No More Learning

CHORUS. Done well! when you have treated with a people who know neither
gods, nor truth, nor faith.

DICAEOPOLIS. We attribute too much to the Laconians; as for myself, I
know that they are not the cause of all our troubles.

CHORUS. Oh, indeed, rascal! You dare to use such language to me and then
expect me to spare you!

DICAEOPOLIS. No, no, they are not the cause of all our troubles, and I
who address you claim to be able to prove that they have much to complain
of in us.

CHORUS. This passes endurance; my heart bounds with fury. Thus you dare
to defend our enemies.

DICAEOPOLIS. Were my head on the block I would uphold what I say and rely
on the approval of the people.

CHORUS. Comrades, let us hurl our stones and dye this fellow purple.

DICAEOPOLIS. What black fire-brand has inflamed your heart! You will not
hear me? You really will not, Acharnians?

CHORUS. No, a thousand times, no.

DICAEOPOLIS. This is a hateful injustice.

CHORUS. May I die, if I listen.

DICAEOPOLIS. Nay, nay! have mercy, have mercy, Acharnians.

CHORUS. You shall die.

DICAEOPOLIS. Well, blood for blood! I will kill your dearest friend. I
have here the hostages of Acharnae;[198] I shall disembowel them.

CHORUS. Acharnians, what means this threat? Has he got one of our
children in his house? What gives him such audacity?

DICAEOPOLIS. Stone me, if it please you; I shall avenge myself on this.
(_Shows a basket_. ) Let us see whether you have any love for your coals.

CHORUS. Great gods! this basket is our fellow-citizen. Stop, stop, in
heaven's name!

DICAEOPOLIS. I shall dismember it despite your cries; I will listen to
nothing.

CHORUS. How! will you kill this coal-basket, my beloved comrade?

DICAEOPOLIS. Just now, you did not listen to me.

CHORUS. Well, speak now, if you will; tell us, tell us you have a
weakness for the Lacedaemonians. I consent to anything; never will I
forsake this dear little basket.

DICAEOPOLIS. First, throw down your stones.

CHORUS. There! 'tis done. And you, do you put away your sword.

DICAEOPOLIS. Let me see that no stones remain concealed in your cloaks.

CHORUS. They are all on the ground; see how we shake our garments. Come,
no haggling, lay down your sword; we threw away everything while crossing
from one side of the stage to the other. [199]

DICAEOPOLIS. What cries of anguish you would have uttered had these coals
of Parnes[200] been dismembered, and yet it came very near it; had they
perished, their death would have been due to the folly of their
fellow-citizens. The poor basket was so frightened, look, it has shed a
thick black dust over me, the same as a cuttle-fish does. What an
irritable temper! You shout and throw stones, you will not hear my
arguments--not even when I propose to speak in favour of the
Lacedaemonians with my head on the block; and yet I cling to my life.

CHORUS. Well then, bring out a block before your door, scoundrel, and let
us hear the good grounds you can give us; I am curious to know them. Now
mind, as you proposed yourself, place your head on the block and speak.

DICAEOPOLIS. Here is the block; and, though I am but a very sorry
speaker, I wish nevertheless to talk freely of the Lacedaemonians and
without the protection of my buckler. Yet I have many reasons for fear. I
know our rustics; they are delighted if some braggart comes, and rightly
or wrongly loads both them and their city with praise and flattery; they
do not see that such toad-eaters[201] are traitors, who sell them for
gain. As for the old men, I know their weakness; they only seek to
overwhelm the accused with their votes. [202] Nor have I forgotten how
Cleon treated me because of my comedy last year;[203] he dragged me
before the Senate and there he uttered endless slanders against me; 'twas
a tempest of abuse, a deluge of lies. Through what a slough of mud he
dragged me! I nigh perished. Permit me, therefore, before I speak, to
dress in the manner most likely to draw pity.

CHORUS. What evasions, subterfuges and delays! Hold! here is the sombre
helmet of Pluto with its thick bristling plume; Hieronymus[204] lends it
to you; then open Sisyphus'[205] bag of wiles; but hurry, hurry, pray,
for our discussion does not admit of delay.

DICAEOPOLIS. The time has come for me to manifest my courage, so I will
go and seek Euripides. Ho! slave, slave!

SLAVE. Who's there?

DICAEOPOLIS. Is Euripides at home?

SLAVE. He is and he isn't; understand that, if you have wit for't.

DICAEOPOLIS. How? He is and he isn't! [206]

SLAVE. Certainly, old man; busy gathering subtle fancies here and there,
his mind is not in the house, but he himself is; perched aloft, he is
composing a tragedy.

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh, Euripides, you are indeed happy to have a slave so quick
at repartee! Now, fellow, call your master.

SLAVE. Impossible!

