Dead spit, indeed. I’d rather be dead.

SOCRATES: [at the entrance of the Thinkpot]
Stop blithering and get a move on—
in here with me.

STREPSIADES: Not without a honey cake for the snakes,
if I’m going down Trophonius’ hole.²²⁰

SOCRATES: Move! Stop dithering by the door, for the gods’ sakes.

LEADER: [as SOCRATES and STREPSIADES enter the Thinkpot]
Go and good luck to you for your pluck.

CHORUS: Good fortune befall this fellow, for
Though he’s passed the prime of life
There’s a twist to his soul that makes him rare
And he knows the art of being smart.

[The CHORUS groups around the LEADER, who now advances to address the audience.]

LEADER: [speaking for Aristophanes in the name of the CLOUDS] Allow me, Spectators, by Dionysus, to tell you the truth, For he was the god who brought me up all through my youth. I’m hoping to win the prize and, of course, be thought very clever Like you, for this is the most sophisticated play I’ve ever Written, and so I thought that you should enjoy it first. It cost me a lot to write and naturally I cursed When I lost the competition because of some second-rate men. I shouldn’t have lost; it was because they did not reckon

I’d done it all for them, but I’ll never make a pretense
Of abandoning those of you who have a scrap of sense.
For when my play The Good Boy and the Buggered Boy²²¹
Was received in this very place with undiluted joy
By men it’s a pleasure to know, I was an unmarried mother
And had to expose my child, which was taken up by another,²²²
And you most generously reared it and gave it education,
And ever since then I’ve counted on your dedication.
Thus this fresh comedy of mine, like the fabled Electra,
Came on a search, and came hoping to find some extra-
Percipient viewers ready to spot the lock of hair²²³
Belonging to her brother, and when she sees it there . . .
Notice first what a very decent dress she has on:
None of that sewn-on, thick, and red-tipped dangling john²²⁴
To make the youngest laugh, nor does she mock bald men
Or dance the kordax²²⁵—such a dirty dance—or when
An old man has to cover up a dismal joke
He doesn’t seize a walking stick and bash a bloke.
She doesn’t come charging onto the stage with flares and
smokes,
Yelling, “Yow! Yow!” She comes in all simplicity
Relying on her person and her script implicitly.
So I, too, being a poet of that class
Never behave like some circumambulant ass
Or cheat you by presenting the same ingredients twice or thrice.
No, my skills at writing comedy suffice
To make it different every time, always new,
Always from a most ingenious point of view.
When Cleon was riding high, I was the one who smacked

Him right in the belly, but never was I one who attacked
Him when he was down, the way some other playwrights act.
And when poor Hyperbolus²²⁶ had a political flop
They stamped on him and his mother, too, without a stop.
And when Eupolis²²⁷ first inflicted his Maricas on you
(Which was a rehash of my Knights and nothing new),
Hack that he is, he stuck a sozzled crone in it
To dance the kordax—the poor old thing—and made her fit
The scene that Phrynichus²²⁸ put on the boards ages ago
Of a sea beast that was after her and out to swallow.
Then Hermippus²²⁹ in a play pitched into Hyperbolus,
And now the rest of the pack, as if that weren’t superfluous,
Are on him, too, pinching my “eels,”²³⁰ and if you find
Their plays at all amusing, I hope you’ll be so kind
As not to laugh at mine; but if you do delight
In me and what I do, the years will prove you right.

CHORUS: Super august of the gods, Zeus, Supremest god, it delights us To invite you foremost to the dance; And you, the mighty trident wielder Who shakes the earth and the briny sea; And you, our patriarchal father—Most blessed sky of heaven Who makes it possible that all may be; And you, the charioteer of the sun²³¹ Shedding the glorious rays that light The earth’s span—a god of might Among the immortals and with mortal man.

LEADER:
And now you superbly perspicacious viewers, listen:
I’m going to berate you for a very serious omission.
None of the deities do as much for your city as I do,
Yet we are the only gods whom you never sacrifice to
Or offer libations, yet we are the ones who keep you in sight:
Whenever there is another stupid campaign, we blight
Proceedings by sending thunder and rain. For instance when
You were about to make that miserable tanner Cleon a gen-
Eral, we knitted our brows and stirred up a terrible fuss
With clappings of thunder and bolts of lightning all from us.
The moon went berserk²³² and the sun in concert snuffed out his
wick
Declining to shine for you if you ever decided to pick
Cleon for a general. But you went and picked him all the same.
They say that although political blunders are to blame
For whatever effect these have on the city, the gods can tame
It; and we’ll give you a lesson on how even this
Aberration can be rendered benign: arrest the cockatrice
Cleon, that greedy, thieving cormorant, and clamp him
In the stocks, and everything will be less grim:
Be as before, for in spite of your mistake
The city will be much better off without that fake.

CHORUS: Be with us, too, Phoebus, O Sire
Of Delos who lives on the sheer
Beetling ridges of Cynthus,
And you, blessed virgin dwelling in Ephesus²³³
In your golden home where Lydian girls
Greatly revere you;
And our own native-born goddess who wields
Her breastplate and shields
Our city; and, too,
He who makes his presence shine
Over the rocks of Parnassus and dazzles
With flaming torches of pine:
Dionysus on his revels.

LEADER: Just as we were about to leave to journey here
The Moon came out to meet us and exclaimed: “Oh do
Say hello to the Athenians and her allies there.”
Then she said how upset she was because of the way
You’ve treated her after all she’s done for you:
Not just babbling but in very fact.
First, she saves you every month a drachma at least
In torches when you go out at night and are able to say:
“There’s a bright moon, boy, no need to squander on torches.”
Then she said that although she does you other services
You yourselves don’t bother to keep your dates in order,
But make a complete mess of them so that the gods
Complain to her, oh yes, she says, great are the odds
They’ll be let down about a dinner and have to go home
Cheated of a celebration listed at that time.
Moreover this, when there’s supposed to be a sacrifice²³⁴
You are fussing about witnesses and sentences.
Yet at other times when we gods are fasting
In memory of Memnon and Sarpedon²³⁵ everlasting
You are gushing with libations. . . . That’s hardly nice!
On the occasion when Hyperbolus was chosen
As the yearly secretary for sacred affairs, we gods
Had to strip him of his wreath^‡ to show the sods
It always pays to use the moon to measure one’s days.

