by Aristophanes
POVERTY. Choose what you will.
CHREMYLUS. That’s all right.
POVERTY. You shall suffer the same if you are beaten!
CHREMYLUS. Do you think twenty deaths a sufficiently large stake?
BLEPSIDEMUS. Good enough for her, but for us two would suffice.
POVERTY. You won’t escape, for is there indeed a single valid argument to oppose me with?
CHORUS. To beat her in this debate, you must call upon all your wits.
Make no allowances and show no weakness!
CHREMYLUS. It is right that the good should be happy, that the wicked and the impious, on the other hand, should be miserable; that is a truth, I believe, which no one will gainsay. To realize this condition of things is as great a proposal as it is noble and useful in every respect, and we have found a means of attaining the object of our wishes. If Plutus recovers his sight and ceases from wandering about unseeing and at random, he will go to seek the just men and never leave them again; he will shun the perverse and ungodly; so, thanks to him, all men will become honest, rich and pious. Can anything better be conceived for the public weal?
BLEPSIDEMUS. Of a certainty, no! I bear witness to that. It is not even necessary she should reply.
CHREMYLUS. Does it not seem that everything is extravagance in the world, or rather madness, when you watch the way things go? A crowd of rogues enjoy blessings they have won by sheer injustice, while more honest folks are miserable, die of hunger, and spend their whole lives with you.
CHORUS. Yes, if Plutus became clear-sighted again and drove out Poverty, ’twould be the greatest blessing possible for the human race.
POVERTY. Here are two old men, whose brains are easy to confuse, who assist each other to talk rubbish and drivel to their hearts’ content. But if your wishes were realized, your profit would be great! Let Plutus recover his sight and divide his favours out equally to all, and none will ply either trade or art any longer; all toil would be done away with. Who would wish to hammer iron, build ships, sew, turn, cut up leather, bake bricks, bleach linen, tan hides, or break up the soil of the earth with the plough and garner the gifts of Demeter, if he could live in idleness and free from all this work?
CHREMYLUS. What nonsense all this is! All these trades which you just mention will be plied by our slaves.
POVERTY. Your slaves! And by what means will these slaves be got?
CHREMYLUS. We will buy them.
POVERTY. But first say, who will sell them, if everyone is rich?
CHREMYLUS. Some greedy dealer from Thessaly — the land which supplies so many.
POVERTY. But if your system is applied, there won’t be a single slave-dealer left. What rich man would risk his life to devote himself to this traffic? You will have to toil, to dig and submit yourself to all kinds of hard labour; so that your life would be more wretched even than it is now.
CHREMYLUS. May this prediction fall upon yourself!
POVERTY. You will not be able to sleep in a bed, for no more will ever be manufactured; nor on carpets, for who would weave them if he had gold? When you bring a young bride to your dwelling, you will have no essences wherewith to perfume her, nor rich embroidered cloaks dyed with dazzling colours in which to clothe her. And yet what is the use of being rich, if you are to be deprived of all these enjoyments? On the other hand, you have all that you need in abundance, thanks to me; to the artisan I am like a severe mistress, who forces him by need and poverty to seek the means of earning his livelihood.
CHREMYLUS. And what good thing can you give us, unless it be burns in the bath, and swarms of brats and old women who cry with hunger, and clouds uncountable of lice, gnats and flies, which hover about the wretch’s head, trouble him, awake him and say, “You will be hungry, but get up!” Besides, to possess a rag in place of a mantle, a pallet of rushes swarming with bugs, that do not let you close your eyes for a bed; a rotten piece of matting for a coverlet; a big stone for a pillow, on which to lay your head; to eat mallow roots instead of bread, and leaves of withered radish instead of cake; to have nothing but the cover of a broken jug for a stool, the stave of a cask, and broken at that, for a kneading-trough, that is the life you make for us! Are these the mighty benefits with which you pretend to load mankind?
POVERTY. ’Tis not my life that you describe; you are attacking the existence beggars lead.
CHREMYLUS. Is beggary not Poverty’s sister?
POVERTY. Thrasybulus and Dionysius are one and the same according to you. No, my life is not like that and never will be. The beggar, whom you have depicted to us, never possesses anything. The poor man lives thriftily and attentive to his work; he has not got too much, but he does not lack what he really needs.
