Whirl thee out of the listed plain, |
1000 |
Past the olives, and o’er the line. |
|
Dire and grievous the charge he brings. |
|
See thou answer him, noble heart, |
|
Not with passionate bickerings. |
1004 |
Shape thy course with a sailor’s art, |
|
Reef the canvas, shorten the sails, |
|
Shift them edgewise to shun the gales. |
|
When the breezes are soft and low, |
1008 |
Then, well under control, you’ll go |
|
Quick and quicker to strike the foe. |
|
O first of all the Hellenic bards high loftily-towering verse to rear, |
|
And tragic phrase from the dust the raise, pour forth thy fountain with right good cheer. |
1012 |
ÆSCH. My wrath is hot at this vile mischance, and my spirit revolts at the thought that I |
|
Must bandy words with a fellow like him: but lest he should vaunt that I can’t reply— |
|
Come, tell me what are the points for which a noble poet our praise obtains. |
|
EUR. For his ready wit, and his counsels sage, and because the citizen folk he trains |
1016 |
To be better townsmen and worthier men. ÆSCH. If then you have done the very reverse, |
|
Found noble-hearted and virtuous men, and altered them, each and all, for the worse, |
|
Pray what is the meed you deserve to get? DIO. Nay, ask not him. He deserves to die. |
|
ÆSCH. For just consider what style of men he received from me, great six-foot-high |
1020 |
Heroical souls, who never would blench from a townsman’s duties in peace or war; |
|
Not idle loafers, or low buffoons, or rascally scamps such as now they are, |
|
But men who were breathing spears and helms, and the snow-white plume in its crested pride, |
|
The greave, and the dart, and the warrior’s heart in its seven-fold casing of tough bull-hide. |
1024 |
DIO. He’ll stun me, I know, with his armoury-work; this business is going from bad to worse. |
|
EUR. And how did you manage to make them so grand, exalted, and brave with your wonderful verse? |
|
DIO. Come, Æschylus, answer, and don’t stand mute in your self-willed pride and arrogant spleen. |
|
ÆSCH. A drama I wrote with the War-god filled. DIO. Its name? ÆSCH. ’Tis the “Seven against Thebes” that I mean, |
1028 |
Which whoso beheld, with eagerness swelled to rush to the battlefield there and then. |
|
DIO. O, that was a scandalous thing you did! You have made the Thebans mightier men, |
|
More eager by far for the business of war. Now, therefore, receive this punch on the head. |
|
ÆSCH. Ah, ye might have practised the same yourselves, but ye turned to other pursuits instead. |
1032 |
Then next the “Persians” I wrote, in praise of the noblest deed that the world can show, |
|
And each man longed for the victor’s wreath, to fight and to vanquish his country’s foe. |
|
DIO. I was pleased, I own, when I heard their moan for old Darius, their great king, dead; |
|
When they smote together their hands, like this, and Evir alake the Chorus said. |
1036 |
ÆSCH. Aye, such are the poet’s appropriate works: and just consider how all along |
|
From the very first they have wrought you good, the noble bards, the masters of song. |
|
First, Orpheus taught you religious rites, and from bloody murder to stay your hands: |
|
Musaeus healing and oracle lore; and Hesiod all the culture of lands, The time to gather, the time to plough. And gat not Homer his glory divine |
1040 |
By singing of valour, and honour, and right, and the sheen of the battle-extended line, |
|
The ranging troops and the arming of men? DIO. O, aye, but he didn’t teach that, I opine, |
|
To Pantacles; when he was leading the show I couldn’t imagine what he was at, |
|
He had fastened his helm on the top of his head, he was trying to fasten his plume upon that. |
1044 |
ÆSCH. But others, many and brave, he taught, of whom was Lamachus, hero true; |
|
And thence my spirit the impress took, and many a lion-heart chief I drew, |
|