SOCRATES: [emerging from the Thinkpot]
Not by Breath nor Void nor Air
have I ever seen such a lumpkin anywhere:
a clueless clout—no brain, no memory,
immediately forgetting any smattering
he’s managed to acquire.
Well, I suppose I’d better call him out
into the light of day.

[He shouts into the Thinkpot.]

Strepsiades, are you there?
Gather your pallet and come on out.
STREPSIADES: Not easy! The bedbugs don’t want me to expose them.

[He comes out of the Thinkpot carrying his pallet.]

SOCRATES:
Well now, tell me:
what subjects would you apply yourself to
that you’ve never been taught before?
Would it be rhythm, words, measure?

STREPSIADES: I’d say measure.²³⁶ Only the other day
a corn dealer ripped me off by two quarts.

SOCRATES:
That’s not what I meant at all.
I’m asking what sorts
of measure in verse you find most beautiful:
is it trimeter or tetrameter?

STREPSIADES: For me, nothing tops the gallon.

SOCRATES: Man, what a nonsense talker!

STREPSIADES: I bet you a gallon’s not tetrameter.

SOCRATES: To hell with you, you dumb clot! . . .
But perhaps you can tackle rhythm?

STREPSIADES: I don’t see how rhythm can get me my daily bread.

SOCRATES: Well, to start with, it can sharpen you up a lot. You’ll recognize which rhythms are best, say, for a march and which for a dactylic dance.²³⁷

STREPSIADES: Dactyls? You mean fingers? I know that, by Zeus.

SOCRATES: Tell us.

STREPSIADES: [raising his middle finger] Surely nothing less than this finger here. At least that was so when I was a boy.

SOCRATES: Imbecile! Half-wit!

STREPSIADES: Mutt! I don’t give a damn about all this.

SOCRATES: Then what do you give a damn about?

STREPSIADES: About that . . . that Bad baddest Reason.

SOCRATES: But there are lots of other things you ought to know:
which of the quadrupeds, for instance, are unconditionally male.

STREPSIADES: Male? Of course I know that. I’m not crazy:
ram, billy goat, bull, dog, chicken.

SOCRATES: Don’t you see you’re mistaken? You’ve used the same word to cover both cock and hen.

STREPSIADES: So what?

SOCRATES: So what? Chicken for both.

STREPSIADES: By Poseidon, you’re right! What am I supposed to call them?

SOCRATES: What? Why, “cock” and “coquette.”

STREPSIADES: My, my, Airy fairy, that’s the truth!
For this lesson alone I’m going to fill your bowl
with barleycorn to the brim.

SOCRATES: There, you’ve done it again—a second time! “Bowl” sounds masculine but she couldn’t be more feminine.²³⁸

STREPSIADES: How so? Am I really making “bowl” masculine?

SOCRATES: Certainly you are: like doing it to Cleonymus.²³⁹

STREPSIADES: Please explain.

SOCRATES: To you “bowl” and “Cleonymus” are synonymous.

STREPSIADES: But, my dear fellow, Cleonymus didn’t use a bowl.
He did his mashing in a can.
So what ought I to call the word from now on?

SOCRATES: What? Just Miss Bowl—as you might say Miss Sostraté.²⁴⁰

STREPSIADES: Miss Bowl? Feminine?

SOCRATES: Correct.

STREPSIADES: That I’m comfortable with: Miss Bowl, Miss Cleonymé.²⁴¹

SOCRATES: But you still have to learn which names are masculine
and which are feminine.

STREPSIADES: I already know which are feminine.

SOCRATES: Tell me.

STREPSIADES: Lusilla, Philinna, Cleitagora, Demetria.

SOCRATES: And the masculine?

STREPSIADES: There are legions: Philoxenus, Melesias, Amynias—

SOCRATES: But those aren’t masculine, you twit!

STREPSIADES: What? You don’t think they’re masculine?

SOCRATES: Hardly. How would you address Amynias if you met?

STREPSIADES: How? Why, I’d say: “Hello! Hello! Amynias.”

SOCRATES: There, you see: you’ve just called him a woman.

STREPSIADES: Well, what’s wrong with that? She’s not in the army. . . .
I don’t see the point of all this. It’s well-known.

SOCRATES: There is no point. . . . Now get down on that bed.

STREPSIADES:What for?

SOCRATES: To sort out your problems.

STREPSIADES: Oh not on the bed, if you don’t mind. Let me do my sorting on the ground.

[SOCRATES leaves. The CLOUDS gather around.]

CHORUS:
Concentrate now, knitting your brow
Toss and turn all around.
Think very hard and if you are barred
Alter your view with a bound.
Keep away sleep
From your eyes, though it’s sweet
To the spirit whenever it’s sound.

STREPSIADES: [writhing on his bed] Aha-ah! Aha-ah!

CHORUS: What’s wrong now? What’s bothering you?

STREPSIADES: I’m a wreck. I’m demolished, Eaten alive on this pallet. Bugs are buggering me from Corinth,²⁴² Munching my backside, drinking my blood, Even having a go at my balls. There’s nothing left of me at all.

CHORUS: What a song and dance you make!

STREPSIADES: What advice can you pass on?
My income’s gone, my complex-i-on.
My will to live has gone,
My slippers gone.
And on top of all this, my voice has gone.
So I myself am just about gone.

[SOCRATES enters.]

SOCRATES: You there, what are you doing? Aren’t you thinking?

STREPSIADES: Me? Oh I am, by the god of the sea, I am!

SOCRATES: And you have thought of—what?

STREPSIADES: How much of me the bugs are likely to leave behind.

SOCRATES: Oh go to blazes!

STREPSIADES: I’m there already, pal.

[SOCRATES leaves again.]

LEADER: Now don’t go all soft. Cover up,
and think of a really chintzy clever sleight of mind.

