Meanwhile,
you are gasping for your paltry shekels
unaware of all this guile.
LOVECLEON: Well I never! You jolt me to my core,
drag me to the way you see things,
and undermine me completely.
HATECLEON: But there’s more.
You could be really wealthy,320
everyone else, too,
but somehow so-called democracy has got you on strings.
Master of cities from Sardis to the Black Sea—
that’s you, but what good does it do
except for that miserable fee
you get for being jury?
Which they dribble into you drop by drop
like oil squeezed from a wad of wool,
always a drop at a time,
just enough to keep you well
but also to keep you poor, and I’ll tell you why:
they want to make sure
you play ball
with your master trainer,
and the moment he blows his whistle for an attack
you’ll fall upon some poor fellow like a savage.
As for providing a living wage for everyone,
there’s no need for any lack.
We get revenue from a thousand cities on the average.
If each was made to support twenty men,
twenty thousand grateful citizens would feast on steak,
(profusely garlanded) and on black puddings, wine,
and every imaginable dainty—
as befitting Athens and the heirs of Marathon.
But as things stand,
you trail after your paymaster
like migrant olive pickers from an alien land.
LOVECLEON: My word!
I’m feeling a little fainty.
There’s a numbness creeping over my hand:
I can hardly hold my sword.
HATECLEON: But whenever they get nervous and begin to shit in
their pants
they dangle Euboea321 before you
and offer fifty bushels of wheat per man.
But you never get it,
except for yesterday when you got five bushels,
but only barley at that,
shoveled out quart by quart;
and only because your citizenship was challenged in court.
That’s the reason I kept you locked.
I wanted you fed but not mocked
by this loudmouthed bunch of ranters.
And now I’d very much like to pander
to your every appetite and hand you
whatever you could wish—except that pish
milked from a court master’s dish.
LEADER: [addressing HATECLEON]
Wise was the man who said:
“Don’t judge till you hear both sides,”
Because now, and not by half,
Am I on your side
And throw away my staff322
As my anger subsides.
CHORUS: [addressing LOVECLEON]
Listen, oh listen, to what he says
and don’t be a fool.
Don’t be too haughty and stiff,
don’t be an iron man.
I’d give anything if
I could have kith or kin
To give me such advice.
And now before our eyes
We see a god materialize,
who’s come to tell
You how to solve your puzzle.
He is benign.
You, as well,
must attend to his design.
HATECLEON: Yes, I support him and I shall provide
Whatever the old man needs, be it porridge,
Or something to lick, or a cape or a coat,
Or a tart to stroke and pep up his prick
(Perhaps his behind).
But he isn’t responding, won’t even grunt,
So I can’t help feeling a little put out.
CHORUS: But now he’s scolding himself for what before
Was his way of acting, his madness for the law.
Now he sees quite clearly where he went dead wrong
In ignoring all your warnings, but perhaps at last
He hears and goes along
With what you’re telling him,
And is prepared once and for all to listen at least
To you and not be dumb.
LOVECLEON: Oh oh oh!
HATECLEON: Why the blubbing?
LOVECLEON: I don’t want any of the things you offer,
What I crave is something over yonder:
Where the court crier cries:
“Stand up, all those who haven’t voted yet.”
Ah, just to stand
By the ballot box! What joy to cast
The final vote!
Advance, O Heart! Where are you, Heart?
Let me pass,
You shadowy!323 . . . No, Heracles,
I’d better listen to what you urge
And make sure I’m not a judge
Who has a brief
Convicting Cleon of being a thief.
HATECLEON: Listen to me, Pop, in heaven’s name.
LOVECLEON: Whatever you say, except for a single point.
HATECLEON: And what is that?
LOVECLEON: To give up being a judge. That I can’t.
I’d rather go and judge in Hades’ realm.
HATECLEON: Very well then, since judging’s what you most enjoy,
you don’t have to go down there—why bother?
Stay up here and use the servants as judging fodder.
LOVECLEON: Charged with what? What’s your ploy?
HATECLEON: You’ll be doing what you always do in court.
If a maid leaves a door ajar to peek,
Punish her severely for her cheek.
At your convenience judging will be done
If it’s warm at dawn, out there in the sun.
If it’s snowing, sitting by the fire.
If it rains, of course you then retire.
And if you sleep till noon, this boon:
That no official of the court
Is going to shut you out.
LOVECLEON: That suits me.
HATECLEON: But there’s more.
If someone’s going on and on about the law
you don’t have to sit there famishing and gnashing your
teeth,
nor does the plaintiff with his plea.
LOVECLEON: But if I’ve started to eat
how shall I judge just judgment if I’m munching away?
HATECLEON: You’ll do it even better than usual. People say
that false testimony is excellent food for chewing.
