Frogs (Murray 1912)/Text
THE FROGS
Xanthias
(looking round at his burden with a groan).
Sir, shall I say one of the regular things
That people in a theatre always laugh at?
Dionysus.
Say what you like, except "I'm overloaded."
But mind, not that. That's simply wormwood to me.
Xanthias (disappointed).
Not anything funny?
Dionysus.
Not "Oh, my poor blisters!"
Xanthias.
Suppose I made the great joke?
Dionysus.
Why, by all means.
Don't be afraid. Only, for mercy's sake,
Don't . . .
Xanthias.
Don't do what?
Dionysus.
Don't shift your luggage pole
Across, and say, "I want to blow my nose."
Xanthias (greatly disappointed).
Nor, that I've got such a weight upon my back
That unless some one helps me quickly I shall sneeze?
Dionysus.
Oh, please, no. Keep it till I need emetics.
Xanthias.
Then what's the good of carrying all this lumber
If I mayn't make one single good old wheeze
Like Phrynichus, Ameipsias, and Lykis?
Dionysus.
Ah no ; don't make them.—When I sit down there
[Pointing to the auditorium.
And hear some of those choice products, I go home
A twelvemonth older.
Xanthias (to himself).
Oh, my poor old neck:
Blistered all round, and mustn't say it's blistered,
Because that's funny!
Dionysus.
Airs and insolence!
When I, Dionysus, child of the Great Jug,
Must work and walk myself, and have him riding
Lest he should tire himself or carry things!
Xanthias.
Am I not carrying things?
Dionysus.
They're carrying you.
Xanthias (showing the baggage).
I'm carrying this.
Dionysus.
How?
Xanthias.
With my back half-broken.
Dionysus.
That bag is clearly carried by a donkey.
Xanthias.
No donkey carries bags that I am carrying.
Dionysus.
I suppose you know the donkey's carrying you.
Xanthias (turning cross).
I don't. I only know my shoulder's sore!
Dionysus.
Well, if it does no good to ride the donkey,
Go turns, and let the poor beast ride on you.
Xanthias (aside).
Just like my luck.—Why wasn't I on board
At Arginusae? Then I'd let you have it.
Dionysus.
Dismount, you rascal.—Here's the door close by
Where I must turn in first—and I on foot! (Knocking.
Porter! Hi, porter! Hi!
Heracles (entering from the house).
Who's knocking there?
More like a mad bull butting at the door,
Whoever he is . . . (seeing Dionysus). God bless us, what's all this?
[He examines Dionysus minutely, then chokes with silent emotion.
Dionysus (aside to Xanthias).
Boy!
Xanthias.
What, sir?
Dionysus.
Did you notice?
Xanthias.
Notice what?
Dionysus.
The man's afraid.
Xanthias.
Yes, sir; (aside) afraid you're cracked!
Heracles (struggling with laughter).
I wouldn't if I possibly could help it:
I'm trying to bite my lips, but all the same . . . (roars with laughter).
Dionysus.
Don't be absurd! Come here. I want something.
Heracles.
I would, but I can't yet shake this laughter off:
The lion-skin on a robe of saffron silk!
How comes my club to sort with high-heeled boots?
What's the idea? Where have you come from now?
Dionysus.
I've been at sea, serving with Cleisthenes.
Heracles.
You fought a battle?
Dionysus.
Yes: sank several ships,
Some twelve or thirteen.
Heracles.
Just you two?
Dionysus.
Of course.
Xanthias (aside).
And then I woke, and it was all a dream!
Dionysus.
Well, one day I was sitting there on deck
Reading the Andromeda, when all at once
A great desire came knocking at my hesrt,
You'd hardly think . . .
Heracles.
A great desire? How big?
Dionysus.
Oh, not so big. Perhaps as large as Molon.
Heracles.
Who was the lady?
Dionysus.
Lady?
Heracles.
Well, the girl?
Dionysus.
Great Heaven, there wasn't one!
Heracles.
Well, I have always
Considered Cleisthenes a perfect lady!
Dionysus.
Don't mock me, brother! It's a serious thing,
A passion that has worn me to a shadow.
Heracles.
Well, tell us all about it.
Dionysus
(with the despair of an artist explaining himself to a common athlete).
No; I can't.
You never . . . But I'll think of an analogy.
You never felt a sudden inward craving
For . . . pease-broth?
Heracles.
Pease-broth? Bless me, crowds of times.
Dionysus.
See'st then the sudden truth? Or shall I put it
Another way?
Heracles.
Oh, not about pease-broth.
I see it quite.
Dionysus.
Well, I am now consumed
By just that sort of restless craving for
Euripides.
Heracles.
Lord save us, the man's dead!
Dionysus.
He is; and no one in this world shall stop me
From going to see him!
Heracles.
Down to the place of shades?
Dionysus.
The place of shades or any shadier still.
Heracles.
What do you want to get?
Dionysus.
I want a poet,
For most be dead; only the false live on.
Heracles.
Iophon's still alive.
Dionysus.
Well, there you have it;
The one good thing still left us, if it is one.
For even as to that I have my doubts.
Heracles.
But say, why don't you bring up Sophocles
By preference, if you must have some one back?
Dionysus.
No, not till I've had Iophon quite alone
And seen what note he gives without his father.
Besides, Euripides, being full of tricks,
Would give the slip to his master, if need were,
And try to escape with me; while Sophocles,
Content with us, will be content in Hell.
Heracles.
And Agathon, where is he?
Dionysus.
Gone far away,
A poet true, whom many friends regret.
Heracles.
Beshrew him! Where?
Dionysus.
To feast with peaceful kings!
Heracles.
And Xenocles?
Dionysus.
Oh, plague take Xenocles!
Heracles.
Pythangelus, then?
[Dionysus shrugs his shoulders in expressive silence.
Xanthias (to himself).
And no one thinks of me,
When all my shoulder's skinning, simply skinning.
Heracles.
But aren't there other pretty fellows there
All writing tragedies by tens of thousands,
And miles verboser than Euripides?
Dionysus.
Leaves without fruit; trills in the empty air,
And starling chatter, mutilating art!
Give them one chance and that's the end of them,
One weak assault on an unprotected Muse.
Search as you will, you'll find no poet now
With grit in him, to wake a word of power.
Heracles.
How "grit"?
Dionysus.
The grit that gives them heart to risk
Bold things—vast Ether, residence of God,
Or Time's long foot, or souls that won't take oaths
While tongues go swearing falsely by themselves.
Heracles.
You like that stuff?
Dionysus.
Like it? I rave about it.
Heracles (reflecting).
Why, yes; it's devilish tricky, as you say.
Dionysus.
"Ride not upon my soul!" Use your own donkey.
Heracles (apologising).
I only meant it was obviously humbug!
Dionysus.
If ever I need advice about a dinner,
I'll come to you!
Xanthias (to himself).
And no one thinks of me.
Dionysus.
But why I came in these especial trappings—
Disguised as you, in fact—was this. I want you
To tell me all the hosts with whom you stayed
That time you went to fetch up Cerberus:
Tell me your hosts, your harbours, bakers' shops,
Inns, taverns—reputable and otherwise—
Springs, roads, towns, posts, and landladies that keep
The fewest fleas.
Xanthias (as before).
And no one thinks of me!
Heracles (impressively).
Bold man, and will you dare . . .
Dionysus.
Now, don't begin
That sort of thing; but tell the two of us
What road will take us quickest down to Hades.—
And, please, no great extremes of heat or cold.
Heracles.
Well, which one had I better tell you first?—
Which now?—Ah, yes; suppose you got a boatman
To tug you, with a hawser—round your neck. . .
Dionysus.
A chokey sort of journey, that.
Heracles.
Well, then,
There is a short road, quick and smooth, the surface
Well pounded—in a mortar.
Dionysus.
The hemlock way?
Heracles.
Exactly.
Dionysus.
Cold and bitter! Why, it freezes
All your shins numb.
Heracles.
Do you mind one short and steep?
Dionysus.
Not in the least . . . You know I'm no great walker.
Heracles.
Then just stroll down to Cerameicus . . .
Dionysus.
Well?
Heracles.
Climb up the big tower . . .
Dionysus.
Good: and then?
Heracles.
Then watch
And see them start the torch-race down below;
Lean over till you hear the men say "Go,"
And then, go.
Dionysus.
Where?
Heracles.
Why, over.
Dionysus.
Not for me.
It'd cost me two whole sausage bags of brains,
I won't go that way.
Heracles.
Well, how will you go?
Dionysus.
The way you went that time.
Heracles (impressively).
The voyage is long.
You first come to a great mere, fathomless
And very wide.
Dionysus (unimpressed).
How do I get across?
Heracles. (with a gesture).
In a little boat, like that; an aged man
Will row you across the ferry . . . for two obols.
Dionysus.
Those two old obols, everywhere at work!
I wonder how they found their way down there?
Heracles.
Oh, Theseus took them!—After that you'll see
Snakes and queer monsters, crowds and crowds.
Dionysus.
Now don't:
Don't play at bogies! You can never move me!
Heracles.
Then deep, deep mire and everlasting filth,
And, wallowing there, such as have wronged a guest
Or picked a wench's pocket while they kissed her,
Beaten their mothers, smacked their fathers' jaws,
Or sworn perjurious oaths before high heaven.
Dionysus.
And with them, I should hope, such as have learned
Kinesias's latest Battle Dance,
Or copied out a speech of Morsimus!
Heracles.
Then you will find a breath about your ears
Of music, and a light before your eyes
Most beautiful—like this—and myrtle groves,
And joyous throngs of women and of men,
And clapping of glad hands.
Dionysus.
And who will they be?
Heracles.
The Initiated.
Xanthias (aside).
Yes; and I'm the donkey
Holiday-making at the Mysteries!
But I won't stand this weight one moment longer.
[He begins to put down his bundle.
Heracles.
And they will forthwith tell you all you seek.
They have their dwelling just beside the road,
At Pluto's very door.—So now good-bye;
And a pleasant journey, brother.
Dionysus.
Thanks; good-bye.
Take care of yourself. (To Xanthias, while Heracles returns into the house) Take up the bags again.
Xanthias.
Before I've put them down?
Dionysus.
Yes, and be quick.
Xanthias.
No, really, sir; we ought to hire a porter.
Dionysus.
And what if I can't find one?
Xanthias.
Then I'll go.
Dionysus.
All right.—Why, here's a funeral, just in time.
[Enter a Funeral on the right.
Here, sir—it's you I'm addressing—the defunct;
Do you care to carry a few traps to Hades?
The Corpse (sitting up).
How heavy?
Dionysus.
What you see.
Corpse.
You'll pay two drachmas?
Dionysus.
Oh, come, that's rather much.
Corpse.
Bearers, move on!
Dionysus.
My good man, wait! See if we can't arrange.