STREPSIADES: [pulling a blanket over himself ]
I’d damn like a cover-up as good as this one.

[SOCRATES comes in again.]

SOCRATES: Let’s see first what the fellow’s up to. You there, are you asleep?

STREPSIADES: That, by Apollo, I am not.

SOCRATES: Absolutely not?

STREPSIADES: All except for my prick, which I’m holding on to.

SOCRATES: I’ll thank you to keep it covered. Now think—and quick.

STREPSIADES: And I’ll thank you, dear Socrates, to tell me what.

SOCRATES: Well, for a start, tell me exactly what you’re after.

STREPSIADES: You’ve heard that a billion times:
I’m after annihilation of what I owe in interest to anyone.

SOCRATES:
Very well, do this:
cover up well, unleash your thought, prune it a little,
analyze the problem piece by piece,
sort it out, and scrutinize.

STREPSIADES: Fatuous!

SOCRATES:
Steady now! If you run into a cul-de-sac with one idea,
not to worry—put it aside, then a bit later,
bring it out into verbal play once more.

STREPSIADES: [sitting up] A . . . h! My sweet Socrakitten!

SOCRATES: What is it, oldie?

STREPSIADES: I’ve just hit on a lovely idea for interest evasion.

SOCRATES: Out with it.

STREPSIADES: Tell me, what if I . . .

SOCRATES: Go on.

STREPSIADES:
What if I bought a Thessalian sorceress
and got her to yank down the moon one night
and keep it nicely framed—like a looking glass?

SOCRATES: What good would that do?

STREPSIADES: What? If the moon never rose, I’d never have to pay interest.

SOCRATES: Why not?

STREPSIADES: Because loans are made by the month, of course.

SOCRATES: Excellent! How about this one:
say you were sued for five talents—
how would you get out of it?

STREPSIADES: How? . . . How indeed? . . . I haven’t an inkling.
This needs thought.

SOCRATES: Now don’t go and tie yourself into a knot. Let your mind float free as the breeze. . . . Well, keep it tethered—like a beetle on a string.

STREPSIADES: I’ve got it! A fabulous way of wrecking that lawsuit. Even you’ll be pleased.

SOCRATES: Pray, what?

STREPSIADES: Have you ever seen that lovely transparent stone
at the chemist that is used for lighting fires?

SOCRATES: You mean a crystal burning glass?

STREPSIADES:
That’s it. . . . Well, what if I had one of those
and when the clerk was entering the charge
I stood a little way off with the sun behind me
and simply melted the record?²⁴³

SOCRATES: Holy Graces, that’s clever!

STREPSIADES: Gee, I feel marvelous!
I’ve just struck off that five-talent lawsuit.

SOCRATES: Fine! Now have a go at this. . . .

STREPSIADES: What, I wonder.

SOCRATES: A case that you are going to lose for lack of witnesses.

STREPSIADES: Easy as pie!

SOCRATES: Go ahead.

STREPSIADES: Just before my case is called
I run off and hang myself.

SOCRATES: You don’t mean it?

STREPSIADES: By the gods, I do.
Nobody’s going to prosecute me if I’m dead.

SOCRATES: You’re driveling. Make yourself scarce: I’m not going to teach you any more.

STREPSIADES: Why not? Oh for the gods’ sake do, dear Socrates!

SOCRATES: No! It comes out of one ear as it goes into the other.
What for instance was the first thing I taught you
a moment ago?

STREPSIADES: Let me see now: first? . . . What came first? . . . Something about something to pound barleycorn in. Gosh, what was it?

SOCRATES: [turning his back] Go to the crows, you daft scatty old
fossil!

STREPSIADES: Terrible! What’s going to happen to me now? I’m absolutely done for if I don’t learn the art of screwing the tongue. Dear Clouds, tell me what to do—please.

LEADER: May we suggest this, old man: if you have a grown son,
send him in your place.

STREPSIADES: I do have a son, a fine young man and good to
look at
but he doesn’t want to learn.
So what can I do?

LEADER: And you allow that?

STREPSIADES: You see, he’s a hard-bodied fellow and strongly
built,
an offshoot of Coisyra and her snooty line.
But let me go and get him, and if he won’t come,
I’ll darn well throw him out of the home.

[STREPSIADES goes into the house.]

CHORUS: [addressing SOCRATES] You realize that very soon It’s going to pay off? Leave it to us gods to see to that. Here is a man Who’s ready to grant you every boon. See how impressionable he is—struck by the moon. So get a move on to make your buck. This kind of luck is over all too soon.

[STREPSIADES enters pushing PHIDIPPIDES along.]

STREPSIADES: Holy smoke, you’re not staying in this house
a moment longer! You can go and picnic instead
in Uncle Big’s²⁴⁴ portico.

PHIDIPPIDES: For heaven’s sake, Dad, what’s eating you? By Zeus of Olympus, you’re sick in the head!

STREPSIADES: Zeus of Olympus? How stupid can you be—
a big boy like you believing in Zeus!

PHIDIPPIDES: And you think that’s hilarious?

STREPSIADES:
I do: a baby like you with the convictions of an ancient!
Forget it, and stick close to me
if you want to broaden your mind.
I’ll tell you something that’ll make a man of you
when you understand.
But it’s something you must swear to keep to yourself.

PHIDIPPIDES: Fine! What else?

STREPSIADES: You swear by Zeus?

PHIDIPPIDES: I do.

STREPSIADES: And are ready to see what education can do for you?

[PHIDIPPIDES nods his head.]

Then, my dear Phidippides, there is no Zeus.

PHIDIPPIDES: Then who’s boss?

STREPSIADES: Spin.²⁴⁵ Spin has given Zeus the push.

PHIDIPPIDES: Man, you’re drooling!

STREPSIADES: Believe me, it’s true.

PHIDIPPIDES: Who says so?

STREPSIADES: Socrates of Melos²⁴⁶ and Chaerephon,
the expert on fleas’ toes.

PHIDIPPIDES: You believe ninnies like that? You’re off your rocker!

