Peace (Aristophanes)

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[edit] Peace

FIRST SERVANT: Quick, quick, bring the dung-beetle his cake.

SECOND SERVANT: There it is. Give it to him, and may it kill him! And may he never eat a better.

FIRST SERVANT: Now give him this other one kneaded up with ass' dung.

SECOND SERVANT: There! I've done that too. And where's what you gave him just now? Surely he can't have devoured it yet!

FIRST SERVANT: Indeed he had; he snatched it, rolled it between his feet and bolted it. Come, hurry up, knead up a lot and knead them stiffly.

SECOND SERVANT: Oh, scavengers, help me in the name of the gods, if you do not wish to see me fall down choked.

FIRST SERVANT: Come, come, another made from the stool of a fairy's favourite. That will be to the beetle's taste; he likes it well ground.

SECOND SERVANT: There! I am free at least from suspicion; none will accuse me of tasting what I mix.

FIRST SERVANT: Faugh! come, now another! keep on mixing with all your might.

SECOND SERVANT: By god, no. I can stand this awful cesspool stench no longer.

FIRST SERVANT: I shall bring you the whole ill-smelling gear.

SECOND SERVANT: Pitch it down the sewer sooner, and yourself with it.

To the AUDIENCE

Maybe, one of you can tell me where I can buy a stopped-up nose, for there is no work more disgusting that to mix food for a dung-beetle and to carry it to him. A pig or a dog will at least pounce upon our excrement without more ado, but this foul wretch affects the disdainful, the spoilt mistress, and won't eat unless I offer him a cake that has been kneaded for an entire day . . . . But let us open the door a bit ajar without his seeing it. Has he done eating? Come, pluck up courage, cram yourself till you burst! The cursed creature! It wallows in its food! It grips it between its claws like a wrestler clutching his opponent, and with head and feet together rolls up its paste like a rope-maker twisting a hawser. What an indecent, stinking, gluttonous beast! I don't know what angry god let this monster loose upon us, but of a certainty it was neither Aphrodite nor the Graces.

FIRST SERVANT: Who was it then?

SECOND SERVANT: No doubt Zeus, the God of the Thunderclap.

FIRST SERVANT: But perhaps some spectator, some beardless youth, who thinks himself a sage, will say, "What is this? What does the beetle mean?" And then an Ionian, sitting next to him, will add, "I think it's an allusion to Cleon, who so shamelessly feeds on filth all by himself."--But now I'm going indoors to fetch the beetle a drink.

SECOND SERVANT: As for me, I will explain the matter to you all, children, youths, grownups and old men, aye, even to the decrepit dotards. My master is mad, not as you are, but with another sort of madness, quite a new kind. The livelong day he looks open-mouthed towards heaven and never stops addressing Zeus. "Ah! Zeus!," he cries, "what are thy intentions? Lay aside thy besom; do not sweep Greece away!" Ah! Hush, hush! I think I hear his voice!

TRYGAEUS from within: Oh! Zeus, what art thou going to do for our people? Dost thou not see this, that our cities will soon be but empty husks?

SECOND SERVANT: As I told you, that is his form of madness. There you have a sample of his follies. When his trouble first began to seize him, he said to himself, "By what means could I go straight to Zeus? Then he made himself very slender little ladders and so clambered up towards heaven; but he soon came hurtling down again and broke his head. Yesterday, to our misfortune, he went out and brought us back this thoroughbred, but from where I know not, this great beetle, whose groom he has forced me to become. He himself caresses it as though it were a horse, saying, "Oh! my little Pegasus, my noble aerial steed, may your wings soon bear me straight to Zeus!" But what is my master doing? I must stoop down to look through this hole. Oh! great gods! Here! neighbours, run here quick! here is my master flying off mounted on his beetle as if on horseback.

The Machine brings in TRYGAEUS astride an enormous figure of a dung beetle with wings spread.

TRYGAEUS intoning: Gently, gently, go easy, beetle; don't start off so proudly, or trust at first too greatly to your powers; wait till you have sweated, till the beating of your wings shall make your limb joints supple. Above all things, don't let off some foul smell. I adjure you; else I would rather have you stay right in the stable.

SECOND SERVANT intoning: Poor master! Is he crazy?

TRYGAEUS intoning: Silence! silence!

SECOND SERVANT intoning: But why start up into the air on chance?

TRYGAEUS intoning: 'Tis for the weal of all the Greeks; I am attempting a daring and novel feat.

SECOND SERVANT intoning: But what is your purpose? What useless folly!

TRYGAEUS intoning: No words of ill omen! Give vent to joy and command all men to keep silence, to close down their drains and privies with new tiles and to cork up their own arses.

FIRST SERVANT intoning: No, I shall not be silent, unless you tell me where you are going.

TRYGAEUS: Why, where am I likely to be going across the sky, if it be not to visit Zeus?

FIRST SERVANT: For what purpose?

TRYGAEUS: I want to ask him what he reckons to do for all the Greeks.

SECOND SERVANT: And if he doesn't tell you?

TRYGAEUS: I shall pursue him at law as a traitor who sells Greece to the Medes.

SECOND SERVANT: Death seize me, if I let you go.

TRYGAEUS: It is absolutely necessary.

SECOND SERVANT loudly: Alas! alas! dear little girls, your father is deserting you secretly to go to heaven. Ah! poor orphans, entreat him, beseech him.

The little daughters of TRYGAEUS come out.

LITTLE DAUGHTER singing: Father! father! what is this I hear? Is it true? What! you would leave me, you would vanish into the sky, you would go to the crows? Impossible! Answer, father, if you love me.

TRYGAEUS singing: Yes, I am going. You hurt me too sorely, my daughters, when you ask me for bread, calling me your daddy, and there is not the ghost of an obolus in the house; if I succeed and come back, you will have a barley loaf every morning--and a punch in the eye for sauce!

