Aristophanes: The Complete Plays Page 6
Got to be some’at we don’t ’ave any of
and you ’ave much too much of. . . . See?
DICAEOPOLIS: [thinking hard] I’ve got it: informers.
We could pack one up for you like china and export him.
BOEOTIAN: Great Zeus-twice-over!
What a fortune I could make exporting ’im
chock-full of ’is monkey tricks!
DICAEOPOLIS: Watch out! Here comes Nicarchus86 to denounce us.
[NICARCHUS enters.]
BOEOTIAN: There ain’t much to ’im.
DICAEOPOLIS: But every inch of it stinks.
NICARCHUS: Whose stuff is this?
BOEOTIAN: Mine—from Thebes—Zeus my witness!
NICARCHUS: Smuggled, I reckon. I denounce.
BOEOTIAN: Man, what’s up with you—
taking arms against me birdies?
NICARCHUS: Against them, yes, and you, too.
BOEOTIAN: What ’ave I ever done to yer?
NICARCHUS: For the sake of those standing here,
let me tell you: you’re importing lamp wicks
from countries we’re at war with.
DICAEOPOLIS: [breaking in] What! You denounce him for lamp wicks?
NICARCHUS: A lamp wick can burn down the docks.
DICAEOPOLIS: A wick burn down docks?
NICARCHUS: I think so.
DICAEOPOLIS: How could it?
NICARCHUS: Let’s say some fellow from Boeotia
stuck a wick on the back of a beetle,
lit it and sent it through a gutter
till a whiff of north wind came to hustle
it towards the ships and set them on fire. . . . 87
DICAEOPOLIS: [losing his temper and lashing out with his leather thongs]
Set yourself on fire, you goddam fraud [thwack],
and from a beetle [thwack],
with a wick on its back [thwack].
NICARCHUS: Witnesses! Observe!
DICAEOPOLIS: Lock up his mouth.
Give me some sawdust and I’ll pack him like china for dispatch
so he doesn’t get chipped in the move.
LEADER: With care, my hero, pack up the goods For this guest of ours who comes from abroad. It mustn’t get smashed on the road.
DICAEOPOLIS: Of course I’ll take the greatest care. It’s popping and crackling like a fire As if deserted by the gods.
LEADER: What’s it going to be used for?
DICAEOPOLIS: For every kind of possible thing:
A mug for something . . . that’s not nice;
A pestle to pound writs of error;
A lamp to illumine official vice;
A chalice for every kind of malice.
LEADER: But how could anyone not tremor Using such a jug as this, And one that’s making such a clamor?
DICAEOPOLIS: It’s quite robust, my friend. It won’t Crumble even if you dangle It by the feet at any angle.
LEADER: [to the BOEOTIAN] You’ve got yourself a real boon.
BOEOTIAN: Yes, I’m on the brink of fortune.
LEADER: Reap your reward, good visitor.
Fling him at once into your pack
And off with him to wherever you want:
A perfect specimen, I warrant,
Of the universal skunk.
DICAEOPOLIS: Quite a job of it I had Packing up the wretched cad. So, Boeotian, load the stack.
BOEOTIAN: [to ISMENIAS, his servant]
Ismenias, hoist ’im up, m’lad.
DICAEOPOLIS: So carry him home with the greatest care, Even though your load is far from fair. But if you make a profit from this import You’re on your way to make a pack From informer export.
[The BOEOTIAN and ISMENIAS leave as XANTHIAS runs in shouting.]
XANTHIAS: Dicaeopolis! Dicaeopolis!
DICAEOPOLIS: Hey, what’s all the shouting for?
XANTHIAS: What indeed, sir, just this:
Lamachus submits an order
for some thrushes for the Feast of Pitcher,88
a drachma’s worth, and three drachmas for
an eel from Lake Copais.
DICAEOPOLIS: But which of the Lamachuses is it with the eel
order?
XANTHIAS: The formidable one, the tough-as-bulls’-hide one,
the one who flashes his Gorgon shield
nodding his waving cloud of plumes.
