The old man tries to escape, and these attempts are conceived in the wildest vein of extravaganza. He endeavours to get out by the chimney, pretending he is “only the smoke”; and all hands rush to clap a cover on the chimney-top, and a big stone on that. He slips through a hole in the tiles, and sits on the roof, pretending to be “only a sparrow”; and they have to set a net to catch him. Then the Chorus of Wasps, representing Philocleon’’s fellow ‘dicasts,’ appear on the scene to rescue him. A battle royal takes place on the stage; the Wasps, with their formidable stings, trying to storm the house, while the son and his retainers defend their position with desperate courage. Finally the assailants are repulsed, and father and son agree upon a compromise. Bdelycleon promises, on condition that his father gives up attending the public trails, to set up a mock tribunal for him in his own house.
Presently the theft of a Sicilian cheese by the house-dog Labes gives the old fellow an opportunity of exercising his judicial functions. Labes is duly arraigned and witnesses examines. But alas! Philocleon inadvertently casts his vote for the defendant’s acquittal, the first time in his life “such a thing has ever occurred,” and the old man nearly dies of vexation.
At this point follows the ‘Parabasis,’ or Author’s personal address to the audience, after which the concluding portion of the play has little connection with the main theme. This is a fault, according to modern ideas, common to many of these Comedies, but it is especially marked in this particular instance. The final part might almost be a separate play, under the title perhaps of ‘The dicast turned gentleman,’ and relates various ridiculous mistakes and laughable blunders committed by Philocleon, who, having given up his attendance on the law-courts, has set up for playing a part in polite society.
The drama, as was very often the case, takes its title from the Chorus — a band of old men dressed up as wasps, who acrimonious, stinging, exasperated temper is meant to typify the character fostered among Athenian citizens by excessive addiction to forensic business.
Racine, in the only comedy he attempted, ‘Les Plaideurs,’ borrows the incident of the mock trial of the house-dog, amplifying and adding further diverting features.
Perhaps ‘The Wasps’ is the least amusing of all our Author’s pieces which have come down to us — at any rate to a modern reader. The theme of its satire, the litigious spirit of the Athenians, is after all purely local and temporary, while the fun often strikes us as thin and forced. Schlegel writes in his ‘Dramatic Literature’: “The subject is too limited, the folly it ridicules appears a disease of too singular a description, without a sufficient universality of application, and the action is too much drawn out.”
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
PHILOCLEON, a Dicast.
BDELYCLEON, his Son.
SOSIAS, House-servant of Philocleon.
XANTHIAS, House-servant of Philocleon.
BOYS.
A DOG.
A BAKER’S WIFE.
ACCUSER.
CHORUS OF ELDERS, costumed as Wasps.
SCENE: Philocleon’s house at Athens.
THE WASPS
SOSIAS. Why, Xanthias! what are you doing, wretched man?
XANTHIAS. I am teaching myself how to rest; I have been awake and on watch the whole night.
SOSIAS. So you want to earn trouble for your ribs, eh? Don’t you know what sort of an animal we are guarding here?
XANTHIAS. Aye indeed! but I want to put my cares to sleep for a while.
SOSIAS. Beware what you do. I too feel soft sleep spreading over my eyes.
Resist it, for you must be as mad as a Corybant if you fall asleep.
XANTHIAS. No! ’Tis Bacchus who lulls me off.
SOSIAS. Then you serve the same god as myself. Just now a heavy slumber settled on my eyelids like a hostile Mede; A nodded and, faith! I had a wondrous dream.
XANTHIAS. Indeed! and so had I. A dream such as I never had before. But first tell me yours.
SOSIAS. Methinks I saw an eagle, a gigantic bird, descend upon the market-place; it seized a brazen buckler with its talons and bore it away into the highest heavens; then I saw ’twas Cleonymus had thrown it away.
XANTHIAS. This Cleonymus is a riddle worth propounding among guests. How can one and the same animal have cast away his buckler both on land, in the sky and at sea?
SOSIAS. Alas! what ill does such a dream portend for me?
XANTHIAS. Rest undisturbed! An it please the gods, no evil will befall you.
SOSIAS. Nevertheless, ’tis a fatal omen when a man throws away his weapons. But what was your dream? Let me hear.