LITTLE DAUGHTER: But how will you make the journey? There's no ship that will take you there.

TRYGAEUS: No, but this winged steed will.

LITTLE DAUGHTER: But what an idea, papa, to harness a beetle, to fly to the gods on.

TRYGAEUS: We see from Aesop's fables that they alone can fly to the abode of the Immortals.

LITTLE DAUGHTER: Father, father, that's a tale nobody can believe! that such a smelly creature can have gone to the gods.

TRYGAEUS: It went to have vengeance on the eagle and break its eggs.

LITTLE DAUGHTER: Why not saddle Pegasus? you would have a more tragic appearance in the eyes of the gods.

TRYGAEUS: Eh! don't you see, little fool, that then twice the food would be wanted? Whereas my beetle devours again as filth what I have eaten myself.

LITTLE DAUGHTER: And if it fell into the watery depths of the sea, could it escape with its wings?

TRYGAEUS exposing himself: I am fitted with a rudder in case of need, and my Naxos beetle will serve me as a boat.

LITTLE DAUGHTER: And what harbour will you put in at?

TRYGAEUS: Why is there not the harbour of Cantharus at the Piraeus?

LITTLE DAUGHTER: Take care not to knock against anything and so fall off into space; once a cripple, you would be a fit subject for Euripides, who would put you into a tragedy.

TRYGAEUS as the Machine hoists him higher: I'll see to it. Good-bye!

To the Athenians

You, for love of whom I brave these dangers, do ye neither fart nor crap for the space of three days, for, if, while cleaving the air, my steed should scent anything, he would fling me head foremost from the summit of my hopes.

Intoning

Now come, my Pegasus, get a-going with up-pricked ears and make your golden bridle resound gaily. Eh! what are you doing? What are you up to? Do you turn your nose towards the cesspools? Come, pluck up a spirit; rush upwards from the earth, stretch out your speedy wings and make straight for the palace of Zeus; for once give up foraging in your daily good.--Hi! you down there, what are you after now? Oh! my god! it's a man taking a crap in the Piraeus, close to the whorehouses. But is it my death you seek then, my death? Will you not bury that right away and pile a great heap of earth upon it and plant wild thyme therein and pour perfumes on it? If I were to fall from up here and misfortune happened to me, the town of Chios would owe a fine of five talents for my death, all because of your damned arse.

Speaking

Alas! how frightened I am! oh! I have no heart for jests. Ah! machinist, take great care of me. There is already a wind whirling round my navel; take great care or, from sheer fright, I shall form food for my beetle . . . . But I think I am no longer far from the gods; aye, that is the dwelling of Zeus, I perceive.

The beetle descends and comes to a halt in front of the house of ZEUS. TRYGAEUS dismounts and knocks at the door.

Hullo! Hi! where is the doorkeeper? Will no one open?

HERMES from within: I think I can sniff a man.

Opening the door

Why, what plague is this?

TRYGAEUS: A horse-beetle.

HERMES: Oh! impudent, shameless rascal! oh! scoundrel! triple scoundrel! the greatest scoundrel in the world! how did you come here? Oh! scoundrel of all scoundrels! your name? Reply.

TRYGAEUS: Triple scoundrel.

HERMES: Your country.

TRYGAEUS: Triple scoundrel.

HERMES: Your father?

TRYGAEUS: My father? Triple scoundrel.

HERMES: By the Earth, you shall die, unless you tell me your name.

TRYGAEUS: I am Trygaeus of the Athmonian deme, a good vine-dresser, little addicted to quibbling and not at all an informer.

HERMES: Why do you come?

TRYGAEUS: I come to bring you this meat.

HERMES changing his tone: Ah! my good friend, did you have a good journey?

TRYGAEUS: Glutton, be off! I no longer seem a triple scoundrel to you. Come, call Zeus.

HERMES: Ah! ah! you are a long way yet from reaching the gods, for they moved yesterday.

TRYGAEUS: To what part of the earth?

HERMES: Eh! of the earth, did you say?

TRYGAEUS: In short, where are they then?

HERMES: Very far, very far, right at the furthest end of the dome of heaven.

TRYGAEUS: But why have they left you all alone here?

HERMES: I am watching what remains of the furniture, the little pots and pans, the bits of chairs and tables, and odd wine-jars.

TRYGAEUS: And why have the gods moved away?

HERMES: Because of their wrath against the Greeks. They have located War in the house they occupied themselves and have given him full power to do with you exactly as he pleases; then they went up as high up as ever they could, so as to see no more of your fights and to hear no more of your prayers.

TRYGAEUS: What reason have they for treating us so?

HERMES: Because they have afforded you an opportunity for peace more than once, but you have always preferred war. If the Laconians got the very slightest advantage, they would exclaim, "By the Twin Brethren! the Athenians shall smart for this." If, on the contrary, the latter triumphed and the Laconians came with peace proposals, you would say, "By Demeter, they want to deceive us. No, by Zeus, we will not hear a word; they will always be coming as long as we hold Pylos."

TRYGAEUS: Yes, that is quite the style our folk do talk in.

HERMES: So that I don't know whether you will ever see Peace again.

TRYGAEUS: Why, where has she gone to then?

HERMES: War has cast her into a deep pit.

TRYGAEUS: Where?

HERMES: Down there, at the very bottom. And you see what heaps of stones he has piled over the top, so that you should never pull her out again.

TRYGAEUS: Tell me, what is War preparing against us?

HERMES: All I know is that last evening he brought along a huge mortar.

TRYGAEUS: And what is he going to do with his mortar?

HERMES: He wants to pound up all the cities of Greece in it . . . . But I must say good-bye, for I think he is coming out; what an uproar he is making!

He departs in haste.