LOVECLEON: I find that convincing.
But one thing you haven’t told me:
where does my pay come from?
HATECLEON: From me.
LOVECLEON: Sure! So I’ll get it personally and won’t have to share.
Let me tell you the dirty trick
that Lysistratus,324 that absurd hick,
played on me the other day.
When we got our drachma, our joint pay,
and went to the fishmonger to get it changed,
he came back with three mullet scales,
which I popped into my mouth to test
thinking they were obols. . . . Yuk! The smell, the taste!
I retched and spat them out and brought suit.
HATECLEON: And what was his defense?
LOVECLEON: Imagine: “You have the gizzard of a cock”—was his
remark—
“and can digest pence.”
HATECLEON: Not a bad advantage, that!
LOVECLEON: Not at all bad! . . . But do proceed.
HATECLEON: Hang on a minute, and I’ll bring out what we need.
[He goes into the house.]
LOVECLEON: See how the facts fit the fate foretold! It was said that one day the Athenians would hold their courts at hom
e, and that every man would fix his own little household dock. Every doorstep would have one, like Hecate’s altars, goddess-of-moon.325
[HATECLEON returns with SERVANTS carrying files, dossiers, blankets, cushions, and whatever is needed for an outdoor trial, including a chamber pot for LOVECLEON and a CAGED COCK to wake him up.]
HATECLEON: Look! Now what do you say?
I’ve brought everything I’ve told you of and more,
and as for the pot for when you want to pee,
we can hang it on this peg.
LOVECLEON: That was smart: the right tool
for a dotard’s lack of control.
HATECLEON: And here’s fire, and here’s some lentil soup to sip
anytime you choose.
LOVECLEON: All fine and dandy! So I’ll get my pay even if I have the flu. I’ll just sit out here and sip the soup. . . . But what’s the bird for?
HATECLEON: To crow and wake you up if you’re having a snooze
during a plaintiff’s palaver.
LOVECLEON: All to my liking but there’s one thing I would
rather—
HATECLEON: Like? And what is that?
LOVECLEON: Could you possibly set up an altar to Lycus.326
HATECLEON: [pointing to a nearby shrine] There it is.
[He seizes a HOUSEBOY and makes him stand on the altar like a statue.]
And there is the hero himself.
LOVECLEON: O lord and hero, it’s hard to make you out.
[He goes closer to inspect the boy.]
HATECLEON: As hard to see as Cleonymus is!
LOVECLEON: That’s why this hero’s got no weapon.327
HATECLEON: [to LOVECLEON] The sooner you take your seat
the sooner a suit can happen.
LOVECLEON: Go ahead, call a suit. I happen
to have been sitting from the start.
HATECLEON: Well, now let me see. What suit shall it be that I bring on first?
Who’s done something bad in the house?
What about that Thracian girl who burned the pot?
LOVECLEON: Stop! This is absolutely the worst.
You can’t call a court case without a court fence.
That’s the most sacred item of the lot.
HATECLEON: Great Scott! There isn’t one.
LOVECLEON: Just let me nip into the house
and find something that’ll do.
[LOVECLEON goes into the house.]
HATECLEON: What a curse—this tyranny of place!
[XANTHIAS runs out of the house, shouting.]
XANTHIAS: Drat the dog! Fancy keeping a beast like that!
HATECLEON: Hey, what’s going on?
XANTHIAS: That dog Labes—likes slipping into the kitchen,
seizing a Sicilian cheese
and wolfing the lot.
HATECLEON: Very well then, let this be the first case
submitted to my father,
and Xanthias can prosecute.
XANTHIAS: Not on your life! If a case is brought
the other dog says he’ll prosecute.
HATECLEON: All right, bring them both out here.
XANTHIAS: Of course.
[XANTHIAS goes into the house as LOVECLEON comes out with pieces of fencing.]
HATECLEON: What on earth?
LOVECLEON: A bit of Hestia’s pig fence.328
HATECLEON: So you desecrated Hestia’s hearth?
LOVECLEON: Naturally I had to begin with her
because I’m out for slaughter.
So hurry up and call the defense.
I’m itching to sentence.
HATECLEON: Ready then? Bring out the briefs and the rights.
LOVECLEON: And for God’s sake get on with it.
We can’t spend the whole day.
I’m aching to indict.
HATECLEON: All set?
LOVECLEON: I’m on my way.
HATECLEON: Good!
LOVECLEON: Who’s first?
HATECLEON: Damn and blast! I’ve forgotten the voting urns.
LOVECLEON: Hey, where are you running to?
HATECLEON: To get the urns.
LOVECLEON: Don’t bother. These saucepans will do.
HATECLEON: Great! We’ve got the lot except the water clock
to measure the speech turns.
