No More Learning

HERMES. Is it then a smell like a soldier's knapsack?

CHORUS. Oh! hateful soldier! your hideous satchel makes me sick! it
stinks like the belching of onions, whereas this lovable deity has the
odour of sweet fruits, of festivals, of the Dionysia, of the harmony of
flutes, of the comic poets, of the verses of Sophocles, of the phrases of
Euripides. . .

TRYGAEUS. That's a foul calumny, you wretch! She detests that framer of
subtleties and quibbles.

CHORUS. . . . of ivy, of straining-bags for wine, of bleating ewes, of
provision-laden women hastening to the kitchen, of the tipsy servant
wench, of the upturned wine-jar, and of a whole heap of other good
things.

HERMES. Then look how the reconciled towns chat pleasantly together, how
they laugh; and yet they are all cruelly mishandled; their wounds are
bleeding still.

TRYGAEUS. But let us also scan the mien of the spectators; we shall thus
find out the trade of each.

HERMES. Ah! good gods! look at that poor crest-maker, tearing at his
hair,[309] and at that pike-maker, who has just broken wind in yon
sword-cutler's face.

TRYGAEUS. And do you see with what pleasure this sickle-maker is making
long noses at the spear-maker?

HERMES. Now ask the husbandmen to be off.

TRYGAEUS. Listen, good folk! Let the husbandmen take their farming tools
and return to their fields as quick as possible, but without either
sword, spear or javelin. All is as quiet as if Peace had been reigning
for a century. Come, let everyone go till the earth, singing the Paean.

CHORUS. Oh, thou, whom men of standing desired and who art good to
husbandmen, I have gazed upon thee with delight; and now I go to greet my
vines, to caress after so long an absence the fig trees I planted in my
youth.

TRYGAEUS. Friends, let us first adore the goddess, who has delivered us
from crests and Gorgons;[310] then let us hurry to our farms, having
first bought a nice little piece of salt fish to eat in the fields.

HERMES. By Posidon! what a fine crew they make and dense as the crust of
a cake; they are as nimble as guests on their way to a feast.

TRYGAEUS. See, how their iron spades glitter and how beautifully their
three-pronged mattocks glisten in the sun! How regularly they will align
the plants! I also burn myself to go into the country and to turn over
the earth I have so long neglected. --Friends, do you remember the happy
life that peace afforded us formerly; can you recall the splendid baskets
of figs, both fresh and dried, the myrtles, the sweet wine, the violets
blooming near the spring, and the olives, for which we have wept so much?
Worship, adore the goddess for restoring you so many blessings.

CHORUS. Hail! hail! thou beloved divinity! thy return overwhelms us with
joy. When far from thee, my ardent wish to see my fields again made me
pine with regret. From thee came all blessings. Oh! much desired Peace!
thou art the sole support of those who spend their lives tilling the
earth. Under thy rule we had a thousand delicious enjoyments at our beck;
thou wert the husbandman's wheaten cake and his safeguard. So that our
vineyards, our young fig-tree woods and all our plantations hail thee
with delight and smile at thy coming. But where was she then, I wonder,
all the long time she spent away from us? Hermes, thou benevolent god,
tell us!

HERMES. Wise husbandmen, hearken to my words, if you want to know why she
was lost to you. The start of our misfortunes was the exile of
Phidias;[311] Pericles feared he might share his ill-luck, he mistrusted
your peevish nature and, to prevent all danger to himself, he threw out
that little spark, the Megarian decree,[312] set the city aflame, and
blew up the conflagration with a hurricane of war, so that the smoke drew
tears from all Greeks both here and over there. At the very outset of
this fire our vines were a-crackle, our casks knocked together;[313] it
was beyond the power of any man to stop the disaster, and Peace
disappeared.

TRYGAEUS. That, by Apollo! is what no one ever told me; I could not think
what connection there could be between Phidias and Peace.

CHORUS. Nor I; I know it now. This accounts for her beauty, if she is
related to him. There are so many things that escape us.

