| XAN. (Declining.) You are too kind. MAID. I will not let you go. |
500 |
| I will not LET you! Why, she’s stewing slices |
|
| Of juicy bird’s-flesh, and she’s making comfits, |
|
| And tempering down her richest wine. Come, dear, |
|
| Come along in. XAN. (Still declining.) Pray thank her. MAID. O, you’re jesting |
504 |
| I shall not let you off: there’s such a lovely |
|
| Flute-girl all ready, and we’ve two or three |
|
| Dancing-girls also. XAN. Eh! what! Dancing-girls? |
|
| MAID. Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed. |
508 |
| Come, dear, come in. The cook was dishing up |
|
| The cutlets, and they are bringing in the tables. |
|
| XAN. Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls |
|
| Of whom you spake, I’m coming in Myself. |
512 |
| Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me. |
|
| DIO. Hi! stop! you’re not in earnest, just because |
|
| I dressed you up, in fun, as Heracles? |
|
| Come, don’t keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift |
516 |
| And carry in the traps yourself. XAN. Why! what! |
|
| You are never going to strip me of these togs |
|
| You gave me! DIO. Going to? No, I’m doing it now. |
|
| Off with that lion-skin. XAN. Bear witness all, |
520 |
| The Gods shall judge between us. DIO. Gods, indeed! |
|
| Why, how could you (the vain and foolish thought!) |
|
| A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena’s son? |
|
| XAN. All right, then, take them; maybe, if God will, |
524 |
| You’ll soon require my services again. |
|
| CHOR. This is the part of a dexterous clever |
|
| Man with his wits about him ever, |
|
| One who has travelled the world to see; |
528 |
| Always to shift, and to keep through all |
|
| Close to the sunny side of the wall; |
|
| Not like a pictured block to be, |
|
| Standing always in one position; |
532 |
| Nay, but to veer, with expedition, |
|
| And ever to catch the favouring breeze, |
|
| This is the part of a shrewd tactician, |
|
| This is to be a—THERAMENES! |
536 |
| DIO. Truly an exquisite joke ’twould be, |
|
| Him with a dancing-girl to see, |
|
| Lolling at ease on Milesian rugs; |
|
| Me, like a slave, beside him standing, |
540 |
| Aught that he wants to his lordship handing; |
|
| Then as the damsel fair he hugs, |
|
| Seeing me all on fire to embrace her, |
|
| He would perchance (for there’s no man baser), |
544 |
| Turning him round like a lazy lout, |
|
| Straight on my mouth deliver a facer, |
|
| Knocking my ivory choirmen out. |
|
| HOSTESS. O Plathane! Plathane! Here’s that naughty man, |
548 |
| That’s he who got into our tavern once, |
|
| And ate up sixteen loaves. PLATHANE. O, so he is! |
|
| The very man. XAN. Bad luck for somebody! |
|
| HOS. O, and, besides, those twenty bits of stew, |
552 |
| Half-obol pieces. XAN. Somebody’s going to catch it! |
|
| HOS. That garlic too. DIO. Woman, you’re talking nonsense. |
|
| You don’t know what you’re saying. HOS. O, you thought |
|
| I shouldn’t know you with your buskins on! |
556 |
| Ah, and I’ve not yet mentioned all that fish, |
|
| No, nor the new-made cheese: he gulped it down, |
|
| Baskets and all, unlucky that we were. |
|
| And when I just alluded to the price, |
560 |
| He looked so fierce, and bellowed like a bull. |
|
| XAN. Yes, that’s his way; that’s what he always does. |
|
| HOS. O, and he drew his sword, and seemed quite mad. |
|
| PLA. O, that he did. HOS. And terrified us so |
564 |
| We sprang up to the cockloft, she and I. |
|
| Then out he hurled, decamping with the rugs. |
|
| XAN. That’s his way too; but something must be done. |
