Aristophanes: The Complete Plays

by Aristophanes

  With a lava of fury like Cynna the whore bitch,426

  while round his head,

  As if it were a bum to be licked,

  flickered a hundred

  Arse-licking tongues; and from his throat

  issued a raging

  Sewer in spate and the stink of a rotting

  seal or the sweaty

  Crotch of a Lamia427 or end of a camel.

  I didn’t flinch

  At the sight of this nightmare but set to grapple

  for you and the isles.

  For which favor I’d say at a clinch:

  you ought to return it

  And never forget it. For even after

  my earliest thrills428

  I never went cruising through the gymnasia

  picking up boys,

  But packed up all my paraphernalia

  And betook myself home after giving

  less pain than joys,

  And a great deal of what you were lacking.

  Saying which, all you men and boys

  Should be for me. Allow me to advise

  All bald-headed blokes to vote

  For me to win the prize.

  For if I am victorious,

  Whenever there is

  A gathering to enjoy or celebrate,

  They’ll make a toast:

  “Here’s to the Baldy, give to the Baldy‡

  A slice of cake.

  Deny nothing to the man who is

  Our noblest poet

  And noblest pate.

  STROPHE

  CHORUS:

  Muse, come partner me and forget the subject of war:

  Me, your friend in the dance,

  Celebrating weddings among the deities or

  The joys of the blessed and the feasts of men

  As you’ve been doing since the advance

  Of time. But should Carcinus429 come

  And beg you to dance with him,

  Don’t listen,

  Don’t be persuaded, don’t go.

  Think of all that lot

  As quails incubated in the home

  Or as squat

  Dancing dwarfs, pellets of goat turd, scenery props,

  Whose father made out

  That his play called Mice, which could not miss,

  Was garotted one night

  By the civet cat.

  ANTISTROPHE

  This is the season when the masterly poet ought to sing

  Of the Graces with lovely hair

  When the spring song of the swallow is in the air

  Delightful to hear; when Morismus430

  Is not granted a chorus,‡ nor

  Is Melanthius§ either, whose

  Strident voice I once heard had riven

  A piece of drama

  They were rehearsing, having been given

  A chorus for a tragedy—

  He together with his brother:

  What a pair

  Of gormandizing, guzzling, skate-snatching harpies,

  Pesterers of old maids,

  Smelly-armpit-fish-devourers, spit

  On them, but play beside me

  At the festival.

  [The scene changes back to earth and TRYGAEUS enters with the two girls CORNUCOPIA and FESTIVAL.]

  TRYGAEUS: [to the audience]

  What a business it is gadding to the gods!

  My legs are aching, both of them.

  How tiny you seemed from on high!

  Quite a nasty lot you looked from the sky,

  and from down here—even nastier!

  [FIRST SERVANT enters from the house.]

  FIRST SERVANT: So you’re back, master!

  TRYGAEUS: So I’m told.

  FIRST SERVANT: ’ow did it go?

  TRYGAEUS: Long trip, legs achy!

  FIRST SERVANT: No, tell me really!

  TRYGAEUS: Tell you what?

  FIRST SERVANT: Did you see anyone else trotting about in the

  ether?

  TRYGAEUS: No, only the shades of two or three of those flaky

  dithyrambically obsessed song concocters.

  FIRST SERVANT: Doing what?

  TRYGAEUS: Just netting preludes on the wing—

  songs of the airy-fairy, windy sort.

  FIRST SERVANT: So it ain’t true that when we die

  we turn into stars in the sky?

  TRYGAEUS: Of course it’s true!

  FIRST SERVANT: Well, ’oo’s a star there now?

  TRYGAEUS: Ion of Chios,431

  who composed the song “O Morning Star” when he was down

  here

  and was immediately known as O Morning Star

  when he arrived up there.

  FIRST SERVANT: And who are the blazing stars

  that shoot across the ’eavens?

