by Aristophanes
We’ve got to respect the great paternal Zeus.
PHIDIPPIDES: Hark at him! The great paternal Zeus! How backward can you be? Do you really think that Zeus exists?
STREPSIADES: He does, too.
PHIDIPPIDES: He does not. Spin reigns.
Spin has given Zeus the push.
STREPSIADES: No, it hasn’t, though Spin made me think it had. How silly of me to treat this like a god: this piece of shard!272
PHIDIPPIDES: [as he goes into the house]
You can stay here: like one who rambles to himself and
raves.
STREPSIADES: Yes, I suppose I must be mad: clean crazy to have swapped the gods for Socrates.
[He goes up to a statue of Hermes in a corner of the street.]273
Well, Hermes, old pal,
don’t be cross with me or bring me to my knees
for being such a fool
to fall for their empty twaddle.
I need your advice.
Should I hit them with a writ and hound them in court?
Or what do you think?
[He bends his ear to the statue.]
Ah, excellent advice! No meddling with a suit . . .
Just go and burn down the Thinkpot, what!
Xanthias, my boy . . . yes . . .
bring out a ladder and an ax.
[XANTHIAS hurries out with both.]
Now, if you love your master,
climb on to the Thinkpot and bring down disaster
on roof, hut, the whole bloody bunch.
Now somebody go and fetch a lighted torch.
I’ll make some in there
pay for what they did to me—brash impostors that they are.
[STREPSIADES and XANTHIAS climb onto the rooftop of the Thinkpot with a lighted torch.]
FIRST PUPIL: [from inside] ’ey there! ’ave a ’art!
STREPSIADES: Go to it, torch. Get a good blaze going.
[PUPILS begin to rush out.]
FIRST PUPIL: Man, what d’yer think yer doing?
STREPSIADES: What am I doing?
Oh, I’m just having a profound discussion with your rafters.
SECOND PUPIL: Crikey! Who’s so daft as
to go burning down our house?
STREPSIADES: The man whose coat you ran off with.
SECOND PUPIL: You’ll kill us! Yes, kill us!
STREPSIADES: Precisely my intention—if
this ax doesn’t disappoint me
and I don’t topple off and break my neck.
[SOCRATES runs out of the Thinkpot.]
SOCRATES: Hey, you there on the roof—what the heck!
STREPSIADES: [quoting SOCRATES’ earlier remark]
“I tread the air and analyze the sun.”
SOCRATES: While I choke to a ghastly death.
SECOND PUPIL: And I’m being burned alive. It’s a sin.
[SECOND PUPIL jumps off the roof as STREPSIADES and XANTHIAS climb down.]
STREPSIADES: That pays for the brain wave of cheating the divine And peering into the arsehole of the moon. Round them, pound them, yes, and stone them: Let them have it, let them nab it—Most of all because they’ve striven To unseat heaven.
[SOCRATES and PUPILS beat a retreat, with STREPSIADES and XANTHIAS on their heels.]
LEADER: [as the CHORUS forms for the exodus march] Let us the Chorus, then, dance on our way. We did a fairly decent job today.
WASPS
Wasps was produced by Aristophanes himself at
the Lenaea of 422 B.C. and placed second;
Philomedes placed first with Preview (Proagon) and
Leucon third with Ambassadors.
THEME
Ostensibly the theme of Wasps is a satirical look at the Athenian legal system and the passion of Athenians for lawsuits. However, the unasked question behind this surveillance is: how liberal can a state be before it crumbles in the face of the forces of self-interest and privilege? The irony is that the very man in charge of the people’s best interests may be precisely the one to subvert these to his own advantage.
