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THE    ATHENIAN    DRAMA 

A  Series  of  Verse  Translations  from  the  Greek  Dramatic 

Poets,  with  Commentaries  and  Explanatory 

Essays,  for  English  Readers 


VOL.   Ill 
EURIPIDES 


Uniform  with  this  Volume 

Crown  8vo,  clotli,  gilt  top,  7s.  6d.  each  net. 

Each  Volume  Illustrated  from  ancient 

Sculptures  and  Painting. 

AESCHYLUS:  The  Orestean  Trilogy.  By  Prof. 
Warr.  With  an  Introduction  on  The  Rise  of 
Greek  Tragedy,  and  I  3  Illustrations. 

SOPHOCLES:  (Edipus  Tyranmis  and  Coloneus, 
and  Antigone.  By  Prof.  J.  S.  Phillimore. 
With  an  Introduction  on  Sophocles  and  his 
Treatment  cf  Tragedy ^  and  16  Illustrations. 


THE  HOMERIC  HYMNS.  A  New  Prose 
Rendering  by  Andrew  Lang,  with  Essays 
Critical  and  Explanatory,  and  14  Illustrations. 


^ 


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ATI  en   4    Co.Sc 


EURIPIDES 


EURIPIDES 


TRANSLATED    INTO    ENGLISH    RHYMING    VERSE    BY 

GILBERT  MURRAY,  M.A.,  LL.D 

KMKRITUS    PROFESSOR   OP   CREEK    IN    THH   UNIVEKSITV 

OP   GLASGOW  ;   SOMETIME   PELLOW   OF 

NEW   COLLEGE,    OXFORD 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


SECOND  EDITION 


y 


LONDON 

GEORGE  ALLEN,   156,  CHARING  CROSS  ROAD 

1904 

All  rights  resen-ed 


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PREFACE 

THE  object  of  this  book  is  in  the  first  place 
to  put  before  English  readers  a  transla- 
tion of  some  very  beautiful  poetry,  and  in  the 
second  place  to  give  some  description  of  a 
remarkable  artist  and  thinker.  This  double 
purpose  explains  the  somewhat  unusual  com- 
position of  the  volume. 

I  have  taken  first  two  plays  of  Euripides — 
the  Hippolytus  and  The  Bacchae — chosen  partly 
for  their  beauty,  partly  because  they  are  very 
characteristic  of  their  author.  Different  as  they 
are,  both  are  peculiarly  imbued  with  his  special 
atmosphere,  an  atmosphere  of  creativeness 
steeped  in  critical  meditation,  of  Fiction  that 
exists  for  the  sake  of  Truth — sometimes  to  ex- 
press Truth,  sometimes  consciously  to  fly  from 
Truth,  but  always  in  some  way  intimately 
conditioned  by  the  search  for  it. 

Next,  I  have  selected  the  chief  ancient 
criticism  of  Euripides,  a  satire  penetrating, 
brilliant,  and,  though  preposterously  unfair, 
still    exceedingly    helpful    to  any  student  who 


vi  PREFACE 

does  not  choose  to  put  himself  at  its  mercy. 
To  some  readers  there  may  appear  to  be  some- 
thing irreverent  in  allowing  two  noble  tragedies 
to  be  so  closely  followed  by  a  hostile  burlesque. 
I  personally  feel  a  kind  of  satisfaction  in  the 
juxtaposition.  What  is  said  of  Euripides  in 
The  Frogs^  so  far  as  it  is  serious,  is  after  all 
part  of  the  truth,  and  a  part  not  to  be  ignored. 
And  to  me  the  figure  of  the  great  philosopher 
and  poet  seems  even  more  august  and  more 
undoubtedly  beautiful  when  I  have  heard  and 
digested  what  his  enemies  said  of  him.  Euri- 
pides would  be  the  last  man  to  wish  for  an 
admiration  based  on  the  suppression  of  evi- 
dence. My  only  regret  is  for  the  necessity  of 
inserting  the  irrelevant  and  rather  poor  fooling 
of  the  first  few  scenes  of  The  Frogs. 

Lastly,  I  have  added  an  Appendix  which,  I 
venture  to  hope,  may  be  of  some  interest  both 
to  students  and  to  other  readers.  In  trying  to 
understand  the  work  of  Euripides,  one  ought 
certainly  to  take  some  account  of  the  many 
plays — fifty-six  for  certain — which  are  "  lost  " 
or  represented  by  "fragments,"  that  is,  by 
quotations  or  descriptions  or  allusions  in 
late  authors.  1  have  tried,  following  chiefly 
Welcker  {T>ie  Griechischen  Tragodieri)  ^and 
Hartung  {Euripides  Restitutus\  to  reconstruct 
the  main  lines  of  many  of  these  lost  dramas. 


PREFACE  vii 

and  have  translated  a  few  typical  fragments  of 
each.  It  seemed  most  convenient  to  choose 
for  this  purpose  those  plays  which  happen  to 
be  referred  to  in   The  Frogs. 

On  points  of  ancient  religion  I  have  had  the 
great  advantage  of  frequent  consultation  with 
Miss  J.  E.  Harrison.  As  to  questions  of  text, 
I  have  in  the  Hippolytus  followed  my  own 
critical  edition  published  by  the  Clarendon 
Press ;  in  The  Bacchae  I  have  acted  on  the  same 
plan,  though  the  volume  containing  that  play 
has  not  yet  been  published.  In  places  where 
my  own  mind  was  not  yet  made  up  I  have 
nearly  always  followed  Ewald  Bruhn.  In  The 
Frogs  I  used  Van  Leeuwen's  edition,  but  have 
been  led  by  the  Oxford  editors,  Hall  and 
Geldart,  to  reconsider  several  passages.  In 
the  fragments  I  have  made  no  emendations, 
but  followed  either  Nauck  or  some  MS 
Once  or  twice,  for  convenience'  sake,  I  have 
joined  two  fragments  together. 

As  to  the  method  of  this  translation,  which 
may,  I  fear,  seem  odd  and  even  illegitimate  to 
many  scholars,  a  word  of  explanation  is  neces- 
sary. My  aim  has  been  to  build  up  some- 
thing as  like  the  original  as  I  possibly  could, 
in  form  and  in  what  one  calls  "  spirit."  To 
do  this,  the  first  thing  needed  was  a  work  of 
painstaking  scholarship,  a  work  in  which  there 


viii  PREFACE 

should  be  no  neglect  of  the  letter  in  an  attempt 
to  snatch  at  the  spirit,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
close  study  of  the  letter  and  careful  tracking  of 
the  spirit  by  means  of  its  subtleties.  This  to 
the  best  of  my  power  I  tried  to  accomplish 
many  years  ago  in  prose  translations,  very  full 
and  often  verging  towards  commentary  or  para- 
phrase, which  I  used  as  the  basis  of  lectures 
in  my  classes  at  the  University  of  Glasgow. 
Such  a  translation,  so  far  as  it  was  correct, 
would  give  what  one  loosely  calls  the  "  mean- 
ing "  of  the  original ;  but  it  would  be  prose, 
stilted  and  long-winded  prose,  and  the  original 
is  gleaming  poetry.  The  remaining  task,  then 
— so  great  a  task  that  I  shrink  somewhat  from 
even  admitting  that  I  have  contemplated  it — 
was  that  of  a  poet.  Of  course,  in  such  an 
attempt,  the  attempt  of  an  ordinary  man  of 
letters  to  reproduce  the  essential  poetry  of  a 
great  far-off  poet,  failure  is  certain,  and  failure 
generally  more  profound  than  the  translator 
himself  realises.  But  of  that  more  presently. 
I  am  bound  to  confess  that,  the  groundwork 
of  careful  translation  once  laid,  I  have  thought 
no  more  about  anything  but  the  poetry.  I 
have  often  laboured  long  to  express  a  slight 
shade  of  meaning  or  of  beauty  which  I  felt 
lurking  in  some  particular  word  or  cadence  ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  often  changed 


PREFACE  ix 

metaphors,  altered  the  shapes  of  sentences, 
and  the  like.  On  one  occasion  {Hip.  385)  I 
have  even  omitted  a  line  and  a  half,  because, 
though  apparently  needed  in  the  Greek  to 
make  clear  a  rather  difficult  thought,  they  were 
not  needed  in  English,  where  the  thought  in 
question  was  quite  familiar.  I  have  added,  of 
course  by  conjecture,  a  few  stage  directions. 

There  are  pitfalls  innumerable  in  this  course. 
Who  is  to  say  what  the  "  spirit  "  of  Euripides 
really  was  ?  My  version  of  it  will  differ 
greatly  from  that  of  many  men  of  far  greater 
learning.  Some  good  scholars,  again  (and 
innumerable  bad  ones  !),  have  a  rigidly  fixed 
conception  of  what  is  in  the  limits  of  "  an- 
cient thought,"  and  what  is  "Christian"  or 
"  modern,"  and  may  consider  that  I  ought  to 
have  shut  my  ears  and  refused  to  listen  when 
Euripides  seemed  to  transgress  these  limits. 
It  may  also  be  felt  that  I  have  walked  some- 
what rashly  in  places  of  uncertain  text  or 
meaning,  and  consequently  made  some  definite 
mistranslations  where  a  more  cautious  scholar 
would  have  avoided  committing  himself.  My 
answer  is  that,  if  in  a  matter  of  scholar- 
ship it  is  well  to  be  "  safe "  or  even  to 
"  hedge,"  in  a  matter  of  Art  any  such  cowar- 
dice is  fatal.  I  have  in  my  own  mind  a  fairly 
clear  conception    of   what    I    take    to    be    the 


X  PREFACE 

"  spirit "  of  Euripides,  and  I  have  kept  my 
hands  very  free  in  trying  to  get  near  it.  Some 
of  the  means  employed  are  indirect  and  even 
paradoxical.  Euripides  has,  of  course,  no 
rhyme  ;  yet  a  rhymed  version  seems  to  me, 
after  many  experiments,  to  produce  the  effect 
of  his  style  much  more  nearly  than  blank 
verse.  I  have  often  used  more  elaborate 
diction  than  he,  because  I  found  that,  Greek 
being  a  very  simple  and  austere  language  and 
modern  English  an  ornate  one,  a  direct  transla- 
tion produced  an  effect  of  baldness  which  was 
quite  unlike  the  original. 

A  strictly  literal  translation  has  the  advan- 
tage that  it  can  be  definitely  attacked  and 
defended  on  scientific  grounds.  It  has  a  possi- 
bility of  being  "  right."  And  a  translation 
like  mine  cannot  be  "  right."  Its  failure, 
indeed,  must,  as  I  said  above,  be  more  pro- 
found than  the  writer  realises.  First,  because 
a  man  generally  does  not  see  his  own  mistakes 
or  realise  his  own  interrupting  mannerisms ; 
and,  secondly,  because  a  translator  cannot  help 
seeing  his  own  work  through  the  medium  of 
that  greater  thing  which  he  studies  and  loves. 
The  light  of  the  original  shines  through  it, 
and  the  music  of  the  original  echoes  round  it. 
Creech's  versions  of  Horace  and  Theocritus 
may  possess  as  little  "art  of  speech"  as  their 


PREFACE  xi 

famous  critic  implies — I  speak  without  pre- 
judice, never  having  seen  them.  They  may  be 
to  us  unreadable  ;  bad  verse  in  themselves,  and 
full  of  Creech's  tiresome  personality,  the  Horace 
no  Horace  of  ours,  and  the  Theocritus  utterly 
unlike  Theocritus.  But  to  Creech  himself, 
how  different  it  all  was !  He  did  not  know 
how  bad  his  lines  were.  He  did  not  feel  any 
veil  of  intervening  Creech.  To  him  the 
Theocritus  was  not  Creech,  but  pure  Theo- 
critus, or,  if  not  quite  that,  at  least  something 
haunted  by  all  the  magic  of  Theocritus. 
When  he  read  his  baldest  lines  his  voice,  no 
doubt,  trembled  with  emotion.  But  it  was 
the  original  that  caused  the  emotion.  The 
original  was  always  there  present  to  him  in  a 
kind  of  symbol,  its  beauty  perhaps  even 
increased  by  that  idealisation  and  endearment 
which  naturally  attend  the  long  and  loving 
service  of  one  human  mind  to  another. 


G.  M. 


Churt,  Surrey, 

Oct.  30,  1902. 


^> 


CONTENTS 


^/// 


Preface     .  .         .  • 

List  of  Illustrations 
Introductory  Essay  . 
Translation — 

HiPPOLYTUS 

The  Bacchae  . 
Notes  on  the   Hippolvtus 
Notes  on  the   Bacchae 
Translation — The  Frogs 
Commentary  on   the   Frogs 
Appendix  on   the   Lost  Plays 
Index         .... 


XV 

xix 

I 

77 
155 
.65 
177 
285 
3'3 
353 


i> 


xrv 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


Portrait  Bust  of   Euripides  Photogravure  Frontispttce 

From  the  Naples  Museum.  A  copy  of  the 
authoritative  portrait  set  up  in  the  Theatre 
at  Athens  in  the  4th  century,  on  the 
motion  of  the  orator  Lycurgus. 

Dionysus  with  Worshipping  Attendants       .       Page  xix 

From  a  Hellenistic  (4th  century?)  bas-relief  in 
the  Naples  Museum.  The  God,  beardless, 
according  to  the  later  conception,  is  pre- 
ceded by  a  Maenad  and  a  Satyr.  The 
beardless  type  appears,  perhaps  for  the  first 
time,  in  The  Bacchae,  where,  however,  there 
are  no  Satyrs. 

The  Sailing  of  Dionysus     .  ,  .  .        „  Ixviii 

From  a  black-figured  cylix  by  Exckias  in  the 
Pinakothek,  Munich,  6th  century.  The 
painting  is  damaged  in  the  centre  of  the 
design.  The  bearded  God,  ivy-crowned  and 
holding  a  horn,  lies  in  a  magic  ship  in 
full  sail.  From  the  mast  spring  two  vine 
branches,  bearing  seven  clusters.  The  sea  is 
indicated  by  seven  dolphins.  (Harrison  and 
MacCoU,  Greet  Vate  Paintings,  pi.  i.) 

Eros  Armed         .......  I 

5th  century.     Design  on  an  amphora  discovered 

at  Nola,  and  now  in  the  Cabinet  des  Medailles, 
Bibl.  Nat.,  Paris,  No.  366.  It  is  published 
in  Lenormant  et  de  Witte,  Monuments  Ceramo. 
graphiquet,  vol.  iv.,  pi.  li.  The  God  is  of  the 
early  and  austere  type.  Inscribed  XapM^oijj 
/fa\6j. 


xvi         LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Artemis  with  Drawn   Bow  .  .  .        Page  75 

A  figure  taken  from  the  group  of  the  Slaying  of 
the  Children  of  Niobe  on  a  Crater  from 
Orvieto,  now  in  the  Louvre.  5th  century. 
(Roscher,  Lexicon  iir  Mythologte,  8.  v. 
NiobiJen.) 


79 


54 


Bacchanals  on  a  Mountain 

From  a  vase  of  the  Sabouroff  Collection,  now 
at  Berlin:  late  5th  century  or  early  4th. 
The  figures  are  taken  from  a  larger  group, 
including  Sileni  and  Dionysus  himst-lf. 
The  figures  have  fanciful  names  attached 
to  them  (Kisso,  Makaria,  and  the  like). 
(Rayet  et  CoUignon,  Ceramiqne  Gr  ,  pi.  92.) 

A  Maenad  .  ..... 

5tli  century.  From  the  Museo  Gregoriano 
of  the  Vatican.  The  end  figure  of  a  group 
of  moving  Maenads,  she  stands  as  though 
pensive  or  weary,  leaning  upon  her  thyrsus. 
(Roscher,  ut  supra,  s.v.  Mainaden,  p.  2269.) 

Eos  WITH  THE  Body  of  Memnon  .  .  .  »   164 

From  a  cylix  by  Duris  in  the  Campana  Collection 
of  the  Louvre.  5th  century.  The  winged 
Dawn-Goddess  stoops  to  uplift  the  body  of 
her  slain  son.  {Harrison  and  MacCoil, 
pi.  xviii.) 

Dance  of  Maenads       .  .  .  .  .  ,,176 

From  a  cylix  by  Hieron  in  the  Berlin  Museum. 
5th  century.  "Eleven  Maenads  dance  in  a 
ring  round  the  ancient  Xoanon  of  Dionysos, 
Some  hold  thyrsi,  one  plays  the  crotala, 
another  holds  a  crater  decorated  with  ivy 
wreath  and  black-figured  satyr,  another 
holds  a  fawn.  The  image  of  Dionysos  is  a 
draped  post;  the  head  is  ivy-crowned,  on 
the  breast  is  a  necklace  of  strung  dried  figs, 
from  the  shoulders  branch  on;  great  ivy  and 
vine  branches,  and  honeycombs  threaded  on 
by  ivy  sprays.  In  front  of  the  God  is  his 
altar  ...  its  acroterion  is  decorated  with  a 
figure  of  himself  seated."  (Harrison  and 
iVtacCoU,  pi.  xxi.) 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS        xvii 

A     HlPPALECTOR,   OR    HoRSE-CoCK,   RIDDEN     BY    A 

Boy Pas'-  284 

From  the  Museo  Greco-Etrusco,  Florence.  5th 
century.  The  mane  and  tail  are  painted 
purple;  the  stripes  of  the  boy's  mantle 
green.     (Harrison  and  MacColl,  pi.  viii.) 


Eros  with  a  Lyre '.313 

From  a  lekythos  from  Gela.  5th  century. 
Published  in  Benndorf,  Grlech.  und  Sicll. 
VasenbiUir,  48,  2.  The  early  and  austere 
type.  The  lines  of  and  about  the  lower 
part  of  the  legs  are  much  blurred  upon  the 
vase;  Dr.  Benndorf  considers  that  they  do 
not  represent  wings. 

The  Heavenly  Aphrodite,  riding  on   a  Swan 

AND  HOLDING  A  F LOWER  {Photogravure)       .  ,352 

From  a  vase  by  Euphronios  or  one  of  his  school ; 
early  5th  century.  Found  at  Camirus  in 
Rhodes,  and  now  in  the  British  Museum. 


:a. 


+X 


INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY 

THE  BACCHAE  IN  RELATION  TO  CERTAIN 
CURRENTS  OF  THOUGHT  IN  THE 
FIFTH  CENTURY 


Of  the  two  dramas  that  make  up  the  main 
part  of  this  volume,  the  Hippolytus  can  be 
left  to  speak  for  itself.  Its  two  thousand  five 
hundred  years  have  left  little  mark  upon  it. 
It  has  something  of  the  stateliness  of  age,  no 
doubt,  but  none  of  the  staleness  or  lack  of 
sympathy.  With  all  the  severe  lines  of  its 
beauty,  it  is  tender,  subtle,  quick  with  human 
feeling.  Even  its  religious  conceptions,  if  we 
will  but  take  them  simply,  forgetting  the  false 
mythology  we  have  learned  from  handbooks, 
are  easily  understood  and  full  of  truth.  One 
of  the  earliest,  if  not  the  very  earliest,  of  love 


XX  EURIPIDES 

tragedies,  it  deals  with  a  theme  that  might 
easily  be  made  ugly.  It  is  made  ugly  by  later 
writers,  especially  by  the  commentators  whom 
we  can  see  always  at  work  from  the  times  of 
the  ancient  scholia  down  to  our  own  days. 
Even  Racine,  who  wished  to  be  kind  to  his 
PhMre,  has  let  her  suffer  by  contact  with 
certain  deadly  and  misleading  suggestions. 
But  the  Phaedra  of  Euripides  was  quite  another 
woman,  and  the  quality  of  her  love,  apart 
from  its  circumstances,  is  entirely  fragrant 
and  clear.  The  Hippolytus^  like  most  works 
that  come  from  a  strong  personality,  has  its 
mannerisms  and,  no  doubt,  its  flaws.  But  in 
the  main  it  is  a  singularly  satisfying  and  com- 
plete work  of  art,  a  thing  of  beauty,  to  con- 
template and  give  thanks  for,  surrounded  by 
an  atmosphere  of  haunting  purity. 

If  we  turn  to  The  Bacchae^  we  find  a  curious 
difference.  As  an  effort  of  genius  it  is  perhaps 
greater  than  the  Hippolytus,  at  any  rate  more 
unusual  and  rare  in  quality.  But  it  is  un- 
satisfying, inhuman.  There  is  an  impression 
of  coldness  and  even  of  prolixity  amid  its 
amazing  thrill,  a  strange  unearthliness,  some- 
thing that  bewilders.  Most  readers,  I  believe, 
tend  to  ask  what  it  means,  and  to  feel,  by  im- 
plication, that  it  means  something. 

Now  this  problem,  what  The  Bacchae  means 
and   how  Euripides  came   to  write   it,  is  not 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  xxi 

only  of  real  interest  in  itself;  it  is  also, 
I  think,  of  importance  with  regard  to  cer- 
tain movements  in  fifth-century  Athens,  and 
certain  currents  of  thought  in  later  Greek 
philosophy. 

The  remark  has  been  made,  that,  if  Aristotle 
could  have  seen  through  some  magic  glass  the 
course  of  human  development  and  decay  for 
the  thousand  years  following  his  death,  the 
disappointment  would  have  broken  his  heart. 
A  disappointment  of  the  same  sort,  but  more 
sharp  and  stinging,  inasmuch  as  men's  hopes 
were  both  higher  and  cruder,  did,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  break  the  hearts  of  many  men  two  or 
three  generations  earlier.  It  is  the  reflection  of 
that  disappointment  on  the  work  of  Euripides, 
the  first  hopefulness,  the  embitterment,  the 
despair,  followed  at  last  by  a  final  half-prophetic 
vision  of  the  truths  or  possibilities  beyond  that 
despair,  that  will,  I  think,  supply  us  with  an 
explanation  of  a  large  part  of  The  Bacchae^  and 
with  a  clue  to  a  great  deal  of  the  poet's  other 
work. 

There  has  been,  perhaps,  no  period  in  the 
world's  history,  not  even  the  openings  of  the 
French  Revolution,  when  the  prospects  of  the 
human  race  can  have  appeared  so  brilliant  as 
they  did  to  the  highest  minds  of  Eastern 
Greece  about  the  years  470-445  B.C.  To  us, 
looking   critically  back  upon   that    time,  it   is 


xxii  EURIPIDES 

as  though  the  tree  of  human  life  had  burst 
suddenly  into  flower,  into  that  exquisite  and 
short-lived  bloom  which  seems  so  disturbing 
among  the  ordinary  processes  of  historical 
growth.  One  wonders  how  it  must  have  felt 
to  the  men  who  lived  in  it.  We  have  but  little 
direct  testimony.  There  is  the  tone  of  solemn 
exaltation  that  pervades  most  of  Aeschylus,  the 
high  confidence  of  the  Persae^  the  Prometheus^ 
the  Eumenides.  There  is  the  harassed  and 
half-reluctant  splendour  of  certain  parts  of 
Pindar,  like  the  Dithyramb  to  Athens  and  the 
fourth  Nemean  Ode.  But  in  the  main  the 
men  of  that  day  were  too  busy,  one  would  fain 
think  too  happy,  to  write  books. 

There  is  an  interesting  witness,  however, 
of  a  rather  younger  generation.  Herodotus 
finished  his  Histories  when  the  glory  was 
already  gone,  and  the  future  seemed  about 
equally  balanced  between  good  and  evil.  But 
he  had  lived  as  a  boy  in  the  great  time.  And 
the  peculiar  charm  of  his  work  often  seems  to 
lie  mainly  in  a  certain  strong  and  kindly  joyous- 
ness,  persistent  even  amid  his  most  horrifying 
stories,  which  must  be  the  spirit  of  the  first 
Athenian  Confederation  not  yet  strangled  by 
the  spirit  of  the  Peloponnesian  war. 

What  was  the  object  of  this  enthusiasm,  the 
ground  of  this  high  hopefulness  .''  It  would, 
of  course,   take  us  far  beyond  our  limits  to 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY         xxiii 

attempt  any  full  answer  to  such  a  question. 
But  for  one  thing,  there  was  the  extraordi- 
nary swiftness  of  the  advances  made  ;  and,  for 
another,  there  was  a  circumstance  that  has 
rarely  been  repeated  in  history — the  fact  that 
all  the  different  advances  appeared  to  help  one 
another.  The  ideals  of  freedom,  law,  and 
progress  ;  of  truth  and  beauty,  of  knowledge 
and  virtue,  of  humanity  and  religion ;  high 
things,  the  conflicts  between  which  have  caused 
most  of  the  disruptions  and  despondencies  of 
human  societies,  seemed  for  a  generation  or 
two  at  this  time  to  lie  all  in  the  same  direction. 
And  in  that  direction,  on  the  whole,  a  great 
part  of  Greece  was  with  extraordinary  swift- 
ness moving.  Of  course,  there  were  backwaters 
and  reactionary  forces.  There  was  Sparta  and 
even  Aetolia ;  Pythagoras  and  the  Oracle  at 
Delphi.  But  in  the  main,  all  good  things 
went  hand  in  hand.  The  poets  and  the  men 
of  science,  the  moral  teachers  and  the  hardy 
speculators,  the  great  traders  and  the  political 
reformers — all  found  their  centre  of  life  and 
aspiration  in  the  same  'School  of  Hellas,' 
Athens.  The  final  seal  of  success  was  set  upon 
the  movement  by  the  defeat  of  the  Persian  inva- 
sion and  the  formation  of  the  Athenian  League. 
The  higher  hopes  and  ideals  had  clashed  against 

^  A  magnificent  text  for  such  a  discussion  would  be  found  in  the 
great  lyric  on  the  Rise  of  Man  in  Sophocles'  Anti,:^one  (v.  332  (f. ). 


xxiv  EURIPIDES 

the  lower  under  conditions  in  which  the  victory 
of  the  lower  seemed  beforehand  certain  ;  and 
somehow,  miraculously,  ununderstandably,  that 
which  was  high  had  shown  that  it  was  also 
strong.  Athens  stood  out  as  the  chief  power 
of  the  Mediterranean. 

Let  us  recall  briefly  a  few  well-known  pas- 
sages of  Herodotus  to  illustrate  the  tone  of 
the  time. 

Athens  represented  Hellenism  (Hdt.  i.  60). 
"  The  Greek  race  was  distinguished  of  old 
from  the  barbarian  as  nimbler  of  intellect 
and  further  removed  from  primitive  savagery 
(or  stupidity).  .  .  .  And  of  all  Greeks  the 
Athenians  were  counted  the  first  for  wisdom." 

She  represented  the  triumph  of  Democracy 
(Hdt.  V.  78).  "  So  Athens  grew.  It  is  clear 
not  in  one  thing  alone,  but  wherever  you  test 
it,  what  a  good  thing  is  equality  among  men. 
Even  in  war,  Athens,  when  under  the  tyrants, 
was  no  better  than  her  neighbours ;  when  freed 
from  the  tyrants,  she  was  far  the  first  of  all." 