  TRYGAEUS:

  They are the rich stars

  reeling home from dinner

  with lanterns in hand and in those lanterns fire.

  [handing CORNUCOPIA to FIRST SERVANT]

  But take this girl inside,

  fill the bathtub, heat the water,

  and spread the nuptial bed for me and her.

  When that’s done, come back here.

  Meanwhile I’ll hand this other

  girl over to the Council—she’s theirs.

  FIRST SERVANT: These girls—you got ’em from where?

  TRYGAEUS: Where? From heaven.

  FIRST SERVANT: Well, I wouldn’t give three cents for any gods

  who go in for pimping the way we mortals do.

  TRYGAEUS: They’re not all like that up there

  though some of them are given . . .

  FIRST SERVANT: [taking CORNUCOPIA by the hand]

  Say, do I feed ’er with anything?

  TRYGAEUS: Nothing . . . She wouldn’t touch our bread or cake. She’s used to helpings of ambrosia up among the deities.

  FIRST SERVANT: But we’ll ’ave to find something down ’ere

  that her tongue might like.

  [FIRST SERVANT leads CORNUCOPIA into the house.]

  CHORUS: Oh what a lucky sod I see That old man’s going to be!

  TRYGAEUS: Wait till you see me all dressed up:

  a resplendent groom if ever there was.

  CHORUS: What an enviable old man Now to be a youth again Fragrantly perfumed with myrrh!

  TRYGAEUS: I’ll think so, too, when we’re stuck together

  and I’ve got my hands on those tits of hers.

  CHORUS: A luckier man than those spinning tops, the Carcinus

  boys!

  TRYGAEUS: And rightly so, for I’m the bloke Who rode away on a beetle’s back And for the Greeks restored the joys Of living in the country air To sleep and fuck.

  [FIRST SERVANT returns from the house.]

  FIRST SERVANT: She’s ’ad ’er bath, the girl, From top to tail. The cake’s baked, The rolls shaped, Everything is swell But where’s the prick?

  TRYGAEUS: First take Festival here to the Council.

  FIRST SERVANT: ’ey, this ’ere girl?

  Is she the Festival we used to bonk

  after a drink or two when we went to Brauron?432

  TRYGAEUS: Right you are! It wasn’t easy catching her.

  FIRST SERVANT: Oh sir, what a quintessential bottom!

  TRYGAEUS: [to audience] See here,

  anyone I can trust out there

  who’ll take Festival to the Council and look after her?

  [FIRST SERVANT is running his fingers over FESTIVAL.]

  Hey there, what d’you think you’re tracing?

  FIRST SERVANT: Just measuring for my tent pole, sir,

  for when the Isthmian Games begin.433

  TRYGAEUS: [turning to the audience]

  You still haven’t chosen a ward for her?

  Come along, Festival,

  I’ll escort you to the Councillors myself

  and deliver you into their midst, my girl.

  FIRST SERVANT: Somebody’s waving.

/>   TRYGAEUS: Who?

  FIRST SERVANT: Ariphrades.434

  He wants you to bring her to him.

  TRYGAEUS: No, my boy, he’ll flop to his knees

  and slobber all over her.

  Festival, drop your dress to the ground and . . .

  [FESTIVAL disrobes and stands naked.]

  Councillors, Officers—Festival, if you please!

  What an orgy I’m offering you!

  You can bang her with her legs up right now

  and celebrate the Liberation.

  Just take a look at her little cooker, wow!

  FIRST SERVANT: Aye, a juicy beauty, though a little scorched.

  She used to be the Councillors’ grill.

  TRYGAEUS: Now that you’ve got her, tomorrow the sporting events can begin:

  tumble her to the ground, squat her on all fours,

  and like young men oiled up for the pankration,

  pummel and prod with fist and prong.

  The third day will be for horsy events:

  riders outriding the ridden,

  chariots somersaulting and careering along,

  their drivers panting and blowing

  till they reel and fall at the finishing line

  with their dicks showing. . . .

  Well now, Councillors, here is Festival.