STREPSIADES: Watch your mouth,
and don’t you dare be a mocker
about such wise and perspicacious men
who are so stingy that not one of them
will treat himself to a haircut or a cream massage,
let alone a bath.
Whereas you,
you spend your whole life washing—
getting ready for my funeral, I suppose.
Now hurry up and take my place at school.

PHIDIPPIDES: From that lot of people what do you expect to find?

STREPSIADES: You want the truth? Whatever makes sense to humankind. And as for you, you’ll discover how ignorant and dense you are. . . . Wait here a minute.

[He goes into the Thinkpot.]

PHIDIPPIDES: Glory be, Dad’s gone completely dotty! Should I have him certified in court or go to the undertaker and make a report?

[STREPSIADES returns with a servant carrying two chickens: a cock and a hen.]

STREPSIADES: [exhibiting one of the chickens] Come on now, tell me what you think this is.

PHIDIPPIDES: A fowl.

STREPSIADES: [holding out the other] Quite right. And this?

PHIDIPPIDES: A fowl.

STREPSIADES: The same for both? That’s a howl! In the future call one a he-fowl and the other a she-fowl.

PHIDIPPIDES: He-fowl and she-fowl? Ha! So that’s the sum of the immense learning you got by being with those giants of intelligence?

STREPSIADES: That and much more. The only trouble is,
everything I learn I forget at once.
I’m just too old.

PHIDIPPIDES: And that’s why you also lost your jacket?

STREPSIADES: Not lost, just put in suspension.

PHIDIPPIDES: And your shoes—suspended, too—you dunce.

STREPSIADES: As in the famous words of Pericles,²⁴⁷
entered as “miscellaneous expenditure.”
But come along, get a move on, let’s go.
Just to please your dad, be a little lax.
Don’t forget I’ve done the same for you:
yes, when you were a tiny tot of six
and I spent the first obol that I earned for jury work
on buying you a toy cart at the Diasia.²⁴⁸

PHIDIPPIDES: You’ll be sorry for this one day—it sucks!

STREPSIADES: Never mind that. At least you came when I asked.

[They walk to the entrance of the Thinkpot.]

Come on out, Socrates! Out with you!
I’ve brought my son with me, though he didn’t want to come.
SOCRATES: [emerging from the Thinkpot and eyeing PHIDIPPIDES up and
down]
But he’s still a baby!
He’ll have no idea what gives here.

PHIDIPPIDES: Go, give yourself a rope and get hanged.

STREPSIADES: Blast you! How dare you swear at your instructor!

SOCRATES: Did you notice the babyish way he said “wope”
and the loose little move he made with his lips?
How can such a one be a good defendant in any court,

or ever win a case, or effectively talk?
Of course, Hyperbolus did, but at a cost.

STREPSIADES: No matter, teach him anyway. He’s naturally smart. Why, even when he was a tiny tot, he used to sit inside making clay huts and cutting out boats and shaping carts, all from fig wood, and frogs from pomegranates—a marvel to behold. Only make sure he masters those two arguments: the Good Reason—whatever that may be—and the Bad, the one that turns the wrong into right. If he can’t manage both, at least teach him the Bad.

SOCRATES: The Arguments themselves will teach him. . . . I’ll go and bring them forth.

[SOCRATES leaves and presently MR. GOOD REASON arrives.]²⁴⁹

MR. GOOD REASON: [summoning MR. BAD REASON] Come on out into
full sight.
You surely are not shy.

[MR. BAD REASON swaggers out.]

MR. BAD REASON: Don’t be silly! The more there are in the show,
the more will see me flatten you.

MR. GOOD REASON: You’ll flatten me? Who d’you think yourself to be?

MR. BAD REASON: Reason.

MR. GOOD REASON: Bad reason.

MR. BAD REASON: Even so, I’ll demolish you,
better than me though you think you are.

MR. GOOD REASON: By a trick, no doubt.

MR. BAD REASON: By original thought.

MR. GOOD REASON: Quite in fashion, I see: thanks to these nitwits here.

MR. BAD REASON: Not nitwits at all. Damned intelligent folk.

MR. GOOD REASON: Even so, I’ll finish you off in a stroke.

MR. BAD REASON: Really! Pray how?

MR. GOOD REASON: The plea of justice shall be my stake.

MR. BAD REASON: And I’ll refute you and turn you on your head.
Don’t you know that Justice is dead?

MR. GOOD REASON: Oh really?

MR. BAD REASON: Well, where is she? Tell me where?

MR. GOOD REASON: With deity.

MR. BAD REASON: Ha! if that’s where Justice is,
how come Zeus hasn’t been expunged
for having his own father chained?

MR. GOOD REASON: You disgust me. You’re beyond the pale. . . . A pail, someone, to be sick in!

MR. BAD REASON: You’re just an anachronistic old clown.

MR. GOOD REASON: And you’re a nasty young bugger.

MR. BAD REASON: What a rosy compliment!

MR. GOOD REASON: And a buffoon.

MR. BAD REASON: Thanks for the lily crown!

MR. GOOD REASON: And a father killer.

MR. BAD REASON: You’re showering me with gold, please observe.

MR. GOOD REASON: With lead, more likely.

MR. BAD REASON: Quite a decoration these days, it seems to me.

MR. GOOD REASON: What a nerve!

MR. BAD REASON: How out-of-date!

MR. GOOD REASON: You’re the cause of our teenagers shunning schools.
One day the Athenians will come to know what downright
noneducation you’ve been doling out to the poor fools.

MR. BAD REASON: You desiccated relic!

MR. GOOD REASON: And you in the pink,
though once you were a beggar
posing as Telephus of Mysia²⁵⁰
and living off impish little wisecracks from your knapsack.

MR. BAD REASON: What genius, just think!

MR. GOOD REASON: What a clot who can’t!

MR. BAD REASON: Don’t mention it!

MR. GOOD REASON: And supported by the State,
whose children’s minds you warp.

MR. BAD REASON: [pointing at PHIDIPPIDES] One thing’s for sure, you prehistoric twirp, you’re not going to teach this youngster here.