CHARACTERS
SOSIAS, servant of Hatecleon
XANTHIAS, servant of Hatecleon
HATECLEON, rich young man
LOVECLEON, his father
YOUTH, son of Chorus Leader, carries a lamp
CLEONACUR, dog of Cydathen
VICTIM, of Lovecleon
MYRTIA, bread girl
ACCUSER, of Lovecleon
CHORUS OF JURYMEN, dressed as wasps
SILENT PARTS
DONKEY, brief appearance during Prologue
BOYS, sons of Chorus members
MIDAS, servant of Hatecleon
PHRYX, servant of Hatecleon
MASYNTIAS, servant of Hatecleon
HOUSEBOY, of Hatecleon
CAGED COCK, during house lawsuit scene
LABES, dog of Aexone
CHEESE GRATER AND OTHER KITCHEN UTENSILS
PUPS, of Labes
CHRYSUS, servant of Philoctemon
DARDANIS, naked flute girl
OTHER VICTIMS, of Lovecleon
CHAEREPHON, witness for Myrtia
WITNESS, for Accuser
SONS OF CARCINUS, three dancers
CARCINUS, father of dancers
THE STORY
Lovecleon, a diehard of the old school, has put his affairs in the hands of his elegant son, Hatecleon, and now spends his time in the lawcourts sitting on juries. After Hatecleon has failed to cure him of this passion, he shuts him up in the house but later agrees to let him go if he can prove the efficacy of jury service.
A debate proceeds in which Lovecleon expounds on the virtues of jury work, and Hatecleon points out that jurymen are the pawns of politicians like Cleon,274 who cheat them of a richer life: the kind of life he now offers his father if only he will avoid the lawcourts and stay at home, where he can even set up his own lawcourt.
The first home law case Lovecleon hears is between two house dogs: Labes and Cleonacur. The latter accuses Labes of making off with a hunk of Sicilian cheese. With the help of Hatecleon, Labes is acquitted on the grounds that he stole not for himself but for others, whereas Cleonacur is well fed and does nothing for others. Aristophanes in the Parabasis275 then implies that he is like Labes and that he only wants to expose the venality of people like Cleon.
Hatecleon now invites his father to an elaborate dinner, but during it Lovecleon gets drunk, abducts the girl flute player, and insults all and sundry. His vulgarity and ruthlessness are exposed as a symbol of the jurors and politicians ruining Athens.
OBSERVATIONS
Hatecleon is a young man who genuinely wants to help his father overcome an obsession or at least transpose it to a terrain other than the lawcourts, where the old man can enjoy the best of two worlds: his passion for lawsuits and a pleasant, even luxurious, life. It is, however, doubtful whether Lovecleon appreciates the good intentions of his son.
Lovecleon is without a doubt a fanatic but capable of fun: a tottering old enfant terrible who doesn’t care whom he shocks and even manages to include among his attributes a vein of lechery.
Xanthias, a straightforward enough youth, reports the shenanigans of Lovecleon after the banquet with a mixture of disbelief and relish.
The old men of the Chorus are comically dressed as wasps, with stingers sticking out of their behinds, which they can pull forward between their legs when they attack. They are also endowed with long, floppy phalli and they carry sticks.
TIME AND SETTING
It is early morning but still dark outside the house of HATECLEON, who is on the roof guarding his father, LOVECLEON. The house is enveloped with netting to prevent LOVECLEON from escaping. Two servants, SOSIAS and XANTHIAS, on watch by the front door, wake from sleep.
SOSIAS: Hey, Xanthias, you twerp, how are things?
XANTHIAS: I’m steeling myself to relieve the night watch.
SOSIAS: Steeling your ribs for a bruising would be better.
Don’t you realize what a dangerous animal we’re guarding?
XANTHIAS: I do, and I don’t want to think about it.
SOSIAS: It’s dangerous work all right, but who cares? . . . Lovely slumber’s drifting over my eyes.
[He falls asleep.]
XANTHIAS: [ prodding him] Are you losing your mind or just fainting?
SOSIAS: No, sleepy old Zabasius276 has just cast his spell.
XANTHIAS: Zabasius has got me nodding, too.