TRYGAEUS: Ah! great gods, let us seek safety; I think I already hear the noise of this fearful war mortar.

He hides.

WAR enters, carrying a huge mortar: Oh! mortals, mortals, wretched mortals, how your jaws will snap!

TRYGAEUS: Oh! divine Apollo! what a prodigious big mortar! Oh, what misery the very sight of War causes me! This then is the foe from whom I fly, who is so cruel, so formidable, so stalwart, so solid on his legs!

WAR: Oh! Prasiae! thrice wretched, five times, aye, a thousand times wretched! for thou shalt be destroyed this day.

He throws some leeks into the mortar.

TRYGAEUS to the audience: This, gentlemen, does not concern us over much; it's only so much the worse for the Laconians.

WAR: Oh! Megara! Megara! utterly are you going to be ground up! what fine mincemeat are you to be made into!

He throws in some garlic.

TRYGAEUS aside: Alas! alas! what bitter tears there will be among the Megarians!

WAR throwing in some cheese: Oh, Sicily! you too must perish! Your wretched towns shall be grated like this cheese. Now let us pour some Attic honey into the mortar.

He does so.

TRYGAEUS aside: Oh! I beseech you! use some other honey; this kind is worth four obols; be careful, oh! be careful of our Attic honey.

WAR: Hi! Tumult, you slave there!

TUMULT: What do you want?

WAR: Out upon you! Standing there with folded arms! Take this cuff on the head for your pains.

TUMULT: Oh! how it stings! Master, have you got garlic in your fist, I wonder?

WAR: Run and fetch me a pestle.

TUMULT: But we haven't got one; it was only yesterday we moved.

WAR: Go and fetch me one from Athens, and hurry, hurry!

TUMULT: I'll hurry; if I return without one, I shall have no cause for laughing.

He runs off.

TRYGAEUS to the audience: Ah! what is to become of us, wretched mortals that we are? See the danger that threatens if he returns with the pestle, for War will quietly amuse himself with pounding all the towns of Hellas to pieces. Ah! Bacchus! cause this herald of evil to perish on his road!

WAR to the returning TUMULT: Well?

TUMULT: Well, what?

WAR: You have brought back nothing?

TUMULT: Alas! the Athenians have lost their pestle--the tanner, who ground Greece to powder.

TRYGAEUS: Oh! Athene, venerable mistress! it is well for our city he is dead, and before he could serve us with this hash.

WAR: Then go and seek one at Sparta and have done with it!

TUMULT: Aye, aye, master!

He runs off.

WAR shouting after him: Be back as quick as ever you can.

TRYGAEUS to the audience: What is going to happen, friends? This is the critical hour. Ah! if there is some initiate of Samothrace among you, this is surely the moment to wish this messenger some accident--some sprain or strain.

TUMULT returning: Alas! alas! thrice again, alas!

WAR: What is it? Again you come back without it?

TUMULT: The Spartans too have lost their pestle.

WAR: How, varlet?

TUMULT: They had lent it to their allies in Thrace, who have lost it for them.

TRYGAEUS: Long life to you, Thracians! My hopes revive, pluck up courage, mortals!

WAR: Take all this stuff; I am going in to make a pestle for myself.

He goes in, followed by TUMULT.

TRYGAEUS coming out of his hiding-place: Now is the time to sing as Datis did, as he masturbated at high noon, "Oh pleasure! oh enjoyment! oh delights!" Now, oh Greeks! is the moment when freed of quarrels and fighting, we should rescue sweet Peace and draw her out of this pit, before some other pestle prevents us. Come, labourers, merchants, workmen, artisans, strangers, whether you be domiciled or not, islanders, come here, Greeks of all countries, come hurrying here with picks and levels and ropes! This is the moment to drain a cup in honour of the Good Genius.

The CHORUS enters; it consists of labourers and farmers from various Greek states.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Come hither all! quick, to the rescue! All peoples of Greece, now is the time or never, for you to help each other. You see yourselves freed from battles and all their horrors of bloodshed. The day hateful to Lamachus has come.

To TRYGAEUS

Come then, what must be done? Give your orders, direct us, or swear to work this day without ceasing, until with the help of our levers and our engines we have drawn back into light the greatest of all goddesses, her to whom the olive is so dear.

TRYGAEUS: Silence! if War should hear your shouts of joy he would bound forth from his retreat in fury.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Such a decree overwhelms us with joy; how different to the edict, which bade us muster with provisions for three days.

TRYGAEUS: Let us beware lest the cursed Cerberus prevent us even from the nethermost hell from delivering the goddess by his furious howling, just as he did when on earth.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Once we have hold of her, none in the world will be able to take her from us. Huzza! huzza!

TRYGAEUS: You will work my death if you don't subdue your shouts. War will come running out and trample everything beneath his feet.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Well then! Let him confound, let him trample, let him overturn everything! We cannot help giving vent to our joy.

TRYGAEUS: Oh! cruel fate! My friends! in the name of the gods, what possesses you? Your dancing will wreck the success of a fine undertaking.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: It's not I who want to dance; it's my legs that bound with delight.

TRYGAEUS: Enough, please, cease your gambols.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: There! That's all.

TRYGAEUS: You say so, and nevertheless you go on.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Yet one more figure and it's done.

TRYGAEUS: Well, just this one; then you must dance no more.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: No, no more dancing, if we can help you.

TRYGAEUS: But look, you are not stopping even now.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: By Zeus, I am only throwing up my right leg, that's all.

TRYGAEUS: Come, I grant you that, but pray, annoy me no further.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Ah! the left leg too will have its fling; well, that's its right. I am so happy, so delighted at not having to carry my buckler any more. I fart for joy and I laugh more than if I had cast my old age, as a serpent does its skin.

