AN OLD MAN. You dear old woman, I would fain kiss you.
A WOMAN. I will set you crying without onions.
OLD MAN. ... And give you a sound kicking.
OLD WOMAN. Ah, ha! what a dense forest you have there! (Pointing.)
OLD MAN. So was Myronides one of the best-bearded of men o' this side; his backside was all black, and he terrified his enemies as much as Phormio.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. I want to tell you a fable too, to match yours about Melanion. Once there was a certain man called Timon, a tough customer, and a whimsical, a true son of the Furies, with a face that seemed to glare out of a thorn-bush. He withdrew from the world because he couldn't abide bad men, after vomiting a thousand curses at 'em. He had a holy horror of ill-conditioned fellows, but he was mighty tender towards women.
A WOMAN. Suppose I up and broke your jaw for you!
AN OLD MAN. I am not a bit afraid of you.
A WOMAN. Suppose I let fly a good kick at you?
OLD MAN. I should see your backside then.
WOMAN. You would see that, for all my age, it is very well attended to, and all fresh singed smooth.
LYSISTRATA. Ho there! come quick, come quick!
FIRST WOMAN. What is it? Why these cries?
LYSISTRATA. A man! a man! I see him approaching all afire with the flames of love. Oh! divine Queen of Cyprus, Paphos and Cythera, I pray you still be propitious to our emprise.
FIRST WOMAN. Where is he, this unknown foe?
LYSISTRATA. Yonder—beside the Temple of Demeter.
FIRST WOMAN. Yes, indeed, I see him; but who is it?
LYSISTRATA. Look, look! does any of you recognize him?
FIRST WOMAN. I do, I do! 'tis my husband Cinesias.
LYSISTRATA. To work then! Be it your task to inflame and torture and torment him. Seductions, caresses, provocations, refusals, try every means! Grant every favour,—always excepting what is forbidden by our oath on the wine-bowl.
MYRRHIN. Have no fear, I undertake the work.
LYSISTRATA. Well, I will stay here to help you cajole the man and set his passions aflame. The rest of you, withdraw.
CINESIAS. Alas! alas! how I am tortured by spasm and rigid convulsion! Oh! I am racked on the wheel!
LYSISTRATA. Who is this that dares to pass our lines?
CINESIAS. It is I.
LYSISTRATA. What, a man?
CINESIAS. Yes, no doubt about it, a man!
CINESIAS. But who are you that thus repulses me?
LYSISTRATA. The sentinel of the day.
CINESIAS. By all the gods, call Myrrhin hither.
LYSISTRATA. Call Myrrhin hither, quotha? And pray, who are you?
CINESIAS. I am her husband, Cinesias, son of Peon.
LYSISTRATA. Ah! good day, my dear friend. Your name is not unknown amongst us. Your wife has it for ever on her lips; and she never touches an egg or an apple without saying: "'Twill be for Cinesias."
CINESIAS. Really and truly?
LYSISTRATA. Yes, indeed, by Aphrodit! And if we fall to talking of men, quick your wife declares: "Oh! all the rest, they're good for nothing compared with Cinesias."
CINESIAS. Oh! I beseech you, go and call her to me.
LYSISTRATA. And what will you give me for my trouble?
This, if you like (handling his tool). I will give you what I have there!
LYSISTRATA. Well, well, I will tell her to come.
CINESIAS. Quick, oh! be quick! Life has no more charms for me since she left my house. I am sad, sad, when I go indoors; it all seems so empty; my victuals have lost their savour. Desire is eating out my heart!
MYRRHIN. I love him, oh! I love him; but he won't let himself be loved. No! I shall not come.
CINESIAS. Myrrhin, my little darling Myrrhin, what are you saying? Come down to me quick.
MYRRHIN. No indeed, not I.
CINESIAS. I call you, Myrrhin, Myrrhin; will you not come?
MYRRHIN. Why should you call me? You do not want me.
CINESIAS. Not want you! Why, my weapon stands stiff with desire!
CINESIAS. Oh! Myrrhin, Myrrhin, in our child's name, hear me; at any rate hear the child! Little lad, call your mother.
CHILD. Mammy, mammy, mammy!
CINESIAS. There, listen! Don't you pity the poor child? It's six days now you've never washed and never fed the child.
MYRRHIN. Poor darling, your father takes mighty little care of you!
CINESIAS. Come down, dearest, come down for the child's sake.
MYRRHIN. Ah! what a thing it is to be a mother! Well, well, we must come down, I suppose.
CINESIAS. Why, how much younger and prettier she looks! And how she looks at me so lovingly! Her cruelty and scorn only redouble my passion.
MYRRHIN. You are as sweet as your father is provoking! Let me kiss you, my treasure, mother's darling!
CINESIAS. Ah! what a bad thing it is to let yourself be led away by other women! Why give me such pain and suffering, and yourself into the bargain?
MYRRHIN. Hands off, sir!
CINESIAS. Everything is going to rack and ruin in the house.
MYRRHIN. I don't care.
CINESIAS. But your web that's all being pecked to pieces by the cocks and hens, don't you care for that?
MYRRHIN. Precious little.
CINESIAS. And Aphrodite, whose mysteries you have not celebrated for so long? Oh! won't you come back home?
MYRRHIN. No, at least, not till a sound Treaty put an end to the War.
CINESIAS. Well, if you wish it so much, why, we'll make it, your Treaty.
MYRRHIN. Well and good! When that's done, I will come home. Till then, I am bound by an oath.
CINESIAS. At any rate, let's have a short time together.
MYRRHIN. No, no, no! ... all the same I cannot say I don't love you.
CINESIAS. You love me? Then why refuse what I ask, my little girl, my sweet Myrrhin.
MYRRHIN. You must be joking! What, before the child!
CINESIAS. Manes, carry the lad home. There, you see, the child is gone; there's nothing to hinder us; let us to work!
MYRRHIN. But, miserable man, where, where are we to do it?
CINESIAS. In the cave of Pan; nothing could be better.
MYRRHIN. But how to purify myself, before going back into the citadel?
CINESIAS. Nothing easier! you can wash at the Clepsydra.
MYRRHIN. But my oath? Do you want me to perjure myself?
CINESIAS. I take all responsibility; never make yourself anxious.
MYRRHIN. Well, I'll be off, then, and find a bed for us.
CINESIAS. Oh! 'tis not worth while; we can lie on the ground surely.
MYRRHIN. No, no! bad man as you are, I don't like your lying on the bare earth.
CINESIAS. Ah! how the dear girl loves me!
MYRRHIN (coming back with a bed). Come, get to bed quick; I am going to undress. But, plague take it, we must get a mattress.
CINESIAS. A mattress! Oh! no, never mind!
MYRRHIN. No, by Artemis! lie on the bare sacking, never! That were too squalid.
CINESIAS. A kiss!
MYRRHIN. Wait a minute!
CINESIAS. Oh! by the great gods, be quick back!
MYRRHIN (coming back with a mattress). Here is a mattress. Lie down, I am just going to undress. But, but you've got no pillow.
CINESIAS. I don't want one, no, no.
MYRRHIN. But I do.
CINESIAS. Oh! dear, oh, dear! they treat my poor penis for all the world like Heracles.
MYRRHIN (coming back with a pillow). There, lift your head, dear!
CINESIAS. That's really everything.
MYRRHIN. Is it everything, I wonder.
CINESIAS. Come, my treasure.
MYRRHIN. I am just unfastening my girdle. But remember what you promised me about making Peace; mind you keep your word.
CINESIAS. Yes, yes, upon my life I will.
MYRRHIN. Why, you have no blanket.
CINESIAS. Great Zeus! what matter of that? 'tis you I want to fuck.
MYRRHIN Never fear—directly, directly! I'll be back in no time.
CINESIAS. The woman will kill me with her blankets!
MYRRHIN (coming back with a blanket). Now, get up for one moment.
CINESIAS. But I tell you, our friend here is up—all stiff and ready!
MYRRHIN. Would you like me to scent you?
CINESIAS. No, by Apollo, no, please!
MYRRHIN. Yes, by Aphrodit, but I will, whether you wish it or no.
CINESIAS. Ah! great Zeus, may she soon be done!
MYRRHIN (coming back with a flask of perfume). Hold out your hand; now rub it in.
CINESIAS. Oh! in Apollo's name, I don't much like the smell of it; but perhaps 'twill improve when it's well rubbed in. It does not somehow smack of the marriage bed!
MYRRHIN. There, what a scatterbrain I am; if I have not brought Rhodian perfumes!
CINESIAS. Never mind, dearest, let be now.
MYRRHIN. You are joking!
CINESIAS. Deuce take the man who first invented perfumes, say I!
MYRRHIN (coming back with another flask). Here, take this bottle.
CINESIAS. I have a better all ready for your service, darling. Come, you provoking creature, to bed with you, and don't bring another thing.
MYRRHIN. Coming, coming; I'm just slipping off my shoes. Dear boy, will you vote for peace?
CINESIAS. I'll think about it. (Myrrhin runs away.) I'm a dead man, she is killing me! She has gone, and left me in torment! I must have someone to fuck, I must! Ah me! the loveliest of women has choused and cheated me. Poor little lad (addressing his penis), how am I to give you what you want so badly? Where is Cynalopex? quick, man, get him a nurse, do!
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Poor, miserable wretch, baulked in your amorousness! what tortures are yours! Ah! you fill me with pity. Could any man's back and loins stand such a strain? His organ stands stiff and rigid, and there's never a wench to help him!
CINESIAS. Ye gods in heaven, what pains I suffer!
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Well, there it is; 'tis her doing, that abandoned hussy!
CINESIAS. Nay, nay! rather say that sweetest, dearest darling.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. That dearest darling? no, no, that hussy, say I! Zeus, thou god of the skies, canst not let loose a hurricane, to sweep them all up into the air, and whirl 'em round, then drop 'em down crash! and impale them on the point of his weapon!
A HERALD. Say, where shall I find the Senate and the Prytanes? I am bearer of despatches.
MAGISTRATE. But are you a man or a Priapus, pray?
HERALD. Oh! but he's mighty simple. I am a herald, of course, I swear I am, and I come from Sparta about making peace.