Patrocluses, Teucers, illustrious names; for I fain the citizen-folk would spur |
|
To stretch themselves to their measure and height, whenever the trumpet of war they hear. |
1048 |
But Phædras and Stheneboeas? No! no harlotry business deformed my plays. |
|
And none can say that ever I drew a love-sick woman in all my days. |
|
EUR. For you no lot or portion had got in Queen Aphrodite. ÆSCH. Thank Heaven for that. |
|
But ever on you and yours, my friend, the mighty goddess mightily sat; Yourself she cast to the ground at last. DIO. O, aye, that came uncommonly pat. |
1052 |
You showed how cuckolds are made, and lo, you were struck yourself by the very same fate. |
|
EUR. But say, you cross-grained censor of mine, how my Stheneboeas could harm the state. |
|
ÆSCH. Full many a noble dame, the wife of a noble citizen, hemlock took, |
|
And died, unable the shame and sin of your Bellerophon-scenes to brook. |
1056 |
EUR. Was then, I wonder, the tale I told of Phædra’s passionate love untrue? |
|
ÆSCH. Not so: but tales of incestuous vice the sacred poet should hide from view, |
|
Nor ever exhibit and blazon forth on the public stage to the public ken. |
|
For boys a teacher at school is found, but we, the poets, are teachers of men. |
1060 |
We are BOUND things honest and pure to speak. EUR. And to speak great Lycabettuses, pray, |
|
And massive blocks of Parnassian rocks, is that things honest and pure to say? |
|
In human fashion we ought to speak. ÆSCH. Alas, poor witling, and can’t you see |
|
That for mighty thoughts and heroic aims, the words themselves must appropriate be? |
1064 |
And grander belike on the ear should strike the speech of heroes and godlike powers, |
|
Since even the robes that invest their limbs are statelier, grander robes than ours. |
|
Such was my plan: but when you began, you spoilt and degraded it all. EUR. How so? |
|
ÆSCH. Your kings in tatters and rags you dressed, and brought them on, a beggarly show, |
1068 |
To move, forsooth, our pity and ruth. EUR. And what was the harm, I should like to know. |
|
ÆSCH. No more will a wealthy citizen now equip for the state a galley of war. |
|
He wraps his limbs in tatters and rags, and whines he is poor, too poor by far. |
|
DIO. But under his rags he is wearing a vest, as woolly and soft as a man could wish. |
1072 |
Let him gull the stated and he’s off to the mart; an eager, extravagant buyer of fish. |
|
ÆSCH. Moreover, to prate, to harangue, to debate, is now the ambition of all in the state. |
|
Each exercise-ground is in consequence found deserted and empty: to evil repute |
|
Your lessons have brought our youngsters, and taught our sailors to challenge, discuss, and refute |
1076 |
The orders they get from their captains, and yet, when I was alive, I protest that the knaves |
|
Knew nothing at all, save for rations to call, and to sing “Rhyppapae” as they pulled through the waves. |
|
DIO. And, bedad, to let fly from their sterns in the eye of the fellow who tugged at the undermost oar, |
|
And a jolly young messmate with filth to besmirch, and to land for a filching adventure ashore; |
1080 |
But now they harangue, and dispute, and won’t row, |
|
And idly and aimlessly float to and fro. |
|
ÆSCH. Of what ills is he not the creator and cause? |
|
Consider the scandalous scenes that he draws, |
1084 |
His bawds, and his panders, his women who give, |
|
Give birth in the sacredest shrine, |
|
Whilst other with brothers are wedded and bedded, |
|
And others opine |
1088 |
That “not to be living’ is truly “to live.” |
|
And therefore our city is swarming to-day |
|
With clerks and with demagogue-monkeys, who play |
|
Their jackanape tricks at all times, in all places, |
1092 |
Deluding the people of Athens; but none |
|
Has training enough in athletics to run |
|
With the torch in his hand at the races. |
|
DIO. By the Powers, you are right! At the Panathenaea |