XANTHIAS. Oh! it is a dream of high import. It has reference to the hull of the State; to nothing less.
SOSIAS. Tell it me quickly; show me its very keel.
XANTHIAS. In my first slumber I thought I saw sheep, wearing cloaks and carrying staves, met in assembly on the Pnyx; a rapacious whale was haranguing them and screaming like a pig that is being grilled.
SOSIAS. Faugh! faugh!
XANTHIAS. What’s the matter?
SOSIAS. Enough, enough, spare me. Your dream stinks vilely of old leather.
XANTHIAS. Then this scoundrelly whale seized a balance and set to weighing ox-fat.
SOSIAS. Alas! ’tis our poor Athenian people, whom this accursed beast wished to cut up and despoil of their fat.
XANTHIAS. Seated on the ground close to it, I saw Theorus, who had the head of a crow. The Alcibiades said to me in his lisping way, “Do you thee? Theoruth hath a crow’th head.”
SOSIAS. Ah! ’twas very well lisped indeed!
XANTHIAS. This is might strange; Theorus turning into a crow!
SOSIAS. No, it is glorious.
XANTHIAS. Why?
SOSIAS. Why? He was a man and now he has suddenly become a crow; does it not foretoken that he will take his flight from here and go to the crows?
XANTHIAS. Interpreting dreams so aptly certainly deserves two obols.
SOSIAS. Come, I must explain the matter to the spectators. But first a few words of preamble: expect nothing very high-flown from us, nor any jests stolen from Megara; we have no slaves, who throw baskets of nuts to the spectators, nor any Heracles to be robbed of his dinner, nor is Euripides loaded with contumely; and despite the happy chance that gave Cleon his fame we shall not go out of our way to belabour him again. Our little subject is not wanting in sense; it is well within your capacity and at the same time cleverer than many vulgar Comedies. — We have a master of great renown, who is now sleeping up there on the other story. He has bidden us keep guard over his father, whom he has locked in, so that he may not go out. This father has a curious complaint; not one of you could hit upon or guess it, if I did not tell you. — Well then, try! I hear Amynias, the son of Pronapus, over there, saying, “He is addicted to gambling.”
XANTHIAS. He’s wrong! He is imputing his own malady to others.
SOSIAS. No, yet love is indeed the principal part of his disease. Ah! here is Sosias telling Dercylus, “He loves drinking.”
XANTHIAS. Not at all! The love of wine is the complaint of good men.
SOSIAS. “Well then,” says Nicostratus of the Scambonian deme, “he either loves sacrifices or else strangers.”
XANTHIAS. Ah! great gods! no, he is not fond of strangers, Nicostratus, for he who says “Philoxenus” means a dirty fellow.
SOSIAS. ’Tis mere waste of time, you will not find it out. If you want to know it, keep silence! I will tell you our master’s complaint: of all men, it is he who is fondest of the Heliaea. Thus, to be judging is his hobby, and he groans if he is not sitting on the first seat. He does not close an eye at night, and if he dozes off for an instant his mind flies instantly to the clepsydra. He is so accustomed to hold the balloting pebble, that he awakes with his three fingers pinched together as if he were offering incense to the new moon. If he sees scribbled on some doorway, “How charming is Demos, the son of Pyrilampes!” he will write beneath it, “How charming is Cemos!” His cock crowed one ev
ening; said he, “He has had money from the accused to awaken me too late.” As soon as he rises from supper he bawls for his shoes and away he rushes down there before dawn to sleep beforehand, glued fast to the column like an oyster. He is a merciless judge, never failing to draw the convicting line and return home with his nails full of wax like a bumble-bee. Fearing he might run short of pebbles he keeps enough at home to cover a sea-beach, so that he may have the means of recording his sentence. Such is his madness, and all advice is useless; he only judges the more each day. So we keep him under lock and key, to prevent his going out; for his son is broken-hearted over this mania. At first he tried him with gentleness, wanted to persuade him to wear the cloak no longer, to go out no more; unable to convince him, he had him bathed and purified according to the ritual without any greater success, and then handed him over the the Corybantes; but the old man escaped them, and carrying off the kettle-drum, rushed right into the midst of the Heliasts. As Cybelé could do nothing with her rites, his son took him again to Aegina and forcibly made him lie one night in the temple of Asclepius, the God of Healing, but before daylight there he was to be seen at the gate of the tribunal. Since then we let him go out no more, but he escaped us by the drains or by the skylights, so we stuffed up every opening with old rags and made all secure; then he drove short sticks into the wall and sprang from rung to rung like a magpie. Now we have stretched nets all round the court and we keep watch and ward. The old man’s name is Philocleon, ’tis the best name he could have, and the son is called Bdelycleon, for he is a man very fit to cure an insolent fellow of his boasting.