MAGISTRATE. But look, you are hiding a lance under your clothes, surely.
HERALD. No, nothing of the sort.
MAGISTRATE. Then why do you turn away like that, and hold your cloak out from your body? Have you gotten swellings in the groin with your journey?
HERALD. By the twin brethren! the man's an old maniac.
MAGISTRATE. Ah, ha! my fine lad, why I can see it standing, oh fie!
HERALD. I tell you no! but enough of this foolery.
MAGISTRATE. Well, what is it you have there then?
HERALD. A Lacedaemonian 'skytal.'
MAGISTRATE. Oh, indeed, a 'skytal,' is it? Well, well, speak out frankly; I know all about these matters. How are things going at Sparta now?
HERALD. Why, everything is turned upside down at Sparta; and all the allies are half dead with lusting. We simply must have Pellen.
MAGISTRATE. What is the reason of it all? Is it the god Pan's doing?
HERALD. No, but Lampito's and the Spartan women's, acting at her instigation; they have denied the men all access to their cunts.
MAGISTRATE. But whatever do you do?
HERALD. We are at our wits' end; we walk bent double, just as if we were carrying lanterns in a wind. The jades have sworn we shall not so much as touch their cunts till we have all agreed to conclude peace.
MAGISTRATE. Ha, ha! So I see now, 'tis a general conspiracy embracing all Greece. Go you back to Sparta and bid them send Envoys with plenary powers to treat for peace. I will urge our Senators myself to name Plenipotentiaries from us; and to persuade them, why, I will show them this. (Pointing to his erect penis.)
HERALD. What could be better? I fly at your command.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. No wild beast is there, no flame of fire, more fierce and untameable than woman; the panther is less savage and shameless.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. And yet you dare to make war upon me, wretch, when you might have me for your most faithful friend and ally.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Never, never can my hatred cease towards women.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Well, please yourself. Still I cannot bear to leave you all naked as you are; folks would laugh at me. Come, I am going to put this tunic on you.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. You are right, upon my word! it was only in my confounded fit of rage I took it off.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Now at any rate you look like a man, and they won't make fun of you. Ah! if you had not offended me so badly, I would take out that nasty insect you have in your eye for you.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Ah! so that's what was annoying me so! Look, here's a ring, just remove the insect, and show it me. By Zeus! it has been hurting my eye this ever so long.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Well, I agree, though your manners are not over and above pleasant. Oh! what a huge great gnat! just look! It's from Tricorysus, for sure.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. A thousand thanks! the creature was digging a regular well in my eye; now it's gone, my tears flow freely.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. I will wipe them for you—bad, naughty man though you are. Now, just one kiss.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. No—a kiss, certainly not!
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Just one, whether you like it or not.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Oh! those confounded women! how they do cajole us! How true the saying: "'Tis impossible to live with the baggages, impossible to live without 'em"! Come, let us agree for the future not to regard each other any more as enemies; and to clinch the bargain, let us sing a choric song.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. We desire, Athenians, to speak ill of no man; but on the contrary to say much good of everyone, and to do the like. We have had enough of misfortunes and calamities. Is there any, man or woman, wants a bit of money—two or three minas or so; well, our purse is full. If only peace is concluded, the borrower will not have to pay back. Also I'm inviting to supper a few Carystian friends, who are excellently well qualified. I have still a drop of good soup left, and a young porker I'm going to kill, and the flesh will be sweet and tender. I shall expect you at my house to-day; but first away to the baths with you, you and your children; then come all of you, ask no one's leave, but walk straight up, as if you were at home; never fear, the door will be ... shut in your faces!
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Ah! here come the Envoys from Sparta with their long flowing beards; why, you would think they wore a cage between their thighs. (Enter the Lacedaemonian Envoys.) Hail to you, first of all, Laconians; then tell us how you fare.
A LACONIAN. No need for many words; you see what a state we are in.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Alas! the situation grows more and more strained! the intensity of the thing is just frightful.
LACONIAN. 'Tis beyond belief. But to work! summon your Commissioners, and let us patch up the best peace we may.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Ah! our men too, like wrestlers in the arena, cannot endure a rag over their bellies; 'tis an athlete's malady, which only exercise can remedy.
AN ATHENIAN. Can anybody tell us where Lysistrata is? Surely she will have some compassion on our condition.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Look! 'tis the very same complaint. (Addressing the Athenian.) Don't you feel of mornings a strong nervous tension?
ATHENIAN. Yes, and a dreadful, dreadful torture it is! Unless peace is made very soon, we shall find no resource but to fuck Clisthenes.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Take my advice, and put on your clothes again; one of the fellows who mutilated the Hermae might see you.
ATHENIAN. You are right.
LACONIAN. Quite right. There, I will slip on my tunic.
ATHENIAN. Oh! what a terrible state we are in! Greeting to you, Laconian fellow-sufferers.
LACONIAN (addressing one of his countrymen). Ah! my boy, what a thing it would have been if these fellows had seen us just now when our tools were on full stand!
ATHENIAN. Speak out, Laconians, what is it brings you here?
LACONIAN. We have come to treat for peace.
ATHENIAN. Well said; we are of the same mind. Better call Lysistrata then; she is the only person will bring us to terms.
LACONIAN. Yes, yes—and Lysistratus into the bargain, if you will.
CHORUS OF OLD MEN. Needless to call her; she has heard your voices, and here she comes.
ATHENIAN. Hail, boldest and bravest of womankind! The time is come to show yourself in turn uncompromising and conciliatory, exacting and yielding, haughty and condescending. Call up all your skill and artfulness. Lo! the foremost men in Hellas, seduced by your fascinations, are agreed to entrust you with the task of ending their quarrels.
LYSISTRATA. 'Twill be an easy task—if only they refrain from mutual indulgence in masculine love; if they do, I shall know the fact at once. Now, where is the gentle goddess Peace? Lead hither the Laconian Envoys. But, look you, no roughness or violence; our husbands always behaved so boorishly. Bring them to me with smiles, as women should. If any refuse to give you his hand, then catch him by the penis and draw him politely forward. Bring up the Athenians too; you may take them just how you will. Laconians, approach; and you, Athenians, on my other side. Now hearken all! I am but a woman; but I have good common sense; Nature has dowered me with discriminating judgment, which I have yet further developed, thanks to the wise teachings of my father and the elders of the city. First I must bring a reproach against you that applies equally to both sides. At Olympia, and Thermopylae, and Delphi, and a score of other places too numerous to mention, you celebrate before the same altars ceremonies common to all Hellenes; yet you go cutting each other's throats, and sacking Hellenic cities, when all the while the Barbarian is yonder threatening you! That is my first point.
ATHENIAN. Ah, ah! concupiscence is killing me!
LYSISTRATA. Now 'tis to you I address myself, Laconians. Have you forgotten how Periclides, your own countryman, sat a suppliant before our altars? How pale he was in his purple robes! He had come to crave an army of us; 'twas the time when Messenia was pressing you sore, and the Sea-god was shaking the earth. Cimon marched to your aid at the head of four thousand hoplites, and saved Lacedaemon. And, after such a service as that, you ravage the soil of your benefactors!
ATHENIAN. They do wrong, very wrong, Lysistrata.
LACONIAN. We do wrong, very wrong. Ah! great gods! what lovely thighs she has!
LYSISTRATA. And now a word to the Athenians. Have you no memory left of how, in the days when ye wore the tunic of slaves, the Laconians came, spear in hand, and slew a host of Thessalians and partisans of Hippias the Tyrant? They, and they only, fought on your side on that eventful day; they delivered you from despotism, and thanks to them our Nation could change the short tunic of the slave for the long cloak of the free man.
LACONIAN. I have never seen a woman of more gracious dignity.
ATHENIAN. I have never seen a woman with a finer cunt!
LYSISTRATA. Bound by such ties of mutual kindness, how can you bear to be at war? Stop, stay the hateful strife, be reconciled; what hinders you?
LACONIAN. We are quite ready, if they will give us back our rampart.
LYSISTRATA. What rampart, my dear man?
LACONIAN. Pylos, which we have been asking for and craving for ever so long.
ATHENIAN. In the Sea-god's name, you shall never have it!
LYSISTRATA. Agree, my friends, agree.
ATHENIAN. But then what city shall we be able to stir up trouble in?
LYSISTRATA. Ask for another place in exchange.
ATHENIAN. Ah! that's the ticket! Well, to begin with, give us Echinus, the Maliac gulf adjoining, and the two legs of Megara.
LACONIAN. Oh! surely, surely not all that, my dear sir.
LYSISTRATA. Come to terms; never make a difficulty of two legs more or less!
ATHENIAN. Well, I'm ready now to off coat and cultivate my land.
LACONIAN. And I too, to dung it to start with.
LYSISTRATA. That's just what you shall do, once peace is signed. So, if you really want to make it, go consult your allies about the matter.
ATHENIAN. What allies, I should like to know? Why, we are all on the stand; not one but is mad to be fucking. What we all want, is to be abed with our wives; how should our allies fail to second our project?
LACONIAN. And ours the same, for certain sure!
ATHENIANS. The Carystians first and foremost, by the gods!
LYSISTRATA. Well said, indeed! Now be off to purify yourselves for entering the Acropolis, where the women invite you to supper; we will empty our provision baskets to do you honour. At table, you will exchange oaths and pledges; then each man will go home with his wife.
ATHENIAN. Come along then, and as quick as may be.
LACONIAN. Lead on; I'm your man.
ATHENIAN. Quick, quick's the word, say I.
CHORUS OF WOMEN. Embroidered stuffs, and dainty tunics, and flowing gowns, and golden ornaments, everything I have, I offer them you with all my heart; take them all for your children, for your girls, against they are chosen "basket-bearers" to the goddess. I invite you every one to enter, come in and choose whatever you will; there is nothing so well fastened, you cannot break the seals, and carry away the contents. Look about you everywhere ... you won't find a blessed thing, unless you have sharper eyes than mine. And if any of you lacks corn to feed his slaves and his young and numerous family, why, I have a few grains of wheat at home; let him take what I have to give, a big twelve-pound loaf included. So let my poorer neighbours all come with bags and wallets; my man, Manes, shall give them corn; but I warn them not to come near my door, or—beware the dog!