CHREMYLUS. Oh! what a happy life, by Demeter! to live sparingly, to toil incessantly and not to leave enough to pay for a tomb!
POVERTY. That’s it! Jest, jeer, and never talk seriously! But what you don’t know is this, that men with me are worth more, both in mind and body, than with Plutus. With him they are gouty, big-bellied, heavy of limb and scandalously stout; with me they are thin, wasp-waisted, and terrible to the foe.
CHREMYLUS. ’Tis no doubt by starving them that you give them that waspish waist.
POVERTY. As for behaviour, I will prove to you that modesty dwells with me and insolence with Plutus.
CHREMYLUS. Oh! the sweet modesty of stealing and breaking through walls.
BLEPSIDEMUS. Aye, the thief is truly modest, for he hides himself.
POVERTY. Look at the orators in our republics; as long as they are poor, both State and people can only praise their uprightness; but once they are fattened on the public funds, they conceive a hatred for justice, plan intrigues against the people and attack the democracy.
CHREMYLUS. That is absolutely true, although your tongue is very vile. But it matters not, so don’t put on those triumphant airs; you shall not be punished any the less for having tried to persuade me that poverty is worth more than wealth.
POVERTY. Not being able to refute my arguments, you chatter at random and exert yourself to no purpose.
CHREMYLUS. Then tell me this, why does all mankind flee from you?
POVERTY. Because I make them better. Children do the very same; they flee from the wise counsels of their fathers. So difficult is it to see one’s true interest.
CHREMYLUS. Will you say that Zeus cannot discern what is best? Well, he takes Plutus to himself …
BLEPSIDEMUS. … and banishes Poverty to earth.
POVERTY. Ah me! how purblind you are, you old fellows of the days of
Saturn! Why, Zeus is poor, and I will clearly prove it to you. In the
Olympic games, which he founded, and to which he convokes the whole of
Greece every four years, why does he only crown the victorious athletes
with wild olive? If he were rich he would give them gold.
CHREMYLUS. ’Tis in that way he shows that he clings to his wealth; he is sparing with it, won’t part with any portion of it, only bestows baubles on the victors and keeps his money for himself.
POVERTY. But wealth coupled to such sordid greed is yet more shameful than poverty.
CHREMYLUS. May Zeus destroy you, both you and your chaplet of wild olive!
POVERTY. Thus you dare to maintain that poverty is not the fount of all blessings!
CHREMYLUS. Ask Hecaté whether it is better to be rich or starving; she will tell you that the rich send her a meal every month and that the poor make it disappear before it is even served. But go and hang yourself and don’t breathe another syllable. I will not be convinced against my will.
POVERTY. “Oh! citizens of Argos! do you hear what he says?”
CHREMYLUS. Invoke Pauson, your boon companion, rather.
POVERTY. Alas! what is to become of me?
CHREMYLUS. Get you gone, be off quick and a pleasant journey to you.
POVERTY. But where shall I go?
CHREMYLUS. To gaol; but hurry up, let us put an end to t
his.
POVERTY. One day you will recall me.
CHREMYLUS. Then you can return; but disappear for the present. I prefer to be rich; you are free to knock your head against the walls in your rage.
BLEPSIDEMUS. And I too welcome wealth. I want, when I leave the bath all perfumed with essences, to feast bravely with my wife and children and to break wind in the faces of toilers and Poverty.
CHREMYLUS. So that hussy has gone at last! But let us make haste to put
Plutus to bed in the Temple of Aesculapius.
BLEPSIDEMUS. Let us make haste; else some bothering fellow may again come to interrupt us.
CHREMYLUS. Cario, bring the coverlets and all that I have got ready from the house; let us conduct the god to the Temple, taking care to observe all the proper rites.
CHORUS. [Missing.]
CARIO. Oh! you old fellows, who used to dip out the broth served to the poor at the festival of Theseus with little pieces of bread hollowed like a spoon, how worthy of envy is your fate! How happy you are, both you and all just men!
CHORUS. My good fellow, what has happened to your friends? You seem the bearer of good tidings.
CARIO. What joy for my master and even more for Plutus! The god has regained his sight; his eyes sparkle with the greatest brilliancy, thanks to the benevolent care of Aesculapius.