1096 |
I laughed till I felt like a postherd to see a |
|
Pale, paunchy young gentlemen pounding along, |
|
With his head butting forward, the last of the throng, |
|
In the direst of straits; and, behold, at the gates, |
1000 |
The Ceramites flapped him, and smacked him, and slapped him, |
|
In the ribs, and the loin, and the flank, and the groin, |
|
And still, as they spanked him, he puffed and he panted, |
|
Till at one mighty cuff, he discharged such a puff |
1104 |
That he blew out his torch and levanted. |
|
CHOR. Dread the battle, and stout the combat, mighty and manifold looms the war. |
|
Hard to decide in the fight they’re waging, |
|
One like a stormy tempest raging, |
1108 |
One alert in the rally and skirmish, clever to parry and foin and spar. |
|
Nay, but don’t be content to sit |
|
Always in one position only: many the fields for your keen-edged wit. |
|
On then, wrangle in every way. |
1112 |
Argue, battle, be flayed and flay, |
|
Old and new from your stores display, |
|
Yea, and strive with venturesome daring something subtle and neat to say. |
|
Fear ye this, that to-day’s spectators lack the grace of artistic lore, |
1116 |
Lack the knowledge they need for taking |
|
All the points ye will soon be making? |
|
Fear it not: the alarm is groundless: that, be sure, is the case no more. |
|
All have fought the campaign ere this: |
1120 |
Each a book of the words is holding; never a single point they’ll miss. |
|
Bright their natures, and now, I ween, |
|
Newly whetted, and sharp, and keen. |
|
Dread not any defect of wit, |
1124 |
Battle away without misgiving, sure that the audience, at least, are fit. |
|
EUR. Well, then, I’ll turn me to your prologues now, |
|
Beginning first to test the first beginning |
|
Of this fine poet’s plays. Why, he’s obscure |
1128 |
Even in the enunciation of the facts. |
|
DIO. Which of them will you test? EUR. Many: but first |
|
Give us that famous one from the “Oresteia.” |
|
DIO. St! Silence, all! Now, Æschylus, begin. |
1132 |
ÆSCH. Grave Hermes, witnessing a father’s power, |
|
Be thou my saviour and mine aid to-day, |
|
For here I come and hither I return. |
|
DIO. Any fault there? EUR. A dozen faults, and more. |
1136 |
DIO. Eh! why, the lines are only three in all. |
|
EUR. But every one contains a score of faults. |
|
DIO. Now, Æschylus, keep silent; if you don’t, |
|
You won’t get off with three iambic lines. |
1140 |
ÆSCH. Silent for him! DIO. If my advice you’ll take. |
|
EUR. Why, at first starting, here’s a fault sky-high. |
|
ÆSCH. (To Dio.) You see your folly? DIO. Have your way; I Care not. |
|
ÆSCH. (To Eur.) What is my fault? EUR. Begin the lines again. |
1144 |
ÆSCH. Grave Hermes, witnessing a father’s power— |
|
EUR. And this beside his murdered father’s grave |
|
Orestes speaks? ÆSCH. I say not otherwise. |
|
EUR. Then does he mean that when his father fell |
1148 |
By craft and violence at a woman’s hand, |
|
The god of craft was witnessing the deed? |
|
ÆSCH. It was not he: it was the Helper Hermes |
|
He called the grave: and this he showed by adding |
1152 |
It was his sire’s prerogative he held. |
|
EUR. Why, this is worse than all. If from his father |
|
He held this office grave, why, then— DIO. He was |
|
A graveyard rifler on his father’s side. |
1156 |
ÆSCH. Bacchus, the wine you drink is stale and fusty. |
|
DIO. give him another: (To Eur.) you, look out for faults. |
|
ÆSCH. Be thou my saviour and mine aid to-day, |
|
For here I come, and hither I return. |
1160 |
EUR. The same thing twice says clever Æschylus. |
|
DIO. How twice? EUR. Why, just consider: I’ll explain. |
|
“I come,” says he; and “I return,” says he: |
|
It’s the same thing to “come” and to “return.” |
1164 |
DIO. Aye, just as if you said, “Good fellow, lend me |
|
A kneading-trough: likewise, a trough to knead in.” |
|