A MARKET-LOUNGER. I say, you, open the door!
A SLAVE. Go your way, I tell you. Why, bless me, they're sitting down now; I shall have to singe 'em with my torch to make 'em stir! What an impudent lot of fellows!
MARKET-LOUNGER. I don't mean to budge.
SLAVE. Well, as you must stop, and I don't want to offend you—but you'll see some queer sights.
MARKET-LOUNGER. Well and good, I've no objection.
SLAVE. No, no, you must be off—or I'll tear your hair out, I will; be off, I say, and don't annoy the Laconian Envoys; they're just coming out from the banquet-hall.
AN ATHENIAN. Such a merry banquet I've never seen before! The Laconians were simply charming. After the drink is in, why, we're all wise men, all. It's only natural, to be sure, for sober, we're all fools. Take my advice, my fellow-countrymen, our Envoys should always be drunk. We go to Sparta; we enter the city sober; why, we must be picking a quarrel directly. We don't understand what they say to us, we imagine a lot they don't say at all, and we report home all wrong, all topsy-turvy. But, look you, to-day it's quite different; we're enchanted whatever happens; instead of Clitagoras, they might sing us Telamon, and we should clap our hands just the same. A perjury or two into the bargain, la! what does that matter to merry companions in their cups?
SLAVE. But here they are back again! Will you begone, you loafing scoundrels.
MARKET-LOUNGER. Ah ha! here's the company coming out already.
A LACONIAN. My dear, sweet friend, come, take your flute in hand; I would fain dance and sing my best in honour of the Athenians and our noble selves.
AN ATHENIAN. Yes, take your flute, i' the gods' name. What a delight to see him dance!
CHORUS OF LACONIANS. Oh Mnemosyn! inspire these men, inspire my muse who knows our exploits and those of the Athenians. With what a godlike ardour did they swoop down at Artemisium on the ships of the Medes! What a glorious victory was that! For the soldiers of Leonidas, they were like fierce wild-boars whetting their tushes. The sweat ran down their faces, and drenched all their limbs, for verily the Persians were as many as the sands of the seashore. Oh! Artemis, huntress queen, whose arrows pierce the denizens of the woods, virgin goddess, be thou favourable to the Peace we here conclude; through thee may our hearts be long united! May this treaty draw close for ever the bonds of a happy friendship! No more wiles and stratagems! Aid us, oh! aid us, maiden huntress!
LYSISTRATA. All is for the best; and now, Laconians, take your wives away home with you, and you, Athenians, yours. May husband live happily with wife, and wife with husband. Dance, dance, to celebrate our bliss, and let us be heedful to avoid like mistakes for the future.
CHORUS OF ATHENIANS Appear, appear, dancers, and the Graces with you! Let us invoke, one and all, Artemis, and her heavenly brother, gracious Apollo, patron of the dance, and Dionysus, whose eye darts flame, as he steps forward surrounded by the Maenad maids, and Zeus, who wields the flashing lightning, and his august, thrice-blessed spouse, the Queen of Heaven! These let us invoke, and all the other gods, calling all the inhabitants of the skies to witness the noble Peace now concluded under the fond auspices of Aphrodit. Io Paean! Io Paean! dance, leap, as in honour of a victory won. Evo! Evo! And you, our Laconian guests, sing us a new and inspiring strain!
CHORUS OF LACONIANS. Leave once more, oh! leave once more the noble height of Taygetus, oh! Muse of Lacedaemon, and join us in singing the praises of Apollo of Amyclae, and Athena of the Brazen House, and the gallant twin sons of Tyndarus, who practise arms on the banks of Eurotas river. Haste, haste hither with nimble-footed pace, let us sing Sparta, the city that delights in choruses divinely sweet and graceful dances, when our maidens bound lightly by the river side, like frolicsome fillies, beating the ground with rapid steps and shaking their long locks in the wind, as Bacchantes wave their wands in the wild revels of the Wine-god. At their head, oh! chaste and beauteous goddess, daughter of Latona, Artemis, do thou lead the song and dance. A fillet binding thy waving tresses, appear in thy loveliness; leap like a fawn; strike thy divine hands together to animate the dance, and aid us to renown the valiant goddess of battles, great Athen of the Brazen House!
* * * * *
FINIS OF "LYSISTRATA"
* * * * *
 At Athens more than anywhere the festivals of Bacchus (Dionysus) were celebrated with the utmost pomp—and also with the utmost licence, not to say licentiousness.
Pan—-the rustic god and king of the Satyrs; his feast was similarly an occasion of much coarse self-indulgence.
Aphrodit Colias—under this name the goddess was invoked by courtesans as patroness of sensual, physical love. She had a temple on the promontory of Colias, on the Attic coast—whence the surname.
The Genetyllides were minor deities, presiding over the act of generation, as the name indicates. Dogs were offered in sacrifice to them—presumably because of the lubricity of that animal.
At the festivals of Dionysus, Pan and Aphrodit women used to perform lascivious dances to the accompaniment of the beating of tambourines. Lysistrata implies that the women she had summoned to council cared really for nothing but wanton pleasures.
 An obscene double entendre; Calonic understands, or pretends to understand, Lysistrata as meaning a long and thick "membrum virile"!
 The eels from Lake Copas in Boeotia were esteemed highly by epicures.
 This is the reproach Demosthenes constantly levelled against his Athenian fellow-countrymen—their failure to seize opportunity.
 An island of the Saronic Gulf, lying between Magara and Attica. It was separated by a narrow strait—scene of the naval battle of Salamis, in which the Athenians defeated Xerxes—only from the Attic coast, and was subject to Athens.
 A deme, or township, of Attica, lying five or six miles north of Athens. The Acharnians were throughout the most extreme partisans of the warlike party during the Peloponnesian struggle. See 'The Acharnians.'
 The precise reference is uncertain, and where the joke exactly comes in. The Scholiast says Theagenes was a rich, miserly and superstitious citizen, who never undertook any enterprise without first consulting an image of Hecat, the distributor of honour and wealth according to popular belief; and his wife would naturally follow her husband's example.
 A deme of Attica, a small and insignificant community—a 'Little Pedlington' in fact.
 In allusion to the gymnastic training which was de rigueur at Sparta for the women no less than the men, and in particular to the dance of the Lacedaemonian girls, in which the performer was expected to kick the fundament with the heels—always a standing joke among the Athenians against their rivals and enemies the Spartans.
 The allusion, of course, is to the 'garden of love,' the female parts, which it was the custom with the Greek women, as it is with the ladies of the harem in Turkey to this day, to depilate scrupulously, with the idea of making themselves more attractive to men.
 Corinth was notorious in the Ancient world for its prostitutes and general dissoluteness.
 An Athenian general strongly suspected of treachery; Aristophanes pretends his own soldiers have to see that he does not desert to the enemy.
 A town and fortress on the west coast of Messenia, south-east part of Peloponnese, at the northern extremity of the bay of Sphacteria—the scene by the by of the modern naval battle of Navarino—in Lacedaemonian territory; it had been seized by the Athenian fleet, and was still in their possession at the date, 412 B.C., of the representation of the 'Lysistrata,' though two years later, in the twenty-second year of the War, it was recovered by Sparta.
 The Athenian women, rightly or wrongly, had the reputation of being over fond of wine. Aristophanes, here and elsewhere, makes many jests on this weakness of theirs.
 The lofty range of hills overlooking Sparta from the west.
 In the original "we are nothing but Poseidon and a boat"; the allusion is to a play of Sophocles, now lost, but familiar to Aristophanes' audience, entitled 'Tyro,' in which the heroine, Tyro, appears with Poseidon, the sea-god, at the beginning of the tragedy, and at the close with the two boys she had had by him, whom she exposes in an open boat.
 "By the two goddesses,"—a woman's oath, which recurs constantly in this play; the two goddesses are always Demeter and Proserpine.
 One of the Cyclades, between Naxos and Cos, celebrated, like the latter, for its manufacture of fine, almost transparent silks, worn in Greece, and later at Rome, by women of loose character.
 The proverb, quoted by Pherecrates, is properly spoken of those who go out of their way to do a thing already done—"to kill a dead horse," but here apparently is twisted by Aristophanes into an allusion to the leathern 'godemiche' mentioned a little above; if the worst comes to the worst, we must use artificial means. Pherecrates was a comic playwright, a contemporary of Aristophanes.
 Literally "our Scythian woman." At Athens, policemen and ushers in the courts were generally Scythians; so the revolting women must have their Scythian "Usheress" too.
 In allusion to the oath which the seven allied champions before Thebes take upon a buckler, in Aeschylus' tragedy of 'The Seven against Thebes,' v. 42.
 A volcanic island in the northern part of the Aegaean, celebrated for its vineyards.
 The old men are carrying faggots and fire to burn down the gates of the Acropolis, and supply comic material by their panting and wheezing as they climb the steep approaches to the fortress and puff and blow at their fires. Aristophanes gives them names, purely fancy ones—Draces, Strymodorus, Philurgus, Laches.
 Cleomenes, King of Sparta, had in the preceding century commanded a Lacedaemonian expedition against Athens. At the invitation of the Alcmaeonidae, enemies of the sons of Peisistratus, he seized the Acropolis, but after an obstinately contested siege was forced to capitulate and retire.
 Lemnos was proverbial with the Greeks for chronic misfortune and a succession of horrors and disasters. Can any good thing come out of Lemnos?
 That is, a friend of the Athenian people; Samos had just before the date of the play re-established the democracy and renewed the old alliance with Athens.
 A second Chorus enters—of women who are hurrying up with water to extinguish the fire just started by the Chorus of old men. Nicodic, Calyc, Crityll, Rhodipp, are fancy names the poet gives to different members of the band. Another, Stratyllis, has been stopped by the old men on her way to rejoin her companions.