CHORUS. Oh! what transports of joy! oh! What shouts of gladness!
CARIO. Aye! one is compelled to rejoice, whether one will or not.
CHORUS. I will sing to the honour of Aesculapius, the son of illustrious
Zeus, with a resounding voice; he is the beneficent star which men adore.
CHREMYLUS’ WIFE. What mean these shouts? Is there good news. With what impatience have I been waiting in the house, and for so long too!
CARIO. Quick! quick! some wine, mistress. And drink yourself, for ’tis much to your taste; I bring you all blessings in a lump.
WIFE. Where are they?
CARIO. In my words, as you are going to see.
WIFE. Have done with trifling! come, speak.
CARIO. Listen, I am going to tell you everything from the feet to the head.
WIFE. Ah! don’t throw anything at my head.
CARIO. Not even the happiness that has come to you?
WIFE. No, no, nothing … to annoy me.
CARIO. Having arrived near to the Temple with our patient, then so unfortunate, but now at the apex of happiness, of blessedness, we first led him down to the sea to purify him.
WIFE. Ah! what a singular pleasure for an old man to bathe in the cold sea-water!
CARIO. Then we repaired to the Temple of the god. Once the wafers and the various offerings had been consecrated upon the altar, and the cake of wheaten-meal had been handed over to the devouring Hephaestus, we made Plutus lie on a couch according to the rite, and each of us prepared himself a bed of leaves.
WIFE. Had any other folk come to beseech the deity?
CARIO. Yes. Firstly, Neoclides, who is blind, but steals much better than those who see clearly; then many others attacked by complaints of all kinds. The lights were put out and the priest enjoined us to sleep, especially recommending us to keep silent should we hear any noise. There we were all lying down quite quietly. I could not sleep; I was thinking of a certain stew-pan full of pap placed close to an old woman and just behind her head. I had a furious longing to slip towards that side. But just as I was lifting my head, I noticed the priest, who was sweeping off both the cakes and the figs on the sacred table; then he made the round of the altars and sanctified the cakes that remained, by stowing them away in a bag. I therefore resolved to follow such a pious example and made straight for the pap.
WIFE. You wretch! and had you no fear of the god?
CARIO. Aye, indeed! I feared that the god with his crown on his head might have been near the stew-pan before me. I said to myself, “Like priest, like god.” On hearing the noise I made, the old woman put out her hand, but I hissed and bit it, just as a sacred serpent might have done. Quick she drew back her hand, slipped down into the bed with her head beneath the coverlets and never moved again; only she let go some wind in her fear which stunk worse than a weasel. As for myself, I swallowed a goodly portion of the pap and, having made a good feed, went back to bed.
WIFE. And did not the god come?
CAIRO. He did not tarry; and when he was near us, oh! dear! such a good joke happened. My belly was quite blown out, and I let wind with the loudest of noises.
WIFE. Doubtless the god pulled a wry face?
CARIO. No, but Iaso blushed a little and Panacea turned her head away, holding her nose; for my perfume is not that of roses.
WIFE. And what did the god do?
CARIO. He paid not the slightest heed.
WIFE. He must then be a pretty coarse kind of god?
CARIO. I don’t say that, but he’s used to tasting shit.
WIFE. Impudent knave, go on with you!
CARIO. Then I hid myself in my bed all a-tremble. Aesculapius did the round of the patients and examined them all with great attention; then a slave placed beside him a stone mortar, a pestle and a little box.
WIFE. Of stone?
CARIO. No, not of stone.
WIFE. But how could you see all this, you arch-rascal, when you say you were hiding all the time?
CARIO. Why, great gods, through my cloak, for ’tis not without holes! He first prepared an ointment for Neoclides; he threw three heads of Tenian garlic into the mortar, pounded them with an admixture of fig-tree sap and lentisk, moistened the whole with Sphettian vinegar, and, turning back the patient’s eyelids, applied his salve to the interior of the eyes, so that the pain might be more excruciating. Neoclides shrieked, howled, sprang towards the foot of his bed and wanted to bolt, but the god laughed and said to him, “Keep where you are with your salve; by doing this you will not go and perjure yourself before the Assembly.”