HERMES. Then, when the towns subject to you saw that you were angered one
against the other and were showing each other your teeth like dogs, they
hatched a thousand plots to pay you no more dues and gained over the
chief citizens of Sparta at the price of gold. They, being as shamelessly
greedy as they were faithless in diplomacy, chased off Peace with
ignominy to let loose War. Though this was profitable to them, 'twas the
ruin of the husbandmen, who were innocent of all blame; for, in revenge,
your galleys went out to devour their figs.

TRYGAEUS. And 'twas with justice too; did they not break down my black
fig tree, which I had planted and dunged with my own hands?

CHORUS. Yes, by Zeus! yes, 'twas well done; the wretches broke a chest
for me with stones, which held six medimni of corn.

HERMES. Then the rural labourers flocked into the city[314] and let
themselves be bought over like the others. Not having even a grape-stone
to munch and longing after their figs, they looked towards the
orators. [315] These well knew that the poor were driven to extremity and
lacked even bread; but they nevertheless drove away the Goddess each time
she reappeared in answer to the wish of the country with their loud
shrieks, that were as sharp as pitchforks; furthermore, they attacked the
well-filled purses of the richest among our allies on the pretence that
they belonged to Brasidas' party. [316] And then you would tear the poor
accused wretch to pieces with your teeth; for the city, all pale with
hunger and cowed with terror, gladly snapped up any calumny that was
thrown it to devour. So the strangers, seeing what terrible blows the
informers dealt, sealed their lips with gold. They grew rich, while you,
alas! you could only see that Greece was going to ruin. 'Twas the tanner
who was the author of all this woe. [317]

TRYGAEUS. Enough said, Hermes, leave that man in Hades, whither he has
gone; he no longer belongs to us, but rather to yourself. [318] That he
was a cheat, a braggart, a calumniator when alive, why, nothing could be
truer; but anything you might say now would be an insult to one of your
own folk. Oh! venerated Goddess! why art thou silent?

HERMES. And how could she speak to the spectators? She is too angry at
all that they have made her suffer.

TRYGAEUS. At least let her speak a little to you, Hermes.

HERMES. Tell me, my dear, what are your feelings with regard to them?
Come, you relentless foe of all bucklers, speak; I am listening to you.
(_Peace whispers into Hermes' ear. _) Is that your grievance against them?
Yes, yes, I understand. Hearken, you folk, this is her complaint. She
says, that after the affair of Pylos[319] she came to you unbidden to
bring you a basket full of truces and that you thrice repulsed her by
your votes in the assembly.

TRYGAEUS. Yes, we did wrong, but forgive us, for our mind was then
entirely absorbed in leather. [320]

HERMES. Listen again to what she has just asked me. Who was her greatest
foe here? and furthermore, had she a friend who exerted himself to put an
end to the fighting?

TRYGAEUS. Her most devoted friend was Cleonymus; it is undisputed.

HERMES. How then did Cleonymus behave in fights?

TRYGAEUS. Oh! the bravest of warriors! Only he was not born of the father
he claims; he showed it quick enough in the army by throwing away his
weapons. [321]

HERMES. There is yet another question she has just put to me. Who rules
now in the rostrum?

TRYGAEUS. 'Tis Hyperbolus, who now holds empire on the Pnyx. (_To
Peace. _) What now? you turn away your head!

HERMES. She is vexed, that the people should give themselves a wretch of
that kind for their chief.

TRYGAEUS Oh! we shall not employ him again; but the people, seeing
themselves without a leader, took him haphazard, just as a man, who is
naked, springs upon the first cloak he sees.

HERMES. She asks, what will be the result of such a choice of the city?

TRYGAEUS. We shall be more far-seeing in consequence.

HERMES. And why?

TRYGAEUS. Because he is a lamp-maker. Formerly we only directed our
business by groping in the dark; now we shall only deliberate by
lamplight.

HERMES. Oh! oh! what questions she does order me to put to you!

TRYGAEUS. What are they?

HERMES. She wants to have news of a whole heap of old-fashioned things
she left here. First of all, how is Sophocles?

TRYGAEUS. Very well; but something very strange has happened to him.

HERMES. What then?