 Bupalus was a celebrated contemporary sculptor, a native of Clazomenae. The satiric poet Hipponax, who was extremely ugly, having been portrayed by Bupalus as even more unsightly-looking than the reality, composed against the artist so scurrilous an invective that the latter hung himself in despair. Apparently Aristophanes alludes here to a verse in which Hipponax threatened to beat Bupalus.
 The Heliasts at Athens were the body of citizens chosen by lot to act as jurymen (or, more strictly speaking, as judges and jurymen, the Dicast, or so-called Judge, being merely President of the Court, the majority of the Heliasts pronouncing sentence) in the Heliaia, or High Court, where all offences liable to public prosecution were tried. They were 6000 in number, divided into ten panels of 500 each, a thousand being held in reserve to supply occasional vacancies. Each Heliast was paid three obols for each day's attendance in court.
 Women only celebrated the festivals of Adonis. These rites were not performed in public, but on the terraces and flat roofs of the houses.
 The Assembly, or Ecclesia, was the General Parliament of the Athenian people, in which every adult citizen had a vote. It met on the Pnyx hill, where the assembled Ecclesiasts were addressed from the Bema, or speaking-block.
 An orator and statesman who had first proposed the disastrous Sicilian Expedition, of 415-413 B.C. This was on the first day of the festival of Adonis—ever afterwards regarded by the Athenians as a day of ill omen.
 An island in the Ionian Sea, on the west of Greece, near Cephalenia, and an ally of Athens during the Peloponnesian War.
 Cholozyges, a nickname for Demostratus.
 The State treasure was kept in the Acropolis, which the women had seized.
 The second (mythical) king of Athens, successor of Cecrops.
 The leader of the Revolution which resulted in the temporary overthrow of the Democracy at Athens (413, 412 B.C.), and the establishment of the Oligarchy of the Four Hundred.
 Priests of Cybel, who indulged in wild, frenzied dances, to the accompaniment of the clashing of cymbals, in their celebrations in honour of the goddess.
 Captain of a cavalry division; they were chosen from amongst the Hippeis, or 'Knights' at Athens.
 In allusion to a play of Euripides, now lost, with this title. Tereus was son of Ares and king of the Thracians in Daulis.
 An allusion to the disastrous Sicilian Expedition (415-413 B.C.), in which many thousands of Athenian citizens perished.
 The dead were laid out at Athens before the house door.
 An offering made to the Manes of the deceased on the third day after the funeral.
 Hippias and Hipparchus, the two sons of Pisistratus, known as the Pisistratidae, became Tyrants of Athens upon their father's death in 527 B.C. In 514 the latter was assassinated by the conspirators, Harmodius and Aristogiton, who took the opportunity of the Panathenaic festival and concealed their daggers in myrtle wreaths. They were put to death, but four years later the surviving Tyrant Hippias was expelled, and the young and noble martyrs to liberty were ever after held in the highest honour by their fellow-citizens. Their statues stood in the Agora or Public Market-Square.
 That is, the three obols paid for attendance as a Heliast at the High Court.
 See above, under note 3 [433. Transcriber.].
 The origin of the name was this: in ancient days a tame bear consecrated to Artemis, the huntress goddess, it seems, devoured a young girl, whose brothers killed the offender. Artemis was angered and sent a terrible pestilence upon the city, which only ceased when, by direction of the oracle, a company of maidens was dedicated to the deity, to act the part of she-bears in the festivities held annually in her honour at the Brauronia, her festival so named from the deme of Brauron in Attica.
 The Basket-Bearers, Canephoroi, at Athens were the maidens who, clad in flowing robes, carried in baskets on their heads the sacred implements and paraphernalia in procession at the celebrations in honour of Demeter, Dionysus and Athen.
 A treasure formed by voluntary contributions at the time of the Persian Wars; by Aristophanes' day it had all been dissipated, through the influence of successive demagogues, in distributions and gifts to the public under various pretexts.
 A town and fortress of Southern Attica, in the neighbourhood of Marathon, occupied by the Alcmaeonidae—the noble family or clan at Athens banished from the city in 595 B.C., restored 560, but again expelled by Pisistratus—in the course of their contest with that Tyrant. Returning to Athens on the death of Hippias (510 B.C.), they united with the democracy, and the then head of the family, Cleisthenes, gave a new constitution to the city.
 Queen of Halicarnassus, in Caria; an ally of the Persian King Xerxes in his invasion of Greece; she fought gallantly at the battle of Salamis.
 A double entendre—with allusion to the posture in sexual intercourse known among the Greeks as [Greek: hippos], in Latin 'equus,' the horse, where the woman mounts the man in reversal of the ordinary position.
 Micon, a famous Athenian painter, decorated the walls of the Poecil Stoa, or Painted Porch, at Athens with a series of frescoes representing the battles of the Amazons with Theseus and the Athenians.
 To avenge itself on the eagle, the beetle threw the former's eggs out of the nest and broke them. See the Fables of Aesop.
 Keeper of a house of ill fame apparently.
 "As chaste as Melanion" was a Greek proverb. Who Melanion was is unknown.
 Myronides and Phormio were famous Athenian generals. The former was celebrated for his conquest of all Boeotia, except Thebes, in 458 B.C.; the latter, with a fleet of twenty triremes, equipped at his own cost, defeated a Lacedaemonian fleet of forty-seven sail, in 429.
 Timon, the misanthrope; he was an Athenian and a contemporary of Aristophanes. Disgusted by the ingratitude of his fellow-citizens and sickened with repeated disappointments, he retired altogether from society, admitting no one, it is said, to his intimacy except the brilliant young statesman Alcibiades.
 A spring so named within the precincts of the Acropolis.
 The comic poets delighted in introducing Heracles (Hercules) on the stage as an insatiable glutton, whom the other characters were for ever tantalizing by promising toothsome dishes and then making him wait indefinitely for their arrival.
 The Rhodian perfumes and unguents were less esteemed than the Syrian.
 'Dog-fox,' nickname of a certain notorious Philostratus, keeper of an Athenian brothel of note in Aristophanes' day.
 The god of gardens—and of lubricity; represented by a grotesque figure with an enormous penis.
 A staff in use among the Lacedaemonians for writing cipher despatches. A strip of leather or paper was wound round the 'skytal,' on which the required message was written lengthwise, so that when unrolled it became unintelligible; the recipient abroad had a staff of the same thickness and pattern, and so was enabled by rewinding the document to decipher the words.
 A city of Achaia, the acquisition of which had long been an object of Lacedaemonian ambition. To make the joke intelligible here, we must suppose Pellen was also the name of some notorious courtesan of the day.
 A deme of Attica, abounding in woods and marshes, where the gnats were particularly troublesome. There is very likely also an allusion to the spiteful, teasing character of its inhabitants.
 A mina was a little over 4; 60 minas made a talent.
 Carystus was a city of Euboea notorious for the dissoluteness of its inhabitants; hence the inclusion of these Carystian youths in the women's invitation.
 A [Greek: para prosdokian]; i.e. exactly the opposite of the word expected is used to conclude the sentence—to move the sudden hilarity of the audience as a finale to the scene.
 A wattled cage or pen for pigs.
 An effeminate, a pathic; failing women, they will have to resort to pederasty.
 These Hermae were half-length figures of the god Hermes, which stood at the corners of streets and in public places at Athens. One night, just before the sailing of the Sicilian Expedition, they were all mutilated—to the consternation of the inhabitants. Alcibiades and his wild companions were suspected of the outrage.
 They had repeatedly dismissed with scant courtesy successive Lacedaemonian embassies coming to propose terms of peace after the notable Athenian successes at Pylos, when the Island of Sphacteria was captured and 600 Spartan citizens brought prisoners to Athens. This was in 425 B.C., the seventh year of the War.
 Chief of the Lacedaemonian embassy which came to Athens, after the earthquake of 464 B.C., which almost annihilated the town of Sparta, to invoke the help of the Athenians against the revolted Messenians and helots.
 Echinus was a town on the Thessalian coast, at the entrance to the Maliac Gulf, near Thermopylae and opposite the northern end of the Athenian island of Euboea. By the "legs of Megara" are meant the two "long walls" or lines of fortification connecting the city of Megara with its seaport Nisaea—in the same way as Piraeus was joined to Athens.
 Examples of [Greek: para prosdokian] again; see above.
 Clitagoras was a composer of drinking songs, Telamon of war songs.
 Here, off the north coast of Euboea, the Greeks defeated the Persians in a naval battle, 480 B.C.
 The hero of Thermopylae, where the 300 Athenians arrested the advance of the invading hosts of Xerxes in the same year.
 Amyclae, an ancient town on the Eurotas within two or three miles of Sparta, the traditional birthplace of Castor and Pollux; here stood a famous and magnificent Temple of Apollo.
"Of the Brazen House," a surname of Athen, from the Temple dedicated to her worship at Chalcis in Euboea, the walls of which were covered with plates of brass.
Sons of Tyndarus, that is, Castor and Pollux, "the great twin brethren," held in peculiar reverence at Sparta.
The satire in this, one of the best known of all Aristophanes' comedies, is directed against the new schools of philosophy, or perhaps we should rather say dialectic, which had lately been introduced, mostly from abroad, at Athens. The doctrines held up to ridicule are those of the 'Sophists'—such men as Thrasymachus from Chalcedon in Bithynia, Gorgias from Leontini in Sicily, Protagoras from Abdera in Thrace, and other foreign scholars and rhetoricians who had flocked to Athens as the intellectual centre of the Hellenic world. Strange to say, Socrates of all people, the avowed enemy and merciless critic of these men and their methods, is taken as their representative, and personally attacked with pitiless raillery. Presumably this was merely because he was the most prominent and noteworthy teacher and thinker of the day, while his grotesque personal appearance and startling eccentricities of behaviour gave a ready handle to caricature. Neither the author nor his audience took the trouble, or were likely to take the trouble, to discriminate nicely; there was, of course, a general resemblance between the Socratic 'elenchos' and the methods of the new practitioners of dialectic; and this was enough for stage purposes. However unjustly, Socrates is taken as typical of the newfangled sophistical teachers, just as in 'The Acharnians' Lamachus, with his Gorgon shield, is introduced as representative of the War party, though that general was not specially responsible for the continuance of hostilities more than anybody else.