And  Democracy  was  at  this  time  a  thing 
v/hich  stirred  enthusiasm.  A  speaker  says  in 
Herodotus  (iii.  80)  :  "  A  tyrant  disturbs 
ancient  laws,  violates  women,  kills  men  without 
trial.  But  a  people  ruling — first,  the  very 
name  of  it  is  so  beautiful,  Isonomie  (Equahty 
in  law)  ;  and,  secondly,  a  people  does  none  of 
these  things." 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  xxv 

"  The  very  name  of  it  is  so  beautiful  ! " 
It  was  some  twenty-five  years  later  that 
an  Athenian  statesman,  of  moderate  or  rather 
popular  antecedents,  said  in  a  speech  at 
Sparta  (Thuc.  vi.  89):  "Of  course,  all  sen- 
sible men  know  what  Democracy  is,  and  I 
better  than  most,  having  suffered  ;  but  there  is 
nothing  new  to  be  said  about  acknowledged 
insanity  !  " 

That,  however,  is  looking  ahead.  We  must 
note  that  this  Democracy,  this  Freedom,  repre- 
sented by  Greece,  and  especially  by  Athens, 
was  always  the  Rule  of  Law.  There  is  a  story 
told  by  Aeschylus  of  the  Athenians,  by  Hero- 
dotus of  the  Spartans,  contrasting  either  with 
the  barbarians  and  their  lawless  absolute  mon- 
archies. Xerxes,  learning  the  small  numbers 
of  his  Greek  adversaries,  asks,  "  How  can  they 
possibly  stand  against  us,  especially  when,  as 
you  tell  me,  they  are  all  free,  and  there  is  no 
one  to  compel  them .'' "  And  the  Spartan 
Demaratus  answers  (Hdt.  vii.  104):  "Free 
are  they,  O  King,  yet  not  free  to  do 
everything  ;  for  there  is  a  master  over  them, 
even  Law,  whom  they  fear  more  than  thy 
servants  fear  thee.  At  least  they  obey  what- 
ever he  commands,  and  his  voice  is  always  the 
same."  In  Aeschylus  (Persae,  241  ser/r^.)  the 
speakers  present  are  both  Persians,  so  the  point 


xxvi  EURIPIDES 

about  Law  cannot  be  explained.  It  is  left  a 
mystery,  how  and  why  the  free  Greeks  face 
their  death. 

It  would  be  easy  to  assemble  many  passages 
to  show  that  Athens  represented  freedom 
(e.g.  Hdt.  viii.  142)  and  the  enfranchisement 
of  the  oppressed  ;  but  what  is  even  more 
characteristic  than  the  insistence  on  Freedom  is 
the  insistence  on  Aret^,  Virtue — the  demand 
made  upon  each  Greek,  and  especially  each 
Athenian,  to  be  a  better  man  than  the  ordinary. 
It  comes  out  markedly  from  a  quarter  where 
we  should  scarcely  expect  it.  Herodotus  gives 
an  abstract  of  the  words  spoken  by  the  much- 
maligned  Themistocles  before  the  battle  of 
Salamis — a  brief,  grudging  resume  of  a  speech 
so  celebrated  that  it  could  not  in  decency  be 
entirely  passed  over  (Hdt.  viii.  83) :  "  The  argu- 
ment of  it  was  that  in  all  things  that  are  possible 
to  man's  nature  and  situation,  there  is  always  a 
higher  and  a  lower ;  "  and  that  they  must  stand 
for  the  higher.  We  should  have  liked  to 
hear  more  of  that  speech.  It  certainly  achieved 
its  end. 

There  was  insistence  on  Arete  in  another 
sense,  the  sense  of  generosity  and  kindliness. 
A  true  Athenian  must  know  how  to  give  way. 
When  the  various  states  were  contending  for 
the  leadership  before  the  battle  of  Artemisium, 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY        xxvii 

the  Athenians,  contributing  much  the  largest 
and  finest  fighting  force,  "  thought,"  we  are 
told  (Hdt.  viii.  3),  "  that  the  great  thing  was 
that  Greece  should  be  saved,  and  gave  up  their 
claims,"  In  the  similar  dispute  for  the  post  of 
honour  and  danger  before  the  battle  of  Plataea, 
the  Athenians  did  plead  their  cause,  and  easily 
won  it  (Hdt.  ix.  27).  But  we  may  notice  not 
only  the  moderate  and  disciplined  spirit  in 
which  they  promise  to  abide  by  Sparta's  deci- 
sion, and  to  show  no  resentment  if  their  claim 
is  rejected,  but  also  the  grounds  upon  which 
they  claim  honour — beyond  certain  obvious 
points,  such  as  the  size  of  their  contingent. 
Their  claims  are  that  in  recent  years  they  alone 
have  met  the  Persians  single-handed  on  behalf 
of  all  Greece  ;  that  in  old  times  it  was  they  who 
gave  refuge  to  the  Children  of  Heracles  when 
hunted  through  Greece  by  the  overmaster- 
ing tyrant,  Eurystheus ;  it  was  they  who 
championed  the  wives  and  mothers  of  the 
Argives  slain  at  Thebes,  and  made  war  upon 
that  conquering  power  to  prevent  wrong-doing 
against  the  helpless  dead. 

These  passages,  which  could  easily  be  re- 
inforced by  a  score  of  others,  illustrate,  not  of 
course  what  Athens  as  a  matter  of  hard  fact 
"jjas — no  state  has  ever  been  one  compact  mass 
of  noble  qualities — but  the  kind  of  ideal   that 


xxviii  EURIPIDES 

Athens  in  her  own  mind  had  formed  of  herself. 
They  help  us  to  see  what  she  appeared  to  the 
imaginations  of  Aeschylus  and  young  Euri- 
pides, and  that  '  Band  of  Lovers  '  which  Pericles 
gathered  to  adore  his  Princess  of  Cities.  She 
represented  Freedom  and  Law,  Hellenism  and 
Intellect,  Humanity,  Chivalry,  the  championship 
of  the  helpless  and  oppressed. 

Did  Euripides  feel  all  this.f*  one  may  ask. 
The  answer  to  that  doubt  is  best  to  be  found, 
perhaps,  in  the  two  plays  which  he  wrote  upon 
the  two  traditional  feats  of  generosity  mentioned 
above — the  reception  of  the  Children  of  Hera- 
cles, and  the  championing  of  the  Argive  Sup- 
liants.  The  former  is  unfortunately  mutilated, 
and  perhaps  interpolated  as  well,  so  the  Sup- 
■pliants  will  suit  our  purpose  best.  It  is,  I 
think,  an  early  play  rewritten  at  the  time  of  the 
Peace  of  Nicias  (b.c.  421),  about  the  beginning 
of  the  poet's  middle  period,^  a  poor  play  in 
many  respects,  youthful,  obvious,  and  crude,  but 
all  aflame  with  this  chivalrous  and  confident 
spirit. 

The  situation  is  as  follows :  Adrastus,  King 
of  Argos,  has  led  the  ill-fated  expedition  of  the 

'  Some  critics  consider  that  it  was  first  written  at  this  time.  If 
so,  we  must  attribute  the  apparent  marks  of  earliness  to  deliberate 
archaism.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  reception  of  Suppliants  was 
a  very  old  stage  subject,  and  had  acquired  a  certain  traditional  stiff- 
ness of  form,  seen  at  its  acme  in  the  Suppliants  of  Aeschylus. 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY        xxix 

Seven  Chieftains  againstThebes,and  been  utterly 
defeated.  The  Thebans  have  brutally  refused 
to  allow  the  Argives  to  bury  their  dead.  The 
bodies  are  lying  upon  the  field.  Adrastus, 
accompanied  by  the  mothers  and  wives  of  the 
slain  chieftains,  has  come  to  Attica,  and  ap- 
pealed to  Theseus  for  intercession.  That  hero, 
like  his  son  Demophon  in  The  Children  of 
Heracles^  like  his  ancestor  Cecrops  in  certain 
older  poetry,  is  a  sort  of  personification  of 
Athens. 

He  explains  that  he  always  disapproved  of 
Adrastus's  expedition  ;  that  he  can  take  no  re- 
sponsibility, and  certainly  not  risk  a  war  on 
the  Argives'  account. 

He  is  turning  away  when  one  of  the  be- 
reaved women,  lifting  her  suppliant  wreaths 
and  branches,  cries  out  to  him  : — 

What  is  this  thing  thou  doest  ?  Wilt  despise 
All  these,  and  cast  us  from  thee  beggar-wise, 
Grey  women,  with  not  one  thing  of  all  we  crave? 
Nay,  the  wild  beast  for  refuge  hath  his  cave, 
The  slave  God's  altar  ;  surely  in  the  deep 
Of  fortune  City  may  call  to  City,  and  creep, 
A  wounded  thing,  to  shelter. 

Observe  the  conception  of  the  duty  of  one 
state  to  protect  and  help  another. — Theseus  is 
still  obdurate.  He  has  responsibilities.  The 
recklessness  of   Athens   in   foreign    policy   has 


XXX  EURIPIDES 

become  a  reproach.  At  last  Aethra,  his  mother, 
can  keep  silence  no  more.  Can  he  really  allow 
such  things  to  be  done  ?  Can  Athens  really  put 
considerations  of  prudence  before  generosity 
and  religion  ? 

Thou  shalt  not  suffer  it,  thou  being  my  child ! 
Thou  hast  heard  men  scorn  thy  city,  call  her  wild 
Of  counsel,  mad  ;   thou  hast  seen  the  fire  of  morn 
Flash  from  her  eyes  in  answer  to  their  scorn  ! 
Come  toil  on  toil,  'tis  this  that  makes  her  grand, 
Peril  on  peril !      And  common  states  that  stand 
In  caution,  twilight  cities,  dimly  wise — 
Ye  know  them  ;  for  no  light  is  in  their  eyes ! 
Go  forth,  my  son,  and  help. — My  fear  is  fled 
Now.     Women  in  sorrow  call  thee  and  men  dead ! 

To  help  the  helpless  was  a  necessary  part  of 
what  we  call  chivalry,  what  the  Greeks  called 
religion.  Theseus  agrees  to  consult  the  people 
on  the  matter.  Meantime  there  arrives  a 
Theban  herald,  asking  arrogantly,  "  Who  is 
Master  of  the  land  ?  "  Theseus,  although  a 
king,  is  too  thorough  a  personification  of  de- 
mocratic Athens  to  let  such  an  expression  pass — 

Nay,  peace.  Sir  Stranger  !      Ill  hast  thou  begun. 
Seeking  a  Master  here.      No  will  of  one 
Holdeth  this  land ;  it  is  a  city  and  free. 
The  whole  folk  year  by  year,  in  parity 
Of  service,  is  our  King.      Nor  yet  to  gold 
Give  we  high  seats,  but  in  one  honour  hold 
The  poor  man  and  the  rich. 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY         xxxi 

The  herald  replies  that  he  is  delighted  to 
hear  that  Athens  has  such  a  silly  constitution, 
and  warns  Theseus  not  to  interfere  with  Thebes 
for  the  sake  of  a  beaten  cause.  Eventually 
Theseus  gives  his  ultimatum  : — 

Let  the  slain  be  given 
To  us,  who  seek  to  obey  the  will  of  Heaven. 
Else,  know  for  sure,  I  come  to  seek  these  dead 
My.self,  for  burial.  —  It  shall  not  be  said 
An  ancient  ordinance  of  God,  that  cried 
To  Athens  and  her  King,  was  cast  aside  ! 

A  clear  issue  comes  in  the  conversation  that 
follows  : — 

Herald. 
Art  thou  so  strong  ?       Wilt  stand  against  all  Greece  ? 

Theseus. 
Against  all  tyrants  !      With  the  rest  be  peace. 

Herald. 
She  takes  too  much  upon  her,  this  thy  state ! 

Theseus. 
Takes,  aye,  and  bears  it ;  therefore  is  she  great ! 

We  know  that  spirit  elsewhere  in  the  history 
of  the  world.  How  delightful  it  is,  and  green 
and  fresh  and  thrilling  ;  and  how  often  it  has 
paid  in  blood  and  ashes  the  penalty  of  dream- 
ing and  of  TO  /j.r]  OurjTO.  (ppovdv. 

There  is  one  other  small  point  that  calls 
for  notice  before  we  leave  this  curious  play. 
Theseus    represents     not     only    chivalry    and 


xxxii  EURIPIDES 

freedom  and  law,  but  also  a  certain  delicacy  of 
feeling.  He  is  the  civilised  man  as  contrasted 
with  the  less  civilised.  It  was  a  custom  in 
many  parts  of  Greece  to  make  the  very  most 
of  mourning  and  burial  rites,  to  feel  the 
wounds  of  the  slain,  and  vow  vengeance  with 
wild  outbursts  of  grief.  Athenian  feeling  dis- 
approved of  this. 

Theseus. 

This  task 
Is  mine.      Advance  the  burden  of  the  dead  ! 

[The  attendants  bring  fortvard  the  bodies. 

Adrastus. 
Up,  ye  sad  mothers,  where  your  sons  are  laid ! 

Theseus. 
Nay,  call  them  not,  Adrastus. 

Adrastus. 

That  were  strange ! 
Shall  they  not  touch  their  children's  wounds  ? 

Theseus. 

The  change 
In  that  dead  flesh  would  torture  them. 

Adrastus. 

'Tis  pain 
Alway,  to  count  the  gashes  of  the  slain. 

Theseus. 
And  wouldst  thou  add  pain  to  the  pain  of  these  ? 

Adrastus  (^after  a  pause). 
So  be  it ! — Ye  women,  wait  in  your  degrees ; 
Theseus  says  well. 


INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY       xxxiii 

This  particular  trait,  this  civilisation  or 
delicacy  of  feeling,  is  wonderfully  illustrated 
in  a  much  finer  drama,  the  Heracles.  The 
hero  of  that  tragedy,  the  rudely  noble  Dorian 
— or  perhaps  Pelasgian — chief,  has  in  a  fit  of 
madness  killed  his  own  children.  In  the  scene 
to  be  cited  he  has  recovered  his  senses  and 
is  sitting  dumb  and  motionless,  veiled  by 
his  mantle.  He  is,  by  all  ordinary  notions, 
accursed.  The  sight  of  his  face  will  pollute 
the  sun.  A  touch  from  him  or  even  a  spoken 
word  will  spread  the  curse,  the  contagion  of 
his  horrible  blood-stainedness,  to  another.  To 
him  comes  his  old  comrade  Theseus  [Heracles^ 
I2i4ff.):_ 

Theseus. 

0  thou  that  sittest  in  the  shadow  of  Death, 
Unveil  thy  brow  !      'Tis  a  friend  summoneth, 
And  never  darkness  bore  so  black  a  cloud 

In  all  this  world,  as  from  mine  eyes  could  shroud 
The  wreck  of  thee.  .  .  .  What  wouldst  thou  with  that  arm 
That  shakes,  and  shows  me  blood  ?     Dost  fear  to  harm 
Me  with  thy  words'  contagion  ?     Have  no  fear  ; 
What  is  it  if  I  surfer  with  thee  here  ? 

1  have  rejoiced  in  many  lands. — Back  now 
To  when  the  Dead  had  hold  of  me,  and  how 
Thou  camest  conquering !      Can  that  joy  grow  old, 
Or  friends  once  linked  in  suubhine,  when  the  cold 
Storm  falleth,  not  together  meet  the  sea  ? — 

Oh,  rise,  and  bare  thy  brow,  and  turn  to  me 
Thine  eyes !      A  brave  man  faces  his  own  fall 
And  takes  it  to  him,  as  God  sends  withal. 

C 


xxxiv  EURIPIDES 

Heracles. 
Theseus,  thou  seest  my  children  ? 

Theseus. 

Surely  I  see 
All,  and  I  knew  it  ere  I  came  to  thee. 

Heracles. 
Oh,  why  hast  bared  to  the  Sun  this  head  of  mine  ? 

Theseus. 
How  can  thy  human  sin  stain  things  divine  ? 

Heracles. 
Leave  me !      I  am  all  blood.     The  curse  thereof 
Crawls.   .  .  . 

Theseus. 
No  curse  cometh  between  love  and  love ! 

Heracles. 
I  thank  thee.   .    .   .   Yes  ;   I  served  thee  long  ago. 

Heracles  is  calmed  and  his  self-respect  par- 
tially restored.  But  he  still  cannot  bear  to 
live.  Notice  the  attitude  of  Theseus  towards 
his  suicide  —  an  attitude  more  striking  in 
ancient  literature  than  it  would  be  in  modern. 

Heracles. 
Therefore  is  all  made  ready  for  my  death. 

Theseus. 
Thinkest  thou  God  feareth  what  thy  fury  saith  ? 

Heracles  [rising). 
Oh,  God  is  hard ;  and  I  hard  against  God ! 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY        xxxv 

Theseus. 
What  wilt  thou  ?     And  whither  on  thine  angry  road  ? 

Heracles. 
Back  to  the  darkness  whence  my  race  began  ! 

Theseus. 
These  be  the  words  of  any  common  man ! 

Heracles  (taien  alack). 
Aye,  thou  art  scathless.      Chide  me  at  thine  case ! 

Theseus. 
Is  this  He  of  the  Labours,  Heracles  ? 

Heracles. 
Of  none  like  this,  if  measure  there  is  in  pain  ! 

Theseus. 
The  Helper  of  the  World,  the  Friend  of  Man  ? 

Heracles  [nvith  a  movement). 
Crushed  by  Her  hate !      How  can  the  past  assuage 
This  horror.  .   .   . 

Thi;seus. 

Thou  shalt  not  perish  in  thy  rage  ! 
Greece  will  not  suffer  it. 

The  passage  illustrates  not  only  nobility  of 
feeling  in  Theseus,  but,  in  a  way  very  charac- 
teristic of  Euripides,  the  fact  that  this  nobility 
is  based  on  religious  reflection,  on  genuinely 
'  free  '  thought.  Theseus  dares  the  contagion 
for  the  sake  of  his  friendship.  He  also  does 
not   believe   in  the  contagion.       He   does  not 


xxxvi  EURIPIDES 

really  think  for  a  moment  that  he  will  become 
guilty  of  a  crime  because  he  has  touched 
some  one  who  committed  it.  He  is  in  every 
sense,  as  Herodotus  puts  it,  "  further  removed 
from  primitive  savagery." 

But  this  play  also  shows,  and  it  is  probably 
the  very  last  of  Euripides'  plays  which  does 
show  it,  a  strong  serenity  of  mind.  The  loss 
of  this  serenity  is  one  of  the  most  significant 
marks  of  the  later  plays  of  Euripides  as  con- 
trasted with  the  earlier.  We  must  not  over- 
state the  antithesis.  There  was  always  in 
Euripides  a  vein  of  tonic  bitterness,  a  hint  of 
satire  or  criticism,  a  questioning  of  estab- 
lished things.  It  is  markedly  present  even  in 
the  Akestis,  in  the  scene  where  Admetus  is 
denounced  by  his  old  father ;  it  is  present  in 
a  graver  form  in  the  Hippolytus.  Yet  the 
general  impression  produced  by  those  two  plays 
when  compared  with,  for  instance,  the  Electra 
and  the  Troades^  is  undoubtedly  one  of  serenity 
as  against  fever,  beauty  as  against  horror. 
And  the  same  will  nearly  always  hold  for  the 
comparison  of  any  of  his  early  plays  with  any 
later  one.  Of  course  not  quite  always.  If  we 
take  the  Troades^  in  the  year  415,  as  marking 
the  turning-point,  we  shall  find  the  Hecuba 
very  bitter  among  the  early  plays,  the  Helena 
bright  and  light-hearted,  though  a  little  harsh, 


INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY      xxxvii 

among  the  later.  This  is  only  natural.  There 
is  always  something  fitful  and  irregular  in  the 
gathering  of  clouds,  however  persistent. 

There  is  one  cloud  even  in  the  Suppliants^ 
possibly  a  mark  of  the  later  retouching  of  that 
play.  The  Theban  herald  is  an  unsympa- 
thetic character,  whose  business  is  to  say  hard, 
sinister  things,  and  be  confuted  by  Theseus. 
These  unsympathetic  heralds  are  common 
stage  characters.  They  stalk  in  with  insult- 
ing messages  and  'tyrannical'  sentiments,  are 
surrounded  by  howling  indignation  from  the 
virtuous  populace,  stand  their  ground  motion- 
less, defying  any  one  to  touch  their  sacred 
persons,  and  go  off  with  a  scornful  menace. 
But  this  particular  herald  has  some  lines  put 
in  his  mouth  which  nobody  confutes,  and 
which  are  rather  too  strongly  expressed  for  the 
situation. 

Theseus  is  prepared  for  his  chivalrous  war, 
and  the  people  clamour  for  it.  The  herald 
says  (v.   484)  :— 

Oh,  it  were  well 
The  death  men  shout  for  could  stand  visible 
Above  the  urns  !      And  never  Greece  had  reeled 
Blood-mad  to  ruin  o'er  many  a  stricken  field. 
Great  Heaven,  set  both  out  plain  and  all  can  tell 
The  False  word  from  the  True,  and  111  from  \V'ell, 
And  how  much  Peace  is  better!      Dear  is  Peace 
To  every  Muse ;  she  walks  her  ways  and  sees 


xxxviii  EURIPIDES 

No  haunting  Spirit  of  Judgment.      Glad  is  she 
With  noise  of  happy  children,  running  free 
With  corn  and  oil.     And  we,  so  vile  we  are, 
Forget,  and  cast  her  off,  and  call  for  War, 
City  on  city,  man  on  man,  to  break 
Weak  things  to  obey  us  for  our  greatness'  sake  ! 

If  it  is  true  that  the  Suppliants  was  rewritten, 
that  must  be  one  of  the  later  passages.  Athens 
had  had  ten  years  of  bitter  war  by  the  time  the 
lines  were  actually  spoken. 

Let  us  again  take  a  few  typical  passages 
from  the  historians  to  see  the  form  in  which 
the  clouds  gathered  over  Athens. 

The  first  and  most  obvious  will  be  from  that 
curious  chapter  in  which  Herodotus,  towards 
the  end  of  his  life,  is  summing  up  his  conclu- 
sions about  the  Persian  war,  of  which  Athens 
was  so  indisputably  the  heroine.  He  observes 
(vii.  139):  "Here  I  am  compelled  by  neces- 
sity to  express  an  opinion  which  will  be  offen- 
sive to  most  of  mankind.  But  I  cannot  refrain 
from  putting  it  in  the  way  that  I  believe  to  be 
true.  .  .  .  The  Athenians  in  the  Persian  wars 
were  the  saviours  of  Hellas."  By  the  time 
that  passage  was  written,  apologies  were  neces- 
sary if  you  wished  to  say  a  good  word  for 
Athens ! 

The  Athenian  League,  that  great  instrument 
of   freedom,  had  grown    into    an    Empire    or 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY       xxxix 

Arch^.  Various  allies  had  tried  to  secede  and 
failed ;  had  been  conquered  and  made  into 
subjects.  The  greater  part  of  Greece  was 
seething  with  timorous  ill-feeling  against  what 
they  called  '  The  Tyrant  City.'  And  by  the 
opening  of  the  Peloponnesian  war,  Athens 
herself  had  practically  ceased  to  protest  against 
the  name.  It  is  strange  to  recall  such  words 
as,  for  instance,  the  Spartans  had  used  in  479, 
when  it  was  rumoured,  falsely,  that  Athens 
thought  of  making  terms  with  Persia  (Hdt. 
viii.  142) :  "  It  is  intolerable  to  imagine  that 
Athens  should  ever  be  a  party  to  the  subjec- 
tion of  any  Greek  state  ;  always  from  the 
earliest  times  you  have  been  known  as  the 
Liberators  of  Many  Men."  It  is  strange  to 
compare  those  words  with  the  language  attri- 
buted to  Pericles  in  430  (Thuc.  ii.  63) :  ^ — 

"  Do  not  imagine  that  you  are  fighting  about 
a  simple  issue,  the  subjection  or  independence  of 
certain  cities.  You  have  an  empire  to  lose,  and 
a  danger  to  face  from  those  whom  your  im- 
perial rule  has  made  to  hate  you.  And  it  is 
impossible  for  you  to  resign  your  power — if  at 
this  crisis  some  timorous  and  inactive    spirits 

^  These  speeches  were  revised  as  late  as  403,  and  may  well  be 
coloured  by  subsequent  experience.  But  this  particular  point  is 
one  on  which  Thucydides  may  be  absolutely  trusted.  He  would 
not  attribute  the  odious  sentiments  of  Cleon  to  his  hero  Pericles 
without  cause. 


xl  EURIPIDES 

are  hankering  after  righteousness  even  at  that 
price  !  For  by  this  time  your  empire  has  become 
a  Despotism  ('Tyrannis  '),  a  thing  which  in  the 
opinion  of  mankind  is  unjust  to  acquire,  but 
which  at  any  rate  cannot  be  safely  surrendered. 
The  men  of  whom  I  was  speaking,  if  they 
could  find  followers,  would  soon  ruin  the  city. 
If  they  were  to  go  and  found  a  state  of  their 
own,  they  would  soon  ruin  that  !  " 

It  would  not  be  relevant  here  to  appraise 
this  policy  of  Pericles,  to  discuss  how  far  events 
had  really  made  it  inevitable,  or  when  the  first 
false  step  was  taken.  It  would  not  be  just, 
though  to  many  it  will  be  tempting,  to  draw 
immediate  and  unqualified  conclusions  about 
contemporary  English  politics.  Our  business, 
at  the  moment,  is  merely  to  notice  the  ex- 
traordinary change  of  tone.  It  comes  out 
even  more  strongly  in  a  speech  made  by  Cleon, 
the  successor  of  Pericles,  in  the  debate  about 
the  punishment  of  rebel  Mitylene — a  debate 
remarkable  as  being  the  very  last  in  which 
the  side  of  clemency  gained  the  day  (Thuc. 
iii.   37):- 

"  I  have  remarked  again  and  again  that  a 
Democracy  cannot  govern  an  empire ;  and 
never  more  clearly  than  now,  when  I  see 
you  regretting  your  sentence  upon  the  Mity- 
lenaeans.     Living  without   fear   and   suspicion 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  xli 

among  yourselves,  you  deal  with  your  allies 
upon  the  same  principle  ;  and  you  do  not  realise 
that  whenever  you  make  a  concession  to  them 
out  of  pity,  or  are  misled  by  their  specious  re- 
ports, you  are  guilty  of  a  weakness  dangerous  to 
yourselves,  and  you  receive  no  gratitude  from 
them.  You  must  remember  that  your  empire 
is  a  Despotism  exercised  over  unwilling  sub- 
jects who  are  always  conspiring  against  you. 
They  do  not  obey  in  return  for  any  kindness 
you  do  them ;  they  obey  just  so  far  as  you 
show  yourselves  their  masters." 

"  Do  not  be  misled,"  he  adds  a  little  later 
(iii.  40),  "  by  the  three  most  deadly  enemies  of 
empire,  Pity  and  Eloquent  Sentiments  and  the 
Generosity  of  Strength  !  " 

It  is  a  change  indeed  !  A  change  which  the 
common  run  of  low  men,  no  doubt,  accepted 
as  inevitable,  or  even  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
which  the  merely  clever  and  practical  men 
insisted  upon,  and  the  more  brutal  '  patriots ' 
delighted  in.  They  had  never  loved  or  under- 
stood the  old  ideals  ! 

Some  great  political  changes  can  take  place 
without  much  effect  upon  men's  private  lives. 
But  this  change  was  a  blight  that  worked  upon 
daily  conduct,  upon  the  roots  of  character. 
Thucydides,  writing  after  the  end  of  the 
war,  has   two  celebrated   and    terrible  chapters 


xHi  EURIPIDES 

(iii.  82,  83)  on  that  side  of  the  question. 
Every  word  of  it  is  apposite  to  our  point ;  but 
we  may  content  ourselves  with  a  few  sentences 
here  and  there. 