Corpse.
Two drachmas down, or else don't talk to me.
Dionysus.
Nine obols?
Corpse (lying down again).
Strike me living if I will!
[Exit the Funeral.
Xanthias.
That dog's too proud! He'll come to a bad end.—
Well, I'll be porter.
Dionysus.
That's a good brave fellow.
[They walk on for some time. The scene changes, a desolate lake taking the place of the house. Dionysus peers into the distance.
Dionysus.
What is that?
Xanthias.
That? A lake.
Dionysus.
By Zeus, it is!
The mere he spoke of.
Xanthias.
Yes; I see a boat.
Dionysus.
Yes; by the powers!
Xanthias.
And yonder must be Charon.
Dionysus.
Charon, ahoy!
Both.
Ahoy! Charon, ahoy!
Charon
Who is for rest from sufferings and cares?
Who's for the Carrion Crows, and the Dead Donkeys;
Lethe and Sparta and the rest of Hell?
Dionysus.
I!
Charon.
Get in.
Dionysus.
Where do you touch? The Carrion Crows,
You said?
Charon (gruffly).
The Dogs will be the place for you.
Get in.
Dionysus.
Come, Xanthias.
Charon.
I don't take slaves:
Unless he has won his freedom? Did he fight
The battle of the Cold Meat Unpreserved?
Xanthias.
Well, no; my eyes were very sore just then . . .
Charon.
Then trot round on your legs!
Xanthias.
Where shall I meet you?
Charon.
At the Cold Seat beside the Blasting Stone.
Dionysus (to Xanthias, who hesitates).
You understand?
Xanthias.
Oh, quite. (Aside) Just like my luck.
What can have crossed me when I started out?
[Exit Xanthias.
Charon.
Sit to your oar (Dionysus does his best to obey). Any more passengers?
If so, make haste. (To Dionysus) What are you doing there?
Dionysus.
Why, what you told me; sitting on my oar.
Charon.
Oh, are you? Well, get up again and sit
[Pushing him down.
Down there—fatty!
Dionysus (doing everything wrong).
Like that?
Charon.
Put out your arms
And stretch . . .
Dionysus.
Like that?
Charon.
None of your nonsense here!
Put both your feet against the stretcher.—Now,
In good time, row!
Dionysus (fluently, putting down his oars).
And how do you expect
A man like me, with no experience,
No seamanship, no Salamis,—to row?
Charon.
You'll row all right; as soon as you fall to,
You'll hear a first-rate tune that makes you row.
Dionysus.
Who sings it?
Charon.
Certain cycnoranidae.
That's music!
Dionysus.
Give the word then, and we'll see.
[Charon gives the word for rowing and marks the time. A Chorus of Frogs under the water is heard. The Feast of Pots to which they refer was the third day of the Anthesteria, and included songs to Dionysus at his temple in the district called Limnae ("Marshes").
Frogs.
O brood of the mere and the spring,
Gather together and sing
From the depths of your throat
By the side of the boat,
Co-äx, as we move in a ring;
As in Limnae we sang the divine
Nyseïan Giver of Wine,
When the people in lots
With their sanctified Pots
Came reeling around my shrine.
Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx,
Brekekekex co-äx.
Dionysus.
Don't sing any more;
I begin to be sore!
Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx.
Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx,
Brekekekex co-äx!
Dionysus.
Is it nothing to you
If I'm black and I'm blue?
Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx!
Dionysus.
A plague on all of your swarming packs.
There's nothing in you except co-äx!
Frogs.
Well, and what more do you need?
Though it's none of your business indeed,
When the Muse thereanent
Is entirely content,
And horny-hoof Pan with his reed:
When Apollo is fain to admire
My voice, on account of his lyre
Which he frames with the rushes
And watery bushes—
Co-ax!—which I grow in the mire.
Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx,
Brekekekex coax!
Dionysus.
Peace, musical sisters!
I'm covered with blisters.
Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx.
Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx,
Brekekekex co-äx!
Our song we can double
Without the least trouble:
Brekekekex co-äx.
Sing we now, if ever hopping
Through the sedge and flowering rushes;
In and out the sunshine flopping,
We have sported, rising, dropping,
With our song that nothing hushes.
Sing, if e'er in days of storm
Safe our native oozes bore us,
Staved the rain off, kept us warm,
Till we set our dance in form,
Raised our hubble-bubbling chorus:
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!
Dionysus.
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!
I can sing it as loud as you.
Frogs.
Sisters, that he never must do!
Dionysus.
Would you have me row till my shoulder cracks?
Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!
Dionysus.
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!
Groan away till you burst your backs.
It's nothing to me.
Frogs.
Just wait till you see.
Dionysus.
I don't care how you scold.
Frogs.
Then all day long
We will croak you a song
As loud as our throats can hold.
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!
Dionysus.
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!!
I'll see you don't outdo me in that.
Frogs.
Well, you shall never beat us—that's flat!
Dionysus.
I'll make you cease your song
If I shout for it all day long;
My lungs I'll tax
With co-äx, co-äx
—I assure you they're thoroughly strong—
Until your efforts at last relax:
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!!
[No answer from the Frogs.
Brekekekex co-äx, co-äx!!!
I knew in the end I should stop your quacks!
[The boat has now reached the further shore.
Charon.
Easy there! Stop her! Lay her alongside.—
Now pay your fare and go.
Dionysus.
There are the obols.
[Dionysus gets out. The boat and Charon disappear. Dionysus peers about him.
Ho, Xanthias! . . . Where's Xanthias?—Is that you?
Xanthias (from the darkness).
Hullo!
Dionysus.
Come this way.
Xanthias (entering).
Oh, I'm glad to see you!
Dionysus (looking round).
Well, and what have we here?
Xanthias.
Darkness—and mud.
Dionysus.
Did you see any of the perjurers here,
And father-beaters, as he said we should?
Xanthias.
Why, didn't you?
Dionysus.
I? Lots.
[Looking full at the audience.
I see them now.
Well, what are we to do?
Xanthias.
Move further on.
This is the place he said was all aswarm
With horrid beasts.
Dionysus.
A plague on what he said!
Exaggerating just to frighten me,
Because he knew my courage and was jealous.
Naught lives so flown with pride as Heracles!
Why, my best wish would be to meet with something,
Some real adventure, worthy of our travels!
Xanthias (listening).
Stay!—Yes, upon my word. I hear a noise.
Dionysus (nervously).
God bless me, where?
Xanthias.
Behind.
Dionysus.
Go to the rear.
Xanthias.
No; it's in front somewhere.
Dionysus.
Then get in front.
Xanthias.
Why, there I see it.—Save us!—A great beast. . . .
Dionysus (cowering behind Xanthias).
What like?
Xanthias.
Horrid! . . . At least it keeps on changing!
It was a bull; now it's a mule; and now
A fair young girl.
Dionysus.
Where is it? Let me at it!
Xanthias.
Stay, sir; it's not a girl now, it's a dog.
Dionysus.
It must be Empusa!
Xanthias.
Yes. At least its head
Is all on fire.
Dionysus.
Has it a leg of brass?
Xanthias.
Yes, that it has. And the other leg of cow-dung.
It's she!
Dionysus.
Where shall I go?
Xanthias.
Well, where shall I?
Dionysus.
My Priest, protect me and we'll sup together!
Xanthias.
We're done for, O Lord Heracles.
Dionysus (cowering again).
Oh, don't!
Don't shout like that, man, and don't breathe that name.
Xanthias.
Dionysus, then!
Dionysus.
No, no. That's worse than the other. . . .
Keep on the way you're going.
Xanthias (after searching about).
Come along, sir.
Dionysus.
What is it?
Xanthias.
Don't be afraid, sir. All goes well.
And we can say as said Hegelochus,
"Beyond these storms I catch a piece of tail!"
Empusa's gone.
Dionysus.
Swear it.
Xanthias.
By Zeus, she's gone!
Dionysus.
Again.
Xanthias.
By Zeus, she's gone!
Dionysus.
Your solemn oath.
Xanthias.
By Zeus!!
Dionysus (raising himself).
Dear me, that made me feel quite pale.
Xanthias (pointing to the Priest).
And this kind gentleman turned red for sympathy.
Dionysus.
How can I have sinned to bring all this upon me?
What power above is bent on my destruction?
Xanthias.
The residence of God, or Time's long foot?
Dionysus (listening as flute-playing is heard outside).
I say!
Xanthias.
What is it?
Dionysus.
Don't you hear it?
Xanthias.
What?
Dionysus.
Flutes blowing.
Xanthias.
Yes. And such a smell of torches
Floating towards us, all most Mystery-like!
Dionysus.
Crouch quietly down and let us hear the music.
[They crouch down at the left. Music is heard far off. Xanthias puts down the bundle.
Chorus (unseen).
Iacchus, O Iacchus!
Iacchus, O Iacchus!
Xanthias.
That's it, sir. These are the Initiated
Rejoicing somewhere here, just as he told us.
Why, it's the old Iacchus hymn that used
To warm the cockles of Diagoras!
Dionysus.
Yes, it must be. However, we'd best sit
Quite still and listen, till we're sure of it.
[There enters gradually the Chorus, consisting of Men Initiated in the Eleusinian Mysteries. They are led by a Hierophant or Initiating Priest, and accompanied by a throng of Worshipping Women. They have white robes, wreaths upon their brows, and torches in their hands. During their entrance the back scene again changes. The lake disappears and we find ourselves in front of the house of Pluto.
Chorus.
Thou that dwellest in the shadow
Of great glory here beside us,
Spirit, Spirit, we have hied us
To thy dancing in the meadow!
Come, Iacchus; let thy brow
Toss its fruited myrtle bough;
We are thine, O happy dancer; O our comrade, come and guide us!
Let the mystic measure beat:
Come in riot fiery fleet;
Free and holy all before thee,
While the Charites adore thee,
And thy Mystae wait the music of thy feet!
Xanthias.
O Virgin of Demeter, highly blest,
What an entrancing smell of roasted pig!
Dionysus.
Hush! hold your tongue! Perhaps they'll give you some.
Chorus.
Spirit, Spirit, lift the shaken
Splendour of thy tossing torches!
All the meadow flashes, scorches:
Up, Iacchus, and awaken!
Come, thou star that bringest light
To the darkness of our rite,
Till thine old men leap as young men, leap with every thought forsaken
Of the dulness and the fear
Left by many a circling year:
Let thy red light guide the dances
Where thy banded youth advances
To be merry by the blossoms of the mere!
[All the Chorus has now entered.
Hierophant.