|
| HOS. Quick, run and call my patron Cleon here! |
568 |
| PLA. O, if you meet him, call Hyperbolus! |
|
| We’ll pay you out to-day. HOS. O filthy throat, |
|
| O, how I’d like to take a stone, and hack |
|
| Those grinders out with which you chawed my wares. |
572 |
| PLA. I’d like to pitch you in the deadman’s pit. |
|
| HOS. I’d like to get a reaping-hook and scoop |
|
| That gullet out with which you gorged my tripe. |
|
| But I’ll to Cleon: he’ll soon serve his writs; |
576 |
| He’ll twist it out of you to-day, he will. |
|
| DIO. Perdition seize me, if I don’t love Xanthias. |
|
| XAN. Aye, aye, I know your drift: stop, stop that talking. |
|
| I won’t be Heracles. DIO. O, don’t say so, |
580 |
| Dear, darling Xanthias. XAN. Why, how can I, |
|
| A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena’s son! |
|
| DIO. Aye, aye, I know you are vexed, and I deserve it, |
|
| And if you pummel me, I won’t complain. |
584 |
| But if I strip you of these togs again, |
|
| Perdition seize myself, my wife, my children, |
|
| And, most of all, that blear-eyed Archedemus. |
|
| XAN. That oath contents me: on those terms I take them. |
588 |
| CHOR. Now that at last you appear once more, |
|
| Wearing the garb that at first you wore, |
|
| Wielding the club and the tawny skin, |
|
| Now it is yours to be up and doing, |
592 |
| Glaring like mad, and your youth renewing, |
|
| Mindful of him whose guise you are in. |
|
| If, when caught in a bit of a scrape, you |
|
| Suffer a word of alarm to escape you, |
596 |
| Showing yourself but a feckless knave, |
|
| Then will your master at once undrape you, |
|
| Then you’ll again be the toiling slave. |
|
| XAN. There, I admit, you have given to me a |
600 |
| Capital hint, and the like idea, |
|
| Friends, had occurred to myself before. |
|
| Truly if anything good befell |
|
| He would be wanting, I know full well, |
604 |
| Wanting to take to the togs once more. |
|
| Nevertheless, while in these I’m vested, |
|
| Ne’er shall you find me craven-crested, |
|
| No, for a dittany look I’ll wear, |
608 |
| Aye, and methinks it will soon be tested: |
|
| Hark! how the portals are rustling there. |
|
| AEAC. Seize the dog-stealer, bind him, pinion him, |
|
| Drag him to justice! DIO. Somebody’s going to catch it. |
612 |
| XAN. (Striking out.) Hands off! get away! stand back! AEAC. Eh? You’re for fighting? |
|
| Ho! Ditylas, Sceblyas, and Pardocas, |
|
| Come hither, quick; fight me this sturdy knave. |
|
| DIO. Now isn’t it a shame the man should strike, |
616 |
| And he a thief besides? AEAC. A monstrous shame! |
|
| DIO. A regular burning shame! XAN. By the Lord Zeus, |
|
| If ever I was here before, if ever |
|
| I stole one hair’s-worth from you, let me die! |
620 |
| And now I’ll make you a right noble offer: |
|
| Arrest my lad: torture him as you will, |
|
| And if you find I’m guilty, take and kill me. |
|
| AEAC. Torture him, how? XAN. In any mode you please. |
624 |
| Pile bricks upon him: stuff his nose with acid: |
|
| Flay, rack him, hoist him; flog him with a scourge |
|
| Of prickly bristles: only not with this, |
|
| A soft-leaved onion, or a tender leek. |
628 |
| AEAC. A fair proposal. If I strike too hard |
|
| And maim the boy, I’ll make you compensation. |
|
| XAN. I shan’t require it. Take him out and flog him. |
|
| AEAC. Nay, but I’ll do it here before your eyes. |
632 |
| Now then, put down the traps, and mind you speak |
|
| The truth, you fellow. DIO. (In agony.) Man! don’t torture ME! |
|
| I am a god. You’ll blame yourself hereafter |