TRYGAEUS. He has turned from Sophocles into Simonides. [322]

HERMES. Into Simonides? How so?

TRYGAEUS. Because, though old and broken-down as he is, he would put to
sea on a hurdle to gain an obolus. [323]

HERMES. And wise Cratinus, is he still alive? [324]

TRYGAEUS. He died about the time of the Laconian invasion.

HERMES. How?

TRYGAEUS. Of a swoon. He could not bear the shock of seeing one of his
casks full of wine broken. Ah! what a number of other misfortunes our
city has suffered! So, dearest mistress, nothing can now separate us from
thee.

HERMES. If that be so, receive Opora here for a wife; take her to the
country, live with her, and grow fine grapes together. [325]

TRYGAEUS. Come, my dear friend, come and accept my kisses. Tell me,
Hermes, my master, do you think it would hurt me to fuck her a little,
after so long an abstinence?

HERMES. No, not if you swallow a potion of penny-royal afterwards. [326]
But hasten to lead Theoria[327] to the Senate; 'twas there she lodged
before.

TRYGAEUS. Oh! fortunate Senate! Thanks to Theoria, what soups you will
swallow for the space of three days! [328] how you will devour meats and
cooked tripe! Come, farewell, friend Hermes!

HERMES. And to you also, my dear sir, may you have much happiness, and
don't forget me.

TRYGAEUS. Come, beetle, home, home, and let us fly on a swift wing.

HERMES. Oh! he is no longer here.

TRYGAEUS. Where has he gone to then?

HERMES.
He is harnessed to the chariot of Zeus and bears the
thunderbolts.

TRYGAEUS. But where will the poor wretch get his food?

HERMES. He will eat Ganymede's ambrosia.

TRYGAEUS. Very well then, but how am I going to descend?

HERMES. Oh! never fear, there is nothing simpler; place yourself beside
the goddess.

TRYGAEUS. Come, my pretty maidens, follow me quickly; there are plenty of
folk awaiting you with standing tools.

CHORUS. Farewell and good luck be yours! Let us begin by handing over all
this gear to the care of our servants, for no place is less safe than a
theatre; there is always a crowd of thieves prowling around it, seeking
to find some mischief to do. Come, keep a good watch over all this. As
for ourselves, let us explain to the spectators what we have in our
minds, the purpose of our play.

Undoubtedly the comic poet who mounted the stage to praise himself in the
parabasis would deserve to be handed over to the sticks of the beadles.
Nevertheless, oh Muse, if it be right to esteem the most honest and
illustrious of our comic writers at his proper value, permit our poet to
say that he thinks he has deserved a glorious renown. First of all, 'tis
he who has compelled his rivals no longer to scoff at rags or to war with
lice; and as for those Heracles, always chewing and ever hungry, those
poltroons and cheats who allow themselves to be beaten at will, he was
the first to cover them with ridicule and to chase them from the
stage;[329] he has also dismissed that slave, whom one never failed to
set a-weeping before you, so that his comrade might have the chance of
jeering at his stripes and might ask, "Wretch, what has happened to your
hide? Has the lash rained an army of its thongs on you and laid your back
waste? " After having delivered us from all these wearisome ineptitudes
and these low buffooneries, he has built up for us a great art, like a
palace with high towers, constructed of fine phrases, great thoughts and
of jokes not common on the streets. Moreover 'tis not obscure private
persons or women that he stages in his comedies; but, bold as Heracles,
'tis the very greatest whom he attacks, undeterred by the fetid stink of
leather or the threats of hearts of mud. He has the right to say, "I am
the first ever dared to go straight for that beast with the sharp teeth
and the terrible eyes that flashed lambent fire like those of Cynna,[330]
surrounded by a hundred lewd flatterers, who spittle-licked him to his
heart's content; it had a voice like a roaring torrent, the stench of a
seal, a foul Lamia's testicles and the rump of a camel. "[331]

