WASPS
Translated by
G. Theodoridis
©2007
http://www.users.bigpond.net.au/soloword/
Dramatis Personae
Speaking Parts
Philocleon
Misocleon
(his
son)
Sosias
and
Xanthias
(slaves
of Philocleon)
Boy
(son
of the Chorus leader)
Demagogue
Victim of Philocleon
Myrtia
(A Woman Baker)
Accuser of Philocleon
Chorus
(of
old jurymen, dressed as wasps)
--------------
Silent Parts
Misocleon’s donkey
Boys (sons of Jurymen)
Midas, Masyntias, Frygas (Slaves of Misocleon)
Barker (Aexone’s dog)
Puppies of Barker
Kitchen Utensils
Dardanis (a girl flute player)
Victims of Philocleon
Chaerephon
Witness of the Accuser
Carcinus
Three dancers (sons of Carcinus)
WASPS
The
set represents the house of Philocleon and Misocleon.
The
altar of Dionysus stands by the right entrance of the stage.
The
whole house is wrapped with a huge net.
A
large bar and a locked padlock are attached to the front door.
Here
and there are planks of wood, stones, a millstone and some branches.
On
the roof sleeps Misocleon.
A
small room inside the house is Philocleon’s sleeping quarters.
Xanthias
and Sosias guard the front door.
Dawn
is breaking.
Xanthias
is turning and tossing, making a great deal of noise.
Sosias:
Hey, Xanthias, you evil demon, what’s the
matter with you?
Xanthias:
I’m thinking about how to lessen the night
watch.
Sosias:
You’re thinking about how to increase the
pain on your arse, you mean! Don’t you know what sort of a bastard we’re
guarding here?
Xanthias:
Yeah, I know but I just want to forget that
for just a little while. Distance my brain from the task a bit…
Sosias:
You’re looking for trouble my friend. Still
something delightful is weighing down upon my eyelids, too… sleeeeep… sleeeeep…
begins to snore heavily
Xanthias:
Oi! Either you’re gone nuts or you’re in
the middle of a beauty of a wet dream!
Sosias:
No, no… just a few… frenzied drunk women…
slaves… sleeeeep… sleeeeep… ahhhh! Yes!
Xanthias:
Just as I thought! We’re in the same dream
my friend! Caught me a moment ago when a delightful weight fell upon my eyelids
too. Heavy weight. You’d reckon a whole platoon of Persians was standing on
them! Ahhhh, and what an enchanting dream! Wondrous to behold!
Sosias:
No kidding, me too! I’ve never had a dream
like it but you tell me yours first.
15
Xanthias:
Well, it seems I saw this huge eagle flying
over the market. Huge bastard. Flying around the market until down it comes and
with its huge talons it snatches a shield made of bronze. Then it flew high up
into the Heavens again and from there… and from there… Kleonymos the coward,
the deserter, dropped it!
Sosias:
Yeah, Kleonymos the shield dropper does make
a funny riddle, doesn’t he? I mean, fancy dropping your shield and running off
in the middle of a battle. Good ol’
Kleonymos!
Xanthias:
Yeah… What do you mean a “good riddle?”
Sosias:
Well, a man could ask his mates at the pub
“what sort of beast drops its shield on land, in the air and at sea?”
Xanthias:
O, my! A dream like that! What rotten
things are heading my way, I wonder?
25
Sosias:
Nah! Don’t worry, mate. Nothing bad is
going to happen to you… Not unless the gods will it!
Xanthias:
It’s a dreadful thing though, a man
dropping his arms like that, I mean… Now tell me your dream!
Sosias:
Oh, mine’s huge! It’s about the whole ship
of State!
Xanthias:
Well, hurry then, tell me… begin with the
hull!
Sosias:
Well, at the first nod, I dreamed in my
dream a whole lot of sheep gathering at the gates of the parliament and these
sheep were wearing short leather jackets and carrying walking sticks. Then, all
of a sudden a huge whale, an absolutely gluttonous beast started making a
speech, with what I thought, was the shrill voice of a poked pig.
Xanthias:
Oh, no!
Sosias:
What’s up?
Xanthias:
Enough, enough! Shut up! Your dream stinks
of rotten leather!
Sosias: Ignoring
Xanthias
Then, this huge stinking beast was holding
a pair of scales and was weighing… ox fat! Or was it fat people?
40
Xanthias:
Frightening! Very frightening! I think he
wants to divide the people!
Sosias:
And I dreamed that Theorus was there with
the head of crow, squatting on the ground, next to the huge cock of a beast and
then Alcibiades turned to me and said with his usual lisp, “Thee there? There’s
Theowus with the head of a clow!”
Xanthias:
He lisped cowwectly, that Althibiades!
Sosias:
Awkward idea that isn’t it? I mean Theorus
turning into a crow?
Xanthias:
Not at all. It’s an excellent sign!
Sosias:
How do you mean?
Xanthias:
Well, look: First Theorus is a man and then
he turns himself into a crow. Doesn’t this signify that he’s about to leave us
and fly off to… the crows?
Sosias:
What an expert dream interpreter! Will you
accept a two-obols-a-day permanent job with me?
54
Xanthias:
Well, now, be quiet and let me delineate
the play to our audience! First though a few words, like a sort of a prologue.
Turning
to the audience
Don’t expect from us either anything grand or
anything as low as those dreadful, coarse jokes told by the Megarians. Nor will
you see the spectacle of two slaves holding a basket of nuts which they throw
at you; nor Heracles whose food they pinch, nor stupid abuse thrown at
Euripides. Nor will we make for the second time minced meat out of Cleon who
had this recent bit of shining good luck!
No, what you will see is a bright little
piece of work… but, of course, no brighter than you though, still not so low as
to be insufferable.
Out there, snoring on the roof, we have our
boss, a man most noteworthy. He has told us to guard his father and make sure
he doesn’t escape from lock and key. This is because his father has this
terrible and strange disease which if we were not to tell you what it is, you’d
never think of it nor would you know of it, nor yet could guess of it! Go on,
try guessing what it might be!
Sosias:
Pronapes’ son Amynias, says that the old
man suffers from an acute case of dice-o-philia, in other words, love of the
dice! What a gambler the man is!
Xanthias:
Utter nonsense! He’s using his own
affliction to judge that of our master, by Zeus, by Zeus!
Sosias:
…………………………….
