Cleon now comes on the stage, with the usual cry, “The commonwealth is in danger,” and is immediately followed by the Chorus, who attack him in an indignant burst, which defies translation. A long scene of abuse and recrimination follows for near three hundred lines, in the course of which every art and trade is made to contribute to the contest of abuse, till Cleon at length accuses his rival of having received ten talents as a bribe. “What then,” he replies, “will you take one of them to hold your tongue?” “That he will, and gladly,” replies the Chorus: “see, the wind is going down already.” The satire was the keener, because Cleon had recently been fined five talents on a conviction for bribery.[96] At length, being somewhat worsted, he leaves the stage, with the threat of denouncing to the council “the nightly meetings in the city, and conspiracies with the Medes and Bœotians,” in which his tormentors are engaged. The sausage–seller follows to countermine him, and the stage is left clear for the Parabasis, or customary address of the Chorus to the audience. This was generally unconnected with the play, and served as an opportunity for the author to deliver his sentiments upon all things and all people. It was chiefly satirical, but in Aristophanes is usually intermixed with passages of a highly poetical cast, which strike the more from being introduced by a change in the metre. We cannot shorten or garble it, and the passage is too long, and would be too unintelligible, to be given entire.[97] At the close of it, the sausage–seller returns, to acquaint his anxious friends with his success.
Saus. Straight as he went from hence, I clapt all sail
And followed close behind. Within I found him
Launching his bolts, and thunder–driving words,
Denouncing all the knights as traitors, vile
Conspirators—jags, crags, and masses huge
Of stone were nothing to the monstrous words
His foaming mouth heaved up. All this to hear
Did the grave council seriously incline;
They love a tale of scandal in their hearts,
And his had been as quick in birth as golden–herb:
Mustard was in their faces, and their brows
With frowns were furrowed up. I saw the storm,
Marked how his words had sunk upon them, taking
Their very senses prisoners:—and oh!
In knavery’s name thought I,—by all the fools,
And scrubs, and rogues, and scoundrels in the town—
By that same market, where my early youth
Received its first instruction, let me gather
True courage now: be oil upon my tongue,
And shameless impudence direct my speech.
Just as these thoughts passed over me, I heard
A sound of thunder pealing on my right.[98]
I marked the omen—grateful, kissed the ground,
And pushing briskly through the lattice–work,
Raised my voice to its highest pitch, and thus
Began upon them: “Messieurs of the Senate,
I bring good news, and hope your favour for it.
Anchovies, such as since this war began,
Ne’er crossed my eyes for cheapness, do this day
Adorn our markets.”—At the words, a calm
Came over every face, and all was hushed.
A crown[99] was voted me upon the spot.
Then I (the thought was of the moment’s birth)
Making a mighty secret of it, bade them
Put pans and pots in instant requisition,
And then—one obol loads you with anchovies.
Then rose the clap of hands, and every face
Gaped into mine, in idiot vacancy.
My Paphlagonian, seeing by what words
The council best were pleased, thus uttered him:
“Sirs, Gentlemen, ‘tis my good will and pleasure
That for this kindly news, we sacrifice[100]
One hundred oxen to our patron goddess.”
Straight the tide turned, each head within the senate
Nodded assent, and warm good will to Cleon.
What! shall a little bull–flesh gain the day,
Thought I within me: then aloud, and shooting
Beyond his mark: I double, sirs, this vote;
Nay, more, sirs, should to–morrow’s sun see sprats
One hundred to the penny sold, I move
That we make offering of a thousand goats[101]
Unto Diana. Every head was raised,
And all turned eyes on me. This was a blow
He ne’er recovered: straight he fell to words
Of idle import, and the officers
Were now upon him. All meantime was uproar
In th’ assembly—nought talked of but anchovies—
How fared our statesman? he with suppliant tones
Begged a few moments’ pause; Rest ye, sirs, rest ye
Awhile—I have a tale will pay the hearing—
A herald brings from Sparta terms of peace,
And craves to utter them before you. “Peace!”
Cried all (their voices one), “is this a time
To talk of peace?—out, dotard! What, the rogues
Have heard the price anchovies sell for! Peace!
Who cares for peace now? let the war go on;
And, chairman, break the assembly up.” ‘Twas done—
On every side, one moment clears the rails!
I the mean time steal privately away
And buy me all the leeks and coriander
In the market: these I straight make largess of,
And gratis give, as sauce to dress their fish.
Who may recount the praises infinite,
And groom–like courtesies this bounty gained me!
In short, you see a man, that for one pennyworth
Of coriander vile, has purchased him
An entire senate: not a man among them
But is at my behest, and does me reverence.
Mitchell, p. 217, 221.
So soon as the Chorus has expressed its high satisfaction, Cleon enters, and the war of words is renewed with equal spirit, till he calls upon Demus to appear, and see what ill treatment he suffers on his account. Demus hears the candidates for his favour, and resolves to call an assembly to decide on their claims; but he insists that it shall be held in his proper seat, the Pnyx, to the dismay of the sausage–seller, who exclaims that he is ruined; since Demus, though a clever fellow anywhere else, is a gaping ninny when he gets on one of those stone benches.[102] However, there is no help for it; the scene changes to the Pnyx, and the sausage–seller makes a favourable impression by presenting to Demus a cushion to keep him from the bare stone, with a most pathetic reference to his exploits at Salamis;[103] a subject in reference to which the Athenians would swallow any amount of flattery. Having gained the ear of the court, he exposes the mischievous tendency of Cleon’s warlike politics, all the gain of which was his own, while the evil and inconvenience were the portion of Demus. This produces an effect which all the protestations of Cleon cannot remove. “You that profess such devotion,” continues his enemy, “did you ever, out of all the hides you sell, give him so much as a pair of shoes?” “Not he, indeed,” replies Demus. A pair is immediately presented, and the provident donor receives the grateful assurance, that of all men living he is the best friend to the people, the city, “and to my toes.” This specimen will probably be sufficient: the result is altogether favourable to the sausage–seller, who is put in possession of Cleon’s signet of office. The latter still has a resource: he appeals to his favourite oracles; but even here he meets with his match. They both quit the stage, and return laden.
Demus.——————What may you bear?
Cleon. Predictions, oracles.
Demus.————————What, all!
Cleon.–—————————————Now you
Admire, and yet a chest filled to the brim
Is left behind.
Saus.——I have a garret stored
With them, and eke two dwelling–chambers whole.
Demus. And who has worded these?