|
| If you touch ME. AEAC. Hillo! What’s that you are saying? |
636 |
| DIO. I say I’m Bacchus, son of Zeus, a god, |
|
| And he’s the slave. AEAC. You hear him? XAN. Hear him? Yes. |
|
| All the more reason you should flog him well. |
|
| For if he is a god, he won’t perceive it. |
640 |
| DIO. Well, but you say that you’re a god yourself. |
|
| So why not you be flogged as well as I? |
|
| XAN. A fair proposal. And be this the test: |
|
| Whichever of us two you first behold |
644 |
| Flinching or crying out—he’s not the god. |
|
| AEAC. Upon my word you’re quite the gentleman, |
|
| You’re all for right and justice. Strip then, both. |
|
| XAN. How can you test us fairly? AEAC. Easily, |
648 |
| I’ll give you blow for blow. XAN. A good idea. |
|
| We’re ready! Now! (Aeacus strikes him) see if you catch me flinching. |
|
| AEAC. I struck you. XAN. (Incredulously.) No! AEAC. Well, it seems “no,” indeed. |
|
| Now then I’ll strike the other (Strikes Dio.). DIO. Tell me when. |
652 |
| AEAC. I struck you. DIO. Struck me? Then why didn’t I sneeze? |
|
| AEAC. Don’t know, I’m sure. I’ll try the other again. |
|
| XAN. And quickly too. Good gracious! AEAC. Why “good gracious”? |
|
| Not hurt you, did I? XAN. No, I merely thought of |
656 |
| The Diomeian feast of Heracles. |
|
| AEAC. A holy man! ’Tis now the other’s turn. |
|
| DIO. Hi! Hi! AEAC. Hallo! DIO. Look at those horsemen, look! |
|
| AEAC. But why these tears? DIO. There’s such a smell of onions. |
660 |
| AEAC. Then you don’t mind it? DIO. (Cheerfully.) Mind it? Not a bit. |
|
| AEAC. Well, I must go to the other one again. |
|
| XAN. O! O! AEAC. Hallo! XAN. Do, pray, pull out this thorn. |
|
| AEAC. What does it mean? ’Tis this one’s turn again. |
664 |
| DIO. (Shrieking.) Apollo! Lord! (Calmly) of Delos and of Pytho. |
|
| XAN. He flinched! You heard him? DIO. Not at all; a jolly |
|
| Verse of Hipponax flashed across my mind. |
|
| XAN. You don’t half do it: cut his flanks to pieces. |
668 |
| AEAC. By Zeus, well thought on. Turn your belly here. |
|
| DIO. (Screaming.) Poseidon! XAN. There! he’s flinching. DIO. (Singing) who dost reign |
|
| Amongst the Aegean peaks and creeks |
|
| And o’er the deep blue main. |
672 |
| AEAC. No, by Demeter, still I can’t find out |
|
| Which is the god, but come ye both indoors; |
|
| My lord himself and Persephassa there, |
|
| Being gods themselves, will soon find out the truth. |
676 |
| DIO. Right! right! I only wish you had thought of that |
|
| Before you gave me those tremendous whacks. |
|
| CHOR. Come, Muse, to our mystical Chorus, O, come to the joy of my song, |
|
| O, see on the benches before us that countless and wonderful throng, |
680 |
| Where wits by the thousand abide, with more than a Cleophons’ pride— |
|
| On the lips of that foreigner base, of Athens the bane and disgrace, |
|
| There is shrieking, his kinsman by race, |
|
| The garrulous swallow of Thrace; |
684 |
| From the perch of exotic descent, |
|
| Rejoicing her sorrow to vent, |
|
| She pours, to her spirit’s content, a nightingale’s woful lament |
|
| That e’en though the voting be equal, his ruin will soon be the sequel. |
688 |
| Well it suits the holy Chorus evermore with counsel wise |
|
| To exhort and teach the city; this we therefore now advise— |
|
| End the townsmen’s apprehensions; equalize the rights of all; |
|
| If by Phrynichus’ wrestlings some perchance sustained a fall, |
692 |
| Yet to these ’tis surely open, having put away their sin, |
|
| For their slips and vacillations pardon at your hands to win. |
|