Aristophanes' point of view, as a member of the aristocratical party and a fine old Conservative, is that these Sophists, as the professors of the new education had come to be called, and Socrates as their protagonist, were insincere and dangerous innovators, corrupting morals, persuading young men to despise the old-fashioned, home-grown virtues of the State and teaching a system of false and pernicious tricks of verbal fence whereby anything whatever could be proved, and the worse be made to seem the better—provided always sufficient payment were forthcoming. True, Socrates refused to take money from his pupils, and made it his chief reproach against the lecturing Sophists that they received fees; but what of that? The Comedian cannot pay heed to such fine distinctions, but belabours the whole tribe with indiscriminate raillery and scurrility.
The play was produced at the Great Dionysia in 423 B.C., but proved unsuccessful, Cratinus and Amipsias being awarded first and second prize. This is said to have been due to the intrigues and influence of Alcibiades, who resented the caricature of himself presented in the sporting Phidippides. A second edition of the drama was apparently produced some years later, to which the 'Parabasis' of the play as we possess it must belong, as it refers to events subsequent to the date named.
The plot is briefly as follows: Strepsiades, a wealthy country gentleman, has been brought to penury and deeply involved in debt by the extravagance and horsy tastes of his son Phidippides. Having heard of the wonderful new art of argument, the royal road to success in litigation, discovered by the Sophists, he hopes that, if only he can enter the 'Phrontisterion,' or Thinking-Shop, of Socrates, he will learn how to turn the tables on his creditors and avoid paying the debts which are dragging him down. He joins the school accordingly, but is found too old and stupid to profit by the lessons. So his son Phidippides is substituted as a more promising pupil. The latter takes to the new learning like a duck to water, and soon shows what progress he has made by beating his father and demonstrating that he is justified by all laws, divine and human, in what he is doing. This opens the old man's eyes, who sets fire to the 'Phrontisterion,' and the play ends in a great conflagration of this home of humbug.
* * * * *
STREPSIADES. PHIDIPPIDES. SERVANT OF STREPSIADES. SOCRATES. DISCIPLES OF SOCRATES. JUST DISCOURSE. UNJUST DISCOURSE. PASIAS, a Money-lender. PASIAS' WITNESS. AMYNIAS, another Money-lender. CHAEREPHON. CHORUS OF CLOUDS.
SCENE: A sleeping-room in Strepsiades' house; then in front of Socrates' house.
* * * * *
STREPSIADES. Great gods! will these nights never end? will daylight never come? I heard the cock crow long ago and my slaves are snoring still! Ah! 'twas not so formerly. Curses on the War! has it not done me ills enough? Now I may not even chastise my own slaves. Again there's this brave lad, who never wakes the whole long night, but, wrapped in his five coverlets, farts away to his heart's content. Come! let me nestle in well and snore too, if it be possible ... oh! misery, 'tis vain to think of sleep with all these expenses, this stable, these debts, which are devouring me, thanks to this fine cavalier, who only knows how to look after his long locks, to show himself off in his chariot and to dream of horses! And I, I am nearly dead, when I see the moon bringing the third decade in her train and my liability falling due.... Slave! light the lamp and bring me my tablets. Who are all my creditors? Let me see and reckon up the interest. What is it I owe? ... Twelve minae to Pasias.... What! twelve minae to Pasias? ... Why did I borrow these? Ah! I know! 'Twas to buy that thoroughbred, which cost me so dear. How I should have prized the stone that had blinded him!
PHIDIPPIDES (in his sleep). That's not fair, Philo! Drive your chariot straight, I say.
STREPSIADES. 'Tis this that is destroying me. He raves about horses, even in his sleep.
PHIDIPPIDES (still sleeping). How many times round the track is the race for the chariots of war?
STREPSIADES. 'Tis your own father you are driving to death ... to ruin. Come! what debt comes next, after that of Pasias? ... Three minae to Amynias for a chariot and its two wheels.
PHIDIPPIDES (still asleep). Give the horse a good roll in the dust and lead him home.
STREPSIADES. Ah! wretched boy! 'tis my money that you are making roll. My creditors have distrained on my goods, and here are others again, who demand security for their interest.
PHIDIPPIDES (awaking). What is the matter with you, father, that you groan and turn about the whole night through?
STREPSIADES. I have a bum-bailiff in the bedclothes biting me.
PHIDIPPIDES. For pity's sake, let me have a little sleep.
STREPSIADES. Very well, sleep on! but remember that all these debts will fall back on your shoulders. Oh! curses on the go-between who made me marry your mother! I lived so happily in the country, a commonplace, everyday life, but a good and easy one—had not a trouble, not a care, was rich in bees, in sheep and in olives. Then forsooth I must marry the niece of Megacles, the son of Megacles; I belonged to the country, she was from the town; she was a haughty, extravagant woman, a true Coesyra. On the nuptial day, when I lay beside her, I was reeking of the dregs of the wine-cup, of cheese and of wool; she was redolent with essences, saffron, tender kisses, the love of spending, of good cheer and of wanton delights. I will not say she did nothing; no, she worked hard ... to ruin me, and pretending all the while merely to be showing her the cloak she had woven for me, I said, "Wife, you go too fast about your work, your threads are too closely woven and you use far too much wool."
A SLAVE. There is no more oil in the lamp.
STREPSIADES. Why then did you light such a guzzling lamp? Come here, I am going to beat you!
SLAVE. What for?
STREPSIADES. Because you have put in too thick a wick.... Later, when we had this boy, what was to be his name? 'Twas the cause of much quarrelling with my loving wife. She insisted on having some reference to a horse in his name, that he should be called Xanthippus, Charippus or Callippides. I wanted to name him Phidonides after his grandfather. We disputed long, and finally agreed to style him Phidippides.... She used to fondle and coax him, saying, "Oh! what a joy it will be to me when you have grown up, to see you, like my father, Megacles, clothed in purple and standing up straight in your chariot driving your steeds toward the town." And I would say to him, "When, like your father, you will go, dressed in a skin, to fetch back your goats from Phelleus." Alas! he never listened to me and his madness for horses has shattered my fortune. But by dint of thinking the livelong night, I have discovered a road to salvation, both miraculous and divine. If he will but follow it, I shall be out of my trouble! First, however, he must be awakened, but let it be done as gently as possible. How shall I manage it? Phidippides! my little Phidippides!
PHIDIPPIDES. What is it, father!
STREPSIADES. Kiss me and give me your hand.
PHIDIPPIDES. There! What's it all about?
STREPSIADES. Tell me! do you love me?
PHIDIPPIDES. By Posidon, the equestrian Posidon! yes, I swear I do.
STREPSIADES. Oh, do not, I pray you, invoke this god of horses; 'tis he who is the cause of all my cares. But if you really love me, and with your whole heart, my boy, believe me.
PHIDIPPIDES. Believe you? about what?
STREPSIADES. Alter your habits forthwith and go and learn what I tell you.
PHIDIPPIDES. Say on, what are your orders?
STREPSIADES. Will you obey me ever so little?
PHIDIPPIDES. By Bacchus, I will obey you.
STREPSIADES. Very well then! Look this way. Do you see that little door and that little house?
PHIDIPPIDES. Yes, father. But what are you driving at?
STREPSIADES. That is the school of wisdom. There, they prove that we are coals enclosed on all sides under a vast extinguisher, which is the sky. If well paid, these men also teach one how to gain law-suits, whether they be just or not.
PHIDIPPIDES. What do they call themselves?
STREPSIADES. I do not know exactly, but they are deep thinkers and most admirable people.
PHIDIPPIDES. Bah! the wretches! I know them; you mean those quacks with livid faces, those barefoot fellows, such as that miserable Socrates and Chaerephon.
STREPSIADES. Silence! say nothing foolish! If you desire your father not to die of hunger, join their company and let your horses go.
PHIDIPPIDES. No, by Bacchus! even though you gave me the pheasants that Leogoras rears.
STREPSIADES. Oh! my beloved son, I beseech you, go and follow their teachings.
PHIDIPPIDES. And what is it I should learn?
STREPSIADES. 'Twould seem they have two courses of reasoning, the true and the false, and that, thanks to the false, the worst law-suits can be gained. If then you learn this science, which is false, I shall not pay an obolus of all the debts I have contracted on your account.
PHIDIPPIDES. No, I will not do it. I should no longer dare to look at our gallant horsemen, when I had so tarnished my fair hue of honour.
STREPSIADES. Well then, by Demeter! I will no longer support you, neither you, nor your team, nor your saddle-horse. Go and hang yourself, I turn you out of house and home.
PHIDIPPIDES. My uncle Megacles will not leave me without horses; I shall go to him and laugh at your anger.
STREPSIADES. One rebuff shall not dishearten me. With the help of the gods I will enter this school and learn myself. But at my age, memory has gone and the mind is slow to grasp things. How can all these fine distinctions, these subtleties be learned? Bah! why should I dally thus instead of rapping at the door? Slave, slave! (He knocks and calls.)
A DISCIPLE. A plague on you! Who are you?
STREPSIADES. Strepsiades, the son of Phido, of the deme of Cicynna.
DISCIPLE. 'Tis for sure only an ignorant and illiterate fellow who lets drive at the door with such kicks. You have brought on a miscarriage—of an idea!
STREPSIADES. Pardon me, pray; for I live far away from here in the country. But tell me, what was the idea that miscarried?
DISCIPLE. I may not tell it to any but a disciple.
STREPSIADES. Then tell me without fear, for I have come to study among you.
DISCIPLE. Very well then, but reflect, that these are mysteries. Lately, a flea bit Chaerephon on the brow and then from there sprang on to the head of Socrates. Socrates asked Chaerephon, "How many times the length of its legs does a flea jump?"
STREPSIADES. And how ever did he set about measuring it?
DISCIPLE. Oh! 'twas most ingenious! He melted some wax, seized the flea and dipped its two feet in the wax, which, when cooled, left them shod with true Persian buskins. These he slipped off and with them measured the distance.
STREPSIADES. Ah! great Zeus! what a brain! what subtlety!
DISCIPLE. I wonder what then would you say, if you knew another of Socrates' contrivances?