BDELYCLEON. Xanthias! Sosias! Are you asleep?
XANTHIAS. Oh! oh!
SOSIAS. What is the matter?
XANTHIAS. Why, Bdelycleon is rising.
BDELYCLEON. Will neither of you come here? My father has got into the stove-chamber and is ferreting about like a rat in his hole. Take care he does not escape through the bath drain. You there, put all your weight against the door.
SOSIAS. Aye, aye, master.
BDELYCLEON. By Zeus! what is that noise in the chimney? Hullo! who are you?
PHILOCLEON. I am the smoke going up.
BDELYCLEON. Smoke? smoke of what wood?
PHILOCLEON. Of fig-wood.
BDELYCLEON. Ah! ‘this the most acrid of all. But you shall not get out. Where is the chimney cover? Come down again. Now, up with another cross-bar. Now look out some fresh dodge. But am I not the most unfortunate of men? Henceforward, I shall only be called the son of the smoky old man. Slave, hold the door stoutly, throw your weight upon it, come, put heart into the work. I will come and help you. Watch both lock and bolt. Take care he does not gnaw through the peg.
PHILOCLEON. What are you dong, you wretches? Let me go out; it is imperative that I go and judge, or Dracontides will be acquitted.
BDELYCLEON. What a dreadful calamity for you!
PHILOCLEON. Once at Delphi, the god, whom I was consulting, foretold, that if an accused man escaped me, I should die of consumption.
BDELYCLEON. Apollo, the Saviour, what a prophecy!
PHILOCLEON. Ah! I beseech you, if you do not want my death, let me go.
BDELYCLEON. No, Philocleon, no never, by Posidon!
PHILOCLEON. Well then, I shall gnaw through the net with my teeth.
BDELYCLEON. But you have no teeth.
PHILOCLEON. Oh! you rascal, how can I kill you? How? Give me a sword, quick, or a conviction tablet.
BDELYCLEON. Our friend is planning some great crime.
PHILOCLEON. No, by Zeus! but I want to go and sell my ass and its panniers, for ‘this the first of the month.
BDELYCLEON. Could I not sell it just as well?
PHILOCLEON. Not as well as I could.
BDELYCLEON. No, but better. Come, bring it here, bring it here by all means — if you can.
XANTHIAS. What a clever excuse he has found now! What cunning to get you to let him go out!
BDELYCLEON. Yes, but I have not swallowed the hook; I scented the trick. I will no in and fetch the ass, so that the old man may not point his weapons that way again…. Stupid old ass, are you weeping because you are going to be sold? Come, go a bit quicker. Why, what are you moaning and groaning for? You might be carrying another Odysseus.
XANTHIAS. Why, certainly, so he is! someone has crept beneath his belly.
BDELYCLEON. Who, who? Let us see.
XANTHIAS. ’Tis he.
BDELYCLEON. What does this mean? Who are you? Come, speak!
PHILOCLEON. I am Nobody.
BDELYCLEON. Nobody? Of what country?
PHILOCLEON. Of Ithaca, son of Apodrasippides.
BDELYCLEON. Ha! Mister Nobody, you will not laugh presently. Pull him out quick! Ah! the wretch, where has be crept to? Does he not resemble a she-ass to the life?
PHILOCLEON. If you do not leave me in peace, I shall commence proceedings.
BDELYCLEON. And what will the suit be about?
PHILOCLEON. The shade of an ass.
BDELYCLEON. You are a poor man of very little wit, but thoroughly brazen.
PHILOCLEON. A poor man! Ah! by Zeus! you know not now what I am worth; but you will know when you disembowel the old Heliast’s money bag.
BDELYCLEON. Come, get back indoors, both you and your ass.
PHILOCLEON. Oh! my brethren of the tribunal! oh! Cleon! to the rescue!
