The Complete Plays

by Aristophanes

  XANTHIAS. Oh! tortoises! happy to have so hard a skin, thrice happy to carry this roof that protects your backs! Oh! creatures full of sense! what a happy thought to cover your bodies with this shell, which shields it from blows! As for me, I can no longer move; the stick has so belaboured my body.

  CHORUS. Eh, what’s the matter, child? for, old as he may be, one has the right to call anyone a child who has let himself be beaten.

  XANTHIAS. Alas! my master is really the worst of all plagues. He was the most drunk of all the guests, and yet among them were Hippyllus, Antiphon, Lycon, Lysistratus, Theophrastus and Phrynichus. But he was a hundred times more insolent than any. As soon as he had stuffed himself with a host of good dishes, he began to leap and spring, to laugh and to let wind like a little ass well blown out with barley. Then he set to a-beating me with all his heart, shouting, “Slave! slave!” Lysistratus, as soon as he saw him, let fly this comparison at him. “Old fellow,” said he, “you resemble one of the scum assuming the airs of a rich man or a stupid ass that has broken loose from its stable.” “As for you,” bawled the other at the top of his voice, “you are like a grasshopper, whose cloak is worn to the thread, or like Sthenelus after his clothes had been sold.” All applauded excepting Theophrastus, who made a grimace as behoved a well-bred man like him. The old man called to him, “Hi! tell me then what you have to be proud of? Not so much mouthing, you, who so well know how to play the buffoon and to lick-spittle the rich!” ’Twas thus he insulted each in turn with the grossest of jests, and he reeled off a thousand of the most absurd and ridiculous speeches. At last, when he was thoroughly drunk, he started towards here, striking everyone he met. Hold, here he comes reeling along. I will be off for fear of his blows.

  PHILOCLEON. Halt! and let everyone begone, or I shall do an evil turn to some of those who insist on following me. Clear off, rascals, or I shall roast you with this torch!

  BDELYCLEON. We shall all make you smart to-morrow for your youthful pranks. We shall come in a body to summon you to justice.

  PHILOCLEON. Ho! ho! summon me! what old women’s babble! Know that I can no longer bear to hear even the name of suits. Ha! ha! ha! this is what pleases me, “Down with the urns!” Won’t you begone? Down with the dicasts! away with them, away with them! (To the flute-girl.) Mount up there, my little gilded cock-chafer; seize hold of this rope’s end in your hand. Hold it tight, but have a care; the rope’s a bit old and worn, but it loves a nice rubbing still. Do you see how opportunely I got you away from the solicitations of those fellows, who wanted to make you work their tools in your mouth? You therefore owe me this return to gratify mine by masturbating it. But will you pay the debt? Oh! I know well you will not even try; you will play with me, you will laugh heartily at my poor old weapon as you have done at many another man’s. And yet, if you would not be a naughty girl, I would redeem you, when my son is dead, and you should be my concubine, my little cuntling. At present I am not my own master; I am very young and am watched very closely. My dear son never lets me out of his sight; ’tis an unbearable creature, who would quarter a thread and skin a flint; he is afraid I should get lost, for I am his only father. But here he comes running towards us. But be quick, don’t stir, hold these torches. I am going to play him a young man’s trick, the same as he played me before I was initiated into the mysteries.

  BDELYCLEON. Oh! oh! you debauched old dotard! you desire and, meseems, you love pretty baggages; but, by Apollo, it shall not be with impunity!

  PHILOCLEON. Ah! you would be very glad to eat a lawsuit in vinegar, you would.

  BDELYCLEON. ’Tis a rascally trick to steal the flute-girl away from the other guests.

  PHILOCLEON. What flute-girl? Are you distraught, as if you had just returned from Pluto?

  BDELYCLEON. By Zeus! But here is the Dardanian wench in person.

  PHILOCLEON. Nonsense. This is a torch that I have lit in the public square in honour of the gods.

  BDELYCLEON. Is this a torch?

  PHILOCLEON. A torch? Certainly. Do you not see it is of several different colours?

  BDELYCLEON. And what is that black part in the middle?

  PHILOCLEON. ’Tis the pitch running out while it burns.

  BDELYCLEON. And there, on the other side, surely that is a girl’s bottom?

  PHILOCLEON. No. ’Tis a small bit of the torch, that projects.

  BDELYCLEON. What do you mean? what bit? Hi! you woman! come here!

  PHILOCLEON. Ah! ah! What do you want to do?