| Give your brethren back their franchise. Sin and shame it were that slaves, |
|
| Who have once with stern devotion fought your battle on the waves, |
696 |
| Should be straightway lords and masters, yea, Plataeans fully blown— |
|
| Not that this deserves our censure; there I praise you; there alone |
|
| Has the city, in her anguish, policy and wisdom shown— |
|
| Nay, but these, of old accustomed on our ships to fight and win |
700 |
| (They, their fathers too before them), these, our very kith and kin, |
|
| You should likewise, when they ask you, pardon for their single sin. |
|
| O, by nature best and wisest, O, relax your jealous ire, |
|
| Let us all the world as kinsfolk and as citizens acquire, |
704 |
| All who on our ships will battle well and bravely by our side. |
|
| If we cocker up our city, narrowing her with senseless pride, |
|
| Now when she is rocked and reeling in the cradles of the sea, |
|
| Here again will after ages deem we acted brainlessly. |
708 |
| And O, if I’m able to scan the habits and life of a man |
|
| Who shall rue his iniquities soon! not long shall that little baboon, |
|
| That Cleigenes shifty and small, the wickedest bath-man of all |
|
| Who are lords of the earth—which is brought from the isle of Cimolus, and wrought |
712 |
| With nitre and lye into soap— |
|
| Not long shall he vex us, I hope. |
|
| And this the unlucky one knows, |
|
| Yet ventures a peace to oppose, |
716 |
| And being addicted to blows, he carries a stick as he goes, |
|
| Lest while he is tipsy and reeling, some robber his cloak should be stealing. |
|
| Often has it crossed my fancy, that the city loves to deal |
|
| With the very best and noblest members of her commonwealth, |
720 |
| Just as with our ancient coinage, and the newly-minted gold. |
|
| Yea, for these, our sterling pieces, all of pure Athenian mould, |
|
| All of perfect die and metal, all the fairest of the fair, |
|
| All of workmanship unequalled, proved and valued everywhere |
724 |
| Both amongst our own Hellenes and Barbarians far away, |
|
| These we use not: but the worthless pinchbeck coins of yesterday, |
|
| Vilest die and basest metal, now we always use instead. |
|
| Even so, our sterling townsmen, nobly born and nobly bred, |
728 |
| Men of worth and rank and mettle, men of honourable fame, |
|
| Trained in every liberal science, choral dance, and manly game, |
|
| These we treat with scorn and insult, but the strangers newliest come, |
|
| Worthless sons of worthless fathers, pinchbeck townsmen, yellowy scum, |
732 |
| Whom in earlier days the city hardly would have stooped to use |
|
| Even for her scapegoat victims, these for every task we choose. |
|
| O unwise and foolish people, yet to mend your ways begin; |
|
| Use again the good and useful: so hereafter, if ye win |
736 |
| ’Twill be due to this your wisdom: if ye fall, at least ’twill be |
|
| Not a fall that brings dishonour, falling from a worthy tree. |
|
| AEAC. By Zeus the Saviour, quite the gentleman |
|
| Your master is. XAN. Gentleman? I believe you. |
740 |
| He’s all for wine and women, is my master. |
|
| AEAC. But not to have flogged you, when the truth came out |
|
| That you, the slave, were passing off as master! |
|
| XAN. He’d get the worst of that. AEAC. Bravo! that’s spoken |
744 |
| Like a true slave: that’s what I love myself. |
|
| XAN. You love it, do you? AEAC. Love it? I’m entranced |
|
| When I can curse my lord behind his back. |
|
| XAN. How about grumbling, when you have felt the stick, |
748 |
| And scurry out of doors? AEAC. That’s jolly too. |
|