TRYGAEUS: No, it's not time for joy yet, for you are not sure of success. But when you have got the goddess, then rejoice, shout and laugh; thenceforward you will be able to sail or stay at home, to make love or sleep, to attend festivals and processions, to play at cottabos, live like true Sybarites and to shout, Io, io!

CHORUS singing: Ah! God grant we may see the blessed day. I have suffered so much; have so oft slept with Phormio on hard beds. You will no longer find me a bitter and angry judge . . .

TRYGAEUS singing: Nor, naturally, hard in your ways, as heretofore.

CHORUS singing: . . . but turned indulgent and grown younger by twenty years through happiness. We have been killing ourselves long enough, tiring ourselves out with going to the Lyceum and returning laden with spear and buckler.--But what can we do to please you? Come, speak; for 'tis a good Fate that has named you our leader.

TRYGAEUS: How shall we set about removing these stones?

HERMES who has just returned: Rash reprobate, what do you propose doing?

TRYGAEUS: Nothing bad, as Cillicon said.

HERMES: You are undone, you wretch.

TRYGAEUS: Yes, if the lot had to decide my life, for Hermes would know how to turn the chance.

HERMES: You are lost, you are dead.

TRYGAEUS: On what day?

HERMES: This instant.

TRYGAEUS: But I have not provided myself with flour and cheese yet to start for death.

HERMES: You are kneaded and ground already, I tell you.

TRYGAEUS: Hah! I have not yet tasted that gentle pleasure.

HERMES: Don't you know that Zeus has decreed death for him who is caught exhuming Peace?

TRYGAEUS: What! must I really and truly die?

HERMES: You must.

TRYGAEUS: Well then, lend me three drachmae to buy a young pig; I wish to have myself initiated before I die.

HERMES: Oh! Zeus, the Thunderer!

TRYGAEUS: I adjure you in the name of the gods, master, don't report us!

HERMES: I may not, I cannot keep silent.

TRYGAEUS: In the name of the meats which I brought you so good-naturedly.

HERMES: Why, wretched man, Zeus will annihilate me, if I do not shout out at the top of my voice, to inform him what you are plotting.

TRYGAEUS: Oh, no! don't shout, I beg you, dear little Hermes . . . . And what are you doing, comrades? You stand there as though you were rocks and stones. Wretched men, speak, entreat him at once; otherwise he will be shouting.

CHORUS singing: Oh! mighty Hermes! do not do it, do not do it! If ever you have eaten some young pig, sacrificed by us on your altars, with pleasure, may this offering not be without value in your sight to-day.

TRYGAEUS singing: Do you not hear them wheedling you, mighty god?

CHORUS singing: Be not pitiless toward our prayers; permit us to deliver the goddess. Oh! the most human, the most generous of the gods, be favourable toward us, if it be true that you detest the haughty crests and proud brows of Pisander; we shall never cease, oh master, offering you sacred victims and solemn prayers.

TRYGAEUS: Have mercy, mercy, yourself be touched by their words; never was your worship so dear to them as to-day.

Aside

Really they are the greatest thieves that ever were.

To HERMES

And I shall reveal to you a great and terrible plot that is being hatched against the gods.

HERMES: Hah! speak and perchance I shall let myself be softened.

TRYGAEUS: Know then, that the Moon and that infamous Sun are plotting against you, and want to deliver Greece into the hands of the barbarians.

HERMES: What for?

TRYGAEUS: Because it is to you that we sacrifice, whereas the barbarians worship them; hence they would like to see you destroyed, that they alone might receive the offerings.

HERMES: Is it then for this reason that these untrustworthy charioteers have for so long been defrauding us, one of them robbing us of daylight and the other nibbling away at the other's disk?

TRYGAEUS: Yes, certainly. So therefore, Hermes, my friend, help us with your whole heart to find and deliver the captive and we will celebrate the great Panathenaea in your honour as well as all the festivals of the other gods; for Hermes shall be the Mysteries, the Dipolia, the Adonia; everywhere the towns, freed from their miseries, will sacrifice to Hermes the Liberator; you will be loaded with benefits of every kind, and to start with, I offer you this cup for libations as your first present.

HERMES: Ah! how golden cups do influence me! Come, friends, get to work. To the pit quickly, pick in hand, and drag away the stones.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: We go, but you, cleverest of all the gods, supervise our labours; tell us, good workman as you are, what we must do; we shall obey your orders with alacrity.

They begin to lift the stones.

TRYGAEUS: Quick, reach me your cup, and let us preface our work by addressing prayers to the gods.

HERMES: Libation! Libation! Silence! Let us offer our libations and our prayers, so that this day may begin an era of unalloyed happiness for Greece and that he who has bravely pulled at the rope with us may never resume his buckler.

TRYGAEUS: Aye, may we pass our lives in peace, caressing our mistresses and poking the fire.

HERMES: May he who would prefer the war, oh Dionysus . . .

TRYGAEUS: Be ever drawing barbed arrows out of his elbows.

HERMES: If there be a citizen, greedy for military rank and honours, who refuses, oh, divine Peace! to restore you to daylight . . .

TRYGAEUS: May he behave as cowardly as Cleonymus on the battlefield.

HERMES: If a lance-maker or a dealer in shields desires war for the sake of better trade . . .

TRYGAEUS: May he be taken by pirates and eat nothing but barley.

HERMES: If some ambitious man does not help us, because he wants to become a General, or if a slave is plotting to pass over to the enemy . . .

TRYGAEUS: Let his limbs be broken on the wheel, may he be beaten to death with rods!

HERMES: As for us, may Fortune favour us! Io! Paean, Io!

TRYGAEUS: Don't say Paean, but simply, Io.

HERMES: Very well, then! Io! Io! Io! I'll simply say, Io!

TRYGAEUS: To Hermes, the Graces, the Horae, Aphrodite, Eros!

HERMES: But not to Ares.