"In  peace  and  prosperity  both  states  and 
nien,"  he  says,  "are  free  to  act  upon  higher 
motives.  They  are  not  caught  up  by  coils  of 
circumstance  which  drive  them  without  their 
own  volition.  But  War,  taking  away  the 
margin  in  daily  life,  is  a  teacher  who  educates 
by  violence ;  and  he  makes  men's  characters  fit 
their  conditions.   .   .   ." 

The  later  actors  in  the  war  "determined 
to  outdo  the  report  of  those  who  had  gone 
before  them  by  the  ingenuity  of  their  enter- 
prises and  the  enormity  of  their  revenges.  .  .  ." 
The  meaning  of  words,  he  notices,  changed 
in  relation  to  things.  Thoughtfulness,  pru- 
dence, moderation,  generosity  were  scouted ; 
daring  and  cunning  were  prized.  "Frantic 
energy  was  the  true  quality  of  a  man.   .   .   ." 

"  Neither  side  cared  for  religion,  but  both 
used  it  with  enthusiasm  as  a  pretext  for  various 
odious  purposes.  .   .   ." 

"  The  cause  of  all  these  evils  was  the  lust  of 
empire,  originating  in  avarice  and  ambition, 
and  the  party  spirit  which  is  engendered  from 
such  circumstances  when  men  settle  themselves 
down  to  a  contest." 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY         xliii 

"  Thus  Revolution  gave  birth  to  every  kind 
of  wickedness  in  Hellas.  The  simplicity  which 
is  so  large  an  element  in  a  noble  nature  was 
laughed  to  death  and  vanished  out  of  the 
world.  An  attitude  of  mistrustful  antagonism 
prevailed  everywhere.  No  power  existed  to 
soften  it,  no  cogency  of  reason,  no  bond  of 
religion."  ..."  Inferior  characters  succeeded 
best.  The  higher  kinds  of  men  were  too 
thoughtful,  and  were  swept  aside." 

Men  caught  up  in  coils  of  circumstance 
that  drive  them  without  their  own  volition — 
ingenious  enterprises;  enormous  revenges; 
mad  ambition  ;  mistrust ;  frantic  energy  ;  the 
abuse  of  religion ;  simplicity  laughed  out  of 
the  world  :  it  is  a  terrible  picture,  and  it  is 
exactly  the  picture  that  meets  us  in  the  later 
tragedies  of  Euripides.  Those  plays  all,  as 
Dr.  Verrall  has  acutely  remarked,  have  an 
extraordinary  air  of  referring  to  the  present 
and  not  the  past,  of  dealing  with  things  that 
'  matter,'  not  things  made  up  or  dreamed 
about.  And  it  is  in  this  spirit  that  they  deal 
with  them.  Different  plays  may  be  despairing 
like  the  Troades,  cynical  like  the  Ion,  deliber- 
ately hateful  like  the  Electra,  frantic  and  fierce 
like  the  Orestes;  they  are  nearly  all  violent, 
nearly  all  misanthropic.  Amid  all  their  power 
and   beauty    there   sounds   from   time   to   time 


xHv  EURIPIDES 

a  cry  of  nerves  frayed  to  the  snapping  point, 
a  jarring  note  of  fury  against  something  per- 
sonal to  the  poet  and  not  always  relevant  to 
the  play.  Their  very  splendours,  the  lines 
that  come  back  most  vividly  to  a  reader's  mind, 
consist  often  in  the  expression  of  some  vice. 
There  are  analyses  or  self-revelations,  like  the 
famous  outburst  of  the  usurping  Prince  Eteocl6s 
in  the  Phoenissae  : — 

These  words  that  thou  wilt  praise 
The  Equal  and  the  Just, — in  all  men's  ways 
I  have  not  found  them  !      These  be  names,  not  things. 

Mother,  I  will  unveil  to  thee  the  springs 
That  well  within  me.      I  would  break  the  bars 
Of  Heaven,  and  past  the  risings  of  the  stars 
Climb,  aye,  or  sink  beneath  dark  Earth  and  Sea, 
To  clasp  my  goddess-bride,  my  Sovranty ! 
This  is  my  good,  which  never  by  mine  own 
Will  shall  man  touch,  save  Eteocles  alone ! 

There  are  flashes  of  cruel  hate  like  the  first 
words  of  old  Tyndareus  to  the  doomed  and 
agonised  Orestes,  whose  appearance  has  been 
greeted  by  Menelaus  with  the  words  : — 

Who  Cometh  ghastly  as  the  grave  ?  .   .   . 
Tyndareus. 

Ah  God, 
The  snake  1     The  snake,  that  drank  his  mother's  blood. 
Doth  hiss  and  flash  before  the  gates,  and  bow 
The  pestilence- ridden  glimmer  of  his  brow. 
I  sicken  at  him  ! — Wilt  thou  stain  thy  soul 
With  speech,  Menelaus,  of  a  thing  so  foul  ? 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  xlv 

Above  all,  there  is  what  I  will  not  venture  to 
illustrate,  the  celebrated  Euripidean  '  pathos,' 
that  power  of  insight  into  the  cruelty  of  suf- 
fering ;  the  weakness  and  sensitiveness  of  the 
creatures  that  rend  one  another ;  that  piteous- 
ness  in  the  badness  of  things  which  makes 
them  half  lovable.  This  is  the  one  char- 
acteristic of  Euripides'  world  which  is  not 
present  in  that  of  Thucydides.  The  grimly 
reticent  historian  seldom  speaks  of  human  suf- 
fering ;  the  tragedian  keeps  it  always  before 
our  eyes. 

This  gradual  embitterment  and  exacerbation 
of  style  in  Euripides,  as  shown  by  the  later 
plays  compared  with  the  earlier,  is,  I  believe, 
generally  recognised.  I  will  choose  in  illustra- 
tion of  it  a  scene  from  the  Hecuba,  a  tragedy 
early  in  date,  but  in  tone  and  spirit  really  the 
first  of  the  late  series.^ 

The  Hecuba  deals  with  the  taking  of  Troy, 
the  great  achievement  in  war  of  the  heroic  age 
of  Greece.  And  the  point  in  it  that  interests 
Euripides  is,  as  often,  the  reverse  of  the  picture 
— the  baseness  and,  what  is  worse,  the  uninterest- 
ingness  of  the  conquerors;  the  monstrous  wrongs 
of  the  conquered  ;   the   moral   degradation   of 

1  I  am  the  more  moved  to  select  this  particular  scene  because  I 
find  that  the  text  and  punctuation  of  my  edition,  which  I  owe  to  a 
remark  of  Dr.  Verrall's,  confirmed  by  a  re-examination  of  the  I'aris 
MSS.,  has  caused  difficulties  to  some  scholars. 


xlvi  EURIPIDES 

both  parties,  culminating  in  the  transformation 
of  Hecuba  from  a  grave  oriental  queen  into  a 
kind  of  she-devil.  Among  the  heroes  who 
took  Troy  were,  as  every  Athenian  knew,  the 
two  sons  of  Theseus.  The  Athenian  public 
would,  of  course,  insist  on  their  being  mentioned. 
And  they  are  mentioned — once !  A  young 
princess  is  to  be  cruelly  murdered  by  a  vote  of 
the  Greek  host.  One  wishes  to  know  what 
these  high  Athenians  had  to  say  when  the 
villain  Odysseus  consented  to  her  death.  And 
we  are  told.  "  The  sons  of  Theseus,  the  branches 
of  Athens,  made  orations  contradicting  each 
other  " — so  like  them  at  their  worst ! — "  but 
both  were  in  favour  of  the  murder!" 
Small  wonder  that  Euripides*  plays  were 
awarded  only  four  first  prizes  in  fifty  years  ! 

In  the  scene  which  I  select  (vv.  795  ff.),  the 
body  of  Hecuba's  one  remaining  son,  Polydorus, 
has  just  been  washed  up  by  the  sea.  He,  being 
very  young,  had  been  sent  away  to  the  keeping 
of  a  Thracian  chieftain,  an  old  friend,  till  the 
war  should  be  over.  And  now  it  proves  that 
the  Thracian,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  the  Trojan 
cause  wasdefinitely  lost,  has  murdered  his  charge! 
Hecuba  appeals  to  her  enemy  Agamemnon  for 
help  to  avenge  the  murder.  The  "King  of 
Men  "  is,  as  usual  in  Euripides,  a  poor  creature, 
a    brave  soldier  and  kindly   enough  amid  the 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY        xlvii 

havoc  he  makes,  but  morally  a  coward  and  a 
sensualist.  The  scene  is  outside  Agamemnon's 
tent.  Inside  the  tent  is  Hecuba's  one  remain- 
ing daughter,  Cassandra,  a  prophetess  vowed  to 
virginity  or  to  union  only  with  the  God  ;  she  is 
now  Agamemnon's  concubine  ! 

Observe  how  the  nobler  part  of  the  appeal 
fails,  the  baser  succeeds.  Hecuba  shows  Aga- 
memnon her  son's  body,  and  tells  how  the 
Thracian  slew  him  : — 

And  by  a  plot 

Slew  him  ;  and  when  he  slew  him,  could  he  not 

Throw  earth  upon  his  bones,  if  he  must  be 

A  murderer  ?     Cast  him  naked  to  the  sea  ? 

0  King,  I  am  but  one  amid  thy  throng 

Of  servants ;   I  am  weak,  but  God  is  strong, 

God,  and  that  King  that  standeth  over  God, 

Law  ;  who  makes  gods  and  unmakes,  by  whose  rod 

We  live  dividing  the  Unjust  from  the  Just ; 

Whom  now  before  thee  standing  if  thou  thrust 

Away — if  men  that  murder  guests,  and  tear 

God's  house  down,  meet  from  thee  no  vengeance,  where 

Is  Justice  left  in  the  world  ?     Forbid  it,  thou  ! 

Have  mercy!      Dost  not  fear  to  wrong  me  now?  .  .  . 

Hate  me  no  more.      Stand  like  an  arbiter 

Apart,  and  count  the  weight  of  woes  I  bear. 

1  was  a  Queen  once,  now  I  am  thy  slave ; 

I  had  children  once ;   but  not  now.      And  my  grave 
Near  ;  very  old,  broken  and  homeless.   .  .    .  Stay  ; 

[_ylgamemnon,  painfully  embarrassed,   has   moved 
toivards  the  tent. 
God  help  me,  whither  dost  thou  shrink  away  ?  .  .    . 
It  seems  he  does  not  listen  !   .    .   . 


xlviii  EURIPIDES 

.  .   .   So,  'tis  plain 
Now.      I  must  never  think  of  hope  again.   .  .   . 
Those  that  are  left  me  are  dead  ;  dead  all  save  one ; 
One  lives,  a  slave,  in  shame.  .   .   .  Ah,  I  am  gone !    .   .  . 
The  smoke  !      Troy  is  on  fire  !     The  smoke  all  round ! 

[^S/je    stuoons.      Agamemnon    comes    back.      Her 
fellow-s/aves    tend   her.     .     .     .    She    rises 
again  with  a  sudden  thought. 
What?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  might!  .  .  .  Oh,  what  a  hollow  sound, 
Love,  here  1      But  I  can  say  it !    .   .   .   Let  me  be !    .   .  . 
King,  King,  there  sleepeth  side  by  side  with  thee 
My  child,  my  priestess,  whom  they  call  in  Troy 
Cassandra.     Wilt  thou  pay  not  for  thy  joy  ? 
Nothing  to  her  for  all  the  mystery, 
And  soft  words  of  the  dark  ?     Nothing  to  me 
For  her  ?     Nay,  mark  me  ;  look  on  these  dead  eyes  ! 
This  is  her  brother  ;  surely  thine  likewise  ! 
Thou  wilt  avenge  him  ? 

This  desperate  and  horrible  appeal  stirs  him. 
He  is  much  occupied  with  Cassandra  for  the 
moment.  But  he  is  afraid.  '  The  King  of 
Thrace  is  an  ally  of  the  Greeks,  the  slain  boy 
was  after  all  an  enemy.  People  will  say  he  is 
influenced  by  Cassandra.  If  it  were  not  for 
that.  .  .  .'  She  answers  him  in  words  which 
might  stand  as  a  motto  over  most  of  the  plays 
of  this  period — as  they  might  over  much  of 
Tolstoi : — 

Faugh  !      There  is  no  man  free  in  all  this  world ! 
Slaves  of  possessions,  slaves  of  fortune,  hurled 
This  way  and  that.      Or  else  the  multitude 
Hath  hold  on  him  ;    or  laws  of  stone  and  wood 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  xli.v 

Constrain,  and  will  not  let  him  use  the  soul 
Within  him!   ...   So  thou  durst  not?     And  thine  whole 
Thought  hangs  on  what  thy  herd  will  say  ?      Nay,  then, 
My  master,  I  will  set  thee  free  again. 

She  arranges  a  plan  which  shall  not  implicate 
him.  The  Thracian  chieftain  is  allowed  to 
visit  her.  On  the  pretence  of  explaining  to 
him  where  a  treasure  is  hidden,  she  entices  him 
and  his  two  children — "  it  is  more  prudent  to 
have  them  present,  in  case  he  should  die  !  " — 
inside  the  tent  of  the  captive  Trojan  women. 
The  women  make  much  of  the  children,  and 
gradually  separate  them  from  their  father. 
They  show  interest  in  his  Thracian  javelins  and 
the  texture  of  his  cloak,  and  so  form  a  group 
round  him.  At  a  given  signal  they  cling  to 
him  and  hold  him  fast,  murder  his  children 
before  his  face,  and  then  tear  his  eyes  out. 
Agamemnon,  who  knew  that  something  would 
happen,  but  had  never  expected  this,  is  horrified 
and  impotent.  The  blinded  barbarian  comes 
back  on  to  the  stage,  crawling,  unable  to  stand. 
He  gropes  for  the  bodies  of  his  children  ;  for 
some  one  to  help  him  ;  for  some  one  to  tear 
and  kill.  He  shrieks  like  a  wild  beast,  and 
the  horrible  scene  ends. 

We  will  not  go  farther  into  this  type  of 
play.  More  illustrations  would,  of  course, 
prove  nothing.      It  is  the  business  of  a  tragedian 


1  EURIPIDES 

to  be  harrowing.  It  is  a  dangerous  and  a  some- 
what vulgar  course  to  deduce  from  a  poet's 
works  direct  conclusions  about  his  real  life  ;  but 
there  is  on  the  one  hand  the  fact  of  progressive 
bitterness  in  Euripides'  plays,  and,  on  the  other, 
as  we  have  noticed  above,  there  is  the  peculiar 
impression  which  they  make  of  dealing  with 
living  and  concrete  things.  But  it  is  not  really 
anything  positive  that  chiefly  illustrates  the 
later  tone  of  Euripides.  It  is  not  his  denun- 
ciations of  nearly  all  the  institutions  of  human 
society — of  the  rich,  the  poor,  men,  women, 
slaves,  masters,  above  all,  of  democracies  and 
demagogues  ;  it  is  not  even  the  mass  of  sordid 
and  unbalanced  characters  that  he  brings  upon 
the  scene — trembling  slaves  of  ambition  like 
Agamemnon  ;  unscrupulous  and  heartless 
schemers  like  Odysseus ;  unstable  compounds 
of  chivalry  and  vanity  like  Achilles  in  the 
second  Iphigenia ;  shallow  women  like  Helen 
and  terrible  women  like  Electra  in  the  Orestes — 
a  play  of  which  the  Scholiast  naively  remarks 
that  "  the  characters  are  all  bad  except  Pylades," 
the  one  exception  being  a  quite  peculiarly 
feather-brained  dealer  in  bloodshed.  It  is  not 
points  like  these  that  are  most  significant.  It 
is  the  gradual  dying  off  of  serenity  and  hope. 
I  think  most  students  of  Euripides  will  agree 
that  almost  the  only  remnant  of  the  spirit  of 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  li- 

the Alcestis  or  the  Hippolytus,  the  only  region 
of  clear  beauty,  that  can  still  be  found  in 
the  later  tragedies,  lies  in  the  lyrical  element. 
There  are  one  or  two  plays,  like  the  Andro- 
meda, which  seem  to  have  escaped  from  reality 
to  the  country  of  Aristophanes'  Birds,  and 
read  hke  mere  romance ;  and  even  in  the 
Electra  there  are  the  songs.  Euripides  had 
prayed  some  twenty  years  before  his  death  : 
"  May  I  not  live  if  the  Muses  leave  me  !  " 
And  that  prayer  was  heard.  The  world  had 
turned  dark,  sordid,  angry,  under  his  eyes, 
but  Poetry  remained  to  the  end  radiant  and 
stainless. 

It  is  this  state  of  mind  and  a  natural 
development  from  it  which  afford  in  my 
judgment  the  best  key  to  the  understanding 
of  The  Bacchae,  his  last  play,  not  quite  finished 
at  his  death.  It  was  written  under  peculiar 
circumstances. 

We  have  seen  from  Thucydides  what  Athe- 
nian society  had  become  in  these  last  years 
of  the  death-struggle.  If  to  Thucydides,  as  is 
possible,  things  seemed  worse  than  they  were, 
we  must  remember  that  to  the  more  impul- 
sive nature  and  equally  disappointed  hopes  of 
Euripides  they  are  not  likely  to  have  seemed 
better.  We  know  that  he  had  become  in  these 
last   years   increasingly    unpopular    in   Athens; 


lii  EURIPIDES 

and  it  is  not  hard,  if  we  examine  the  groups 
and  parties  in  Athens  at  the  time,  to  under- 
stand his  isolation. 

Most  of  the  high-minded  and  thoughtful 
men  of  the  time  were  to  some  extent  isolated, 
and  many  retired  quietly  from  public  notice. 
But  Euripides  was  not  the  man  to  be  quiet  in 
his  rejected  state.  He  was  not  conciliatory,  not 
silent,  not  callous.  At  last  something  occurred 
to  make  his  life  in  Athens  finally  intolerable. 
We  do  not  know  exactly  what  it  was.  It  cannot 
have  been  the  destruction  of  his  estate  ;  that 
had  been  destroyed  long  before.  It  cannot  have 
been  his  alleged  desertion  by  his  wife  ;  she 
was  either  dead  or  over  seventy.  It  may  have 
been  something  connected  with  his  prosecution 
for  impiety,  the  charge  on  which  Socrates  was 
put  to  death  a  few  years  after.  All  that  we 
know  is  one  fragmentary  sentence  in  the  ancient 
'  Life  of  Euripides  ' :  "  He  had  to  leave  Athens 
because  of  the  malicious  exultation  over  him 
of  nearly  all  the  city." 

Archelails,  King  of  Macedon,  had  long  been 
inviting  him.  The  poet  had  among  his  papers 
a  play  called  Archelaus^  written  to  celebrate 
this  king's  legendary  ancestor,  so  he  must 
before  this  have  been  thinking  of  Macedonia 
as  a  possible  refuge.  He  went  now,  and  seems 
to    have  lived    in    some    wild    retreat    on   the 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  liii 

northern    slopes  of   Mount    Olympus,   in   the 
Muses'  country,  as  he  phrases  it : — 

In  the  elm-woods  and  the  oaken, 
There  where  Orpheus  harped  of  old, 

And  the  trees  awoke  and  knew  him, 

And  the  wild  things  gathered  to  him, 

As  he  sang  amid  the  broken 
Glens  his  music  manifold. 

The  spirit  of  the  place  passed  into  his  writings. 
He  had  produced  the  Orestes  in  408.  He  pro- 
duced nothing,  so  far  as  has  been  made  out, 
in  407.  He  died  in  406.  And  after  his  death 
there  appeared  in  Athens,  under  the  manage- 
ment of  his  son,  a  play  that  held  the  Greek 
stage  for  five  centuries,  a  strange  and  thrilling 
tragedy,  enigmatical,  inhuman,  at  times  actually 
repellent,  yet  as  strong  and  as  full  of  beauty 
as  the  finest  work  of  his  prime. 

Two  other  plays  were  produced  with  it. 
Of  one,  Alcmaeon  in  Corinth^  we  know  nothing 
characteristic  ;  the  second,  Ipliigenia  in  Aulis^  is 
in  many  ways  remarkable.  The  groundwork 
of  it  is  powerful  and  bitter,  like  the  other  plays 
of  this  period,  but  it  is  interspersed  with  pas- 
sages and  scenes  of  most  romantic  beauty  ;  and, 
finally,  it  is  only  half  finished.  One  could 
imagine  that  he  had  begun  it  in  Athens,  or  at 
least  before  the  bitter  taste  of  Athens  had  worn 
off;    that   he    tried   afterwards   to   change   the 


liv  EURIPIDES 

tone  of  it  to  something  kindlier  and  more 
beautiful  ;  that  finally  he  threw  it  aside  and 
began  a  quite  new  play  in  a  different  style  to 
express  the  new  spirit  that  he  had  found. 

For  The  Bacchae  is  somehow  different  in  spirit 
from  any  of  his  other  works,  late  or  early. 
The  old  poet  chose  a  curiously  simple  and  even 
barbaric  subject.  It  is  much  what  we  should 
call  a  Mystery  Play.  Dionysus,  the  young  god 
born  of  Zeus  and  the  Theban  princess,  Semele, 
travelling  through  the  world  to  announce  his 
godhead,  comes  to  his  own  people  of  Thebes, 
and — his  own  receive  him  not.  They  will  not 
worship  him  simply  and  willingly ;  he  con- 
strains them  to  worship  him  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  madness.  The  King,  Pentheus,  insults 
and  imprisons  the  god,  spies  on  his  mystic 
worship,  is  discovered  by  the  frenzied  saints 
and  torn  limb  from  limb;  his  own  mother, 
Agave,  being  the  first  to  rend  him. 

Now  it  is  no  use  pretending  that  this  is  a 
moral  and  sympathetic  tale,  or  that  Euripides 
palliates  the  atrocity  of  it,  and  tries  to  justify 
Dionysus.  Euripides  never  palliates  things. 
He  leaves  this  savage  story  as  savage  as  he 
found  it.  The  sympathy  of  the  audience  is 
with  Dionysus  while  he  is  persecuted  ;  doubtful 
while  he  is  just  taking  his  vengeance  ;  utterly 
against  him  at  the  end  of  the  play.     Note  how 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  Iv 

Agave,  when  restored  to  her  right  mind,  re- 
fuses even  to  think  of  him  and  his  miserable 

injured  pride  : — 

Agave. 
'Tis  Dionyse  hath  done  it.      Now  I  see. 

Cadmus. 
Ye  wronged  him  !      Ye  denied  his  deity. 

Agave. 
Show  me  the  body  of  the  son  I  love  ! 

Note   how    Dionysus  is   left   answerless    when 
Agave  rebukes  him  : — 

Dionysus. 
Ye  mocked  me  being  God.      This  is  your  wage. 

Agave. 
Should  God  be  like  a  proud  man  in  his  rage  ? 

Dionysus. 
'Tis  as  my  sire,  Zeus,  willed  it  long  ago. 

A   helpless,   fatalistic   answer,    abandoning    the 
moral  standpoint. 

But  the  most  significant  point  against  Diony- 
sus is  the  change  of  tone — the  conversion, 
one  might  almost  call  it — of  his  own  inspired 
'  Wild  Beasts,'  the  Chorus  of  Asiatic  Bac- 
chanals, after  the  return  of  Agave  with  her 
son's  severed  head.  The  change  is  clearly 
visible  in  that  marvellous  scene  itself.  It  is 
emphasized  in  the  sequel.     Those  wild  singers. 


Ivi  EURIPIDES 

who  raged  so  loudly  in  praises  of  the  god's 
vengeance  before  they  saw  what  it  was,  fall, 
when  once  they  have  seen  it,  into  dead  silence. 
True,  there  is  a  lacuna  in  the  MS.  at  one 
point,  so  it  is  possible  that  they  may  have 
spoken ;  but  as  the  play  stands,  their  Leader 
speaks  only  one  couplet  addressed  to  Cadmus, 
whom  the  god  has  wronged  : — 

Lo,  I  weep  with  thee.      'Twas  but  due  reward 
God  sent  on  Pentheus  ;  but  for  thee  .  .  .  'tis  hard  ! 

And  they  go  off  at  the  end  with  no  remark, 
good  or  evil,  about  their  triumphant  and  hate- 
ful Dionysus,  uttering  only  those  lines  of 
brooding  resignation  with  which  Euripides 
closed  so  many  of  his  tragedies. 

Such  silence  in  such  a  situation  is  significant. 
Euripides  is,  as  usual,  critical  or  even  hostile 
towards  the  moral  tone  of  the  myth  that  he 
celebrates.  There  is  nothing  in  that  to  sur- 
prise us. 

Some  critics  have  even  tried  to  imagine  that 
Pentheus  is  a  '  sympathetic  '  hero ;  that  he  is 
right  in  his  crusade  against  this  bad  god,  as 
much  as  Hippolytus  was  right.  But  the  case 
will  not  bear  examination.  Euripides  might 
easily  have  made  Pentheus  '  sympathetic '  if 
he  had  chosen.  And  he  certainly  has  not 
chosen.     No.     As  regards  the  conflict  between 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  Ivii 

Dionysus  and  Pentheus,  Euripides  has  merely 
followed  a  method  very  usual  with  him,  the 
method,  for  instance,  of  the  Electra.  He  has 
given  a  careful  objective  representation  of  the 
facts  as  alleged  in  the  myth  :  "  If  the  story  is 
true,"  he  says,  "  then  it  must  have  been  like 
this."  We  have  the  ordinary  hot-tempered 
and  narrowly  practical  tyrant — not  very  care- 
fully studied,  by  the  way,  and  apparently  not 
very  interesting  to  the  poet  ;  we  have  a  well- 
attested  god  and  suitable  miracles  ;  we  have  a 
most  poignant  and  unshrinking  picture  of  the 
possibilities  of  religious  madness.  That  may 
be  taken  as  the  groundwork  of  the  play.  It  is 
quite  probable  that  Euripides  had  seen  some 
glimpses  of  Dionysus-worship  on  the  Macedon- 
ian mountains  which  gave  a  fresh  reality  in  his 
mind  to  the  legends  of  ravening  and  wonder- 
working Maenads. 

But  when  all  this  is  admitted,  there  remains 
a  fact  of  cardinal  importance,  which  was  seen 
by  the  older  critics,  and  misled  them  so  greatly 
that  modern  writers  are  often  tempted  to  deny 
its  existence.  There  is  in  The  Bacchae  real  and 
heartfelt  glorification  of  Dionysus. 

The  '  objectivity '  is  not  kept  up.  Again 
and  again  in  the  lyrics  you  feel  that  the 
Maenads  are  no  longer  merely  observed  and 
analysed.     The  poet    has  entered    into    them. 


Iviii  EURIPIDES 

and  they  into  him.  Again  and  again  the 
words  that  fall  from  the  lips  of  the  Chorus  or 
its  Leader  are  not  the  words  of  a  raving  Bac- 
chante, but  of  a  gentle  and  deeply  musing 
philosopher. 