  [He hands her over.]

  Look how pleased the Chairman is to get her!

  Which he wouldn’t be if he’d had to pay for her.

  He says he was on holiday when nothing can be done.

  CHORUS: What a resourceful man!

  A boon to every citizen.

  TRYGAEUS: This you will fully understand

  when harvesting the vines.

  CHORUS: We understand it now,

  you savior of mankind!

  TRYGAEUS: Exactly what you’ll say

  when you quaff a cup of new wine.

  CHORUS: Yes, you’ll pretty well match The gods, we’ll say.

  TRYGAEUS: Undoubtedly you owe me much: Me Trygaeus of Athmonum. I freed the farmers and the plebes From every kind of nastiness And finished off Hyperbolus.435

  FIRST SERVANT: Well, what’s the next thing we should do?

  TRYGAEUS: Fix up her shrine with pots of peas.

  FIRST SERVANT: Pots of peas? Like a piddling little Hermes?436

  TRYGAEUS: Or with a milk-fed bull perhaps?

  FIRST SERVANT: A bull? God, no! We’ve had enough bull already.

  TRYGAEUS: Well, would a nice fat pig do?

  FIRST SERVANT: No, no—steady!

  TRYGAEUS: Why not?

  FIRST SERVANT: And become like Theogenes437—swine?

  TRYGAEUS: Then have you nothing else in line?

  FIRST SERVANT: Baah! Baah!

  TRYGAEUS: Baah? Baah?

  FIRST SERVANT: Just fine!

  TRYGAEUS: Sounds Ionic438 to me.

  FIRST SERVANT: It is Ionic. That’s the point,

  so that when some arsehole in the Assembly says “War!”

  the terrified Assembly comes back with “Baah!”

  TRYGAEUS: Brilliant!

  FIRST SERVANT: And we’ll be gentle and lamblike with each other

  and much nicer to our allies.

  TRYGAEUS: Then go and get a lamb as fast as you can

  while I fix the altar.

  [FIRST SERVANT goes into the house.]

  CHORUS: How God’s will in everything goes well

  With good fortune following the plan

  And the pieces falling into place one by one!

  TRYGAEUS: To cap it all, here is an altar

  right outside our door.

  CHORUS: So get a move on while the gale of war

  Is kept by God at bay

  For certainly divinity

  Is blessing us today.

  [FIRST SERVANT returns from the house with various items needed for the sacrifice.]

  FIRST SERVANT: ’ere’s the basket with the barley grains,

  The garland, the dagger, and the brazier.

  The only thing missing is the lamb.

  [TRYGAEUS lights the brazier while FIRST SERVANT goes to get the lamb.]

  CHORUS:

  Each of you needs to hurry

  Or you’ll have that boring ham

  Chaeris439 coming and piping,

  And then you’ll have to pay him

  For all his puffing and blowing.

  [FIRST SERVANT returns with the lamb.]

  TRYGAEUS: Right! Take the basket and the holy water

  and proceed left to right round the altar.

  FIRST SERVANT: No sooner said than done! What next?

  TRYGAEUS: I plunge the firebrand into the water,

  Then sprinkle the lamb with it. . . .

  (Move your head you silly nit.)

  Then you hand me some barley mix,

  Dip your fingers in the basin

  And hand it back to me again,

  Then toss some barley at the audience.

  FIRST SERVANT: [throwing barley] There you are!

  TRYGAEUS: What, already done?

  FIRST SERVANT: By ’ermes, yes! Every flippin’ sod out there ’as a seed.

  TRYGAEUS: But not the women.

  FIRST SERVANT: The men’ll give ’em seed tonight.

  TRYGAEUS: So let’s begin the prayer. . . . Who’s here?

  [silence from the audience]

  Where are the good men and lots of them?

  FIRST SERVANT: [vigorously throwing holy water at the audience]

  Here goes for these . . . good men all the lot.

  TRYGAEUS: You think them good?