| XAN. How about prying? AEAC. That beats everything! |
|
| XAN. Great Kin-god Zeus! And what of overhearing |
|
| Your master’s secrets? AEAC. What? I’m mad with joy. |
752 |
| XAN. And blabbing them abroad? AEAC. O, heaven and earth! |
|
| When I do that, I can’t contain myself. |
|
| XAN. Phoebus Apollo! clap your hand in mine, |
|
| Kiss and be kissed: and prithee tell me this, |
756 |
| Tell me by Zeus, our rascaldom’s own god, |
|
| What’s all that noise within? What means this hubbub |
|
| And row? AEAC. That’s Æschylus and Euripides. |
|
| XAN. Eh? AEAC. Wonderful, wonderful things are going on. |
760 |
| The dead are rioting, taking different sides. |
|
| XAN. Why, what’s the matter? AEAC. There’s a custom here |
|
| With all the crafts, the good and noble crafts, |
|
| That the chief master of his art in each |
764 |
| Shall have his dinner in the assembly hall, |
|
| And sit by Pluto’s side. XAN. I understand. |
|
| AEAC. Until another comes, more wise than he |
|
| In the same art: then must the first give way. |
768 |
| XAN. And how has this disturbed our Æschylus? |
|
| AEAC. ’Twas he that occupied the tragic chair, |
|
| As, in his craft, the noblest. XAN. Who does now? |
|
| AEAC. But when Euripides came down, he kept |
772 |
| Flourishing off before the highwaymen, |
|
| Thieves, burglars, parricides—these form our mob |
|
| In Hades—till with listening to his twists |
|
| And turns, and pleas and counterpleas, they went |
776 |
| Mad on the man, and hailed him first and wisest: |
|
| Elate with this, he claimed the tragic chair |
|
| Where Æschylus was seated. XAN. Wasn’t he pelted? |
|
| AEAC. Not he: the populace clamoured out to try |
780 |
| Which of the twain was wiser in his art. |
|
| XAN. You mean the rascals? AEAC. Aye, as high as heaven! |
|
| XAN. But were there none to side with Æschylus? |
|
| AEAC. Scanty and sparse the good, (Regards the audience) the same as here. |
784 |
| XAN. And what does Pluto now propose to do? |
|
| AEAC. He means to hold a tournament, and bring |
|
| Their tragedies to the proof. XAN. But Sophocles, |
|
| How came not he to claim the tragic chair? |
788 |
| AEAC. Claim it? Not he! When he came down, he kissed |
|
| With reverence Æschylus, and clasped his hand, |
|
| And yielded willingly the chair to him. |
|
| But now he’s going, says Cleidemides, |
792 |
| To sit third-man: and then if Æschylus win, |
|
| He’ll stay content: if not, for his art’s sake, |
|
| He’ll fight to the death against Euripides. |
|
| XAN. Will it come off? AEAC. O, yes, by Zeus, directly. |
796 |
| And then, I hear, will wonderful things be done, |
|
| The art poetic will be weighed in scales. |
|
| XAN. What! weigh out tragedy, like butcher’s meat? |
|
| AEAC. Levels they’ll bring, and measuring-tapes for words, |
800 |
| And moulded oblongs. XAN. Is it bricks they are making? |
|
| AEAC. Wedges and compasses: for Euripides |
|
| Vows that he’ll test the dramas, word by word. |
|
| XAN. Æschylus chafes at this, I fancy. AEAC. Well, |
804 |
| He lowered his brows, upglaring like a bull. |
|
| XAN. And who’s to be the judge? AEAC. There came the rub. |
|
| Skilled men were hard to find: for with the Athenians |
|
| Æschylus, somehow, did not hit it off. |
808 |
| XAN. Too many burglars, I expect he thought. |
|
| AEAC. And all the rest, he said, were trash and nonsense |
|
| To judge poetic wits. So then at last |
|
| They chose your lord, an expert in the art. |
812 |
| But go we in: for when our lords are bent |
|
| On urgent business, that means blows for us. |
|
