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.