BDELYCLEON. Go and bawl in there under lock and key. And you there, pile plenty of stones against the door, thrust the bolt home into the staple, and to keep this beam in its place roll that great mortar against it. Quick’s the word.
SOSIAS. Oh! my god! whence did this brick fall on me?
XANTHIAS. Perhaps a rat loosened it.
SOSIAS. A rat? ’tis surely our gutter-judge, who has crept beneath the tiles of the roof.
XANTHIAS. Ah! woe to us! there he is, he has turned into a sparrow; he will be flying off. Where is the net? where? pschit! pschit! get back!
BDELYCLEON. Ah! by Zeus! I would rather have to guard Scioné than such a father.
SOSIAS. And how that we have driven him in thoroughly and he can no longer escape without our knowledge, can we not have a few winks of sleep, no matter how few?
BDELYCLEON. Why, wretch! the other jurymen will be here almost directly to summon my father!
SOSIAS. Why, ’tis scarcely dawn yet!
BDELYCLEON. Ah, they must have risen late to-day. Generally it is the middle of the night when they come to fetch him. They arrive here, carrying lanterns in their hands and singing the charming old verses of Phrynichus’ “Sidonian Women”; ’tis their way of calling him.
SOSIAS. Well, if need be, we will chase them off with stones.
BDELYCLEON. What! you dare to speak so? Why, this class of old men, if irritated, becomes as terrible as a swarm of wasps. They carry below their loins the sharpest of stings, with which to sting their foe; they shout and leap and their stings burn like so many sparks.
SOSIAS. Have no fear! If I can find stones to throw into this nest of jurymen-wasps, I shall soon have them cleared off.
CHORUS. March on, advance boldly and bravely! Comias, your feet are dragging; once you were as tough as a dog-skin strap and now even Charinades walks better than you. Ha! Strymodorus of Conthylé, you best of mates, where is Euergides and where is Chales of Phyla? Ha, ha, bravo! there you are, the last of the lads with whom we mounted guard together at Byzantium. Do you remember how, one night, prowling round, we noiselessly stole the kneading-trough of a baker’s-wife; we split it in two and cooked our green-stuff with it. — But let us hasten, for the case of the Laches comes on to-day, and they all say he has embezzled a pot of money. Hence Cleon, our protector, advised us yesterday to come early and with a three days’ stock of fiery rage so as to chastise him for his crimes. Let us hurry, comrades, before it is light; come, let us search every nook with our lanterns to see whether those who wish us ill have not set us some trap.
BOY. Ah! here is mud! Father, take care!
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CHORUS. Pick up a blade of straw and trim the lamp of your lantern.
BOY. No, I can trim it quite well with my finger.
CHORUS. Why do you pull out the wick, you little dolt? Oil is scarce, and ’tis not you who suffer when it has to be paid for. (Strikes him.)
BOY. If you teach us again with your fists, we shall put out the lamps and go home; then you will have no light and will squatter about in the mud like ducks in the dark.
CHORUS. I know how to punish other offenders bigger than you. But I think I am treading in some mud. Oh! ’tis certain it will rain in torrents for four days at least; look, what thieves are in our lamps; that is always a sign of heavy rain; but the rain and the north wind will be good for the crops that are still standing…. Why, what can have happened to our mate, who lives here? Why does he not come to join our party? There used to be no need to haul him in our wake, for he would march at our head singing the verses of Phrynichus; he was a lover of singing. Should we not, friends, make a halt here and sign to call him out? The charm of my voice will fetch him out, if he hears it.
Why does the old man not show himself before the door? why does he not answer? Has he lost his shoes? has he stubbed his toe in the dark and thus got a swollen ankle? Perhaps he has a tumour in his groin. He was the hardest of us all; he alone never allowed himself to be moved. If anyone tried to move him, he would lower his head, saying, “You might just as well try to boil a stone.” But I bethink me, an accused ma escaped us yesterday through his false pretence that he loved Athens and had been the first to unfold the Samian plot. Perhaps his acquittal has so distressed Philocleon that he is abed with fever — he is quite capable of such a thing. — Friend, arise, do not thus vex your hear, but forget your wrath. Today we have to judge a man made wealthy by treason, one of those who set Thrace free; we have to prepare him a funeral urn … so march on, my boy, get a-going.