Probably  all  dramatists  who  possess  strong 
personal  beliefs,  yield  at  times  to  the  tempta- 
tion of  using  one  of  their  characters  as  a  mouth- 
piece for  their  own  feelings.  And  the  Greek 
Chorus,  a  half-dramatic,  half-lyrical  creation, 
both  was  and  was  felt  to  be  particularly  suitable 
for  such  use.  Of  course  a  writer  does  not — or 
at  least  should  not — use  the  drama  to  express 
his  mere  'views'  on  ordinary  and  commonplace 
questions,  to  announce  his  side  in  politics  or  his 
sect  in  religion.  But  it  is  a  method  wonderfully 
contrived  for  expressing  those  vaguer  faiths  and 
aspirations  which  a  man  feels  haunting  him  and 
calling  to  him,  but  which  he  cannot  state  in  plain 
language  or  uphold  with  a  full  acceptance  of  re- 
sponsibility. You  can  say  the  thing  that  wishes 
to  be  said  ;  you  '  give  it  its  chance  ' ;  you  re- 
lieve your  mind  of  it.  And  if  it  proves  to  be 
all  nonsense,  well,  it  is  not  you  that  said  it. 
It  is  only  a  character  in  one  of  your  plays  ! 

The  rehgion  of  Dionysus  as  Euripides  found 
it,  already  mysticised  and  made  spiritual,  half- 
reformed  and  half-petrified  in  sacerdotalism,  by 
the  Orphic  movement,  was  exactly  that  kind  of 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  Hx 

mingled  mass  which  lends  itself  to  dramatic  and 
indirect  expression.  It  was  gross  as  it  stood  ; 
yet  it  could  be  so  easily  and  so  wonderfully 
idealised  !  Euripides  seems  to  have  felt  a  pecu- 
liar and  almost  enthusiastic  interest  in  a  further 
sublimation  of  its  doctrines,  a  philosophic  or 
prophet-like  interpretation  of  the  spirit  that  a 
man  might  see  in  it  if  he  would.  And  mean- 
time he  did  not  bind  himself.  He  let  his 
Bacchanals  rave  from  time  to  time,  as  they  were 
bound  to  rave.  He  had  said  his  say,  and  he 
was  not  responsible  for  the  whole  of  Dionysus- 
worship  nor  yet  of  Orphism, 

Dionysus,  as  Euripides  takes  him  from  the 
current  conceptions  of  his  day,  is  the  God  of 
all  high  emotion,  inspiration,  intoxication.  He 
is  the  patron  of  poetry,  especially  of  dramatic 
poetry.  He  has  given  man  Wine,  which  is 
his  Blood  and  a  religious  symbol.  He  purifies 
from  Sm.  It  is  unmeaning,  surely,  to  talk  of 
a  '  merely  ritual  '  purification  as  opposed  to 
something  real.  Ritual,  as  long  as  it  fully 
lives,  is  charged  with  spiritual  meaning,  and 
can  often  express  just  those  transcendent  things 
which  words  fail  to  utter — much  as  a  look  or 
the  clasp  of  a  hand  can  at  times  express  more 
than  a  verbal  greeting.  Dionysus  purified  as 
spiritually  as  the  worshipper's  mind  required. 
And   he  gave    to   the    Purified    a    mystic   Joy, 


Ix  EURIPIDES 

surpassing  in  intensity  that  of  man,  the  Joy  of 
a  god  or  a  free  wild  animal.  The  Bacchanals 
in  this  play  worshipped  him  by  his  many  names 
(vv.  725  fF.):— 

'  lacchos,  Bromios,  Lord, 
God  of  God  born  ; '  and  all  the  mountain  felt 
And  worshipped  with  them,  and  the  wild  things  knelt, 
And  ramped  and  gloried,  and  the  wilderness 
Was  filled  with  moving  voices  and  dim  stress. 

That  is  the  kind  of  god  he  celebrates. 

Euripides  had  lived  most  of  his  life  in  a 
great  town,  among  highly  educated  people ; 
amid  restless  ambitions  and  fierce  rivalries ; 
amid  general  scepticism,  originally  caused,  no 
doubt,  in  most  cases,  by  higher  religious  aspi- 
rations than  those  of  the  common  man,  but 
ending  largely  in  arid  irreligion ;  in  an  ultra 
political  community,  led  of  late  years  by  the 
kind  of  men  of  whom  Plato  said  that  if  you 
looked  into  the  soul  of  one  of  them  you  could 
see  "  its  bad  little  eye  glittering  with  sharp- 
ness " ;  in  a  community  now  hardened  to  the 
condition  described  in  the  long  passage  quoted 
above  from  Thucydides.  Euripides  had  lived 
all  his  life  in  this  society ;  for  many  years 
he  had  led  it,  at  least  in  matters  of  art  and 
intellect ;  for  many  years  he  had  fought  with 
it.     And  now  he  was  free  from  it  ! 

He  felt  like  a  hunted  animal  escaped  from 


INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY  Ixi 

its  pursuers ;  like  a  fawn  fled  to  the  forest,  says 
one  lyric,  in  which  the  personal  note  is  surely 
audible  as  a  ringing  undertone  (vv.  862  ft.): — 

Oh,  feet  of  a  fawn  to  the  greenwood  fled 

Alone  in  the  grass  and  the  loveliness, 
Leap  of  the  Hunted,  no  more  in  dread  .  .  . 

But  there  is  still  a  terror  in  the  distance  be- 
hind him  ;  he  must  go  onward  yet,  to  lonely 
regions  where  no  voice  of  either  man  or  hound 
may  reach.  "  What  else  is  wisdom  ? "  he  asks, 
in  a  marvellous  passage  : — 

What  else  is  wisdom  ?     What  of  man's  endeavour 
Or  God's  high  grace  so  lovely  and  so  great  ? 
To  stand  from  fear  set  free,  to  breathe  and  wait ; 
To  hold  a  hand  uplifted  over  Hate ; 

And  shall  not  loveliness  be  loved  for  ever  ? 

He  was  escaped  and  happy  ;  he  was  beyond 
the  reach  of  Hate.  Nay,  he  was  safe,  and 
those  who  hated  him  were  suffering.  A  judg- 
ment seemed  to  be  upon  them,  these  men  who 
had  resolved  to  have  no  dealings  with  "  the 
three  deadly  enemies  of  Empire,  Pity  and 
Eloquent  Sentiments  and  the  Generosity 
of  Strength  "  ;  who  lived,  as  Thucydides  says 
in  another  passage  (vi.  90),  in  dreams  of  wider 
and  wider  conquest,  the  conquest  of  Sicily,  of 
South  Italy,  of  Carthage  and  all  her  empire,  of 
every    country   that   touched   the  sea.       They 


Ixii  EURIPIDES 

had  forgotten  the  essence  of  religion,  forgotten 
the  eternal  laws,  and  the  judgment  in  wait  for 
those  who  "worship  the  Ruthless  Will  "  ;  who 
dream — 

Dreams  of  the  proud  man,  making  great 
And  greater  ever 

Things  that  are  not  of  God. — (vv.  885  fF.) 

It  is  against  the  essential  irreligion  implied 
in  these  dreams  that  he  appeals  in  the  same 
song  :— 

And  is  thy  faith  so  much  to  give  ? 
Is  it  so  hard  a  thing  to  see, 
That  the  Spirit  of  God,  whate'er  it  be. 
The  Law  that  abides  and  falters  not,  ages  long, 
The  Eternal  and  Nature-born — these  things  be  strong  ? 

In  the  epode  of  the  same  chorus,  taking  the 
ritual  words  of  certain  old  Bacchic  hymns  and 
slightly  changing  them,  he  expresses  his  own 
positive  doctrine  more  clearly : — 

Happy  he,  On  the  weary  sea, 

Who  hath  fled  the  tempest  and  won  the  haven  ; 
Happy,  whoso  hath  risen,  free, 

Above  his  strivings  ! 

Men  strive  with  many  ambitions,  seethe  with 
divers  hopes,  mostly  conflicting,  mostly  of  in- 
herent worthlessness  ;  even  if  they  are  achieved, 
no  one  is  a  whit  the  better. 

But  whoe'er  can  know,  As  the  long  days  go. 
That  to  live  is  happy,  hath  found  his  Heaven  ! 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY         Ixiii 

Could  not  the  wise  men  of  Athens  under- 
stand- what  a  child  feels,  what  a  wild  beast 
feels,  what  a  poet  feels,  that  to  live — to  live  in 
the  presence  of  Nature,  of  Dawn  and  Sunset,  of 
eternal  mysteries  and  discoveries  and  wonders 
— is  in  itself  a  joyous  thing  ? 

*'  Love  thou  the  day  and  the  night,"  he  says 
in  another  place.  It  is  only  so  that  Life  can 
be  made  what  it  really  is,  a  Joy  :  by  loving  not 
only  your  neighbour — he  is  so  vivid  an  element 
in  life  that,  unless  you  do  love  him,  he  will 
spoil  all  the  rest  ! — but  the  actual  details  and 
processes  of  living.  Life  becomes  like  the 
voyage  of  Dionysus  himself  over  magic  seas, 
or  rather,  perhaps,  like  the  more  chequered 
voyage  of  Shelley's  lovers  : — 

\\'hile  Ni^^ht 
And  Day,  and  Storm  and  Calm  pursue  their  flight, 
Our  ministers  across  the  boundless  sea, 
Trtading  each  other's  heels  unheetledly — 

the  alternations  and  pains  being  only  '*  mini- 
sters "  to  the  great  composite  joy. 

It  seemed  to  Euripides,  in  that  favourite 
metaphor  of  his,  which  was  always  a  little 
more  than  a  metaphor,  that  a  God  had  been 
rejected  by  the  world  that  he  came  from. 
Those  haggard,  striving,  suspicious  men,  full 
of  ambition  and  the  pride  of  intellect,  almost 
destitute   of  emotion,   unless    political  hatreds 


Ixiv  EURIPIDES 

can  be  called  emotion,  were  hurrying  through 
Life  in  the  presence  of  august  things  which 
they  never  recognised,  of  joy  and  beauty  which 
they  never  dreamed  of.  Thus  it  is  that  "  the 
world's  wise  are  not  wise"  (v.  395).  The 
poet  may  have  his  special  paradise,  away  from 
the  chosen  places  of  ordinary  men,  better  than 
the  sweetness  of  Cyprus  or  Paphos  : — 

The  high  still  dell  Where  the  Muses  dwell, 
Fairest  of  all  things  fair — 

it  is  there  that  he  will  find  the  things  truly 
desired  of  his  heart,  and  the  power  to  worship 
in  peace  his  guiding  Fire  of  inspiration.  But 
Dionysus  gives  his  Wine  to  all  men,  not  to 
poets  alone.  Only  by  "  spurning  joy "  can 
men  harden  his  heart  against  them.  For  the 
rest — 

The  simple  nameless  herd  of  Humanity- 
Hath  deeds  and  faith  that  are  truth  enough  for  me  ! 

It  is  a  mysticism  which  includes  democracy 
as  it  includes  the  love  of  your  neighbour. 
They  are  both  necessary  details  in  the  inclusive 
end.  It  implies  that  trust  in  the  '  simple 
man '  which  is  so  characteristic  of  most 
idealists  and  most  reformers.  It  implies  the 
doctrine  of  Equality — a  doctrine  essentially 
religious   and    mystical,  continually  disproved 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY  Ixv 

in  every  fresh  sense  In  which  it  can  be  formu- 
lated, and  yet  remaining  one  of  the  living 
faiths  of  men. 

It  is  at  first  sight  strange,  this  belittling  of 
'  the  Wise '  and  all  their  learning.  Euripides 
had  been  all  his  life  the  poet  militant  of  know- 
ledge, the  apostle  of  progress  and  enlighten- 
ment. Yet  there  is  no  real  contradiction.  It 
is  only  that  the  Wise  are  not  wise  enough,  that 
the  Knowledge  which  a  man  has  attained  is 
such  a  poor  and  narrow  thing  compared  with 
the  Knowledge  that  he  dreamed  of.  In  one 
difficult  and  beautiful  passage  Euripides  seems  ^ 
to  give  us  his  own  apology  (vv.  1005  ff.)  : — 

Knowledge,  we  are  not  foes  ! 

I  seek,  thee  diligently  ; 
But  the  world  with  a  great  wind  blows, 

Shining,  and  not  from  thee ; 
Blowing  to  beautiful  things, 

On  amid  dark  and  light. 
Till  Life  through  the  trammellings 

Of  Laws  that  are  not  the  Right, 
Breaks,  clean  and  pure,  and  sings 

Glorying  to  God  in  the  height ! 

One  feels  grateful  for  that  voice  from  the  old 
Euripides  amid  the  strange  new  tones  of  The 
Bacchae. 

'  I  say  "  seems,"  because  the  reading  is  conjectural.  I  suggest 
d^KTCjv  (  =  "let  ihem  blow")  in  place  of  the  MS.  atl  rwv.  The 
passage  is  generally  abandoned  as  hopelessly  corrupt. 

e 


Ixvi  EURIPIDES 

It  is  not  for  us  to  consider  at  present  how 
far  this  doctrine  is  true,  nor  even  how  far  it 
is  good  or  bad.  We  need  only  see  what  the 
essence  of  it  is.  That  the  end  of  life  is  not 
in  the  future,  not  in  external  objects,  not  a 
thing  to  be  won  by  success  or  good  fortune, 
nor  to  be  deprived  of  by  the  actions  of  others. 
Live  according  to  Nature,  and  Life  itself  is 
happiness.  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  within 
you — here  and  now.  You  have  but  to  accept 
it  and  live  with  it — not  obscure  it  by  striving 
and  hating  and  looking  in  the  wrong  place. 

On  one  side  this  is  a  very  practical  and  lowly 
doctrine — the  doctrine  of  contentment,  the 
doctrine  of  making  things  better  by  liking  and 
helping  them.  On  the  other  side,  it  is  an 
appeal  to  the  almost  mystical  faith  of  the  poet 
or  artist  who  dwells  in  all  of  us.  Probably 
most  people  have  had  the  momentary  experi- 
ence— it  may  come  to  one  on  Swiss  mountains, 
on  Surrey  commons,  in  crowded  streets,  on  the 
tops  of  omnibuses,  inside  London  houses — of 
being,  as  it  seems,  surrounded  by  an  incom- 
prehensible and  almost  intolerable  vastness  of 
beauty  and  delight  and  interest — if  only  one 
could  grasp  it  or  enter  into  it !  That  is  just 
the  rub,  a  critic  may  say.  It  is  no  use 
telling  all  the  world  to  find  happiness  by  liv- 
ing permanently  at  the  level  of  these  fugitive 


INTRODUCTORY   ESSAY        Ixvii 

moments — moments  which  in  high  poets  and 
prophets  may  extend  to  days.  It  is  simpler  and 
quite  as  practical  to  advise  them  all  to  have  ten 
thousand  a  year. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  struggle  with  that 
point.  But  it  is  worth  while  to  remark  in 
closing  that  historically  the  line  here  suggested 
by  Euripides  was  followed  by  almost  all  the 
higher  minds  of  antiquity  and  early  Christi- 
anity. Excepting  Aristotle,  who  clung  charac- 
teristically to  the  concrete  city  and  the  dutiful 
tax-paying  citizen,  all  the  great  leaders  of 
Greek  thought  turned  away  from  the  world 
and  took  refuge  in  the  Soul.  The  words  used 
accidentally  above — Live  according  to  Nature 
—  formed  the  very  foundation  of  moral 
doctrine  not  only  for  the  Stoics,  but  for  all 
the  schools  of  philosophy.  The  Platonists 
sought  for  the  Good,  the  Stoics  for  Virtue, 
the  Epicureans  for  Pleasure  ;  but  the  various 
names  are  names  for  the  same  End  ;  and  it  is 
always  an  End,  not  future,  but  existing — not 
without  or  afar,  but  inside  each  man's  self. 

The  old  devotion  to  Fifth  Century  Athens, 
to  that  Princess  of  Cities,  who  had  so  fear- 
fully fallen  and  dragged  her  lovers  through 
such  bloodstained  dust,  lived  on  with  a  kind 
of  fascination  as  a  symbol  in  the  minds  of 
these  deeply  individual  philosophers   of   later 


Ixviii  EURIPIDES 

Hellenism  and  early  Christianity.  But  it  was 
no  longer  a  city  on  earth  that  they  sought,  not 
one  to  be  served  by  military  conquests,  nor 
efficient  police,  nor  taxes  and  public  education. 
It  was  "  the  one  great  city  in  which  all  are 
free,"  or  it  was  the  city  of  Man's  Soul,  "  The 
poet  has  said,"  writes  a  late  Stoic,  who  had  a 
pretty  large  concrete  city  of  his  own  to  look 
after,  "  The  poet  has  said  :  O  Beloved  City  of 
Cecrops :  canst  thou  not  say  :  O  Beloved  City 
of  God?" 


^^ 


THK   SAII.INC   OF    tJlONVSUS 


/.  Ixviii 


EROS   WITH    SPEAK   AND   SHIELD 


HIPPOLYTUS 


v 


CHARACTERS    OF   THE    PLAY 

The  Goddess  Aphrodit^. 
The  Goddess  Artemis. 

Theseus,  King  of  Athens  and  Trozen. 

Phaedra,  daughter  of  Minos ,  King  of  Crete,  luife  to  Theseus, 

HiPPOLYTUS,  bastard  son  of  Theseus  and  the  Amazon  Hippolyte. 

The  Nurse  of  Phaedra, 

An  Old  Huntsman. 

A  Henchman  of  Hippolytus. 

A  Chorus  of  Huntsmen. 

A  Chorus  of  Trozenian  Women,  with  their  Leader. 

Attendants  on  the  thrke  Royal  Persons. 

"  The  scene  is  laid  in  Trozen.  The  play  was  first  acted  when 
Epameinon  was  Archon,  Olympiad  87,  year  4  (B.C.  429).  Eu7-ipides 
was  first,  lophon  second,  Ton  third." 


HIPPOLYTUS 

The  scene  represents  the  front  of  the  royal  castle  of 
Trozen,  the  chief  door  being  in  the  centre^  facing  the 
audience.  Two  statues  are  visible^  that  0/ Artemis 
on  the  right,  that  of  Aphrodite  or  Cypris  on  the 
left.     The  goddess  Aphrodite  is  discovered  alone. 

Aphrodite. 
Great  among  men,  and  not  unnamed  am  I, 
The  Cyprian,  in  God's  inmost  halls  on  high. 
And  wheresoe'er  from  Pontus  to  the  far 
Red  West  men  dwell,  and  see  the  glad  day-star. 
And  worship  Me,  the  pious  heart  I  bless, 
And  wreck  that  life  that  lives  in  stubbornness. 
For  that  there  is,  even  in  a  great  God's  mind, 
That  hungereth  for  the  praise  of  human  kind. 
So  runs  my  word  ;  and  soon  the  very  deed 
Shall  follow.     For  this  Prince  of  Theseus'  seed, 
Hippolytus,  child  of  that  dead  Amazon, 
And  reared  by  saintly  Pittheus  in  his  own 
Strait  ways,  hath  dared,  alone  of  all  Trozen, 
To  hold  me  least  of  spirits  and  most  mean. 
And  spurns  my  spell  and  seeks  no  woman's  kiss. 
But  great  Apollo's  sister,  Artemis, 


EURIPIDES 

He  holds  of  all  most  high,  gives  love  and  praise, 
And  through  the  wild  dark  woods  for  ever  strays. 
He  and  the  Maid  together,  with  swift  hounds 
To  slay  all  angry  beasts  from  out  these  bounds, 
To  more  than  mortal  friendship  consecrate  ! 

I  grudge  it  not.    No  grudge  know  I,  nor  hate  ; 
Yet,  seeing  he  hath  offended,  I  this  day 
Shall  smite  Hippolytus.     Long  since  my  way 
Was  opened,  nor  needs  now  much  labour  more. 

For  once  from  Pittheus'  castle  to  the  shore 
Of  Athens  came  Hippolytus  over-seas 
Seeking  the  vision  of  the  Mysteries. 
And  Phaedra  there,  his  father's  Queen  high-born. 
Saw  him,  and,  as  she  saw,  her  heart  was  torn 
With  great  love,  by  the  working  of  my  will. 
And  for  his  sake,  long  since,  on  Pallas'  hill. 
Deep  in  the  rock,  that  Love  no  more  might  roam, 
She  built  a  shrine,  and  named  it  Love-at-home  : 
And  the  rock  held  it,  but  its  face  alway 
Seeks  Trozen  o'er  the  seas.     Then  came  the  day 
When  Theseus,  for  the  blood  of  kinsmen  shed. 
Spake  doom  of  exile  on  himself,  and  fled, 
Phaedra  beside  him,  even  to  this  Trozen. 
And  here  that  grievous  and  amazed  Queen, 
Wounded  and  wondering,  with  ne'er  a  word. 
Wastes  slowly  ;  and  her  secret  none  hath  heard 
Nor  dreamed. 

But  never  thus  this  love  shall  end  ! 
To  Theseus'  son  some  whisper  will  I  send. 
And  all  be  bare  !    And  that  proud  Prince,  my  foe. 
His  sire  shall  slay  with  curses.     Even  so 
Endeth  that  boon  the  great  Lord  of  the  Main 
To  Theseus  gave,  the  Three  Prayers  not  in  vain. 


HIPPOLYTUS  5 

And  she,  not  in  dishonour,  yet  shall  die. 
I  would  not  rate  this  woman''s  pain  so  high 
As  not  to  pay  mine  haters  in  full  fee 
That  vengeance   that   shall  make  all  well  with 
me. 

But  soft,   here    comes   he,   striding    from    the 
chase. 
Our  Prince  Hippolytus  ! — I  will  go  my  ways. — 
And  hunters  at  his  heels  :  and  a  loud  throng 
Glorying  Artemis  with  praise  and  song  ! 
Little  he  knows  that  HclPs  gates  opened  are. 
And  this  his  last  look  on  the  great  Day-star  ! 

[Aphrodite  withdraws^  unseen  by  Hippolytus 
and  a  band  of  huntsmen,  who  enter  from 
the  left^  singing.  They  pass  the  Statue  of 
Aphrodite  zuithout  notice. 

Hippolytus. 

Follow,  O  follow  me. 

Singing  on  your  ways 
Her  in  whose  hand  are  we. 
Her  whose  own  flock  wc  be, 
The  Zeus-Child,  the  Heavenly  j 

To  Artemis  be  praise  ! 

Huntsmen. 

Hail  to  thee,  Maiden  blest, 
Proudest  and  holiest  : 
God's  Daughter,  great  in  bliss, 
Leto-born,  Artemis  ! 
Hail  to  thee.  Maiden,  far 
Fairest  of  all  that  are. 


EURIPIDES 

Yea,  and  most  high  thine  home, 
Child  of  the  Father's  hall ; 
Hear,  O  most  virginal, 
Hear,  O  most  fair  of  all. 

In  high  God's  golden  dome. 
[The  huntsmen  have  gathered  about  the  altar  of 
Artemis.    Hippolytus  now  advances  from 
them^    and   approaches    the    Statue   with    a 
wreath  in  his  hand. 

Hippolytus. 

To  thee  this  wreathed  garland,  from  a  green 
And  virgin  meadow^  bear  I,  O  my  Queen, 
Where  never  shepherd  leads  his  grazing  evs^es 
Nor  scythe  has  touched.     Only  the  river  dew^s 
Gleam,  and  the  spring  bee  sings,  and  in  the  glade 
Hath  Solitude  her  mystic  garden  made. 

No  evil  hand  may  cull  it  :  only  he 
Whose  heart  hath  knovi^n  the  heart  of  Purity, 
Unlearned  of  man,  and  true  w^hate"'er  befall. 
Take  therefore  from  pure  hands  this  coronal, 
O  mistress  loved,  thy  golden  hair  to  tvi^ine. 
For,  sole  of  living  men,  this  grace  is  mine. 
To  dwell  with  thee,  and  speak,  and  hear  replies 
Of  voice  divine,  though  none  may  see  thine  eyes. 

So  be  it ;  and  may  death  find  me  still  the  same  ! 
\_An  Old  HunTSMAiiy  who  has  stood  apart  from 
the  restf  here  comes  up  to  Hippolytus. 

Huntsman. 

My  Prince — for  'Master'  deem  I  no  man's  name — 
Gave  I  good  counsel,  wouldst  thou  welcome  it  ? 


HIPPOLYTUS  7 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Right  gladly,  friend  ;  else  were  I  poor  of  wit. 

Huntsman. 
Knowest  thou  one  law,  that  through  the  world  has 
won  ? 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

What    wouldst    thou  ?       And    how    runs   thy    law  ? 
Say  on. 

Huntsman. 

It  hates  that  Pride  that  speaks  not  all  men  fair  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

And  rightly.     Pride  breeds  hatred  everywhere. 

Huntsman. 
And  good  words  love,  and  grace  in  all  men's  sight  ? 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Aye,  and  much  gain  withal,  for  trouble  sh'ght. 

Huntsman. 
How  deem'st  thou  of  the  Godsr     Are  they  the  same  ? 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Surely  :  we  are  but  fashioned  on  their  frame. 

Huntsman. 
Why  then  wilt  thou  be  proud,  and  worship  not  .  .  . 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Whom  ?     If  the  name  be  spcakablc,  speak  out  I 


EURIPIDES 

Huntsman. 
She  stands  here  at  thy  gate  :  the  Cyprian  Queen  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

I  greet  her  from  afar  :  my  life  is  clean. 

Huntsman. 
Clean  ?     Nay,  proud,  proud  ;  a  mark  for  all  to  scan  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Each  mind  hath  its  own  bent,  for  God  or  man. 

Huntsman. 
God  grant  thee  happiness  .  .  .  and  wiser  thought ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

These  Spirits  that  reign  in  darkness  like  me  not. 

Huntsman. 
What  the  Gods  ask,  O  Son,  that  man  must  pay ! 

HiPPOLYTUS  [turning  from  him  to  the  others). 
On,  huntsmen,  to  the  Castle  !     Make  your  way 
Straight  to  the  feast  room  ;  'tis  a  merry  thing 
After  the  chase,  a  board  of  banqueting. 
And  see  the  steeds  be  groomed,  and  in  array 
The  chariot  dight.     I  drive  them  forth  to-day. 

[He  pausesy  and  makes  a  slight  gesture  of  reverence 
to  the  Statue  on  the  left.  Then  to  the  Old 
Huntsman. 
That  for  thy  Cyprian,  friend,  and  nought  beside ! 
[HiPPOLYTUS  follows  the  huntsmen,  who  stream 
off"  by  the  central  door  into  the  Castle.  The 
Old  Huntsman  remains. 


HIPPOLYTUS  9 

Huntsman  [approaching  the  Statue  and  kneeling). 

0  Cyprian — for  a  young  man  in  his  pride 

1  will  not  follow  ! — here  before  thee,  meek, 
In  that  one  language  that  a  slave  may  speak, 
I  pray  thee  ;  Oh,  if  some  wild  heart  in  froth 
O  youth  surges  against  thee,  be  not  wroth 
For  ever  !  Nay,  be  far  and  hear  not  then  : 
Gods  should  be  gentler  and  more  wise  than  men  ! 

\^He  rises  and  follows  the  others  into  the  Castle. 

The  Orchestra  is  empty  for  a  moment,  then  there  enter 
from  right  and  left  several  Troxenian  women^  young 
and  old.     Their  number  eventually  amounts  to  fifteen. 

Chorus. 

There  riseth  a  rock-born  river. 
Of  Ocean's  tribe,  men  say  ; 
The  crags  of  it  gleam  and  quiver, 
And  pitchers  dip  in  the  spray  : 
A  woman  was  there  with  raiment  white 
To  bathe  and  spread  in  the  warm  sunlight, 
And  she  told  a  tale  to  me  there  by  the  river, 
The  tale  of  the  Queen  and  her  evil  day  : 

How,  ailing  beyond  allavment. 