| CHOR. O, surely with terrible wrath will the thunder-voiced monarch be filled, |
|
| When he sees his opponent beside him, the tonguester, the artifice-skilled, |
816 |
| Stand, whetting his tusks for the fight! O, surely, his eyes, rolling fell, |
|
| Will with terrible madness be fraught! |
|
| O, then will be charging of plume-waving words with their wild-floating mane, |
|
| And then will be whirling of splinters, and phrases smoothed down with the plane, |
820 |
| When the man would the grand-stepping maxims, the language gigantic, repel |
|
| Of the hero-creator of thought. |
|
| There will his shaggy-born crest upbristle for anger and woe, |
|
| Horribly frowning and growling, his fury will launch at the foe |
824 |
| Huge-clamped masses of words, with exertion Titanic uptearing |
|
| Great ship-timber planks for the fray. |
|
| But here will the tongue be at work, uncoiling, word-testing, refining, |
|
| Sophist-creator of phrases, dissecting, detracting, maligning, |
828 |
| Shaking the envious bits, and with subtle analysis paring |
|
| The lung’s large labour away. |
|
| EURIPIDES. Don’t talk to me; I won’t give up the chair, |
|
| I say I am better in the art than he. |
832 |
| DIO. You hear him, Æschylus: why don’t you speak? |
|
| EUR. He’ll do the grand at first, the juggling trick |
|
| He used to play in all his tragedies. |
|
| DIO. Come, my fine fellow; pray, don’t talk too big. |
836 |
| EUR. I know the man, I’ve scanned him through and through, |
|
| A savage-creating stubborn-pulling fellow, |
|
| Uncurbed, unfettered, uncontrolled of speech, |
|
| Unperiphrastic, bombastiloquent. |
840 |
| ÆSCHYLUS. Hah! sayest thou so, child of the garden quean! |
|
| And this to ME, thou chattery-babble-collector, |
|
| Thou pauper-creating rags-and-patches-stitcher? |
|
| Thou shalt abye it dearly! DIO. Pray, be still; |
844 |
| Nor heat thy soul to fury, Æschylus. |
|
| ÆSCH. Not till I’ve made you see the sort of man |
|
| This cripple-maker is who crows so loudly. |
|
| DIO. Bring out a ewe, a black-fleeced ewe, my boys: |
848 |
| Here’s a typhoon about to burst upon us. |
|
| ÆSCH. Thou picker-up of Cretan monodies, |
|
| Foisting thy tales of incest on the stage— |
|
| DIO. Forbear, forbear, most honoured Æschylus; |
852 |
| And you, poor Euripides, begone, |
|
| If you are wise, out of this pitiless hail, |
|
| Lest with some heady word he crack your skull |
|
| And batter out your brain—less Telephus. |
856 |
| And not with passion, Æschylus, but calmly |
|
| Test and be tested. ’Tis not meet for poets |
|
| To scold each other, like two baking-girls. |
|
| But you go roaring like an oak on fire. |
860 |
| EUR. I’m ready, I! I don’t draw back one bit. |
|
| I’ll lash or, if he will, let him lash first |
|
| The talk, the lays, the sinews of a play: |
|
| Aye, and my Peleus, aye, and Aeolus, |
864 |
| And Meleager, aye, and Telephus. |
|
| DIO. And what do you propose? Speak, Æschylus. |
|
| ÆSCH. I could have wished to meet him otherwhere. |
|
| We fight not here on equal terms. DIO. Why not? |
868 |
| ÆSCH. My poetry survived me: his died with him: |
|
| He’s got it here, all handy to recite. |
|
| Howbeit, if so you wish it, so we’ll have it. |
|
| DIO. O, bring men fire, and bring me frankincense. |
872 |
| I’ll pray, or e’er the clash of wits begin, |
|
| To judge the strife with high poetic skill. |
|
| Meanwhile (To the Chorus) invoke the Muses with a song. |
|
| CHOR. O Muses, the daughters divine of Zeus, the immaculate Nine, |
876 |
| Who gaze from your mansions serene on intellects subtle and keen, |
|
