by Aristophanes
with a single filament of your stuff.
I’ll tell you what—here’s an offer.
Take this slave of mine and put him through the third degree,
and if you find the faintest spot
besmirching my record, lead me off
and do away with me.
AEACUS: Third degree, you say?
XANTHIAS: Third degree in every way. String him to a ladder,
whip him with bristles, flense him, stretch him, pour vinegar
up his nose, but from one thing refrain.
Don’t beat him with a leek or a spring onion.
AEACUS: Spot on! But if your slave gets damaged by the third degree will you be wanting compensation?
XANTHIAS: Oh, don’t bother! Just take him away for torture.
AEACUS: I’d rather he stays and says
whatever he’s got to say right here
in front of your eyes.
[turning to DIONYSUS]
You can dump those bags right now, fella,
but make sure that here you tell no lies.
DIONYSUS: And I advise
you not to torture me.
I’m an immortal deity.
You’d better not try.
AEACUS: [to XANTHIAS] Hear that?
XANTHIAS: I certainly do,
and all the more reason to give him a flogging.
If he’s a god he’ll feel nothing.
DIONYSUS: In that case, since you claim to be a god, too,
you should be flogged along with me, stroke for stroke.
XANTHIAS: [to AEACUS] Agreed, and whichever of us cracks first and
gives a shriek
or the tiniest hint of being in trouble,
he’s no god at all.
AEACUS: You’re a sportsman, sir, no doubt of that,
and all you ask for is fair play.
Now both of you strip.
[A SERVANT hands AEACUS a strap.]
XANTHIAS: Fair play, but how in fact?
AEACUS: Simple: stripe for stripe.
[XANTHIAS bends down briskly, followed gingerly by DIONYSUS.]
XANTHIAS: All’s fair. Here goes. See if I wince. . . . Have you hit me yet?
AEACUS: Not yet, by Zeus. [He strikes XANTHIAS.]
XANTHIAS: That’s what I thought.
AEACUS: Now I’ll give the other one a whack. [He strikes DIONYSUS.]
DIONYSUS: When are you going to start?
AEACUS: Already have.
DIONYSUS: Then why didn’t I blow my top?
AEACUS: Don’t know. I’ll give the other one another thwack.
XANTHIAS: Okeydoke. . . . Wow!
AEACUS: “Wow” what? Did that hurt?
XANTHIAS: Not a bit . . . I was just wondering
when the festival of Heracles at Diomeia is due to begin.
AEACUS: The man’s a saint—
let’s have another swipe at the other. [strikes DIONYSUS]
DIONYSUS: Ow! Ow!
AEACUS: Anything wrong?
DIONYSUS: Cavalry in the offing!
AEACUS: Makes you cry?
DIONYSUS: Their onions do.
AEACUS: But didn’t you feel a thing?
DIONYSUS: Nothing.
AEACUS: Let me try the other again. [He takes a swipe at XANTHIAS.]
XANTHIAS: Wow!
AEACUS: Anything wrong?
XANTHIAS: [holding out a foot] No, it’s only this thorn.
AEACUS: What’s going on? Suppose I whack the other again. [He takes a swipe at DIONYSUS.]
DIONYSUS: [whining] Apollo! . . . who lives on
Delos or perhaps at Pytho. . . .
XANTHIAS: That stung him, didn’t you hear?
DIONYSUS: [nonchalantly] Not so,
a line of Hipponax was in my mind.794
XANTHIAS: [to AEACUS] You’re getting nowhere. Wallop him one right in the ribs.
AEACUS: Can do better than that. Show us your belly, Dionysus. [lands him a punch]
DIONYSUS: [reeling] “Holy Poseidon . . . who doth reign . . .”
XANTHIAS: That one really got to him.
DIONYSUS: “. . . o’er all Aegae’s cape or on the deep blue main . . .”795
AEACUS: Holy Demeter, I cannot tell
which of you is a god at all.