ÆSCH. It is not so, you everlasting talker, |
|
They’re not the same, the words are right enough. |
1168 |
DIO. How so? inform me how you use the words. |
|
ÆSCH. A man, not banished from his home, may “come” |
|
To any land, with no especial chance. |
|
A home-bound exile both “returns” and “comes.” |
1172 |
DIO. O, good, by Apollo! |
|
What do you say, Euripides, to that? |
|
EUR. I say Orestes never did “return.” |
|
He came in secret: nobody recalled him. |
1176 |
DIO. O, good, by Hermes! |
|
(Aside.) I’ve not the least suspicion what he means. |
|
EUR. Repeat another line. DIO. Aye, Æschylus, |
|
Repeat one instantly: you, mark what’s wrong. |
1180 |
ÆSCH. Now on this funeral mound I call my father |
|
To hear, to hearken. EUR. There he is again. |
|
To “hear,” to “hearken”; the same thing, exactly. |
|
DIO. Aye, but he’s speaking to the dead, you knave, |
1184 |
Who cannot hear us though we call them thrice. |
|
ÆSCH. And how do you make your prologues? EUR. You shall hear; |
|
And if you find one single thing said twice, |
|
Or any useless padding, spit upon me. |
1188 |
DIO. Well, fire away: I’m all agog to hear |
|
Your very accurate and faultless prologues. |
|
EUR. A happy man was Oedipus at first— |
|
ÆSCH. Not so, by Zeus; a most unhappy man, |
1192 |
Who, not yet born nor yet conceived. Apollo |
|
Foretold would be his father’s murderer. |
|
How could he be a happy man at first? |
|
EUR. Then he became the wretchedest of men. |
1196 |
ÆSCH. Not so, by Zeus; he never ceased to be. |
|
No sooner born, than they exposed the babe |
|
(And that in winter), in an earthen crock, |
|
Lest he should grown a man, and slay his father. |
1200 |
Then with both ankles pierced and swoln, he limped |
|
Away to Polybus: still young, he married |
|
An ancient crone, and her his mother too; |
|
The scratched out both his eyes. DIO. Happy indeed |
1204 |
Had he been Erasinides’ colleague! |
|
EUR. Nonsense; I say my prologues are first-rate. |
|
ÆSCH. Nay, then, by Zeus, no longer line by line |
|
I’ll maul your phrases: but with heaven to aid |
1208 |
I’ll smash your prologues with a bottle of oil. |
|
EUR. You mine with a bottle of oil? |
|
ÆSCH. With only one. |
|
You frame your prologues so that each and all |
1212 |
Fit in with a “bottle of oil,” or “coverlet-skin,” |
|
Or “reticule-bag.” I’ll prove it here, and now. |
|
EUR. You’ll prove it? You? ÆSCH. I will. DIO. Well, then, begin. |
|
EUR. Aegyptus, sailing with his fifty sons, |
1216 |
As ancient legends mostly tell the tale, |
|
Touching at Argos, ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
|
EUR. Hang it, what’s that? Confound that bottle of oil! |
|
DIO. Give him another: let him try again. |
1220 |
EUR. Bacchus, who, clad in fawnskins, leaps and bounds |
|
With torch and thyrsus in the choral dance |
|
Along Parnassus. ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
|
DIO. Ah me, we are stricken—with that bottle again! |
1224 |
EUR. Pooh, pooh, that’s nothing. I’ve a prologue here, |
|
He’ll never tack his bottle of oil to this: |
|
No man is blest in every single thing. |
|
One is of noble birth, but lacking means. |
1228 |
Another, baseborn, ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
|
DIO. Euripedes! EUR. Well? DIO. Lower your sails, my boy; |
|
This bottle of oil is going to blow a gale. |
|
EUR. O, by Demeter, I don’t care one bit; |
1232 |
Now from his hands I’ll strike that bottle of oil. |
|
DIO. Go on then, go; but ware the bottle of oil. |
|
EUR. Once Cadmus, quitting the Sidonian town, |
|
Agenor’s offspring ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
1236 |
DIO. O, pray, my man, buy off that bottle of oil, |
|
Or else he’ll smash our prologues all to bits. |
|
EUR. I buy of him? DIO. If my advice you’ll take. |
|
EUR. No, no I’ve many a prologue yet to say, |
1240 |
To which he can’t tack on his bottle of oil. |
