One of the greatest humorists in the history of literature, Aristophanes, stirred rivers of ink about this comedy in which his own contemporary Socrates appears.
At Zenda we present the opening of this critical edition of The Clouds (RBA), by Aristophanes.
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(The decor represents, at one end of the orchestra, the house of Strepsiades, on the other side, the one of Socrates. At the door of the first, three people lie on three couches.)
Prologue.
STREPSIADES
Oh! Oh, mighty Zeus! What a tiresome night! Endless. Has the day never going to arrive? I heard the rooster a while ago, and the slaves keep snoring. They would not have done so earlier.
Damn you, war! Among many other reasons, because I can no longer punish the servants. Nor does this fine fellow wake up at night and stop combing his hair, wrapped up like a ball in five furs. Well, if that is the case, let us lie down and snore.
But I cannot sleep, poor me: the expenses, the stable and the debts incurred because of this son plague me. He, with his mane, practices riding, drives chariots, and dreams of horses. I am worn out watching how the moon brings the last ten days of the month. Interest is running. (Waking the slave.) Light the lamp, boy, and bring out the ledger, so that he can read the list of my creditors and calculate the interest. (Taking him.) Let us see, what do I owe? Twelve minas to Pasias. Of what twelve minas to Pasias? In what did I spend them? On the purchase of the horse marked with the goblet. I wish I had knocked out an eye with a stone beforehand.
PHILON
(In dreams.) Philon, you are cheating. Follow your track.
STREPSIADES
That is the misfortune that has ruined me. Even asleep he dreams of riding!
PHILON
How many races will the war chariots run?
STREPSIADES
Races, as many as your father will be given. But after Pasias, “what debt comes to me?” Three minas for a seat in a carriage and a pair of wheels for Aminias.
PHILON
Make the horse roll over before bringing it home.
STREPSIADES
Wretch! You have rolled me from my possessions! I’ve lost lawsuits, and others say they will seize collateral for the interest.
PHILON
(Waking up.) Truly, father, why are you in a bad mood and tossing and turning all night?
STREPSIADES
I’m being pricked somewhere… I scratch from under the covers.
PHILON
Leave me, you dullard, to sleep a little.
STREPSIADES
Sleep then. But these debts, mark my words, will all fall on your head. Oh! I wish the matchmaker who led me to marry your mother had burst! Living in the countryside was so pleasant for me! Covered in grime, unkempt, lying in the good graces of God, swarming with bees, flocks, and pomace. Then I married Megacles’ great-niece, I, a rustic, to a city lady, haughty, pretentious, who posed as Cesira. When I married her, I could smell must, dried figs, wool, plenty at the banquet; she, perfume, saffron, kisses with tongue, expenses, gluttony, rites of Colias and Genetílide. I won’t say I didn’t beat her, because I gave her a loom, so much that I would lift this cloak and show it to her as an excuse to say: woman, you pull the weave too tight.
SLAVE
There isn’t any oil left in the lamp.
STREPSIADES
Oh! Why did you light the greedy lamp? Come here, so you may learn a lesson.
SLAVE
Why must I learn a lesson?
STREPSIADES
Because you struck a thick wick. (To himself.) Later, since this good woman and I conceived this son, we began arguing about his name. She always added –hippo (hippo): Jantipus, Caripus, Calípidus. I insisted on giving him his grandfather’s name: Fidónides. For a time we argued. Finally, we reached a mutual agreement and named him Fidípides. She would cradle the child and, with stroking, tell him: “when you are older and drive your cart toward the city, in a long tunic, like Megacles…”. And I replied: “when you bring the goats from the rocky place, wrapped in a fur, like your father.” But he paid no heed to my reasons and spread a ‘horse-illness’ to our stock. Now, after thinking through the whole night, I have found only one divine, swift, extraordinary solution. And if I can persuade him of it, I shall be saved. But first I want to wake him. How, by Zeus, shall I do it with the greatest delicacy? How? (Turning toward the bed again.) Fidípides! Fidípides!
FIDÍPIDES
What is it, father?
STREPSIADES
Kiss me and shake my right hand.
FIDÍPIDES
There you have it. What’s the matter?
STREPSIADES
Tell me, do you love me?
FIDÍPIDES
Yes, I swear by that image of Poseidon, guardian of horses.
STREPSIADES
Never lie to that patron. That god is responsible for my misfortunes. But, if you truly love me with all your heart, son, heed me.
FIDÍPIDES
What must I do to fulfill it?
STREPSIADES
Immediately change your conduct, and go learn what I advise you.
FIDÍPIDES
Speak then. What do you order?
STREPSIADES
Will you obey me?
FIDÍPIDES
Yes, I swear by Dionysus.
STREPSIADES
Look here then. Do you see that little door and that shack?
FIDÍPIDES
Yes. What about it, father?
STREPSIADES
That is the workshop of wise spirits. There live some men who, when they speak of the heavens, convince us that it is an oven surrounding us, and that we are the coals. If they are paid, they teach how to prevail with the spoken word in both just and unjust matters.
FIDÍPIDES
And who are they?
STREPSIADES
I don’t know their exact name. A few crafty thinkers, men of standing.
FIDÍPIDES
No way! I know them. You’re referring to those swindlers, pale and barefoot, among whom stand the wretch Socrates and Chaerephon.
STREPSIADES
Hey, hush. Don’t talk nonsense. If you care about your father’s beans, become one of them and renounce riding.
FIDÍPIDES
Not even if you offered me, I swear by Dionysus, the pheasants that Leogoras raises.
STREPSIADES
Come, I beg you, you whom I love more than anyone. Go and get yourself taught.
FIDÍPIDES
And what am I going to learn?
STREPSIADES
In their power they claim to possess both arguments: the stronger one, whatever it may be, and the weaker one. They assert that they can make the weaker win with their reasons, even in the most unjust cases. Therefore, if you learn this unjust argument, regarding the debt I owe because of you, I would not return a single obol to anyone.
[…]
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Author: Aristophanes. Title: The Clouds. Translation: Luis Gil. Publisher: Gredos. For sale: All your books.