PHILOCLEON. He! that thief and conspirator!
BDELYCLEON. But ’tis the best of all our dogs; he is capable of guarding a whole flock.
PHILOCLEON. And what good is that, if he eats the cheese?
BDELYCLEON. What? he fights for you, he guards your door; ’tis an excellent dog in every respect. Forgive him his larceny; he is wretchedly ignorant, he cannot play the lyre.
PHILOCLEON. I wish he did not know how to write either; then the rascal would not have drawn up his pleadings.
BDELYCLEON. Witnesses, I pray you, listen. Come forward, grafting-knife, and speak up; answer me clearly. You were paymaster at the time. Did you grate out to the soldiers what was given you? — He says he did so.
PHILOCLEON. But, by Zeus! he lies.
BDELYCLEON. Oh! have patience. Take pity on the unfortunate. Labes feeds only on fish-bones and fishes’ heads and has not an instant of peace. The other is good only to guard the house; he never moves from here, but demands his share of all that is brought in and bites those who refuse.
PHILOCLEON. Oh! Heaven! have I fallen ill? I feel my anger cooling! Woe to me! I am softening!
BDELYCLEON. Have pity, father, pity, I adjure you; you would not have him dead. Where are his puppies? Come, poor little beasties, yap, up on your haunches, beg and whine!
PHILOCLEON. Descend, descend, descend, descend!
BDELYCLEON. I will descend, although that word, “descend,” has too often raised false hope. None the less, I will descend.
PHILOCLEON. Plague seize it! Have I then done wrong to eat! What! I to be crying! Ah! I certainly should not be weeping, if I were not blown out with lentils.
BDELYCLEON. Then he is acquitted?
PHILOCLEON. I did not say so.
BDELYCLEON. Ah! my dear father, be good! be humane! Take this voting pebble and rush with your eyes closed to that second urn and, father, acquit him.
PHILOCLEON. No, I know no more how to acquit than to play the lyre.
BDELYCLEON. Come quickly, I will show you the way.
PHILOCLEON. Is this the first urn?
BDELYCLEON. Yes.
PHILOCLEON. Then I have voted.
BDELYCLEON (aside). I have fooled him and he has acquitted in spite of himself.
PHILOCLEON. Come, I will turn out the urns. What is the result?
BDELYCLEON. We shall see. — Labes, you stand acquitted. — Eh! father, what’s the matter, what is it?
PHILOCLEON. Ah me! ah me! water! water!
BDELYCLEON. Pull yourself together, sir!
PHILOCLEON. Tell me! Is he really acquitted?
BDELYCLEON. Yes, certainly.
PHILOCLEON. Then it’s all over with me!
BDELYCLEON. Courage, dear father, don’t let this afflict you so terribly.
PHILOCLEON. And so I have charged my conscience with the acquittal of an accused being! What will become of me? Sacred gods! forgive me. I did it despite myself; it is not in my character.
BDELYCLEON. Do not vex yourself, father; I will feed you well, will take you everywhere to eat and drink with me; you shall go to every feast; henceforth your life shall be nothing but pleasure, and Hyperbolus shall no longer have you for a tool. But come, let us go in.
PHILOCLEON. So be it; if you will, let us go in.
