PAPHLAGON: I’ll peg you to the ground.
SAUSAGEMAN: I’ll scoop out your insides.
DEMOSTHENES: Yes, by s’truth, and we’ll tack his mouth
Like butchers do, and drag out his tongue.
And we’ll scrutinize the hole in his bum
To make sure there isn’t a worm.
As to the word Milesian, I want to suggest that we have here a major problem. The Milesians were the inhabitants of Miletus, the capital of Ionia in Asia Minor. It was part of the Delian confederacy dominated by Athens but in 412 B.C. it revolted, that is, a whole twelve years after Aristophanes produced Knights in 424 B.C., and ten years after Cleon was killed at the battle of Amphipolis in 422 B.C. Why should Aristophanes have even mentioned Milesia when Cleon had nothing to do with it and he is writing about Cleon?
There was, however, something with which Cleon had everything to do: the revolt of Mitylene on the island of Lesbos in 428 B.C. Cleon forthwith in 427 B.C. (only three years before Aristophanes produced Knights) urged the Assembly in Athens to punish the Mitylenians by sending a force to massacre the entire male population and sell the women and children into slavery. But the next day, after a speech by Diodorus decrying such cruelty, the Assembly had a change of heart and sent the swiftest trireme they could find to overtake the first trireme, which had a start of some twenty-four hours. The Mitylenian ambassador was on board and “provided wine and barley for the crew and promised great rewards if they arrived in time. . . . The men kept on rowing while they took their food . . . taking it in turn to sleep. Luckily they had no wind against them. . . .” (Thucydides, 3.38.2). The trireme arrived just minutes before the massacre was due to start, and only the ringleaders in the revolt were put to death.
So what I am suggesting is that Aristophanes in his indictment of Cleon never wrote the word Milesian but Mitylenian. He was not thinking of Miletus. It had nothing to do with Cleon and in any case didn’t come on the scene for another twelve years. He was thinking of the horrible speech Cleon made in the Assembly to massacre the Lesbians. So am I daring to suggest that the scholiast wrote Milesian when he meant Mitylenian? Just that. It wouldn’t be the first time that a scholiast made a boo-boo. The fact that Milesian is used again in line 932 doesn’t alter matters, but only compounds the error.
CHORUS: So here we have something hotter than fire, just as there are
Words more wordily blazing with verve
Than the speeches one listens to in the city.
So it isn’t a little thing we have to tackle:
No, it’s a matter of pluck and nerve
And knocking him giddy. Don’t pull a punch.
You’ve got the man really and truly
Hooked by the middle.
LEADER: Indeed, if you soften him up in the first clinch You’ll soon discover a weakling. I know the kind.
SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, the kind of person he’s been his entire life,
and now he poses as a real man
by filching a harvest at secondhand.118
He came back with ears of grain,
keeps them in stock until they’re dry.
Afterwards he’ll show them off
and use them to bargain with.119
PAPHLAGON: I’m not afraid of any of you
so long as the Council still exists
and Demos goes on in full view
sitting gaping with his silly face.
CHORUS: See how he cleaves to his brazen farce, Preserving his usual color without a tremor. If I don’t detest you may I become A measly blanket in Cratinus’120 house And be taught by Morsimus121 how to hum A tragic song. Oh what a curse You are, flitting from spot to spot And sipping from bloom to blossomy bribe: There’s nowhere where you’re not. I hope these sips in the end will make you sick, For only then can I sing ad lib: “On this auspicious occasion Drink like stink!”
LEADER: And I expect Ulius,‡ that old hearty
auctioneer of grain would whip up a crazy bacchic paean.
PAPHLAGON: So help me, Poseidon!
You’re not trying to outdo me in degradation,
are you? Or I’ll never again
go to Zeus-of-the-marketplace’s party.
SAUSAGEMAN: From all the slashes and whacks I’ve had,
time without number, since I was a lad,
I think that I’m equipped to shoot you down on this,
or I’ve grown to be a big boy all for nothing—
and that on a platter of scraps.
PAPHLAGON: What, table crumbs for titbits?122 Is that the kind of dog food you’ve been getting and now expect to face a ferocious hound like me?
SAUSAGEMAN: So what? I learned to be a trickster from the cradle:
at the butcher’s I’d say: “Hey, boys, see—
a swallow! Spring’s here.” And when they looked I swiped a steak.
DEMOSTHENES: A meaty snatch indeed, like grasping a nettle,
but you only get the chance when the swallows come.
SAUSAGEMAN: I never got caught red-handed. The trick
if anyone should spot me was
to stuff it up my crotch and swear to Zeus my innocence.
Once a politician saw me doing this
and he observed: “Mark my words, a time will come
when this boy one day will rule the realm.”
DEMOSTHENES: He got it right, but only because
you told a lie—which is no surprise—
and hid the meat between crotch and arse.
PAPHLAGON: I’m going to put a stopper on your cockiness,
yes, both of you, and blow you to smithereens
in an overwhelming squall over all lands and seas.