Hush, oh hush! for our song begins. Let every one stand aside
Who owns an intellect muddled with sins, or in arts like these untried:
If the mystic rites of the Muses true he has never seen nor sung:
If he never the magical music knew of Cratînus the Bull-eater's tongue:
If he likes in a comedy nothing but riot and meaningless harlequinade:
Or in matters of politics cannot keep quiet and see that cabals be allayed,
But blows up spite and keeps it alight to serve his personal ends:
Or being in power at a critical hour, accepts little gifts from his friends:
Or goes selling a ship, or betraying a fort, or takes to the trade of a smuggler,
Attempting again, in Thorycion's sort,—that pestilent revenue-juggler,—
From Aegina before us to stock Epidaurus with tar and canvas and hide,
Or tries to persuade some friend in the trade for the enemy's ships to provide:
Or a teacher of choirs who forgets his position and damages Hecate's shrines:
Or the robber of poets, the mere politician, who spites us with pitiful fines
Because we have suitably made him absurd in the God's traditional rhyme:
Behold, I give word: and again give word: and give word for the third, last time:
Make room, all such, for our dance and song.—Up, you, and give us a lay
That is meet for our mirth-making all night long and for this great festival day.
Chorus.
Forth fare all;
This mead's bowers
Bear fresh flowers;
Forth, I call.
Leap, mock, dance, play;
Enough and to spare we have feasted to-day!
March: raise high
Her whose hands
Save these lands;
Raise due cry:
Maid, Maid, save these,
Tho' it may not exactly Thorycion please!
Hierophant.
One hymn to the Maiden; now raise ye another
To the Queen of the Fruits of the Earth.
To Demeter the Corn-giver, Goddess and Mother,
Make worship in musical mirth.
Chorus.
Approach, O Queen of orgies pure,
And us, thy faithful band, ensure
From morn to eve to ply secure
Our mocking and our clowning:
To grace thy feast with many a hit
Of merry jest or serious wit,
And laugh, and earn the prize, and flit
Triumphant to the crowning.
Hierophant.
Now call the God of blooming mien;
Raise the mystic chorus:
Our comrade he and guide unseen,
With us and before us.
Chorus.
Iacchus high in glory, thou whose day
Of all is merriest, hither, help our play;
Show, as we throne thee at thy Maiden's side,
How light to thee are our long leagues of way.
Iacchus, happy dancer, be our guide.
Thyself, that poorest men thy joy should share,
Didst rend thy robe, thy royal sandal tear,
That feet unshod might dance, and robes rent wide
Wave in thy revel with no after care.
Iacchus, happy dancer, be our guide.
Lo there! but now across the dance apace
A maiden tripped, a maiden fair of face,
Whose tattered smock and kerchief scarce could hide
The merry bosom peering from its place.
Iacchus, happy dancer, be our guide.
Xanthias.
I always liked to follow some one else:
Suppose we join and dance?
Dionysus.
Why, so say I.
[They join the Dance.
Hierophant.
[These verses satirise Archedêmus, the politician, who has never succeeded in making out a clear Athenian pedigree for himself; Cleisthenes, who went into mourning for imaginary relatives lost at Arginusae; and Callias, the lady-killer, who professed a descent from Heracles, and wore a lion-skin in token thereof.
Perhaps 'twill best beseem us
To deal with Archedêmus,
Who is toothless still and rootless, at seven years from birth:
Chorus.
Yet he leads the public preachers
Of those poor dead upper creatures,
And is prince of all the shadiness on earth!
Hierophant.
And Cleisthenes, says rumour,
In a wild despairing humour
Sits huddled up and tearing out his hair among the graves.
Chorus.
To believe he would incline us
That a person named Sebînus
Is tossing yet unburied on the waves!
Hierophant.
While Callias, says tattle,
Has attended a sea-battle,
And lionesses' scalps were the uniform he wore!
Dionysus (to The Hierophant).
You'd oblige us much by telling
Me the way to Pluto's dwelling.
We are strangers newly lighted on your shore.
Hierophant.
No need of distant travel
That problem to unravel;
For know that while you ask me, you are standing at the door.
Dionysus (to Xanthias).
Then up, my lad, be packing!
Xanthias.
There's the Devil in the sacking:
It can't stay still a second on the floor!
Hierophant.
Now onward through Demeter's ring
Through the leaves and flowers,
All who love her junketing,
All who know her powers!
Fare forward you, while I go here
With matron and with maiden,
To make their night-long roaming clear
With tossing torches laden.
Chorus (of Worshipping Women, as they file off).
Then on 'mid the meadows deep,
Where thickest the rosebuds creep
And the dewdrops are pearliest:
A jubilant step advance
In our own, our eternal dance,
Till its joy the Glad Fates entrance
Who threaded it earliest.
For ours is the sunshine bright,
Yea, ours is the joy of light
All pure, without danger:
For we thine Elect have been,
Thy secrets our eyes have seen,
And our hearts we have guarded clean
Toward kinsman and stranger!
Dionysus.
I ought by rights to knock; but how, I wonder.
I don't know how they do knock in this country.
Xanthias.
Oh, don't waste time. Go in and do your best,
Like Heracles in heart as well as garb.
Dionysus (knocking).
Ho there!
[The door opens and a Porter appears, whose dress shows him to be Aeacus, the Judge of the Dead.}}
Aeacus.
Who summons?
Dionysus.
Heracles the Brave.
Aeacus.
Thou rash, impure, and most abandoned man,
Foul, inly foul, yea foulest upon earth,
Who harried our dog, Kerberus, choked him dumb,
Fled, vanished, and left me to bear the blame,
Who kept him!—Now I have thee on the hip!
So close the black encaverned rocks of Styx
And Acheronian crags a-drip with blood
Surround thee, and Cocytus' circling hounds,
And the hundred-headed serpent, that shall rend
Thy bowels asunder; to thy lungs shall cleave
The lamprey of Tartessus, and thy reins
And inmost entrails in one paste of gore
Teithrasian Gorgons gorge for evermore!
—To whom, even now, I speed my indignant course!
[The Porter retires.
Dionysus (who has fallen prostrate).
Please!
Xanthias.
What's the matter? Quick, get up again
Before they come and see you.
Dionysus.
But I feel
Faint.—Put a cold wet sponge against my heart.
Xanthias (producing a sponge).
There; you apply it.
Dionysus.
Thanks. Where is it?
Xanthias.
There.
[Dionysus takes and applies it.
Ye golden gods, is it there you keep your heart?
Dionysus.
The nervous shock made it go down and down!
Xanthias.
You are the greatest coward I ever saw,
Of gods or humans!
Dionysus.
I a coward?—I had
The presence of mind to ask you for a sponge.
Few had done more!
Xanthias.
Could any one do less?
Dionysus.
A coward would still be flat there, sniffing salts;
I rose, called for a sponge, and used the sponge.
Xanthias.
That was brave, by Poseidon!
Dionysus.
I should think so.—
And weren't you frightened at his awful threats
And language?
Xanthias.
I? I never cared a rap.
Dionysus.
Oh, you're a hero, aren't you?—and want glory.
Well, you be me! Put on this lion's hide
And take the club—if you're so dauntless-hearted.
I'll take my turn, and be your luggage-boy.
Xanthias.
Over with both of them! Of course I will.
[He proceeds to put on the lion-skin.
Now watch if Xanthias-Heracles turns faint,
Or shows the same "presence of mind," as you.
Dionysus.
The true Melitêan jail-bird, on my life! . . .
Well, I suppose I'd better take the luggage.
[The exchange is just effected when the door again opens and there enters a Maid of Persephone.
Maid.
Dear Heracles, and is it you once more?
Come in! No sooner did my mistress learn
Your coming, than she set her bread to bake,
Set pots of split-pea porridge, two or three,
A-boiling, a whole ox upon the coals,
Cakes in the oven, and big buns.—Oh, come in.
Xanthias (as Heracles).
She is very kind; perhaps some other time.
Maid.
Oh, really; but I mustn't let you go!
She's doing everything herself! Braised game,
Spices and fruits and stoups of the sweetest wine—
Come in with me.
Xanthias.
Most kind, but . . .
Maid.
No excuses.
I won't let go.—A flute-player, very pretty,
Is waiting for you, and two or three such sweet
Young dancing girls.
Xanthias (wavering).
Did you say dancing girls?
Maid.
Yes. Do come in.—They just were going to serve
The fish, and have the table lifted in.
Xanthias.
I will! I'll chance it!—Go straight in and tell
Those dancing girls that Heracles is coming!
[The Maid retires again.
Here, boy, take up the bags and follow me.
Dionysus.
Stop, please!—You didn't take it seriously
When I just dressed you as Heracles for fun?
You can't be so ridiculous, Xanthias.
Take up the bags at once and bring them in.
Xanthias.
What? Surely you don't mean to take away
Your own gift?
Dionysus.
Mean it? No; I'm doing it!
Off with that lion-skin, quick.
[Begins to strip off the lion-skin by force.
Xanthias.
Help! I'm assaulted . . .
[Giving way.
I leave it with the Gods!
Dionysus (proceeding to dress himself again).
The Gods, indeed!
What senseless vanity to expect to be
Alcmena's son, a mortal and a slave!
Xanthias.
Well, take it. I don't care.—The time may be,
God willing, when you'll feel the need of me!
Chorus.
That's the way such points to settle,
Like a chief of tested mettle,
Weather-worn on many seas,
Not in one fixed pattern stopping,
Like a painted thing, but dropping
Always towards the side of ease.
'Tis this instinct for soft places,
To keep warm while others freeze,
Marks a man of gifts and graces,
Like our own Theramenes!
Dionysus.
Surely 'twould the matter worsen,
If I saw this low-bred person
On his cushions sprawling, so,
Served him drinking, watched him winking:—
If he knew what I was thinking—
And he would, for certain, know,
Being a mighty shrewd deviser
Of such fancies—with a blow
P'raps he'd loosen an incisor
From the forefront of my row!
[During this song there has entered along the street a Landlady, who is soon followed by her servant, Plathanê.
Landlady.
Ho, Plathanê, here, I want you, Plathanê! . . .
Here is that scamp who came to the inn before,
Ate sixteen loaves of bread. . . .
Plathanê.
Why, so it is:
The very man!
Xanthias (aside).
Here's fun for somebody.
Landlady.
And twenty plates of boiled meat, half-an-obol
At every gulp!
Xanthias (as before).
Some one'll catch it now!
Landlady.
And all that garlic.
Dionysus.
Nonsense, my good woman,
You don't know what you're saying.
Plathanê.
Did you think
I wouldn't know you in those high-heeled boots?
Landlady.
And all the salt-fish I've not mentioned yet. . . .
Plathanê. (to Landlady).
No, you poor thing; and all the good fresh cheese
The man kept swallowing, and the baskets with it!
Landlady. (to Xanthias).
And when he saw me coming for the money
Glared like a wild bull! Yes, and roared at me!
Xanthias.
Just what he does! His manners everywhere.
Landlady.
Tugged at his sword! Pretended to be mad!