DICAEOPOLIS. So much the worse. But I will not go. Come, let us knock at
the door. Euripides, my little Euripides, my darling Euripides, listen;
never had man greater right to your pity. It is Dicaeopolis of the
Chollidan Deme who calls you. Do you hear?

EURIPIDES. I have no time to waste.

DICAEOPOLIS. Very well, have yourself wheeled out here. [207]

EURIPIDES. Impossible.

DICAEOPOLIS. Nevertheless. . . .

EURIPIDES. Well, let them roll me out; as to coming down, I have not the
time.

DICAEOPOLIS. Euripides. . . .

EURIPIDES. What words strike my ear?

DICAEOPOLIS. You perch aloft to compose tragedies, when you might just as
well do them on the ground. I am not astonished at your introducing
cripples on the stage. [208] And why dress in these miserable tragic rags?
I do not wonder that your heroes are beggars. But, Euripides, on my knees
I beseech you, give me the tatters of some old piece: for I have to treat
the Chorus to a long speech, and if I do it ill it is all over with me.

EURIPIDES. What rags do you prefer? Those in which I rigged out
Aeneus[209] on the stage, that unhappy, miserable old man?

DICAEOPOLIS. No, I want those of some hero still more unfortunate.

EURIPIDES. Of Phoenix, the blind man?

DICAEOPOLIS. No, not of Phoenix, you have another hero more unfortunate
than him.

EURIPIDES. Now, what tatters _does_ he want? Do you mean those of the
beggar Philoctetes?

DICAEOPOLIS. No, of another far more the mendicant.

EURIPIDES. Is it the filthy dress of the lame fellow, Bellerophon?

DICAEOPOLIS. No, 'tis not Bellerophon; he, whom I mean, was not only lame
and a beggar, but boastful and a fine speaker.

EURIPIDES. Ah! I know, it is Telephus, the Mysian.

DICAEOPOLIS. Yes, Telephus. Give me his rags, I beg of you.

EURIPIDES. Slave! give him Telephus' tatters; they are on top of the rags
of Thyestes and mixed with those of Ino.

SLAVE. Catch hold! here they are.

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh! Zeus, whose eye pierces everywhere and embraces all,
permit me to assume the most wretched dress on earth. Euripides, cap your
kindness by giving me the little Mysian hat, that goes so well with these
tatters. I must to-day have the look of a beggar; "be what I am, but not
appear to be";[210] the audience will know well who I am, but the Chorus
will be fools enough not to, and I shall dupe 'em with my subtle phrases.

EURIPIDES. I will give you the hat; I love the clever tricks of an
ingenious brain like yours.

DICAEOPOLIS. Rest happy, and may it befall Telephus as I wish. Ah! I
already feel myself filled with quibbles. But I must have a beggar's
staff.

EURIPIDES. Here you are, and now get you gone from this porch.

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh, my soul! You see how you are driven from this house,
when I still need so many accessories. But let us be pressing, obstinate,
importunate. Euripides, give me a little basket with a lamp alight
inside.

EURIPIDES. Whatever do you want such a thing as that for?

DICAEOPOLIS. I do not need it, but I want it all the same.

EURIPIDES. You importune me; get you gone!

DICAEOPOLIS. Alas!
may the gods grant you a destiny as brilliant as your
mother's. [211]

EURIPIDES. Leave me in peace.

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh! just a little broken cup.

EURIPIDES. Take it and go and hang yourself. What a tiresome fellow!

DICAEOPOLIS. Ah! you do not know all the pain you cause me. Dear, good
Euripides, nothing beyond a small pipkin stoppered with a sponge.

EURIPIDES. Miserable man! You are robbing me of an entire tragedy. [212]
Here, take it and be off.

DICAEOPOLIS. I am going, but, great gods! I need one thing more; unless I
have it, I am a dead man. Hearken, my little Euripides, only give me this
and I go, never to return. For pity's sake, do give me a few small herbs
for my basket.

EURIPIDES. You wish to ruin me then. Here, take what you want; but it is
all over with my pieces!

DICAEOPOLIS. I won't ask another thing; I'm going. I am too importunate
and forget that I rouse against me the hate of kings. --Ah! wretch that I
am! I am lost! I have forgotten one thing, without which all the rest is
as nothing. Euripides, my excellent Euripides, my dear little Euripides,
may I die if I ask you again for the smallest present; only one, the
last, absolutely the last; give me some of the chervil your mother left
you in her will.

EURIPIDES. Insolent hound! Slave, lock the door.

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh, my soul! I must go away without the chervil. Art thou
sensible of the dangerous battle we are about to engage upon in defending
the Lacedaemonians? Courage, my soul, we must plunge into the midst of
it. Dost thou hesitate and art thou fully steeped in Euripides? That's
right! do not falter, my poor heart, and let us risk our head to say what
we hold for truth. Courage and boldly to the front. I wonder I am so
brave!