Within  she  hath  bowed  her  head, 
And  with  shadow  of  silken  raiment 
The  bright  brown  hair  bespread. 
For  three  long  days  she  hath  lain  forlorn, 
Her  lips  untainted  of  flesh  or  corn. 

For  that  secret  sorrow  bcvond  allayment 
That  steers  to  the  far  sad  shore  of  the  dead. 


10  EURIPIDES 

Some  JVomen. 
Is  this  some  Spirit,  O  child  of  man  ? 
Doth  Hecat  hold  thee  perchance,  or  Pan  ? 
Doth  She  of  the  Mountains  work  her  ban, 
Or  the  dread  Corybantes  bind  thee  ? 

Others. 
Nay,  is  it  sin  that  upon  thee  lies. 
Sin  of  forgotten  sacrifice. 
In  thine  own  Dictynna's  sea-wild  eyes  ? 

Who  in  Limna  here  can  find  thee  ; 
For  the  Deep's  dry  floor  is  her  easy  way. 
And  she  moves  in  the  salt  wet  whirl  of  the  spray. 

Other  JVoinen. 
Or  doth  the  Lord  of  Erechtheus'  race. 
Thy  Theseus,  watch  for  a  fairer  face. 
For  secret  arms  in  a  silent  place. 
Far  from  thy  love  or  chiding  ? 

Others. 

Or  hath  there  landed,  amid  the  loud 

Hum  of  Piraeus'  sailor-crowd. 

Some  Cretan  venturer,  weary-browed. 

Who  bears  to  the  Queen  some  tiding ; 
Some  far  home-grief,  that  hath  bowed  her  low. 
And  chained  her  soul  to  a  bed  of  woe  ? 

An   Older  Woman. 
Nay — know  ye  not  ? — this  burden  hath  alway  lain 
On  the  devious  being  of  woman  ;  yea,  burdens  twain, 
The  burden  of  Wild  Will  and  the  burden  of  Pain. 
Through  my  heart  once  that  wind  of  terror  sped  ; 
But  I,  in  fear  confessed, 


HIPPOLYTUS  II 

Cried  from  the  dark  to  Her  in  heavenly  bliss, 
The  Helper  of  Pain,  the  Bow-Maid  Artemis  : 
Whose  feet  I  praise  for  ever,  where  they  tread 
Far  off  among  the  blessed  ! 

The  Leader. 
But  see,  the  Queen's  grey  nurse  at  the  tloor, 
Sad-eyed  and  sterner,  methinks,  than  of  yore. 

With  the  Queen.     Doth  she  lead  her  hither, 
To  the  wind  and  sun  ? — Ah,  fain  would  I  know 
What  strange  betiding  hath  blanched  that  brow. 
And  made  that  young  life  wither. 

[The  Nurse  comes  out  from  the  central  door^ 
followed  by  Phaedra,  who  is  supported  by 
two  handmaids.  They  make  ready  a  couch 
for  Phaedra  to  lie  upon. 

Nurse. 
O  sick  and  sore  are  the  days  of  men  ! 
What  wouldst  thou  ?     What  shall  I  change  again  ? 
Here  is  the  Sun  for  thee  ;  here  is  the  sky  ; 
And  thy  weary  pillows  wind-swept  lie. 

By  the  castle  door. 
But  the  cloud  of  thy  brow  is  dark,  I  ween  ; 
And  soon  thou  wilt  back  to  thy  bower  within  : 
So  swift  to  change  is  the  path  of  thy  feet, 
And  near  things  hateful,  and  far  things  sweet  j 

So  was  it  before  I 

Oh,  pain  were  better  than  tending  pain  ! 
For  that  were  single,  and  this  is  twain. 
With  grief  of  heart  and  labour  of  limb. 
Yet  all  man's  life  is  but  ailing  and  dim, 
And  rest  upon  earth  comes  never. 


> 


EURIPIDES 

But  if  any  far-off  state  there  be, 

Dearer  than  life  to  mortality  ; 

The  hand  of  the  Dark  hath  hold  thereof, 

And  mist  is  under  and  mist  above. 

And  so  we  are  sick  for  life,  and  cling 

On  earth  to  this  nameless  and  shining  thing. 

For  other  life  is  a  fountain  sealed, 

And  the  deeps  below  us  are  unrevealed. 

And  we  drift  on  legends  for  ever  I 

[Phaedra  during  this  has  been  laid  on  her  couch  ; 
she  speaks  to  the  handmaids. 

Phaedra. 

Yes  ;  lift  me  :  not  my  head  so  low. 
There,  hold  my  arms. — Fair  arms  they 

seem  ! — 
My  poor  limbs  scarce  obey  me  now ! 
Take  off  that  hood  that  weighs  my  brow. 

And  let  my  long  hair  stream. 

Nurse. 

Nay,  toss  not,  Child,  so  feveredly. 

The  sickness  best  will  win  relief 
By  quiet  rest  and  constancy. 
All  men  have  grief. 

Phaedra  {not  noticing  her). 

Oh  for  a  deep  and  dewy  spring. 

With  runlets  cold  to  draw  and  drink  ! 
And  a  great  meadow  blossoming, 
Long-grassed,  and  poplars  in  a  ring, 
To  rest  me  by  the  brink  ! 


HIPPOLYTUS  13 

Nurse. 
Nay,  Child  !     Shall  strangers  hear  this  tone 
So  wild,  and  thoughts  so  fever-flown  ? 

Phaedra. 
Oh,  take  me  to  the  Mountain  1     Oh, 
Past  the  great  pines  and  through  the  wood. 
Up  where  the  lean  hounds  softly  go, 

A-whine  for  wild  things'  blood. 
And  madly  flies  the  dappled  roe. 
O  God,  to  shout  and  speed  them  there. 
An  arrow  by  my  chestnut  hair 
Drawn  tight,  and  one  keen  glimmering  spear — 
Ah!   if  I  could  ! 

Nurse. 
What  wouldst  thou  with  them — fancies  all  ! — 
Thy  hunting  and  thy  fountain  brink  ? 
What  wouldst  thou  ?     By  the  city  wall 
Canst  hear  our  own  brook  plash  and  fall 
Downhill,  if  thou  wouldst  drink. 

Phaedra. 
O  Mistress  of  the  Sea-lorn  Mere 

Where  horse-hoofs  beat  the  sand  and  sing, 
O  Artemis,  that  I  were  there 
To  tame  Enetian  steeds  and  steer 
Swift  chariots  in  the  ring  ! 

Nurse. 
Nay,  mountainward  but  now  thy  hands 

Sf earned  out,  with  craving  for  the  chase  ; 
And  now  toward  the  unseaswept  sands 

Thou  roamest,  where  the  coursers  pace  ! 


EURIPIDES 

O  wild  young  steed,  what  prophet  knows 
The  power  that  holds  thy  curb,  and  throws 
Thy  swift  heart  from  its  race  ? 

[^Jt  these  words  Phaedra  gradually  recovers 
■  herse/f  and  pays  attention. 

Phaedra. 

What  have  I  said  ?     Woe's  me  !     And  where 
Gone  straying  from  my  wholesome  mind  ? 

What  ?     Did  I  fall  in  some  god's  snare  ? 
— Nurse,  veil  my  head  again,  and  blind 
Mine  eyes. — There  is  a  tear  behind 
That  lash. — Oh,  I  am  sick  with  shame ! 

Aye,  but  it  hath  a  sting, 
To  come  to  reason  ;  yet  the  name 
Of  madness  is  an  awful  thing. — 
Could  I  but  die  in  one  swift  flame 


Nurse. 

I  veil  thy  face.  Child. — Would  that  so 
Mine  own  were  veiled  for  evermore. 
So  sore  I  love  thee !   .  .  .  Though  the 
Of  long  life  mocks  me,  and  I  know 
How  love  should  be  a  lightsome  thing 
Not  rooted  in  the  deep  o'  the  heart  ; 
With  gentle  ties,  to  twine  apart 
If  need  so  call,  or  closer  cling. — 
Why  do  I  love  thee  so  ?     O  fool, 

O  fool,  the  heart  that  bleeds  for  twain. 
And  builds,  men  tell  us,  walls  of  pain. 
To  walk  by  love's  unswerving  rule. 


HIPPOLYTUS  15 

The  same  for  ever,  stem  and  true  ! 

For  '  Thorough  '  is  no  word  of  peace  : 
'Tis  '  Naught-too-much  '  makes  trouble  cease, 
And  many  a  wise  man  bows  thereto. 

[The  Leader  of  the  Chorus  here  approaches 
the  Nurse. 

Leader. 
Nurse  of  our  Queen,  thou  watcher  old  and  true, 
We  see  her  great  affliction,  but  no  clue 
Have  we  to  learn  the  sickness.     Wouldst  thou  tell 
The  name  and  sort  thereof,  'twould  like  us  well. 

Nurse. 
Small  leechcraft  have  I,  and  she  tells  no  man. 

Leader. 
Thou  know'st  no  cause  ?    Nor  when  the  unrest  began  ? 

Nurse. 
It  all  comes  to  the  same.     She  will  not  speak. 

Leader  {turning  and  looking  at  Phaedra). 
How  she  is  changed  and  wasted  !     And  how  weak  ! 

Nurse. 
'Tis  the  third  day  she  hath  fasted  utterly. 

Leader. 
What,  is  she  mad  ?     Or  doth  she  seek  to  die  ? 

Nurse. 
I  know  not.      But  to  death  it  sure  must  lead. 


i6  EURIPIDES 

Leader. 
'Tis  strange  that  Theseus  takes  hereof  no  heed. 

Nurse. 
She  hides  her  wound,  and  vows  it  is  not  so. 

Leader, 
Can  he  not  look  into  her  face  and  know  ? 

Nurse. 

Nay,  he  is  on  a  journey  these  last  days. 

Leader. 

Canst  thou  not  force  her,  then  ?    Or  think  of  ways 
To  trap  the  secret  of  the  sick  heart's  pain  ? 

Nurse. 

Have  I  not  tried  all  ways,  and  all  in  vain  ? 
Yet  will  I  cease  not  now,  and  thou  shalt  tell 
If  in  her  grief  I  serve  my  mistress  well  ! 

[_She  goes  across  to  where  Phaedra  lies  ;  and  pre- 
sently^ while  speakings  kneels  by  her. 
Dear  daughter  mine,  all  that  before  was  said 
Let  both  of  us  forget ;  and  thou  instead 
Be  kindlier,  and  unlock  that  prisoned  brow. 
And  I,  who  followed  then  the  wrong  road,  now 
Will  leave  it  and  be  wiser.     If  thou  fear 
Some  secret  sickness,  there  be  women  here 
To  give  thee  comfort.  [Phaedra  shakes  her  head. 

No  ;  not  secret  ?     Then 
Is  it  a  secret  meet  for  aid  of  men  ? 
Speak,  that  a  leech  may  tend  thee. 


HIPPOLYTUS  17 

Silent  still  ? 
Nay,  Child,  what  profits  silence  ?     If  'tis  ill 
This  that  I  counsel,  make  me  see  the  wrong : 
If  well,  then  yield  to  me. 

Nay,  Child,  I  long 
For  one  kind  word,  one  look  ! 

[Phaedra  lies  motionless.     The  Nurse  rises. 
Oh,  woe  is  me  ! 
Women,  we  labour  here  all  fruitlessly, 
All  as  far  off  as  ever  from  her  heart ! 
She  ever  scorned  me,  and  now  hears  no  part 
Of  all  my  prayers  !  [Turning  to  Phaedra  again. 

Nay,  hear  thou  shalt,  and  be, 
If  so  thou  will,  more  wild  than  the  wild  sea  ; 
But  know,  thou  art  thy  little  ones'  betrayer  ! 
If  thou  die  now,  shall  child  of  thine  be  heir 
To  Theseus'  castle  ?     Nay,  not  thine,  I  ween. 
But  hers  !     That  barbed  Amazonian  Queen 
Hath  left  a  child  to  bend  thy  children  low, 
A  bastard  royal- hearted — sayst  not  so  ? — 
Hippolytus  .  .  . 

Phaedra. 
Ah! 
[She  starts  up^  sittings  and  throws  the  veil  off. 

Nurse. 
That  stings  thee  ? 

Phaedra. 

Nurse,  most  sore 
Thou  hast  hurt  me  !     In  God's  name,  speak  that  name 
no  more. 


i8  EURIPIDES 

Nurse. 

Thou  seest  ?     Thy  mind  is  clear  ;  but  with  thy  mind 
Thou  wilt  not  save  thy  children,  nor  be  kind 
To  thine  own  life. 

Phaedra. 

My  children  ?     Nay,  most  dear 
I  love  them. — Far,  far  other  grief  is  here. 

Nurse  {after  a  pause^  tvondcrhjg). 
Thy  hand  is  clean,  O  Child,  from  stain  of  blood  ? 

Phaedra. 
My  hand  is  clean  ;  but  is  my  heart,  O  God  ? 

Nurse. 
Some  enemy's  spell  hath  made  thy  spirit  dim  ? 

Phaedra. 
He  hates  me  not  that  slays  me,  nor  I  him. 

Nurse. 
Theseus,  the  King,  hath  wronged  thee  in  man's  wise  ? 

Phaedra. 
Ah,  could  but  I  stand  guiltless  in  his  eyes  ! 

Nurse. 
O  speak  !    What  is  this  death-fraught  mystery  ? 

Phaedra. 
Nay,  leave  me  to  my  wrongs.     I  wrong  not  thee. 


HIPPOLYTUS  19 

Nurse  {suddenly  throiving  herself  in  supplication 

at  Phaedra's /f^/). 

Not  wrong  me,  whom  thou  wouldst  all  desolate  leave  ! 

Phaedra  {rising  and  trying  to  move  away). 
What  wouldst  thou  ?     Force  me  ?     Clinging  to  my 
sleeve  ? 

Nurse. 

Yea,  to  thy  knees ;  and  weep  ;  and  let  not  go ! 

Phaedra. 
Woe  to  thee.  Woman,  if  thou  learn  it,  woe  ! 

Nurse. 
I  know  no  bitterer  woe  than  losing  thee. 

Phaedra. 
I  am  lost  !     Yet  the  deed  shall  honour  me. 

Nurse. 
Why  hide  what  honours  thee  .''     'Tis  all  I  claim  ! 

Phaedra. 
Why,  so  I  build  up  honour  out  of  shame  ! 

Nurse. 
Then  speak,  and  higher  still  thy  fame  shall  stand. 

Phaedra. 
Go,  in  God's  name  ! — Nay,  leave  me  ;  loose  my  hand  ! 

Nurse. 
Never,  until  thou  grant  me  what  I  pray. 


20  EURIPIDES 

Phaedra  [yielding^  after  a  pause). 
So  be  it.     I  dare  not  tear  that  hand  away. 

Nurse  {rising  and  releasing  Phaedra). 
Tell  all  thou  wilt,  Daughter.     I  speak  no  more. 

Phaedra  {after  a  long  pause). 
Mother,  poor  Mother,  that  didst  love  so  sore  ! 

Nurse. 
What  mean'st  thou,  Child  ?     The  Wild  Bull  of  the 
Tide  ? 

Phaedra. 

And  thou,  sad  sister,  Dionysus'  bride  ! 

Nurse. 

Child  !    wouldst   thou  shame  the  house  where  thou 
wast  born  ? 

Phaedra. 

And  I  the  third,  sinking  most  all-forlorn  ! 

Nurse  {to  herself). 
I  am  all  lost  and  feared.     What  will  she  say  ? 

Phaedra. 
From  there  my  grief  comes,  not  from  yesterday. 

Nurse. 
I  come  no  nearer  to  thy  parable. 

Phaedra. 
Oh,  would  that  thou  couldst  tell  what  I  must  tell  ! 


HIPPOLYTUS  21 

Nurse. 
I  am  no  seer  in  things  I  wot  not  of. 

Phaedra  {again  hesitating). 
What  is  it  that  they  mean,  who  say  men   .  .  .  love  ? 

Nurse. 
A  thing  most  sweet,  my  Child,  yet  dolorous. 

Phaedra. 
Only  the  half,  belike,  hath  fallen  on  us  ! 

Nurse  (starting). 
On  thee  ?      Love  ? — Oh,  what  sayst  thou  ?      What 
man's  son  ? 

Phaedra. 

What  man's  ?     There  was  a  Queen,  an  Amazon  .  .  . 

Nurse. 
Hippolytus,  sayst  thou  ? 

Phaedra  (again  wrapping  her  face  in  the  veil). 
Nay,  'twas  thou,  not  I  ! 
[Phaedra  sinh  back  on  the  couch  and  covers  her 
face  again.     The  NuRSE  starts  violently  from 
her  and  walks  up  and  down. 

Nurse. 

0  God  !  what  wilt  thou  say.  Child  ?    Wouldst  thou  try 
To  kill  me  ? — Oh,  'tis  more  than  I  can  bear  ; 
Women,  I  will  no  more  of  it,  this  glare 

Of  hated  day,  this  shining  of  the  sky. 

1  will  fling  down  my  body,  and  let  it  lie 
Till  life  be  gone  ! 


22  EURIPIDES 

Women,  God  rest  with  you, 
My  works  are  over  !     For  the  pure  and  true 
Are  forced  to  evil,  against  their  own  heart's  vow. 
And  love  it ! 

[She  suddenly  sees  the  Statue  of  Cypris,  and  stands 
with  her  eyes  riveted  upon  it. 

Ah,  Cyprian  !  No  god  art  thou, 
But  more  than  god,  and  greater,  that  hath  thrust 
Me  and  my  queen  and  all  our  house  to  dust  ! 

[She  throws  herself  on  the  ground  close  to  the  statue. 

Chorus. 
Some  TVomen. 
O  Women,  have  ye  heard  ?     Nay,  dare  ye  hear 
The  desolate  cry  of  the  young  Queen's  misery  ? 
A  Woman. 
My  Queen,  I  love  thee  dear, 

Yet  liefer  were  I  dead  than  framed  like  thee. 
Others. 
Woe,  woe  to  me  for  this  thy  bitter  bane. 
Surely  the  food  man  feeds  upon  is  pain  ! 

Others. 
How  wilt  thou  bear  thee  through  this  livelong  day, 

Lost,  and  thine  evil  naked  to  the  light  ? 
Strange  things  are  close  upon  us — who  can  say 

How  strange  ? — save  one  thing  that  is  plain  to  sight. 
The  stroke  of  the  Cyprian  and  the  fall  thereof 
On  thee,  thou  child  of  the  Isle  of  fearful  Love  ! 

[Phaedra  during  this  has  risen  from  the  couch 
and  comes  forward  collectedly.  As  she  speaks 
the  Nurse  gradually  rouses  herself^  and  listens 
more  calmly. 


HIPPOLYTUS  23 


Phaedra. 


0  Women,  dwellers  in  this  portal-seat 

Of  Pelops'  land,  gazing  towards  my  Crete, 
How  oft,  in  other  days  than  these,  have  I 
Through  night's  long  hours  thought  of  man's  misery, 
And  how  this  life  is  wrecked  !     And,  to  mine  eyes, 
Not  in  man's  knowledge,  not  in  wisdom,  lies 
The  lack  that  makes  for  sorrow.     Nay,  we  scan 
And  know  the  right — for  wit  hath  many  a  man — 
But  will  not  to  the  last  end  strive  and  serve. 
For  some  grow  too  soon  weary,  and  some  swerve 
To  other  paths,  setting  before  the  Right 
The  diverse  far-oft  image  of  Delight ; 
And  many  are  delights  beneath  the  sun  ! 
Long  hours  of  converse  ;  and  to  sit  alone 
Musing — a  deadly  happiness  ! — and  Shame  : 
Though  two  things  there  be  hidden  in  one  name, 
And  Shame  can  be  slow  poison  if  it  will  1 

This  is  the  truth  I  saw  then,  and  see  still ; 
Nor  is  there  any  magic  that  can  stain 
That  white  truth  for  me,  or  make  me  blind  again. 
Come,  I  will  show  thee  how  my  spirit  hath  moved. 
Wlien  the  first  stab  came,  and  I  knew  I  loved, 

1  cast  about  how  best  to  face  mine  ill. 

And  the  first  thought  that  came,  was  to  be  still 
And  hide  my  sickness. — Fur  no  trust  there  is 
In  man's  tongue,  that  so  well  admonishes 
And  counsels  and  betrays,  and  waxes  fat 
With  griefs  of  its  own  gathering  ! — After  that 
I  would  my  madness  bravely  bear,  and  try 
To  conquer  by  mine  own  heart's  purity. 

My  third  mind,  when  these  two  availed  me  naught 


24  EURIPIDES 

To  quell  love,  was  to  die — 

[Afotion  of  protest  among  the  Women. 
the  best,  best  thought — 
— Gainsay  me  not — of  all  that  man  can  say  ! 
I  would  not  have  mine  honour  hidden  away  ; 
Why  should  I  have  my  shame  before  men's  eyes 
Kept  living  ?     And  I  knew,  in  deadly  wise. 
Shame  was  the  deed  and  shame  the  suffering ; 
And  I  a  woman,  too,  to  face  the  thing, 
Despised  of  all ! 

Oh,  utterly  accurst 
Be  she  of  women,  whoso  dared  the  first 
To  cast  her  honour  out  to  a  strange  man  ! 
'Twas  in  some  great  house,  surely,  that  began 
This  plague  upon  us  ;  then  the  baser  kind. 
When  the  good  led  towards  evil,  followed  blind 
And  joyous  !     Cursed  be  they  whose  lips  are  clean 
And  wise  and  seemly,  but  their  hearts  within 
Rank  with  bad  daring  !     How  can  they,  O  Thou 
That  walkest  on  the  waves,  great  Cyprian,  how 
Smile  in  their  husbands'  faces,  and  not  fall. 
Not  cower  before  the  Darkness  that  knows  all, 
Aye,  dread  the  dead  still  chambers,  lest  one  day 
The  stones  find  voice,  and  all  be  finished  ! 

Nay, 
Friends,  'tis  for  this  I  die  ;  lest  I  stand  there 
Having  shamed  my  husband  and  the  babes  I  bare. 
In  ancient  Athens  they  shall  some  day  dwell. 
My  babes,  free  men,  free-spoken,  honourable. 
And  when  one  asks  their  mother,  proud  of  me  ! 
For,  oh,  it  cows  a  man,  though  bold  he  be, 
To  know  a  mother's  or  a  father's  sin. 

'Tis  written,  one  way  is  there,  one,  to  win 


HIPPOLYTUS  25 

This  life's  race,  could  man  keep  it  from  his  birth, 
A  true  clean  spirit.     And  through  all  this  earth 
To  every  false  man,  that  hour  comes  apace 
When  Time  holds  up  a  mirror  to  his  face, 
And  girl-like,  marvelling,  there  he  stares  to  sec 
How  foul  his  heart  !     Be  it  not  so  with  me  ! 

Leader  of  Chorus. 
Ah  God,  how  sweet  is  virtue,  and  how  wise. 
And  honour  its  due  meed  in  all  men's  eyes  ! 

Nurse  {who  has  now  risen  and  recovered  herself). 

Mistress,  a  sharp  swift  terror  struck  me  low 
A  moment  since,  hearing  of  this  thy  woe. 
But  now — I  was  a  coward  1     And  men  say 
Our  second  thought  the  wiser  is  alway. 

This  is  no  monstrous  thing  ;  no  grief  too  dire 
To  meet  with  quiet  thinking.     In  her  ire 
A  most  strong  goddess  hath  swept  down  on  thee. 
Thou  lovest.     Is  that  so  strange  ?     Many  there  be 
Beside  thee  !  .  .  .  And  because  thou  lovest,  wilt  fall 
And  die  !     And  must  all  lovers  die,  then  ?     All 
That  are  or  shall  be  ?     A  blithe  law  for  them  ! 
Nay,  when  in  might  she  swoops,  no  strength  can  stem 
Cypris  ;  and  if  man  yields  him,  she  is  sweet ; 
But  is  he  proud  and  stubborn  ?     From  his  feet 
She  lifts  him,  and — how  think  you  r — flings  to  scorn  ! 

She  ranges  with  the  stars  of  eve  and  morn, 
She  wanders  in  the  heaving  of  the  sea, 
And  all  life  lives  from  her. — Aye,  this  is  she 
That  sows  Love's  seed  and  brings  Love's  fruit  to 

birth  ; 
And  great  Love's  brethren  arc  all  we  on  earth  ! 


26  EURIPIDES 

Nay,  they  who  con  grey  books  of  ancient  days 
Or  dwell  among  the  Muses,  tell — and  praise — 
How  Zeus  himself  once  yearned  for  Semeld  ; 
How  maiden  Eos  in  her  radiancy 
Swept  Kephalos  to  heaven  away,  away, 
For  sore   love's  sake.      And   there  they  dwell,  men 

say. 
And  fear  not,  fret  not ;  for  a  thing  too  stern 
Hath  met  and  crushed  them  ! 

And  must  thou,  then,  turn 
And  struggle  ?     Sprang  there  from  thy  father's  blood 
Thy  little  soul  all  lonely  ?     Or  the  god 
That  rules  thee,  is  he  other  than  our  gods  ? 

Nay,  yield  thee  to  men's  ways,  and  kiss  their  rods  ! 
How  many,  deem'st  thou,  of  men  good  and  wise, 
Know  their  own  home's  blot,  and  avert  their  eyes  ? 
How  many  fathers,  when  a  son  has  strayed 
And  toiled  beneath  the  Cyprian,  bring  him  aid. 
Not  chiding  ?     And  man's  wisdom  e'er  hath  been 
To  keep  what  is  not  good  to  see,  unseen  ! 

A  straight  and  perfect  life  is  not  for  man  ; 
Nay,  in  a  shut  house,  let  him,  if  he  can, 
'Mid  sheltered  rooms,  make  all  lines  true.     But  here. 
Out  in  the  wide  sea  fallen,  and  full  of  fear, 
Hopest  thou  so  easily  to  swim  to  land  ? 

Canst  thou  but  set  thine  ill  days  on  one  hand 
And  more  good  days  on  the  other,  verily, 
O  child  of  woman,  life  is  well  with  thee  ! 

[She  pauses^  and  then  draws  nearer  to  Phaedra. 
/Nay,  dear  my  daughter,  cease  thine  evil  mind, 
I  Cca.se  thy  fierce  pride  !     For  pride  it  is,  and  blind, 
'  To  seek  to  outpass  gods  ! — Love  on  and  dare  : 
A  god  hath  willed  it !     And,  since  pain  is  there, 


HIPPOLYTUS  27 

Make  the  pain  sleep  !     Songs  are  there  to  bring  calm, 
And  magic  words.     And  I  shall  find  the  balm, 
Be  sure,  to  heal  thee.     Else  in  sore  dismay- 
Were  men,  could  not  we  women  find  our  way  ! 

Leader  of  the  Chorus. 

Help  is  there,  Queen,  in  all  this  woman  says, 
To  ease  thy  suffering.     But  'tis  thee  I  praise  ; 
Albeit  that  praise  is  harder  to  thine  ear 
Than  all  her  chiding  was,  and  bitterer  ! 

Phaedra. 
Oh,  this  it  is  hath  flung  to  dogs  and  birds 
Men's  lives  and  homes  and  cities — fair  false  words  ! 
Oh,  why  speak  things  to  please  our  ears  ?     We  crave 
Not  that.     'Tis  honour,  honour,  we  must  save  ! 