CHORUS (Parabasis). Go where it pleases you and may your happiness be great. You meanwhile, oh! countless myriads, listen to the sound counsels I am going to give you and take care they are not lost upon you. ’Twould be the fate of vulgar spectators, not that of such an audience. Hence, people, lend me your ear, if you love frank speaking. The poet has a reproach to make against his audience; he says you have ill-treated him in return for the many services he has rendered you. At first he kept himself in the background and lent help secretly to other poets, and like the prophetic Genius, who hid himself in the belly of Eurycles, slipped within the spirit of another and whispered to him many a comic hit. Later he ran the risks of the theatre on his own account, with his face uncovered, and dared to guide his Muse unaided. Though overladen with success and honours more than any of your poets, indeed despite all his glory, he does not yet believe he has attained his goal; his heart is not swollen with pride and he does not seek to seduce the young folk in the wrestling school. If any lover runs up to him to complain because he is furious at seeing the object of his passion derided on the stage, he takes no heed of such reproaches, for he is only inspired with honest motives and his Muse is no go-between. From the very outset of his dramatic career he has disdained to assail those who were men, but with a courage worthy of Heracles himself he attacked the most formidable monsters, and at the beginning went straight for that beast with the sharp teeth, with the terrible eyes that flashed lambent fire like those of Cynna, surrounded by a hundred lewd flatterers who spittle-licked him to his heart’s content; it had a voice like a roaring torrent, the stench of a seal, a foul Lamia’s testicles, and the rump of a camel. Our poet did not tremble at the sight of this horrible monster, nor did he dream of gaining him over; and again this very day he is fighting for your good. Last year besides, he attacked those pale, shivering and feverish beings who strangled your fathers in the dark, throttled your grandfathers, and who, lying in the beds of the most inoffensive, piled up against them lawsuits, summonses and witnesses to such an extent, that many of them flew in terror to the Polemarch for refuge. Such is the champion you have found to purify your country of all its evil, and last year you betrayed him, when he sowed the most novel ideas, which, however, did not strike root, because you did not understand their value; notwithstanding this, he swears by Bacchus, the while offering him libations, that none ever heard better comic verses. ’Tis a disgrace to you not to have caught their drift at once; as for the poet, he is none the less appreciated by the enlightened judges. He shivered his oars in rushing boldly forward to board his foe. But in future, my dear fellow-citizens, love and honour more those of your poets who seek to imagine and express some new thought. Make their ideas your own, keep them in your caskets like sweet-scented fruit. If you do, your clothing will emit an odour of wisdom the whole year through.
Formerly we were untiring, especially in other exercises, but ’tis over now; our brow is crowned with hair whiter than the swan. We must, however, rekindle a youthful ardour in these remnants of what was, and for myself, I prefer my old age to the curly hair and the finery of all these lewd striplings.
Should any among you spectators look upon me with wonder, because of this wasp waist, or not know the meaning of this sting, I will soon dispel his ignorance. We, who wear this appendage, are the true Attic men, who alone are noble and native to the soil, the bravest of all people. ’Tis we who, weapon in hand, have done so much for the country, when the Barbarian shed torrents of fire and smoke over our city in his relentless desire to seize our nests by force. At once we ran up, armed with lance and buckler, and, drunk with the bitter wine of anger, we gave them battle, man standing to man and rage distorting our lips. A hail of arrows hid the sky. However, by the help of the gods, we drove off the foe towards evening. Before the battle an owl had flown over our army. Then we pursued them with our lance point in their loins as one hunts the tunny-fish; they fled and we stung them in the jaw and in the eyes, so that even now the barbarians tell each other that there is nothing in the world more to be feared than the Attic wasp.
Oh! at that time I was terrible, I feared nothing; forth on my galleys I went in search of my foe and subjected him. Then we never thought of rounding fine phrases, we never dreamt of calumny; ’twas who should prove the strongest rower. And thus we took many a town from the Medes, and ’tis to us that Athens owes the tributes that our young men thieve to-day.
Look well at us, and you will see that we have all the character and habits of the wasp. Firstly, if roused, no beings are more irascible, more relentless than we are. In all other things, too, we act like wasps. We collect in swarms, in a kind of nests, and some go a-judging with the Archon, some with the Eleven,
others at the Odeon; there are yet others, who hardly move at all, like the grubs in the cells, but remain glued to the walls and bent double to the ground. We also pay full attention to the discovery of all sorts of means of existing and sting the first who comes, so as to live at his expense. Finally, we have among us drones, who have no sting and who, without giving themselves the least trouble, seize on our revenues as they flow past them and devour them. ’Tis this that grieves us most of all, to see men who have never served or held either lance or oar in defence of their country, enriching themselves at our expense without ever raising a blister on their hands. In short, I give it as my deliberate opinion that in future every citizen not possessed of a sting shall not receive the triobolus.
PHILOCLEON. As long as I live, I will never give up this cloak; ’tis the one I wore in that battle when Boreas delivered us from such fierce attacks,
BDELYCLEON. You do not know what is good for you.
PHILOCLEON. Ah! I know not how to use fine clothing! T’other day, when cramming myself with fried fish, I dropped so many grease spots that I had to pay three obols to the cleaner.
BDELYCLEON. At least have a try, since you have once for all handed the care for your well-being over to me.