CHORUS. What do you purport doing? what are you going to say? What an
impudent fellow! what a brazen heart! To dare to stake his head and
uphold an opinion contrary to that of us all! And he does not tremble to
face this peril! Come, it is you who desired it, speak!

DICAEOPOLIS. Spectators, be not angered if, although I am a beggar, I
dare in a Comedy to speak before the people of Athens of the public weal;
Comedy too can sometimes discern what is right. I shall not please, but I
shall say what is true. Besides, Cleon shall not be able to accuse me of
attacking Athens before strangers;[213] we are by ourselves at the
festival of the Lenaea; the period when our allies send us their tribute
and their soldiers is not yet. Here is only the pure wheat without chaff;
as to the resident strangers settled among us, they and the citizens are
one, like the straw and the ear.

I detest the Lacedaemonians with all my heart, and may Posidon, the god
of Taenarus,[214] cause an earthquake and overturn their dwellings! My
vines also have been cut. But come (there are only friends who hear me),
why accuse the Laconians of all our woes? Some men (I do not say the
city, note particularly, that I do not say the city), some wretches, lost
in vices, bereft of honour, who were not even citizens of good stamp, but
strangers, have accused the Megarians of introducing their produce
fraudulently, and not a cucumber, a leveret, a sucking-pig, a clove of
garlic, a lump of salt was seen without its being said, "Halloa! these
come from Megara," and their being instantly confiscated. Thus far the
evil was not serious, and we were the only sufferers. But now some young
drunkards go to Megara and carry off the courtesan Simaetha; the
Megarians, hurt to the quick, run off in turn with two harlots of the
house of Aspasia; and so for three gay women Greece is set ablaze. Then
Pericles, aflame with ire on his Olympian height, let loose the
lightning, caused the thunder to roll, upset Greece and passed an edict,
which ran like the song, "That the Megarians be banished both from our
land and from our markets and from the sea and from the continent. "[215]
Meanwhile the Megarians, who were beginning to die of hunger, begged the
Lacedaemonians to bring about the abolition of the decree, of which those
harlots were the cause; several times we refused their demand; and from
that time there was a horrible clatter of arms everywhere. You will say
that Sparta was wrong, but what should she have done? Answer that.
Suppose that a Lacedaemonian had seized a little Seriphian[216] dog on
any pretext and had sold it, would you have endured it quietly? Far from
it, you would at once have sent three hundred vessels to sea, and what an
uproar there would have been through all the city! there 'tis a band of
noisy soldiery, here a brawl about the election of a Trierarch; elsewhere
pay is being distributed, the Pallas figure-heads are being regilded,
crowds are surging under the market porticos, encumbered with wheat that
is being measured, wine-skins, oar-leathers, garlic, olives, onions in
nets; everywhere are chaplets, sprats, flute-girls, black eyes; in the
arsenal bolts are being noisily driven home, sweeps are being made and
fitted with leathers; we hear nothing but the sound of whistles, of
flutes and fifes to encourage the work-folk. That is what you assuredly
would have done, and would not Telephus have done the same? So I come to
my general conclusion; we have no common sense.

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS. Oh! wretch! oh! infamous man! You are naught but a
beggar and yet you dare to talk to us like this! you insult their
worships the informers!

SECOND SEMI-CHORUS. By Posidon! he speaks the truth; he has not lied in a
single detail.

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS. But though it be true, need he say it? But you'll have
no great cause to be proud of your insolence!

SECOND SEMI-CHORUS. Where are you running to? Don't you move; if you
strike this man I shall be at you.

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS. Lamachus, whose glance flashes lightning, whose plume
petrifies thy foes, help! Oh! Lamachus, my friend, the hero of my tribe
and all of you, both officers and soldiers, defenders of our walls, come
to my aid; else is it all over with me!

LAMACHUS. Whence comes this cry of battle? where must I bring my aid?
where must I sow dread? who wants me to uncase my dreadful Gorgon's
head? [217]

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh, Lamachus, great hero! Your plumes and your cohorts
terrify me.

CHORUS. This man, Lamachus, incessantly abuses Athens.

LAMACHUS. You are but a mendicant and you dare to use language of this
sort?

DICAEOPOLIS. Oh, brave Lamachus, forgive a beggar who speaks at hazard.

LAMACHUS. But what have you said? Let us hear.

DICAEOPOLIS. I know nothing about it; the sight of weapons makes me
dizzy. Oh! I adjure you, take that fearful Gorgon somewhat farther away.

LAMACHUS. There.

DICAEOPOLIS. Now place it face downwards on the ground.

LAMACHUS. It is done.

DICAEOPOLIS. Give me a plume out of your helmet.

LAMACHUS. Here is a feather.