So go inside, the master there,
Pluto himself, together with Persephone,
will figure it out. They’re gods as well.
DIONYSUS: Be that as it may,
it would have saved me a buffeting galore
if you’d only told me that before.
[AEACUS, DIONYSUS, and XANTHIAS, together with sundry SERVANTS, withdraw into PLUTO’s palace.]
STROPHE796
MEN AND WOMEN:797 Fling youself, Muse, into this the most heavenly dance Breathing élan and happiness into my hymn. See what a horde of people are here—give them a glance: Intelligent all of them, More notable by far even than Cleophon, Though he possesses the nimblest tongue, From which, as if from Thrace, there comes The twitter of the swallow in full throttle, Perching on some barbarian petal And changing the nightingale’s melancholy song
into a wail of “What did I do wrong
To get a jury hung?”
LEADER: It’s right and proper for a dedicated chorus
to give advice
To the city on what to do. In my opinion
the first thing
Is for every person to be considered equal
and reassured,
And if he’s made the blunder of supporting Phrynichus798
but then is cured,
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” I say, and I say this:
Let nobody
In this city ever lose his citizenship;
it’s outrageous
That those who happen to have served in a single battle at sea799
be put on the same footing
As the heroes of Plataea and go from slave to master.
No matter.
Actually, I extol it as the one rewarding
thing you’ve done.
For doesn’t it make sense that the sailors who’ve fought so often
at your side,
As have their fathers, and are in fact your kith and kin,
should be forgiven
For this one misjudgment,800 especially as they ask you?
So let it slide.
You’re a fairly intelligent lot and you ought to welcome
as fellow citizens
Every man who fights in our ships no matter who.
If we can’t do this,
Because we’ve become inflated (though we’re all related),
and proud of a city
Hugged by the ocean main, one day it will be seen
what fools we’ve been.
ANTISTROPHE
MEN AND WOMEN: If I’m correct in my assessment of a character Who without doubt is going to come a cropper Though at the moment he’s only a monkey and a nuisance, The pint-sized Cleigenes801 Who runs a sham laundry and poses as a fuller Using fake detergent and nothing But hanky-panky to get the spots out . . . Well, he’ll get his comeuppance. He’s quite aware of this and it makes him nervous. He’s terrified that one night very soon Stickless and sozzled and meandering home in the dark He’ll be set upon.
LEADER: You know what I often think:
we treat our best men
The way we treat our mint,
the silver and the golden.802
We were proud to invent
these unalloyed
Genuine coins, no less,
ringing true and tested
Both abroad and Greece,
and now they’re not employed,
As if we were disgusted
and want to use instead
These shoddy coppers minted
only yesterday
Or just the day before
(as if that matters).
They’re cheap—they really are.
Well, isn’t that
the way
We treat our best men,
the ones we know are fine,
Upright men of parts,
educated, honed
By wrestling and the arts?
They might as well be dropouts.
If the truth be told,
We’d rather have the coppers,
The aliens, the dopes:
rubbish born of rubbish,
All the latest washups.
There are no doubts
That once upon a time
the city wouldn’t have used them
Even as its scapegoats.
But even now, you jerks,
It’s not too late to mend.
Cultivate the cultured
Again, and when this works
and everything goes well
You’ll be congratulated.
If on the other hand
It all comes to an end
and you are up a gum tree,
Discerning folk will say:
“The tree’s fine anyway.”
[XANTHIAS and an OLD SERVANT of PLUTO come out of the palace.]
OLD SERVANT: My word, that master of yours, ’e’s a real gent.
XANTHIAS: Of course he is. All he knows is jagging and shagging.
OLD SERVANT: What I meant was,
’e never lambasted you for trying to pass yourself off as the boss.
XANTHIAS: It would have been his loss.
OLD SERVANT: That’s real cool! The spirit I love to see—
spoken like a true lackey.
XANTHIAS: You love it, eh?
OLD SERVANT: Yeah, it gives me a real kick
to bad-mouth the guv’nor be’ind ’is back.