| When down to the tournament lists, in bright-polished wit they descend, |
|
| With wrestling and turnings and twists in the battle of words to contend, |
|
| O, come and behold what the two antagonist poets can do, |
880 |
| Whose mouths are the swiftest to teach grand language and filings of speech: |
|
| For now of their wits is the sternest encounter commencing in earnest. |
|
| DIO. Ye two, put up your prayers before ye start. |
|
| ÆSCH. Demeter, mistress, nourisher of my soul, |
884 |
| O, make me worthy of thy mystic rites! |
|
| DIO. (To Eur.) Now put on incense, you. EUR. Excuse me, no; |
|
| My vows are paid to other gods than these. |
|
| DIO. What, a new coinage of your own? EUR. Precisely. |
888 |
| DIO. Pray then to them, those private gods of yours. |
|
| EUR. Ether, my pasture, volubly-rolling tongue, |
|
| Intelligent wit and critic nostrils keen, |
|
| O’ well and neatly may I trounce his plays! |
892 |
| CHOR. We also yearning from these to be learning |
|
| Some stately measure, some majestic grand |
|
| Movement telling of conflicts nigh. |
|
| Now for battle arrayed they stand, |
896 |
| Tongues embittered, and anger high. |
|
| Each has got a venturesome will, |
|
| Each an eager and nimble mind; |
|
| One will wield, with artistic skill, |
900 |
| Clear-cut phrases, and wit refined; |
|
| Then the other, with words defiant, |
|
| Stern and strong, like an angry giant |
|
| Laying on with uprooted trees, |
904 |
| Soon will scatter a world of these |
|
| Superscholastic subtleties. |
|
| DIO. Now then, commence your arguments, and mind you both display |
|
| True wit, not metaphors, nor things which any fool could say. |
908 |
| EUR. As for myself, good people all, I’ll tell you by-and-by |
|
| My own poetic worth and claims; but first of all I’ll try |
|
| To show how this portentous quack beguiled the silly fools |
|
| Whose tastes were nurtured, ere he came, in Phrynichus’ schools. |
912 |
| He’d bring some single mourner on, seated and veiled, ’twould be |
|
| Achilles, say, or Niobe—the face you could not see— |
|
| An empty show of tragic woe, who uttered not one thing. |
|
| DIO. ’Tis true. EUR. then in the Chorus came, and rattled off a string |
916 |
| Of four continuous lyric odes: the mourner never stirred. |
|
| DIO. I liked it too. I sometimes think that I those mutes preferred |
|
| To all your chatterers now-a-days. EUR. Because, if you must know, |
|
| You were an ass. DIO. An ass, no doubt: what made him do it though? |
920 |
| EUR. That was his quackery, don’t you see, to set the audience guessing |
|
| When Niobe would speak; meanwhile, the drama was progressing. |
|
| DIO. The rascal, how he took me in! ’Twas shameful, was it not? |
|
| (To Æsch.) What makes you stamp and fidget so? EUR. He’s catching it so hot. |
924 |
| So when he had humbugged thus awhile, and now his wretched play |
|
| Was halfway through, a dozen words, great wild-bull words, he’d say, |
|
| Fierce Bugaboos, with bristling crests, and shaggy eyebrows too, |
|
| Which not a soul could understand. ÆSCH. O, heavens! DIO. Be quiet, do. |
928 |
| EUR. But not one single word was clear. DIO. St! don’t your teeth be |
|
| gnashing. |
|
| EUR. ’Twas all Scamanders, moated camps, and griffin-eagles flashing |
|
| In burnished copper on the shields, chivalric-precipice—high |
932 |
| Expressions, hard to comprehend. DIO. Aye, by the Powers, and I |
|
| Full many a sleepless night have spent in anxious thought, because |
|
| I’d find the tawny cock-horse out, what sort of bird it was! |
|
| ÆSCH. It was a sign, you stupid dolt, engraved the ships upon. |