Nurse. 
Why  prate  so  proud  ?     'Tis  no  words,  brave  nor  base, 
Thou  cravest ;  'tis  a  man's  arms  ! 

[Phaedra  moves  indignantly. 
Up  and  face 
The  truth  of  what  thou  art,  and  name  it  straight  ! 
Were  not  thy  life  thrown  open  here  for  Fate 
To  beat  on  ;  hadst  thou  been  a  woman  pure 
Or  wise  or  strong  ;  never  had  I  for  lure 
Of  joy  nor  heartache  led  thee  on  to  this  ! 
But  when  a  whole  life  one  great  battle  is, 
To  win  or  lose — no  man  can  blame  me  tiicn. 

Phaedra. 
Shame  on  thee  !     Lock  those  lips,  and  ne'er  again 
Let  word  nor  thought  so  foul  have  harbour  there  ! 


28  EURIPIDES 

Nurse. 
Foul,  if  thou  wilt  :  but  better  than  the  fair 
For  thee  and  me.     And  better,  too,  the  deed 
Behind  them,  if  it  save  thee  in  thy  need, 
Than  that  word  Honour  thou  wilt  die  to  win  ! 

Phaedra. 
Nay,  in  God's  name, — such  wisdom  and  such  sin 
Are  all  about  thy  lips  ! — urge  me  no  more. 
For  all  the  soul  within  me  is  wrought  o'er 
By  Love  ;  and  if  thou  speak  and  speak,  I  may 
Be  spent,  and  drift  where  now  I  shrink  away. 

Nurse. 
Well,  if  thou  wilt  ! — 'Twere  best  never  to  err, 
But,  having  erred,  to  take  a  counsellor 
Is  second. — Mark  me  now.     I  have  within 
Love-philtres,  to  make  peace  where  storm  hath  been. 
That,  with  no  shame,  no  scathe  of  mind,  shall  save 
Thy  life  from  anguish  ;  wilt  but  thou  be  brave  ! 

[To  hetsel/j  rejecting. 
Ah,  but  from  him,  the  well-beloved,  some  sign 
We  need,  or  word,  or  raiment's  hem,  to  twine 
Amid  the  charm,  and  one  spell  knit  from  twain. 

Phaedra. 
Is  it  a  potion  or  a  salve  ?     Be  plain. 

Nurse. 
Who  knows  ?    Seek  to  be  helped,  Child,  not  to  know. 

Phaedra. 
Why  art  thou  ever  subtle  ?     I  dread  thee,  so. 


HIPPOLYTUS  29 

Nurse. 

Thou  wouldst   dread  everything  ! — What   dost   thou 
dread  r 

Phaedra. 

Lest  to  his  ear  some  word  be  whispered. 

Nurse. 

Let  be,  Child  !     I  will  make  all  well  with  thee  ! 

— Only  do  thou,  O  Cyprian  of  the  Sea, 

Be   with   me  !      And   mine   own   heart,   come   what 
may. 

Shall  know  what  ear  to  seek,  what  word  to  say  ! 

[The  Nurse,  having  spoken  these  last  tvords  in 
prayer  apart  to  the  Statue  o/"Cypris,  turns 
back  and  goes  into  the  house.  Phaedra  sits 
pensive  again  on  her  couch  till  toivards  the 
end  of  the  following  Song^  when  she  rises  and 
bends  close  to  the  door. 

Chorus. 

Eros,  Er6s,  who  blindest,  tear  by  tear, 

Men's  eyes  with  hunger  ;  thou  swift  Foe, 
that  pliest 
Deep  in  our  hearts  joy  like  an  edged  spear  ; 
Come  not  to  me  with  Evil  haunting  near. 
Wrath  on  the  wind,  nor  jarring  of  the  clear 


Wing's  music  as  thou  fl 


ou  niest 


There  is  no  shaft  that  burneth,  not  in  fire, 
Not  in  wild  stars,  far  off  and  flinging  fear, 
As  in  thine  hands  the  shaft  of  All  Desire, 
Eros,  Child  of  the  Highest  ! 


30  EURIPIDES 

In  vain,  in  vain,  by  old  Alpheus'  shore 

The  blood  of  many  bulls  doth  stain  the  river. 
And  all  Greece  bows  on  Phoebus'  Pythian  floor  ; 
Yet  bring  we  to  the  Master  of  Man  no  store, 
The  Keybearer,  who  standeth  at  the  door 

Close-barred,  where  hideth  ever 
Love's  inmost  jewel.    Yea,  though  he  sack  man's 
life 
Like  a  sacked  city,  and  moveth  evermore 
Girt  with  calamity  and  strange  ways  of  strife, 
Him  have  we  worshipped  never  ! 


There  roamed  a  Steed  in  Oechalia's  wild, 
A  Maid  without  yoke,  without  Master, 
And  Love  she  knew  not,  that  far  King's  child  : 
But  he  came,  he  came,  with  a  Song  in  the  night. 
With  fire,  with  blood  ;  and  she  strove  in  flight, 
A  Torrent  Spirit,  a  Maenad  white, 
Faster  and  vainly  faster, 
Sealed  unto  Heracles  by  the  Cyprian's  Might. 
Alas,  thou  Bride  of  Disaster  ! 

O  Mouth  of  Dirce,  O  god-built  wall, 

That  Dirce's  wells  run  under, 
Ye  know  the  Cyprian's  fleet  footfall  ! 
Ye  saw  the  heavens  around  her  flare. 
When  she  lulled  to  her  sleep  that  Mother  fair 
Of  Twy-born  Bacchus,  and  decked  her  there 
The  Bride  of  the  bladed  Thunder. 
For  her  breath  is  on  all  that  hath  life,  and  she  floats  in 
the  air. 
Bee-like,  death-like,  a  Wonder. 
[During  the  last  lines  Phaedra  has  approached 
the  door  and  is  listening. 


HIPPOLYTUS  31 

Phaedra. 
Silence,  ye  Women  !     Something  is  amiss. 

Leader. 
How  r     In  the  house  r — Phaedra,  what  fear  is  this  ? 

Phaedra. 
Let  me  but  h'sten  !     There  are  voices.     Hark  ! 

Leader. 
I  hold  my  peace  :  yet  is  thy  presage  dark. 

Phaedra. 
Oh,  misery  I 
O  God,  that  such  a  thing  should  fall  on  mc  ! 

Leader. 
What  sound,  what  word, 

0  Woman,  Friend,  makes  that  sharp  terror  start 
Out  at  thy  lips  ?     What  ominous  cry  half-heard 

Hath  leapt  upon  thine  heart  ? 

Phaedra. 

1  am  undone  ! — Bend  to  the  door  and  hark. 

Hark  what  a  tone  sounds  there,  and  sinks  away  ! 

Leader. 
Thou  art  beside  the  bars.     'Tis  thine  to  mark 
The  castle's  floating  message.     Say,  Oh,  say 
What  thing  hath  come  to  thee  .? 

Phaedra  {calmly). 
Why,  what  thing  should  it  be  ? 
The  son  of  that  proud  Amazon  speaks  again 
In  bitter  wrath  :  speaks  to  my  handmaiden  ! 


32  EURIPIDES 

Leader. 
I  hear  a  noise  of  voices,  nothing  clear. 

For  thee  the  din  hath  words,  as  through  barred  locks 
Floating,  at  thy  heart  it  knocks. 

Phaedra. 
"  Pander  of  Sin  "  it  says. — Now  canst  thou  hear  ? — 
And  there  :  "  Betrayer  of  a  master's  bed." 

Leader. 
Ah  me,  betrayed  !     Betrayed  ! 
Sweet  Princess,  thou  art  ill  bested, 
Thy  secret  brought  to  light,  and  ruin  near, 

By  them  thou  heldest  dear. 
By  them  that  should  have  loved  thee  and  obeyed  ! 

Phaedra. 
Aye,  I  am  slain.     She  thought  to  help  my  fall 
With  love  instead  of  honour,  and  wrecked  all. 

Leader. 
Where  wilt  thou  turn  thee,  where  ? 
And  what  help  seek,  O  wounded  to  despair  ? 

Phaedra. 
I  know  not,  save  one  thing,  to  die  right  soon. 
For  such  as  me  God  keeps  no  other  boon. 

[^The  door  in  the  centre  bursts  opeuy  and  HlPPO- 
LYTUS  comes  forth^  closely  followed  by  the 
Nurse.     Phaedra  cowers  aside. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

O  Mother  Earth,  O  Sun  that  makest  clean. 
What  poison  have  I  heard,  what  speechless  sin  ! 


HIPPOLYTUS  33 

Nurse. 
Hush,  O  my  Prince,  lest  others  mark,  and  guess  .  .  . 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

I  have  heard  horrors  !     Shall  I  hold  my  peace  ? 

Nurse. 
Yea,  by  this  fair  right  arm,  Son,  by  thy  pledge  .  .  . 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Down  with  that  hand  !      Touch  not  my  garment's 
edge  ! 

Nurse. 

Oh,  by  thv  knees,  be  silent  or  I  die  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Why,  when  thy  speech  was  all  so  guiltless  ?     Why  P 

Nurse. 
It  is  not  meet,  fair  Son,  for  every  ear  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Good  words  can  bravely  forth,  and  have  no  fear. 

Nurse. 
Thine  oath,  thine  oath  !     I  took  thine  oath  before  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

'Twas  but  my  tongue,  'twas  not  my  soul  that  swore. 

Nurse. 

O  Son,  what  wilt  thou  ?     Wilt  thou  slay  thy  kin  ? 

C 


-^ 


34  EURIPIDES 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

I  own  no  kindred  with  the  spawn  of  sin  ! 

\_He  Jlings  her  from  him. 
Nurse, 
Nay,  spare  me  !     Man  was  born  to  err  ;  oh,  spare  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

O  God,  why  hast  Thou  made  this  gleaming  snare. 
Woman,  to  dog  us  on  the  happy  earth  ? 
Was  it  Thy  will  to  make  Man,  why  his  birth 
Through  Love  and  Woman  ?    Could  we  not  have  rolled 
Our  store  of  prayer  and  offering,  royal  gold. 
Silver  and  weight  of  bronze  before  Thy  feet. 
And  bought  of  God  new  child-souls,  as  were  meet 
For  each  man's  sacrifice,  and  dwelt  in  homes 
Free,  where  nor  Love  nor  Woman  goes  and  comes  ? 

How,  is  that  daughter  not  a  bane  confessed. 
Whom   her  own  sire   sends   forth — (He  knows   her 

best  !)— 
And,  will  some  man  but  take  her,  pays  a  dower  ! 
And  he,  poor  fool,  takes  home  the  poison-flower  ; 
Laughs  to  hang  jewels  on  the  deadly  thing 
He  joys  in  j  labours  for  her  robe-wearing, 
Till  wealth  and  peace  are  dead.     He  smarts  the  less 
In  whose  high  seat  is  set  a  Nothingness, 
A  woman  naught  availing.     Worst  of  all 
The  wise  deep-thoughted  !     Never  in  my  hall 
May  she  sit  throned  who  thinks  and  waits  and  sighs  ! 
For  Cypris  breeds  most  evil  in  the  wise. 
And  least  in  her  whose  heart  has  naught  within  ; 
For  puny  wit  can  work  but  puny  sin. 

Why  do  we  let  their  handmaids  pass  the  gate  ? 
Wild  beasts  were  best,  voiceless  and  fanged,  to  wait 


HIPPOLYTUS  35 

About  their  rooms,  that  they  might  speak  with  none, 

Nor  ever  hear  one  answering  human  tone  ! 

But  now  dark  women  in  still  chambers  lay 

Plans  that  creep  out  into  the  light  of  day 

On  handmaids'  lips —  [Turning  to  the  Nurse. 

As  thine  accursed  head 
Braved  the  high  honour  of  my  Father's  bed, 
And  came  to  traffic,   .  .  ,   Our  white  torrent's  spray 
Shall  drench  mine  ears  to  wash  those  words  away  ! 
And  couidst  thou  dream  that  /  .  .  .  ?     I  feel  impure 
Still  at  the  very  hearing  !     Know  for  sure. 
Woman,  naught  but  mine  honour  saves  ye  both. 
Hadst  thou  not  trapped  me  with  that  guileful  oath, 
No  power  had  held  me  secret  till  the  King 
Knew  all  !     But  now,  while  he  is  journeying, 
I  too  will  go  my  ways  and  make  no  sound. 
And  when  he  comes  again,  I  shall  be  found 
Beside  him,  silent,  watching  with  what  grace 
Thou  and  thy  mistress  greet  him  face  to  face  ! 
Then  shall  I  have  the  taste  of  it,  and  know 
What  woman's  guile  is. — Woe  upon  you,  woe  ! 
How  can  I  too  much  hate  you,  while  the  ill 
Ye  work  upon  the  world  grows  deadlier  still  ? 
Too  much  ?    Make  woman  pure,  and  wild  Love  tame, 
Or  let  me  cry  for  ever  on  their  shame  ! 

\He  goes  off  in  fury  to  the  left.     Phaedra  itill 
cowering  in  her  place  begins  to  sob. 

^  Phaedra. 

Sad,  sad  and  evil-starred 
Is  Woman's  state. 
What  shelter  now  is  left  or  guard  ? 
What  spell  to  loose  the  iron  knot  of  fate  ? 


36  EURIPIDES 

And  this  thing,  O  my  God, 

0  thou  sweet  Sunh'ght,  is  but  my  desert ! 

1  cannot  fly  before  the  avenging  rod 

Falls,  cannot  hide  my  hurt. 
What  help,  O  ye  who  love  me,  can  come  near. 

What  god  or  man  appear. 
To  aid  a  thing  so  evil  and  so  lost  ? 
Lost,  for  this  anguish  presses,  soon  or  late, 
To  that  swift  river  that  no  life  hath  crossed. 
No  woman  ever  lived  so  desolate  ! 

Leader  of  the  Chorus. 

Ah  me,  the  time  for  deeds  is  gone ;  the  boast 
Proved  vain  that  spake  thine  handmaid  ;  and  all  lost ! 
[/f/    these   words    Phaedra  suddenly   remembers 
the  Nurse,  who  is  cowering  silently  where 
HiPPOLYTUS  had  thrown  her  from  him.    She 
turns  upon  her. 

Phaedra. 

0  vilest  of  the  vile,  O  murderess  heart 

To  them  that  loved  thee,  hast  thou  played  thy  part  T 
Am  I  enough  trod  down  ? 

May  Zeus,  my  sire. 
Blast  and  uproot  thee  I     Stab  thee  dead  with  fire  ! 
Said  I  not — Knew  I  not  thine  heart  ? — to  name 
To  no  one  soul  this  that  is  now  my  shame  r 
And  thou  couldst  not  be  silent !     So  no  more 

1  die  in  honour.     But  enough  ;  a  store 

Of  new  words  must  be  spoke  and  new  things  thought. 
This  man's  whole  being  to  one  blade  is  wrought 
Of  rage  against  me.     Even  now  he  speeds 
To  abase  me  to  the  King  with  thy  misdeeds  ; 


HIPPOLYTUS  37 

Tell  Pitthcus  ;  fill  the  land  with  talk  of  sin  ! 

Cursed  be  thou,  and  whoso  else  leaps  in 
To  bring  bad  aid  to  friends  that  want  it  not. 

[Tilt;  Nurse  has  raised  herselj\  and  faces 
Phaedra,  downcast  but  calm. 

Nurse. 

Mistress,  thou  blamest  me  ;  and  all  thy  lot 

So  bitter  sore  is,  and  the  sting  so  wild, 

I  bear  with  all.     Yet,  if  I  would,  my  Child, 

I  have  mine  answer,  couldst  thou  hearken  aught. 

I  nursed  thee,  and  I  love  thee  ;  and  I  sought 
Only  some  balm  to  heal  thy  deep  despair. 
And  found — not  what  I  sought  for.     Else  I  were 
Wise,  and  thy  friend,  and  good,  had  all  sped  right. 
So  fares  it  with  us  all  in  the  world's  sight. 

Phaedra. 

First  stab  me  to  the  heart,  then  humour  me 
With  words  1     'Tis  fair  ;  'tis  all  as  it  should  be  ! 

Nurse. 

We  talk  too  long,  Child.     I  did  ill  ;  but,  oh. 
There  is  a  way  to  save  thee,  even  so  I 

Phaedra. 

A  way  ?     No  more  ways  !     One  way  hast  thou  trod 
Already,  foul  and  false  and  loathed  of  god  ! 
Begone  out  of  my  sight  ;  and  ponder  how 
Thine  own  life  stands  1     I  need  no  helpers  now. 

[She  turns  from  the  Nurse,  who  creeps  abashed 
away  into  the  Castle. 


38  EURIPIDES 

Only  do  ye,  high  Daughters  of  Troz^n, 
Let  all  ye  hear  be  as  it  had  not  been  ; 
Know  naught,  and  speak  of  naught !     'Tis  my  last 
prayer. 

Leader. 

By  God's  pure  daughter,  Artemis,  I  swear. 
No  word  will  I  of  these  thy  griefs  reveal ! 

Phaedra. 
'Tis  well.     But  now,  yea,  even  while  I  reel 
And  falter,  one  poor  hope,  as  hope  now  is, 
I  clutch  at  in  this  coil  of  miseries  ; 
To  save  some  honour  for  my  children's  sake  ; 
Yea,  for  myself  some  fragment,  though  things  break 
In  ruin  around  me.     Nay,  I  will  not  shame 
The  old  proud  Cretan  castle  whence  I  came, 
I  will  not  cower  before  King  Theseus'  eyes, 
Abased,  for  want  of  one  life's  sacrifice  ! 

Leader. 
What  wilt  thou  ?     Some  dire  deed  beyond  recall  ? 

Phaedra  [musing). 
Die  ;  but  how  die  ? 

Leader. 
Let  not  such  wild  words  fall  I 

Phaedra  {turfiing  upon  her). 
Give  thou  not  such  light  counsel  !     Let  me  be 
To  sate  the  Cyprian  that  is  murdering  me  1 
To-day  shall  be  her  day  ;  and,  all  strife  past, 
Her  bitter  Love  shall  quell  me  at  the  last. 


HIPPOLYTUS  39 

Yet,  dying,  shall  I  die  another's  bane  ! 
(  He  shall  not  stand  so  proud  where  I  have  lain     1 
^  Rent  in  the  dust !     Oh,  he  shall  stoop  to  share    ) 
The  life  I  live  in,  and  learn  mercy  there  ! 

[She  goes  off  wildly  into  the  Castle. 


Chorus. 

Could  I  take  me  to  some  cavern  for  mine  hiding, 

In  the  hill-tops  where  the  Sun  scarce  hath  trod 
Or  a  cloud  make  the  home  of  mine  abiding, 

As  a  bird  among  the  bird-droves  of  God  ! 
Could  I  wing  me  to  my  rest  amid  the  roar 
Of  the  deep  Adriatic  on  the  shore, 
Where  the  water  of  Eridanus  is  clear, 

And  Phatithon's  sad  sisters  by  his  grave 
Weep  into  the  river,  and  each  tear 

Gleams,  a  drop  of  amber,  in  the  wave. 

To  the  strand  of  the  Daughters  of  the  Sunset, 

The  Apple-tree,  the  singing  and  the  gold  ; 
Where  the  mariner  must  stay  him  from  his  onset, 

And  the  red  wave  is  tranquil  as  of  old  ; 
Yea,  beyond  that  Pillar  of  the  End 
That  Atlas  guardeth,  would  I  wend  ; 
Where  a  voice  of  living  waters  never  ceaseth 

In  God's  quiet  garden  by  the  sea, 
And  Earth,  the  ancient  life-giver,  increaseth 

Joy  among  the  meadows,  like  a  tree. 


O  shallop  of  Crete,  whose  milk-white  wing 
Through  the  swell  and  the  storm-beating. 


40  EURIPIDES 

Bore  us  thy  Prince's  daughter, 
Was  it  well  she  came  from  a  joyous  home 
To  a  far  King's  bridal  across  the  foam  ? 

What  joy  hath  her  bridal  brought  her  ? 
Sure  some  spell  upon  either  hand 
Flew  with  thee  from  the  Cretan  strand, 
Seeking  Athena's  tower  divine  ; 
And  there,  where  Munychus  fronts  the  brine, 
Crept  by  the  shore-flung  cables'  line. 

The  curse  from  the  Cretan  water  ! 

And,  for  that  dark  spell  that  about  her  clings, 
Sick  desires  of  forbidden  things 

The  soul  of  her  rend  and  sever  ; 
The  bitter  tide  of  calamity 
Hath  risen  above  her  lips ;  and  she, 

Where  bends  she  her  last  endeavour  ? 
She  will  hie  her  alone  to  her  bridal  room. 
And  a  rope  swing  slow  in  the  rafters'  gloom  ; 
And  a  fair  white  neck  shall  creep  to  the  noose, 
A-shudder  with  dread,  yet  firm  to  choose 
The  one  strait  way  for  fame,  and  lose 

The  Love  and  the  pain  for  ever. 

[The  Voice  of  the  Nurse  is  heard  from  within^ 
crying^  at  first  inarticulately^  then  clearly. 

Voice. 
Help  ho  !     The  Queen  !     Help,  whoso  hearkeneth  ! 
Help  !     Theseus'  spouse  caught  in  a  noose  of  death  ! 

A  Woman. 

God,  is  it  so  soon  finished  ?     That  bright  head 
Swinging  beneath  the  rafters  !     Phaedra  dead  ! 


HIPPOLYTUS  41 

Voice. 
O  haste  !     This  knot  about  her  throat  is  made 
So  fast  !     Will  no  one  bring  me  a  swift  blade  ? 

A  Woman. 
Say,  friends,  what  think  ye  ?    Should  we  haste  within, 
And  from  her  own  hand's  knotting  loose  the  Queen  r 

Another. 
Nay,  are  there  not  men  there  ?     'Tis  an  ill  road 
In  hfe,  to  finger  at  another's  load. 

Voice. 
Let  it  lie  straight  !     Alas  !  the  cold  white  thing 
That  guards  his  empty  castle  for  the  King  ! 

A  Woman. 

Ah  !   '  Let  it  lie  straight  ! '     Heard  ye  what  she  said  ? 

No  need  for  helpers  now  ;  the  Queen  is  dead  I 

[T/;f  JVomen^  intent  upon  the  voices  from  the 
Castle^  have  not  noticed  the  approach  of 
Theseus.  He  enters  from  the  left ;  his 
dress  and  the  garland  on  his  head  show  that 
he  has  returned  from  some  oracle  or  special 
abode  of  a  God,  He  stands  for  a  moment 
perplexed. 

Theseus. 
Ho,  Women,  and  what  means  this  loud  acclaim 
Within  the  house  ?     The  vassals'  outcry  came 
To  smite  mine  ears  far  off.     It  were  more  meet 
To  fling  out  wide  the  Castle  gates,  and  greet 


42  EURIPIDES 

With  joy  a  herald  from  God's  Presence  ! 

\_The  confusion  and  horror  of  the  Women  s  faces 
gradually  affects  him.  A  dirge-cry  comes 
from  the  Castle. 

How? 
Not  Pittheus  ?     Hath  Time  struck  that  hoary  brow  ? 
Old  is  he,  old,  I  know.     But  sore  it  were, 
Returning  thus,  to  find  his  empty  chair  ! 

\The  Women  hesitate ;  then  the  Leader  cornes  forward. 

Leader. 
O  Theseus,  not  on  any  old  man's  head 
This  stroke  falls.     Young  and  tender  is  the  dead. 

Theseus. 
Ye  Gods  !     One  of  my  children  torn  from  me  \ 

Leader. 
Thy  motherless  children  live,  most  grievously. 

Theseus. 
How  sayst  thou  ?     What  ?     My  wife  ?  .  .  . 

Say  how  she  died. 

Leader. 
In  a  high  death-knot  that  her  own  hands  tied. 

Theseus. 
A  fit  of  the  old  cold  anguish — Tell  me  all — 
That  held  her  ?     Or  did  some  fresh  thing  befall  ? 

Leader. 
We  know  no  more.     But  now  arrived  we  be, 
Theseus,  to  mourn  for  thy  calamity. 

[Theseus  stays  for  a  moment  silent^  and  puts  his 
hand  to  his  brow.     He  notices  the  wreath. 


HIPPOLYTUS  43 

Theseus. 

What  ?     And  all  garlanded  I  come  to  her 

\Vith  flowers,  most  evil-starred  God's-messengcr  ! 

Ho,  varlets,  loose  the  portal  bars  ;  undo 
The  bolts  ;  and  let  me  see  the  bitter  view 
Of  her  whose  death  hath  brought  me  to  mine  own. 

\_The  great  centra/  door  of  the  Castle  is  thrown 
open  widey  and  the  body  of  Phaedra  is  seen 
lying  on  a  bier^  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
Handmaids^  wailing. 

The  Handmaids. 

Ah  me,  what  thou  hast  suffered  and  hast  done  : 

A  deed  to  wrap  this  roof  in  flame  ! 
Why  was  thine  hand  so  strong,  thine  heart  so  bold  ? 
Wherefore,  O  dead  in  anger,  dead  in  shame. 
The  long,  long  wrestling  ere  thy  breath  was  cold  r 

O  ill-starred  Wife, 
What  brought  this  blackness  over  all  thy  life  ? 

\_A  throng  of  Men  and  JVomen  has  gradually 
collected. 

Theseus. 

Ah  mc,  this  is  the  last 
— Hear,  O  my  countrymen  ! — and  bitterest 
Of  Theseus'  labours  !     Fortune  all  unblest. 
How  hath  thine  heavy  heel  across  me  passed  ! 
Is  it  the  stain  of  sins  done  long  ago, 

Some  fell  God  still  remembereth, 
That  must  so  dim  and  fret  my  life  with  death  r 
I  cannot  win  to  shore  ;  and  the  waves  flow 


44  EURIPIDES 

Above  mine  eyes,  to  be  surmounted  not. 

Ah  wife,  sweet  wife,  what  name 

Can  fit  thine  heavy  lot  ? 
Gone  like  a  wild  bird,  like  a  blowing  flame. 
In  one  swift  gust,  where  all  things  are  forgot ! 

Alas  !  this  misery  ! 
Sure  'tis  some  stroke  of  God's  great  anger  rolled 

From  age  to  age  on  me, 
For  some  dire  sin  wrought  by  dim  kings  of  old. 

Leader. 

Sire,  this  great  grief  hath  come  to  many  an  one, 
A  true  wife  lost.     Thou  art  not  all  alone. 

Theseus. 

Deep,  deep  beneath  the  Earth, 
Dark  may  my  dwelling  be. 
And  Night  my  heart's  one  comrade,  in  the  dearth, 
O  Love,  of  thy  most  sweet  society. 
This  is  my  death,  O  Phaedra,  more  than  thine. 

[^He  turns  suddenly  on  the  Attendants, 
Speak  who  speak  can  ?  What  was  it  ?  What  malign 
Swift  stroke,  O  heart  discounselled,  leapt  on  thee  ? 

[^He  bends  over  Phaedra  ;  theuy  as  no  one  speaks^ 
looks  fiercely  up. 
What,  will  ye  speak  ?     Or  are  they  dumb  as  death. 
This  herd  of  thralls,  my  high  house  harboureth  ? 