Xanthias:
But this word “philia” is the core of his
problem. There’s a certain Sosias who
has told a certain Dercylus that he, Dercylus, suffers from wine-o-philia.
Sosias:
Utter nonsense! Everyone knows that
wine-o-philia is the disease that afflicts the important men amongst us.
81
Xanthias:
Nikostratus, though, our great and successful
general, who hails from Scambonidae, is of another opinion. His guess is that
our master suffers from sacrifice-o-philia… or xenophilia.
Sosias:
Now that’s a doggy poo, Nikostratus!
Xenophilus is a… queer! You know that!
Xanthias:
Stop guessing, you’re nowhere near the
truth with all this chit chat. Shut up if you want to learn the truth. I’ll tell you what my master suffers from. He
suffers from jury-o-philia. And how! More than anyone else would ever love
being a juror! You’ll hear him sighing
deep sighs if he’s too late to catch a front row seat!
Not a wink of sleep during the night! Even
if sleep does have a chance at his eyelids for a moment his mind will be
constantly hovering around the jury’s time piece. All night! Imagine, this
habit he has of holding the vote between his three fingers, well, those fingers
are now permanently stuck together –like this, see? – and when he gets up he
rushes off as if he’s taking incense to the altar for the first of the month
prayers!
And, by the gods, if he sees a sign on some
door that says, let’s say, “Pyrilampes’ son, Demos, is a cutie pie,” he goes
and writes next to it, “the ballot box is a cutie pie.”
100
If his own cock woke him up too late even
as early as bedtime, our master would accuse him of waking him up too late
because the magistrates had bribed him. The moment the evening meal is finished
he shouts for his shoes to be brought to him. Then he runs off to the
courthouse very early and, being too early he stands stuck by a post like a
barnacle. Stuck there like that until the time comes for him to do his
judging.
When the time comes for him to show the
extent of the guilt of all the accused, he, being such a nasty bugger, draws
this huge line across the wax tablet so that his finger nails are so thick with
wax that he looks like a bee or a bumblebee. He is so frightened that he’ll run
out of voting shells that he’s got the whole beach brought here into his house.
That’s how crazy our master is and the more people try to reason with him the
worse he gets –the more cases he wants to judge.
That’s why we’ve got him locked up, preventing him from escaping.
His son, up there (indicating Misocleon) is very worried about the old man’s madness.
At first he tried to persuade him with words: not to wear the juror’s cape nor
to keep running off to the courthouse like that but this old man just wouldn’t
listen. Couldn’t care a less!
Then we gave him expiation baths but to no avail. Then his son took him to the
temple of the Chorybants, hoping for some cure but off he goes again to the
court banging on his little drum and there he is again, listening to more
cases!
When all these efforts didn’t succeed,
Misocleon carries him one night to the temple of Asclepios in Aigina and lies
him down there but he, even before Dawn, there he is back at the court’s gate.
125
From then on we’ve got him all locked up
but still the bugger kept escaping from different holes or the gutters, so we
stopped all the holes with plugs and sealed them up inscrutably. So what does
he do then? He hammers great pegs into the wall and… runs up them like a pet
crow and off he hops back to the courthouse! That’s why we’ve put the nets all
over the house and the courtyard and we’re standing guard all around it.
The old guy has a name: Philocleon. It’s
true! He’s a Cleon lover! His son, Misocleon hates Cleon and that’s why they
say he’s a difficult man, sort of hoity-toity.
Pause.
Snoring from Misocleon for a few seconds before we notice that Philocleon is creeping
away from his bed room and has disappeared into the house. Suddenly great
noises wake everyone up, including Misocleon
Misocleon: (From the roof)
Xanthias, Sosias are you asleep?
Xanthias:
Oh no!
Sosias:
What is it?
Xanthias:
Misocleon is up!
Misocleon:
One of you run around the house. My old man
has managed to get himself into the oven and he’s spinning around like a mouse.
You! Look into the bath room in case he tries to escape from the chimney stack.
And you, stand by the door and watch it carefully.
Sosias
runs around the back of the house, effectively exiting.
Xanthias:
Yes boss!
Misocleon:
By the Lord Poseidon! What’s the noise in
the chimney? Ey, you down there! Who are you?
Philocleon: (appearing behind the netting)
Me? You’re talking to me? I am… smoke and
I’m coming out.
Misocleon:
Ah! You’re smoke, ey? Let me see now, from what sort of wood?
Philocleon:
Fig tree wood. Pride of the sycophants!
Misocleon:
Ah but of course! What other type would you
be but the most irritating kind of smoke! Good for coughing and splattering
your lungs to death. But you won’t escape! Searches
for a plank. Now where is the plank?
Here it is! Get back! He places the plank
upon the chimney stack. There, I’ve put the piece of wood on the chimney.
Now go find some other means of escape. Honestly, the troubles I’ve got. Soon
they’ll be calling me son of Old Smokey! What a joke of a Comedian that man
was!
Philocleon:
Ey, you, slave?
Xanthias:
Ah! He’s pushing at the door!
Misocleon:
Then lean hard against it! I’m coming down
there as well. And keep an eye on the bar and the padlock. He might eat it!
156
Philocleon:
What are you up to? Let me out, you… you
stinkers! Let me out or else Mr Slippery will slip away scot free before I can
even hear his case!
Xanthias:
And that would upset you so very much?
Philocleon:
Too right, it would! Look! When I went to
the Delphic oracle seeking advice, the god prophesied that if I ever let anyone
slip away, I’d be a carked man!
Xanthias:
Wow! What a prophesy! By Apollo the
protector!
Philocleon:
Come on, I beg you! Let me out or I’ll blow
up!
Xanthias:
No, by Poseidon, no way!
Philocleon:
Then I’ll chew up all the netting with my
teeth.
Xanthias:
Teeth? What teeth?
165
Philocleon:
Ah poor wretch! How can I kill him! Someone
give a sword! Or the tablet to draw the length of his penalty!
Misocleon
has by now come down from the roof.
Misocleon:
That man is up to something evil!
Philocleon:
No, by the gods! Trust me I just want to
sell a donkey and some panniers. It’s market day today.
Misocleon:
I can do that.
Philocleon:
No, you can’t! Not as well as I can.
Misocleon:
No, I can do it better than you.
Philocleon:
All right then, get the donkey out!
Xanthias:
By the gods! What a clever man this is!