|
Pelops, the son of Tantalus, while driving |
|
His mares to Pisa ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
|
DIO. There! he tacked on the bottle of oil again. |
1244 |
O, for heaven’s sake, pay him its price, dear boy; |
|
You’ll get it for an obol, spick-and-span. |
|
EUR. Not yet, by Zeus; I’ve plenty of prologues left. |
|
Oeneus once reaping ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
1248 |
EUR. Pray let me finish one entire line first. |
|
Oeneus once reaping an abundant harvest, |
|
Offering the firstfruits ÆSCH. Lost his bottle of oil. |
|
DIO. What, in the act of offering? Fie! Who stole it? |
1252 |
EUR. O, don’t keep bothering! Let him try with this! |
|
Zeus, as by Truth’s own voice the tale is told, |
|
DIO. No, he’ll cut in with “Lost his bottle of oil.” |
|
Those bottles of oil on all your prologues seem |
1256 |
To gather and grow, like styes upon the eye. |
|
Turn to his melodies now, for goodness’ sake. |
|
EUR. O, I can easily show that he’s a poor |
|
Melody-maker; makes them all alike. |
1260 |
CHOR. What, O, what will be done! |
|
Strange to think that he dare |
|
Blame the bard who has won, |
|
More than all in our days, |
1264 |
Fame and praise for his lays, |
|
Lays so many and fair. |
|
Much I marvel to hear |
|
What the charge he will bring |
1268 |
’Gainst our tragedy king; |
|
Yea, for himself do I fear. |
|
EUR. Wonderful lays! O, yes, you’ll see directly. |
|
I’ll cut down all his metrical strains to one. |
1272 |
DIO. And I, I’ll take some pebbles, and keep count. |
|
(A slight pause, during which the music of a flute is heard. The music continues to the end of line 1277 as an accompaniment to the recitative.)
EUR. Lord of Phthia, Achilles, why, hearing the voice of the hero-dividing, |
|
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? |
|
We, by the lake who abide, are adoring our ancestor Hermes. |
1276 |
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? |
|
DIO. O Æschylus, twice art thou smitten! |
|
EUR. Hearken to me, great king; yea, hearken, Atreides, thou noblest of all the Achaeans. |
|
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? |
1280 |
DIO. Thrice, Æschylus, thrice art thou smitten! |
|
EUR. Hush! the bee-wardens are here: they will quickly the Temple of Artemis open. |
|
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? |
|
I will expound (for I know it) the omen the chieftains encountered. |
1284 |
Hah! smiting! approachest thou not to the rescue? |
|
DIO. O Zeus and King, the terrible lot of smitings! |
|
I’ll to the bath: I’m very sure my kidneys |
|
Are quite inflamed and swoln with all these smitings. |
1288 |
EUR. Wait till you’ve heard another batch of lays |
|
Culled from his lyre-accompanied melodies. |
|
DIO. Go on then, go: but no more smitings, please. |
|
EUR. How the twin-throned powers of Achaea, the lords of the mighty |
1292 |
Hellenes. |
|
O phlattothrattophlattothrat! |
|
Sendeth the Sphinx, the unchancy, the chieftainess blood-hound. |
|
O phlattothrattophlattothrat! |
1296 |
Launcheth fierce with brand and hand the avengers the terrible eagle. |
|
O phlattothrattophlattothrat! |
|
So for the swift-winged hounds of the air he provided a booty. |
|
O phlattothrattophlattothrat! |
1300 |
The throng down-bearing on Aias. |
|
O phlattothrattophlattothrat! |
|
DIO. Whence comes that phlattothrat? From Marathon, or |
|
Where picked you up these cable-twister’s strains? |
1304 |
ÆSCH. From noblest source for noblest ends I brought them, |
|
Unwilling in the Muses’ holy field |
|
The selfsame flowers as Phrynichus to cull. |
|
But he from all things rotten draws his lays, |
1308 |
From Carian flutings, catches of Meletus, |
|
Dance-music, dirges. You shall hear directly. |
|
Bring me the lyre. Yet wherefore need a lyre |
|
For songs like these? Where’s she that bangs and jangles |
