that we too can carry out a coup and essay
something for our city, but as things are
we lie stuck in the doldrums
with power of neither sail nor oar.
LINE 1: 4 assonances: if, it, ing, this
2 half consonances: can, dawn
6 alliterations: if, it, I; do, dawn, day
LINE 2: 6 assonances: that, can, car, and; too, coup
4 half consonances: can, car; that, out
3 alliterations: can, carry, coup
4 rhymes: too, coup; day, say
LINE 3: 5 assonances: thing, things, cit; our, are
5 half consonances: thing, things; for, our, are
LINE 4: 2 assonances: stuck, drums
2 half consonances: stuck, drums
2 alliterations: dol, drums
LINE 5: 4 half consonances: power, neither, nor, oar
2 alliterations: neither, nor
2 rhymes: nor, oar
Sonic intercoping line endings: day, essay; are, oar.
Perhaps the most perennial and greatest difficulty of all is that Greek, compared to English, is devilishly condensed. A single word often can only be done justice by a phrase, or sometimes only by a whole sentence. Mere transcription is not enough. One is trying to bring over not only words but thoughts, feelings, and connotations, which the words themselves sometimes merely adumbrate. And here lies a pitfall difficult to avoid: when one discovers that in one’s efforts to bring out the fullness of the Greek one has leapt from the legitimate boundaries of translation and landed in the realm of mere paraphrase.
Fidelity to the original, too, can be a stumbling block. Fidelity, yes, but this should not mean being a slave to the literal, which can put one on the high road to the absurd. For instance (to take a current language), one wouldn’t translate the name of the Spanish newspaper Ultima Hora as The Last Hour, which is the literal meaning, but by what the idiom means: Up to the Minute. Sometimes the translator feels compelled for the sake of clarity to add a phrase or sentence that is not actually in the original. Is this being unfaithful? Not necessarily, not if the addition makes explicit that which was truly implicit in the original. One might even go as far as saying that to leave it out is not so much fidelity as pedantry.
Perhaps the final challenge of attempting to translate Aristophanes is that, unlike the three great tragedians, he did not deal with grand universal themes ineluctably germane to the human scene, but with the here and now of a particular place and particular people, with particular problems, and at a particular time in history. It’s almost as if an Athenian of the fifth century B.C. were asked to put into Attic Greek the antics, absurdities, the cleverness and sparkle of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.
The miracle is that, even if one is only half successful in doing justice to the letter and spirit of Aristophanes, and even if many of the names and places he mentions mean nothing to us, we still find him funny—so original is the cast of his imagination and so delightful his penchant for rank nonsense.
N.B.: Throughout the footnotes in the texts of the plays, Loeb stands for the Loeb Classical Library founded by James Loeb in 1911 and published by Harvard University Press and William Heinemann Ltd., London. This unique corpus of translations comprises almost the whole of Greek and Latin literature that has come down to us. The translations are literally faithful and are faced on the page by the original text.
ACHARNIANS
Acharnians was first produced in February 425 B.C. at the Lenaean Dionysia and won first prize.
THEME
The war with Sparta and Boeotia has been dragging on for six years. The countryside of Attica is a shambles and Athens itself is an overcrowded city in which plague has wreaked havoc. The Acharnians, inhabitants of a deme northwest of Athens whose land has been repeatedly ravaged, are thirsting for revenge. Aristophanes’ comedy is a plea for peace, whose fruits and comforts are contrasted with the destitution, hardships, and stupidity of war.
CHARACTERS
DICAEOPOLIS, a worthy citizen of Attica
CRIER, a herald
AMPHITHEUS, Dicaeopolis’ envoy to Sparta
SENIOR AMBASSADOR, ex-emissary to the King of Persia
PSEUDO-ARTABAS, envoy from Persia
THEORUS, envoy from King Sitalcus of Thrace
DAUGHTER, of Dicaeopolis
XANTHIAS, servant of Dicaeopolis
SERVANT, of Euripides
EURIPIDES, the tragic poet
LAMACHUS, Athenian general
MEGARIAN, from Megara on the isthmus of Corinth
FIRST GIRL, daughter of the Megarian
SECOND GIRL, daughter of the Megarian
INFORMER, a Spartan spy
BOEOTIAN, salesman of farm produce
NICARCHUS, Spartan general
HERALD
DERCETES, farmer of Attica
BEST MAN, at the wedding of an Athenian soldier
FIRST MESSENGER, from Athenian High Command
SECOND MESSENGER, from Athenian High Command
THIRD MESSENGER, from Athenian High Command
CHORUS, old Acharnian charcoal burners
SILENT PARTS
DEPUTIES, of the Assembly on the Pnyx
ASSEMBLY MEMBERS, of the Athenian Council
ARCHER POLICE, Thracian bowmen
JUNIOR AMBASSADOR, another ex-emissary to the King of
Persia
TWO EUNUCHS, citizens of Athens
PLATOON, of Odomantian soldiers
WIFE, and women of Dicaeopolis’ home
SERVANTS, of Dicaeopolis
SOLDIERS, with Lamachus
ISMENIAS, servant of the Boeotian
BAGPIPE PLAYERS, from Thebes
CHILDREN, of Dicaeopolis
PEACE, a transitory vision
THREE GRACES, accompanying Peace
BRIDESMAID, of Athenian war bride
TWO DANCING GIRLS, co-opted by Dicaeopolis
THE STORY
Dicaeopolis, an honest citizen of Athens, impatient with the ditherings of the Assembly, decides to go ahead and make peace on his own. But as he is about to celebrate the vintage festival and the return of peace, he is attacked by a group of Acharnian charcoal burners, who are furious at the ruin of their terrain and want the war to continue.