PHILOCLEON. Very well then! what must I do?
BDELYCLEON. Take off your cloak, and put on this tunic in its stead.
PHILOCLEON. ’Twas well worth while to beget and bring up children, so that this one should now wish to choke me.
BDELYCLEON. Come, take this tunic and put it on without so much talk.
PHILOCLEON. Great gods! what sort of a cursed garment is this?
BDELYCLEON. Some call it a pelisse, others a Persian cloak.
PHILOCLEON. Ah! I thought it was a wraprascal like those made at
Thymaetia.
BDELYCLEON. Pray, how should you know such garments? ’Tis only at Sardis you could have seen them, and you have never been there.
PHILOCLEON. I’ faith, no! but it seems to me exactly like the mantle
Morychus sports.
BDELYCLEON. Not at all; I tell you they are woven at Ecbatana.
PHILOCLEON. What! are there woollen ox-guts then at Ecbatana?
BDELYCLEON. Whatever are you talking about? These are woven by the Barbarians at great cost. I am certain this pelisse has consumed more than a talent of wool.
PHILOCLEON. It should be called wool-waster then instead of pelisse.
BDELYCLEON. Come, father, just hold still for a moment and put it on.
PHILOCLEON. Oh! horrors! what a waft of heat the hussy wafts up my nose!
BDELYCLEON. Will you have done with this fooling?
PHILOCLEON. No, by Zeus! if need be, I prefer you should put me in the oven.
BDELYCLEON. Come! I will put it round you. There!
PHILOCLEON. At all events, bring out a crook.
BDELYCLEON. Why, whatever for?
PHILOCLEON. To drag me out of it before I am quite melted.
BDELYCLEON. Now take off those wretched clogs and put on these nice
Laconian slippers.
PHILOCLEON. I put on odious slippers made by our foes! Never!
BDELYCLEON. Come! put your foot in and push hard. Quick!
PHILOCLEON. ’Tis ill done of you. You want me to put my foot on Laconian ground.
BDELYCLEON. Now the other.
PHILOCLEON. Ah! no, not that one; one of its toes holds the Laconians in horror.
BDELYCLEON. Positively you must.
PHILOCLEON. Alas! alas! Then I shall have no chilblains in my old age.
BDELYCLEON. Now, hurry up and get them on; and now imitate the easy effeminate gait of the rich. See, like this.
PHILOCLEON. There!… Look at my get-up and tell me which rich man I most resemble in my walk.
BDELYCLEON. Why, you look like a garlic plaster on a boil.
PHILOCLEON. Ah! I am longing to swagger and sway my rump about.
BDELYCLEON. Now, will you know how to talk gravely with well-informed men of good class?
PHILOCLEON. Undoubtedly.
BDELYCLEON. What will you say to them?
PHILOCLEON. Oh, lots of things. First of all I shall say, that Lamia, seeing herself caught, let fly a fart; then, that Cardopion and her mother….
BDELYCLEON. Come, no fabulous tales, pray! talk of realities, of domestic facts, as is usually done.
PHILOCLEON. Ah! I know something that is indeed most domestic. Once upon a time there was a rat and a cat….
BDELYCLEON. “Oh, you ignorant fool,” as Theagenes said to the scavenger in a rage. Are you going to talk of cats and rats among high-class people?
PHILOCLEON. Then what should I talk about?
BDELYCLEON. Tell some dignified story. Relate how you were sent on a solemn mission with Androcles and Clisthenes.
PHILOCLEON. On a mission! never in my life, except once to Paros, a job which brought me in two obols a day.
BDELYCLEON. At least say, that you have just seen Ephudion making good play in the pancratium with Ascondas and, that despite his age and his white hair, he is still robust in loin and arm and flank and that his chest is a very breastplate.
PHILOCLEON. Stop! stop! what nonsense! Who ever contested at the pancratium with a breast-plate on?
BDELYCLEON. That is how well-behaved folk like to talk. But another thing. When at wine, it would be fitting to relate some good story of your youthful days. What is your most brilliant feat?
PHILOCLEON. My best feat? Ah! ’twas when I stole Ergasion’s vine-props.
BDELYCLEON. You and your vine-props! you’ll be the death of me! Tell of one of your boar-hunts or of when you coursed the hare. Talk about some torch-race you were in; tell of some deed of daring.