1312 |
Her castanets? Euripides’ Muse, |
|
Present yourself: fit goddess for fit verse. |
|
DIO. The Muse herself can’t be a wanton? No! |
|
ÆSCH. Halcyons, who by the ever-rippling |
1316 |
Waves of the sea are babbling, |
|
Dewing your plumes with the drops that fall |
|
From wings in the salt spray dabbling. |
|
Spiders, ever with twir-r-r-r-r-rling fingers |
1320 |
Weaving the warp and the woof, |
|
Little, brittle, network, fretwork, |
|
Under the coigns of the roof. |
|
The minstrel shuttle’s care. |
1324 |
Where in the front of the dark-prowed ships |
|
Yarely the flute-loving dolphin skips. |
|
Races here and oracles there. |
|
And the joy of the young vines smiling, |
1328 |
And the tendril of grapes, care-beguiling. |
|
O, embrace me, my child O, embrace me. |
|
(To Dio.) You see this foot? DIO. I do. |
|
ÆSCH. And this? DIO. And that one too. |
1332 |
ÆSCH. (To Eur.) You, such stuff who compile, |
|
Dare my songs to upbraid; |
|
You, whose songs in the style |
|
Of Cyrene’s embraces are made. |
1336 |
So much for them: but still I’d like to show |
|
The way in which your monodies are framed. |
|
“O darkly-light mysterious Night, |
|
What may this Vision mean, |
1340 |
Sent from the world unseen |
|
With baleful omens rife; |
|
A thing of lifeless life, |
|
A child of sable night, |
1344 |
A ghastly curdling sight, |
|
In black funereal veils, |
|
With murder, murder in its eyes, |
|
And great enormous nails? |
1348 |
Light ye the lanterns, my maidens, and dipping your jugs in the stream, |
|
Draw me the dew of the water, and heat it to boiling and steam; |
|
So will I wash me away the ill effects of my dream. |
|
God of the sea! |
1352 |
My dream’s come true. |
|
Ho, lodgers, ho, |
|
This portent view. |
|
Glyce has vanished, carrying off my cock, |
1356 |
My cock that crew! |
|
O Mania, help! O Oreads of the rock, |
|
Pursue! pursue! |
|
For I, poor girl, was working within, |
1360 |
Holding my distaff heavy and full, |
|
Twir-r-r-r-r-rling my hand as the threads I spin, |
|
Weaving an excellent bobbin of wool; |
|
Thinking, ‘To-morrow I’ll go to the fair, |
1364 |
In the dusk of the morn, and be selling it there.’ |
|
But he to the blue upflew, upflew, |
|
On the lightliest tips of his wings outspread; |
|
To me he bequeathed but woe, but woe, |
1368 |
And tears, sad tears, from my eyes o’erflow, |
|
Which I, the bereaved, must shed, must shed. |
|
O children of Ida, sons of Crete, |
|
Grasping your bows, to the rescue come; |
1372 |
Twinkle about on your restless feet, |
|
Stand in a circle around her home. |
|
O Artemis, thou maid divine, |
|
Dictynna, huntress, fair to see, |
1376 |
O, bring that keen-nosed pack of thine, |
|
And hunt through all the house with me. |
|
O Hecate, with flameful brands, |
|
O Zeus’ daughter, arm thine hands |
1380 |
Those swiftliest hands, both right and left; |
|
Thy rays on Glyce’s cottage throw |
|
That I serenely there may go |
|
And search by moonlight for the theft.” |
1384 |
DIO. Enough of both your odes. ÆSCH. Enough for me. |
|
Now would I bring the fellow to the scales. |
|
That, that alone, shall test our poetry now, |
|
And prove whose words are weightiest, his or mine. |
1388 |
DIO. Then both come hither, since I needs must weigh |
|
The art poetic like a pound of cheese. |
|
CHOR. O, the labour these wits go through! |
|
O, the wild, extravagant, new, |
1392 |
Wonderful things they are going to do! |
|
Who but they would ever have thought of it? |
|
Why, if a man had happened to meet me |
|
Out in the street, and intelligence brought of it, |
1396 |
I should have thought he was trying to cheat me; |
|
Thought that his story was false and deceiving. |
|
That were a tale I could never believe in. |
|
DIO. Each of you stand beside his scale, ÆSCH. and EUR. We’re here |
1400 |
DIO. And grasp it firmly whilst ye speak your lines, |