STREPSIADES. What is it? Pray tell me.
DISCIPLE. Chaerephon of the deme of Sphettia asked him whether he thought a gnat buzzed through its proboscis or through its rear.
STREPSIADES. And what did he say about the gnat?
DISCIPLE. He said that the gut of the gnat was narrow, and that, in passing through this tiny passage, the air is driven with force towards the breech; then after this slender channel, it encountered the rump, which was distended like a trumpet, and there it resounded sonorously.
STREPSIADES. So the rear of a gnat is a trumpet. Oh! what a splendid discovery! Thrice happy Socrates! 'Twould not be difficult to succeed in a law-suit, knowing so much about the gut of a gnat!
DISCIPLE. Not long ago a lizard caused him the loss of a sublime thought.
STREPSIADES. In what way, an it please you?
DISCIPLE. One night, when he was studying the course of the moon and its revolutions and was gazing open-mouthed at the heavens, a lizard shitted upon him from the top of the roof.
STREPSIADES. This lizard, that relieved itself over Socrates, tickles me.
DISCIPLE. Yesternight we had nothing to eat.
STREPSIADES. Well! What did he contrive, to secure you some supper?
DISCIPLE. He spread over the table a light layer of cinders, bending an iron rod the while; then he took up a pair of compasses and at the same moment unhooked a piece of the victim which was hanging in the palaestra.
STREPSIADES. And we still dare to admire Thales! Open, open this home of knowledge to me quickly! Haste, haste to show me Socrates; I long to become his disciple. But do, do open the door. (The disciple admits Strepsiades.) Ah! by Heracles! what country are those animals from?
DISCIPLE. Why, what are you astonished at? What do you think they resemble?
STREPSIADES. The captives of Pylos. But why do they look so fixedly on the ground?
DISCIPLE. They are seeking for what is below the ground.
STREPSIADES. Ah! 'tis onions they are seeking. Do not give yourselves so much trouble; I know where there are some, fine and large ones. But what are those fellows doing, who are bent all double?
DISCIPLE. They are sounding the abysses of Tartarus.
STREPSIADES. And what is their rump looking at in the heavens?
DISCIPLE. It is studying astronomy on its own account. But come in; so that the master may not find us here.
STREPSIADES. Not yet, not yet; let them not change their position. I want to tell them my own little matter.
DISCIPLE. But they may not stay too long in the open air and away from school.
STREPSIADES. In the name of all the gods, what is that? Tell me. (Pointing to a celestial globe.)
DISCIPLE. That is astronomy.
STREPSIADES. And that? (Pointing to a map.)
STREPSIADES. What is that used for?
DISCIPLE. To measure the land.
STREPSIADES. But that is apportioned by lot.
DISCIPLE. No, no, I mean the entire earth.
STREPSIADES. Ah! what a funny thing! How generally useful indeed is this invention!
DISCIPLE. There is the whole surface of the earth. Look! Here is Athens.
STREPSIADES. Athens! you are mistaken; I see no courts sitting.
DISCIPLE. Nevertheless it is really and truly the Attic territory.
STREPSIADES. And where are my neighbours of Cicynna?
DISCIPLE. They live here. This is Euboea; you see this island, that is so long and narrow.
STREPSIADES. I know. 'Tis we and Pericles, who have stretched it by dint of squeezing it. And where is Lacedaemon?
DISCIPLE. Lacedaemon? Why, here it is, look.
STREPSIADES. How near it is to us! Think it well over, it must be removed to a greater distance.
DISCIPLE. But, by Zeus, that is not possible.
STREPSIADES. Then, woe to you! And who is this man suspended up in a basket?
DISCIPLE. 'Tis he himself.
STREPSIADES. Who himself?
STREPSIADES. Socrates! Oh! I pray you, call him right loudly for me.
DISCIPLE. Call him yourself; I have no time to waste.
STREPSIADES. Socrates! my little Socrates!
SOCRATES. Mortal, what do you want with me?
STREPSIADES. First, what are you doing up there? Tell me, I beseech you.
SOCRATES. I traverse the air and contemplate the sun.
STREPSIADES. Thus 'tis not on the solid ground, but from the height of this basket, that you slight the gods, if indeed....
SOCRATES. I have to suspend my brain and mingle the subtle essence of my mind with this air, which is of the like nature, in order to clearly penetrate the things of heaven. I should have discovered nothing, had I remained on the ground to consider from below the things that are above; for the earth by its force attracts the sap of the mind to itself. 'Tis just the same with the water-cress.
STREPSIADES. What? Does the mind attract the sap of the water-cress? Ah! my dear little Socrates, come down to me! I have come to ask you for lessons.
SOCRATES. And for what lessons?
STREPSIADES. I want to learn how to speak. I have borrowed money, and my merciless creditors do not leave me a moment's peace; all my goods are at stake.
SOCRATES. And how was it you did not see that you were getting so much into debt?
STREPSIADES. My ruin has been the madness for horses, a most rapacious evil; but teach me one of your two methods of reasoning, the one whose object is not to repay anything, and, may the gods bear witness, that I am ready to pay any fee you may name.
SOCRATES. By which gods will you swear? To begin with, the gods are not a coin current with us.
STREPSIADES. But what do you swear by then? By the iron money of Byzantium?
SOCRATES. Do you really wish to know the truth of celestial matters?
STREPSIADES. Why, truly, if 'tis possible.
SOCRATES. ... and to converse with the clouds, who are our genii?
STREPSIADES. Without a doubt.
SOCRATES. Then be seated on this sacred couch.
STREPSIADES. I am seated.
SOCRATES. Now take this chaplet.
STREPSIADES. Why a chaplet? Alas! Socrates, would you sacrifice me, like Athamas?
SOCRATES. No, these are the rites of initiation.
STREPSIADES. And what is it I am to gain?
SOCRATES. You will become a thorough rattle-pate, a hardened old stager, the fine flour of the talkers.... But come, keep quiet.
STREPSIADES. By Zeus! You lie not! Soon I shall be nothing but wheat-flour, if you powder me in this fashion.
SOCRATES. Silence, old man, give heed to the prayers.... Oh! most mighty king, the boundless air, that keepest the earth suspended in space, thou bright Aether and ye venerable goddesses, the Clouds, who carry in your loins the thunder and the lightning, arise, ye sovereign powers and manifest yourselves in the celestial spheres to the eyes of the sage.
STREPSIADES. Not yet! Wait a bit, till I fold my mantle double, so as not to get wet. And to think that I did not even bring my travelling cap! What a misfortune!
SOCRATES. Come, oh! Clouds, whom I adore, come and show yourselves to this man, whether you be resting on the sacred summits of Olympus, crowned with hoar-frost, or tarrying in the gardens of Ocean, your father, forming sacred choruses with the Nymphs; whether you be gathering the waves of the Nile in golden vases or dwelling in the Maeotic marsh or on the snowy rocks of Mimas, hearken to my prayer and accept my offering. May these sacrifices be pleasing to you.
CHORUS. Eternal Clouds, let us appear, let us arise from the roaring depths of Ocean, our father; let us fly towards the lofty mountains, spread our damp wings over their forest-laden summits, whence we will dominate the distant valleys, the harvest fed by the sacred earth, the murmur of the divine streams and the resounding waves of the sea, which the unwearying orb lights up with its glittering beams. But let us shake off the rainy fogs, which hide our immortal beauty and sweep the earth from afar with our gaze.
SOCRATES. Oh, venerated goddesses, yes, you are answering my call! (To Strepsiades.) Did you hear their voices mingling with the awful growling of the thunder?
STREPSIADES. Oh! adorable Clouds, I revere you and I too am going to let off my thunder, so greatly has your own affrighted me. Faith! whether permitted or not, I must, I must shit!
SOCRATES. No scoffing; do not copy those accursed comic poets. Come, silence! a numerous host of goddesses approaches with songs.
CHORUS. Virgins, who pour forth the rains, let us move toward Attica, the rich country of Pallas, the home of the brave; let us visit the dear land of Cecrops, where the secret rites are celebrated, where the mysterious sanctuary flies open to the initiate.... What victims are offered there to the deities of heaven! What glorious temples! What statues! What holy prayers to the rulers of Olympus! At every season nothing but sacred festivals, garlanded victims, are to be seen. Then Spring brings round again the joyous feasts of Dionysus, the harmonious contests of the choruses and the serious melodies of the flute.
STREPSIADES. By Zeus! Tell me, Socrates, I pray you, who are these women, whose language is so solemn; can they be demigoddesses?
SOCRATES. Not at all. They are the Clouds of heaven, great goddesses for the lazy; to them we owe all, thoughts, speeches, trickery, roguery, boasting, lies, sagacity.
STREPSIADES. Ah! that was why, as I listened to them, my mind spread out its wings; it burns to babble about trifles, to maintain worthless arguments, to voice its petty reasons, to contradict, to tease some opponent. But are they not going to show themselves? I should like to see them, were it possible.
SOCRATES. Well, look this way in the direction of Parnes; I already see those who are slowly descending.
STREPSIADES. But where, where? Show them to me.
SOCRATES. They are advancing in a throng, following an oblique path across the dales and thickets.
STREPSIADES. 'Tis strange! I can see nothing.
SOCRATES. There, close to the entrance.
STREPSIADES. Hardly, if at all, can I distinguish them.
SOCRATES. You must see them clearly now, unless your eyes are filled with gum as thick as pumpkins.
STREPSIADES. Aye, undoubtedly! Oh! the venerable goddesses! Why, they fill up the entire stage.
SOCRATES. And you did not know, you never suspected, that they were goddesses?
STREPSIADES. No, indeed; methought the Clouds were only fog, dew and vapour.
SOCRATES. But what you certainly do not know is that they are the support of a crowd of quacks, both the diviners, who were sent to Thurium, the notorious physicians, the well-combed fops, who load their fingers with rings down to the nails, and the baggarts, who write dithyrambic verses, all these are idlers whom the Clouds provide a living for, because they sing them in their verses.