Plathanê.
Yes, you poor thing; I don't know how you bore it!
Landlady.
And we got all of a tremble, both of us.
And ran up the ladder to the loft! And he,
He tore the matting up—and off he went!
Xanthias.
Like him, again.
Plathanê.
But something must be done!
Landlady (to Plathanê).
Run, you, and fetch me my protector, Cleon.
Plathanê
(to the Landlady, as they run excitedly to go off in different directions).
And you fetch me Hyperbolus, if you meet him. . . .
Then we shall crush him!
Landlady (returning).
Oh, that ugly jaw!
If I could throw a stone, I'ld like to break
Those wicked teeth that ground my larder dry!
Plathanê (returning on the other side).
And I should like to fling you in the pit!
Landlady (turning again as she goes off).
And I should like to get a scythe, and cut
That throat that swallowed all my sausages.
Plathanê (the same).
Well, I'll go straight to Cleon, and this same day
We'll worm them out in a law-court, come what may!
[The Landlady and Plathanê go off in different directions. A painful silence ensues. At length:
Dionysus.
Plague take me! No friend left me in the world. . . .
Except old Xanthias!
Xanthias.
I know, I know!
We all see what you want. But that's enough!
I won't be Heracles.
Dionysus.
Now don't say that,
Xanthias—old boy!
Xanthias.
And how am I to be
Alcmena's son—a mortal and a slave?
Dionysus.
I know you're angry, and quite justly so.
Hit me if you like; I won't say one word back.
But, mark, if ever again in this wide world
I rob you of these clothes, destruction fall
On me myself, my wife, my little ones,—
And, if you like, on the old bat Archedêmus!
Xanthias.
That oath will do. I take it on those terms.
Chorus.
Now 'tis yours to make repayment
For the honour of this raiment;
Wear it well, as erst you wore;
If it needs some renovating,
Think of whom you're personating,
Glare like Heracles and roar.
Else, if any fear you show, sir,
Any weakness at the core,
Any jesting, back you go, sir,
To the baggage as before!
Xanthias.
Thank you for your kind intention,
But I had some comprehension
Of the task I undertook.
Should the lion-skin make for profit,
He'll attempt to make me doff it—
That I know—by hook or crook.
Still I'll make my acting real,
Peppery gait and fiery look.
Ha! Here comes the great ordeal:
See the door. I'm sure it shook!
Aeacus.
Here, seize this dog-stealer and lead him forth
To justice, quick.
Dionysus (imitating Xanthias).
Here's fun for somebody.
Xanthias (in a Heraclean attitude).
Stop, zounds! Not one step more!
Aeacus.
You want to fight?
Ho, Ditylas, Skeblyas, and Pardokas,
Forward! Oblige this person with some fighting!
Dionysus.
(while the constables gradually overpower Xanthias)
How shocking to assault the constables—
And stealing other people's things!
Aeacus.
Unnatural,
That's what I call it.
Dionysus.
Quite a pain to see.
Xanthias (now overpowered and disarmed).
Now, by Lord Zeus, if ever I've been here
Or stol'n from you the value of one hair,
You may take and hang me on the nearest tree! . . .
Now, listen: and I'll act quite fairly by you;
[Suddenly indicating Dionysus.
Take this poor boy, and put him to the question!
And if you find me guilty, hang me straight.
Aeacus.
What tortures do you allow?
Xanthias.
Use all you like.
Tie him in the ladder, hang him by the feet,
Whip off his skin with bristle-whips and rack him;
You might well try some vinegar up his nose,
And bricks upon his chest, and so on. Only
No scourges made of . . . leek or young shalott.
Aeacus.
A most frank offer, most frank.—If my treatment
Disables him, the value shall be paid.
Xanthias.
Don't mention it. Remove him and begin.
Aeacus.
Thank you, we'll do it here, that you may witness
Exactly what he says. (To Dionysus) Put down your bundle,
And mind you tell the truth.
Dionysus
(who has hitherto been speechless with horror, now bursting out).
I warn all present,
To torture me is an illegal act,
Being immortal! And whoever does so
Must take the consequences.
Aeacus.
Why, who are you?
Dionysus.
The immortal Dionysus, son of Zeus;
And this my slave.
Aeacus (to Xanthias).
You hear his protest?
Xanthias.
All the more reason, that, for whipping him;
If he's a real immortal he won't feel it.
Dionysus.
Well, but you claim to be immortal too;
They ought to give you just the same as me.
Xanthias.
That's fair enough. All right; whichever of us
You first find crying, or the least bit minding
Your whip, you're free to say he's no true god.
Aeacus.
Sir, you behave like a true gentleman;
You come to justice of yourself!—Now then,
Strip, both.
Xanthias.
How will you test us?
Aeacus.
Easily:
You'll each take whack and whack about.
Xanthias.
All right.
Aeacus (striking Xanthias).
There.
Xanthias (controlling himself with an effort).
Watch now, if you see me even wince.
Aeacus.
But I've already hit you!
Xanthias.
I think not.
Aeacus.
Upon my word, it looks as if I hadn't.
Well, now I'll go and whack the other.
[Strikes Dionysus.
Dionysus (also controlling himself).
When?
Aeacus.
I've done it.
Dionysus (with an air of indifference).
Odd, it didn't make me sneeze!
Aeacus.
It is odd!—Well, I'll try the first again.
[He crosses to Xanthias.
Xanthias.
All right. Be quick. (The blow falls) Whe-ew!
Aeacus.
Ah, why "whe-ew"?
It didn't hurt you?
Xanthias (recovering himself).
No; I just was thinking
When my Diomean Feast would next be due.
Aeacus.
A holy thought!—I'll step across again.
[Strikes Dionysus, who howls.
Dionysus.
Ow-ow!
Aeacus.
What's that?
Dionysus (recovering himself).
I saw some cavalry.
Aeacus.
What makes your eyes run?
Dionysus.
There's a smell of onions!
Aeacus.
You're sure it didn't hurt you?
Dionysus.
Hurt? Not it.
Aeacus.
I'll step across again then to the first one.
[Strikes Xanthias, who also howls.
Xanthias.
Hi-i!
Aeacus.
What is it now?
Xanthias.
Take out that thorn.
[Pointing to his foot.
Aeacus.
What does it mean?—Over we go again.
[Strikes Dionysus.
Dionysus.
(hurriedly turning his wail into a line of poetry).
O Lord! . . . "of Delos or of Pytho's rock."
Xanthias (triumphantly).
It hurts. You heard?
Dionysus.
It doesn't! I was saying
A verse of old Hipponax to myself.
Xanthias.
You're making nothing of it. Hit him hard
Across the soft parts underneath the ribs.
Aeacus (to Xanthias).
A good idea! Turn over on your back!
[Strikes him.
Xanthias (as before).
O Lord!
Dionysus.
It hurts!
Xanthias (as though continuing).
"Poseidon ruler free
Of cliffs Aegean and the grey salt sea."
Aeacus.
Now, by Demeter, it's beyond my powers
To tell which one of you's a god!—Come in;
We'll ask my master. He and Persephassa
Will easily know you, being gods themselves.
Dionysus.
Most wisely said. Indeed I could have wished
You'd thought of that before you had me swished.
[They all go into the house. The Chorus, left alone on the stage, turns towards the audience.
Chorus.
Semi-Chorus I.
Draw near, O Muse, to the spell of my song,
Set foot in the sanctified place,
And see thy faithful Athenians throng,
To whom the myriad arts belong,
The myriad marks of grace,
Greater than Cleophon's own,
On whose lips, with bilingual moan,
A swallow from Thrace
Has taken his place
And chirps in blood-curdling tone
On the Gibberish Tree's thick branches high
As he utters a nightingale note,
A tumultuous cry
That he's certain to die
Even with an equal vote!
One of the Leaders.
It behoves this sacred Chorus, in its wisdom and its bliss,
To assist the state with counsel. Now our first advice is this:
Let Athenians all stand equal; penal laws be swept away.
Some of us have been misguided, following Phrynichus astray;
Now for all of these, we urge you, let full freedom be decreed
To confess the cause that tripped them and blot out that old misdeed.
Next, no man should live in Athens outcast, robbed of every right.
Shame it is that low-born aliens, just for sharing one sea-fight,
Should forthwith become 'Plataeans' and instead of slaves be masters—
(Not that in the least I blame you for thus meeting our disasters;
No; I pay respectful homage to the one wise thing you've done):
But remember these men also, your own kinsmen, sire and son,
Who have ofttfmes fought beside you, spilt their blood on many seas:
Grant for that one fault the pardon which they crave you on their knees.
You whom Nature made for wisdom, let your vengeance fall to sleep;
Greet as kinsmen and Athenians, burghers true to win and keep,
Whosoe'er will brave the storms and fight for Athens at your side!
But be sure, if still we spurn them, if we wrap us in our pride,
Stand alone, with Athens tossing in the long arm of the waves,
Men in days to come shall wonder, and not praise you in your graves.
Semi-Chorus II.
An' I the make of a man may trow,
And the ways that lead to a fall,
Not long will the ape that troubles us now,
Not long little Cleigenes—champion, I vow,
Of rascally washermen all,
Who hold over soap their sway
And lye and Cimolian clay,
(Which they thriftily mix
With the scrapings of bricks)—
Not long will our little one stay!
Oh, 'tis well he is warlike and ready to kick
For if once home from supper he trotted,
Talking genially thick
And without his big stick,
We should probably find him garotted.
The Other Leader.
It has often struck our notice that the course our city runs
Is the same towards men and money.—She has true and worthy sons:
She has good and ancient silver, she has good and recent gold.
These are coins untouched with alloys; everywhere their fame is told;
Not all Hellas holds their equal, not all Barbary far and near,
Gold or silver, each well minted, tested each and ringing clear.
Yet, we never use them! Others always pass from hand to hand,
Sorry brass just struck last week and branded with a wretched brand.
So with men we know for upright, blameless lives and noble names,
Trained in music and palaestra, freemen's choirs and freemen's games,
These we spurn for men of brass, for red-haired things of unknown breed,
Rascal cubs of mongrel fathers—them we use at every need!
Creatures just arrived in Athens, whom our city, years ago,
Scarcely would have used as scapegoats to be slaughtered for a show!
Even now, O race demented, there is time to change your ways;
Use once more what's worth the using. If we 'scape, the more the praise
That we fought our fight with wisdom; or, if all is lost for good,
Let the tree on which they hang us, be, at least, of decent wood!
[The door opens, and the two slaves, Aeacus and Xanthias, return.
Aeacus.
By Zeus, that's what I call a gentleman!
That master of yours!
Xanthias.
Gentleman? That he is!
There's nothing in his head but wine and wenches!
Aeacus.
But not to whip you when you were clean convicted,
A slave caught masquerading as his master!
Xanthias (significantly).