  BDELYCLEON. To take her from you and lead her away. You are too much worn out and can do nothing.

  PHILOCLEON. Hear me! One day, at Olympia, I saw Euphudion boxing bravely against Ascondas; he was already aged, and yet with a blow from his fist he knocked down his young opponent. So beware lest I blacken your eyes.

  BDELYCLEON. By Zeus! you have Olympia at your finger-ends!

  A BAKER’S WIFE (to Bdelycleon). Come to my help, I beg you, in the name of the gods! This cursed man, when striking out right and left with his torch, knocked over ten loaves worth an obolus apiece, and then, to cap the deal, four others.

  BDELYCLEON. Do you see what lawsuits you are drawing upon yourself with your drunkenness? You will have to plead.

  PHILOCLEON. Oh, no, no! a little pretty talk and pleasant tales will soon settle the matter and reconcile her with me.

  BAKER’S WIFE. Not so, by the goddesses twain! It shall not be said that you have with impunity spoilt the wares of Myrtia, the daughter of Ancylion and Sostraté.

  PHILOCLEON. Listen, woman, I wish to tell you a lovely anecdote.

  BAKER’S WIFE. Oh! friend, no anecdotes for me, thank you.

  PHILOCLEON. One night Aesop was going out to supper. A drunken bitch had the impudence to bark near him. Aesop said to her, “Oh, bitch, bitch! you would do well to sell your wicked tongue and buy some wheat.”

  BAKER’S WIFE. You make a mock of me! Very well! Be you who you like, I shall summons you before the market inspectors for damage done to my business. Chaerephon here shall be my witness.

  PHILOCLEON. But just listen, here’s another will perhaps please you better. Lasus and Simonides were contesting against each other for the singing prize. Lasus said, “Damn me if I care.”

  BAKER’S WIFE. Ah! really, did he now!

  PHILOCLEON. As for you, Chaerephon, can you be witness to this woman, who looks as pale and tragic as Ino when she throws herself from her rock … at the feet of Euripides?

  BDELYCLEON. Here, methinks, comes another to summons you; he has his witness too. Ah! unhappy indeed we are!

  ACCUSER. I summons you, old man, for outrage.

  BDELYCLEON. For outrage? Oh! in the name of the gods, do not summons him! I will be answerable for him; name the penalty and I will be more grateful still.

  PHILOCLEON. I ask for nothing better than to be reconciled with him; for I admit I struck him and threw stones at him. So, first come here. Will you leave it in my hands to name the indemnity I must pay, if I promise you my friendship as well, or will you fix it yourself?

  ACCUSER. Fix it; I like neither lawsuits nor disputes.

  PHILOCLEON. A man of Sybaris fell from his chariot and wounded his head most severely; he was a very poor driver. One of his friends came up to him and said, “Every man to his trade.” Well then, go you to Pittalus to get mended.

  BDELYCLEON. You are incorrigible.

  ACCUSER (to his witness). At all events, make a note of his reply.

  PHILOCLEON. Listen, instead of going off so abruptly. A woman at Sybaris broke a box.

  ACCUSER (to his witness). I again ask you to witness this.

  PHILOCLEON. The box therefore had the fact attested, but the woman said, “Never worry about witnessing the matter, but hurry off to buy a cord to tie it together with; ‘twill be the more sensible course.”

  ACCUSER. Oh! go on with your ribaldry until the Archon calls the case.

  BDELYCLEON (to Philocleon). No, by Demeter! you stay here no longer! I take yo
u and carry you off.

  PHILOCLEON. And what for?

  BDELYCLEON. What for? I shall carry you to the house; else there would not be enough witnesses for the accusers.

  PHILOCLEON. One day at Delphi, Aesop …

  BDELYCLEON. I don’t care a fig for that.

  PHILOCLEON. … was accused of having stolen a sacred vase. But he replied, that the horn beetle … (Philocleon goes on with his fable while Bdelycleon is carrying him off the scene by main force.)

  BDELYCLEON. Oh, dear, dear! You drive me crazy with your horn-beetle.

  CHORUS. I envy you your happiness, old man. What a contrast to his former frugal habits and his very hard life! Taught now in quite another school, he will know nothing but the pleasures of ease. Perhaps he will jib at it, for indeed ’tis difficult to renounce what has become one’s second nature. However, many have done it, and adopting the ideas of others, have changed their use and wont. As for Philocleon’s son, I, like all wise and judicious men, cannot sufficiently praise his filial tenderness and his tact. Never have I met a more amiable nature, and I have conceived the greatest fondness for him. How he triumphed on every point in his discussion with his father, when he wanted to bring him back to more worthy and honourable tastes!

