THE KNIGHTS
Anonymous translation for the Athenian Society, London, 1912
This comedy is a scurrilous attack on a single politician, the pro-war populist Cleon, who had prosecuted Aristophanes for slandering the polis in his earlier play, The Babylonians (426 BC), for which the young dramatist had promised revenge in The Acharnians (425 BC), and it was in The Knights (424 BC) that his revenge was wholly exacted. The play was a great success, winning the playwright the first prize at the Lenaia festival when it was produced in 424 BC.
The Knights establishes an allegory where Cleon is represented as a Paphlagonian, signifying everything that’s wrong with the world. Paphlagonia was a region in modern Turkey, which was imputed to be the birthplace of Cleon. As the play opens, two slaves, Nicias and Demosthenes, allegorical representations of the historical generals, run from a house in Athens, complaining of a beating that they have just received from their master, Demos (the people), and cursing their fellow slave, Cleon, as the cause of their troubles. They inform the audience that Cleon has wheedled his way into Demos’ confidence and they accuse him of misusing his privileged position for the purpose of extortion and corruption. They advise us that even the mask-makers are afraid of Cleon and that none of them could be persuaded to make a caricature of him for this play. They assure us however that we are clever enough to recognise him even without a mask. Having no idea how to solve their problems, they steal some wine from the house, the taste of which inspires them to an even bolder theft - a set of oracles that Cleon has always refused to let anyone else see. On reading these stolen oracles, they learn that Cleon is one of several peddlers destined to rule the polis and that it is his fate to be replaced by a sausage seller. As chance would have it, a sausage seller passes by at that very moment, carrying a portable kitchen.
Demosthenes informs him of his destiny. The sausage seller is not convinced at first but Demosthenes points out the myriads of people in the theatre and he assures him that his skills with sausages are all that is needed to govern them. Cleon’s suspicions meanwhile have been aroused and he rushes from the house in search of trouble. He immediately finds an empty wine bowl and he loudly accuses the others of treason. Demosthenes calls upon the knights of Athens for assistance and a Chorus of them charges into the theatre. They converge on Cleon in military formation under instructions from their leader and the politician is given rough handling, as the Chorus leader accuses him of manipulating the political and legal system for personal gain. Cleon bellows to the audience for help and the Chorus urges the sausage-seller to outshout him. There follows a shouting match between Cleon and the sausage seller with vulgar boasts and vainglorious threats on both sides as each man strives to demonstrate that he is a more shameless and unscrupulous orator than the other. The knights proclaim the sausage-seller the winner of the argument and Cleon then rushes off to the Boule to denounce them all on a trumped-up charge of treason.
Eventuyally, Agoracritus emerges triumphant from a series of contests with Cleon and he restores Demos to his former glory.
An ancient Greek depiction of a Knight – a member of the Athenian upper classes
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE KNIGHTS
INTRODUCTION
This was the fourth play in order of time produced by Aristophanes on the Athenian stage; it was brought out at the Lenaean Festival, in January, 424 B.C. Of the author’s previous efforts, two, ‘The Revellers’ and ‘The Babylonians,’ were apparently youthful essays, and are both lost. The other, ‘The Acharnians,’ forms the first of the three Comedies dealing directly with the War and its disastrous effects and urging the conclusion of Peace; for this reason it is better ranged along with its sequels, the ‘Peace’ and the ‘Lysistrata,’ and considered in conjunction with them.
In many respects ‘The Knights’ may be reckoned the great Comedian’s masterpiece, the direct personal attack on the then all-powerful Cleon, with its scathing satire and tremendous invective, being one of the most vigorous and startling things in literature. Already in ‘The Acharnians’ he had threatened to “cut up Cleon the Tanner into shoe-leather for the Knights,” and he now proceeds to carry his menace into execution, “concentrating the whole force of his wit in the most unscrupulous and merciless fashion against his personal enemy.” In the first-mentioned play Aristophanes had attacked and satirized the whole general policy of the democratic party — and incidentally Cleon, its leading spirit and mouthpiece since the death of Pericles; he had painted the miseries of war and invasion arising from this mistaken and mischievous line of action, as he regarded it, and had dwelt on the urgent necessity of peace in the interests of an exhausted country and ruined agriculture. Now he turns upon Cleon personally, and pays him back a hundredfold for the attacks the demagogue had made in the Public Assembly on the daring critic, and the abortive charge which the same unscrupulous enemy had brought against him in the Courts of having “slandered the city in the presence of foreigners.” “In this bitterness of spirit the play stands in strong contrast with the good-humoured burlesque of ‘The Acharnians’ and the ‘Peace,’ or, indeed, with any other of the author’s productions which has reached us.”