What a clever lure he has devised for you to let him out!
Misocleon:
But his lure has failed and he caught
nothing! I know him and his lures! Still I’ll go and get the donkey myself. I
don’t want the old man to escape again!
Goes
into the house and returns with the donkey. The donkey is braying.
Little ass, little ass, why are you crying?
Don’t you want to be sold? Come on, walk a little faster. What’s all the noise?
Don’t tell me you’re carrying some Odysseus or other?
Xanthias:
By Zeus, yes! She’s certainly carrying
somebody under her belly. Here he is! Look!
Misocleon:
Who is it?
Let me look! Here he is! Now what is this? Who are you? Tell me my good
man?
Philocleon:
My name is Nobody!
Misocleon:
Nobody? You’re Mr Nobody? And where are you
from?
185
Philocleon:
Me? I’m from Ithaca. Son of Escape-ass.
Misocleon:
Well, Mr Nobody, you’ll enjoy no scheme of
escappe-ass. Quick, drag the fool out from under there. Look where the stinker
crawled! Looks more like a summoner’s ass to me than Mr Escapeass’ ass!
Philocleon:
Let me go or else we’ll end up fighting!
Misocleon:
Indeed! Fighting about what?
Philocleon:
Eh… the ass’ shadow!
Misocleon:
You’re the sliest of the sly and the worse
of the worse!
Philocleon:
Me? The worse of the worse? By Zeus, no!
You don’t have a clue of my true worth! Not until you bite off a piece of a
tough old juror’s gut!
Misocleon:
Go on! You and the old donkey get into the
house.
Misocleon
and the donkey are hustled into the house.
Philocleon:
Comrade jurors! General Cleon! Help!
Misocleon:
Now that you’re inside you may yell all you
like. Xanthias pile up lots of stones around the door and pull that bolt back
across into its slot… and reinforce it with another plank and hurry! Roll that
big millstone against the door, too!
Xanthias
completes the tasks and stands by the door. A moment later a small stone falls
on his head.
Xanthias:
Ouch! Now where did this stone come from?
Misocleon:
Perhaps a mouse threw it from the roof!
205
Xanthias:
What mouse are you talking about? Look up
there! There’s someone hiding beneath the roof.
There he is, our juror! A juror of roofs!
Misocleon:
Damn it! He’s turning himself into a
sparrow. He’ll fly away. Where’s the
netting gone? Shoo! Shoo you shit and
shoo again! Get back in there! Damn it!
I’d rather be a guard at the traitorous city Scione than have to deal with such
a father!
Xanthias
feels exhausted and under the impression that the hard work is over.
Xanthias:
Now that we’ve done with the old man and
there’s no way he can escape, what do you say for a bit of a snooze, hey?
Misocleon:
You idiot! Any minute now his juror mates
will turn up to take my father to the courthouse!
Xanthias:
What are you on about? It’s still the
middle of the night!
Misocleon:
And I’m telling you, by Zeus, they’re late
tonight. They always come out at midnight, swinging their torches and warbling
their silly ancient Siddon melodies by that old crooner, Phrynicus. That’s how
they call the old man out.
Xanthias:
If the worse comes to worst we’ll start
throwing stones at them.
Misocleon:
You’re such an idiot, boy! Getting the old
men angry is like getting a wasp’s nest angry. These old guys have great big,
sharp stingers sticking out of their bums, which they use to sting people with.
They jump and charge like scorching sparks.
Xanthias:
Don’t you worry boss. With enough stones I
can scatter many nests of jurors.
The
two lie down and soon begin to snore.
Enter
the chorus of old jurors dressed as wasps and carrying torches. Part of their
dress includes a cape
They
are accompanied by the boys who are guiding them.
The
boys are carrying on their shoulder a small “shopping bag.”
230
Chorus:
Onward and forward lusty chaps! Ey, you,
Komias! You’re very slow these days. Not
like in the olden days when you were tough like a dog’s leash. See, now even
Charinares walks faster than you!
Strymodorus of Conthyle, my best comrade
juror! Can you see Evergides or Chabes of Phlya anywhere? No? Oh dear, look at
us! I’m afraid that’s all that’s left of that beautiful youth that did guard
duty at Byzantium. Just the two of us! Hey, remember when we went roaming about
the streets one night, pinched a bread-woman’s kneading bowl, turned it into
firewood and we cooked some pimpernel? Come on then boys, let’s get on with it.
We’re hearing Laches’ case today. They’re all saying he stuffed his hive full
of money! That’s why our patron the General Cleon has given orders yesterday
for us to get there very early, each of us carrying three days’ rations of
rotten rage for Laches so that he will not escape our punishment.
Come on then, old comrades before it gets
to be daybreak. Let’s move on and make sure we look carefully everywhere with
our torches that we don’t stumble on any stones and hurt our selves badly.
Boy:
Careful, daddy. Careful the mud there!
Chorus:
Well, pick up a twig from the ground and
trim the torch!
225
Boy: Holding
up a finger
No, it’s all right, I think I’ll use this.
Chorus:
You idiot! Who taught you to trim the torch
with you fingers? You know how expensive oil is? But then again, it’s not you
who feels the bite when the prices rise like that! Slaps him one.
Boy:
Oi! Slap me once more to teach me a lesson
and I promise you, we’ll blow out all the torches and run off home on our own.
You’ll be stumbling around in the dark then and sloshing about in the mud like
a partridge.
Chorus:
Watch it, me lad! I’ve taught lessons to
bigger folk than you. But… damn! I think I’ve stepped into some mud! Well then,
I say that this means that it will rain within four days! And I can see that
the torch is gathering mold and that’s when the rain loves to come down. All
those crops that aren’t up yet will need the rain followed by the breath of the
North wind… They’ve reached Philocleon’s
house Hey, what’s going on here? What’s the matter with our comrade juror,
Philocleon? Isn’t he coming out to join our crew? I wonder what’s wrong with
him. He’s never been late before. He’s
always been the first among us and he’d be singing the Phrynicus repertoire. He
always loved those songs.
My friends, I think we should stand here
for a while and sing him out of the house. Once he hears my voice he’ll be most
happy to slide out of his door.
272
What could the matter be with the old man?
Why isn’t he standing before us, by his
door?
Has he lost his shoes perhaps?
Stubbed his toes, perhaps?
Hurt his ankle being such an oldie?
A case of swollen balls?
