DEMOSTHENES Quaff, quaff the loving-cup of Pramnian Fortune.
DEMOSTHENES O Happy Fortune, thine’s the thought, not mine!
NICIAS Pray you, what is it?
DEMOSTHENES Steal from Paphlagon, While yet he sleeps, those oracles of his, And bring them out. I will; and yet I’m fearful That I may meet with most unhappy Fortune.
DEMOSTHENES Come now, I’ll draw the pitcher to myself, Moisten my wits, and utter something bright.
NICIAS Paphlagon’s snoring so! He never saw me. I’ve got the sacred oracle which he keeps So snugly.
DEMOSTHENES O you clever fellow you, I’ll read it; hand it over; you the while Fill me the cup. Let’s see: what have we here? O! Prophecies! Give me the cup directly.
NICIAS Here! What do they say?
DEMOSTHENES Fill me another cup.
NICIAS Fill me another? Is that really there?
DEMOSTHENES O Bakis!
NICIAS Well?
DEMOSTHENES Give me the cup directly.
NICIAS Bakis seems mighty partial to the cup.
DEMOSTHENES O villainous Paphlagon, this it was you feared, This oracle about yourself!
NICIAS What is it?
DEMOSTHENES Herein is written how himself shall perish.
NICIAS How shall he?
DEMOSTHENES How? The oracle says straight out, That first of all there comes an oakum-seller Who first shall manage all the State’s affairs.
NICIAS One something-seller; well, what follows, pray?
DEMOSTHENES Next after him there comes a sheep-seller.
NICIAS Two something-sellers; what’s this seller’s fortune?
DEMOSTHENES He’ll hold the reins, till some more villainous rogue Arise than he; and thereupon he’ll perish. Then follows Paphlagon, our leather-seller, Thief, brawler, roaring as Cycloborus roars.
NICIAS The leather-seller, then, shall overthrow The sheep-seller?
DEMOSTHENES He shall.
NICIAS O wretched me, Is there no other something-seller left?
DEMOSTHENES There is yet one; a wondrous trade he has.
NICIAS What, I beseech you?
DEMOSTHENES Shall I tell you?
NICIAS Aye:
DEMOSTHENES A sausage-seller ousts the leather-seller.
NICIAS A sausage-seller! Goodness, what a trade! Wherever shall we find one?
DEMOSTHENES That’s the question.
NICIAS Why here comes one, ’tis providential surely, Bound for the agora.
DEMOSTHENES Hi, come hither! here! You dearest man, you blessed sausage-seller!
DEMOSTHENES Arise, a Saviour to the State and us.
SAUSAGE-SELLER Eh! What are you shouting at?
DEMOSTHENES Come here this instant, And hear your wonderful amazing luck.
NICIAS Make him put down his dresser; tell him all The news about that oracle we’ve got. I’ll keep an eye on Paphlagon the while.
DEMOSTHENES Come, put you down those cookery implements, Then make your reverence to the Gods and earth,—
SAUSAGE-SELLER There! what’s the row?
DEMOSTHENES O happy man, and rich, Nothing to-day, to-morrow everything! O mighty ruler of Imperial Athens!
SAUSAGE-SELLER Good fellow, let me wash the guts, and sell My sausages. What need to flout me so?
DEMOSTHENES You fool! the guts indeed! Now look you here. You see those people on the tiers?
SAUSAGE-SELLER I do.
DEMOSTHENES You shall be over-lord of all those people, The Agora, and the Harbours, and the Pnyx. You’ll trim the Generals, trample down the Council, Fetter, imprison, make the Hall your brothel.
SAUSAGE-SELLER What, I?
DEMOSTHENES Yes, you yourself! And that’s not all. For mount you up upon the dresser here And view the islands all around.
SAUSAGE-SELLER I see.
DEMOSTHENES And all the marts and merchant-ships?
SAUSAGE-SELLER I see.
DEMOSTHENES And aren’t you then a lucky man? And that’s not all. Just cast your eyes askew, The right to Caria, and the left to Carthage.
SAUSAGE-SELLER A marvellous lucky man, to twist my neck!
DEMOSTHENES Nay, but all these shall be your—perquisites. You shall become, this oracle declares, A Man most mighty!
SAUSAGE-SELLER Humbug! How can I, A sausage-selling chap, become a Man?
DEMOSTHENES Why, that’s the very thing will make you great, Your roguery, impudence, and agora-training.
SAUSAGE-SELLER I am not worthy of great power, methinks.
DEMOSTHENES O me, not worthy! what’s the matter now? You’ve got, I fear, some good upon your conscience. Spring you from gentlemen?
SAUSAGE-SELLER By the powers, not I. From downright blackguards.
DEMOSTHENES Lucky, lucky man, O what a start you’ve got for public life.
SAUSAGE-SELLER But I know nothing, friend, beyond my letters, And even of them but little, and that badly.
DEMOSTHENES The mischief is that you know ANYTHING. To be a Demus-leader is not now For lettered men, nor yet for honest men, But for the base and ignorant. Don’t let slip The bright occasion which the Gods provide you.
SAUSAGE-SELLER But the oracle?
DEMOSTHENES Full of promise good, Wrapped up in cunning enigmatic words. Nay, BUT IF ONCE THE EAGLE, THE BLACK-TANNED MANDIBLE-CURVER, SEIZE WITH HIS BEAK THE SERPENT, THE DULLARD, THE DRINKER OF LIFE-BLOOD, THEN SHALL THE SHARP SOUR BRINE OF THE PAPHLAGON-TRIBE BE EXTINGUISHED, THEN TO THE ENTRAIL-SELLERS SHALL GOD GREAT GLORY AND HONOUR RENDER, UNLESS THEY ELECT TO CONTINUE THE SALE OF THE SAUSAGE.
SAUSAGE-SELLER But what in the world has this to do with me?
DEMOSTHENES The black-tanned Eagle, that means Paphlagon.
SAUSAGE-SELLER And what the mandibles?
DEMOSTHENES That’s self-evident. His fingers, crooked to carry off their prey.
SAUSAGE-SELLER What does the Serpent mean?
DEMOSTHENES That’s plainer still. A serpent’s long; a sausage too is long. Serpents drink blood, and sausages drink blood. The Serpent then, it says, shall overcome The black-tanned Eagle, if it’s not talked over.
SAUSAGE-SELLER I like the lines: but how can I, I wonder, Contrive to manage Demus’s affairs.
DEMOSTHENES Why nothing’s easier. Do what now you do: Mince, hash, and mash up everything together. Win over Demus with the savoury sauce Of little cookery phrases. You’ve already Whatever else a Demagogue requires.
DEMOSTHENES A brutal voice, low birth, an agora training; Why you’ve got all one wants for public life. The Pythian shrine and oracles concur. Crown, crown your head; pour wine to mighty—Dulness; Prepare to fight the man.
SAUSAGE-SELLER But what ally Will stand beside me, for the wealthy men Tremble before him, and the poor folk blench.
DEMOSTHENES A thousand Knights, all honest men and true, Detest the scoundrel, and will help the cause; And whosoe’er is noblest in the State, And whosoe’er is brightest in the tiers, And I myself. And God will lend his aid. And fear him not; he is not pictured really; For all the mask-providers feared to mould His actual likeness; but our audience here Are shrewd and bright; they’ll recognize the man.
NICIAS Mercy upon us! here comes Paphlagon.
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