|
And don’t let go until I cry “Cuckoo.” |
|
ÆSCH. and EUR. Ready! DIO. Now speak your lines into the scale. |
|
EUR. O, that the Argo had not winged her way— |
1404 |
ÆSCH. River Spercheius, cattle-grazing haunts— |
|
DIO. Cuckoo! let go. O, look by far the lowest |
|
His scale sinks down. EUR. Why, how came that about? |
|
DIO. He threw a river in, like some wool-seller |
1408 |
Wetting his wool, to make it weight the more. |
|
But you threw in a light and wingèd word. |
|
EUR. Come, let him match another verse with mine. |
|
DIO. Each to his scale. ÆSCH. and EUR. We’re ready. DIO. Speak your lines. |
1412 |
EUR. Persuasion’s only shrine is eloquent speech. |
|
ÆSCH. Death loves not gifts, alone amongst the gods. |
|
DIO. Let go, let go. Down goes his scale again. |
|
He threw in Death, the heaviest ill of all. |
1416 |
EUR. And I Persuasion, the most lovely word. |
|
DIO. A vain and empty sound, devoid of sense. |
|
Think of some heavier-weighted line of yours, |
|
To drag your scale down: something strong and big. |
1420 |
EUR. Where have I got one? Where? Let’s see. Dio I’ll tell you. |
|
“Achilles threw two singles and a four.” |
|
Come, speak your lines: this is your last set-to. |
|
EUR. In his right hand he grasped an iron-clamped mace. |
1424 |
ÆSCH. Chariot on chariot, corpse on corpse was hurled. |
|
DIO. There now! again he has done you. EUR. Done me? How? |
|
DIO. He threw tow chariots and two corpses in; |
|
Five-score Egyptians could not lift that weight. |
1428 |
ÆSCH. No more of “line for line”; let him—himself, |
|
His children, wife, Cephisophon—get in, |
|
With all his books collected in his arms, |
|
Two lines of mine shall overweigh the lot. |
1432 |
DIO. Both are my friends; I can’t decide between them: |
|
I don’t desire to be at odds with either: |
|
One is so clever, one delights me so. |
|
PLUTO. Then you’ll effect nothing for which you came? |
1436 |
DIO. And how, if I decide? PLUTO. Then take the winner; |
|
So will your journey not be made in vain. |
|
DIO. Heaven bless your Highness! Listen, I came down |
|
After a poet. EUR. To what end? DIO. That so |
1440 |
The city, saved, may keep her choral games. |
|
Now then, whichever of you two shall best |
|
Advise the city, he shall come with me. |
|
And first of Alcibiades, let each |
1444 |
Say what he thinks; the city travails sore. |
|
EUR. What does she think herself about him? DIO. What? |
|
She loves, and hates, and longs to have him back. |
|
But give me your advice about the man. |
1448 |
EUR. I loathe a townsman who is slow to aid, |
|
And swift to hurt, his town; who ways and means |
|
Finds for himself, but finds not for the state. |
|
DIO. Poseidon, but that’s smart! (To Æsch.) And what say you? |
1452 |
ÆSCH. ’Twere best to rear no lion in the state: |
|
But having reared, ’tis best to humour him. |
|
DIO. By Zeus the Saviour, still I can’t decide. |
|
One is so clever, and so clear the other. |
1456 |
But once again. Let each in turn declare |
|
What plan of safety for the state ye’ve got. |
|
EUR. [First with Cinesias wing Cleocritus, |
|
Then zephyrs waft them o’er the watery plain. |
1460 |
DIO. As funny sight, I own: but where’s the sense? |
|
EUR. If, when the fleets engage, they, holding cruets, |
|
Should rain down vinegar in the foemen’s eyes,] |
|
I know, and I can tell you. DIO. Tell away. |
1464 |
EUR. When things, mistrusted now, shall trusted be, |
|
And trusted things, mistrusted. DIO. How! I don’t |
|
Quite comprehend. Be clear, and not so clever. |
|
EUR. If we mistrust those citizens of ours |
1468 |
Whom now we trust, and those employ whom now |
|
We don’t employ, the city will be saved. |
|
If on our present tack we fail, we surely |
|
Shall find salvation in the opposite course. |
1472 |
DIO. Good, O Palamedes! Good, you genius you. |
|
[Is this your cleverness or Cephisophon’s? |