He used to be keener than all of us
Once!
Once he’d get a thought in his head,
He’d never let it go
And if anyone asked him for a favour
He’d say, “poor suck, up your Kyber!”
Perhaps it is because of Caristos the
Samian’s
Case yesterday! The rotten man tricked us
into
Thinking he was pro-Athenian and
Told us the goings on at Samos. He slipped
Through our fingers.
Perhaps that made the old man so angry that
He’s lying in his bed with a fever!
That’s our old Philocleon,
What a man!
Shouting
But, dear, sweet chap do get up and out of
bed!
Don’t feel so bad or angry about your self,
They brought us a real heavyweight today
One of those who betrayed us at Thrace,
Let’s make sure we have him in the pot
Old boy!
Move on, boy, move on!
Boy:
Daddy, if I ask you for something will you
give it me?
Chorus:
By all means my dear boy! Tell daddy what
Nice things you want him to buy for you.
Knuckle sandwich, perhaps?
Boy:
No daddy, I prefer some dried figs
They’re much sweeter!
Chorus:
No, by Zeus! Not even if you go hang
yourself!
Boy: Pulls
his torch away
Then I’ll stop guiding you.
300
Chorus:
Listen you! With this tiny wage I’ve got to
buy three things: flour, firewood and food for the three of us. What figs are
you on about, boy?
Boy: Thinks
for a moment
Tell me daddy, if the Minister doesn’t call
the court into session today, how are we going to eat? Do you hold any hope for
the provision of food for these little Hellenes?
Chorus:
Ah! Poor me! I have no idea how and from
where I’ll get us a bite.
Boy:
Oh, my poor, wretched mother why did you
give birth to me?
Chorus:
Why? She gave birth to you so that I would
have to deal with the worry of feeding you, that’s why!
Boy:
Talking to his shopping bag hanging from his shoulder
What a useless little ornament you turned
out to be my poor, little shopping bag!
Philocleon: Pokes his head out of a window
My dear, dear friends! I’ve been listening
to your sweet voices all this time with a broken heart because I just can’t get
out of here. What shall I do? These men are guarding the door because I want to
go with you to the court house and give someone some big sentence.
O Zeus! Zeus the great chunderer! Do turn
me into smoke, or else into a Proxenides the great boaster or into the son of
Sellus a real boaster of the vine climber nature.
Do me this favour great Lord! Pity my
torture and smash your great burning thunder bolt upon my head, turn me into
ashes, throw me into a hot sauce… either that or turn me into a pebble… the
sort the jurors use to count votes!
Chorus:
But who is it that locked you up in there?
Tell us, we’re your friends.
336
Philocleon:
My son, but don’t yell. He’s asleep up
there. Lower your voices.
Chorus:
You stupid suck! What excuse does he use to
do this to you?
Philocleon:
He won’t let me do my judging, he won’t let
me give out my heavy punishments but he forces me to wine and dine! Now I
certainly don’t want that! Not what I want at all!
Chorus:
I know why. This young skunk dared to do a
Demologocleon because you tell the truth about youth and boats. Such shame he
wouldn’t dare inflict on you even he was a spy!
But it’s now about time you found a way of
escaping without him noticing you, so you can come out here with us.
Philocleon:
But what could this idea be? You think one
up for me. I’m willing to do anything. Anything! That’s how strong my desire is
to be around the ballot boxes with a pebble in my hand.
Chorus:
Perhaps there’s some gap in the woodwork
that you might be able to widen a bit and then you could come out disguised
like sly old Odysseus, wearing rags when he entered Troy.
350
Philocleon:
They’ve sealed everything so tightly that
not even a gnat can escape from here. You have to think of something else. I
certainly can’t turn myself into runny whey!
Chorus:
Do you remember when you were a soldier
during our Naxos campaign? You stole
some skewers and poking them into the wall you managed to enter the city?
Philocleon:
I do, I do remember. Well? What of it? Not
the same thing. I was young and brave those days. Sharp as a tack, I was! No
one was guarding me then and I could escape without fear. Now there are armed
guards in the streets. There’s two of them right there in front of the door,
holding skewers – watching me like a cat that’s stolen some meat.
Chorus:
Well, my darling little honey bunny, you
had better come up with a plan again and pronto, because it’s getting late.
Philocleon:
Well, the best plan that’s left then is for
me to chew through the netting.
Oh, goddess Netting forgive me!
Chorus:
That’s the boy! That’s what a true man does
when he wants to escape. Get those teeth working!
Philocleon: success
Done! But be quiet. We don’t want to wake
up Misocleon!
Chorus:
Fear not at all, my friend! Fear not at
all! If he just as make a mere boo, I’ll have him eating his own heart out and
running wildly in the streets to try and save his life! That will teach him to
treat the legislation of our two goddesses with such contempt! Tie the rope on
the window frame, comrade and let yourself down. Come on, fill your heart with
Diopeithes’ trust in the Divine.
Philocleon:
Yeah, sure but what if these two wake up
and reel me up with their hook all the way inside? What will you do then?
Quick, answer me!
Chorus:
What we’ll do is… we’ll all help you… We’ll
gather our hardwood courage and defend you to the hilt and they won’t be able
to hold onto you. That’s what we’ll do!
Philocleon:
All right, I’ll do it but –are you listening?- if anything happens to me, take me with the
usual laments and bury me next to the Court House.
Chorus:
Nothing will happen to you, stop trembling.
Come down now, darling, courage and pray to the ancestral gods.
389
Philocleon:praying
O, my neighbourhood hero Lycus!
We enjoy the same delightful things: the
wailings and the lamentations of the defendants every day, every day! You chose
to live where you could best hear them, next to them and you chose to sit next
to those who cry the most. Come, pity our comrade now and save him and I swear
that I’ll neither piss on your fence nor leave you with thunderous flatulence.
Misocleon: To Xanthias
Ey, you, wake up!
Xanthias:
Wwwwwhat? What is it?
395
Misocleon:
I think I hear voices. The old man hasn’t
tried to run off again has he?
Xanthias:
Indeed not, by Zeus but I can see him
climbing down a rope!
Misocleon:
What are you up to, you stinker? Don’t you
get down there! To Xanthias Quick run around the other way and beat him with those
branches. Perhaps if he’s beaten with the harvest wreath it will make him back
water.