The characters are five only. First and foremost comes Demos, ‘The People,’ typifying the Athenian democracy, a rich householder — a self-indulgent, superstitious, weak creature. He has had several overseers or factors in succession, to look after his estate and manage his slaves. The present one is known as ‘the Paphlagonian,’ or sometimes as ‘the Tanner,’ an unprincipled, lying, cheating, pilfering scoundrel, fawning and obsequious to his master, insolent towards his subordinates. Two of these are Nicias and Demosthenes. Here we have real names. Nicias was High Admiral of the Athenian navy at the time, and Demosthenes one of his Vice-Admirals; both held still more important commands later in connection with the Sicilian Expedition of 415-413 B.C. Fear of consequences apparently prevented the poet from doing the same in the case of Cleon, who is, of course, intended under the names of ‘the Paphlagonian’ and ‘the Tanner.’ Indeed, so great was the terror inspired by the great man that no artist was found bold enough to risk his powerful vengeance by caricaturing his features, and no actor dared to represent him on the stage. Aristophanes is said to have played the part himself, with his face, in the absence of a mask, smeared with wine-lees, roughly mimicking the purple and bloated visage of the demagogue. The remaining character is ‘the Sausage-seller,’ who is egged on by Nicias and Demosthenes to oust ‘the Paphlagonian’ from Demos’ favour by outvying him in his own arts of impudent flattery, noisy boasting and unscrupulous allurement. After a fierce and stubbornly contested trial of wits and interchange of ‘Billingsgate,’ ‘the Sausage-seller’ beats his rival at his own weapons and gains his object; he supplants the disgraced favourite, who is driven out of the house with ignominy.
The Comedy takes its title, as was often the case, from the Chorus, which is composed of Knights — the order of citizens next to the highest at Athens, and embodying many of the old aristocratic preferences and prejudices.
The drama was adjudged the first prize — the ‘Satyrs’ of Cratinus being placed second — by acclamation, as such a masterpiece of wit and intrepidity certainly deserved to be; but, as usual, the political result was nil. The piece was applauded in the most enthusiastic manner, the satire on the sovereign multitude was forgiven, and — Cleon remained in as much favour as ever.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
DEMOSTHENES.
NICIAS.
AGORACRITUS, a Sausage-seller.
CLEON.
DEMOS, an old man, typifying the Athenian people.
CHORUS OF KNIGHTS.
SCENE: In front of Demos’ house at Athens.
THE KNIGHTS
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! alas! alas! Oh! woe! oh! woe! Miserable Paphlagonian! may the gods destroy both him and his cursed advice! Since that evil day when this new slave entered the house he has ne
ver ceased belabouring us with blows.
NICIAS. May the plague seize him, the arch-fiend — him and his lying tales!
DEMOSTHENES. Hah! my poor fellow, what is your condition?
NICIAS. Very wretched, just like your own.
DEMOSTHENES. Then come, let us sing a duet of groans in the style of
Olympus.
DEMOSTHENES AND NICIAS. Boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo! boo, hoo!!
DEMOSTHENES. Bah! ’tis lost labour to weep! Enough of groaning! Let us consider how to save our pelts.
NICIAS. But how to do it! Can you suggest anything?
DEMOSTHENES. Nay! you begin. I cede you the honour.
NICIAS. By Apollo! no, not I. Come, have courage! Speak, and then I will say what I think.
DEMOSTHENES. “Ah! would you but tell me what I should tell you!”
NICIAS. I dare not. How could I express my thoughts with the pomp of
Euripides?
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! prithee, spare me! Do not pelt me with those vegetables, but find some way of leaving our master.
NICIAS. Well, then! Say “Let-us-bolt,” like this, in one breath.
DEMOSTHENES. I follow you— “Let-us-bolt.”