I'd like to see him try it!
Aeacus.
There you go!
The old slave trick, that I'm so fond of too.
Xanthias.
You like it, eh?
Aeacus.
Like it? Why, when I get
Behind my master's back and quietly curse him,
I feel just like the Blessèd in the Mysteries!
Xanthias.
What about muttering as you go outside
After a whacking?
Aeacus.
Yes; I like that too.
Xanthias. (with increasing excitement)
And prying into people's secrets, eh?
Aeacus (the same).
By Zeus, there'^s nothing like it in the world!
Xanthias.
Oh, Zeus makes brethren meet!—And what of list'ning
To what the masters say?
Aeacus.
It makes me mad!
Xanthias.
And telling every word of it to strangers?
Aeacus.
Madder than mad, stark staring crimson madder!
Xanthias.
O Lord Apollo, clap your right hand there,
Give me your cheek to kiss, and you kiss me!
[They embrace; a loud noise is heard inside the house.
But Zeus!—our own Zeus of the Friendly Jailbirds—
What is that noise . . . those shouts and quarrelling . . .
Inside?
Aeacus.
That? Aeschylus and Euripides!
Xanthias.
Eh?
Aeacus.
Yes; there's a big business just astir,
And hot dissension among all the dead.
Xanthias.
About what?
Aeacus.
There's a law established here
Concerning all the large and liberal arts,
Which grants the foremost master in each art
Free entertainment at the Central Hearth,
And also a special throne in Pluto's row . . .
Xanthias.
Oh, now I understand!
Aeacus.
To hold until
There comes one greater; then he must make way.
Xanthias.
But how has this affected Aeschylus?
Aeacus.
Aeschylus held the throne of tragedy,
As greatest . . .
Xanthias.
Held it? Why, who holds it now?
Aeacus.
Well, when Euripides came down, he gave
Free exhibitions to our choicest thieves,
Footpads, cut-purses, burglars, father-beaters,
—Of whom we have numbers here; and when they heard
The neat retorts, the fencing, and the twists,
They all went mad and thought him something splendid.
And he, growing proud, laid hands upon the throne
Where Aeschylus sat.
Xanthias.
And wasn't pelted off?
Aeacus.
Not he. The whole folk clamoured for a trial
To see which most was master of his craft.
Xanthias.
The whole jail-folk?
Aeacus.
Exactly;—loud as trumpets.
Xanthias.
And were there none to fight for Aeschylus?
Aeacus.
Goodness is scarce, you know. (Indicating the audience) The same as here!
Xanthias.
And what does Pluto mean to do about it?
Aeacus.
Why, hold a trial and contest on the spot
To test their skill for certain.
Xanthias (reflecting).
But, I say,
Sophocles surely must have claimed the throne?
Aeacus.
Not he; as soon as ever he came down,
He kissed old Aeschylus, and wrung his hand,
And Aeschylus made room on half his seat.
And now he means to wait—or so, at least,
Clidemides informs us—in reserve.
If Aeschylus wins the day, he'll rest content:
If not, why then, he says, for poor Art's sake,
He must show fight against Euripides!
Xanthias.
It is to be, then?
Aeacus.
Certainly, quite soon.
Just where you stand well have the shock of war.
They'll weigh the poetry line by line . . .
Xanthias.
Poor thing,
A lamb set in the meat-scale and found wanting!
Aeacus.
They'll bring straight-edges out, and cubit-rules,
And folded cube-frames . . .
Xanthias.
Is it bricks they want?
Aeacus.
And mitre-squares and wedges! Line by line
Euripides will test all tragedies!
Xanthias.
That must make Aeschylus angry, I should think?
Aeacus.
Well, he did stoop and glower like a mad bull.
Xanthias.
Who'll be the judge?
Aeacus.
That was a difficulty.
Both found an utter dearth of proper critics;
For Aeschylus objected to the Athenians. . . .
Xanthias.
Perhaps he thought the jail-folk rather many?
Aeacus.
And all the world beside, he thought mere dirt
At seeing what kind of thing a poet was.
So, in the end, they fixed upon your master
As having much experience in the business.
But come in; when the master's face looks grave
There's mostly trouble coming for the slave.
[They go into the house.
Chorus.
(the song ts a parody of the metre and style of Aeschylus).
Eftsoons shall dire anger interne be the Thunderer's portion
When his foe's glib tusk fresh whetted for blood he descries;
Then fell shall his heart be, and mad; and a pallid distortion
Descend as a cloud on his eyes.
Yea, words with plumes wild on the wind and with helmets a-glancing,
With axles a-splinter and marble a-shiver, eftsoons
Shall bleed, as a man meets the shock of a Thought-builder's prancing
Stanzas of dusky dragoons.
The deep crest of his mane shall uprise as he slowly unlimbers
The long-drawn wrath of his brow, and lets loose with a roar
Epithets welded and screwed, like new torrent-swept timbers
Blown loose by a giant at war.
Then rises the man of the Mouth; then battleward flashes
A tester of verses, a smooth and serpentine tongue,
To dissect each phrase into mincemeat, and argue to ashes
That high-towered labour of lung!
The door opens again. Enter Euripides, Dionysus, and Aeschylus.
Euripides.
Pray, no advice to me! I won't give way;
I claim that I'm more master of my art.
Dionysus.
You hear him, Aeschylus. Why don't you speak?
Euripides.
He wants to open with an awful silence—
The blood-curdling reserve of his first scenes.
Dionysus.
My dear sir, I must beg! Control your language.
Euripides.
I know him; I've seen through him years ago;
Bard of the "noble savage," wooden-mouthed,
No door, no bolt, no bridle to his tongue,
A torrent of pure bombast—tied in bundles!
Aeschylus (breaking out).
How say'st thou. Son o' the goddess of the Greens?—
You dare speak thus of me, you phrase-collector,
Blind-beggar-bard and scum of rifled rag-bags!
Oh, you shall rue it!
Dionysus.
Stop! Stop, Aeschylus;
Strike not thine heart to fire on rancour old.
Aeschylus.
No; I'll expose this crutch-and-cripple playwright,
And what he's worth for all his insolence.
Dionysus (to attendants).
A lamb, a black lamb, quick, boys! Bring it out
To sacrifice; a hurricane's let loose!
Aeschylus (to Euripides).
You and your Cretan dancing-solos! You
And the ugly amours that you set to verse!
Dionysus (interposing).
One moment, please, most noble Aeschylus!
And you, poor wretch, if you have any prudence,
Get out of the hailstones quick, or else, by Zeus,
Some word as big as your head will catch you crash
Behind the ear, and knock out all the . . . Telephus!
Nay, Aeschylus, pray, pray control your anger;
Examine and submit to be examined
With a cool head. Two poets should not meet
In fishwife style; but here are you, straight off,
Ablaze and roaring like an oak on fire.
Euripides.
For my part I'm quite ready, with no shrinking,
To bite first or be bitten, as he pleases.
Here are my dialogue, music, and construction;
Here's Peleus at your service, Meleâger,
And Aeolus, and . . . yes, Telephus, by all means!
Dionysus.
Do you consent to the trial, Aeschylus? Speak.
Aeschylus.
I well might take objection to the place;
It's no fair field for him and me.
Dionysus.
Why not?
Aeschylus.
Because my writings haven't died with me,
As his have; so he'll have them all to hand. . . .
However, I waive the point, if you think fit.
Dionysus.
Go, some one, bring me frankincense and fire
That I may pray for guidance, to decide
This contest in the Muses' strictest ways;
To whom, meantime, uplift your hymn of praise!
Chorus
(while preparations are made for the sacrifice).
All hail, ye nine heaven-born virginal Muses,
Whiche'er of ye watch o'er the manners and uses
Of the Founts of Quotation, when, meeting in fray—
All hearts drawn tense for who wins and who loses—
With wrestling lithe each the other confuses,
Look on the pair that do battle to-day!
These be the men to take poems apart
By chopping, riving, sawing;
Here is the ultimate trial of Art
To due completion drawing!
Dionysus.
Won't you two pray before you show your lines?
Aeschylus (going up to the altar).
Demeter, thou who feedest all my thought,
Grant me but worthiness to worship thee!
Dionysus (to Euripides).
Won't you put on some frankincense?
Euripides (staying where he is).
Oh, thank you;
The gods I pray to are of other metal!
Dionysus.
Your own stamp, eh? New struck?
Euripides.
Exactly so.
Dionysus.
Well, pray away then to your own peculiar.
Euripides.
Ether, whereon I batten! Vocal chords!
Reason, and nostrils swift to scent and sneer,
Grant that I duly probe each word I hear.
Chorus.
All of us to hear are yearning
Further from these twins of learning,
What dread road they walk, what burning
Heights they climb of speech and song.
Tongues alert for battle savage,
Tempers keen for war and ravage,
Angered hearts to both belong.
He will fight with passes witty
Smooth and smacking of the city,
Gleaming blades unflecked with rust;
He will seize—to end the matter—
Tree-trunks torn and clubbed, to batter
Brains to bits, and plunge and scatter
Whole arena-fulls of dust!
[Dionysus is now seated on a throne as judge. The poets stand on either side before him.
Dionysus.
Now, quick to work. Be sure you both do justice to your cases,
Clear sense, no loose analogies, and no long commonplaces.
Euripides.
A little later I will treat my own artistic mettle,
This person's claims I should prefer immediately to settle.
I'll show you how he posed and prosed; with what audacious fooling
He tricked an audience fresh and green from Phrynichus's schooling.
Those sole veiled figures on the stage were first among his graces,
Achilles, say, or Niobe, who never showed their faces,
But stood like so much scene-painting, and never a grunt they uttered!
Dionysus.
Why, no, by Zeus, no more they did!
Euripides.
And on the Chorus spluttered
Through long song-systems, four on end, the actors mute as fishes!
Dionysus.
I somehow loved that silence, though; and felt it met my wishes
As no one's talk does nowadays!
Euripides.
You hadn't yet seen through it!
That's all.
Dionysus.
I really think you're right! But still, what made him do it?
Euripides.
The instinct of a charlatan, to keep the audience guessing
If Niobe ever meant to speak—the play meantime progressing!
Dionysus.
Of course it was! The sly old dog, to think of how he tricked us!—
Don't (to Aeschylus) ramp and fume!
Euripides (excusing Aeschylus).
We're apt to do so when the facts convict us!
—Then after this tomfoolery, the heroine, feeling calmer,
Would utter some twelve wild-bull words, on mid-way in the drama,
Long ones, with crests and beetling brows, and gorgons round the border,
That no man ever heard on earth.
Aeschylus.
The red plague . . . !
Dionysus.
Order, order!
Euripides.
Intelligible—not one line!
Dionysus (to Aeschylus).
Please! Won't your teeth stop gnashing?
Euripides.