  XANTHIAS. By Bacchus! ’Tis some Evil Genius has brought this unbearable disorder into our house. The old man, full up with wine and excited by the sound of the flute, is so delighted, so enraptured, that he spends the night executing the old dances that Thespis first produced on the stage, and just now he offered to prove to the modern tragedians, by disputing with them for the dancing prize, that they are nothing but a lot of old dotards.

  PHILOCLEON. “Who loiters at the door of the vestibule?”

  XANTHIAS. Here comes our pest, our plague!

  PHILOCLEON. Let down the barriers. The dance is now to begin.

  XANTHIAS. Or rather the madness.

  PHILOCLEON. Impetuous movement already twists and racks my sides. How my nostrils wheeze! how my back cracks!

  XANTHIAS. Go and fill yourself with hellebore.

  PHILOCLEON. Phrynichus is as bold as a cock and terrifies his rivals.

  XANTHIAS. Oh! oh! have a care he does not kick you.

  PHILOCLEON. His leg kicks out sky-high, and his arse gapes open.

  XANTHIAS. Do have a care.

  PHILOCLEON. Look how easily my leg-joints move.

  BDELYCLEON. Great gods! What does all this mean? Is it actual, downright madness?

  PHILOCLEON. And now I summon and challenge my rivals. If there be a tragic poet who pretends to be a skilful dancer, let him come and contest the matter with me. Is there one? Is there not one?

  BDELYCLEON. Here comes one, and one only.

  PHILOCLEON. Who is the wretch?

  BDELYCLEON. ’Tis the younger son of Carcinus.

  PHILOCLEON. I will crush him to nothing; in point of keeping time, I will knock him out, for he knows nothing of rhythm.

  BDELYCLEON. Ah! ah! here comes his brother too, another tragedian, and another son of Carcinus.

  PHILOCLEON. Him I will devour for my dinner.

  BDELYCLEON. Oh! ye gods! I see nothing but crabs. Here is yet another son of Carcinus.

  PHILOCLEON. What is’t comes here? A shrimp or a spider?

  BDELYCLEON. ’Tis a crab, — a crabkin, the smallest of its kind; he writes tragedies.

  PHILOCLEON. Oh! Carcinus, how proud you should be of your brood! What a crowd of kinglets have come swooping down here!

  BDELYCLEON. Come, come, my poor father, you will have to measure yourself against them.

  PHILOCLEON. Have pickle prepared for seasoning them, if I am bound to prove the victor.

  CHORUS. Let us stand out of the way a little, so that they may twirl at their ease. Come, illustrious children of this inhabitant of the briny, brothers of the shrimps, skip on the sand and the shore of the barren sea; show us the lightning whirls and twirls of your nimble limbs. Glorious offspring of Phrynichus, let fly your kicks, so that the spectators may be overjoyed at seeing your legs so high in air. Twist, twirl, tap your bellies, kick your legs to the sky. Here comes your famous father, the ruler of the sea, delighted to see his three lecherous kinglets. Go on with your dancing, if it pleases you, but as for us, we shall not join you. Lead us promptly off the stage, for never a Comedy yet was seen where the Chorus finished off with a dance.

  PEACE

  Anonymous translation for the Athenian Society, London, 1912

  Peace won second prize at the City Dionysia where it was staged just a few days before the Peace of Nicias, promising the war-wearied citizens of Athens an end to the ten year Peloponnesian War, which was validated in 421 BC. The comedy is notable for its joyous anticipation of peace and its celebration of rural pleasures that had been denied to the Athenians so long due to the ongoing conflict with Sparta. Once again, Cleon, the pro-war populist leader of Athens, is a target for Aristophanes’ wit, even though he had died in battle a few months earlier.

  The play concerns Trygaeus, a middle-aged Athenian that miraculously brings about a peaceful end to the Peloponnesian War, earning the gratitude of farmers while bankrupting various tradesmen who had profited from the war. Trygaeus celebrates his triumph by marrying Harvest, a companion of Festival and Peace, all of whom he has liberated from a celestial prison.

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  PEACE

  INTRODUCTION

  The ‘Peace’ was brought out four years after ‘The Acharnians’ (422 B.C.), when the War had already lasted ten years. The leading motive is the same as in the former play — the intense desire of the less excitable and more moderate-minded citizens for relief from the miseries of war.