NICIAS. Now after “Let-us-bolt” say “at-top-speed!”
DEMOSTHENES. “At-top-speed!”
NICIAS. Splendid! Just as if you were masturbating yourself; first slowly, “Let-us-bolt”; then quick and firmly, “at-top-speed!”
DEMOSTHENES. Let-us-bolt, let-us-bolt-at-top-speed!
NICIAS. Hah! does that not please you?
DEMOSTHENES. I’ faith, yes! yet I fear me your omen bodes no good to my hide.
NICIAS. How so?
DEMOSTHENES. Because hard rubbing abrades the skin when folk masturbate themselves.
NICIAS. The best thing we can do for the moment is to throw ourselves at the feet of the statue of some god.
DEMOSTHENES. Of which statue? Any statue? Do you then believe there are gods?
NICIAS. Certainly.
DEMOSTHENES. What proof have you?
NICIAS. The proof that they have taken a grudge against me. Is that not enough?
DEMOSTHENES. I’m convinced it is. But to pass on. Do you consent to my telling the spectators of our troubles?
NICIAS. ’Twould not be amiss, and we might ask them to show us by their manner, whether our facts and actions are to their liking.
DEMOSTHENES. I will begin then. We have a very brutal master, a perfect glutton for beans, and most bad-tempered; ’tis Demos of the Pnyx, an intolerable old man and half deaf. The beginning of last month he bought a slave, a Paphlagonian tanner, an arrant rogue, the incarnation of calumny. This man of leather knows his old master thoroughly; he plays the fawning cur, flatters, cajoles; wheedles, and dupes him at will with little scraps of leavings, which he allows him to get. “Dear Demos,” he will say, “try a single case and you will have done enough; then take your bath, eat, swallow and devour; here are three obols.” Then the Paphlagonian filches from one of us what we have prepared and makes a present of it to our old man. T’other day I had just kneaded a Spartan cake at Pylos; the cunning rogue came behind my back, sneaked it and offered the cake, which was my invention, in his own name. He keeps us at a distance and suffers none but himself to wait upon the master; when Demos is dining, he keeps close to his side with a thong in his hand and puts the orators to flight. He keeps singing oracles to him, so that the old man now thinks of nothing but the Sibyl. Then, when he sees him thoroughly obfuscated, he uses all his cunning and piles up lies and calumnies against the household; then we are scourged and the Paphlagonian runs about among the slaves to demand contributions with threats and gathers ‘em in with both hands. He will say, “You see how I have had Hylas beaten! Either content me or die at once!” We are forced to give, for else the old man tramples on us and makes us spew forth all our body contains. There must be an end to it, friend. Let us see! what can be done? Who will get us out of this mess?
NICIAS. The best thing, chum, is our famous “Let-us-bolt!”
DEMOSTHENES. But none can escape the Paphlagonian, his eye is everywhere. And what a stride! He has one leg on Pylos and the other in the Assembly; his rump is exactly over the land of the Chaonians, his hands are with the Aetolians and his mind with the Clopidians.
NICIAS. ’Tis best then to die; but let us seek the most heroic death.
DEMOSTHENES. Let me bethink me, what is the most heroic?
NICIAS. Let us drink the blood of a bull; ’tis the death which
Themistocles chose.
DEMOSTHENES. No, not that, but a bumper of good unmixed wine in honour of the Good Genius; perchance we may stumble on a happy thought.
NICIAS. Look at him! “Unmixed wine!” Your mind is on drink intent? Can a man strike out a brilliant thought when drunk?
DEMOSTHENES. Without question. Go, ninny, blow yourself out with water; do you dare to accuse wine of clouding the reason? Quote me more marvellous effects than those of wine. Look! when a man drinks, he is rich, everything he touches succeeds, he gains lawsuits, is happy and helps his friends. Come, bring hither quick a flagon of wine, that I may soak my brain and get an ingenious idea.
NICIAS. Eh, my god! What can your drinking do to help us?
DEMOSTHENES. Much. But bring it to me, while I take my seat. Once drunk,
I shall strew little ideas, little phrases, little reasonings everywhere.
NICIAS (returning with a flagon). It is lucky I was not caught in the house stealing the wine.
DEMOSTHENES. Tell me, what is the Paphlagonian doing now?