PHILOCLEON. Ah! my most daring deed was when, quite a young man still, I prosecuted Phayllus, the runner, for defamation, and he was condemned by a majority of two votes.
BDELYCLEON. Enough of that! Now recline there, and practise the bearing that is fitting at table in society.
PHILOCLEON. How must I recline? Tell me quick!
BDELYCLEON. In an elegant style.
PHILOCLEON. Like this?
BDELYCLEON. Not at all.
PHILOCLEON. How then?
BDELYCLEON. Spread your knees on the tapestries and give your body the most easy curves, like those taught in the gymnasium. Then praise some bronze vase, survey the ceiling, admire the awning stretched over the court. Water is poured over our hands; the tables are spread; we sup and, after ablution, we now offer libations to the gods.
PHILOCLEON. But, by Zeus! this supper is but a dream, it appears!
BDELYCLEON. The flute-player has finished the prelude. The guests are Theorus, Aeschines, Phanus, Cleon, Acestor; and beside this last, I don’t know who else. You are with them. Shall you know exactly how to take up the songs that are started?
PHILOCLEON. Better than any born mountaineer of Attica.
BDELYCLEON. That we shall see. Suppose me to be Cleon. I am the first to begin the song of Harmodius, and you take it up: “There never was yet seen in Athens …
PHILOCLEON. … such a rogue or such a thief.”
BDELYCLEON. Why, you wretched man, ‘twill be the end of you if you sing that. He will vow your ruin, your destruction, to chase you out of the country.
PHILOCLEON. Well! then I shall answer his threats with another song: “With your madness for supreme power, you will end by overthrowing the city, which even now totters towards ruin.”
BDELYCLEON. And when Theorus, prone at Cleon’s feet, takes his hand and sings, “Like Admetus, love those who are brave,” what reply will you make him?
PHILOCLEON. I shall sing, “I know not how to play the fox, nor call myself the friend of both parties.”
BDELYCLEON. Then comes the turn of Aeschines, the son of Sellus, and a well-trained and clever musician, who will sing, “Good things and riches for Clitagoras and me and eke for the Thessalians!”
PHILOCLEON. “The two of us have sq
uandered a deal between us.”
BDELYCLEON. At this game you seem at home. But come, we will go and dine with Philoctemon. — Slave! slave! place our dinner in a basket, and let us go for a good long drinking bout.
PHILOCLEON. By no means, it is too dangerous; for after drinking, one breaks in doors, one comes to blows, one batters everything. Anon, when the wine is slept off, one is forced to pay.
BDELYCLEON. Not if you are with decent people. Either they undertake to appease the offended person or, better still, you say something witty, you tell some comic story, perhaps one of those you have yourself heard at table, either in Aesop’s style or in that of Sybaris; all laugh and the trouble is ended.
PHILOCLEON. Faith! ’tis worth while learning many stories then, if you are thus not punished for the ill you do. But come, no more delay!
CHORUS. More than once have I given proof of cunning and never of stupidity, but how much more clever is Amynias, the son of Sellus and of the race of forelock-wearers; him we saw one day coming to dine with Leogaras, bringing as his share one apple and a pomegranate, and bear in mind he was as hungry as Antiphon. He went on an embassy to Pharsalus, and there he lived solely among the Thessalian mercenaries; indeed, is he not the vilest of mercenaries himself?
Oh! blessed, oh! fortunate Automenes, how enviable is your fortune! You have three sons, the most industrious in the world; one is the friend of all, a very able man, the first among the lyre-players, the favourite of the Graces. The second is an actor, and his talent is beyond all praise. As for Ariphrades, he is by far the most gifted; his father would swear to me, that without any master whatever and solely through the spontaneous effort of his happy nature, he taught himself the use of his tongue in the lewd places where he spends the whole of his time.
Some have said that I and Cleon were reconciled. This is the truth of the matter: Cleon was harassing me, persecuting and belabouring me in every way; and, when I was being fleeced, the public laughed at seeing me uttering such loud cries; not that they cared about me, but simply curious to know whether, when trodden down by my enemy, I would not hurl at him some taunt. Noticing this, I have played the wheedler a bit; but now, look! the prop is deceiving the vine!