400
Philocleon:
Help me! Comrade prosecutors, you who’ve
got cases coming up this year, come and help me! Smicythion, Teisiades, Mr
Needy and you, too, Mr Dinnerbringer! Come now before they drag me back inside
the house!
Chorus:
Tell me, friend, why do we take so long to
let our bile burst forth when someone tries to irritate our nest? Bring it out
now, bring it out now, bring out now your sharp big prick. Stretch it out long
and sharp, a real punishment for these two. (Handing
their capes to the boys)
Take our capes boys and run to Cleon
screaming. Tell him the news, tell him
to come and crush an enemy of the state, to destroy the man who insists that we
must no longer judge!
Misocleon:
Friends! Friends! Stop shouting and listen
to facts!
Chorus:
I’ll shout, by Zeus! All the way to the
Heavens!
Misocleon:
In that case, forget it. I will not let him
go!
Chorus:
What a frightful tyranny this is! O Athens, my city! Athens that only has one
Theorus, the rogue and only a few other cock suckers who stand up for us.
420
Xanthias: indicating the stingers worn by
the chorus
By Heracles! Look at them stingers! Look
boss!
Misocleon:
The very same stingers they used to destroy
Philipus, the son of Gorgias.
Chorus:
These very stingers will also destroy you!
Come comrades turn this way and drawing
into a thick phalanx, stretch your stingers to the full and everyone attack
with his heart full of wrathful passion and let’s teach him what sort of wasps’
nest he’s disturbed.
Xanthias:
Boss, I feel we’re in for a bastard of a
battle. These stingers frighten me a lot!
Chorus: To
Misocleon
Now let our comrade go! Otherwise you’d be
wishing you were a turtle hidden in his shell!
Philocleon:
Come on, comrade jurors! Attack the
bastards! One lot anger yourselves to the brim and shove your stinger up their
arse! The other lot, sting them in their eyeballs! Their fingers, too!
Misocleon: shouting into the house for more slaves
Midas, Masyntias, Frygas, come out here and
help!
Grab the old man and don’t let anyone take
him, otherwise I’ll have you all wrapped in chains and kept starving. I can
recognise the sounds of empty bluster when I hear it!
Xanthias
and Misocleon enter the house.
Chorus: Indicating
his stinger
Let him go or something’s going to poke
you!
Philocleon:
O Cecrops, my Lord, my Hero! Dragonfoot!
Will you just look upon this disgrace and do nothing? Look how I’m pushed
around by the very barbarians whom I taught the lesson of crying “four tears to
the quart?”
441
Chorus:
And then they have the audacity to tell you
that old age is an easy street with no mysteries or torture by the tonne! Yet
it’s so obvious. Look there! Look how these two drag their old boss around!
They’ve forgotten the leather jackets and tunics and caps he used to buy them
and they’ve forgotten, too, the fact that he used to watch out their feet
didn’t freeze during winter!
No, they see no need for respect at all for
all their former shoes.
Philocleon: (held by Midas and Frygas)
You still won’t release me, you evil beast?
Don’t you remember how once I caught you stealing grapes and I had you marched
to the olive tree and had you submit to the right brave thing of being flayed
raw and everyone envied you? Obviously you were ungrateful!
Come on now you two, let me go before my
son rushes out!
Chorus:
Any minute now! You’ll pay for this dearly!
Soon you’ll know what sort of full spirited and virtuous men we are! Men whose
mere glance is mustard.
The
Chorus attacks. Enter Misocleon with a bee-smoking device and Xanthias with a
stick.
Misocleon:
Xanthias, beat the bees away from the
house!
Xanthias:
I’m doing exactly that but you help also!
Blow lots of smoke at them.
Misocleon:
Shoo, shoo, you buggers! Piss off to the
crows with you! Boy, beat them up with your stick!
Xanthias:
And you, too, boss, choke them dead with a
cloud of smoke, a cloud of Aeschines, son of Sellartius the hot air man.
The
chorus retreats
460
Misocleon:
Huh! I knew we’d eventually send you back!
Philocleon:
But you wouldn’t have done it so easily if
they had swallowed some of the Spartan General Philocles’ songs.
Philocleon
digs his phallus into the bum of one of the members of the chorus
Chorus:
Ouch! Surely the poor folk saw this?
Tyranny has sneaked up on me from behind and tried to hump me! And all this
because you, you bastard, you long-haired Spartan, bastard, you, you Amynias,
you, hater of our lord Cleon, tried to deny us our country’s long-established
rights with not as much as an excuse, or an argument. You want to be our
State’s tyrant!
Misocleon:
Right, then! Can we do this? Can we enter
into a logical discussion and bring about a compromise without all this
shouting and squealing?
474
Chorus:
Discussion? Discussion with you, you
monarchy lover, you enemy of democracy, Brasida’s mate! Look at you! Little
woollen tufts on your clothes and… and a rough beard on your face!
Misocleon:
By Zeus! I think, it’d be better, to give
up and hand my father over to them than having to endure these sea battles on a
daily basis!
Chorus:
Huh! You think these are troubles! Mate,
you haven’t begun yet. To use a couple of metaphors you’re not even at the
parsley, let alone at the main vegies!
Wait till a prosecutor comes and dumps your own phrases back all over
your head, twists them and calls you a conspirator! No, boy, you battles are
not over.
Misocleon:
By the heavens above! Have you decreed that
we’re to spend the whole day trying to skin each other alive? Can you get off my back?
486
Chorus:
No, no way, never! Not even when there’s
bugger all left of me. I won’t stop arguing with a man who wants to be our
tyrant.
Misocleon:
No matter what issue is being talked about,
whether it’s important or not, off you go turning it into a discussion about
tyranny or conspiracy. I haven’t heard these words for at least fifty years but
now, they’re like sardines in the market place. They’re everywhere! If someone,
for example, wants to buy trout but reject the anchovy, the offended anchovy
seller looks at him and says, “this gourmet prefers tyranny!” Or if you want a
free onion to add a bit of taste to your dish, there’d be an offended cabbage
vendor who’d cry out at you, “ah, so you prefer tyranny, ey? Do you think the
Athenian’s taxes should be used to grow spices for the likes of you?”
500
Xanthias:
Yesterday afternoon I visited my whore and
asked her to ride me. “Well,” she screamed at me, “you want to bring in
Hippias’ junta back, do you?”