DICAEOPOLIS. And hold my head while I vomit; the plumes have turned my
stomach.

LAMACHUS. Hah! what are you proposing to do? do you want to make yourself
vomit with this feather?

DICAEOPOLIS. Is it a feather? what bird's? a braggart's?

LAMACHUS. Ah! ah! I will rip you open.

DICAEOPOLIS. No, no, Lamachus! Violence is out of place here! But as you
are so strong, why did you not circumcise me? You have all you want for
the operation there.

LAMACHUS. A beggar dares thus address a general!

DICAEOPOLIS. How? Am I a beggar?

LAMACHUS. What are you then?

DICAEOPOLIS. Who am I? A good citizen, not ambitious; a soldier, who has
fought well since the outbreak of the war, whereas you are but a vile
mercenary.

LAMACHUS. They elected me. . . .

DICAEOPOLIS. Yes, three cuckoos did! [218] If I have concluded peace,
'twas disgust that drove me; for I see men with hoary heads in the ranks
and young fellows of your age shirking service. Some are in Thrace
getting an allowance of three drachmae, such fellows as Tisameophoenippus
and Panurgipparchides. The others are with Chares or in Chaonia, men like
Geretotheodorus and Diomialazon; there are some of the same kidney, too,
at Camarina and at Gela,[219] the laughing-stock of all and sundry.

LAMACHUS. They were elected.

DICAEOPOLIS. And why do you always receive your pay, when none of these
others ever get any? Speak, Marilades, you have grey hair; well then,
have you ever been entrusted with a mission? See! he shakes his head. Yet
he is an active as well as a prudent man. And you, Dracyllus, Euphorides
or Prinides, have you knowledge of Ecbatana or Chaonia? You say no, do
you not? Such offices are good for the son of Caesyra[220] and Lamachus,
who, but yesterday ruined with debt, never pay their shot, and whom all
their friends avoid as foot passengers dodge the folks who empty their
slops out of window.

LAMACHUS. Oh! in freedom's name! are such exaggerations to be borne?

DICAEOPOLIS. Lamachus is well content; no doubt he is well paid, you
know.

LAMACHUS. But I propose always to war with the Peloponnesians, both at
sea, on land and everywhere to make them tremble, and trounce them
soundly.

DICAEOPOLIS. For my own part, I make proclamation to all Peloponnesians,
Megarians and Boeotians, that to them my markets are open; but I debar
Lamachus from entering them.

CHORUS. Convinced by this man's speech, the folk have changed their view
and approve him for having concluded peace. But let us prepare for the
recital of the parabasis. [221]

Never since our poet presented Comedies, has he praised himself upon the
stage; but, having been slandered by his enemies amongst the volatile
Athenians, accused of scoffing at his country and of insulting the
people, to-day he wishes to reply and regain for himself the inconstant
Athenians. He maintains that he has done much that is good for you; if
you no longer allow yourselves to be too much hoodwinked by strangers or
seduced by flattery, if in politics you are no longer the ninnies you
once were, it is thanks to him. Formerly, when delegates from other
cities wanted to deceive you, they had but to style you, "the people
crowned with violets," and, at the word "violets" you at once sat erect
on the tips of your bums. Or, if to tickle your vanity, someone spoke of
"rich and sleek Athens," in return for that 'sleekness' he would get all,
because he spoke of you as he would have of anchovies in oil. In
cautioning you against such wiles, the poet has done you great service as
well as in forcing you to understand what is really the democratic
principle. Thus, the strangers, who came to pay their tributes, wanted to
see this great poet, who had dared to speak the truth to Athens. And so
far has the fame of his boldness reached that one day the Great King,
when questioning the Lacedaemonian delegates, first asked them which of
the two rival cities was the superior at sea, and then immediately
demanded at which it was that the comic poet directed his biting satire.
"Happy that city," he added, "if it listens to his counsel; it will grow
in power, and its victory is assured. " This is why the Lacedaemonians
offer you peace, if you will cede them Aegina; not that they care for the
isle, but they wish to rob you of your poet. [222] As for you, never lose
him, who will always fight for the cause of justice in his Comedies; he
promises you that his precepts will lead you to happiness, though he uses
neither flattery, nor bribery, nor intrigue, nor deceit; instead of
loading you with praise, he will point you to the better way. I scoff at
Cleon's tricks and plotting; honesty and justice shall fight my cause;
never will you find me a political poltroon, a prostitute to the highest
bidder.

I invoke thee, Acharnian Muse, fierce and fell as the devouring fire;
sudden as the spark that bursts from the crackling oaken coal when roused
by the quickening fan to fry little fishes, while others knead the dough
or whip the sharp Thasian pickle with rapid hand, so break forth, my
Muse, and inspire thy tribesmen with rough, vigorous, stirring strains.