NICIAS. The wretch has just gobbled up some confiscated cakes; he is drunk and lies at full-length a-snoring on his hides.
DEMOSTHENES. Very well, come along, pour me out wine and plenty of it.
NICIAS. Take it and offer a libation to your Good Genius; taste, taste the liquor of the genial soil of Pramnium.
DEMOSTHENES. Oh, Good Genius! ’Tis thy will, not mine.
NICIAS. Prithee, tell me, what is it?
DEMOSTHENES. Run indoors quick and steal the oracles of the Paphlagonian, while he is asleep.
NICIAS. Bless me! I fear this Good Genius will be but a very Bad Genius for me.
DEMOSTHENES. And set the flagon near me, that I may moisten my wit to invent some brilliant notion.
NICIAS (enters the house and returns at once). How the Paphlagonian grunts and snores! I was able to seize the sacred oracle, which he was guarding with the greatest care, without his seeing me.
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! clever fellow! Hand it here, that I may read. Come, pour me out some drink, bestir yourself! Let me see what there is in it. Oh! prophecy! Some drink! some drink! Quick!
NICIAS. Well! what says the oracle?
DEMOSTHENES. Pour again.
NICIAS. Is “pour again” in the oracle?
DEMOSTHENES. Oh, Bacis!
NICIAS. But what is in it?
DEMOSTHENES. Quick! some drink!
NICIAS. Bacis is very dry!
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! miserable Paphlagonian! This then is why you have so long taken such precautions; your horoscope gave you qualms of terror.
NICIAS. What does it say?
DEMOSTHENES. It says here how he must end.
NICIAS. And how?
DEMOSTHENES. How? the oracle announces clearly that a dealer in oakum must first govern the city.
NICIAS. First dealer. And after him, who?
DEMOSTHENES. After him, a sheep-dealer.
NICIAS. Two dealers, eh? And what is this one’s fate?
DEMOSTHENES. To reign until a greater scoundrel than he arises; then he perishes and in his place the leather-seller appears, the Paphlagonian robber, the bawler, who roars like a torrent.
NICIAS. And the leather-seller must destroy the sheep-seller?
DEMOSTHENES. Yes.
NICIAS. Oh! woe is me! Where can another seller be found, is there ever a one left?
DEMOSTHENES. There is yet o
ne, who plies a firstrate trade.
NICIAS. Tell me, pray, what is that?
DEMOSTHENES. You really want to know?
NICIAS. Yes.
DEMOSTHENES. Well then! ’tis a sausage-seller who must overthrow him.
NICIAS. A sausage-seller! Ah! by Posidon! what a fine trade! But where can this man be found?
DEMOSTHENES. Let us seek him.
NICIAS. Lo! there he is, going towards the market-place; ’tis the gods, the gods who send him!
DEMOSTHENES. This way, this way, oh, lucky sausage-seller, come forward, dear friend, our saviour, the saviour of our city.
SAUSAGE-SELLER. What is it? Why do you call me?
DEMOSTHENES. Come here, come and learn about your good luck, you who are
Fortune’s favourite!
NICIAS. Come! Relieve him of his basket-tray and tell him the oracle of the god; I will go and look after the Paphlagonian.
DEMOSTHENES. First put down all your gear, then worship the earth and the gods.
SAUSAGE-SELLER. ’Tis done. What is the matter?
DEMOSTHENES. Happiness, riches, power; to-day you have nothing, to-morrow you will have all, oh! chief of happy Athens.
SAUSAGE-SELLER. Why not leave me to wash my tripe and to sell my sausages instead of making game of me?
DEMOSTHENES. Oh! the fool! Your tripe! Do you see these tiers of people?
SAUSAGE-SELLER. Yes.
DEMOSTHENES. You shall be master to them all, governor of the market, of the harbours, of the Pnyx; you shall trample the Senate under foot, be able to cashier the generals, load them with fetters, throw them into gaol, and you will play the debauchee in the Prytaneum.
SAUSAGE-SELLER. What! I?
DEMOSTHENES. You, without a doubt. But you do not yet see all the glory awaiting you. Stand on your basket and look at all the islands that surround Athens.
SAUSAGE-SELLER. I see them. What then?
DEMOSTHENES. Look at the storehouses and the shipping.