|
EUR. This is my own: the cruet-plan was his.] |
|
DIO. (To Æsch.) Now, you, ÆSCH. But tell me whom the city uses. The good and useful? DIO. What are you dreaming of? |
1476 |
She hates and loathes them. ÆSCH. Does she love the bad? |
|
DIO. Not love them, no: she uses them perforce. |
|
ÆSCH. How can one save a city such as this, |
|
Whom neither frieze nor woollen tunic suits? |
1480 |
DIO. O, if to earth you rise, find out some way. |
|
ÆSCH. There will I speak: I cannot answer here. |
|
DIO. Nay, nay; send up your guerdon from below. |
|
ÆSCH. When they shall count the enemy’s soil their own, |
1484 |
And theirs the enemy’s: “when they know that ships |
|
Are their true wealth, their so-called wealth delusion. |
|
DIO. Aye, but the justices suck that down, you know. |
|
PLUTO. Now then, decide. DIO. I will; and thus I’ll do it: |
1488 |
I’ll choose the man in whom my soul delights. |
|
EUR. O, recollect the gods by whom you swore |
|
You’d take me home again; and choose your friends. |
|
DIO. ’Twas my tongue swore; my choice is—Æschylus. |
1492 |
EUR. Hah! what have you done? DIO. Done? Given the victor’s prize |
|
To Æschylus; why not? EUR. And do you dare |
|
Look in my face, after that shameful deed? |
|
DIO. What’s shameful, if the audience think not so? |
1496 |
EUR. Have you no heart? Wretch, would you leave me dead? |
|
DIO. Who knows if death be life, and life be death, |
|
And breath be mutton broth, and sleep a sheepskin? |
|
PLUTO. Now, Dionysus, come ye in, DIO. What for? |
1500 |
PLUTO. And sup before ye go. DIO. A bright idea. I’ faith, I’m nowise indisposed for that. |
|
CHOR. Blest the man who possesses a |
|
Keen intelligent mind. |
|
This full often we find. |
1504 |
He, the bard of renown, |
|
Now to earth reascends, |
|
Goes, a joy to his town, |
|
Goes, a joy to his friends, |
1508 |
Just because he possesses a |
|
Keen intelligent mind. |
|
RIGHT it is and befitting, |
|
Not, by Socrates sitting, |
1512 |
Idle talk to pursue, |
|
Stripping tragedy-art of |
|
All things noble and true, |
|
Surely the mind to school |
1516 |
Fine-drawn quibbles to seek, |
|
Fine-set phrases to speak, |
|
Is but the part of a fool! |
|
PLUTO. Farewell then, Æschylus, great and wise, |
1520 |
Go, save our state by the maxims rare |
|
Of thy noble thought; and the fools chastise, |
|
For many a fool dwells there. |
|
And this to Cleophon give, my friend, |
1524 |
And this to the revenue-raising crew, |
|
Nicomachus, Myrmex, next I send, |
|
And this to Archenomus too. |
|
And bid them all that without delay, |
1528 |
To my realm of the dead they hasten away. |
|
For if they loiter above, I swear |
|
I’ll come myself and arrest them there. |
|
And branded and fettered the slaves shall go |
1532 |
With the vilest rascal in all the town, |
|
Adeimantus, son of Leucolophus, down, |
|
Down, down to the darkness below. |
|
ÆSCH. I take the mission. This chair of mine |
1536 |
Meanwhile to Sophocles here commit |
|
(For I count him next in our craft divine), |
|
Till I come once more by thy side to sit. |
|
But as for that rascally scoundrel there, |
1540 |
That low buffoon, that worker of ill, |
|
O, let him not sit in my vacant chair, |
|
Not even against his will. |
|
PLUTO. (To the Chorus.) Escort him up with your mystic throngs, |
1544 |
While the holy torches quiver and blaze. |
|
Escort him up with his own sweet songs |
|
And his noble festival lays. |
|
CHOR. First, as the poet triumphant is passing away to the light, |
1548 |
Grant him success on his journey, ye powers that are ruling below. |
|
Grant that he find for the city good counsels to guide her aright; |
|
So we at last shall be freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe, |
|
Freed from the onsets of war. Let Cleophon now and his band |
1552 |
Battle, if battle they must, far away in their own fatherland. |
|