[There   is    no    answer.       He    bends    again    over 
Phaedra. 
Ah  me,  why  shouldst  thou  die  ? 
A  wide  and  royal  grief  I  here  behold, 
Not  to  be  borne  in  peace,  not  to  be  told. 
As  a  lost  man  am  I, 


HIPPOLYTUS  45 

My  children  motherless  and  my  house  undone, 

Since  thou  art  vanished  quite, 
Purest  of  hearts  that  e'er  the  wandering  Sun 
Touched,  or  the  star-eyed  splendour  of  the  Night, 

[He  throws  himself  beside  the  body. 

Chorus. 

Unhappy  one,  O  most  unhappy  one  ; 

With  what  strange  evil  is  this  Castle  vexed  I 
Mine  eyes  are  molten  with  the  tears  that  run 

For  thee  and  thine  ;  but  what  thing  follows  next  ? 
I  tremble  when  I  think  thereon  ! 
{They  have   noticed   that   there   is  a  tablet  with 
writing  fastened  to  the  dead  woman* s  zurist. 
Theseus  also  sees  it. 

Theseus. 

Ha,  what  is  this  that  hangs  from  her  dear  hand  ? 
A  tablet  !     It  would  make  me  understand 
Some  dying  wish,  some  charge  about  her  bed 
And  children.     'Twas  the  last  prayer,  ere  her  head 
Was  bowed  for  ever.  [Taking  the  tablet. 

Fear  not,  my  lost  bride, 
No  woman  born  shall  lie  at  Theseus'  side, 
Nor  rule  in  Theseus'  house  ! 

A  seal  !     Ah,  see 
How  her  gold  signet  here  looks  up  at  me. 
Trustfully.     Let  me  tear  this  thread  away, 
And  read  what  tale  the  tablet  seeks  to  say. 

[He  proceeds  to  undo  and  read  the  tablet.      The 
Chorus  breaks  into  horrified  groups. 


46  EURIPIDES 

Some  Women. 

Woe,  woe  !     God  brings  to  birth 
A  new  grief  here,  close  on  the  other's  tread  ! 

My  hfe  hath  lost  its  worth. 
May  all  go  now  with  what  is  finished  ! 
The  castle  of  my  King  is  overthrown, 
A  house  no  more,  a  house  vanished  and  gone  ! 

Other  Women. 

0  God,  if  it  may  be  in  any  way. 

Let  not  this  house  be  wrecked  !     Help  us  who  pray  ! 

1  know  not  what  is  here  :  some  unseen  thing 
That  shows  the  Bird  of  Evil  on  the  wing. 

[Theseus  has  read  the  tablet  and  breaks  out  in 
uncontrollable  emotion. 

Theseus. 

Oh,  horror  piled  on  horror  ! — Here  is  writ  .  .  . 
Nay,  who  could  bear  it,  who  could  speak  of  it  ? 

Leader. 
What,  O  my  King  ?     If  I  may  hear  it,  speak  ! 

Theseus. 
Doth  not  the  tablet  cry  aloud,  yea,  shriek, 
Things  not  to  be  forgotten  .? — Oh,  to  fly 
And  hide  mine  head  !     No  more  a  man  am  I. 
Ah,  God,  what  ghastly  music  echoes  here  ! 

Leader. 
How  wild  thy  voice  !     Some  terrible  thing  is  near. 


HIPPOLYTUS  47 

Theseus. 
No  ;  my  lips'  gates  will  hold  it  back  no  more  ; 

This  deadly  word, 
That  struggles  on  the  brink  and  will  not  o'er, 
Yet  will  not  stay  unheard. 
[He  raises  his  hand^to  make  proclamation  to  all  present. 
Ho,  hearken  all  this  land  ! 

[The  people  gather  expectantly  about  him. 
Hippolytus  by  violence  hath  laid  hand 
On  this  my  wife,  forgetting  God's  great  eye. 

[Murmurs  of  amazement  and  horror  ;  Theseus, 
apparently  calm^  raises  both  arms  to  heaven. 
Therefore,  O  Thou  my  Father,  hear  my  cry, 
Poseidon  !     Thou  didst  grant  me  for  mine  own 
Three  prayers  ;  for  one  of  these,  slay  now  my  son, 
Hippolytus  ;  let  him  not  outlive  this  day. 
If  true  thy  promise  was  !     Lo,  thus  I  pray. 

Leader. 
Oh,  call  that  wild  prayer  back  !     O  King,  take  heed  ! 
I  know  that  thou  wilt  live  to  rue  this  deed. 

Theseus. 
It  may  not  be. — And  more,  I  cast  him  out 
From  all  my  realms.     He  shall  be  held  about 
By  two  great  dooms.     Or  by  Poseidon's  breath 
He  shall  fall  swiftly  to  the  house  of  Death  ; 
Or  wandering,  outcast,  'twixt  strange  land  and  sea. 
Shall  live  and  drain  the  cup  of  misery. 

Leader. 
Ah,  see  !   here  comes  he  at  the  point  of  need. 
Shake  off  that  evil  mood,  O  King  :   have  heed 


48  EURIPIDES 

For  all  thine  house  and  folk. — Great  Theseus,  hear  ! 
[Theseus  stands  silent  in  fierce  gloom.     Hippo- 
LYTUS  comes  in  from  the  right. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Father,  I  heard  thy  cry,  and  sped  in  fear 
To  help  thee. — But  I  see  not  yet  the  cause 
That  racked  thee  so. — Say,  Father,  what  it  was. 

[The  murmurs  in  the  crowd^  the  silent  gloom  of 
his  Father^  and  the  horror  of  the  Chorus- 
women  gradually  work  on   HiPPOLYTUS  and 
heivilder  him.     He  catches  sight  of  the  bier. 
Ah,  what  is  that  I     Nay,  Father,  not  the  Queen 
Dead  !     [Murmurs  in  the  crowd.) 

'Tis  most  strange.    'Tis  passing  strange,  I  ween. 
'Twas  here  I  left  her.     Scarce  an  hour  hath  run 
Since  here  she  stood  and  looked  on  this  same  sun. 
What  is  it  with  her  .?     Wherefore  did  she  die  ? 

[Theseus  remains  silent.      The  murmurs  increase. 
Father,  to  thee  I  speak.     Oh,  tell  me,  why. 
Why  art  thou  silent  ?     What  doth  silence  know 
Of  skill  to  stem  the  bitter  flood  of  woe  ? 
And  human  hearts  in  sorrow  crave  the  more 
For  knowledge,  though  the  knowledge  grieve  them  sore. 
It  is  not  love,  to  veil  thy  sorrows  in 
From  one  most  near  to  thee,  and  more  than  kia 

Theseus  {to  himself). 
Fond  race  of  men,  so  striving  and  so  blind. 
Ten  thousand  arts  and  wisdoms  can  ye  find. 
Desiring  all  and  all  imagining  : 
But  ne'er  have  reached  nor  understood  one  thing. 
To  make  a  wise  heart  there  where  no  heart  is  ! 


HIPPOLYTUS  49 

HiPPOI.YTUS. 

That  were  indeed  beyond  man's  mysteries, 
To  force  a  fool's  heart  wise  against  his  will. 
But  why  this  subtle  talk  ?     It  likes  me  ill, 
Father ;  thy  speech  runs  wild  beneath  this  blow. 

Theseus  {as  before). 
O  would  that  God  had  given  us  here  below 
Some  test  of  love,  some  sifting  of  the  soul, 
To  tell  the  false  and  true  !     Or  through  the  whole 
Of  men  two  voices  ran,  one  true  and  right, 
The  other  as  chance  willed  it ;  that  we  might 
Convict  the  liar  by  his  own  true  tone. 
And  not  live  duped  forever,  every  one  ! 

HlPPOLYTUS  (misunderstanding  him  ;  then  guessing  at 
something  of  the  truth). 
What  ?     Hath  some  friend  proved  false  ? 

Or  in  thine  ear 
Whispered  some  slander  ?     Stand  I  tainted  here. 
Though  utterly  innocent  ?      [Murmurs  from  the  crowd. 

Yea,  dazed  am  I  ; 
'Tis  thv  words  daze  me,  falling  all  awry, 
Away  from  reason,  by  fell  fancies  vexed  ! 

Theseus. 

O  heart  of  man,  what  height  wilt  venture  next  ? 
What  end  comes  to  thy  daring  and  thy  crime  ? 
For  if  with  each  man's  life  'twill  higher  climb. 
And  every  age  break  out  in  blood  and  lies 
Beyond  its  fathers,  must  not  God  devise 
Some  new  world  far  from  ours,  to  hold  therein 
Such  brood  of  all  unfaithfulness  and  sin  ? 

D 


50  EURIPIDES 

Look,  all,  upon  this  man,  my  son,  his  life 
Sprung  forth  from  mine  !     He  hath  defiled  my 

wife  ; 
And  standeth  here  convicted  by  the  dead, 
A  most  black  villain  ! 

[HiPPOLYTUS  falls  hack  with  a  cry  and  covers  his 
face  with  his  robe. 

Nay,  hide  not  thine  head  ! 
Pollution,  is  it  ?     Thee  it  vfiW  not  stain. 
Look  up,  and  face  thy  Father's  eyes  again  ! 

Thou  friend  of  Gods,  of  all  mankind  elect ; 
Thou  the  pure  heart,  by  thoughts  of  ill  unflecked  ! 
I  care  not  for  thy  boasts.     I  am  not  mad, 
To  deem  that  Gods  love  best  the  base  and  bad. 

Now  is  thy  day  !     Now  vaunt  thee  ;  thou  so  pure. 
No  flesh  of  life  may  pass  thy  lips  !     Now  lure 
Fools  after  thee  ;  call  Orpheus  King  and  Lord  ; 
Make  ecstasies  and  wonders  !     Thumb  thine  hoard 
Of  ancient  scrolls  and  ghostly  mysteries — 
Now  thou  art  caught  and  known  !. 

Shun  men  like  these, 
I  charge  ye  all !     With  solemn  words  they  chase 
Their  prey,  and  in  their  hearts  plot  foul  disgrace. 

My  wife  is  dead. — '  Ha,  so  that  saves  thee  now  ? ' 
That  is  what  grips  thee  worst,  thou  caitiff,  thou  ! 
What  oaths,  what  subtle  words,  shall  stronger  be 
Than  this  dead  hand,  to  clear  the  guilt  from  thee  ? 

'  She  hated  thee,'  thou  sayest ;  '  the  bastard  born 
Is  ever  sore  and  bitter  as  a  thorn 
To  the  true  brood.' — A  sorry  bargainer 
In  the  ills  and  goods  of  life  thou  makest  her, 
If  all  her  best-beloved  she  cast  away 
To  wreak  her  hate  on  thee  ! — What,  wilt  thou  say, 


HIPPOLYTUS  51 

'  Through  every  woman's  nature  one  blind  strand 

Of  passion  winds,  that  men  scarce  understand  ? ' 

Are  they  so  different  ?     Know  I  not  the  fire 

And  perilous  flood  of  a  young  man's  desire, 

Desperate  as  any  woman,  and  as  blind, 

When  Cvpris  stings  r     Save  that  the  man  behind 

Has  all  men's  strength  to  aid  him.    Nay,  'twas  thou  .  . . 

But  what  avail  to  wrangle  with  thee  now, 
When  the  dead  speaks  for  all  to  understand, 
A  perfect  witness  ! 

Hie  thee  from  this  land 
To  exile  with  all  speed.     Come  never  more 
To  god-built  Athens,  not  to  the  utmost  shore 
Of  any  realm  where  Theseus'  arm  is  strong  ! 
What  ?     Shall  I  bow  my  head  beneath  this  wrong, 
And  cower  to  thee  ?     Not  Isthmian  Sinis  so 
Will  bear  men  witness  that  I  laid  him  low. 
Nor  Skiron's  rocks,  that  share  the  salt  sea's  prey, 
Grant  that  my  hand  hath  weight  vile  things  to  slay  ! 

Leader. 
Alas  !  whom  shall  I  call  of  mortal  men 
Happy  ?     The  highest  are  cast  down  again. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Father,  the  hot  strained  fury  of  thy  heart 

Is  terrible.     Yet,  albeit  so  swift  thou  art 

Of  speech,  if  all  this  matter  were  laid  bare. 

Speech  were  not  then  so  swift ;  nay,  nor  so  fair.   .  . 

l^AIurmurs  again  in  the  croiud. 
I  have  no  skill  before  a  crowd  to  tell 
My  thoughts.     'Twere  best  with  few,  that  know  me 
well. — 


52  EURIPIDES 

Nay,  that  is  natural ;  tongues  that  sound  but  rude 
In  wise  men's  ears,  speak  to  the  multitude 
With  music. 

None  the  less,  since  there  is  come 
This  stroke  upon  me,  I  must  not  be  dumb, 
But  speak  perforce.  .  .  .  And  there  will  I  begin 
Where  thou  beganst,  as  though  to  strip  my  sin 
Naked,  and  I  not  speak  a  word  ! 

Dost  see 
This  sunlight  and  this  earth  ?     I  swear  to  thee 
There  dwelleth  not  in  these  one  man — deny 
All  that  thou  wilt ! — more  pure  of  sin  than  I. 

I  know  two  things  :  the  Gods'  due  worship  first ; 
Next,  to  love  well,  and  live  with,  men  that  thirst 
To  keep  them  clear  of  all  unrighteousness  ; 
To  whom  'twere  vile  to  proffer  sin,  nor  less 
To  help  the  profFerer  with  acceptance,  vile. 
'  Dupes,'  sayst  thou  ?     Nay  ;  no  cheat  am  I,  to  guile 
And  mock  my  fellow-worshippers.     I  stay 
The  same  friend,  be  they  near  or  far  away. 
And  most  in  that  one  thing,  where  now  thy  mesh 
Would  grip  me,  stainless  quite  !     No  woman's  flesh 
Hath  e'er  this  body  touched.     Of  all  such  deed 
Naught  wot  I,  save  what  things  a  man  may  read 
In  pictures  or  hear  spoke  ;  nor  am  I  fain, 
Being  virgin-souled,  to  read  or  hear  again. 

My  life  of  innocence  moves  thee  not ;  so  be  it. 
Show  then  what  hath  seduced  me  ;  let  me  see  it. 
Was  that  poor  flesh  so  passing  fair,  beyond 
All  women's  loveliness  ? 

Was  I  some  fond 
False  plotter,  that  I  schemed  to  win  through  her 
Thy  castle's  heirdom  ?     Fond  indeed  I  were  ! 


Sho^ 


HIPPOLYTUS  53 

Nay,  a  stark  madman  !     'But  a  crown,'  thou  sayst, 
*  Usurped,  is  sweet.'     Nay,  rather  most  unblest 
To  all  wise-hearted  ;  sweet  to  fools  and  tiiem 
Whose  eyes  arc  blinded  bv  the  diadem. 
In  the  great  Games  of  Hellas  I  would  fain 
Be  first  ;  but,  in  my  city's  gates,  remain 
Not  first  but  happy,  each  good  man  my  friend. 
Free  to  work  on  and  fear  not.     These  things  lend 
A  greater  joy  than  any  crown  or  throne. 

[//^  sees  from  the  demeanour  of  Theseus  and  of 
the  crowd  that  his  words  are  not  winning 
them,  but  rather  making  them  bitterer  than 
before.  It  comes  to  his  lips  to  speak  the  whole 
truth. 
I  have  said  my  say  ;  save  one  thing  .  .  .  one  alone. 

O  had  I  here  some  witness  in  my  need, 
As  I  was  witness  !     Could  she  hear  me  plead. 
Face  me  and  face  the  sunlight ;  well  I  know, 
Our  deeds  would  search  us  out  for  thee,  and  show 
Who  lies  ! 

But  now,  I  swear — so  hear  me  both. 
The    Earth     beneath    and    Zeus    who    Guards    the 

Oath— 
I  never  touched  this  woman  that  was  thine  ! 
No  words  could  win  me  to  it,  nor  incline 
My  heart  to  dream  it.     May  God  strike  me  down. 
Nameless  and  famelcss,  without  home  or  town. 
An  outcast  and  a  wanderer  of  the  world ; 
May  my  dead  bones  rest  never,  but  be  hurled 
From  sea  to  land,  from  land  to  angry  sea. 
If  evil  is  my  heart  and  false  to  thee  ! 

\^He  waits  a  moment ;  but  sees  that  his  Father  is 
unmoved.      The  truth  again  comes  to  his  lips. 


54  EURIPIDES 

If  'twas  some  fear  that  made  her  cast  away 
Her  life  ...  I  know  not.     More  I  must  not  say. 
Right  hath  she  done  when  in  her  was  no  right ; 
And  Right  I  follow  to  mine  own  despite  ! 

Leader. 
It  is  enough  !     God's  name  is  witness  large, 
And  thy  great  oath,  to  assoil  thee  of  this  charge. 

Theseus. 

Is  not  the  man  a  juggler  and  a  mage. 

Cool   wits  and    one    right   oath  —  what   more  ?  —  to 

assuage 
Sin  and  the  wrath  of  injured  fatherhood  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Am  I  so  cool  ?     Nay,  Father,  'tis  thy  mood 

That  makes  me  marvel  !     By  my  faith,  wert  thou 

The  son,  and  I  the  sire  ;  and  deemed  I  now 

In  very  truth  thou  hadst  my  wife  assailed, 

I  had  not  exiled  thee,  nor  stood  and  railed. 

But  lifted  once  mine  arm,  and  struck  thee  dead  ! 

Theseus. 
Thou  gentle  judge  !     Thou  shalt  not  so  be  sped 
To  simple  death,  nor  by  thine  own  decree. 
Swift  death  is  bliss  to  men  in  misery. 
Far  off,  friendless  forever,  thou  shalt  drain 
Amid  strange  cities  the  last  dregs  of  pain  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Wilt  verily  cast  me  now  beyond  thy  pale. 
Not  wait  for  Time,  the  lifter  of  the  veil  ? 


HIPPOLYTUS  55 

Theseus. 

Aye,  if  I  could,  past  Pontus,  and  the  red 
Atlantic  marge  !     So  do  I  hate  thine  iicad. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Wilt  weigh  nor  oath  nor  faith  nor  prophet's  word 
To  prove  me  ?     Drive  me  from  thy  sight  unheard  : 

Theseus. 

This  tablet  here,  that  needs  no  prophet's  lot 
To  speak  from,  tells  me  all.     I  ponder  not 
Thy  fowls  that  fly  above  us  !      Let  them  fly. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

O  ye  great  Gods,  wherefore  unlock  not  I 
My  lips,  ere  yet  ye  have  slam  me  utterly. 
Ye  whom  I  love  most  ?     No,     It  may  not  be  ! 
The  one  heart  that  I  need  I  ne'er  should  gain 
To  trust  me.     I  should  break  mine  oath  in  vain. 

Theseus. 

Death  !   but  he  chokes  me  with  his  saintly  tone  I — 
Up,  get  thee  from  this  land  !     Begone  !     Begone  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Where  shall  I  turn  me  ?     Think.     To  what  friend's 

door 
Betake  me,  banished  on  a  charge  so  sore  ? 


Whoso  delights  to  welcome  to  his  hall 

Vile  ravishers  ...  to  guard  his  hearth  withal  ! 


56  EURIPIDES 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Thou  seekst  my  heart,  my  tears  ?     Aye,  let  it  be 
Thus  !     I  am  vile  to  all  men,  and  to  thee  ! 

Theseus. 
There  was  a  time  for  tears  and  thought ;  the  time 
Ere  thou  didst  up  and  gird  thee  to  thy  crime. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Ye  stones,  will  ye  not  speak  ?     Ye  castle  walls  ! 
Bear  witness  if  I  be  so  vile,  so  false  ! 

Theseus. 
Aye,  fly  to  voiceless  witnesses  !     Yet  here 
A  dumb  deed  speaks  against  thee,  and  speaks  clear  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Alas! 

Would  I  could  stand  and  watch  this  thing,  and  see 

My  face,  and  weep  for  very  pity  of  me  ! 

Theseus. 
Full  of  thyself,  as  ever  !     Not  a  thought 
For  them  that  gave  thee  birth  ;  nay,  they  are  naught ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

O  my  wronged  Mother  !     O  my  birth  of  shame  ! 
May  none  I  love  e'er  bear  a  bastard's  name  ! 

Theseus  (in  a  sudden  blaze  of  rage). 
Up,  thralls,  and  drag  him  from  my  presence  !     What  ? 
'Tis  but  a  foreign  felon  !     Heard  ye  not  ? 

{The  thralls  still  hesitate  in  spite  of  his  fury. 


HIPPOLYTUS  57 


HiPPOLYTUS. 


They  touch  me  at  their  peril  !     Thine  own  hand 
Lift,  if  thou  durst,  to  drive  me  from  the  land. 

Theseus. 
That  will  I  straight,  unless  my  will  be  done  ! 

[HiPPOLYTUS  comes  close  to  him  and  kneels. 
Nay  !     Not  for  thee  my  pity  !     Get  thee  gone  ! 

[HiPPOLYTUS  rises,  makes  a  sign  of  submission,  and 
slowly  moves  away.  Theseus,  as  soon  as 
he  sees  him  going,  turns  rapidly  and  enters 
the  Castle.  The  door  is  closed  again.  HiP- 
POLYTUS has  stopped  for  a  moment  before  the 
Statue  <?/ Artemis,  and,  as  Theseus  departs, 
breaks  out  in  prayer. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

So  ;  it  is  done  !      O  dark  and  miserable  ! 

I  see  it  all,  but  see  not  how  to  tell 

The  tale. — O  thou  beloved,  Leto's  Maid, 

Chase-comrade,  fellow-rcster  in  the  glade, 

Lo,  I  am  driven  with  a  caitifFs  brand 

Forth  from  great  Athens  !     Fare  ye  well,  O  land 

And  city  of  old  Erechtheus  !     Thou,  Trozcn, 

What  riches  of  glad  youth  mine  eyes  have  seen 

In  thy  broad  plain  !     Farewell  !     This  is  the  end  ; 

The  last  word,  the  last  look  ! 

Come,  every  friend 
And  fellow  of  my  youth  that  still  may  stay, 
Give  me  god-speed  and  cheer  me  on  my  way. 


58  EURIPIDES 

Ne'er  shall  ye  see  a  man  more  pure  of  spot 

Than  me,  though  mine  own  Father  loves  me  not ! 

[HiPPOLYTUS  goes  away  to  the  right^  followed  by 
many  Huntsmen  and  other  young  men.  The 
rest  of  the  crowd  has  by  this  time  dispersed^ 
except  the  IVomen  of  the  Chorus  and  some 
Men  of  the  Chorus  of  Huntsmen, 

Chorus. 
Men. 
Surely  the  thought  of  the  Gods  hath  balm  in  it  alway, 
to  win  me 
Far  from  my  griefs  ;   and  a  thought,  deep  in  the 
dark  of  my  mind, 
Clings  to  a  great  Understanding.     Yet  all  the  spirit 
within  me 
Faints,   when  I  watch  men's  deeds  matched  with 
the  guerdon  they  find. 

For  Good  comes  in  Evil's  traces, 
And  the  Evil  the  Good  replaces  ; 
And  Life,  'mid  the  changing  faces, 
Wandereth  weak  and  blind. 

TVomen. 

What  wilt  thou  grant  me,  O  God  ?     Lo,  this  is  the 
prayer  of  my  travail — 
Some    well-being ;     and    chance    not    very    bitter 
thereby  ; 
A  Spirit  uncrippled  by  pain  ;  and  a  mind  not  deep  to 
unravel 
Truth  unseen,   nor   yet    dark  with    the    brand  of 
a  lie. 


HIPPOLYTUS  59 

With  a  veering  mood  to  borrow 
Its  light  from  every  morrow, 
Fair  friends  and  no  deep  sorrow, 
Well  could  man  live  and  die  1 

Men. 
Yet  my  spirit  is  no  more  clean. 

And  the  weft  of  my  hope  is  torn, 
For  the  deed  of  wrong  that  mine  eyes 
have  seen, 
The  lie  and  the  rage  and  the  scorn  ; 
A  Star  among  men,  yea,  a  Star 
That  in  Hellas  was  bright. 
By  a  Father's  wrath  driven  far 

To  the  wilds  and  the  night. 
Oh,  alas  for  the  sands  of  the  shore  ! 

Alas  for  the  brakes  of  the  hill. 
Where  the  wolves  shall  fear  thee  no  more. 
And  thy  cry  to  Dictynna  is  still ! 

Jf^omen. 

No  more  in  the  yoke  of  thy  car 

Shall  the  colts  of  Enetia  fleet ; 
Nor  Limna's  echoes  quiver  afar 

To  the  clatter  of  galloping  feet. 
The  sleepless  music  of  old, 

That  leaped  in  the  lyre, 
Ceaseth  now,  and  is  cold, 

In  the  halls  of  thy  sire. 
The  bowers  are  discrowned  and  unladen 

Where  Artemis  lay  on  the  lea  ; 
And  the  love-dream  of  many  a  maiden 

Lost,  in  the  losing  of  thee 


6o  EURIPIDES 


A  Maiden. 


And  I,  even  I, 

For  thy  fall,  O  Friend, 
Amid  tears  and  tears, 
Endure  to  the  end 
Of  the  empty  years. 
Of  a  life  run  dry. 

In  vain  didst  thou  bear  him, 

Thou  Mother  forlorn  ! 
Ye  Gods  that  did  snare  him, 
Lo,  I  cast  in  your  faces 

My  hate  and  my  scorn  1 
Ye  love-linked  Graces, 
(Alas  for  the  day  !) 

Was  he  naught,  then,  to  you, 
That  ye  cast  him  away. 
The  stainless  and  true, 
From  the  old  happy  places  ?• 

Leader. 

Look  yonder  !     'Tis  the  Prince's  man,  I  w^een. 
Speeding  toward  this  gate,  most  dark  of  mien. 

[A  Henchman  enters  in  haste. 

Henchman. 

Ye  women,  whither  shall  I  go  to  seek 

King  Theseus  ?     Is  he  in  this  dwelling  ?     Speak  ! 

Leader. 
Lo,  where  he  cometh  through  the  Castle  gate  ! 

[Theseus  comes  out  from  the  Castle. 


HIPPOLYTUS  6i 


Henchman. 


0  King,  I  bear  thee  tidings  of  dire  weight 
To  thee,  aye,  and  to  every  man,  I  ween, 
From  Athens  to  the  marches  of  Trozcn. 

Theseus. 
What  ?  Some  new  stroke  hath  touched,  unknown  to  me, 
The  sister  cities  of  my  sovranty  ? 

Henchman. 

Hippolytus  is  .  .  .  Nay,  not  dead  ;  but  stark 
Outstretched,  a  hairsbreadth  this  side  of  the  dark. 

Theseus  (as  though  unmoved). 
How  slain  ?     Was  there  some  other  man,  whose  wife 
He  had  like  mine  defiled,  that  sought  his  life  ? 

Henchman. 
His  own  wild  team  destroyed  him,  and  the  dire 
Curse  of  thy  lips. 

The  boon  of  thy  great  Sire 
Is  granted  thee,  C)  King,  and  thy  son  slain. 

Theseus. 
Ye  Gods  I     And  thou,  Poseidon  !     Not  in  vain 

1  called  thee  Father  ;  thou  hast  heard  my  prayer  ! 

How  did  he  die  ?    Speak  on.     How  closed  the  snare 
Of  Heaven  to  slay  the  shamer  of  my  blood  ? 

Henchman. 