All fosses and Scamander-beds, and bloody targes flashing,
With gryphon-eagles bronze-embossed, and crags, and riders reeling,
Which somehow never quite joined on.
Dionysus.
By Zeus, sir, quite my feeling!
A question comes in Night's long hours, that haunts me like a spectre,
What kind of fish or fowl you'd call a "russet hippalector."
Aeschylus (breaking in).
It was a ship's sign, idiot, such as every joiner fixes!
Dionysus.
Indeed! I thought perhaps it meant that music-man Eryxis!
[Euripides.
You like then, in a tragic play, a cock? You think it mixes?]
Aeschylus (to Euripides).
And what did you yourself produce, O fool with pride deluded?
Euripides.
Not "hippalectors," thank the Lord, nor "tragelaphs," as you did—
The sort of ornament they use to fill a Persian curtain!
—I had the Drama straight from you, all bloated and uncertain,
Weighed down with rich and heavy words, puffed out past comprehension.
I took the case in hand; applied treatment for such distension—
Beetroot, light phrases, little walks, hot book-juice, and cold reasoning;
Then fed her up on solos. . . .
Dionysus (aside).
With Cephisophon for seasoning!
Euripides.
I didn't rave at random, or plunge in and make confusions.
My first appearing character explained, with due allusions,
The whole play's pedigree.
Dionysus (aside).
Your own you left in wise obscurity!
Euripides.
Then no one from the start with me could idle with security.
They had to work. The men, the slaves, the women, all made speeches,
The kings, the little girls, the hags . . .
Aeschylus.
Just see the things he teaches!
And shouldn't you be hanged for that?
Euripides.
No, by the lord Apollo!
It's democratic!
Dionysus (to Euripides).
That's no road for you, my friend, to follow;
You'll find the 'little walk' too steep; I recommend you quit it.
Euripides.
Next, I taught all the town to talk with freedom.
Aeschylus.
I admit it.
'Twere better, ere you taught them, you had died amid their curses!
Euripides.
I gave them canons to apply and squares for marking verses;
Taught them to see, think, understand, to scheme for what they wanted,
To fall in love, think evil, question all things. . . .
Aeschylus.
Granted, granted!
Euripides.
I put things on the stage that came from daily life and business.
Where men could catch me if I tripped; could listen without dizziness
To things they knew, and judge my art. 1 never crashed and lightened
And bullied people's senses out; nor tried to keep them frightened
With Magic Swans and Aethiop knights, loud barb and clanging vizor!
Then look at my disciples, too, and mark what creatures his are!
Phormisius is his product and the looby lump Megainetus,
All trumpet, lance, moustache, and glare, who twist their clubs of pine at us;
While Cleitophon is mine, sirs, and Theramenes the Matchless!
Dionysus.
Theramenes! Ah, that's the man! All danger leaves him scratchless.
His friends may come to grief, and he be found in awkward fixes,
But always tumbles right end up, not aces—no: all sixes!
Euripides.
This was the kind of lore I brought
To school my town in ways of thought;
I mingled reasoning with my art
And shrewdness, till I fired their heart
To brood, to think things through and through;
And rule their houses better, too.
Dionysus.
Yes, by the powers, that's very true!
No burgher now, who comes indoors,
But straight looks round the house and roars
"Where is the saucepan gone? And who
Has bitten that sprat's head away?
And, out, alas! The earthen pot
I bought last year, is not, is not!
Where are the leeks of yesterday?
And who has gnawed this olive, pray?"
Whereas, before they took his school,
Each sat at home, a simple, cool,
Religious, unsuspecting fool,
And happy in his sheep-like way!
Chorus.
Great Achilles, gaze around thee!
'Twill astound thee and confound thee.
Answer now: but keep in bound the
Words that off the course would tear,
Bit in teeth, in turmoil flocking.
Yes: it's monstrous—shameful—shocking—
Brave old warrior. But beware!
Don't retort with haste or passion;
Meet the squalls in sailor fashion,
Mainsail reefed and mast nigh bare;
Then, when safe beyond disaster
You may press him fiercer, faster,
Close and show yourself his master,
Once the wind is smooth and fair!
Dionysus.
O thou who first of the Greeks did build great words to heaven-high towers,
And the essence of tragedy-padding distilled, give vent to thy pent-up showers.
Aeschylus.
I freely admit that I take it amiss, and I think my anger is just,
At having to answer a man like this. Still, lest I should seem nonplussed,
Pray, tell me on what particular ground a poet should claim admiration?
Euripides.
If his art is true, and his counsel sound; and if he brings help to the nation,
By making men better in some respect.
Aeschylus.
And suppose you have done the reverse,
And have had upon good strong men the effect of making them weaker and worse,
What, do you say, should your recompense be?
Dionysus.
The gallows! You needn't ask him.
Aeschylus.
Well, think what they were when he had them from me! Good six-footers, solid of limb,
Well-born, well-bred, not ready to fly from obeying their country's call,
Nor in latter-day fashion to loiter and lie, and keep their consciences small;
Their life was in shafts of ash and of elm, in bright plumes fluttering wide,
In lance and greaves and corslet and helm, and hearts of seven-fold hide!
Euripides (aside).
Oh, now he's begun and will probably run a whole armourer's shop on my head!
(To Aeschylus) Stop! How was it due in especial to you, if they were so very—well-bred?
Dionysus.
Come, answer him, Aeschylus! Don't be so hot, or smoulder in silent disdain.
Aeschylus (crushingly).
By a tragedy 'brimming with Ares!'
Dionysus.
A what?
Aeschylus.
The 'Seven against Thebes.'
Dionysus.
Pray explain.
Aeschylus.
There wasn't a man could see that play but he hungered for havoc and gore.
Dionysus.
I'm afraid that tells in the opposite way. For the Thebans profited more,
It urged them to fight without flinching or fear, and they did so; and long may you rue it!
Aeschylus.
The same thing was open to all of you here, but it didn't amuse you to do it!
Then next I taught you for glory to long, and against all odds stand fast;
That was "The Persians," which bodied in song the noblest deed of the past.
Dionysus.
Yes, yes! When Darius arose from the grave it gave me genuine joy,
And the Chorus stood with its arms a- wave, and observed, "Yow—oy, Yow—oy!"
Aeschylus.
Yes, that's the effect for a play to produce! For observe, from the world's first start
Those poets have all been of practical use who have been supreme in their art.
First, Orpheus withheld us from bloodshed impure, and vouchsafed us the great revelation;
Musaeus was next, with wisdom to cure diseases and teach divination.
Then Hesiod showed us the season to plough, to sow, and to reap. And the laurels
That shine upon Homer's celestial brow are equally due to his morals!
He taught men to stand, to march, and to arm. . . .
Dionysus.
So that was old Homer's profession?
Then I wish he could keep his successors from harm, like Pantacles in the procession,
Who first got his helmet well strapped on his head, and then tried to put in the plume!
Aeschylus.
There be many brave men that he fashioned and bred, like Lamachus, now in his tomb.
And in his great spirit my plays had a part, with their heroes many and brave—
Teucers, Patrocluses, lions at heart; who made my citizens crave
To dash like them at the face of the foe, and leap at the call of a trumpet!—
But no Stheneboia I've given you, no; no Phaedra, no heroine-strumpet!
If I've once put a woman in love in one act of one play, may my teaching be scouted!
Euripides.
No, you hadn't exactly the style to attract Aphrodite!
Aeschylus.
I'm better without it.
A deal too much of that style she found in some of your friends and you,
And once, at the least, left you flat on the ground!
Dionysus.
By Zeus, that's perfectly true.
If he dealt his neighbours such rattling blows, we must think how he suffered in person.
Euripides.
And what are the public defects you suppose my poor Stheneboia to worsen?
Aeschylus (evading the question with a jest).
She makes good women, and good men's wives, when their hearts are weary and want ease,
Drink jorums of hemlock and finish their lives, to gratify Bellerophontes!
Euripides.
But did I invent the story I told of—Phaedra, say? Wasn't it history?
Aeschylus.
It was true, right enough; but the poet should hold such a truth enveloped in mystery,
And not represent it or make it a play. It's his duty to teach, and you know it.
As a child learns from all who may come in his way, so the grown world learns from the poet.
Oh, words of good counsel should flow from his voice—
Euripides.
And words like Mount Lycabettus
Or Parnes, such as you give us for choice, must needs be good counsel?—Oh, let us,
Oh, let us at least use the language of men!
Aeschylus.
Flat cavil, sir! cavil absurd!
When the subject is great and the sentiment, then, of necessity, great grows the word;
When heroes give range to their hearts, is it strange if the speech of them over us towers?
Nay, the garb of them too must be gorgeous to view, and majestical, nothing like ours.
All this I saw, and established as law, till you came and spoilt it.
Euripides.
How so?
Aeschylus.
You wrapped them in rags from old beggarmen's bags, to express their heroical woe,
And reduce the spectator to tears of compassion!
Euripides.
Well, what was the harm if I did?
Aeschylus. (evading the question as before)
Bah, your modern rich man has adopted the fashion, for remission of taxes to bid;
"He couldn't provide a trireme if he tried;" he implores us his state to behold.
Dionysus.
Though rags outside may very well hide good woollens beneath, if it's cold!
And when once he's exempted, he gaily departs and pops up at the Fishmongers' stalls.
Aeschylus (continuing).
Then, next, you have trained in the speechmaking arts nigh every infant that crawls.
Oh, this is the thing that such havoc has wrought in the wrestling-school, narrowed the hips
Of the poor pale chattering children, and taught the crews of the pick of the ships
To answer back pat to their officer's nose! How unlike my old sailor of yore,
With no thought in his head but to guzzle his brose and sing as he bent at the oar!
Dionysus.
And spit on the heads of the rowers below, and garott stray lubbers on shore!
But our new man just sails where it happens to blow, and argues, and rows no more!
Aeschylus.
What hasn't he done that is under the sun,
And the love-dealing dames that with him have begun?
One's her own brother's wife;
One says Life is not Life;
And one goes into shrines to give birth to a son!
Our city through him is filled to the brim
With monkeys who chatter to every one's whim;
Little scriveners' clerks
With their winks and their larks,
But for wrestle or race not a muscle in trim!
Dionysus.
Not a doubt of it! Why, I laughed fit to cry
At the Panathenaea, a man to espy,
Pale, flabby, and fat,
And bent double at that,
Puffing feebly behind, with a tear in his eye;
Till there in their place, with cord and with brace,
Were the Potters assembled to quicken his pace;
And down they came, whack!
On sides, belly, and back,
Till he blew out his torch and just fled from the race!
Chorus.
Never were such warriors, never
Prize so rich and feud so keen:
Dangerous, too, such knots to sever:
He drives on with stern endeavour,
He falls back, but rallies ever,
Marks his spot and stabs it clean!