Misocleon:
That’s the sort of stuff they love hearing
about! But now I want my father to stop all this torture. No more waking up at
the crack of Dawn and running off to sue everyone and everything and to serve
in the jury. I want him to drop all these trouble-seeking habits and live a
life of sweet rest, like that of Morychus. That’s why they call me a
conspirator and a lover of tyranny.
Philocleon:
And they’re quite right, too! I wouldn’t
swap my life with pigeon’s milk to get the sort of life you want me to have.
Forget the mullet and the eels and all such like delicacies. Give me a
delicious lawsuit-pot anytime!
512
Misocleon:
Sure, that’s because you’re addicted to all
this jury stuff. But be quiet for a moment and listen to my words. I’m certain
I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong in all respects.
Philocleon:
Wrong to be a juror?
Misocleon:
Not only that but you’re the laughing stock
of those whose arse you lick. You don’t even know you’ve become enslaved by
them!
Philocleon:
Enslaved? Enslaved? Me? I’ll have you know
that I am everyone’s master!
Misocleon:
No, you serve them like a slave but you
think that you’re their master! Tell us father, what is your benefit from
reaping the fruits of Greece?
Philocleon:
My rewards? Listen! Make these men here the
arbitrators of the contest you’re setting up.
Misocleon:
All right. I agree. Let him loose,
everyone!
The
slaves release him and go inside.
Philocleon:
And give me a sword. If I lose this contest
I’ll fall on it!
Misocleon:
But tell me, if you don’t respect the
opinion of the judges? What then?
Philocleon:
If that happens I shall never toast the
Good demon with unmixed… jury pay!
Chorus:
Now, Philocleon, since you’ve come out of
our school you must say something that will show…
Misocleon
interrupts them
Misocleon:
Someone bring me a pen to write down
everything he says.
531
Chorus: continues
from above
…that your words differ from this young
man’s. As you see, your contest is enormous and perhaps –knock on wood- he
might win.
Misocleon:
Right! I’m writing down everything you say!
Philocleon:
Comrades, what did you say will happen if
he beats me in this contest?
Chorus:
If he beats you it will mean that the
elderly are no good at anything other than as olive bearers in the old men’s
parade at the Panathenaic festival. They’ll be laughing at us from every
corner, so since you’ve taken the task for the whole of our brotherhood, you’d
better sharpen your tongue, take courage and work hard!
Philocleon:
I shall indeed and, bolting straight out of
the racing gate I shall prove that our own sovereignty is just as mighty as any
king’s. Is there a more fortunate being, more mollycoddled, more happy, more
able to spread fear than a juror, especially if he’s old? Even before I’m
awake, while I’m at the railings of the Court House, I’m watched by several
important looking young men, six feet tall and more. The moment I approach the
gate I can feel the soft hand of one of them touching me. It’s a hand that had
dipped itself deep into the public purse. The men beg me with a soft, humbled
voice, “please, father, pity my plight, I beg you! Surely you, too, once, when
you were a holder of some office, pocketed something. Perhaps even during your
military service you might have pinched some of your messmates’ field rations.”
The young idiot, had he not survived a
judgement before, he wouldn’t know I existed!
Misocleon:
Hold on, let me make a note of this… Hmmm! Begging… Right, go on!
560
Philocleon:
Then, the moment I’m inside the Court
House, I forget all of my promises and let my anger subside from all that
begging and I sit and listen to all sorts of voices from those who want to be
found innocent. And there you will hear all sorts of excuses. Is there any
piece of flattery that does not give a juror sweet pleasure? Some blubber on
about their poverty. Talk about exaggerations! They pile on upon what they’ve
got all sorts of other dreadful circumstances, so much so that they make their
troubles look greater than mine!
Some entertain us with myths, others tell
us funny stories from Aesop and others again, perform all sorts of funny acts
to make me laugh and forget my anger. And if, after all that, we jurors don’t
change our mind, the man will roll out his children, one by one, holding both
girl and boy by the arm. And they begin to cringe and bleat with their heads
bowed. Then their father comes and, with trembling knees, he begs me –as if I
were a god!- to give him the verdict of innocence. “Please sir, if you love the
sound of a lamb, of my young boy here, pity us. Or, if it’s little cunts you
want to hear, here’s my young daughter’s voice. Let it make you change your
mind!”
Then, we loosen a bit the strings of our
wild anger.
Now isn’t this a sign of huge authority
over and a total contempt of wealth?
576
Misocleon:
A second note: Contempt of wealth. Got it. Now
remind me of the benefits you supposedly get since you tell us you’re master of
Greece.
Philocleon:
The first benefit is that when the young
boys are being checked for registration with the various precincts, we get to
look at their dicks; and if an actor like Oeagrus arrives before us as a
defendant he won’t be freed until he chooses the best speech from the play Niobe and recites it to us. As well, if a flute
player wins his case, he must pay the jurors by playing a tune for us to exit
with. Or, if some dying father bequeaths in his will, his heiress daughter, to
someone, we can tell that bequest to go soak itself and we do the same to the
fancy clasp and the seal over which it’s sitting prettily and we award the girl
to whoever talks us into it.
And for all this, we are accountable to no
one. Such benefits are gained by no other office bearers.
Misocleon:
Yes, so far that’s the only thing I praise
you on but it’s a terrible thing for you to undo the clasp that holds an
heiress’ endowments!
590
Philocleon:
As well, when the Parliament and the people
find it difficult to judge an important case, they hold a vote and send the
defendants to the jurors. Then our nice sycophant orator, Euathlos and the
greater sycophant still, Mr Bumlicker (who had disappeared after throwing away his
shield) come and swear that they will always fight on the side of the populus
and will never betray us. And no one carries a motion before the Council unless
he says, “the jurors may retire even after judging one case only.”
As well, Cleon the loudmouth, looks after
us only. He’ll even shoo away the flies and pat us on the back. Have you ever
done such a lovely thing for your father? Even Theorus, not at all a lesser
arselicker than Euphemius, drops a sponge into a bowl of water and wipes clean
our shoes.
See what benefits you drag me out of and
hold me back from, by saying that they’re slavery and servitude.
Misocleon:
Go on, guts yourself with your own words,
you’ll have enough of them eventually and then you’ll be found to be no more
than an unwashed bum hole, one who, with all its grandstanding, can’t find the
time to wash its shit.