Only a moment ago a sodden slumber attacked my eyes
like a bunch of sleepwalking Persians and I had a fantastic dream.
SOSIAS: Me, too. It was out of this world. But yours first.
XANTHIAS: I saw an enormous eagle swoop down into the Agora
and snatch up a bronze shield in its talons
and go sailing off with it into the heavens;
but the shield turned into Cleonymus,277
so naturally the eagle dropped it.
SOSIAS: That’s the kind of puzzle that fits Cleonymus.
XANTHIAS: In what way?
SOSIAS: Why, at a drinks party, he makes a perfect riddle:
what is the creature that drops its shield land, sea, or air?
XANTHIAS: Crikey! I’d be scared of a dream like yours.
SOSIAS: Not to worry! Please God, nothing bad’s going to happen.
XANTHIAS: I know, but shedding a weapon is ominous. . . .
So what’s your dream?
SOSIAS: It’s great: about the whole ship of state.
XANTHIAS: Well, what? Get on with the story.
SOSIAS: Hardly had I nodded off when I dreamed
that sheep in shoddy jackets with walking sticks
had assembled on the Pnyx.‡
Then a hostess-with-the-mostest kind of shebane
began to harangue these sheep in a voice that set your teeth on
edge.
XANTHIAS: Enough!
SOSIAS: What’s wrong?
XANTHIAS: Stop! Say no more!
I can smell rotting leather in your dream.278
SOSIAS: Then this foul creature held up a pair of scales
and began to weigh the ox hide and the people like so much
lard.279
XANTHIAS: Good Lord! He means to flense our people.
SOSIAS: And it seemed that Theorus‡ was sitting on the ground nearby.
He had the head of a crow.
Then Alcibiades§ said to me in his infantile lisp:
“Look, Theowus has the head of a cwow.”
XANTHIAS: Alcibiades was wight about that!
SOSIAS: How weird, Theorus turning into a cwow!
XANTHIAS: Not weird at all—apt!
SOSIAS: Oh?
XANTHIAS: Oh, indeed! First a man, then suddenly a crow.
Isn’t it obvious that Theorus is leaving us for the rookery?
SOSIAS: My word! How brilliantly you interpret dreams! I think I ought to raise you to a double-obol salary.
XANTHIAS: Good! But it’s time to give the audience an inkling of the plot. Here it is in a brief synopsis: though you mustn’t expect anything uplifting nor, on the other hand, any silly jokes from Megara. We won’t have a couple of slaves scattering nuts among the audience, or a Heracles champing for his dinner,
nor a Euripides spattered as usual with abuse,280
or even a Cleon getting it right for once.
(We won’t chew up the same man twice!)281
No, our plot is as simple as you are,
if a bit more sophisticated than mere custard-pie throwing.
All right then:
that big fellow up there on the roof, asleep, is our boss.
He’s made his father a prisoner in the house
and posted me and Sosias here to block off all escape.
The reason being,
his father is sick with a most peculiar sickness,
which you’d never guess or diagnose unless we told you.
You want to guess? Go ahead.
[He waits for a response from the audience.]
Hey there, Amynias, Pronapes’ son,
you say he’s got the gambling bug.
SOSIAS: Dead wrong! That’s what you’re addicted to.
XANTHIAS: It isn’t that, though “addicted to” is right. And you’re telling Dercylus282 here that he’s addicted to the bottle.
SOSIAS: I think not. That’s the disease of the well-upholstered.
XANTHIAS: And you, Nicostratus of Scambonidae,283
your theory is that he’s addicted to sacrificial parties.
SOSIAS: By the dog star, no! He’s no party lover,
any more than Philoxenus284 is:
Philoxenus is an arsehole lover.