Change your step, though! Do not tarry;
Other ways there be to harry
Old antagonists in art.
Show whatever sparks you carry,
Question, answer, thrust and parry—
Be they new or ancient, marry,
Let them fly, well-winged and smart!
If you fear, from former cases,
That the audience p'raps may fail
To appreciate your paces
Your allusions and your graces,
Look a moment in their faces!
They will tell another tale.
Oft from long campaigns returning
Thro' the devious roads of learning
These have wandered, books in hand:
Nature gave them keen discerning
Eyes; and you have set them burning!
Sharpest thought or deepest yearning—
Speak, and these will understand.
Euripides.
Quite so; I'll turn then to his Prologues straight,
And make in that first part of tragedy
My first review in detail of this Genius!
[His exposition always was obscure.]
Dionysus.
Which one will you examine!
Euripides.
Which? Oh, lots!
First quote me that from the Oresteia, please.
Dionysus.
Ho, silence in the court! Speak, Aeschylus.
Aeschylus (quoting the first lines of the Choephoroi).
"Guide of the Dead, warding a father's way,
Be thou my light and saviour, where I pray,
In this my fatherland, returned, restored."
Dionysus (to Euripides).
You find some false lines there?
Euripides.
About a dozen!
Dionysus.
Why, altogether there are only three!
Euripides.
But every one has twenty faults in drawing!
[Aeschylus begins to interrupt.
Dionysus.
No, stop, stop, Aeschylus; or perhaps you'll find
Your debts run up to more than three iambics.
Aeschylus (raging).
Stop to let him speak?
Dionysus.
Well, that's my advice.
Euripides.
He's gone straight off some thousand miles astray.
Aeschylus.
Of course it's foolery—but what do I care?
Point out the faults.
Euripides.
Repeat the lines again.
Aeschylus.
"Guide of the Dead, warding a father's way, . . ."
Euripides.
Orestes speaks those words, I take it, standing
On his dead father's tomb?
Aeschylus.
I don't deny it.
Euripides.
Then what's the father's way that Hermes wards?
Is it the way Orestes' father went,
To darkness by a woman's dark intent?
Aeschylus.
No, no! He calls on Eriounian Hermes,
Guide of the Dead, and adds a word to say
That office is derived from Hermes' father.
Euripides.
That's worse than I supposed! For if your Hermes
Derives his care of dead men from his father, . . .
Dionysus (interrupting).
Why, resurrectioning's the family trade!
Aeschylus.
Dionysus, dull of fragrance is thy wine!
Dionysus.
Well, say the next; and (to Euripides) you look out for slips.
Aeschylus.
"Be thou my light and saviour where I pray
In this my fatherland returned, restored."
Euripides.
Our noble Aeschylus repeats himself.
Dionysus.
How so?
Euripides.
Observe his phrasing, and you'll see.
First to this land "returned" and then "restored";
'Returned' is just the same thing as 'restored.'
Dionysus.
Why, yes! It's just as if you asked your neighbour,
'Lend me a pail, or, if not that, a bucket.'
Aeschylus.
Oh, too much talking has bemuzzed your brain!
The words are not the same; the line is perfect.
Dionysus.
Now, is it really? Tell me how you mean.
Aeschylus.
Returning home is the act of any person
Who has a home; he comes back, nothing more;
An exile both returns and is restored!
Dionysus.
True, by Apollo! (To Euripides) What do you say to that?
Euripides.
I don't admit Orestes was restored.
He came in secret with no legal permit.
Dionysus.
By Hermes, yes! (aside) I wonder what they mean!
Euripides.
Go on then to the next. [Aeschylus is silent.
Dionysus.
Come, Aeschylus,
Do as he says: (to Euripides) and you look out for faults.
Aeschylus.
"Yea, on this bank of death, I call my lord
To hear and list. . . ."
Euripides.
Another repetition!
"To hear and list"—the same thing palpably!
Dionysus.
The man was talking to the dead, you dog,
Who are always called three times—and then don't hear.
Aeschylus.
Come, how did you write prologues?
Euripides.
Oh, I'll show you.
And if you find there any repetitions
Or any irrelevant padding,—spit upon me!
Dionysus.
Oh, do begin. I mustn't miss those prologues
In all their exquisite exactitude!
Euripides.
"At first was Oedipus in happy state."
Aeschylus.
He wasn't! He was born and bred in misery.
Did not Apollo doom him still unborn
To slay his father? . . .
Dionysus (aside).
His poor unborn father?
Aeschylus.
"A happy state at first," you call it, do you?
Euripides (contemptuously resuming).
"At first was Oedipus in happy state,
Then changed he, and became most desolate."
Aeschylus.
He didn't. He was never anything else!
Why, he was scarcely born when they exposed him
In winter, in a pot, that he might never
Grow up and be his father's murderer.
Then off he crawled to Polybus with sore feet,
Then married an old woman, twice his age,
Who further chanced to be his mother, then
Tore out his eyes: the lucky dog he was!
Dionysus.
At least he fought no sea-fight with a colleague
Called Erasinides!
Euripides.
That's no criticism.
I write my prologues singularly well!
Aeschylus.
By Zeus, I won't go pecking word by word
At every phrase; I'll take one little oil-can,
God helping me, and send your prologues pop!
Euripides.
My prologues pop . . . with oil-cans?
Aeschylus.
Just one oil-can!
You write them so that nothing comes amiss,
The bed-quilt, or the oil-can, or the clothes-bag,
All suit your tragic verse! Wait and I'll prove it.
Euripides.
You'll prove it? Really?
Aeschylus.
Yes.
Dionysus.
Begin to quote.
Euripides.
"Aegyptus, so the tale is spread afar,
With fifty youths fled in a sea-borne car,
But, reaching Argos . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Dionysus.
What's that about the oil-can! Drat the thing!
Quote him another prologue, and let's see.
Euripides.
"Dionysus, who with wand and fawn-skin dight
On great Parnassus races in the light
Of lamps far-flashing, . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Dionysus.
Alas! again the oil-can finds our heart!
Euripides (beginning to reflect anxiously).
Oh, it won't come to much, though! Here's another,
With not a crack to stick the oil-can in!
"No man hath bliss in full and flawless health;
Lo, this one hath high race, but little wealth;
That, base in blood, hath . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Dionysus.
Euripides!
Euripides.
Well?
Dionysus.
Better furl your sails;
This oil-can seems inclined to raise the wind!
Euripides.
Bah, I disdain to give a thought to it!
I'll dash it from his hands in half a minute.
[He racks his memory.
Dionysus.
Well, quote another;—and beware of oil-cans.
Euripides.
"Great Cadmus long ago, Agenor's son,
From Sidon racing, . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Dionysus.
Oh, this is awful! Buy the thing outright,
Before it messes every blessed prologue!
Euripides.
I buy him off?
Dionysus.
I strongly recommend it.
Euripides.
No; I have many prologues yet to cite
Where he can't find a chink to pour his oil,
"As rapid wheels to Pisa bore him on,
Tantalian Pelops . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Dionysus.
What did I tell you? There it sticks again!
You might let Pelops have a new one, though—
You get quite good ones very cheap just now.
Euripides.
By Zeus, not yet! I still have plenty left.
"From earth King Oineus, . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Euripides.
You must first let me quote one line entire!
"From earth King Oineus goodly harvest won,
But, while he worshipped, . . ."
Aeschylus.
Found his oil-can gone!
Dionysus.
During the prayers! Who can have been the thief!
Euripides (desperately).
Oh, let him be! I defy him answer this—
"Great Zeus in heaven, the word of truth has flown, . . ."
Dionysus.
O mercy! His is certain to be gone!
They bristle with long oil-cans, hedgehog-wise,
Your prologues; they're as bunged up as your eyes!
For God's sake change the subject.—Take his songs!
Euripides.
Songs? Yes, I have materials to show
How bad his are, and always all alike.
Chorus.
What in the world shall we look for next?
Aeschylus' music! I feel perplexed
How he can want it mended.
I have always held that never a man
Had written or sung since the world began
Melodies half so splendid!
(Can he really find a mistake
In the master of inspiration?
I feel some consternation
For our Bacchic prince's sake!)
Euripides.
Wonderful songs they are! You'll see directly;
I'll run them all together into one.
Dionysus.
I'll take some pebbles, then, and count for you.
Euripides (singing).
"O Phthian Achilles, canst hark to the battle's man-slaying shock,
Yea, shock, and not to succour come?
Lo, we of the Mere give worship to Hermes, the fount of our stock,
Yea, shock, and not to succour come!"
Dionysus.
Two shocks to you, Aeschylus, there!
Euripides.
"Thou choice of Achaia, wide-ruling Atrides, give heed to my schooling!
Yea, shock, and not to succour come."
Dionysus.
A third shock that, I declare!
Euripides.
"Ah, peace, and give ear! For the Bee-Maids be near to ope wide Artemis' portals.
Yea, shock-a-nock a-succour come!
Behold it is mine to sing of the sign of the way fate-laden to mortals;
Yah, shocker-knocker succucum!"
Dionysus.
Zeus Almighty, what a chain of shocks!
I think I'll go away and take a bath;
The shocks are too much for my nerves and kidneys!
Euripides.
Not till you've heard another little set
Compounded from his various cithara-songs.
Dionysus.
Well then, proceed; but don't put any shocks in!
Euripides.
"How the might twin-throned of Achaia for Hellene chivalry bringeth
Flattothrat toflattothrat!
The prince of the powers of storm, the Sphinx thereover he wingeth
Flattothrat toflattothrat!
With deedful hand and lance the furious fowl of the air
Flattothrat toflattothrat!
That the wild wind-walking hounds unhindered tear
Flattothrat toflattothrat!
And War toward Aias leaned his weight,
Flattothrat toflattothrait!"
Dionysus.
What's Flattothrat? Was it from Marathon
You gathered this wool-gatherer's stuflf, or where?
Aeschylus.
Clean was the place I found them, clean the place
I brought them, loath to glean with Phrynichus
The same enchanted meadow of the Muse.
But any place will do for him to poach,
Drink-ditties of Melêtus, Carian pipings,
And wakes, and dancing songs.—Here, let me show you!
Ho, some one bring my lyre! But no; what need
Of lyres for this stuff? Where's the wench that plays
The bones?—Approach, Euripidean Muse,
These songs are meet for your accompaniment!
Dionysus.
This Muse was once . . . no Lesbian; not at all!
Aeschylus (singing).
"Ye halcyons by the dancing sea
Who babble everlastingly,
While on your bathing pinions fall
The dewy foam-sprays, fresh and free;
And, oh, ye spiders deft to crawl
In many a chink of roof and wall,
While left and right, before, behind,
Your fingers wi-i-i-i-ind
The treasures of the labouring loom,
Fruit of the shuttle's minstrel mind,
Where many a songful dolphin trips
To lead the dark-blue-beakèd ships,
And tosses with aërial touch
Temples and race-courses and such.