DICAEOPOLIS: It’s no use, by Zeus! Even if he presents me with his shield. So let him twiddle away his plumes for salted mackerel. If he stirs up trouble I’ll call the market police. Meanwhile, I’m going inside to my rooms with all this stuff. . . . I’m flying off on the wings of blackbird and of thrush.
[DICAEOPOLIS loads himself up with cages, boxes, and sacks, and staggers into the house. XANTHIAS saunters off the way he came.]
STROPHE
CHORUS:
All of you there, I hope you’ll note
This resourceful, brilliant man.
What a wonderful stock he’s got
Of things for sale because of the truce:
Some of which can be put to use
Around the house, some eaten hot.
LEADER: Every possible benefit can
Come willy-nilly to this man.
I’ll never invite the god of war
Into my house or let him recline
Beside me singing the Harmodius song,89
For when he’s drunk he’s a boisterous bore.
We were having a wonderful time
With masses of everything until
He crashed in, upsetting all,
Barging his way, fighting and spilling,
And the more I wheedled him with “Please,
Relax with a loving cup—be willing,”
The more he set our poles ablaze
And poured on the ground the juice of vines.
ANTISTROPHE
CHORUS:
But now he’s departed for his dinner
With something of a change of mind:
He’s jettisoned outside his door
His plumes of war. . . . Oh look who’s here!
Aphrodite’s favorite friend,
Peace, and the beloved Graces.90
LEADER: [addressing PEACE]
I never knew how sweet your face is.
It makes me itch for Eros here—
The Eros in the picture where
He’s drowned in flowers—to get us together.
You probably think I’m a spent old man.
All the same, I bet I’d come
Once I had you in my arms.
I’d hit the bull’s-eye three times running:
First with a strike of vines in a row;
Next with a burst of fig tree cuttings;
Third, a festoon of grapes I’d grow
(Old that I am, I’m so well hung),
Round which I’d plant an olive grove—
We’d oil ourselves the New Moon long.
[Enter HERALD.]
HERALD: Attention, people, for the feast!
Drain your mugs of wine according to tradition
and the one who finishes first
gets a wineskin as ample as the belly of Ctesiphon.91
[An inner scene is revealed in which DICAEOPOLIS and his household are preparing for a banquet.]
DICAEOPOLIS: [fussing]
Hey, boys and girls, what are you doing?
Weren’t you listening?
Didn’t you hear the herald speaking?
Grill those hare fillets nicely,
then turn and yank them off the spit, but briskly.
Get the garlands and the trestles.
Give me some skewers for the throstles.92
CHORUS:
I so admire your expert plan
And even more
Your cornucopia.
Come, sit beside us, man.
DICAEOPOLIS: Wait till you see thrush-on-spit.
CHORUS: I expect that you are right.
DICAEOPOLIS: Poke up t
he fire.
CHORUS: What a master of cuisine!
What a deft grill-side manner!
What a superb party planner!
[The farmer DERCETES enters, near to tears.]
DERCETES: God help me, I am done!
DICAEOPOLIS: Heavens, who is this?
DERCETES: A ruined man.
DICAEOPOLIS: Then keep it to yourself, please.
DERCETES: Be a good fellow. You are the only one
who cornered a truce for yourself; lend me a piece . . .
of peace . . . say a five-year morsel.
DICAEOPOLIS: What’s the trouble?
DERCETES: Lost my oxen—my couple.
DICAEOPOLIS: Where?
DERCETES: At Phyle, snaffled by the Boeotians.
DICAEOPOLIS: Why, thrice-unlucky one, are you dressed in white?
DERCETES: I couldn’t before, with all that manure.
DICAEOPOLIS: Well, what do you want me to do?
DERCETES: My eyesight’s gone, weeping for my bullocks,
so if you have any feeling—even slight—
for Dercetes of Phyle, rub some peace on my eyes now.
DICAEOPOLIS: Bollocks! I’m not a doctor.
DERCETES: Oh please, I beg you. Then perhaps I’ll find my oxen.