936 |
| DIO. Eryxis I supposed it was, Philoxenus’ son. |
|
| EUR. Now really should a cock be brought into a tragic play? |
|
| ÆSCH. You enemy of gods and men, what was your practice, pray? |
|
| EUR. No cock-horse in my plays, by Zeus, no goat-stag there you’ll |
940 |
| see, Such figures as are blazoned forth in Median tapestry. |
|
| When first I took the art from you, bloated and swoln, poor thing, |
|
| With turgid gasconading words and heavy dieting, |
|
| First I reduced and toned her down, and made her slim and neat |
944 |
| With wordlets and with exercise and poultices of beet, |
|
| And next a dose of chatterjuice, distilled from books, I gave her, |
|
| And monodies she took, with sharp Cephisophon for flavour. |
|
| I never used haphazard words, or plunged abruptly in; |
948 |
| Who entered first explained at large the drama’s origin |
|
| And source. DIO. Its source, I really trust, was better than your own. |
|
| EUR. Then from the very opening lines no idleness was shown; |
|
| The mistress talked with all her might, the servant talked as much, |
952 |
| The master talked, the maiden talked, the beldame talked. ÆSCH. For such |
|
| An outrage was not death your due? EUR. No, by Apollo, no: |
|
| That was my democratic way. DIO. Ah, let that topic go. |
|
| Your record is not there, my friend, particularly good. |
956 |
| EUR. Then next I taught all these to speak. ÆSCH. You did so, and I |
|
| would |
|
| That ere such mischief you had wrought, your very lungs had split. |
|
| EUR. Canons of verse I introduced, and neatly chiselled wit; |
960 |
| To look, to scan: to plot, to plan; to twist, to turn, to woo. |
|
| On all to spy; in all to pry. ÆSCH. You did: I say so too. |
|
| EUR. I showed them scenes of common life, the things we know and see, |
|
| Where any blunder would at once by all detected be. |
964 |
| I never blustered on, or took their breath and wits away |
|
| By Cycnuses or Memnons clad in terrible array, |
|
| With bells upon their horses’ heads, the audience to dismay. |
|
| Look at his pupils, look at mine: and there the contrast view. |
968 |
| Uncouth Megaenetus is his, and rough Phormisius too; |
|
| Great long-beard-lance-and-trumpet-men, flesh-tearers with the |
|
| pine: But natty smart Theramenes, and Cleitophon are mine. |
|
| DIO. Theramenes? a clever man and wonderfully sly: |
972 |
| Immerse him in a flood of ills, he’ll soon be high and dry, |
|
| “A Kian with a kappa, sir, not Chian with a chi.” |
|
| EUR. I taught them all these knowing ways |
|
| By chopping logic in my plays, |
976 |
| And making all my speakers try |
|
| To reason out the How and Why. |
|
| So now the people trace the springs, |
|
| The sources, and the roots of things, |
980 |
| And manage all their households too |
|
| Far better than they used to do, |
|
| Scanning and searching What’s amiss? |
|
| And, Why was that? And, How is this? |
984 |
| DIO. Ay, truly, never now a man |
|
| Comes home, but he begins to scan; |
|
| And to his household loudly cries, |
|
| Why, where’s my pitcher? What’s the matter? |
988 |
| ’Tis dead and gone my last year’s platter. |
|
| Who gnawed these olives? Bless the sprat, |
|
| Who nibbled off the head of that? |
|
| And where’s the garlic vanished, pray, |
992 |
| I purchased only yesterday? |
|
| —Whereas, of old, our stupid youths |
|
| Would sit, with open mouths and eyes, |
|
| Like any dull-brained Mammacouths. |
996 |
| CHOR. “All this thou beholdest, Achilles our boldest.” |
|
| And what wilt thou reply? Draw tight the rein |
|
| Lest that fiery soul of thine |