MR. GOOD REASON: I certainly shall,
if he’s to be rescued from being tutored in your twaddle.

MR. BAD REASON: Come over here, boy, and let him rant. MR. GOOD REASON: Lay a finger on him and you’ll wish you hadn’t.

LEADER: [addressing MR. GOOD REASON and MR. BAD REASON in
turn]
Stop your wrangling and abuse,
Give instead an illustration:
You demonstrate how you used
To educate your young; and you
The new sophistication.
That way the boy will hear both sides
And choose the school that he decides.

MR. GOOD REASON: That’s all right with me.

MR. BAD REASON: Me, too.

LEADER: Good! Who’s speaking first?

MR. BAD REASON: He can go first
And no matter what he speaks
I’ll shoot him down with new ideas
And modern idioms till he freaks
Out; but if he rears or even durst
Give a whimper, I’ll sting his cheeks
And both his eyes—a punitive
Forensic wasp—and he will give
His last gasp.

CHORUS: Now we shall see who is superior In debate and common sense; Yes, and also word defense. Which of the two will appear

The better in his speech?
The very moment is here
When the wisdom of each
Depends on a toss of the die.
We see a mighty contest lie
Between these friends of mine:
Ah, which will shine?

LEADER: [addressing MR. GOOD REASON]
Many were the gifts of civilization
With which you graced an older generation.
Now spell out for us from the center of your soul
The nature of your role.

MR. GOOD REASON:
Fine! Let me describe to you
how a boy was educated in the days of my prime
when I was promulgating what was right
and common decency was the norm.
Rule number one was:
not a murmur, not a syllable out of a boy;
then that the boys of each clan
should walk through the streets together
and in good order on their way
to the music master.
They walked without coats even if the snow
was coming down as thick as bran.
He’d make them get a song by heart:
a song like “Pallas, you city-sacker,”
or “I heard a cry from afar,” while making sure
they kept their thighs apart
from touching one another,
and that their voices followed the old uses
their fathers had handed down.
If any boy began to fool around
or jazz up a song in the rubbishy way singers do now
in fake Phrynisy,²⁵¹ he’d get a sound thrashing
for trying to blot out the Muses.

At the trainer’s²⁵²
a boy had to sit with his legs crossed
so’s not to torment any viewer with lust,
and when he stood up he had to smooth down the sand
so’s to erase the imprint of his young virility
from the gaze of any gloaters.

In those days
no boy would anoint himself with oil below the navel,
and his genitals were a marvel
in their downy, dewy bloom—like ripe apricots.

No boy would affect a trickling simper
to make a lover get the hots
or mince around with come-hithering glances.

At dinner, the chance was
he couldn’t even help himself to a radish
or grab a bunch of dill
or a head of parsley until his elders had it,
and certainly not have his fill of any of the serious stuff.

At meals he couldn’t giggle
or sit with his legs crossed, and if—

MR. BAD REASON: How archaic! How old-fashioned and out-of-date!
Like some antediluvian dithyrambic festival of Zeus²⁵³
with its bovine massacres and grasshopper brooches.²⁵⁴

MR. GOOD REASON: Say what you like. It was along these lines
that the men of Marathon^§ were bred,

whereas you, you teach our young men
to muffle up in greatcoats.
It sends me into a fury when I see one of them
dance Pallas Athena’s martial dance steps
screening his butt with a shield,²⁵⁵
quite ignoring Athena.
And so, my boy, feel compelled
to vote for me, Good Reason, and you’ll learn
to despise the market square
and to keep away from the public baths,
and to feel ashamed at what is shameful,
and to catch fire if someone laughs
at you, and to stand when older people enter,
and to offer them your chair.
And you won’t give your parents lip
or do anything to disgrace the face of Modesty—
like barging into the home of a dancing girl and caddishly
gawking while she chucks a little love apple at you
and you let your reputation slip.
And you’re not to answer back your father
or call him an old fogy, for remember
the years he devoted to bringing you up.

MR. BAD REASON: By Bacchus, my lad, if you do any of that
you’ll end up like Hippocrates’ sons²⁵⁶
and be called an oafish brat.

MR. GOOD REASON: On the contrary, you’ll be a sleek and fresh
youth
and spend your time in healthy exercise,
not jabbering in the Plaza about some current aberration
or being hauled into court because of some abstruse

pifflingly-boring-nitpickingly-daft-accusation.²⁵⁷
Instead you’ll be in the precincts of the Academy,²⁵⁸
crowned with white flowers
under the sacramental olive trees;
and you’ll run races with a nice straightforward boy
your own age, and smell of honeysuckle and be
gloriously free,
with the pale catkins of the poplars gently falling by
and you celebrating the joy
of the spring that overwhelms . . .
and the maples murmuring to the elms.

[He breaks into song and dance.]^‡

If you do this, let me tell you
(And never let it slip your mind)
You’ll always win
A glistening chest and glowing skin,
Broad shoulders, a small tongue,
A mighty bottom and a tiny prong.^§
If on the other hand you go in
For the present
Way of behaving, then you’ll gain
A puny chest, a doughy skin,
Narrow shoulders, a lolloping tongue,
A tiny bottom and a long harangue.
And he’ll have you believing wrong is right,
That foul is fair and fair is quite
Foul; and to be outrageous

He’ll make Antimachus’²⁵⁹ buggery contagious.

CHORUS: Oh what a tower
Of wisdom you teach, and the flower
That blossoms from your words is sweet.
Oh to have lived in the time of Cronus,
What a bonus!

[turning to MR. BAD REASON]

You’ll need all the specious art you’ve got
To rebut him and defend your tommyrot.
Your antagonist
Knows every twist.

LEADER: It looks as though you’ll have to be darn clever
To rebut him and not come a thumping cropper.

MR. BAD REASON:
As a matter of fact I’ve got
a bellyache from waiting to thrash your trash.
Not for nothing did I get
the name Bad Reason in the higher echelons of eggheadhood.
I was the first to make it understood
that reason could undermine the just premises of the good.