XANTHIAS: Like the joy of a good grouse
after a beating when you’ve left the house.
OLD SERVANT: Boy, oh boy!
XANTHIAS: Or snooping?
OLD SERVANT: Tip-top!
XANTHIAS: By Zeus, yes! Or cocking the ear to overhear the boss?
OLD SERVANT: Mad with joy!
XANTHIAS: And blabbing about what you hear?
OLD SERVANT: Sheer ecstasy! Good as a ’and job!
XANTHIAS: Let’s shake on that, by Phoebus Apollo. Give us a hug. . . . But tell me, old fellow, by our mutual god, Zeus the Flogger, what’s going on inside the palace? Sounds like a mob of people screaming insults at one another.
OLD SERVANT: That be Aeschylus and Euripides.
XANTHIAS: Aha!
OLD SERVANT: A mighty tussle be going on ’mong the dead. Yer wouldn’t believe what a tussle, an’ people are taking sides.
XANTHIAS: Tussle about what?
OLD SERVANT: Well, there’s an old custom down ’ere, see,
for the top people in their professions, like, to ’old a competition,
and ’ooever comes out on top gets to ’ave free meals in the Town ’all
and sit next to Pluto, see?
XANTHIAS: I get it.
OLD SERVANT: But ’e only ’as it till
somebody comes along ’oo’s better ’an ’e gets it instead.
XANTHIAS: But why’s that put Aeschylus in a tizzy?
OLD SERVANT: Cuz ’e ’eld the Pedestal of Tragedy for being tops in that.
XANTHIAS: And who holds it now?
OLD SERVANT: When Euripides turned up ’ere, the bard,
an’ began ’is productions,
aimed at all the cutthroats, pickpockets, thieves, assassins—
down ’ere we ’ave every kind of bastard—
an’ when they ’eard all ’is clever harbee-jarbee an’ funny kind of logic,
they went bonkers over ’im. Said ’e was the bee’s knees
an’ ought to ’ave the chair an’ old Aeschylus kicked out.
XANTHIAS: Wasn’t he squashed?
OLD SERVANT: Not a bit of it. The people clamored for a competition to find out, like, ’oo was best.
XANTHIAS: All those hooligans? Well, I’m dashed!
OLD SERVANT: Clamored to ’igh ’eaven, they did.
XANTHIAS: But wasn’t there a pro-Aeschylus faction?
OLD SERVANT: Aye, but yer know ’ow the decent folks is always a
minority,
both down ’ere an’ up there. [gestures towards the audience]
XANTHIAS: What’s Pluto doing about it?
OLD SERVANT: ’e wants a competition—like immediately—to see
which of the two is better at ’is art.
XANTHIAS: And Sophocles never put in a claim?
OLD SERVANT: Not ’im.
When ’e arrived down ’ere803
Aeschylus went straight up to ’im, took ’is ’and and kissed ’im.
“It’s all yours,” ’e says, “the Chair.
I ain’t going to run.”
According to the critic Cleidimedes
’e’s withdrawn ’isself but says:
“If Aeschylus wins, well and done,
but if not, for the sake of art,
I myself’ll take Euripides on.”
XANTHIAS: Is that actually going to happen?
OLD SERVANT: Sure is, and soon. We’re going to see something great: poetry sold by measurement and weight.
XANTHIAS: What, tragedy on the scales like pork chops?
OLD SERVANT: Yeah, with yardsticks and measuring tapes. Words’ll be fitted into little boxes an’ . . .
XANTHIAS: You mean, like making bricks?
OLD SERVANT: Sure thing, with rulers and setsquares,
cuz Euripides says ’e’s going to analyze
poetic tragedy syllable by syllable.
XANTHIAS: Poor Aeschylus! He must have thought, “What the hell?”
OLD SERVANT: Sure did. Buried ’is ’ead like a charging bull.
XANTHIAS: Who’s judging?