TRYGAEUS: No.

HERMES: Nor to Enyalius.

TRYGAEUS: No.

The stones have been removed and a rope attached to the cover of the pit. The indented portions of the following scene are a sort of chanty.

HERMES: Come, all strain at the ropes to tear off the cover. Pull!

CHORUS: Heave away, heave, heave, oh!

HERMES: Come, pull harder, harder.

CHORUS: Heave away, heave, heave, oh!

HERMES: Still harder, harder still.

CHORUS: Heave away, heave, heave, oh!

TRYGAEUS: Come, come, there is no working together. Come! all pull at the same instant! you Boeotians are only pretending. Beware!

HERMES: Come, heave away, heave!

TRYGAEUS: Heave away, heave oh!

CHORUS: Hi! you two pull as well.

TRYGAEUS: Why, I am pulling, I am hanging on to the rope and straining till I am almost off my feet; I am working with all my might.

CHORUS: Why does the work not advance then?

TRYGAEUS: Lamachus, this is terrible! You are in the way, sitting there. We have no use for your Medusa's head, friend. But wait, the Argives have not pulled the least bit; they have done nothing but laugh at us for our pains while they were getting gain with both hands.

HERMES: Ah! my dear sir, the Laconians at all events pull with vigour.

TRYGAEUS: But look! only those among them who generally hold the plough-trail show any zeal, while the armourers impede them in their efforts.

HERMES: And the Megarians too are doing nothing, yet look how they are pulling and showing their teeth like famished curs.

TRYGAEUS: The poor wretches are dying of hunger I suppose.

HERMES: This won't do, friends. Come! all together! Everyone to the work and with a good heart for the business.

CHORUS: Heave away, heave!

HERMES: Harder!

CHORUS: Heave away, heave!

HERMES: Come on then, by heaven.

CHORUS: We are moving it a little.

TRYGAEUS: Isn't it terrible and stupid! some pull one way and others another. You Argives there, beware of a thrashing!

HERMES: Come, put your strength into it.

TRYGAEUS: Heave away, heave!

CHORUS: There are many ill-disposed folk among us.

TRYGAEUS: Do you at least, who long for peace, pull heartily.

CHORUS: But there are some who prevent us.

HERMES: Off to the Devil with you, Megarians! The goddess hates you. She recollects that you were the first to rub her the wrong way. Athenians, you are not well placed for pulling. There you are too busy with law-suits; if you really want to free the goddess, get down a little towards the sea.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Come, friends, none but husbandmen on the rope.

HERMES: Ah! that will do ever so much better.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: He says the thing is going well. Come, all of you, together and with a will.

TRYGAEUS: It's the husbandmen who are doing all the work.

CHORUS: Come then, come, and all together!

HERMES: Hah! hah! at last there is some unanimity in the work.

CHORUS: Don't let us give up, let us redouble our efforts.

HERMES: There! now we have it!

CHORUS: Come then, all together! Heave away, heave! Heave away, heave! Heave away, heave! Heave away, heave! Heave away, heave! All together!

PEACE is drawn out of the pit. With her come OPORA and THEORIA.

TRYGAEUS: Oh! venerated goddess, who givest us our grapes, where am I to find the ten-thousand-gallon words wherewith to greet thee? I have none such at home. Oh! hail to thee, Opora, and thee, Theoria! How beautiful is thy face! How sweet thy breath! What gentle fragrance comes from thy bosom, gentle as freedom from military duty, as the most dainty perfumes!

HERMES: Is it then a smell like a soldier's knapsack?

TRYGAEUS: Oh! hateful soldier! your hideous satchel makes me sick! it stinks like the belching of onions, whereas this lovable deity has the odour of sweet fruits, of festivals, of the Dionysia, of the harmony of flutes, of the tragic poets, of the verse of Sophocles, of the phrases of Euripides . . .

HERMES: That's a foul calumny, you wretch! She detests that framer of subtleties and quibbles.

TRYGAEUS ignoring this: . . . of ivy, of straining-bags for wine, of bleating ewes, of provision-laden women hastening to the kitchen, of the tipsy servant wench, of the upturned wine-jar, and of a whole heap of other good things.

HERMES: Then look how the reconciled towns chat pleasantly together, how they laugh . . . .

TRYGAEUS: And yet they are all cruelly mishandled; their wounds are bleeding still.

HERMES: But let us also scan the mien of the spectators; we shall thus find out the trade of each.

TRYGAEUS: Good god!

HERMES: Look at that poor crest-maker, tearing at his hair . . .

TRYGAEUS: . . . and at that pile-maker, who has just farted in yon sword-cutler's face.

HERMES: And do you see with what pleasure this sickle-maker . . .

TRYGAEUS: . . . is thumbing his nose at the spear-maker?

HERMES: Now tell the husbandmen to be off.

TRYGAEUS: Listen, good folk! Let the husbandmen take their farming tools and return to their fields as quickly as possible, but without either sword, spear or javelin. All is as quiet as if Peace had been reigning for a century. Come, let everyone go and till the earth, singing the Paean.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS to PEACE: Oh, thou, whom men of standing desired and who art good to husbandmen, I have gazed upon thee with delight; and now I go to greet my vines, to caress after so long an absence of the fig trees I planted in my youth.

TRYGAEUS: Friends, let us first adore the goddess, who has delivered us from crests and Gorgons; then let us hurry to our farms, having first bought a nice little piece of salt fish to eat in the fields.

HERMES: By Posidon! what a fine crew they make and dense as the crust of a cake; they are as nimble as guests on their way to a feast.

TRYGAEUS: See, how their iron spades glitter and how beautifully their three-pronged mattocks glisten in the sun! How regularly they align the plants! I also burn to go into the country and to turn over the earth I have so long neglected.--Friends, do you remember the happy life that Peace afforded us formerly; can you recall the splendid baskets of figs, both fresh and dried, the myrtles, the sweet wine, the violets blooming near the spring, and the olives, for which we have wept so much? Worship, adore the goddess for restoring you so many blessings.