XANTHIAS: You’re all babbling away. You’ll never guess. If you want to know, just shut up and I’ll tell you what my master suffers from: an addiction to jury work—like you wouldn’t believe—sitting in judgment is his passion, and he moans if he can’t perch on the front bench. He never gets a wink of sleep at night and even if he does slip off for a second his mind is still out there the whole night, hovering around the speech timer.285 He’s so given to clutching his voting pebble that he gets up in the morning with three fingers fixed: like someone offering grains of incense to the new moon. If he sees scrawled on a door: “Demos, Pyrilampes’ son, is such a fetching lad,” he scribbles underneath: “So is the ballot box.” When the cock began to crow soon after bedtime, he accused the magistrates of having bribed it to wake him up at the wrong time. Straight after dinner he clamors for his sandals and sallies forth to the courthouse, where he sets himself up on guard, clamped to a pillar like a limpet. Out of sheer peevishness he scores his verdict tablet with impossibly harsh sentences and comes home with his fingernails caked with wax286—like a honeybee or a bumblebee. He’s terrified of running out of voting pebbles and stocks a whole beachful in the house. That’s how wacky he is, and the more we reason with him, the more cases he hears. That’s why we’ve bolted him in
and stand on guard so he doesn’t escape,
for his son is really worried about his malady
and at first tried with gentle persuasion
to stop him going off in his moth-eaten old coat,
but he wouldn’t listen.
Then his son tried to purge him with exorcism,
but that didn’t work.
Then he submitted him to the purifying rites of the
Corybants,
but all that did was to have him dashing into the Appeals Court
complete with bongo drums to begin his hearings.
After all these rites came to nothing,
he sailed off with his father to Aegina
and was bedded down for a night in the temple of Aesclepius.287
But by morning back he was at the gates of the courthouse.
So then we bottled him up
but he slipped out through the gutters and crannies.
We sealed and plugged every chink
but he drove perches into the wall
and hopped away like a pet jackdaw.
We blocked this by covering the whole damn place with netting
and mounting guards all round the house.
The old sport’s name is Lovecleon—you heard!—
and his son is called Hatecleon,
a very high-mettled horsey fellow.
[HATECLEON appears in the doorway.]
HATECLEON: Ah! Xanthias and Sosias, are you asleep?
XANTHIAS: Lord above!
SOSIAS: Hatecleon’s arisen.
HATECLEON: You two—one of you dash off on the double.
Dad’s got into the kitchen.
He’s rummaging around on all fours like a mouse.
Glue your eyes to the sink
so he doesn’t slip through the drain.
[SOSIAS runs into the house.]
XANTHIAS: So that’s that, sir!
HATECLEON: Lord Poseidon! What’s that hubbub in the chimney?
Hey, you—who’s in there?
[LOVECLEON emerges from the chimney.]
LOVECLEON: Me? I’m smoke coming out.
HATECLEON: Smoke? From what wood?
LOVECLEON: Benchwood.
HATECLEON: God, yes! The most exasperating smoke of all.
But for you—no more vaporizing. Get back inside.288
[He tries to push LOVECLEON back into the chimney.]
Where’s the chimney lid? Here’s a log to put on top.
I expect you’ll think of another trick.
I’m the most harassed man alive.
My surname ought to be Smokeson.
[The scene shifts to outside the front door, where XANTHIAS and SOSIAS are standing guard. LOVECLEON is inside and trying to get out.]
LOVECLEON: [calling XANTHIAS] Hey, boy!
XANTHIAS: [calling up to HATECLEON] He’s pushing at the door.
HATECLEON: Put all your weight against it.
Watch the lock and the bolt
in case he chews the nut off the catch.
LOVECLEON: [to XANTHIAS from behind the front door]
What are you at, Grease pot? Open up!
I’ve got a case to hear.
Do you want Snakeshit to get off?
XANTHIAS: You’d take that hard, wouldn’t you?
LOVECLEON: I would. . . . Once the oracle at Delphi told me
that if ever I acquitted anyone I’d disintegrate.
XANTHIAS: By Apollo, what a prediction!
LOVECLEON: Come on, please, let me out, or I really will