O bright grape tendril's essence pure,
Wine to sweep care from human lips;
Grant me, O child, one arm-pressúre!"
[Breaking off.
That foot, you see?
Dionysus.
I do.
Aeschylus.
And he?
Euripides.
Of course I see the foot!
Aeschylus.
And this is the stuff to trial you bring
And face my songs with the kind of thing
That a man might sing When he dances a fling
To mad Cyrênê's flute!
There, that's your choral stuff! But I've not finished,
I want to show the spirit of his solos!
[Sings again; mysteriously.
"What vision of dreaming,
Thou fire-hearted Night,
Death's minion dark-gleaming,
Hast thou sent in thy might?
And his soul was no soul, and the Murk was his mother, a horror to sight!
Black dead was his robe, and his eyes
All blood, and the claws of him great;
Ye maidens, strike fire and arise;
Take pails to the well by the gate,
Yea, bring me a cruse of hot water, to wash off this vision of fate.
Thou Sprite of the Sea,
It is e'en as I feared!
Fellow-lodgers of me,
What dread thing hath appeared?
Lo, Glykê hath stolen my cock, and away from the neighbourhood cleared!
[Wildly.
(Ye Nymphs of the Mountain give aid!
And what's come to the scullery-maid?)
[Tearfully.
And I—ah, would I were dead!—
To my work had given my mind;
A spindle heavy with thread
My hands did wi-i-i-ind,
And I meant to go early to market, a suitable buyer to find!
[Almost weeping.
—But he rose, rose, in the air
On quivering blades of flight;
He left me care, care;
And tears, tears of despair,
Fell, fell, and dimmed my sight!
[Recovering himself; in florid, tragic style.
Children of Ida's snows,
Cretans, take up your bows,
And ring the house with many a leaping limb!
And thou, fair maid of bliss,
Dictynna, Artemis,
Range with thy bandogs through each corner dim;
Yea, Thou of twofold Fires,
Grant me my deep desires,
Thou Zeus-born Hecatê; in all men's eyes
Let the detective sheen
Flashed from thy torches keen,
Light me to Glykê's house, and that lost fowl surprise!"
Dionysus.
Come, stop the singing!
Aeschylus.
I've had quite enough!
What I want is to bring him to the balance;
The one sure test of what our art is worth!
Dionysus.
So that's my business next? Come forward, please;
I'll weigh out poetry like so much cheese!
A large pair of scales is brought forward, while the Chorus sing.
Chorus.
Oh, the workings of genius are keen and laborious!
Here's a new wonder, incredible, glorious!
Who but this twain Have the boldness of brain
To so quaint an invention to run?
Such a marvellous thing, if another had said it had
Happened to him, I should never have credited;
I should have just Thought that he must
Simply be talking for fun!
Dionysus.
Come, take your places by the balance.
Aeschylus and Euripides.
There !
Dionysus.
Now, each take hold of it, and speak your verse,
And don't let go until I say "Cuckoo."
Aeschylus and Euripides
(taking their stand at either side of the balance).
We have it.
Dionysus.
Now, each a verse into the scale!
Euripides (quoting the first verse of his "Medea").
"Would God no Argo e'er had winged the brine."
Aeschylus (quoting his "Philoctetes").
"Spercheios, and ye haunts of grazing kine!
Dionysus.
Cuckoo! Let go.—Ah, down comes Aeschylus
Far lower.
Euripides.
Why, what can be the explanation?
Dionysus.
That river he put in, to wet his wares
The way wool-dealers do, and make them heavier!
Besides, you know, the verse you gave had wings!
Aeschylus.
Well, let him speak another and we'll see.
Dionysus.
Take hold again then.
Aeschylus and Euripides.
There you are.
Dionysus.
Now speak.
Euripides (quoting his "Antigone").
"Persuasion, save in speech, no temple hath."
Aeschylus (quoting his "Niobe").
"Lo, one god craves no offering, even Death."
Dionysus.
Let go, let go!
Euripides.
Why, his goes down again!
Dionysus.
He put in Death, a monstrous heavy thing!
Euripides.
But my Persuasion made a lovely line!
Dionysus.
Persuasion has no bulk and not much weight.
Do look about you for some ponderous line
To force the scale down, something large and strong.
Euripides.
Where have I such a thing, now? Where?
Dionysus
(mischievously, quoting some unknown play of Euripides).
I'll tell you;
"Achilles has two aces and a four!"—
(Aloud) Come, speak your lines; this is the final bout.
Euripides (quoting his "Meleager").
"A mace of weighted iron his right hand sped."
Aeschylus (quoting his "Glaucus").
"Chariot on chariot lay, dead piled on dead."
Dionysus (as the scale turns).
He beats you this time too!
Euripides.
How does he do it?
Dionysus.
Two chariots and two corpses in the scale—
Why, ten Egyptians couldn't lift so much!
Aeschylus (breaking out).
Come, no more line-for-lines! Let him jump in
And sit in the scale himself, with all his books,
His wife, his children, his Cephisophon!
I'll back two lines of mine against the lot!
The central door opens and Pluto with his suite comes forth.
A Voice.
Room for the King!
Pluto (to Dionysus).
Well, is the strife decided?
Dionysus (to Pluto).
I won't decide! The men are both my friends;
Why should I make an enemy of either?
The one's so good, and I so love the other!
Pluto.
In that case you must give up all you came for!
Dionysus.
And if I do decide?
Pluto.
Why, not to make
Your trouble fruitless, you may take away
Whichever you decide for.
Dionysus.
Hearty thanks!
Now, both, approach, and I'll explain.—I came
Down here to fetch a poet: "Why a poet?"
That his advice may guide the City true
And so keep up my worship! Consequently,
I'll take whichever seems the best adviser.
Advise me first of Alcibiades,
Whose birth gives travail still to mother Athens.
Pluto.
What is her disposition towards him?
Dionysus.
Well,
She loves and hates, and longs still to possess.
I want the views of both upon that question!
Euripides.
Out on the burgher, who to serve his state
Is slow, but swift to do her deadly hate,
With much wit for himself, and none for her.
Dionysus.
Good, by Poseidon, that!—And what say you?
[To Aeschylus.
Aeschylus.
No lion's whelp within thy precincts raise;
But, if it be there, bend thee to its ways!
Dionysus.
By Zeus the Saviour, still I can't decide!
The one so fine, and the other so convincing!
Well, I must ask you both for one more judgment;
What steps do you advise to save our country?
Euripides.
I know and am prepared to say!
Dionysus.
Say on.
Euripides.
Where Mistrust now has sway, put Trust to dwell,
And where Trust is, Mistrust; and all is well.
Dionysus.
I don't quite follow. Please say that again,
Not quite so cleverly and rather plainer.
Euripides.
If we count all the men whom now we trust,
Suspect; and call on those whom now we spurn
To serve us, we may find deliverance yet.
Dionysus.
And what say you?
Aeschylus.
First tell me about the City;
What servants does she choose? The good?
Dionysus.
Great Heavens,
She loathes them!
Aeschylus.
And takes pleasure in the vile?
Dionysus.
Not she, but has perforce to let them serve her!
Aeschylus.
What hope of comfort is there for a City
That quarrels with her silk and hates her hodden?
Dionysus.
That's just what you must answer, if you want
To rise again!
Aeschylus.
I'll answer there, not here.
Dionysus.
No; better send up blessing from below.
Aeschylus.
Her safety is to count her enemy's land
Her own, yea, and her own her enemy's;
Her ships her treasures, and her treasure dross!
Dionysus.
Good;—though it all goes down the juror's throat!
Pluto (interrupting).
Come, give your judgment!
Dionysus.
Well, I'll judge like this;
My choice shall fall on him my soul desires!
Euripides.
Remember all the gods by whom you swore
To take me home with you, and choose your friend!
Dionysus.
My tongue hath sworn;—but I'll choose Aeschylus!
Euripides.
What have you done, you traitor?
Dionysus.
I? I've judged
That Aeschylus gets the prize. Why shouldn't I?
Euripides.
Canst meet mine eyes, fresh from thy deed of shame?
Dionysus.
What is shame, that the . . . Theatre deems no shame?
Euripides.
Hard heart! You mean to leave your old friend dead?
Dionysus.
Who knoweth if to live is but to die? . . .
If breath is bread and sleep a woolly lie?
Pluto.
Come in, then, both.
Dionysus.
Again?
Pluto.
To feast with me
Before you sail.
Dionysus.
With pleasure! That's the way
Duly to crown a well-contented day!
Chorus.
O blessed are they who possess
An extra share of brains!
'Tis a fact that more or less
All fortunes of men express;
As now, by showing
An intellect glowing,
This man his home regains;
Brings benefit far and near
To all who may hold him dear,
And staunches his country's tear,—
All because of his brains!
Then never with Socrates
Make one of the row of fools
Who gabble away at ease,
Letting art and music freeze,
And freely neglect
In every respect
The drama's principal rules!
Oh, to sit in a gloomy herd
A-scraping of word on word,
All idle and all absurd,—
That is the fate of fools!
Pluto.
Then farewell, Aeschylus! Go your ways,
And save your town for happier days
By counsel wise; and a school prepare
For all the fools—there are plenty there!
And take me some parcels, I pray; this sword
Is for Cleophon; these pretty ropes for the Board
Of Providers. But ask them one halter to spare
For Nicomachus; one, too, is Myrmex's share.
And, along with this venomous
Draught for Archenomus,
Take them my confident prayer,
That they all will come here for a visit, and stay.
And bid them be quick; for, should they delay,
Or meet my request with ingratitude, say
I will fetch them myself, by Apollo!
And hurry the gang of them down with a run
All branded and chained—with Leucolophus' son
The sublime Adimantus to follow!
Aeschylus.
I will do as you wish.—And as for my throne,
I beg you let Sophocles sit there alone,
On guard, till perchance I return some day;
For he—all present may mark what I say—
Is my Second in art and in wit.
And see, above all, that this Devil-may-care
Child of deceit with his mountebank air
Shall never on that imperial chair
By the wildest of accidents sit!
Pluto.
With holy torches in high display
Light ye the Marchers' triumphal advance;
Let Aeschylus' music on Aeschylus' way
Echo in song and in dance!
Chorus.
Peace go with him and joy in his journeying! Guide ye our poet
Forth to the light, ye Powers that reign in the Earth and below it;
Send good thoughts with him, too, for the aid of a travailing nation,
So shall we rest at the last, and forget our long desolation,
War and the clashing of wrong.—And for Cleophon, why, if he'd rather,
Let him fight all alone with his friends, in the far-off fields of his father.
[They all go off in a procession, escorting Aeschylus.