CHORUS singing: Hail! hail! thou beloved divinity! thy return overwhelms us with joy. When far from thee, my ardent wish to see my fields again made me pine with regret. From thee came all blessings. Oh! much desired Peace! thou art the sole support of those who spend their lives tilling the earth. Under thy rule we had a thousand delicious enjoyments at our beck; thou wert the husbandman's wheaten cake and his safeguard. So that our vineyards, our young fig-tree woods and all our plantations hail thee with delight and smile at thy coming.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: But where was she then, I wonder, all the long time she spent away from us? Hermes, thou benevolent god, tell us!

HERMES: Wise husbandmen, hearken to my words, if you want to know why she was lost to you. The start of our misfortunes was the exile of Phidias; Pericles feared he might share his in-luck, he mistrusted your peevish nature and, to prevent all danger to himself, he threw out that little spark, the Megarian decree, set the city aflame, and blew up the conflagration with a hurricane of war, so that the smoke drew tears from all Greeks both here and over there. At the very outset of this fire our vines were a-crackle, our casks knocked together; it was beyond the power of any man to stop the disaster, and Peace disappeared.

TRYGAEUS: That, by Apollo, is what no one ever told me; I could not think what connection there could be between Phidias and Peace.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Nor I, until now. This accounts for her beauty, if she is related to him. There are so many things that escape us.

HERMES: Then, when the towns subject to you saw that you were angered one against the other and were showing each other your teeth like dogs, they hatched a thousand plots to pay you no more dues and gained over the chief citizens of Sparta at the price of gold. They, being as shamelessly greedy as they were faithless in diplomacy, chased off Peace with ignominy to let loose War. Though this was profitable to them, it was the ruin of the husbandmen, who were innocent of all blame; for, in revenge, your galleys went out to devour their figs.

TRYGAEUS: And with justice too; did they not break down my black fig tree, which I had planted and dunged with my own hands?

LEADER OF THE CHORUS: Yes, by Zeus! yes, that was well done; the wretches broke a chest for me with stones, which held six medimni of corn.

HERMES: Then the rural labourers flocked into the city and let themselves be bought over like the others. Not having even a grape-stone to munch and longing after their figs, they looked towards the demagogues. These well knew that the poor were driven to extremity and lacked even bread; but they nevertheless drove away the Goddess, each time she reappeared in answer to the wish of the contry, with their loud shrieks that were as sharp as pitchforks; furthermore, they attacked the well-filled purses of the richest among our allies on the pretence that they belonged to Brasidas' party. And then you would tear the poor accused wretch to pieces with your teeth; for the city, all pale with hunger and cowed with terror, gladly snapped up any calumny that was thrown it to devour. So the strangers, seeing what terrible blows the informers dealt, sealed their lips with gold. They grew rich, while you, alas! you could only see that Greece was going to ruin. It was the tanner who was the author of all this woe.

TRYGAEUS: Enough said, Hermes leave that man in Hades, whither he had gone; be no longer belongs to us, but rather to you. That he was a cheat, a braggart, a calumniator when alive, why, nothing could be truer; but anything you might say now would be an insult to one of your own folk.

To PEACE

Oh! venerated Goddess! why are thou silent?

HERMES: And how could she speak to the spectators? She is too angry at all they have made her suffer.

TRYGAEUS: At least let her speak a little to you, Hermes.

HERMES: Tell me, my dear, what are your feelings with regard to them? Come, you relentless foe of all bucklers, speak; I am listening to you.

PEACE whispers into HERMES' ear.

Is that your grievance against them? Yes, yes, I understand. Hearken, you folk, this is her complaint. She says, that after the affair of Pylos she came to you unbidden to bring you a basket full of truces and that you thrice repulsed her by your votes in the assembly.

TRYGAEUS: Yes, we did wrong, but forgive us, for our mind was then entirely absorbed in leather.

HERMES: Listen again to what she has just asked me. Who was her greatest foe here? and furthermore, had she a friend who exerted himself to put an end to the fighting?

TRYGAEUS: Her most devoted friend was Cleonymus; it is undisputed.

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.

HERMES: There is yet another question she has just put to me. Who rules now in the rostrum?

TRYGAEUS: It's 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 by 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.

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.

HERMES: And wise Cratinus, is he still alive?

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.

TRYGAEUS to OPORA: Come, my dear one, come and accept my kisses.

To HERMES

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. But hasten to lead Theoria to the Senate; that was where she lodged before.

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

HERMES: And to you also, my dear sir, may you have much happiness, and don't forget me.

TRYGAEUS looking around for his dung-beetle: 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 thunderbolts.'

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 men waiting for you with their tools ready.

He goes out, with OPORA and THEORIA.

LEADER OF THE 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.

The CHORUS turns and faces the audience.

Undoubtedly the comic poet who mounted the stage to praise himself in the parabasis would deserve to be handed over to the sticks or 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 had deserved a glorious renown. First of all, he is the one who has compelled his rivals no longer to scoff at rags or to war with lice; and as for those Heracleses, always chewing and ever hungry, he was the first to cover them with ridicule and to chase them from the stage; he has also dismissed that slave, whom one never failed to set 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 it's not obscure private persons or women that he stages in his comedies; but, bold as Heracles, it's 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, 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, the unwashed balls of a Lamia and the arse of a camel. 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 seduce young boys; but I took all my theatrical gear and returned straight home. I pained folk but little and caused them much amusement; my conscience rebuked me for nothing.

More and more rapidly from here on

Hence both grown men and youths should be on my side and I likewise invite the bald 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."