[turning to PHIDIPPIDES]

It’s worth millions to know the trick
of making wrong reason right and win.
Just watch me as I wreck
the education he believes in.
Number one: he won’t let you have a hot bath.
What on earth is wrong with a hot bath?

MR. GOOD REASON: They’re the worst thing for a man and turn him
into a sissy.

MR. BAD REASON: That’s a laugh!
I’ve got you in a clinch.
Of Zeus’s sons, pray tell me, which one
was the most macho and got away with the most amazing
tasks?

MR. GOOD REASON: I’d say Heracles. He couldn’t be outclassed.

MR. BAD REASON: And did you ever hear
of Heracles ever having a cold bath,²⁶⁰
yet no man manlier?

MR. GOOD REASON: There you go—like a teenager!
Day after day that’s the sort of shitty thing
they chatter about,
emptying the training schools and crowding the public baths.

MR. BAD REASON:
You blame them for loafing round the Plaza,
I commend them.
If this were something wrong
Homer couldn’t have referred to Nestor
and the other worthies as “Plaza men.”²⁶¹
And when it comes to the tongue,
my adversary thinks that it’s something young
men shouldn’t exercise.
I say they certainly should.
He says, too, they ought to be well behaved.
What a couple of fallacies!
Have you ever seen anyone get a scrap of good
from being well behaved? Tell me.

MR. GOOD REASON: Heaps of people, Peleus for one.
That’s how he got his dagger.²⁶²

MR. BAD REASON: Huh, a dagger!
What a sophisticated present for the poor chump!
Not like Hyperbolus,²⁶³ who sells lamps
and has made a fortune being a tramp.
He never gets a dagger—no, sir!

MR. GOOD REASON: But Peleus got to marry Thetis
because of his good behavior.

MR. BAD REASON: And because of that got to lose her.
He was too much of a gentleman and missed all the fun
that a night under the sheets is.
A woman enjoys being played with, and all you are
is a boring old Cronus.

[addressing PHIDIPPIDES]

Make a list, my lad. Consider the onus
on good behavior and all the pleasures that you lose with it:
boys, women, cards, good food and drink, hilarity.
Cut these out, and what’s the point of living?
Now turn to what nature says is the real necessity:
falling in love, a few mistakes, a bout of
adultery, at which if you’re caught and can’t talk your way out of,
you’ll need me as guide.
Then you can plunge headlong into everything
and let your nature really let fling
to gambol and have fun with no thought of shame.
Should you ever get caught prick-handed, simply blame
Zeus and say: “Look at him—the randy old thing!
It’s not at all odd;
he didn’t show up too well with women.
How can you expect a mortal to be better than a god?”

MR. GOOD REASON: But what if, misled by you,
he gets himself raped with a radish
and singed on the pate with hot ash?²⁶⁴
How can he defend himself from being buggered?

MR. BAD REASON: What’s wrong with being buggered?

MR. GOOD REASON: You mean, what’s right with it?

MR. BAD REASON: What’ll you say if on this I have you squelched?

MR. GOOD REASON: I’ll shut up. What else?

MR. BAD REASON: Good! Now tell me, where do our lawyers stem from?

MR. GOOD REASON: From buggerhood.

MR. BAD REASON: Quite right! And our tragedians?

MR. GOOD REASON: From buggerhood.

MR. BAD REASON: Good! And politicians?

MR. GOOD REASON: Buggerhood.

MR. BAD REASON: So admit you’re stumped. . . . Look at this bunch
here.
Guess what most of them are.

MR. GOOD REASON: I’m looking.

MR. BAD REASON: And what do you espy?

MR. GOOD REASON: [gazing intently]
Heavens above, they’re all buggers!
Most of them are:
This one here, and that one there,
And this one with the lanky hair.

MR. BAD REASON: So what do you say now?

MR. GOOD REASON: I’m buggered. I give up. Don my mantle, for the gods’ sakes. I Am through. I’m going over to you.

[MR. GOOD REASON hurries away.]

MR. BAD REASON: [to STREPSIADES] What next? Do you want me to take this boy of yours home or take him in hand and teach him how to shoot the breeze?

STREPSIADES: Take him and teach him
and whip him into shape until he’s
honed on one side of his dial for the small suits
and on the other for the bigger stuff.

MR. BAD REASON: Not to worry! You’ll have him back a sophist not
by half.

PHIDIPPIDES: No doubt with a miserable, pasty, fanatical face!

CHORUS: Off with you, buzz!

[As PHIDIPPIDES is led into the Thinkpot, the CHORUS turns to STREPSIADES.]

I’m sorry for you. You’ll come to regret this.

[STREPSIADES goes into his house.]

LEADER: [addressing spectators] We want to tell you what the judges get for helping Us the Chorus—which is what they’re meant to do. For a start we’ll send them rains in times of plowing On their fields before the rest, who have to queue. Secondly, we’ll keep a watch on crops and vines for drought or flooding. So understand the kind of fines that we exact On any mortal who detracts from us as goddesses: he’ll get no wine; He’ll get nothing from his whole estate. When his olives and his grapes are almost ready We’ll blast them to bits, and if we see him making bricks, We’ll shower on them and rain a steady storm of hailstones On his roof tiles turning them to dust. And if a wedding (family, friends, his own) is coming up, We’ll pour down rain all through the night until he wished he lived in Egypt, Realizing his mistake and what he missed.

STREPSIADES: [entering] The fifth, fourth, third, second,
finally day one, the worst day of all, I reckon:
It scares the crap out of me and turns me into jelly,
because it’s the month’s last day and vigil of the first,
when my creditors, to a man, come down on me
ready to nail me in court and wipe me out.

I plead for clemency and reason:
“Have a heart—not this one,
not now, let it go. . . . Oh, and that one, forget it.”
Their retort is: “We’ll not get paid like that,”
and they shout: “Swindler, we’ll see you in court.”
Go ahead, let them sue me. It’s not at all bad
once Phidippides has mastered the gift of the gab.
I’ll knock at the Thinkpot and find out.
Hey there, boy! Boy, open up!

[SOCRATES comes out.]