OBSERVATIONS
This is the third comedy that Aristophanes wrote and the first that we have. He was barely twenty when he wrote it, and like all poets (Shelley’s “unacknowledged legislators of the world”), he goes to the heart of the matter and decries what can be expected of war, knowing very well that the only people to profit by it are the arms dealers.
TIME AND SETTING
It is early morning outside the Pnyx, the hill west of the Acropolis where the Assembly meets to decide issues of peace and war. DICAEOPOLIS walks up and down impatiently, waiting for the Assembly to open.
DICAEOPOLIS: [with rambling thoughts]
The things that have made me eat my heart out—
uncountable as the sands of the dunes . . .
and the things that have made my heart leap with joy—
not more than four . . . let’s see . . .
There’s that five talents
which the swine Cleon had to cough up, thanks to the
Knights.3 . . .
Ah, that was a brilliant stroke,
a performance worthy of Hellas! . . .
But another pang cancels my joy:
I was sitting in the theater all agog for an Aeschylus,
when I heard the announcer call out:
“Theognis, bring on your play.”4
What a shock that gave my heart! Wouldn’t it yours? . . .
But I had another happy moment
when Dexitheus-of-the-calf 5 came on with his Boeotian songs. . . .
Oh, but this year I was stretched to the breaking point
when that bore Chaeris6 sidled in to play his Orthian7 piece....
[He looks round, disappointed.]
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Never since I first washed my face
have my eyes so stung with soap as now. . . .
A day fixed for the Assembly
and, come the dawn, not a soul on the Pnyx.
They’re all nattering away in the market square
and dodging the whips.8
Not even the principals are here.
They’ll arrive late, of course,
elbowing one another, charging en masse,
making a beeline for the front row—you’ve no idea.
As for being concerned with peace,
they don’t give a damn.... O City, my poor City!
Meanwhile, here am I,
always first at the Assembly,
in my seat and all forlorn.
I sigh, I fidget, I yawn.
I stretch my legs, I fart, I scribble notes,
tug at my beard, do accounts,
gazing fondly all the time towards the countryside,
longing hopelessly for peace, loathing town and
homesick for my village . . .
where you don’t hear cries of “Buy my charcoal,”
“Buy my vinegar,” “Buy my oil.”
My village doesn’t include the word “buy” in its vocabulary
but simply produces all that’s needed—
with not a “buy” person in the offing.
Well, here I am, and darn well ready
to shout and heckle and insult
anyone who speaks of anything but peace.
[a buzz of noise]
Ah, here they come, the Deputies—at noon!
What did I tell you—every man jack of them
jostling for the front row just as I said!
[A throng of DEPUTIES and ASSEMBLY MEMBERS enters running and panting and heading for the best seats.]
CRIER: Move forward! Move into th’ area reserved a’ purpose!
[AMPHITHEUS bustles in.]
AMPHITHEUS: [breathless] Have the speeches begun?
CRIER: ’oo wishes to speak?
AMPHITHEUS: I do.
CRIER: ’oo are you?
AMPHITHEUS: Amphitheus.9
CRIER: That don’t sound like a ’uman being.
AMPHITHEUS:
It’s not. I’m immortal.
Amphitheus the first was the son of Demeter and Triptolemus.
His son Celeus married Phaenerete, my grandmother,
who bore Lycinus, who is my sire.
What’s more, to me and me alone
the gods have assigned the privilege
of negotiating peace with the Spartans.
Unfortunately, good sirs,
I haven’t a bean for the journey.
The Deputies have turned it down.
CRIER: Police!
[The ARCHER POLICE seize AMPHITHEUS and bustle him away.]
AMPHITHEUS: Triptolemus, Celeus, help! Are you just going to look on?
DICAEOPOLIS: [springing to his feet]
Esteemed Deputies, it is utterly wrong
to have that man removed.
He only wanted to arrange a truce
and enable us to hang up our shields.
CRIER: Sit down an’ shut up!
DICAEOPOLIS: By Apollo, that I will not,
unless you agree to discuss the peace.
[Amid a buzz of excitement the magnificently dressed SENIOR and JUNIOR AMBASSADORS arrive from the court of the Great King of Persia. They had been sent there from Athens eleven years previously.]10
CRIER: It’s them ambassadors back from the King.
DICAEOPOLIS: The King, my foot!
I’m fed up with ambassadors and their coxscomby
haughty-taughty way.
CRIER: Belt up!
DICAEOPOLIS: Yippee! Ecbatana11 all in one!