I did not recoil in horror at the sight of such a monster, but fought him
relentlessly to win your deliverance and that of the Islanders. Such are
the services which should be graven in your recollection and entitle me
to your thanks. Yet I have not been seen frequenting the wrestling school
intoxicated with success and trying to tamper with young boys;[332] but I
took all my theatrical gear[333] and returned straight home. I pained
folk but little and caused them much amusement; my conscience rebuked me
for nothing. Hence both grown men and youths should be on my side and I
likewise invite the bald[334] to give me their votes; for, if I triumph,
everyone will say, both at table and at festivals, "Carry this to the
bald man, give these cakes to the bald one, do not grudge the poet whose
talent shines as bright as his own bare skull the share he deserves. "

Oh, Muse! drive the War far from our city and come to preside over our
dances, if you love me; come and celebrate the nuptials of the gods, the
banquets of us mortals and the festivals of the fortunate; these are the
themes that inspire thy most poetic songs. And should Carcinus come to
beg thee for admission with his sons to thy chorus, refuse all traffic
with them; remember they are but gelded birds, stork-necked dancers,
mannikins about as tall as a pat of goat's dung, in fact machine-made
poets. [335] Contrary to all expectation, the father has at last managed
to finish a piece, but he owns himself a cat strangled it one fine
evening. [336]

Such are the songs[337] with which the Muse with the glorious hair
inspires the able poet and which enchant the assembled populace, when the
spring swallow twitters beneath the foliage;[338] but the god spare us
from the chorus of Morsimus and that of Melanthius! [339] Oh! what a
bitter discordancy grated upon my ears that day when the tragic chorus
was directed by this same Melanthius and his brother, these two
Gorgons,[340] these two harpies, the plague of the seas, whose gluttonous
bellies devour the entire race of fishes, these followers of old women,
these goats with their stinking arm-pits. Oh! Muse, spit upon them
abundantly and keep the feast gaily with me.

TRYGAEUS. Ah! 'tis a rough job getting to the gods! my legs are as good
as broken through it. How small you were, to be sure, when seen from
heaven! you had all the appearance too of being great rascals; but seen
close, you look even worse.

SERVANT. Is that you, master?

TRYGAEUS. So I have been told.

SERVANT. What has happened to you?

TRYGAEUS. My legs pain me; it is such a plaguey long journey.

SERVANT. Oh! do tell me. . . .

TRYGAEUS. What?

SERVANT. Did you see any other man besides yourself strolling about in
heaven?

TRYGAEUS. No, only the souls of two or three dithyrambic poets.

SERVANT. What were they doing up there?

TRYGAEUS. They were seeking to catch some lyric exordia as they flew by
immersed in the billows of the air.

SERVANT. Is it true, what they tell us, that men are turned into stars
after death?

TRYGAEUS. Quite true.

SERVANT. Then who is that star I see over yonder?

TRYGAEUS. That is Ion of Chios,[341] the author of an ode beginning
"Morning"; as soon as ever he got to heaven, they called him "the Morning
Star. "

SERVANT. And those stars like sparks, that plough up the air as they dart
across the sky? [342]

TRYGAEUS. They are the rich leaving the feast with a lantern and a light
inside it. But hurry up, show this young girl into my house, clean out
the bath, heat some water and prepare the nuptial couch for herself and
me. When 'tis done, come back here; meanwhile I am off to present this
one to the Senate.

SERVANT. But where then did you get these pretty chattels?

TRYGAEUS. Where? why in heaven.

SERVANT. I would not give more than an obolus for gods who have got to
keeping brothels like us mere mortals.

TRYGAEUS. They are not all so, but there are some up there too who live
by this trade.

SERVANT. Come, that's rich! But I bethink me, shall I give her something
to eat?

TRYGAEUS. No, for she would neither touch bread nor cake; she is used to
licking ambrosia at the table of the gods.

SERVANT. Well, we can give her something to lick down here too. [343]

CHORUS. Here is a truly happy old man, as far as I can judge.

TRYGAEUS. Ah! but what shall I be, when you see me presently dressed for
the wedding?

CHORUS. Made young again by love and scented with perfumes, your lot will
be one we all shall envy.

TRYGAEUS. And when I lie beside her and caress her bosoms?