SAUSAGEMAN: And I’ll unfurl my sausages
and run with the wind and shout goodbye to you over the
waves.
DEMOSTHENES: And I’ll bail like hell if there springs a leak.
SAUSAGEMAN: [to PAPHLAGON]123
I swear by Demeter you shan’t get away
with the mountains of money
you’ve filched from the wretched Athenians.
DEMOSTHENES: Ship ahoy there! Ease the sheets! The gale’s about to peak and blow us a nor’easter—or a sneak.124
SAUSAGEMAN: [to PAPHLAGON] I know all about the ninety grand
you scooped out of the Potidaea affair.‡
PAPHLAGON: So what . . . ? Care
to have one of them to keep mum?
DEMOSTHENES: He’ll take it like a shot. Shorten the lanyards, someone, the wind’s dropping and . . .
SAUSAGEMAN: [to PAPHLAGON] I’ll sue you for bribery on four distinct occasions at thirty grand a time.
PAPHLAGON: And I’ll stick you for draft dodging—six grand—
and another thirty grand for cheating in exchange finance.
SAUSAGEMAN: Strikes me your ancestry
stems from the original assassins who violated the sanctuary
of Pallas Athena.125
PAPHLAGON: Strikes me your grandpa was one of the toughs who
once . . .
SAUSAGEMAN: Go on.
PAPHLAGON: . . . were bodyguards of Hippias’ bride,
Persinè, and had the toughest hide.
SAUSAGEMAN: Crook!
PAPHLAGON: Scum!
DEMOSTHENES: Belt him a good one.
PAPHLAGON: Oy! Ow! This is a plot.
DEMOSTHENES: Pummel him hard, whack him with tripe. Let those sausages really rip. Give the rotter all you’ve got.
LEADER: [to SAUSAGEMAN]
What a wonderful fellow you are in guts and brawn!
A real revelation that’s come to our town
and all who dwell in it.
How beautifully timed and carried out
was the onslaught of your verbal assault.
How can we ever find words to fit
our delight?
PAPHLAGON: So help me, Demeter! I know exactly how this plot
was glued together, sealed and locked.
SAUSAGEMAN: And I know exactly what you’re cooking up in Argos:
sucking up to the Argives as if they were one of us
but actually making a deal with the Spartans on the sly.
DEMOSTHENES: Just like a blacksmith, if you get my point.
SAUSAGEMAN: Aye—that’s it!
Forging away, welding irons
for those prisoners he’s going to use as pawns.126
DEMOSTHENES: Well done! You’ve put it so well.
He charged us with gluing;
you’ve got him forging.
SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, they’re hammering away at the anvil:
he and the ones on the other side.127 [turning to PAPHLAGON]
Go ahead,
bribe me anyway you like, silver, gold,
sending round your toadies,
but one thing you won’t do is
stop me from spilling the beans to the Athenian people.
PAPHLAGON: All right then,
I’m off to the Senate this very moment
to let them know all the tricks you’ve been up to, every stunt:
the assignations under cover of dark in the town
with the Persians and their king,‡
and your cheesy machinations with the Boeotians.§
SAUSAGEMAN: Cheese? What’s it cost now in Boeotia?
PAPHLAGON: I’ll flatten you, by Heracles.
[He walks away.]
DEMOSTHENES: What d’you think about all this? Got an idea?
We’d like to hear it, please.
If you really did stuff that piece of meat inside your crotch,
you’d better hightail it to the Senate
because he’s going to crash in there
frothing at the mouth with slanders and breathing blue murders.
SAUSAGEMAN: Sure, I’m on my way.
I’ll leave my tripe and tackle in your care.
DEMOSTHENES: Yes, but remember to oil your neck128
so’s you can slip out of his nasty slanders.
SAUSAGEMAN: Good idea! . . . You ought to be a wrestling
coach.
DEMOSTHENES: You’re right. . . . Munch this and swallow it.
SAUSAGEMAN: What for?
DEMOSTHENES: It’s garlic: just the thing, my lad, before a fight.129
Now go!
SAUSAGEMAN: I’m off!
DEMOSTHENES: But remember you’re not to come home
till you’ve plucked him, cussed him,
swallowed his wattles, and chewed up his comb.
[SAUSAGEMAN runs off. ]
LEADER:‡ Go into action, success be with you.
Do what has to be done, and may
Zeus of the Agora guide and attend you.
Come back triumphant, dripping in garlands.
Now we shall ask you all to attend to
What we shall say in our anapest way:
A form you are good at for you are surpassing
In all kinds of art.
If a producer of comic productions,
some time ago,
Had tried to entice us on to the boards
to make an address,
I doubt he would have succeeded, but now
matters have altered
Because he detests the same people we do,
and isn’t afraid
Of speaking the truth; or to bravely advance
into eddy and whirlwind:
Now there’s a question he’s often asked
and I must answer:
Why did he wait so long before
requesting a chorus?130
Well, he’s given permission to me
to answer, and says
That producing a comedy’s a devilish job:
many have courted
The Muse of Comedy but few have impressed her.