605
Philocleon:
Ah, but I’ve forgotten the sweetest benefit
of them all! And I get this when I come home with my payment, because everyone
welcomes me at the front door and goes after my money. First in line is my
darling daughter who gives me a bath, rubs my feet and relaxes them splendidly
before she bends down and kisses me with “daddy this and daddy that” while at
the same time she uses her tongue to fish out my three obols from inside my
mouth. Next comes the little wife who pats me and hugs me and brings me nice,
frothy pastries, sits down next me and coaxes me with, “eat this, honey, eat
this, too, my sweetheart.” These things
bring joy to my heart. Not like having to rely on you and your cook to deliver
me my meal with insolence and whining curses in case I ask for another piece of
pie! Against all this torture I’ve got
my three obols to protect me and they do an excellent job –like an armour plate
against the arrows!
And as for your measly goblet of wine which
you won’t serve me anyway, well, I simply fill up my donkey-eared flask and, on
my way back, I tip it up and gulp myself a drink. This good old donkey-eared
flask opens wide and lets out a huge fart directed at your stupid goblet!
Well, then, isn’t this authority of mine as
great as that of Zeus? What he hears, I hear. For instance if we’re in an
uproar inside the Court House, the passers by outside exclaim, “Zeus Almighty,
the jury’s really thundering today!” And if anger make me look like lightning,
both the mighty and the rich turn pale and whisper, “O, my God!” and shit in
their pants with fear. In fact, admit it
by Demeter: you, too, are afraid of me as well! Shaking in your sandals you
are. Yet I’d be damned if I’m afraid of you, boy!
Chorus:
What articulation! What intelligence! Such
oratory we’ve never heard been uttered by anyone!
Philocleon:
Too right! Indicating his son, The silly boy thought he was going to run into
an unguarded vineyard and quick as a flash, steal all the grapes he
wanted! He knows very well that in this
type of business I’m the boss!
636
Chorus:
How he analysed the whole situation! He
mentioned everything, one by one and forgetting nothing! Oh, what joy it was to listen to our comrade!
It felt like I was getting so tall, I was a juror in the Isles of the Blessed
Immortals!
Philocleon:
Look at him squirm, boys! Look at him twist
and turn his body! He’s completely lost it! Ha! Today I’ll make you ask
yourself, “where can I hide?”
Chorus: To
Misocleon
So, young man, in order for you to escape
you must come up with all sorts of schemes.
It will be difficult for anyone to temper my anger if he doesn’t say
things that are to my taste. So now the right moment has arrived for you to
find a newly made millstone with new treads and hard enough to soften my anger
–that’s if you can’t say anything logical.
Misocleon:
A very difficult task, indeed, one that
needs the sharpest of wits, sharper than that of comedians even. What remedy can one possibly use for such an
ancient sickness that enthroned itself in the city? Still, here goes: Our
father, who art the son of Cronus…
Philocleon:
Stop! Stop all this “father” stuff! Your job is to prove that I, a juror am a
slave and if you fail to do this then you won’t escape your death even if it
means I’ll be barred from all sacrifices because I’ll be a murderer!
655
Misocleon:
Relax then poppy and listen. Lose a bit of
that frown of yours and listen to me.
Let’s do a bit of a rough arithmetic first. No counters, no calculators,
just a rough bit of counting with your fingers.
Let’s add up all the taxes that we get from our allies, shall we? Then,
on a separate account, check out all the taxes, all the many “one percenters”,
all the court taxes, the money from the mines, the taxes from all the buying
and the selling, from all the harbours,
all the rents and all the receipts from confiscations. What is our total income
from all this? I’ll tell you: it’s some 2000 talents. From this sum subtract
all the pay given to the jurors for a whole year –some 6000 of them! Our city
was never burdened by so many of you! What does this pay come to? I’ll tell
you: it comes to some 150 talents…
Philocleon:
God! We don’t even get one tenth of the
city’s revenue!
Misocleon:
But of course you don’t. By Zeus you
certainly don’t!
665
Philocleon:
Well then where does all the rest of it go?
Misocleon:
Where does it all go? I’ll tell you. It
goes to that lot who swear the oath, “I won’t betray the masses of our city,
Athens, but I shall always fight for the people!” You, father, have chosen to let them rule you
because you’ve been tricked by their fat, juicy words. After that, they rip off
fifty talents out of our allies by frightening them witless with threats like,
“give us the dough, or will thunder upon you and turn you into ashes!” And you are endlessly grateful that due to
your “high office” you are allowed a few bread crumbs to chew onto. When the
allies have figured out your true state of living conditions, that you have
nothing to eat and less to enjoy, they began thinking of you as an insect,
lesser than a fly. At the same time they bring the best of everything to the
thugs: fish, wine, rugs cheese honey, urns for their pickles, horseman’s
cloaks, mugs, cushions and wreaths, jewellery, tumblers –wealth upon wealth!
You, however, of all those you supposedly rule and from whom you’ve suffered
all this torment on both, land and sea, of all those people, not one of them
brings you as much as a head of garlic for your fish and cabbage soup.
680
Philocleon:
By Zeus, you’re right! I had to send for
three cloves from Eucharides’ grocery myself! But still you’ve said nothing
about my being a slave and this is making me angry.
Misocleon:
Well, isn’t this “slavery?” All these thugs
and their little cronies to have the good life and the high offices, while you,
you live on the three obols a day? For which, mind you, you fought, on foot,
against castles and ships? What’s more, it’s “yes, sir, no sir, three bags full
sir,” with you lot. But what really sticks up my craw is the fact that you’ll
also cop some young queer–Chaeres’ son, for example, who’ll come here swing his
dandied up arse about, like this, opens his legs wiiiiide, like this and
command you to get to the Court House bright and early for your jury duty and
not to be late because if any of you “misses the signal” you’ll miss out on
your three obols! Zeus forbid!
Of course the little shit, even if he gets
there late himself, he still gets his six obols - as a prosecutor, of course!
Not only that but if some defendant offers him a bribe he splits it up with one
of his colleagues and the two of them “work” on the case like two expert
sawyers, one pulling the saw this way while the other pulls it the opposite way.
All this while you lot are so keen to get your three obols that you have no
idea what’s going on!
696
Philocleon:
Is that what they’re up to?
Really?
You’ve shaken up me up good and proper and
you’ve got me to believe your views! I’ve no idea what I’m doing now! What have
you done to me?