FIRST SEMI-CHORUS singing: 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 sons. 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 goat's turd, in fact machine-made poets. Contrary to all expectation, the father had at last managed to finish a piece, but he admits that a cat strangled it one fine evening.

SECOND SEMI-CHORUS singing: Such are the songs with which the Muse with the glorious hair inspires the able poet and which enchant the assembled populace, when the spring swallow twitters beneath the foliage; but the god spare us from the chorus of Morsimus and that of Melanthius! Oh! what a bitter discordancy grated upon my ears that day when the tragic chorus was directed by this same Melanthius and his brother, these two Gorgons, these two Harpies, the plague of the seas, whose gluttonous bellies devour the entire race of fishes, these followers of old women, these goats with their stinking arm-pits. Oh! Muse, spit upon them abundantly and keep the feast gaily with me.

TRYGAEUS enters, limping painfully, accompanied by OPORA and THEORIA.

TRYGAEUS: Ah! it's a rough job getting to the gods! my legs are as good as broken through it.

To the audience

How small you were, to be sure, when seen from heaven! you had all the appearance too of being great rascals; but seen close, you look even worse.

SERVANT coming out of TRYGAEUS' house: Is that you, master?

TRYGAEUS: So I've been told.

SERVANT: What has happened to you?

TRYGAEUS: My legs pain me; it was such a damned long journey.

SERVANT: Oh! tell me . . .

TRYGAEUS: What?

SERVANT: Did you see any other man besides yourself strolling about in heaven?

TRYGAEUS: No, only the souls of two or three dithyrambic poets.

SERVANT: What were they doing up there?

TRYGAEUS: They were seeking to catch some lyric exordia as they flew by immersed in the billows of the air.

SERVANT: Is it true, what they tell us, that men are turned into stars after death?

TRYGAEUS: Quite true.

SERVANT: Then what star has Ion of Chios turned into?

TRYGAEUS: The Morning Star, the one he wrote a poem about; as soon as he got up there, everyone called him the Morning Star.

SERVANT: And those stars like sparks, that plough up the air as they dart across the sky.

TRYGAEUS: They are rich leaving the feast with a lantern and a light inside it.--But hurry up, show this young girl into my house,

pointing to OPORA

clean out the bath, heat some water and prepare the nuptial couch for herself and me. When that's done, come back here; meanwhile I am off to present this other one to the Senate.

SERVANT: But where then did you get these girls?

TRYGAEUS: Where? why in heaven?

SERVANT: I would not give more than an obolus for gods who have got to keeping brothels like us mere mortals.

TRYGAEUS: They are not all like that, but there are some up there too who live by this trade.

SERVANT: Come, that's rich! But tell me, shall I give her something to eat?

TRYGAEUS: No, for she would touch neither bread nor cake; she is used to licking ambrosia at the table of the gods.

SERVANT: Well, we can give her something to lick down here too.

He takes OPORA into the house.

CHORUS singing: Here is a truly happy old man, as far as I can judge.

TRYGAEUS singing: Ah! but what shall I be, when you see me presently dressed for the wedding?

CHORUS singing: Made young again by love and scented with perfumes, your lot will be one we all shall envy.

TRYGAEUS singing: And when I lie beside her and fondle her breasts?

CHORUS singing: Oh! then you will be happier than those spinning-tops who call Carcinus their father.

TRYGAEUS singing: And I well deserve it; have I not bestridden a beetle to save the Greeks, who now, thanks to me, can make love at their ease and sleep peacefully on their farms?

SERVANT returning from the house: The girl has quitted the bath; she is charming from head to foot, belly and buttocks too; the cake is baked and they are kneading the sesame-biscuit; nothing is lacking but the bridegroom's tool.

TRYGAEUS: Let us first hasten to lodge Theoria in the hands of the Senate.

SERVANT: Tell me, who is this woman?

TRYGAEUS: Why, it's Theoria, with whom we used formerly to go to Brauron, to get tipsy and frolic--I had the greatest trouble to get hold of her.

SERVANT: Ah! you charmer! what pleasure your pretty bottom will afford me every four years!

TRYGAEUS to the audience: Let's see, which one of you is steady enough to be trusted by the Senate with the care of this charming wench?

to the SERVANT

Hi! you, friend! what are you drawing there?

SERVANT who has been making signs in the air: It's er . . . well, at the Isthmian Gates I shall have a tent for my tool.

TRYGAEUS to the audience: Come, who wishes to take the charge of her? No one? Come, Theoria, I am going to lead you into the midst of the spectators and confide you to their care.

SERVANT: Ah! there is one who makes a sign to you.

TRYGAEUS: Who is it?

SERVANT: It's Ariphrades. He wishes to take her home at once.

TRYGAEUS: No, he must not. He would soon have her done for, absorbing all her life-force. Come, Theoria, take off all these clothes.

THEORIA undresses. As soon as she is nude, TRYGAEUS conducts her to the front row of seats, where the SENATORS sit.

Senate, Prytanes, gaze upon Theoria and see what precious blessings I place in your hands. Hasten to raise its limbs and the immolate the victim. And look at this chimney.

SERVANT: God, what a beautiful one! It's black with smoke because the Senate used to do its cooking there before the war.

TRYGAEUS: Now that you have found Theoria again, you can start the most charming games from to-morrow, wrestling with her on the ground, on all fours, or you can lay her on her side, or stand before her with bent knees, or, well-rubbed with oil, you can boldly enter the lists, as in the Pancratium, belabouring your foe with blows from your fist or something else. The next day you will celebrate equestrian games, in which the riders will ride side by side, or else the chariot teams, thrown one on top of another, panting and whinnying, will roll and knock against each other on the ground, while other rivals, thrown out of their seats, will fall before reaching the goal, utterly exhausted by their efforts.--Come, Prytanes, take Theoria. Oh! look--how graciously yonder fellow has received her; you would not have been in such a hurry to introduce her to the Senate, if nothing were coming to you through it; you would not have failed to plead some holiday as an excuse.