OLD SERVANT: Ah, there’s the rub,
cuz they couldn’t find no one literate enough,
an’ Aeschylus vetoed anyone from Athens, see?
XANTHIAS: Thinks it’s too full of crooks probably.
OLD SERVANT: Aye, but ’e didn’t think much of the rest either,
not when weighing up what poets are.
So they’ve shoved the ’ole bloody thing onto yer master,
him being artistic-like.
Eh, but let’s go inside. It ain’t wise
when bosses get down to business
to be in the offing for the likes of us.
[XANTHIAS and the OLD SERVANT go into PLUTO’s palace as other servants assemble an assortment of scales and weights and every kind of measuring implement.]
MEN: I expect that his thundering heart will rage fiercely
When Aeschylus sees the snarling fangs of his rival in art.
Primed for the fight, his eyes will flare and dart,
Filled with fury.
WOMEN: Words will be waving their plumes over helmets that shine
And phrases planed into works of art are chiseled apart
As foe parries foe with words that fly fast and sublime,
While all the time . . .
MEN: Aeschylus, shaking the mass of his shaggy bristling mane,
His tremendous forehead scored with a beetling frown
Will hurl a bolted thunder of riveted power that blasts
Timbers apart.
WOMEN: Ah, but Euripides’ loosening and licking and testing
slippery tongue
Will match this onslaught with a counterattack,
Sniping and picking off word from word with a deadly knack
In this duel of the lung.
[PLUTO, DIONYSUS, AESCHYLUS, and EURIPIDES arrive and chairs are put out for them. PLUTO is in the center, DIONYSUS—no longer dressed as HERACLES—to his left, and AESCHYLUS on his right, the place of honor. EURIPIDES marches forward and grabs his chair.]
EURIPIDES: Don’t anyone dare tell me to let go of this chair.
With me—in the art of poetry—there’s no one to compare.
DIONYSUS: Aeschylus, you say
nothing.
Don’t you hear what this man’s claiming?
EURIPIDES: As always, he’s being aloof—like his tragedies.
DIONYSUS: That’s a bit much, friend. Don’t exaggerate.
EURIPIDES: I’ve had this fellow’s number for a long time.
The most boring primitives is what he likes to create:
unlettered, unfettered, unruly, uncouth, they froth at the mouth
in a flood of bombastical—diarrheical foam.
AESCHYLUS: Really? You son of a vegetable-selling bitch?
This coming from you, you bleeding-burst-bubble-piece-of-bosh!
You beggermonger with an avocation to stitch
old sacks, you’ll be sorry you said that.
DIONYSUS: Hold on, Aeschylus. “Heap not the fuel on your fiery
gall.”804
AESCHYLUS: No, I won’t hold on. Not till I’ve laid bare
the impudence of this creator of spastics here.
DIONYSUS: Hey, boys, a lamb, bring on a black lamb.805
I can see what’s heading our way—a storm.
AESCHYLUS: [continuing his tirade against EURIPIDES]
You connoisseur of dirty Cretan songs
fouling our art with incestuous intercourse.
DIONYSUS: That’s enough, illustrious Aeschylus,
and you, Euripides, poor fellow, it would be wise
to move out of range of this storm of hail.
He’s so angry he might break your skull
with a crushing retort and your Telephus would come to naught.
And you, Aeschylus,
do try to keep calm and free your repartee
from rancor and abuse.
It’s simply not done for two well-known literary men
to wrangle like fishwives or go up in a blaze
like an oak tree on fire.
EURIPIDES: I am ready to take him on if he is.
I’m not backing down
He can have the first go in this verbal bout
and pick away at the entire
gamut and guts of my songs and tragedies.
I don’t care which: my Peleus, my Aeolus,
my Meleager—yes, and even my Telephus.
DIONYSUS: And, Aeschylus, what about you? Speak out.
AESCHYLUS: I could have wished avoiding this altercation.
The odds are so uneven.
DIONYSUS: How d’you mean?