STREPSIADES. 'Tis then for this that they praise "the rapid flight of the moist clouds, which veil the brightness of day" and "the waving locks of the hundred-headed Typho" and "the impetuous tempests, which float through the heavens, like birds of prey with aerial wings, loaded with mists" and "the rains, the dew, which the clouds outpour." As a reward for these fine phrases they bolt well-grown, tasty mullet and delicate thrushes.
SOCRATES. Yes, thanks to these. And is it not right and meet?
STREPSIADES. Tell me then why, if these really are the Clouds, they so very much resemble mortals. This is not their usual form.
SOCRATES. What are they like then?
STREPSIADES. I don't know exactly; well, they are like great packs of wool, but not like women—no, not in the least.... And these have noses.
SOCRATES. Answer my questions.
STREPSIADES. Willingly! Go on, I am listening.
SOCRATES. Have you not sometimes seen clouds in the sky like a centaur, a leopard, a wolf or a bull?
STREPSIADES. Why, certainly I have, but what then?
SOCRATES. They take what metamorphosis they like. If they see a debauchee with long flowing locks and hairy as a beast, like the son of Xenophantes, they take the form of a Centaur in derision of his shameful passion.
STREPSIADES. And when they see Simon, that thiever of public money, what do they do then?
SOCRATES. To picture him to the life, they turn at once into wolves.
STREPSIADES. So that was why yesterday, when they saw Cleonymus, who cast away his buckler because he is the veriest poltroon amongst men, they changed into deer.
SOCRATES. And to-day they have seen Clisthenes; you see ... they are women.
STREPSIADES. Hail, sovereign goddesses, and if ever you have let your celestial voice be heard by mortal ears, speak to me, oh! speak to me, ye all-powerful queens.
CHORUS. Hail! veteran of the ancient times, you who burn to instruct yourself in fine language. And you, great high-priest of subtle nonsense, tell us your desire. To you and Prodicus alone of all the hollow orationers of to-day have we lent an ear—to Prodicus, because of his knowledge and his great wisdom, and to you, because you walk with head erect, a confident look, barefooted, resigned to everything and proud of our protection.
STREPSIADES. Oh! Earth! What august utterances! how sacred! how wondrous!
SOCRATES. That is because these are the only goddesses; all the rest are pure myth.
STREPSIADES. But by the Earth! is our Father, Zeus, the Olympian, not a god?
SOCRATES. Zeus! what Zeus? Are you mad? There is no Zeus.
STREPSIADES. What are you saying now? Who causes the rain to fall? Answer me that!
SOCRATES. Why, 'tis these, and I will prove it. Have you ever seen it raining without clouds? Let Zeus then cause rain with a clear sky and without their presence!
STREPSIADES. By Apollo! that is powerfully argued! For my own part, I always thought it was Zeus pissing into a sieve. But tell me, who is it makes the thunder, which I so much dread?
SOCRATES. 'Tis these, when they roll one over the other.
STREPSIADES. But how can that be? you most daring among men!
SOCRATES. Being full of water, and forced to move along, they are of necessity precipitated in rain, being fully distended with moisture from the regions where they have been floating; hence they bump each other heavily and burst with great noise.
STREPSIADES. But is it not Zeus who forces them to move?
SOCRATES. Not at all; 'tis aerial Whirlwind.
STREPSIADES. The Whirlwind! ah! I did not know that. So Zeus, it seems, has no existence, and 'tis the Whirlwind that reigns in his stead? But you have not yet told me what makes the roll of the thunder?
SOCRATES. Have you not understood me then? I tell you, that the Clouds, when full of rain, bump against one another, and that, being inordinately swollen out, they burst with a great noise.
STREPSIADES. How can you make me credit that?
SOCRATES. Take yourself as an example. When you have heartily gorged on stew at the Panathenaea, you get throes of stomach-ache and then suddenly your belly resounds with prolonged growling.
STREPSIADES. Yes, yes, by Apollo! I suffer, I get colic, then the stew sets a-growling like thunder and finally bursts forth with a terrific noise. At first, 'tis but a little gurgling pappax, pappax! then it increases, papapappax! and when I seek relief, why, 'tis thunder indeed, papapappax! pappax!! papapappax!!! just like the clouds.
SOCRATES. Well then, reflect what a noise is produced by your belly, which is but small. Shall not the air, which is boundless, produce these mighty claps of thunder?
STREPSIADES. But tell me this. Whence comes the lightning, the dazzling flame, which at times consumes the man it strikes, at others hardly singes him. Is it not plain, that 'tis Zeus hurling it at the perjurers?
SOCRATES. Out upon the fool! the driveller! he still savours of the golden age! If Zeus strikes at the perjurers, why has he not blasted Simon, Cleonymus and Theorus? Of a surety, greater perjurers cannot exist. No, he strikes his own Temple, and Sunium, the promontory of Athens, and the towering oaks. Now, why should he do that? An oak is no perjurer.
STREPSIADES. I cannot tell, but it seems to me well argued. What is the thunder then?
SOCRATES. When a dry wind ascends to the Clouds and gets shut into them, it blows them out like a bladder; finally, being too confined, it bursts them, escapes with fierce violence and a roar to flash into flame by reason of its own impetuosity.
STREPSIADES. Forsooth, 'tis just what happened to me one day. 'Twas at the feast of Zeus! I was cooking a sow's belly for my family and I had forgotten to slit it open. It swelled out and, suddenly bursting, discharged itself right into my eyes and burnt my face.
CHORUS. Oh, mortal! you, who desire to instruct yourself in our great wisdom, the Athenians, the Greeks will envy you your good fortune. Only you must have the memory and ardour for study, you must know how to stand the tests, hold your own, go forward without feeling fatigue, caring but little for food, abstaining from wine, gymnastic exercises and other similar follies, in fact, you must believe as every man of intellect should, that the greatest of all blessings is to live and think more clearly than the vulgar herd, to shine in the contests of words.
STREPSIADES. If it be a question of hardiness for labour, of spending whole nights at work, of living sparingly, of fighting my stomach and only eating chick-pease, rest assured, I am as hard as an anvil.
SOCRATES. Henceforward, following our example, you will recognize no other gods but Chaos, the Clouds and the Tongue, these three alone.
STREPSIADES. I would not speak to the others, even if I should meet them in the street; not a single sacrifice, not a libation, not a grain of incense for them!
CHORUS. Tell us boldly then what you want of us; you cannot fail to succeed, if you honour and revere us and if you are resolved to become a clever man.
STREPSIADES. Oh, sovereign goddesses, 'tis but a very small favour that I ask of you; grant that I may distance all the Greeks by a hundred stadia in the art of speaking.
CHORUS. We grant you this, and henceforward no eloquence shall more often succeed with the people than your own.
STREPSIADES. May the god shield me from possessing great eloquence! 'Tis not what I want. I want to be able to turn bad lawsuits to my own advantage and to slip through the fingers of my creditors.
CHORUS. It shall be as you wish, for your ambitions are modest. Commit yourself fearlessly to our ministers, the sophists.
STREPSIADES. This will I do, for I trust in you. Moreover there is no drawing back, what with these cursed horses and this marriage, which has eaten up my vitals. So let them do with me as they will; I yield my body to them. Come blows, come hunger, thirst, heat or cold, little matters it to me; they may flay me, if I only escape my debts, if only I win the reputation of being a bold rascal, a fine speaker, impudent, shameless, a braggart, and adept at stringing lies, an old stager at quibbles, a complete table of the laws, a thorough rattle, a fox to slip through any hole; supple as a leathern strap, slippery as an eel, an artful fellow, a blusterer, a villain; a knave with a hundred faces, cunning, intolerable, a gluttonous dog. With such epithets do I seek to be greeted; on these terms, they can treat me as they choose, and, if they wish, by Demeter! they can turn me into sausages and serve me up to the philosophers.
CHORUS. Here have we a bold and well-disposed pupil indeed. When we shall have taught you, your glory among the mortals will reach even to the skies.
STREPSIADES. Wherein will that profit me?
CHORUS. You will pass your whole life among us and will be the most envied of men.
STREPSIADES. Shall I really ever see such happiness?
CHORUS. Clients will be everlastingly besieging your door in crowds, burning to get at you, to explain their business to you and to consult you about their suits, which, in return for your ability, will bring you in great sums. But, Socrates, begin the lessons you want to teach this old man; rouse his mind, try the strength of his intelligence.
SOCRATES. Come, tell me the kind of mind you have; 'tis important I know this, that I may order my batteries against you in a new fashion.
STREPSIADES. Eh, what! in the name of the gods, are you purposing to assault me then?
SOCRATES. No. I only wish to ask you some questions. Have you any memory?
STREPSIADES. That depends: if anything is owed me, my memory is excellent, but if I owe, alas! I have none whatever.
SOCRATES. Have you a natural gift for speaking?
STREPSIADES. For speaking, no; for cheating, yes.
SOCRATES. How will you be able to learn then?
STREPSIADES. Very easily, have no fear.
SOCRATES. Thus, when I throw forth some philosophical thought anent things celestial, you will seize it in its very flight?
STREPSIADES. Then I am to snap up wisdom much as a dog snaps up a morsel?
SOCRATES. Oh! the ignoramus! the barbarian! I greatly fear, old man, 'twill be needful for me to have recourse to blows. Now, let me hear what you do when you are beaten.
STREPSIADES. I receive the blow, then wait a moment, take my witnesses and finally summon my assailant at law.
SOCRATES. Come, take off your cloak.
STREPSIADES. Have I robbed you of anything?
SOCRATES. No, but 'tis usual to enter the school without your cloak.
STREPSIADES. But I am not come here to look for stolen goods.
SOCRATES. Off with it, fool!
STREPSIADES. Tell me, if I prove thoroughly attentive and learn with zeal, which of your disciples shall I resemble, do you think?
SOCRATES. You will be the image of Chaerephon.
STREPSIADES. Ah! unhappy me! I shall then be but half alive?
SOCRATES. A truce to this chatter! follow me and no more of it.
STREPSIADES. First give me a honey-cake, for to descend down there sets me all a-tremble; meseems 'tis the cave of Trophonius.
SOCRATES. But get in with you! What reason have you for thus dallying at the door?