CHORUS singing: Such a man as you assures the happiness of all his fellow-citizens.

TRYGAEUS singing: When you are gathering your vintages you will prize me even better.

CHORUS singing: E'en from to-day we hail you as the deliverer of mankind.

TRYGAEUS singing: Wait until you have drunk a beaker of new wine, before you appraise my true merits.

CHORUS singing: Excepting the gods, there is none greater than yourself, and that will ever be our opinion.

TRYGAEUS singing: Yea, Trygaeus of Athmonia has deserved well of you, he has freed both husbandman and craftsman from the most cruel ills; he has vanquished Hyperbolus.

SERVANT: Well then, what must be done now?

TRYGAEUS: You must offer pots of green-stuff to the goddess to consecrate her altars.

SERVANT: Pots of green-stuff as we do to poor Hermes--and even he thinks the fare pretty mean?

TRYGAEUS: What will you offer them? A fatted bull?

SERVANT: Oh no! I don't want to start bellowing the battle-cry.

TRYGAEUS: A great fat swine then?

SERVANT: No, no.

TRYGAEUS: Why not?

SERVANT: We don't want any of the swinishness of Theagenes.

TRYGAEUS: What other victim do you prefer then?

SERVANT: A sheep.

TRYGAEUS: A sheep?

SERVANT: Yes.

TRYGAEUS: But that's the Ionic form of the word.

SERVANT: Purposefully. So that if anyone in the assembly says, "We must go to war," all may start bleating in alarm, "Oi, oi."

TRYGAEUS: A brilliant idea.

SERVANT: And we shall all be lambs one toward the other, yes, and milder still toward the allies.

TRYGAEUS: Then go for the sheep and haste to bring it back with you; I will prepare the altar for the sacrifice.

They both leave.

CHORUS singing: How everything succeeds to our wish, when the gods are willing and Fortune favours us! how opportunely everything falls out.

TRYGAEUS returning: Nothing could be truer, for look! here stands the altar all ready at my door.

He enters his house.

CHORUS singing: Hurry, hurry, for the winds are fickle; make haste, while the divine will is set on stopping this cruel war and is showering on us the most striking benefits.

TRYGAEUS returning: Here is the basket of barley-seed mingled with salt, the chaplet and the sacred knife; and there is the fire; so we are only waiting for the sheep.

CHORUS singing: Hasten, hasten, for, if Chaeris sees you, he will come without bidding, he and his flute; and when you see him puffing and panting and out of breath, you will have to give him something.

TRYGAEUS to the SERVANT who has returned with a sheep and a vase of water: Come, seize the basket and take the lustral water and hurry to circle round the altar to the right.

SERVANT: There! that's done. What is your next bidding?

TRYGAEUS: Wait. I take this fire-brand first and plunge it into the water. Now quick, quick, you sprinkle the altar. Give me some barley-seed, purify yourself and hand me the basin; then scatter the rest of the barley among the audience.

SERVANT: Done.

TRYGAEUS: You have thrown it?

SERVANT: Yes, by Hermes! and all the spectators have had their share.

TRYGAEUS: At least the women got none.

SERVANT: Oh! their husbands will give them some this evening.

TRYGAEUS: Let us pray! Who is there? Are there any good men?

SERVANT: Come, give me the water, so that I may sprinkle these people. Faith! they are indeed good, brave men.

He throws the lustral water on them.

TRYGAEUS: You believe so?

SERVANT: I am sure, and the proof of it is that we have flooded them with lustral water and they have not budged an inch.

TRYGAEUS: Let us pray, then, as soon as we can.

SERVANT: Yes, let us pray.

TRYGAEUS: Oh! Peace, mighty queen, venerated goddess, thou, who presidest over choruses and at nuptials, deign to accept the sacrifices we offer thee.

SERVANT: Receive it, greatly honoured mistress, and behave not like the courtesans, who half open the door to entice the gallants, draw back when they are stared at, to return once more if a man passes on. But do not thou act like this to us.

TRYGAEUS: No, but like an honest woman, show thyself to thy worshippers, who are worn with regretting thee all these thirteen years. Hush the noise of battle, be a true Lysimacha to us. Put an end to this tittle-tattle, to this idle babble, that set us defying one another. Cause the Greeks once more to taste the pleasant beverage of friendship and temper all hearts with the gentle feeling of forgiveness. Make excellent commodities flow to our markets, fine heads of garlic, early cucumbers, apples, pomegranates and nice little cloaks for the slaves; make them bring geese, ducks, pigeons and larks from Boeotia and baskets of eels from Lake Copias; we shall all rush to buy them, disputing their possession with Morychus, Teleas, Glaucetes and every other glutton. Melanthius will arrive on the market last of all; they'll say, "no more eels, all sold!" and then he'll start groaning and exclaiming as in his monologue of Medea, "I am dying, I am dying! Alas! I have let those hidden in the beet escape me!" And won't we laugh? These are the wishes, mighty goddess, which we pray thee to grant.

To the SERVANT

Take the knife and slaughter the sheep like a finished cook.

SERVANT: No, the goddess does not wish it.

TRYGAEUS: And why not?

SERVANT: Blood cannot please Peace, so let us spill none upon her altar.

TRYGAEUS: Then go and sacrifice the sheep in the house, cut off the legs and bring them here; thus the carcase will be saved for Choregus.

The SERVANT goes into the house with the sheep.

CHORUS singing: You, who remain here, get chopped wood and everything needed for the sacrifice ready.

This translation is hosted with different licensing information than from the original text. The translation status applies to this edition.
Original:	This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Translation:	This work was published before January 1, 1923 and it is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 87 years or less since publication.