SOCRATES: So it’s you, Strepsiades. STREPSIADES: Vice versa, Socrates.

[He fumbles and hands SOCRATES a tiny coin.]

Accept this, please.
It’s only right to remunerate a teacher.
Now, about my son, tell me:
Has he learned that Argument you were airing lately?

SOCRATES: He has indeed.

STREPSIADES: Bravo, you wonderful old fraud!

SOCRATES: Now you can wriggle out of any case you like.

STREPSIADES: Even if witnesses saw me getting paid?

SOCRATES: Even if a thousand did. The more the merrier.

STREPSIADES: [skipping and singing]
Allow me to bellow my head off.
You usurers have come to grief.
With your capital sums
And your interest-on-interest runs
You can molest me no longer:
Not with a boy like mine, I think not,
(For he’s
A homebred son of this house),
With his shining sword of a tongue:

My bulwark, savior, enemy baiter,
His father’s salvation, this house’s,
From falling.
Run along, someone, and summon him here:
My child, my boy, come out of the Thinkpot,
Your father is calling.

[SOCRATES goes into the Thinkpot and leads out PHIDIPPIDES.]

SOCRATES: Here’s your man.

STREPSIADES: Dear beloved boy!

SOCRATES: Take him and go.

[SOCRATES reenters the Thinkpot.]

STREPSIADES: Gosh! Golly! My son,
what a primary joy it is to see your face!
And what a primary revelation, too, to gaze
on that combative, rebarbative, and contradictory
finesse upon your features, that
“What d’you mean by that?” dismissal, that
look of innocence when guilty and caught red-handed;
how well I know that look!—oh yes,
you’ve got Athenian airs down to a T. . . .
Well then, now’s the time for you to save me,
you who wrecked me.

PHIDIPPIDES: Save you from what?

STREPSIADES: The Old Day and the New.

PHIDIPPIDES: You mean the Old Day is the New?

STREPSIADES: I mean the bloody day they file proceedings.

PHIDIPPIDES: They’ll be disappointed. Day Number One
can’t also be Day Number Two.

STREPSIADES: Can’t it?

PHIDIPPIDES: No more than an old crone can be a girl.

STREPSIADES: But that’s the rule.

PHIDIPPIDES: Probably because they don’t know the law.

STREPSIADES: In what way?

PHIDIPPIDES: Well, think back to Solon the holy,²⁶⁵ who laid
down
the days for filing suits on the Old Day and the New,
that is, on the day of the new moon.

STREPSIADES: But why did he even bother with the Old Day?

PHIDIPPIDES:
Because, dear Pop,
it gave defendants the chance
of settling out of court the day before.
Otherwise, they had to face the hearings
on the morrow of the new moon.

STREPSIADES: Morrow of the new moon? Why that, instead
of the Old Day and the New?

PHIDIPPIDES: Because, like the food testers before a spread,
tasting a day early gave them a better chance
to line their pockets.

STREPSIADES: Bravo, son! [He turns to the audience.]
You morons, you good for nothings,
how can you sit there like that—like
dumb stones, ciphers, throng
of sheep, and amphoras with nothing in them,
when my son and I, we men of brains,
are minting lashings
of money? I
cannot refrain
from bursting into song
to celebrate this son of mine and me.
“Lucky Strepsiades,
Born so wise
With such a clever son!”
That’s what my friends will say
And my neighbors, too,
When you have won
My suits in court
With your brilliant talk.
But let’s go home, and in a
Festive mood for dinner.

[STREPSIADES and PHIDIPPIDES go into the house as FIRST CREDITOR arrives with WITNESS.]

FIRST CREDITOR: [to WITNESS]
A man surely isn’t expected to jettison his livelihood?
It would have been better and aboveboard
never to have made this deal
than to be putting up with all this rigmarole.
Here am I hauling you along as witness
all because of a financial favor—and this as well:
making an enemy of a man who is my neighbor.
All the same, I can’t refuse
and let my country down, so here and now
I arraign Strepsiades. . . .

STREPSIADES: [stepping out of the house] Who’s that?

FIRST CREDITOR: . . . to appear in court on the Old Day and the New.

STREPSIADES: [to BYSTANDERS] Notice, all of you,
he said two days. . . . So what’s it all about?

FIRST CREDITOR: A debt:
the twelve minas you borrowed to buy
that dapple gray roan.

STREPSIADES: Roan? Did you hear that? You all know how I hate anything horsey.

FIRST CREDITOR: Holy Zeus, you swore by heaven to repay me!

STREPSIADES: Holy Zeus, it can’t be done!
At that time my Phidippides hadn’t yet learned
the Unanswerable Argument.

FIRST CREDITOR: And that’s the reason you repudiate the debt?

STREPSIADES: How else can I recover the fees for his tuition?

FIRST CREDITOR: And you’re ready to swear by the gods
that you owe me naught?

STREPSIADES: Which gods?

FIRST CREDITOR: Zeus, Hermes, Poseidon.

STREPSIADES: Zeus! . . . I’d lay on another three obols
to swear by Zeus.

FIRST CREDITOR: Your flippancy, I hope in time,
will be something you collide on.

STREPSIADES: [patting FIRST CREDITOR’s stomach] Steeped in brine this could make a lovely wineskin.

FIRST CREDITOR: Is that a joke?

STREPSIADES: It could hold three gallons.

FIRST CREDITOR: By almighty Zeus and all the gods,
I’ll not put up with this bloke.

STREPSIADES: “By all the gods”—ha ha—that’s neat! And swearing by Zeus—so sophisticatedly funny!

FIRST CREDITOR: You’ll pay for this one day, take good note,
and I’m not moving till you tell me I’m getting back
my money.

STREPSIADES: [going into the house] Just a moment and I
shall be back with my reply.

FIRST CREDITOR: [to WITNESS] What d’you think he’ll do? Cough up?

[STREPSIADES reappears carrying a pastry bowl.]

STREPSIADES: You there, who are putting the squeeze on me,
what’s this—a cup?

FIRST CREDITOR: That? A pastry bowl.