WIFE What a wise god and what a friend to our city!
CARIO. Thereupon he came and seated himself at the head of Plutus’ bed, took a perfectly clean rag and wiped his eye-lids; Panacea covered his head and face with a purple cloth, while the god whistled, and two enormous snakes came rushing from the sanctuary.
WIFE. Great gods!
CARIO. They slipped gently beneath the purple cloth and, as far as I could judge, licked the patient’s eyelids; for, in less time than even you need, mistress, to drain down ten beakers of wine, Plutus rose up; he could see. I clapped my hands with joy and awoke my master, and the god immediately disappeared with the serpents into the sanctuary. As for those who were lying near Plutus, you can imagine that they embraced him tenderly. Dawn broke and not one of them had closed an eye. As for myself, I did not cease thanking the god who had so quickly restored to Plutus his sight and had made Neoclides blinder than ever.
WIFE. Oh! thou great Aesculapius! How mighty is thy power! (To Cario.)
But tell me, where is Plutus now?
CARIO. He is approaching, escorted by an immense crowd. The rich, whose wealth is ill-gotten, are knitting their brows and shooting at him looks of fierce hate, while the just folk, who led a wretched existence, embrace him and grasp his hand in the transport of their joy; they follow in his wake, their heads wreathed with garlands, laughing and blessing their deliverer; the old men make the earth resound as they walk together keeping time. Come, all of you, all, down to the very least, dance, leap and form yourselves into a chorus; no longer do you risk being told, when you go home, “There is no meal in the bag.”
WIFE. And I, by Hecate! I will string you a garland of cakes for the good tidings you have brought me.
CARIO. Hurry, make haste then; our friends are close at hand.
WIFE. I will go indoors to fetch some gifts of welcome, to celebrate these eyes that have just been opened.
CARIO. Meantime I am going forth to meet them.
CHORUS. [Missing.]
PLUTUS. I adore thee, oh! thou divine sun, and thee I greet thou city,
the beloved of Pallas; be welcome, thou land of Cecrops, which hast received me. Alas! what manner of men I associated with! I blush to think of it. While, on the other hand, I shunned those who deserved my friendship; I knew neither the vices of the ones nor the virtues of the others. A twofold mistake, and in both cases equally fatal! Ah! what a misfortune was mine! But I want to change everything; and in future I mean to prove to mankind that, if I gave to the wicked, ’twas against my will.
CHREMYLUS (to the crowd who impede him). Get you gone! Oh! what a lot of friends spring into being when you are fortunate! They dig me with their elbows and bruise my shins to prove their affection. Each one wants to greet me. What a crowd of old fellows thronged round me on the market-place!
WIFE. Oh! thou, who art dearest of all to me, and thou too, be welcome! Allow me, Plutus, to shower these gifts of welcome over you in due accord with custom.
PLUTUS. No. This is the first house I enter after having regained my sight; I shall take nothing from it, for ’tis my place rather to give.
WIFE. Do you refuse these gifts?
PLUTUS. I will accept them at your fireside, as custom requires. Besides, we shall thus avoid a ridiculous scene; it is not meet that the poet should throw dried figs and dainties to the spectators; ’tis a vulgar trick to make ‘em laugh.
WIFE. You are right. Look! yonder’s Dexinicus, who was already getting to his feet to catch the figs as they flew past him.
CHORUS. [Missing.]
CARIO. How pleasant it is, friends, to live well, especially when it costs nothing! What a deluge of blessings flood our household, and that too without our having wronged ever a soul! Ah! what a delightful thing is wealth! The bin is full of white flour and the wine-jars run over with fragrant liquor; all the chests are crammed with gold and silver, ’tis a sight to see; the tank is full of oil, the phials with perfumes, and the garret with dried figs. Vinegar flasks, plates, stew-pots and all the platters are of brass; our rotten old wooden trenchers for the fish have to-day become dishes of silver; the very night-commode is of ivory. We others, the slaves, we play at odd and even with gold pieces, and carry luxury so far that we no longer wipe ourselves with stones, but use garlic stalks instead. My master, at this moment, is crowned with flowers and sacrificing a pig, a goat and a ram; ’tis the smoke that has driven me out, for I could no longer endure it, it hurt my eyes so.
