The Eleven Comedies, vol 1 | Page 9

hide.
NICIAS. How so?

DEMOSTHENES. Because hard rubbing abrades the skin when folk
masturbate themselves.
NICIAS. The best thing we can do for the moment is to throw
ourselves at the feet of the statue of some god.
DEMOSTHENES. Of which statue? Any statue? Do you then believe
there are gods?
NICIAS. Certainly.
DEMOSTHENES. What proof have you?
NICIAS. The proof that they have taken a grudge against me. Is that
not enough?
DEMOSTHENES. I'm convinced it is. But to pass on. Do you consent
to my telling the spectators of our troubles?
NICIAS. 'Twould not be amiss, and we might ask them to show us by
their manner, whether our facts and actions are to their liking.
DEMOSTHENES. I will begin then. We have a very brutal master, a
perfect glutton for beans,[10] and most bad-tempered; 'tis Demos of the
Pnyx,[11] an intolerable old man and half deaf. The beginning of last
month he bought a slave, a Paphlagonian tanner, an arrant rogue, the
incarnation of calumny. This man of leather knows his old master
thoroughly; he plays the fawning cur, flatters, cajoles; wheedles, and
dupes him at will with little scraps of leavings, which he allows him to
get. "Dear Demos," he will say, "try a single case and you will have
done enough; then take your bath, eat, swallow and devour; here are
three obols."[12] Then the Paphlagonian filches from one of us what
we have prepared and makes a present of it to our old man. T'other day
I had just kneaded a Spartan cake at Pylos;[13] the cunning rogue came
behind my back, sneaked it and offered the cake, which was my
invention, in his own name. He keeps us at a distance and suffers none
but himself to wait upon the master; when Demos is dining, he keeps
close to his side with a thong in his hand and puts the orators to flight.

He keeps singing oracles to him, so that the old man now thinks of
nothing but the Sibyl. Then, when he sees him thoroughly obfuscated,
he uses all his cunning and piles up lies and calumnies against the
household; then we are scourged and the Paphlagonian runs about
among the slaves to demand contributions with threats and gathers 'em
in with both hands. He will say, "You see how I have had Hylas beaten!
Either content me or die at once!" We are forced to give, for else the
old man tramples on us and makes us spew forth all our body contains.
There must be an end to it, friend. Let us see! what can be done? Who
will get us out of this mess?
NICIAS. The best thing, chum, is our famous "Let-us-bolt!"
DEMOSTHENES. But none can escape the Paphlagonian, his eye is
everywhere. And what a stride! He has one leg on Pylos and the other
in the Assembly; his rump is exactly over the land of the Chaonians, his
hands are with the Aetolians and his mind with the Clopidians.[14]
NICIAS. 'Tis best then to die; but let us seek the most heroic death.
DEMOSTHENES. Let me bethink me, what is the most heroic?
NICIAS. Let us drink the blood of a bull; 'tis the death which
Themistocles chose.[15]
DEMOSTHENES. No, not that, but a bumper of good unmixed wine in
honour of the Good Genius;[16] perchance we may stumble on a happy
thought.
NICIAS. Look at him! "Unmixed wine!" Your mind is on drink intent?
Can a man strike out a brilliant thought when drunk?
DEMOSTHENES. Without question. Go, ninny, blow yourself out
with water; do you dare to accuse wine of clouding the reason? Quote
me more marvellous effects than those of wine. Look! when a man
drinks, he is rich, everything he touches succeeds, he gains lawsuits, is
happy and helps his friends. Come, bring hither quick a flagon of wine,
that I may soak my brain and get an ingenious idea.

NICIAS. Eh, my god! What can your drinking do to help us?
DEMOSTHENES. Much. But bring it to me, while I take my seat.
Once drunk, I shall strew little ideas, little phrases, little reasonings
everywhere.
NICIAS (returning with a flagon). It is lucky I was not caught in the
house stealing the wine.
DEMOSTHENES. Tell me, what is the Paphlagonian doing now?
NICIAS. The wretch has just gobbled up some confiscated cakes; he is
drunk and lies at full-length a-snoring on his hides.
DEMOSTHENES. Very well, come along, pour me out wine and
plenty of it.
NICIAS. Take it and offer a libation to your Good Genius; taste, taste
the liquor of the genial soil of Pramnium.[17]
DEMOSTHENES. Oh, Good Genius! 'Tis thy will, not mine.
NICIAS. Prithee, tell me, what is it?
DEMOSTHENES. Run indoors quick and steal the oracles of the