LOVECLEON: What’s this chamber pot if not a water clock?
HATECLEON: You’ve certainly got the nous
common to this land.
Someone fetch the goods,
fire from the house,
And myrtle wreaths and incense,
so we can commence
Our prayers to the gods.
CHORUS: And we as well join in your prayer
and in your pact.
We’ll hymn you a hymn because I declare,
noble as you are,
You’ve behaved with tact, controlled your vim,
and stopped your war.
HATECLEON: Let there be a solemn silence for the start.
LEADER: O Phoebus Apollo, Lord—your blessing!
CHORUS: The ingenuity of the man
Who at our very door has done
A blessed thing and won
Us peace,
O Lord Apollo.
HATECLEON: O Lord Apollo, King, who’s next my very door,329
Deign to accept this novel ritual, King, for my father.
Cleanse the harshness and the hardness of his temper.
Sweeten his heart with the sweetness of a little honey
To deal with others more
Gently in everything,
And favor the accused rather than accuser;
And let a tear drop for a pleader,
And abandon his bad temper
And draw the sting
From his anger.
LEADER: [to HATECLEON] We chant together with you in your
prayer,
And celebrate in song this new beginning.
CHORUS: We were with you, once we saw that
More than any you served the people,
At least among the younger set.
HATECLEON: All you jurors outside, come in. No admission after pleas begin.
[Two dogs are led in: LABES330 and CLEONACUR.]
LOVECLEON: [looking at LABES]
So this is the defendant? It’ll go hard with him.
HATECLEON: The charge is as follows: Cleonacur,
the Dog of Cydathen, accuses Labes of Aexone
of assaulting a Sicilian cheese,
which, all on his own, he swallows.
Proposed penalty: a collar of fig wood.
LOVECLEON: Nonsense! A dog’s death if he’s convicted.
HATECLEON: Labes, the defendant, is here present.
LOVECLEON: The utter cur! You can see that he’s a thief.
Look at that smirk! He thinks that I’ll relent.
But where’s the Dog of Cydathen, accuser with his brief?
CLEONACUR: Woof woof!
HATECLEON: He’s present.
XANTHIAS: He’s just another Labes:
good at yelping and licking platters clean.
HATECLEON: Quiet in the court. Be seated. Prosecutor, proceed.
LOVECLEON: Meanwhile, I’ll sip some of that soup of bean.
CLEONACUR: [The actors playing the two dogs would be distinguished by
their masks.]
Men of the jury, you’ve heard
the charge I have preferred.
This dog is guilty of a heinous deed
against not only me but all the seamen of the port331
slinking into a corner with an entire Sicilian cheese
and Sicilizing it to naught—
in the dark, if you please.
LOVECLEON: A clear case, indeed!
Right in my face, he’s just belched out
a cheesy blast, the brute.
CLEONACUR: And when I suggested it,
he wouldn’t share with me a bite.
How can yo
u expect from your dog, tell me this,
a square deal when he rarely gets a square meal?
LOVECLEON: Share? Not he:
not with the rest of us—that’s me. . . .
My, this bean soup’s as fiery as he is!
HATECLEON: For God’s sake, Pa, don’t pass sentence
till you’ve heard both sides.
LOVECLEON: A clear case, my boy—it yelps to heaven.
CLEONACUR: You musn’t let him go scot-free—forgiven.
He’s the champion all-for-me guzzler of guzzling hounds.
He coasted round the platter
and gobbled up the rind right off the towns.
LOVECLEON: And here’s me,
without even the stuff to mend one of my jugs!
CLEONACUR: Wherefore, you must punish him, for as they say:
“One coppice cannot cover two thieves.”
My barking then will not be wasted time,
or I’ll never bark again.
LOVECLEON: Wow wow! What wickedness this proves!
What a master thief the culprit is!
Don’t you agree, Cock-a-doodle?332 Yes, he says:
by that wink, ye gods, he does.
Hey there, clerk—my pot please.
HATECLEON: Get it yourself; I’m calling the witnesses.
[shouting into the house]
Bowl, mortar, cheese grater, griddle, pot,
present yourselves.
[The various UTENSILS march in.]
You there, Lovecleon, still on the pot?
Why have you not
taken your place?
LOVECLEON: I know, but Labes is going to shit himself very soon.
HATECLEON: Stop being hard and peevish, please!
Advance, Labes, to make your defense.
[LABES moves, without uttering a sound.]
LOVECLEON: He has nothing to say, does this one.
HATECLEON: No, I think it’s the same plight
that befell Thucydides when he was on the stand:
his jaws suddenly jammed.
[to LABES]
Step aside and I’ll present your defense.
[to the JURY]
It’s difficult, gentlemen, to advance
the cause of a slandered dog, but speak I shall,