STREPSIADES: And you expect me to cough up after an answer like
that?
I wouldn’t give one measly obol
to someone who calls a basin a pastry bowl.

FIRST CREDITOR: So you’re not paying?

STREPSIADES: Not as far as I can gather. . . . Now off with you,
remove yourself, and pronto, from my front door.

FIRST CREDITOR: I’m going, but of this be sure:
I’m putting down a deposit for a suit
if it’s the last thing I do.

STREPSIADES: Throwing money after the twelve minas to boot? Far be it from me to wish that on you

just because you were silly enough to call
a basin a pastry bowl.

[Exit FIRST CREDITOR and WITNESS as SECOND CREDITOR appears.]

SECOND CREDITOR: My, oh my!

STREPSIADES: Do I hear groans? One of Carcinus’²⁶⁶ myrmidons perhaps.

SECOND CREDITOR: Who am I? You want to know? An unhappy sap.

STREPSIADES: Ssh! Keep it to yourself.

SECOND CREDITOR: O cruel goddess! Oh dire mishap
that smashed my chariot! O Pallas, thou hast undone me.²⁶⁷

STREPSIADES: What has Thempolamus²⁶⁸ ever done to you?

SECOND CREDITOR: Don’t taunt me, my good sir.
Just tell your son to pay
me my money back.

STREPSIADES: Money? What money?

SECOND CREDITOR: The money he borrowed.

STREPSIADES: You really are in a bad way.

SECOND CREDITOR: I should think so. I fell off my trap.

STREPSIADES: The way you’re blabbering,
I’d say you fell on your noggin.

SECOND CREDITOR: Me, blabbering,
when all I want is my money back?

STREPSIADES: Your money back? What about your reason?

SECOND CREDITOR: What d’you mean?

STREPSIADES: I’m inclined to think your brain’s gone.

SECOND CREDITOR: And I’m inclined to think
you’re getting a writ served on you if you don’t pay up.

STREPSIADES: And are you inclined to think
that Zeus rains freshwater
every time it rains or does the sun suck up
the water that’s already there?

SECOND CREDITOR: I don’t know and I don’t care.

STREPSIADES: Then how can you possibly ask for money
when you’re so meteorologically illiterate?

SECOND CREDITOR: Look, if you’re strapped for cash
just let me have interest on the loan.

STREPSIADES: Interest? What kind of animal is that?

SECOND CREDITOR: Nothing less than the tendency of money
to multiply itself day by day
and month by month, on and on.

STREPSIADES: Very true, but do you think the sea
is fuller now than it used to be?

SECOND CREDITOR: Of course not, it’s the same.
To be fuller would be against nature.

STREPSIADES: Really, you poor nit! So if the sea never gets fuller even if rivers pour into it, how can you possibly expect your money to get fuller? So write yourself right off my estate. Boy, bring me a stake.

SECOND CREDITOR: [to BYSTANDERS] You’re witnesses to this!

STREPSIADES: Gee up, you branded nag;
What’s holding you? Get trotting.

SECOND CREDITOR: The nerve! Can you beat it?

STREPSIADES: Move, or I’ll ram this stake
right up your beastly arse.

[SECOND CREDITOR flees.]

Galloping away? Of course!
I knew that would shift you—
you with your wheels and teams of horse.

[STREPSIADES enters his house.]

STROPHE
CHORUS: What an obsession a lust for shady business is!
Consider this old hick,
Eaten up with this thought of his
Not to repay the money he owes;

And today there’ll be no way that he will lack
Getting himself embroiled in one of those
Fiddles. And that will pay this sophist back
For all the nuisances he’s hatched.

ANTISTROPHE
For I’m sure he’ll soon discover
That which he’s been after:
A son devilishly smart
At twisting truth to make what’s wrong
Right, and beating everyone
No matter how malign the art.
But there’s a chance a chance may come
He’ll dearly wish his son were dumb.

[STREPSIADES bolts out of the house pursued by PHIDIPPIDES flourishing a baton.]

STREPSIADES: Help! Help! Neighbors, demesmen, kin,
save me. Do whatever you can.
I’m being battered . . . my head! my jaw! . . .
You brute, you’d beat your own father?

PHIDIPPIDES: You bet, Papa!

STREPSIADES: You see, he blithely admits it!

PHIDIPPIDES: Sure!

STREPSIADES: Monster, father killer, criminal!

PHIDIPPIDES: Go on, call me anything you want.
I get a thrill being cursed to hell.

STREPSIADES: Brute arsehole!

PHIDIPPIDES: Cumber me with roses!

STREPSIADES: You’d beat your father?

PHIDIPPIDES: Yes, by God, and I can prove I’m right.

STREPSIADES: Savage! How could it be right to beat a father?

PHIDIPPIDES: I’ll show you how, and I’ll justify it.

STREPSIADES: You’ll justify it?

PHIDIPPIDES: Rather, and with ease.
Choose the argument you want to use:
one of the two.

STREPSIADES: One of the two?

PHIDIPPIDES: The Good Reason or the Bad?

STREPSIADES: By Zeus, my boy, if you can sustain the claim
that it’s right and proper
for fathers to be beaten by their sons, I am
really glad I taught you so well
how to undermine the right.

PHIDIPPIDES: I’m sure I can. And when you’ve heard,
not even you will say a word.

STREPSIADES: Go ahead. I hope it stuns.

CHORUS:
Your job, old man, is to find a way
Of vanquishing your foe,
Who must have had no doubts at all
Of how to vanquish you.
How otherwise could he display
Such keenness for the duel?

LEADER: It’s up to you, old man, to tell the Chorus
how this altercation started, which anyway you’ll do.

STREPSIADES: Willingly, I’ll tell you what began this bickering.
At that dinner I told you of, the first thing
that happened was when I asked him
to fetch his lyre and sing
that song by Simonides called “The Fleecing of the Ram,”
He replied on the dot
that to play the lyre and sing at a party
was terribly old ham—
like a woman plucking barley.

PHIDIPPIDES: Quite right! And you should have been squashed on the
spot.
Fancy asking me to warble away
like someone entertaining cicadas!