DICAEOPOLIS: No. Go to Doctor Pittalus’ clinic.93
DERCETES: Oh please, just a teeny drop of peace: You can drop it into this hollow stick.
DICAEOPOLIS: No, not the weeniest drop. Go and find another place to whine in.
DERCETES: Gone! Gone! My darling yoke of oxen.
[DERCETES walks away dejected.]
CHORUS: The man has unearthed a prize
In his truce
And naturally he wants.
To keep to himself its use.
DICAEOPOLIS: Honey the sausages, grill the squid.
CHORUS: My, what authority!
DICAEOPOLIS: Brown the eels.
CHORUS: Have mercy on our palates, please, We’re near to death with the aroma And the savory syllables you utter.
DICAEOPOLIS: Get those stewing, get these fried.
[A BEST MAN enters with a BRIDESMAID.]
BEST MAN: Dicaeopolis!
DICAEOPOLIS: Who the blazes, the damn blazes?
BEST MAN: There’s a wedding party going on
and the bridegroom sends you this viand.
DICAEOPOLIS: Generous of him whoever he is.
BEST MAN: What he asks in return,
so’s not to get called up for campaign
and can start shagging without a pause,
is a dollop of peace—here in this little vase.
DICAEOPOLIS: Away with the viand—away with it! Don’t tempt me!
Not for a thousand drachmas would I part with a drop. . . .
Who’s she?
BEST MAN: The bridesmaid,
and she has a personal message for you from the bride.
DICAEOPOLIS: Really? What sort of message?
[The BRIDESMAID steps up and whispers in his ear.]
Dear gods, that’s a laugh! She wants a pledge
that her husband’s cock be kept from the draft
and on the hearth.
Bring the truce here,
I’m going to give her a spoonful—and only to her—
she’s a poor female and oughtn’t to suffer because of war.
Hey, my girl, hold the vase up.
D’you know the procedure?
Tell the bride that when there’s a call-up
she’s to massage his prick at night with this.
[BEST MAN leaves with BRIDESMAID.]
Remove the truce and bring me the wine stoup
so’s I can ladle wine into the flasks.
LEADER: Look, there’s a man coming, obviously distraught,
as if he had something unpleasant to announce.
[FIRST MESSENGER enters and bangs on LAMACHUS’ front door, exclaiming in a mournful voice.]
FIRST MESSENGER: Oh brother! Battles, Lamachuses, fatigues, and tasks!
LAMACHUS: [coming out snarling]
Who’s banging my brass knockers into naught?
FIRST MESSENGER: Marching orders for the dy, from the ’igh command. Destinyshun—snow drifts. Objective—guarding hof the passes. News ’as just come hin that a gang of Boeotians ’as it in mind to hattack during the Pot and Pitcher Festival.
[FIRST MESSENGER salutes briskly and leaves.]
LAMACHUS: Drat the generals! Too many and too stupid! So I’m not going to be allowed to enjoy the festival.
DICAEOPOLIS: Three cheers for Lamachus the Intrepid!
LAMACHUS: So you think it’s funny as well?
DICAEOPOLIS: [teasing, as he picks up a fat roasted locust] How d’ you like to fight with this—a real Geryon.94
LAMACHUS: Piss off! That message was messy enough.
DICAEOPOLIS: And here’s another messenger—all panty-hot-breath.
[Enter SECOND MESSENGER.]
SECOND MESSENGER: Dicaeopolis!
DICAEOPOLIS: Yes, what?
SECOND MESSENGER:
You’re to go to dinner on the dot.
Bring your pannier and your flagon,
the priest of Dionysus asks you, but hurry.
You’re keeping the dinner waiting.
Everything’s ready:
couches, tables, cushions,
quilts, perfumes, garlands,
tarts—I mean broads—biscuits, cakes and icing,
dancing girls—real pearls—like the ones
in Harmodius’ song, sesame honey buns. . . .
So hurry . . . come along!
LAMACHUS: [moaning] I am beset with things going wrong.