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: You d-dispatched us to the Gr-Great King
on a salary of two d-drachmas a day
when Euthymenes was ar-archon.
DICAEOPOLIS: Don’t I know it! Drachmas down the drain!
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: My d-dear, we were worn to sh-shreds,
proceeding over the Cay-Cay-ystrian plains under c-canopies
in our luxurious super-duper l-l-litters.
It was too—too frightfully t-trying.
DICAEOPOLIS: Wasn’t it just! I was flopped out on the ramparts
in a different kind of litter.
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: M-moreover, to p-please us they gave us
the very best vintage wine, n-neat,
in g-goblets of crystal and g-gold. . . .
My dear, we simply h-had to d-drink it.
DICAEOPOLIS: My poor Athens, how lightly they treat you,
these ambassadors!
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: B-Barbarians, m’dear, only consider real men
those that can g-g-gobble and swill.
DICAEOPOLIS: With us it’s cocksuckers and arse lickers.
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: It was not till the f-fourth year
that we got to the Great King’s p-palace,
but he, m’dear, had g-gone off with the army to r-relieve himself
and stayed for eight months sh-shitting in the Golden Hills.
DICAEOPOLIS: And was it full moon when he finally closed his arsehole?
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: Then he l-left for home
and threw a tremendous b-beano:
a whole ox, m’dear, en pot-au-feu!12
DICAEOPOLIS: Don’t be silly!
Who’s ever seen an ox en pot-au-feu?
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: Yes, by Zeus! And once he s-served an
enormous b-bird
three times bigger than fat Cleonymus13—called a g-gull.
DICAEOPOLIS: Naturally! It gulled us out of all those drachmas.
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: W-we introduce to you now Pseudo-Artabas,
the G-Great King’s Eye.
DICAEOPOLIS: If only a crow would peck out yours, Mr. Ambassador!
CRIER: [with a flourish] The Great King’s Eye!
[PSEUDO-ARTABAS enters. He is grandly dressed but wears an eye patch over one eye. With him are TWO EUNUCHS.]
DICAEOPOLIS: Ye gods and Lord Heracles!
Man, you look like a battleship rounding the quay
in search of a berth. . . . What’s under that eye?
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: T-tell the Athenians, Pseudo-Artabas,
w-what the Great King sent you to s-say.
PSEUDO-ARTABAS: Parta namè xarxana satra.
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: Y-you understood him?
DICAEOPOLIS: No, by Apollo, I did not.
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: He says the K-King is going to send you
g-gold.
[to PSEUDO-ARTABAS] Louder and clearer, please,
about the gold.
PSEUDO-ARTABAS: [distinctly] Getting gold, no! Greeks arseholes!
DICAEOPOLIS: Wow, that’s pretty clear!
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: W-what is he saying?
DICAEOPOLIS: That the Greeks are gaping arseholes
if they expect gold from the Barbarians.
SENIOR AMBASSADOR: N-n-no! He means bucketfuls of gold.
DICAEOPOLIS: Bucketfuls, my eye! Off with you, you damn fraud!
I’ll do the questioning myself.
[The disconcerted SENIOR and JUNIOR AMBASSADORS leave and DICAEOPOLIS mounts the rostrum.]
DICAEOPOLIS: [shaking his stick at PSEUDO-ARTABAS]
See here, fellow: answer yes or no,
or I’ll ruddy you with this and you won’t need Sardian dye.14
Does the Great King really intend to send us gold?
[PSEUDO-ARTABAS and the TWO EUNUCHS shake their heads.]
So our ambassadors are hoodwinking us?
[They nod vigorously.]
How very Greek, the way these eunuchs nod!
They come from hereabouts most likely.
[stepping closer]
Why, this eunuch’s none other than Cleisthenes15
son of Siburtius. . . . You, you monkey of a mincing sissy
!
You horny hotted-up arsehole shaver!
You come here all togged up as a eunuch?
And this other bugger? . . . Why, it’s Strato!
CRIER: Sit down an’ ’old yer tongue!
The Council’s asked this ’ere King’s Eye to the Banquet ’all.
[PSEUDO-ARTABAS and the TWO EUNUCHS leave.]
DICAEOPOLIS:
That’s a sodding throttler!
Here am I dawdling, left in the lurch,
while for those other creatures the doors of the Banquet Hall
yawn in everlasting welcome.
All right, then!
I’m going to take a giant step.
Amphitheus, where are you?
AMPHITHEUS: Right here, sir.
DICAEOPOLIS: Do this for me, will you?
Take these eight drachmas and go and hatch
a private truce with Sparta:
just for me, my siblings, and my wife.
[to the audience]
The rest of you can go on with your gawping embassies.
[AMPHITHEUS leaves.]
CRIER: Attention! ’ere’s Theorus, come from King Sitalces.16
[THEORUS enters.]
THEORUS: Here I am!
DICAEOPOLIS: O Lord, another sham!
THEORUS: We wouldn’t have lingered so long in Thrace if . . .
DICAEOPOLIS: By Zeus, you wouldn’t have if . . .
it weren’t for the whacking pay you were getting.
THEORUS: . . . if the whole of Thrace hadn’t been locked in snow