  FIRST SERVANT: Aren’t they? I soused them with water

  and they didn’t budge. They’ve made the grade.

  TRYGAEUS: Well, let’s get down to prayer.

  FIRST SERVANT: [throwing his arms out in a gesture of prayer]

  Let us pray.

  TRYGAEUS:

  O most venerable goddess, thou,

  My Lady Peace,

  Deign to accept our sacrifice.

  Accept it, do, thou great one full of awe.

  And for love of Zeus, do not play

  The games cock-teasing women do:

  Opening the door just a chink

  As a come-on but before you come

  Popping behind the door again;

  And as a fellow goes on his way

  Out again they slink.

  No, by God, never do that to us!

  Show yourself plainly. It’s we who love,

  We who for thirteen years have been pining

  For you. Free us from battles, riot, and chaos

  So we can call you Dissolver of Striving:

  You who dismiss gossip and rumor,

  The clever undoers

  Of efforts to parley;

  And make an early

  Move to mix us Greeks together again

  In the elixir of friendliness;

  And blend our thoughts with a mellower design.

  Load our markets with goodly things:

  Garlic from Megara, spring cucumbers,

  Apples, pomegranates, and woolen lumber

  Jackets for our servants; and from the Boeotians

  Geese, ducks, pigeons, plovers,

  And creels of eels from Lake Copais;

  And set in motion

  Throngs of us all shopping together:

  Bristling Morychus,440 Glaucestes,441 and Teleas:442

  Us gourmandisers—all of us.

  And when Melanthius443 gets to the market late

  And finds everything gone he wails

  In despair

  And sings that epode from Medea:444

  “I am undone, undone, and quite bereft;

  My loved one lies in a bed of eels.”

  And everyone thinks he’s hilarious.

  Venerable Lady, this is the kind of thing we pray for.

  [turning to FIRST SERVANT]

  Grab your knife and kill the lamb

  With a master b
utcher’s aim.

  FIRST SERVANT: That wouldn’t be right.

  TRYGAEUS: Why ever not?

  FIRST SERVANT: Peace takes no pleasure in slaughter,

  nor in a bloody altar.

  TRYGAEUS: Just go inside and kill it

  and bring the legs of lamb out here.

  Then our Chorus Leader can both eat his lamb and keep it.

  [FIRST SERVANT goes inside.]

  CHORUS: And you in the meanwhile must stay here

  And lose no time in making the fire,

  As well as whatever is de rigeur.

  TRYGAEUS: Wouldn’t you say I’ve laid the kindling well? Just like a stick diviner!

  CHORUS: I certainly would. You’ve left nothing undone That a sensible man would have to have done To be known as a man of sense who fits the bill.

  TRYGAEUS: The fire’s lit and Stilbides the seer445

  is put to the test. I’ll go myself

  to get the table. No need for the servant to bring it here.

  CHORUS: Who would not extol this man Who has suffered such ordeals To save our sacred city, Athens? A time will never come when you Are not seen as a man of worth.

  [TRYGAEUS returns with a table and FIRST SERVANT with legs of lamb.]

  FIRST SERVANT: [handing the legs of lamb to TRYGAEUS] There y’are. Put ’em on the table. Then I’ll go and get the innards and barley cakes.

  TRYGAEUS: [calling to FIRST SERVANT as he goes into the house] I’m on the job now. You should have seen to that before.

  FIRST SERVANT: [reappearing with innards and sundry utensils] Well I’m ’ere now, aren’t I? I ain’t exactly been dawdling, ’ave I?

  TRYGAEUS: [handing him pieces of lamb] See these are nicely roasted. . . . Here comes someone crowned with laurel.

  FIRST SERVANT: Looks like a bloody fake . . . probably a seer.

  TRYGAEUS: Not a seer but a prophetmonger.

  It’s Hierocles from Oreus.

  FIRST SERVANT: Come to tell us what?

  TRYGAEUS: Probably wants to upset the truce.