DICAEOPOLIS: Blame yourself: you’re your own damper, pinning yourself to a Gorgon.95
[calling a SERVANT]
Pack up the pannier, boy, and quick.
LAMACHUS: And, boy, boy, bring me my knapsack.
DICAEOPOLIS: And, boy, boy, bring me my hamper.
LAMACHUS: Fetch the sea salt and the onion.
DICAEOPOLIS: For me just fish. I’ve had it with onions.
LAMACHUS: And, boy, bring me a smoked herring on a fig leaf.
DICAEOPOLIS: And stuff a fig leaf for me. I’ll cook it there.
LAMACHUS: And my twin helmet plumes—bring them here.
DICAEOPOLIS: Bring the thrushes and the pigeons.
LAMACHUS: How beautiful is an ostrich plume—its white fluff!
DICAEOPOLIS: How beautiful is pigeon meat—its brown stuff!
LAMACHUS: Sir, plumes are part of my armor—not a joke.
DICAEOPOLIS: Sir, stop ogling my thrushes—you complete jerk.
LAMACHUS: Sir, kindly stop addressing me—you right berk!
DICAEOPOLIS: I’m not. I’m conferring with my servant here.
[turns to his SERVANT]
Shall we toss up or let Lamachus decide which are tastier,
locusts or thrushes?
LAMACHUS: What a nerve!
DICAEOPOLIS: He’s pro-locust a hundred percent.
LAMACHUS: Boy, bring my triple crest out of the chest.
DICAEOPOLIS: And serve me some casserole of hare.
LAMACHUS: I can’t believe it: moths have had a go at my crests.
DICAEOPOLIS: I can’t believe it: I’m having hare as an hors d’oeuvre.
LAMACHUS: Boy, boy, remove my spear off the wall
and bring it here.
DICAEOPOLIS: Boy, boy, remove the shish kebab from the grill
and bring it here.
LAMACHUS: Now, laddy, I’ll draw my lance from its case. Hold tight.
DICAEOPOLIS: And you, laddy, hold the skewer while I pull.
[DICAEOPOLIS removes the kebab from the skewer.]
LAMACHUS: Boy, bring me a prop for my shield.
DICAEOPOLIS: And bring me a titbit for my prop.
LAMACHUS: Bring me the round buckler with the Gorgon boss.
DICAEOPOLIS: And me a pizza with a cheese base.
LAMACHUS: Flat-out impertinence! Who wouldn’t be appalled?
DICAEOPOLIS: A scrumptious pizza this. Who wouldn’t say it
excelled?
LAMACHUS: [preparing to polish his shield] Pour on the oil, boy. I see the reflection of an elderly gent charged with cowardice.96
DICAEOPOLIS: Pour on the honey:
I see an elderly gent laughing at Lamachus.
LAMACHUS: Hand me, boy, my chain mail corselet.
DICAEOPOLIS: And me, boy, my corselet flagon.
LAMACHUS: With it I can face the foe.
DICAEOPOLIS: With it I can face fellow boozers off the wagon.
LAMACHUS: Laddy, lash my bedding to the buckler.
DICAEOPOLIS: Laddy, lash my dinner to the hamper.
LAMACHUS: I’ll carry my pack on my own back.
DICAEOPOLIS: And I’ll get dressed in my best and go.
LAMACHUS: Up with the shield, boy, and come along. . . . Sods! It’s snowing. A dismal wintry show!
DICAEOPOLIS: [to another SERVANT] Up with the dinner—a very festive show.
[LAMACHUS and DICAEOPOLIS leave in different directions.]
LEADER:
Success to you both in your enterprise.
How different are the paths you tread!
He’ll be garlanded and drink full measure.
You’ll be on guard and you will freeze.
He’ll be in bed
With a lovely girl full of surprise
And teasing
A throbbing prick under pressure.
CHORUS:
Antimachus97 son of the Spatterer, the contract writer,
And to be absolutely frank
The writer of very poor songs:
Him may Zeus obliterate.