He’s conscious, too,
How fickle you are and change every year.
Look how you tired
Of others before him as they grew older!
He remembers, too,
What happened to Magnes131 as soon as he sprouted
a few gray hairs;
Yet he was a poet who so often
had beaten his rivals.
He was a genius at mimicking noises:
throbbings or flappings
Or even parroting a Lydian song.
He could buzz like a bee,
And stain himself as green as a frog,
but this didn’t save him
When he grew old and past his heyday.
In the end
He found himself hooted off the stage: he’d lost his acumen. Our poet remembered the fate of Cratinus,132 once so applauded: Borne along on waves of ovation sweeping him onwards Over prairie and meadow, carrying away oaks and planes As well as his rivals, torn from their roots. And he was once The soul of a party. There’d be songs like “My Lady Kickback Of Squeaky Scandals,” and “Let’s Chant a Him.” He was then in his prime, But look at him now, doddering around like an unstrung Musical instrument: warped, out of tune; and one doesn’t feel sorry. He’s just an old, dithering dotard, all washed-up. Like a senile Connus133 in a crinkled crown and dying of thirst, Though his earlier triumphs ought to have earned him drinks on the house In the Town Hall, and he shouldn’t be tottering but at the theater
In the front row beside Dionysus.134
And how about Crates?135
You weren’t very nice to him though he regaled you
with snacks of plays
Full of humor all baked to perfection,
but even he
Hardly kept his head above water,
winning and losing. . . .
These are some of the reasons our poet
held himself back.
He also thought one must learn how to row,
before grabbing the tiller,
And one must work on deck for a bit
and study the weather
Before presuming to be a skipper.
These were the reasons
That urged him to caution, instead of flinging
himself to the front
Spouting a mindless babble, so swell
your applause for our poet
Eleven hours of accolade
befitting the Lenaea,
And he can go home brimming with happiness,
the shine of success
Glistening on the dome of his bald pate.
CHORUS: Poseidon, master of the horse
And thrill of the ring of the iron hoof,
The neighing steed and the fast sloop
Nuzzled in blue to ram through,
And the well-paid crew . . .
This and the lusty zest of youth:
Charioteers on the eternal course
Towards fame or pit of the dead—
Come to our dancing, come to us here,
Lord of the Dolphins under the head
Phormio’s137 favorite god
And Athens’, too, in time of proof
When it comes to war
And taking a stand.
LEADER: Let us glory in our pedigree, those men
Fit to be heroes of this land, Athena’s land:
The fighters who on foot or on the main
Were triumphant everywhere, the kind
To adorn our city; not a single one of them
Ever cringed before the enormous count
Of enemy hordes or wavered at the hint
Of battle, and in the turmoil if he fell,
Up he’d spring, shake off the dust and yell:
“I fall? Of course not! Not on your life,”
And throw himself once more into the strife.
Not a commander in those days would go
To Cleainetus‡ demanding payment by the State,
Whereas today unless they get a front row seat
And Town Hall dinners, they refuse to fight.
Meanwhile, our one ambition now
Is to fight with honor for our town and gods.
And when there’s peace again and the struggle’s over,
The only thing we ask of you is this:
Not to make remarks about how long our hair is
Or about our various fancy bathroom needs
When we take a shower.
CHORUS: Pallas, you, our city’s defender,
Lady of this blessed land,
So brilliant in battle, the arts, and power:
Come to us now and bring our ally
Who never fails to lend a hand
In every campaign when we’re at war—
Victory, the goddess,
Our partner in the choral ballet,
Who’s on our side every time—
O come!
You’re needed now as never before
To give these Knights complete success.
LEADER: Let us laud our horses to the skies.
The way they have behaved is worthy of praise,
Enduring with us so many trials and taxing chores,
So many attacks and skirmishes. But should we be
astounded
When what they did at sea was even more amazing.
After they’d gone shopping for billikens and things
Like onions and garlic, they simply bounded
Aboard the troop ships, and then sitting at the oars
Like ordinary human beings, they dipped their oar blades,
neighing,
“Pull away, Horsey! Dip your oars! Heave ho, tars!”
And: “You over there, watch your stroke!”
At Corinth they leapt ashore and with their hooves the colts
Scooped out billets and then went off to forage.
The fodder they found and ate was not Persian clover
But crabs, if you please, wherever they could manage
To catch them crawling ashore or went fishing for.
According to Theorus,138 a Corinthian crab protested:
“O Lord Poseidon, neither in the deep nor on the shore
Can I escape those Knights, and I am bested.”
CHORUS: Wow! This calls for celebration.
Lift your voices in exultation:
Hurrah! For such splendid news:
Of all that’s happened it’s the climax.
Every detail, if you please;
I’d go miles, without a doubt
Just to hear it.
So, you doughty champion, spout.
We’re all agog, leave nothing out.
We want to know the facts.
SAUSAGEMAN: Yes, and the facts are well worth knowing.
I hurried after him and caught up with him in the Assembly
Hall,