CHORUS. Oh! then you will be happier than those spinning-tops who call
Carcinus their father. [344]

TRYGAEUS. And I well deserve it; have I not bestridden a beetle to save
the Greeks, who now, thanks to me, can make love at their ease and sleep
peacefully on their farms?

SERVANT. The girl has quitted the bath; she is charming from head to
foot, both belly and buttocks; the cake is baked and they are kneading
the sesame-biscuit;[345] nothing is lacking but the bridegroom's penis.

TRYGAEUS. Let us first hasten to lodge Theoria in the hands of the
Senate.

SERVANT. But tell me, who is this woman?

TRYGAEUS. Why, 'tis Theoria, with whom we used formerly to go to
Brauron,[346] to get tipsy and frolic. I had the greatest trouble to get
hold of her.

SERVANT. Ah! you charmer! what pleasure your pretty bottom will afford me
every four years!

TRYGAEUS. Let us see, who of you is steady enough to be trusted by the
Senate with the care of this charming wench? Hi! you, friend! what are
you drawing there?

SERVANT. I am drawing the plan of the tent I wish to erect for myself on
the isthmus. [347]

TRYGAEUS. Come, who wishes to take the charge of her? No one? Come,
Theoria, I am going to lead you into the midst of the spectators and
confide you to their care.

SERVANT. Ah! there is one who makes a sign to you.

TRYGAEUS. Who is it?

SERVANT. 'Tis Ariphrades. He wishes to take her home at once.

TRYGAEUS. No, I'm sure he shan't. He would soon have her done for,
licking up all her life juice. [348] Come, Theoria, put down all this
gear. [349]--Senate, Prytanes, look upon Theoria and see what precious
blessings I place in your hands. [350] Hasten to raise its limbs and to
immolate the victim. Admire the fine chimney,[351] it is quite black with
smoke, for 'twas here that the Senate did their cooking before the War.
Now that you have found Theoria again, you can start the most charming
games from to-morrow, wrestling with her on the ground, either on your
hands and feet, or you can lay her on her side, or stand before her with
bent knees, or, well rubbed with oil, you can boldly enter the lists, as
in the Pancratium, belabouring your foe with blows from your fist or
otherwise. [352] The next day you will celebrate equestrian games, in
which the riders will ride side by side, or else the chariot teams,
thrown one on top of another, panting and whinnying, will roll and knock
against each other on the ground, while other rivals, thrown out of their
seats, will fall before reaching the goal, utterly exhausted by their
efforts. --Come, Prytanes, take Theoria. Oh! look how graciously yonder
fellow has received her; you would not have been in such a hurry to
introduce her to the Senate, if nothing were coming to you through
it;[353] you would not have failed to plead some holiday as an excuse.

CHORUS. Such a man as you assures the happiness of all his
fellow-citizens.

TRYGAEUS. When you are gathering your vintages you will prize me even
better.

CHORUS. E'en from to-day we hail you as the deliverer of mankind.

TRYGAEUS. Wait until you have drunk a beaker of new wine, before you
appraise my true merits.

CHORUS. Excepting the gods, there is none greater than yourself, and that
will ever be our opinion.

TRYGAEUS. Yea, Trygaeus of Athmonia has deserved well of you, he has
freed both husbandman and craftsman from the most cruel ills; he has
vanquished Hyperbolus.

CHORUS. Well then, what must we do now?

TRYGAEUS. You must offer pots of green-stuff to the goddess to consecrate
her altars.

CHORUS. Pots of green-stuff[354] as we do to poor Hermes--and even he
thinks the fare but mean?

TRYGAEUS. What will you offer then? A fatted bull?

CHORUS. Oh, no! I don't want to start bellowing the battle-cry. [355]

TRYGAEUS. A great fat swine then?

CHORUS. No, no.

TRYGAEUS. Why not?

CHORUS. We don't want any of the swinishness of Theagenes. [356]

TRYGAEUS. What other victim do you prefer then?

CHORUS. A sheep.

TRYGAEUS. A sheep?

CHORUS. Yes.

TRYGAEUS. But you must give the word the Ionic form.

CHORUS. Purposely. So that if anyone in the assembly says, "We must go to
war," all may start bleating in alarm, "O?