Misocleon:
What have they done to you? Well think of
this poopy: Instead of making you lot rich, these so called “defenders of the
Athenian people” have got you totally surrounded –and I don’t know how they did
this, you who have come back from victory after victory of a whole lot of
cities all the way from the Pontus to Sardinia! You lot have ended up with this
miserly three obols –which they give you as if it were droplets of oil - drip
by drip –just enough to keep you alive. And why? I’ll tell you why! So that you
stay poor and hungry and so that you know who’s the boss, who’s the man who
grabs you by the reins and when he whistles and puts you in front of some enemy
of his, you rush at that man like a wild savage.
Yet if they really wanted the people to be
living in luxury all they’d have to do is this: There are now one thousand
cities that pay us tribute. If everyone of them had been ordered to look after
twenty citizens, then, immediately 20,000 Athenians would be living in the lap
of luxury, with hare meat, with cream, with pure milk and with crowns and
they’d be enjoying all the benefits that a city like this –a city, mind, which
has won in the battle of Marathon- deserves!
But, instead, what do you do? I’ll tell you
what you do! You go about following the
man who holds your obols, bent over like the little old ladies who gather the
fallen olives.
Philocleon:
Oh, no! What’s happened to me? I feel like
my hand has gone numb and I can’t even hold onto my sword… I’m feeling
knackered, boys!
715
Misocleon:
Yet whenever they’re scared, out they come
with their fat words, promising you the whole of Euboa and getting you thinking
that they’ll be also distributing to each of you a fifty-bushel ration of
wheat. But, of you course, you never get that. Yesterday they gave you five
bushels of barley –in one quart instalments, mind- instead and even that you’ve
got only after a challenge to your citizenship which, let me remind you, you’ve
won only narrowly!
That’s why I’m keeping you locked up in
here. Prevent them from mocking you and turning you into an utter fool with
their fat words. I want to feed you myself…
Now, I really want to give you whatever
your heart desires, except of course the milk of the public purse.
725
Chorus:
What a wise man he was who said, “don’t
judge till you heard both sides of the story!” (indicating Misocleon) I reckon you’re right and so I throw my
stick away along with my anger.
Turning
to Philocleon
But you, comrade and one of the same age,
heed his words and don’t be foolish. Nor be too hard a nut or obstinate like a
mule! I only wish I had such a relative to look after me and to give me such
reasonable words of advice! It’s quite clear that a god has intervened just now
to help you. You should accept his help most readily.
Misocleon:
Yes, tell him! Because I’ll be providing
for him everything that an old man needs: gruel to slurp up, a thick coat, a
porn star to massage his cock and bum hole… Oh no! Now look! He’s not even
making a sound. I don’t like the looks of this.
Chorus:
Well, he’s been educated now about all
those things that used to make him mad. He’s wiser now and so he’s criticising
himself for not having listened to your good advice all this time. Perhaps he’s
now churning everything up in his head and trying to adjust his thinking so as
to be listening to you from now on.
750
Philocleon: after a short pause of silence
Ahhhhhhhh!
Ahhhhhh!
Misocleon:
Oi! What are you screaming at?
Philocleon:
Promise me none of all your promises! What
I yearn for is to be over there! There where the herald cries out, “Those who
have not voted they should do so now!”
That’s what I yearn for! To be
the last juror to come up to the ballot box.
“Run my poor soul, run!” But where is my soul? “Let me pass, you
shadows…”
I swear by the great Heracles, that I hope
I’ll never be put on the jury that convicts Cleon of stealing!
760
Misocleon:
Please, poopy, for god’s sake trust me!
Philocleon:
Trust you about what? Tell me. Anything!
Anything but…
Misocleon:
Anything but what?
Philocleon:
About anything except being a juror. Before
I ever get to do that, it’ll be Death who’ll do the deciding.
Misocleon:
All right then, if you love doing your jury
service so much, stop going to the Court House and stay here to judge the
slaves.
Philocleon:
Judge them about what? What are you
crapping on about?
Misocleon:
It’s not crap. You’ll be doing nothing
different to what you’ve always been doing in court. For example, if, let’s say
the maid opens the door without your permission, you give her a fine… a stiff
one like you used to do in court, only now you’ll be doing it in a reasonable
sort of way. Like if it’s warm at dawn, you’ll be doing your judging out in the
sun, if it’s snowing, then you’ll be sitting by the fire, if it’s pouring rain
then you’ll be indoors and, finally, if you’re still snoring at noon, there’ll
be no magistrate who’ll close the gate on you.
776
Philocleon:
Now that I like!
Misocleon:
What’s more, if someone is making a long
and unbearable speech, you, as well as
the defendant, don’t have to sit there, starving and gnashing your teeth.
Philocleon:
But how on earth would I be able to perform
my duty as competently as I have been doing so far if I’m sitting there with my
jaws busy with food?
Misocleon:
How? I’ll tell you how. Don’t people say,
when witnesses lie, that the jurors head straight for the meat of the issue by…
chewing it over?
Philocleon:
Yes… I’m beginning to trust you… still
there’s still one little matter you haven’t discussed. Where do I get my obols?
Misocleon:
I’ll tell you. You’ll get them from me.
Philocleon:
Great, Then I’ll be getting my pay all to
my self instead of having to split a drachma into obols with someone else. You know what a thief that Lysistratus
is? A few days ago he played a very
dirty trick on me. No sooner we got our drachma and he ran off to the market to
change it. When he came back, instead of shoving the three obols into my mouth,
he tossed three fish scales in there. Mullet to be exact. Well, I immediately
smelled them, retched and spat them out. But I’ve managed to grab a hold of him
and to run him down to the court…
Misocleon:
And? And what did he have to say for
himself?
Philocleon:
What did he say? He said that I have the
stomach of a cock and that I’ve sucked the obols in a hurry.
796
Misocleon:
You see? You won’t have to worry about this
sort of stuff either!
Philocleon:
Quite right! Well then get on with it. Get
on with your plan.
Misocleon:
Hold on, I’ll bring out all the necessary
equipment.
Misocleon
goes indoors.
Philocleon:
Well look how the prophecies come true! I
heard once that some day all the Athenians would be holding court inside their
very own houses and that everyone would build himself a tiny little law court
in his yard and, just like the shrines of Hecate. They’ll be on the threshold
of every house.
Misocleon and the slaves enter carrying court room paraphernalia, including a chamber pot, a casserole, a rooster (which he places o