Peace

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.[1]

f[1] There is a pun here that cannot be rendered between [the Greek for] 'one who throws away his weapons' and 'a supposititious child.'

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.[1]

f[1] Simonides was very avaricious, and sold his pen to the highest bidder. It seems that Sophocles had also started writing for gain.

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.[1]

f[1] i.e. he would recoil from no risk to turn an honest penny

HERMES
And wise Cratinus,[1] is he still alive?

f[1] A comic poet as well known for his love of wine as for his writings; he died in 431 B.C., the first year of the war, at the age of ninety-seven.

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.[1]

f[1] Opora was the goddess of fruits.

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

HERMES
No, not if you swallow a potion of penny-royal afterwards.[1] But hasten to lead Theoria[2] to the Senate; 'twas there she lodged before.

f[1] The scholiast says fruit may be eaten with impunity in great quantities if care is taken to drink a decoction of this herb afterwards. f[2] Theoria is confided to the care of the Senate, because it was this body who named the deputies appointed to go and consult the oracles beyond the Attic borders to be present at feats and games.

TRYGAEUS
Oh! fortunate Senate! Thanks to Theoria, what soups you will swallow for the space of three days![1] how you will devour meats and cooked tripe! Come, farewell, friend Hermes!

f[1] The great festivals, e.g. the Dionysia, lasted three days. Those in honour of the return of Peace, which was so much desired, could not last a shorter time.

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 thunder bolts.

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 ready weapons.

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;[1] 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,[2] 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.[3]

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;[4] but I took all my theatrical gear[5] 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[6] 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 dung, in fact machine-made poets.[7] Contrary to all expectation, the father has at last managed to finish a piece, but he owns himself that a cat strangled it one fine evening.[8]

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