  Trygaeus, a rustic patriot, finding no help in men, resolves to ascend to heaven to expostulate personally with Zeus for allowing this wretched state of things to continue. With this object he has fed and trained a gigantic dung-beetle, which he mounts, and is carried, like Bellerophon on Pegasus, on an aerial journey. Eventually he reaches Olympus, only to find that the gods have gone elsewhere, and that the heavenly abode is occupied solely by the demon of War, who is busy pounding up the Greek States in a huge mortar. However, his benevolent purpose is not in vain; for learning from Hermes that the goddess Peace has been cast into a pit, where she is kept a fast prisoner, he calls upon the different peoples of Hellas to make a united effort and rescue her, and with their help drags her out and brings her back in triumph to earth. The play concludes with the restoration of the goddess to her ancient honours, the festivities of the rustic population and the nuptials of Trygaeus with Opora (Harvest), handmaiden of Peace, represented as a pretty courtesan.

  Such references as there are to Cleon in this play are noteworthy. The great Demagogue was now dead, having fallen in the same action as the rival Spartan general, the renowned Brasidas, before Amphipolis, and whatever Aristophanes says here of his old enemy is conceived in the spirit of ‘de mortuis nil nisi bonum.’ In one scene Hermes is descanting on the evils which had nearly ruined Athens and declares that ‘The Tanner’ was the cause of them all. But Trygaeus interrupts him with the words:

  “Hold — say not so, good master Hermes;

  Let the man rest in peace where now he lies.

  He is no longer of our world, but yours.”

  Here surely we have a trait of magnanimity on the author’s part as admirable in its way as the wit and boldness of his former attacks had been in theirs.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  TRYGAEUS.

  TWO SERVANTS of TRYGAEUS.

  MAIDENS, Daughters of TRYGAEUS.

  HERMES.

  WAR.

  TUMULT.

  HIEROCLES, a Soothsayer.

  A SICKLE-MAKER.

  A CREST-MAKER.

  A TRUMPET-MAKER.

  A HELMET-MAKER.

  A SPEAR-MAKER.

  SON OF LAMACHUS.

  SON OF CLEONYMUS.

  CHORUS OF
HUSBANDMEN.

  SCENE: A farmyard, two slaves busy beside a dungheap; afterwards, in Olympus.

  PEACE

  FIRST SERVANT. Quick, quick, bring the dung-beetle his cake.

  SECOND SERVANT. Coming, coming.

  FIRST SERVANT. Give it to him, and may it kill him!

  SECOND SERVANT. May he never eat a better.

  FIRST SERVANT. Now give him this other one kneaded up with ass’s dung.

  SECOND SERVANT. There! I’ve done that too.

  FIRST SERVANT. And where’s what you gave him just now; surely he can’t have devoured it yet!

  SECOND SERVANT. Indeed he has; he snatched it, rolled it between his feet and boiled it.

  FIRST SERVANT. Come, hurry up, knead up a lot and knead them stiffly.

  SECOND SERVANT. Oh, scavengers, help me in the name of the gods, if you do not wish to see me fall down choked.

  FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, another made of the stool of a young scapegrace catamite. ‘Twill be to the beetle’s taste; he likes it well ground.

  SECOND SERVANT. There! I am free at least from suspicion; none will accuse me of tasting what I mix.

  FIRST SERVANT. Faugh! come, now another! keep on mixing with all your might.

  SECOND SERVANT. I’ faith, no. I can stand this awful cesspool stench no longer, so I bring you the whole ill-smelling gear.

  FIRST SERVANT. Pitch it down the sewer sooner, and yourself with it.

  SECOND SERVANT. Maybe, one of you can tell me where I can buy a stopped-up nose, for there is no work more disgusting than to mix food for a beetle and to carry it to him. A pig or a dog will at least pounce upon our excrement without more ado, but this foul wretch affects the disdainful, the spoilt mistress, and won’t eat unless I offer him a cake that has been kneaded for an entire day…. But let us open the door a bit ajar without his seeing it. Has he done eating? Come, pluck up courage, cram yourself till you burst! The cursed creature! It wallows in its food! It grips it between its claws like a wrestler clutching his opponent, and with head and feet together rolls up its paste like a ropemaker twisting a hawser. What an indecent, stinking, gluttonous beast! I know not what angry god let this monster loose upon us, but of a certainty it was neither Aphrodité nor the Graces.