CHORUS. Good luck! you have courage; may you succeed, you, who, though already so advanced in years, wish to instruct your mind with new studies and practise it in wisdom!
CHORUS (Parabasis). Spectators! By Bacchus, whose servant I am, I will frankly tell you the truth. May I secure both victory and renown as certainly as I hold you for adept critics and as I regard this comedy as my best. I wished to give you the first view of a work, which had cost me much trouble, but I withdrew, unjustly beaten by unskilful rivals. 'Tis you, oh, enlightened public, for whom I have prepared my piece, that I reproach with this. Nevertheless I shall never willingly cease to seek the approval of the discerning. I have not forgotten the day, when men, whom one is happy to have for an audience, received my 'Young Man' and my 'Debauchee' with so much favour in this very place. Then as yet virgin, my Muse had not attained the legal age for maternity; she had to expose her first-born for another to adopt, and it has since grown up under your generous patronage. Ever since you have as good as sworn me your faithful alliance. Thus, like Electra of the poets, my comedy has come to seek you to-day, hoping again to encounter such enlightened spectators. As far away as she can discern her Orestes, she will be able to recognize him by his curly head. And note her modest demeanour! She has not sewn on a piece of hanging leather, thick and reddened at the end, to cause laughter among the children; she does not rail at the bald, neither does she dance the cordax; no old man is seen, who, while uttering his lines, batters his questioner with a stick to make his poor jests pass muster. She does not rush upon the scene carrying a torch and screaming, 'La, la! la, la!' No, she relies upon herself and her verses.... My value is so well known, that I take no further pride in it. I do not seek to deceive you, by reproducing the same subjects two or three times; I always invent fresh themes to present before you, themes that have no relation to each other and that are all clever. I attacked Cleon to his face and when he was all-powerful; but he has fallen, and now I have no desire to kick him when he is down. My rivals, on the contrary, once that this wretched Hyperbolus has given them the cue, have never ceased setting upon both him and his mother. First Eupolis presented his 'Maricas'; this was simply my 'Knights,' whom this plagiarist had clumsily furbished up again by adding to the piece an old drunken woman, so that she might dance the cordax. 'Twas an old idea, taken from Phrynichus, who caused his old hag to be devoured by a monster of the deep. Then Hermippus fell foul of Hyperbolus and now all the others fall upon him and repeat my comparison of the eels. May those who find amusement in their pieces not be pleased with mine, but as for you, who love and applaud my inventions, why, posterity will praise your good taste.
Oh, ruler of Olympus, all-powerful king of the gods, great Zeus, it is thou whom I first invoke; protect this chorus; and thou too, Posidon, whose dread trident upheaves at the will of thy anger both the bowels of the earth and the salty waves of the ocean. I invoke my illustrious father, the divine Aether, the universal sustainer of life, and Phoebus, who, from the summit of his chariot, sets the world aflame with his dazzling rays, Phoebus, a mighty deity amongst the gods and adored amongst mortals.
Most wise spectators, lend us all your attention. Give heed to our just reproaches. There exist no gods to whom this city owes more than it does to us, whom alone you forget. Not a sacrifice, not a libation is there for those who protect you! Have you decreed some mad expedition? Well! we thunder or we fall down in rain. When you chose that enemy of heaven, the Paphlagonian tanner, for a general, we knitted our brow, we caused our wrath to break out; the lightning shot forth, the thunder pealed, the moon deserted her course and the sun at once veiled his beam threatening no longer to give you light, if Cleon became general. Nevertheless you elected him; 'tis said, Athens never resolves upon some fatal step but the gods turn these errors into her greatest gain. Do you wish that this election should even now be a success for you? 'Tis a very simple thing to do; condemn this rapacious gull named Cleon for bribery and extortion, fit a wooden collar tight round his neck, and your error will be rectified and the commonweal will at once regain its old prosperity.
Aid me also, Phoebus, god of Delos, who reignest on the cragged peaks of Cynthia; and thou, happy virgin, to whom the Lydian damsels offer pompous sacrifice in a temple of gold; and thou, goddess of our country, Athen, armed with the aegis, the protectress of Athens; and thou, who, surrounded by the Bacchanals of Delphi, roamest over the rocks of Parnassus shaking the flame of thy resinous torch, thou, Bacchus, the god of revel and joy.
As we were preparing to come here, we were hailed by the Moon and were charged to wish joy and happiness both to the Athenians and to their allies; further, she said that she was enraged and that you treated her very shamefully, her, who does not pay you in words alone, but who renders you all real benefits. Firstly, thanks to her, you save at least a drachma each month for lights, for each, as he is leaving home at night, says, "Slave, buy no torches, for the moonlight is beautiful,"—not to name a thousand other benefits. Nevertheless you do not reckon the days correctly and your calendar is naught but confusion. Consequently the gods load her with threats each time they get home and are disappointed of their meal, because the festival has not been kept in the regular order of time. When you should be sacrificing, you are putting to the torture or administering justice. And often, we others, the gods, are fasting in token of mourning for the death of Memnon or Sarpedon, while you are devoting yourselves to joyous libations. 'Tis for this, that last year, when the lot would have invested Hyperbolus with the duty of Amphictyon, we took his crown from him, to teach him that time must be divided according to the phases of the moon.
SOCRATES. By Respiration, the Breath of Life! By Chaos! By the Air! I have never seen a man so gross, so inept, so stupid, so forgetful. All the little quibbles, which I teach him, he forgets even before he has learnt them. Yet I will not give it up, I will make him come out here into the open air. Where are you, Strepsiades? Come, bring your couch out here.
STREPSIADES. But the bugs will not allow me to bring it.
SOCRATES. Have done with such nonsense! place it there and pay attention.
STREPSIADES. Well, here I am.
SOCRATES. Good! Which science of all those you have never been taught, do you wish to learn first? The measures, the rhythms or the verses?
STREPSIADES. Why, the measures; the flour dealer cheated me out of two choenixes the other day.
SOCRATES. 'Tis not about that I ask you, but which, according to you, is the best measure, the trimeter or the tetrameter?
STREPSIADES. The one I prefer is the semisextarius.
SOCRATES. You talk nonsense, my good fellow.
STREPSIADES. I will wager your tetrameter is the semisextarius.
SOCRATES. Plague seize the dunce and the fool! Come, perchance you will learn the rhythms quicker.
STREPSIADES. Will the rhythms supply me with food?
SOCRATES. First they will help you to be pleasant in company, then to know what is meant by oenoplian rhythm and what by the dactylic.
STREPSIADES. Of the dactyl? I know that quite well.
SOCRATES. What is it then?
STREPSIADES. Why, 'tis this finger; formerly, when a child, I used this one.
SOCRATES. You are as low-minded as you are stupid.
STREPSIADES. But, wretched man, I do not want to learn all this.
SOCRATES. Then what do you want to know?
STREPSIADES. Not that, not that, but the art of false reasoning.
SOCRATES. But you must first learn other things. Come, what are the male quadrupeds?
STREPSIADES. Oh! I know the males thoroughly. Do you take me for a fool then? The ram, the buck, the bull, the dog, the pigeon.
SOCRATES. Do you see what you are doing; is not the female pigeon called the same as the male?
STREPSIADES. How else? Come now?
SOCRATES. How else? With you then 'tis pigeon and pigeon!
STREPSIADES. 'Tis true, by Posidon! but what names do you want me to give them?
SOCRATES. Term the female pigeonnette and the male pigeon.
STREPSIADES. Pigeonnette! hah! by the Air! That's splendid! for that lesson bring out your kneading-trough and I will fill him with flour to the brim.
SOCRATES. There you are wrong again; you make trough masculine and it should be feminine.
STREPSIADES. What? if I say him, do I make the trough masculine?
SOCRATES. Assuredly! would you not say him for Cleonymus?
SOCRATES. Then trough is of the same gender as Cleonymus?
STREPSIADES. Oh! good sir! Cleonymus never had a kneading-trough; he used a round mortar for the purpose. But come, tell me what I should say?
SOCRATES. For trough you should say her as you would for Sostrat.
SOCRATES. In this manner you make it truly female.
STREPSIADES. That's it! Her for trough and her for Cleonymus.
SOCRATES. Now I must teach you to distinguish the masculine proper names from those that are feminine.
STREPSIADES. Ah! I know the female names well.
SOCRATES. Name some then.
STREPSIADES. Lysilla, Philinna, Clitagora, Demetria.
SOCRATES. And what are masculine names?
STREPSIADES. They are countless—Philoxenus, Melesias, Amynias.
SOCRATES. But, wretched man, the last two are not masculine.
STREPSIADES. You do not reckon them masculine?
SOCRATES. Not at all. If you met Amynias, how would you hail him?
STREPSIADES. How? Why, I should shout, "Hi! hither, Amynia!"
SOCRATES. Do you see? 'tis a female name that you give him.
STREPSIADES. And is it not rightly done, since he refuses military service? But what use is there in learning what we all know?
SOCRATES. You know nothing about it. Come, lie down there.
STREPSIADES. What for?
SOCRATES. Ponder awhile over matters that interest you.
STREPSIADES. Oh! I pray you, not there! but, if I must lie down and ponder, let me lie on the ground.
SOCRATES. 'Tis out of the question. Come! on to the couch!
STREPSIADES. What cruel fate! What a torture the bugs will this day put me to!
SOCRATES. Ponder and examine closely, gather your thoughts together, let your mind turn to every side of things; if you meet with a difficulty, spring quickly to some other idea; above all, keep your eyes away from all gentle sleep.
STREPSIADES. Oh, woe, woe! oh, woe, woe!
SOCRATES. What ails you? why do you cry so?
STREPSIADES. Oh! I am a dead man! Here are these cursed Corinthians advancing upon me from all corners of the couch; they are biting me, they are gnawing at my sides, they are drinking all my blood, they are twitching off my testicles, they are exploring all up my back, they are killing me!
SOCRATES. Not so much wailing and clamour, if you please.
STREPSIADES. How can I obey? I have lost my money and my complexion, my blood and my slippers, and to cap my misery, I must keep awake on this couch, when scarce a breath of life is left in me.