'Twas  by  the  bank  of  beating  sea  we  stood, 
We  thralls,  and  decked  the  steeds,  and  combed  each 
mane  ; 


62  EURIPIDES 

Weeping ;  for  word  had  come  that  ne'er  again 
The  foot  of  our  Hippolytus  should  roam 
This  land,  but  waste  in  exile  by  thy  doom. 

So  stood  we  till  he  came,  and  in  his  tone 
No  music  now  save  sorrow's,  like  our  own, 
And  in  his  train  a  concourse  without  end 
Of  many  a  chase-fellow  and  many  a  friend. 
At  last  he  brushed  his  sobs  away,  and  spake  : 
'  Why  this  fond  loitering  ?     I  would  not  break 
My  Father's  law. — Ho,  there  !     My  coursers  four 
And  chariot,  quick  !     This  land  is  mine  no  more.' 

Thereat,  be  sure,  each  man  of  us  made  speed. 
Swifter  than  speech  we  brought  them  up,  each  steed 
Well  dight  and  shining,  at  our  Prince's  side. 
He  grasped  the  reins  upon  the  rail  :  one  stride 
And  there  he  stood,  a  perfect  charioteer, 
Each  foot  in  its  own  station  set.     Then  clear 
His  voice  rose,  and  his  arms  to  heaven  were  spread  : 
'  O  Zeus,  if  I  be  false,  strike  thou  me  dead  ! 
But,  dead  or  living,  let  my  Father  see 
One  day,  how  falsely  he  hath  hated  me  ! ' 

Even  as  he  spake,  he  lifted  up  the  goad 
And  smote  ;  and  the  steeds  sprang.     And  down  the 

road 
We  henchmen  followed,  hard  beside  the  rein. 
Each  hand,  to  speed  him,  toward  the  Argive  plain 
And  Epidaurus. 

So  we  made  our  way 
Up  toward  the  desert  region,  where  the  bay 
Curls  to  a  promontory  near  the  verge 
Of  our  Trozen,  facing  the  southward  surge 
Of  Saron's  gulf     Just  there  an  angry  sound. 
Slow-swelling,  like  God's  thunder  underground, 


HIPPOLYTUS  63 

Broke  on  us,  and  we  trembled.     And  the  steeds 
Pricked  their  ears  skyward,  and  threw  back  their  heads. 
And  wonder  came  on  all  men,  and  affright. 
Whence  rose  that  awful  voice.     And  swift  our  sight 
Turned  seaward,  down  the  salt  and  roaring  sand. 

And  there,  above  the  horizon,  seemed  to  stand 
A  wave  unearthly,  crested  in  the  sky  ; 
Till  Skiron's  Cape  first  vanished  from  mine  eye. 
Then  sank  the  Isthmus  hidden,  then  the  rock 
Of  Epidaurus.     Then  it  broke,  one  shock 
And  roar  of  gasping  sea  and  spray  flung  far. 
And  shoreward  swept,  where  stood  the  Prince's  car. 

Three  lines  of  wave  together  raced,  and,  full 
In  the  white  crest  of  them,  a  wild  Sea-Bull 
Flung  to  the  shore,  a  fell  and  marvellous  Thing. 
The  whole  land  held  his  voice,  and  answering 
Roared  in  each  echo.     And  all  we,  gazing  there, 
Gazed  seeing  not ;  'twas  more  than  eyes  could  bear. 

Then  straight  upon  the  team  wild  terror  fell. 
Howbeit,  the  Prince,  cool-eyed  and  knowing  well 
Each  changing  mood  a  horse  has,  gripped  the  reins 
Hard  in  both  hands  ;  then  as  an  oarsman  strains 
Up  from  his  bench,  so  strained  he  on  the  thong, 
Back  in  the  chariot  swinging.     But  the  young 
Wild  steeds  bit  hard  the  curb,  and  fled  afar  ; 
Nor  rein  nor  guiding  hand  nor  morticed  car 
Stayed  them  at  all.     For  when  he  veered  them  round, 
And  aimed  their  flying  feet  to  grassy  ground, 
In  front  uprose  that  Thing,  and  turned  again 
The  four  great  coursers,  terror-mad.     But  when 
Their  blind  rage  drove  them  toward  the  rocky  places, 
Silent,  and  ever  nearer  to  the  traces, 
It  followed,  rockward,  till  one  wheel-edge  grazed. 


64  EURIPIDES 

The  chariot  tript  and  flew,  and  all  was  mazed 
In  turmoil.     Up  went  wheel-box  with  a  din, 
Where  the  rock  jagged,  and  nave  and  axle-pin. 
And  there — the  long  reins  round  him — there  was  he 
Dragging,  entangled  irretrievably. 
A  dear  head  battering  at  the  chariot  side. 
Sharp  rocks,  and  ripped  flesh,  and  a  voice  that  cried  : 
'  Stay,  stay,  O  ye  who  fattened  at  my  stalls. 
Dash  me  not  into  nothing  ! — O  thou  false 
Curse  of  my  Father  ! — Help  !     Help,  whoso  can. 
An  innocent,  innocent  and  stainless  man  ! ' 

Many  there  were  that  laboured  then,  I  wot. 
To  bear  him  succour,  but  could  reach  him  not, 
Till — who  knows  how  ? — at  last  the  tangled  rein 
Unclasped  him,  and  he  fell,  some  little  vein 
Of  life  still  pulsing  in  him. 

All  beside. 
The  steeds,  the  horned  Horror  of  the  Tide, 
Had  vanished — who  knows  where  ? — in  that  wild  land. 

O  King,  I  am  a  bondsman  of  thine  hand  ; 
Yet  love  nor  fear  nor  duty  me  shall  win 
To  say  thine  innocent  son  hath  died  in  sin. 
All  women  born  may  hang  themselves,  for  me. 
And  swing  their  dying  words  from  every  tree 
On  Ida  !     For  I  know  that  he  was  true  ! 

Leader. 
O  God,  so  cometh  new  disaster,  new 
Despair  !     And  no  escape  from  what  must  be  ! 

Theseus. 
Hate  of  the  man  thus  stricken  lifted  me 
At  first  to  joy  at  hearing  of  thy  tale  ; 
But  now,  some  shame  before  the  Gods,  some  pale 


HIPPOLYTUS  65 

Pity  for  mine  own  blood,  hath  o'er  me  come. 
I  laugh  not,  neither  weep,  at  this  fell  doom. 

Henchman. 
How  then  ?     Behoves  it  bear  him  here,  or  how 
Best  do  thy  pleasure  ? — Speak,  Lord.     Yet  if  thou 
Wilt  mark  at  all  my  word,  thou  wilt  not  be 
Fierce-hearted  to  thy  child  in  misery. 

Theseus. 
Aye,  bring  him  hither.     Let  me  see  the  face 
Of  him  who  durst  deny  my  deep  disgrace 
And  his  own  sin  ;  yea,  speak  with  him,  and  prove 
His  clear  guilt  by  God's  judgments  from  above. 

[The  Henchman  departs  to  fetch  Hippolytus  ; 
Theseus  sits  waiting  in  stern  gloom^  while 
the  Chorus  sing.  At  the  close  of  their  song  a 
Divine  Figure  is  seen  approaching  on  a  cloud 
in  the  air  and  the  voice  o/Artemis  speaks. 

Chorus. 

Thou  comest  to  bend  the  pride 

Of  the  hearts  of  God  and  man, 
Cypris  ;  and  by  thy  side. 

In  earth-encircling  span, 
He  of  the  changing  plumes, 
The  Wing  that  the  world  illumes, 
As  over  the  leagues  of  land  flies  he, 
Over  the  salt  and  sounding  sea. 

For  mad  is  the  heart  of  Love, 

And  gold  the  gleam  of  his  wing  ; 

And  all  to  the  spell  thereof 

Bend,  when  he  makes  his  spring  ; 


66  EURIPIDES 

All  life  that  is  wild  and  young 

In  mountain  and  wave  and  stream, 
All  that  of  earth  is  sprung, 

Or  breathes  in  the  red  sunbeam  ; 
Yea,  and  Mankind.     O'er  all  a  royal  throne, 
Cyprian,  Cyprian,  is  thine  alone  ! 

A  Voice  from  the  Cloud. 

0  thou  that  rulest  in  Aegeus'  Hall, 

1  charge  thee,  hearken  ! 

Yea,  it  is  I, 
Artemis,  Virgin  of  God  most  High. 
Thou  bitter  King,  art  thou  glad  withal 

For  thy  murdered  son  ? 
For  thine  ear  bent  low  to  a  lying  Queen, 
For  thine  heart  so  swift  amid  things  unseen  ? 
Lo,  all  may  see  what  end  thou  hast  won  ! 
Go,  sink  thine  head  in  the  waste  abyss ; 
Or  aloft  to  another  world  than  this, 

Birdwise  with  wings, 

Fly  far  to  thine  hiding. 
Far  over  this  blood  that  clots  and  clings ; 
For  in  righteous  men  and  in  holy  things 

No  rest  is  thine  nor  abiding  ! 
[The  cloud  has  become  stationary  in  the  air. 

Hear,  Theseus,  all  the  story  of  thy  grief ! 
Verily,  I  bring  but  anguish,  not  relief; 
Yet,  'twas  for  this  I  came,  to  show  how  high 
And  clean  was  thy  son's  heart,  that  he  may  die 
Honoured  of  men  ;  aye,  and  to  tell  no  less 
The  frenzy,  or  in  some  sort  the  nobleness, 


HIPPOLYTUS  67 

Of  thy  dead  wife.     One  Spirit  there  is,  whom  we 
That  know  the  joy  of  white  virginity, 
Most  hate  in  heaven.     She  sent  her  fire  to  run 
In  Phaedra's  veins,  so  that  she  loved  thy  son. 
Yet  strove  she  long  with  love,  and  in  the  stress 
Fell  not,  till  by  her  Nurse's  craftiness 
Betrayed,  who  stole,  with  oaths  of  secrecy. 
To  entreat  thy  son.     And  he,  most  righteously, 
Nor  did  her  will,  nor,  when  thy  railing  scorn 
Beat  on  him,  broke  the  oath  that  he  had  sworn. 
For  God's  sake.     And  thy  Phaedra,  panic-eyed. 
Wrote  a  false  writ,  and  slew  thy  son,  and  died. 
Lying ;  but  thou  wast  nimble  to  believe  ! 

[Theseus,  at  first  bewildered,  then  dumbfoundered, 
now  utters  a  deep  groan. 
It  stings  thee,  Theseus  ? — Nay,  hear  on,  and  grieve 
Yet  sorer.     VVottest  thou  three  prayers  were  thine 
Of  sure  fulfilment,  from  thy  Sire  divine  ? 
Hast  thou  no  foes  about  thee,  then,  that  one — 
Thou   vile   King  !  —  must   be   turned   against   thy 

son  ? 
The  deed  was  thine.     Thy  Sea-born  Sire  but  heard 
The  call  of  prayer,  and  bowed  him  to  his  word. 
But  thou  in  his  eyes  and  in  mine  art  found 
Evil,  who  wouldst  not  think,  nor  probe,  nor  sound 
The  deeps  of  prophet's  lore,  nor  day  by  day 
Leave   Time   to   search ;    but,   swifter   than    man 

may. 
Let  loose  the  curse  to  slay  thine  innocent  son  I 

Theseus. 
O  Goddess,  let  me  die  I 


68  EURIPIDES 


Artemis. 


Nay  ;  thou  hast  done 
A  heavy  wrong  ;  yet  even  beyond  this  ill 
Abides  for  thee  forgiveness.     'Tvv^as  the  will 
Of  Cypris  that  these  evil  things  should  be, 
Sating  her  wrath.     And  this  immutably 
Hath  Zeus  ordained  in  heaven  :  no  God  may  thwart 
A  God's  fixed  will ;  we  grieve  but  stand  apart. 
Else,  but  for  fear  of  the  Great  Father's  blame. 
Never  had  I  to  such  extreme  of  shame 
Bowed  me,  be  sure,  as  here  to  stand  and  see 
Slain  him  I  loved  best  of  mortality  ! 

Thy  fault,  O  King,  its  ignorance  sunders  wide 
From  very  wickedness  ;  and  she  who  died 
By  death  the  more  disarmed  thee,  making  dumb 
The  voice  of  question.     And  the  storm  has  come 
Most  bitterly  of  all  on  thee  1     Yet  I 
Have  mine  own  sorrow,  too.     When  good  men  die, 
There  is  no  joy  in  heaven,  albeit  our  ire 
On  child  and  house  of  the  evil  falls  like  fire. 

[^  tkrong  is  seen  approaching i  Hippolytus  ^w/^n, 
supported  by  his  attendants. 

Chorus. 

Lo,  it  is  he  !     The  bright  young  head 

Yet  upright  there  ! 
Ah,  the  torn  flesh  and  the  blood-stained  hair ; 

Alas  for  the  kindred's  trouble  ! 
It  falls  as  fire  from  a  God's  hand  sped. 

Two  deaths,  and  mourning  double. 


HIPPOLYTUS  69 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

All,  pain,  pain,  pain  ! 
O  unrighteous  curse  !  O  unrighteous  sire  ! 
No  hope. — My  head  is  stabbed  with  fire, 
And  a  leaping  spasm  about  my  brain. 
Stay,  let  me  rest.     I  can  no  more. 
O  fell,  fell  steeds  that  my  own  hand  fed. 
Have  ye  maimed  me  and  slain,  that  loved  me  of  yore  r 
— Soft  there,  ye  thralls  !     No  trembling  hands 
As  ye  lift  me,  now  I — Who  is  that  that  stands 
At  the  right  ? — Now  firm,  and  with  measured  tread. 
Lift  one  accursed  and  stricken  sore 
By  a  father's  sinning. 

Thou,  Zeus,  dost  see  me  ?     Yea,  it  is  I ; 
The  proud  and  pure,  the  server  of  God, 
The  white  and  shining  in  sanctity  ! 
To  a  visible  death,  to  an  open  sod, 

I  walk  my  ways  ; 
And  all  the  labour  of  saintly  days 

Lost,  lost,  without  meaning  ! 

Ah  God,  it  crawls 

This  agony,  over  me  ! 
Let  be,  ye  thralls  ! 

Come,  Death,  and  cover  mc  ; 
Come,  O  thou  Healer  blest ! 

But  a  little  more. 

And  my  soul  is  clear, 
And  the  anguish  o'er  ! 
Oh,  a  spear,  a  spear  ! 
To  rend  my  soul  to  its  rest ! 


70  EURIPIDES 

Oh,  strange,  false   Curse  !     Was  there  some  blood- 
stained head, 
Some  father  of  my  line,  unpunished, 

Whose  guilt  lived  in  his  kin, 
And  passed,  and  slept,  till  after  this  long  day 
It  lights.  .  .  .  Oh,  why  on  me  ?     Me,  far  away 

And  innocent  of  sin  ? 

O  words  that  cannot  save  ! 

When  will  this  breathing  end  in  that  last  deep 
Pain  that  is  painlessness  ?     'Tis  sleep  I  crave. 

When  wilt  thou  bring  me  sleep. 
Thou  dark  and  midnight  magic  of  the  grave  ! 

Artemis. 
Sore-stricken  man,  bethink  thee  in  this  stress, 
Thou  dost  but  die  for  thine  own  nobleness. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Ah! 

O  breath  of  heavenly  fragrance  !     Though  my  pain 

Burns,  I  can  feel  thee  and  find  rest  again. 

The  Goddess  Artemis  is  with  me  here. 

Artemis. 
With  thee  and  loving  thee,  poor  sufferer  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Dost  see  me.  Mistress,  nearing  my  last  sleep  ? 

Artemis. 
Aye,  and  would  weep  for  thee,  if  Gods  could  weep. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Who  now  shall  hunt  with  thee  or  hold  thy  quiver  ? 


HIPPOLYTUS  71 

Artemis. 
He  dies  ;  but  my  love  cleaves  to  him  for  ever. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Who  guide  thy  chariot,  keep  thy  shrine-flowers  fresh  ? 

Artemis. 
The  accursed  Cyprian  caught  him  in  her  mesh  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

The  Cyprian  ?     Now  I  see  it ! — Aye,  'twas  she. 

Artemis. 
She  missed  her  worship,  loathed  thy  chastity  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Three  lives  by  her  one  hand  !     'Tis  all  clear  now. 

Artemis. 
Yea,  three  ;  thy  father  and  his  Queen  and  thou. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

My  father  ;  yea,  he  too  is  pitiable  ! 

Artemis. 
A  plotting  Goddess  tripped  him,  and  he  fell. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Father,  where  art  thou  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  thou  sufferest  sore  ! 

Theseus. 
Even  unto  death,  child.     There  is  joy  no  more. 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

I  pity  thee  in  this  coil ;  aye,  more  than  me. 


72  EURIPIDES 

Theseus, 
Would  I  could  lie  there  dead  instead  of  thee  1 

Hippo  LYTUs. 
Oh,  bitter  bounty  of  Poseidon's  love  ! 

Theseus. 
Would  God  my  lips  had  never  breathed  thereof! 

HiPPOLYTUS  {gent/y). 
Nay,  thine  own  rage  had  slain  me  then,  some  w^ise  ! 

Theseus. 
A  lying  spirit  had  made  blind  mine  eyes  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Ah  me ! 

Would  that  a  mortal's  curse  could  reach  to  God ! 

Artemis. 
Let  be  !     For  not,  though  deep  beneath  the  sod 
Thou  liest,  not  unrequited  nor  unsung 
Shall  this  fell  stroke,  from  Cypris'  rancour  sprung. 
Quell  thee,  mine  ovv^n,  the  saintly  and  the  true  ! 
My  hand  shall  win  its  vengeance,  through  and 
through 
Piercing  with  flawless  shaft  what  heart  soe'er 
Of  all  men  living  is  most  dear  to  Her. 
Yea,  and  to  thee,  for  this  sore  travail's  sake. 
Honours  most  high  in  Trozen  will  I  make  ; 
For  yokeless  maids  before  their  bridal  night 
Shall  shear  for  thee  their  tresses  ;  and  a  rite 
Of  honouring  tears  be  thine  in  ceaseless  store  ; 


HIPPOLYTUS  73 

And  virgins'  thoughts  in  music  evermore 
Turn  toward  thee,  and  praise  thee  in  the  Song 
Of  Phaedra's  far-famed  love  and  thy  great  wrong. 

O  seed  of  ancient  Aegeus,  bend  thee  now 
And  clasp  thy  son.     Aye,  hold  and  fear  not  thou  ! 
Not  knowingly  hast  thou  slain  him  ;  and  man's  way, 
When  Gods  send  error,  needs  must  fall  astray. 

And  thou,  Hippolytus,  shrink  not  from  the  King, 
Thy  father.     Thou  wast  born  to  bear  this  thing. 

Farewell  !     I  may  not  watch  man's  fleeting  breath, 
Nor  stain  mine  eyes  with  the  effluence  of  death. 
And  sure  that  Terror  now  is  very  near. 

[The  cloud  slowly  rises  and  floats  away. 

Hippolytus. 
Farewell,  farewell,  most  Blessed  !     Lift  thee  clear 
Of  soiling  men  !     Thou  wilt  not  grieve  in  heaven  • 
For  my  long  love  !  .  .  .  Father,  thou  art  forgiven. 
It  was  Her  will.     I  am  not  wroth  with  thee.  .  ,  . 
I  have  obeyed  Her  all  my  days  !  .  .  . 

Ah  me. 
The  dark  is  drawing  down  upon  mine  eyes  ; 
It  hath  me  !  .  .  .  Father  !  .  .  .  Hold  me  !     Help  mc 
rise  ! 

Theseus  {supporting  him  in  his  arms). 
Ah,  woe !     How  dost  thou  torture  me,  my  son  ! 

Hippolytus. 
I  see  the  Great  Gates  opening.     I  am  gone. 

Theseus. 
Gone  ?     And  my  hand  red-reeking  from  this  thing! 


74  EURIPIDES 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Nay,  nay  ;  thou  art  assoiled  of  manslaying. 

Theseus. 
Thou  leav'st  me  clear  of  murder  ?     Sayst  thou  so  ? 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Yea,  by  the  Virgin  of  the  Stainless  Bow  ! 

Theseus. 
Dear  Son  !     Ah,  now  I  see  thy  nobleness  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Pray  that  a  true-born  child  may  fill  my  place. 

Theseus. 
Ah  me,  thy  righteous  and  godfearing  heart ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Farewell ; 

A  long  farewell,  dear  Father,  ere  we  part ! 

[Theseus  bends  down  and  embraces  him  passionately. 

Theseus. 
Not  yet ! — O  hope  and  bear  while  thou  hast  breath  ! 

HiPPOLYTUS. 

Lo,  I  have  borne  my  burden.     This  is  death.  .  .  , 
Quick,  Father ;  lay  the  mantle  on  my  face. 

[Theseus  covers  his  face  with  a  mantle  and  rises. 

Theseus. 
Ye  bounds  of  Pallas  and  of  Pelops'  race, 
What  greatness  have  ye  lost  ! 

Woe,  woe  is  me  ! 
Thou  Cyprian,  long  shall  I  remember  thee  ! 


HIlPPOLYTUS 


75 


Chorus. 
On  all  this  folk,  both  low  and  high, 
A  grief  hath  fallen  beyond  men's  fears. 
There  cometh  a  throbbing  of  many  tears, 
A  sound  as  of  waters  falling. 
For  when  great  men  die, 
A  mighty  name  and  a  bitter  cry 
Rise  up  from  a  nation  calling. 
'[They  move  into  the  Cast  ley  carrying  the  bi 
HiPPOLYTUS. 


v 


^/ 


THE   BACCHAE 


> 


CHARACTERS  IN   THE   PLAY 

Dionysus,  the  God  ;  son  of  Zeus  and  of  the  Theban  princess 

Semele. 
Ckdu\3?,,  formerly  King  of  Thebes,  father  of  Semele. 
Pentheus,  Kitig  of  Thebes,  grandson  of  Cadmus. 
AGAV&,  daughter  of  Cadmus,  mother  of  Pentheus. 
Teiresias,  an  aged  Theban  prophet. 
A  Soldier  of  Pentheus'  Guard. 
Two  Messengers. 

A   Chorus  of   Inspired    Damsels,  following  Dionysus 
from  the  East. 

*'  The  play  was  first  produced  after  the  death  of  Euripides  by  his 
son,  who  bore  the  same  name,  together  with  the  ' Iphigenia  in  Aulis' 
and  the  ' A Icmaeon,'  probably  in  the  year  405  B.C." 


y? 


THE    BACCHAE 

The  background  represents  the  front  of  the  Castle  of 
Pentheus,  King  of  Thebes.  At  one  side  is  visible 
the  sacred  Tomb  of  Semele^  a  little  enclosure  over- 
grown with  wild  vines,  with  a  cleft  in  the  rocky  floor 
of  it  from  which  there  issues  at  times  steam  or  smoke. 
The  God  Dionysus  is  discovered  alone. 


Dionysus. 

Behold,  God's  Son  is  come  unto  this  land 

Of  Thebes,  even  I,  Dionysus,  whom  the  brand 

Of  heaven's  hot  splendour  lit  to  life,  when  she 

Who  bore  me,  Cadmus'  daughter  Semel5, 

Died  here.     So,  changed  in  shape  from  God  to 

man, 
I  walk  again  by  Dircc's  streams  and  scan 


8o  EURIPIDES 

Ismenus'  shore.     There  by  the  castle  side 

I  see  her  place,  the  Tomb  of  the  Lightning's  Bride, 

The  wreck  of  smouldering  chambers,  and  the  great 

Faint  wreaths  of  fire  undying — as  the  hate 

Dies  not,  that  Hera  held  for  Semele. 

Aye,  Cadmus  hath  done  well ;  in  purity 
He  keeps  this  place  apart,  inviolate, 
His  daughter's  sanctuary  ;  and  I  have  set 
My  green  and  clustered  vines  to  robe  it  round. 

Far  now  behind  me  lies  the  golden  ground 
Of  Lydian  and  of  Phrygian  ;  far  away. 
The  wide  hot  plains  where  Persian  sunbeams  play, 
The  Bactrian  war-holds,  and  the  storm-oppressed 
Clime  of  the  Mede,  and  Araby  the  Blest, 
And  Asia  all,  that  by  the  salt  sea  lies 
In  proud  embattled  cities,  motley-wise 
Of  Hellene  and  Barbarian  interwrought ; 
And  now  I  come  to  Hellas — having  taught 
All  the  world  else  my  dances  and  my  rite 
Of  mysteries,  to  show  me  in  men's  sight 
Manifest  God. 

And  first  of  Hellene  lands 
I  cry  this  Thebes  to  waken  ;    set  her  hands 
To  clasp  my  wand,  mine  ivied  javelin, 
And  round  her  shoulders  hang  my  wild  fawn-skin. 
For  they  have  scorned  me  whom  it  least  beseemed, 
Semele's  sisters  ;  mocked  my  birth,  nor  deemed 
That  Dionysus  sprang  from  Dian  seed. 
My  mother  sinned,  said  they  ;  and  in  her  need, 
With  Cadmus  plotting,  cloaked  her  human  shame 
With  the  dread  name  of  Zeus  ;  for  that  the  flame 
From  heaven  consumed  her,  seeing  she  lied  to  God. 

Thus  must  they  vaunt;  and  therefore  hath  my  rod 


THE   BACCHAE  8i 

On  them  first  fallen,  and  stung  them  forth  wild-eyed 

From  empty  chambers  ;  the  bare  mountain  side 

Is  made  their  home,  and  all  their  hearts  are  flame. 

Yea,  I  have  bound  upon  the  necks  of  them 

The  harness  of  my  rites.     And  with  them  all 

The  seed  of  womankind  from  hut  and  hall 

Of  Thebes,  hath  this  my  magic  goaded  out. 

And  there,  with  the  old  King's  daughters,  in  a  rout 

Confused,  they  make  their  dwelling-place  between 

The  roofless  rocks  and  shadowy  pine  trees  green. 

Thus  shall  this  Thebes,  how  sore  soe'er  it  smart, 

Learn  and  forget  not,  till  she  crave  her  part 

In  mine  adoring  ;  thus  must  I  speak  clear 

To  save  my  mother's  fame,  and  crown  me  here 

As  true  God,  born  by  Semele  to  Zeus. 

Now  Cadmus  yieldeth  up  his  throne  and  use 
Of  royal  honour  to  his  daughter's  son 
Pentheus  ;  who  on  my  body  hath  begun 
A  war  with  God.     He  thrusteth  me  away 
From  due  drink-offering,  and,  when  men  pray, 
My  name  entreats  not.     Therefore  on  his  own 
Head  and  his  people's  shall  my  power  be  shown. 
Then  to  another  land,  when  all  things  here 
Are  well,  must  I  fare  onward,  making  clear 
My  godhead's  might.     But  should  this  Theban  town 
Essay  with  wrath  and  battle  to  drag  down 
My  maids,  lo,  in  their  path  myself  shall  be, 
And  maniac  armies  battled  after  me  ! 
For  this  I  veil  my  godhead  with  the  wan 
Form  of  the  things  that  die,  and  walk  as  Man. 

O  Brood  of  Tmolus  o'er  the  wide  world  flown, 
O  Lydian  band,  my  chosen  and  mine  own, 

F 


82  EURIPIDES 

Damsels  uplifted  o'er  the  orient  deep 
To  wander  where  I  wander,  and  to  sleep 
Where  I  sleep  ;  up,  and  wake  the  old  sweet  sound, 
The  clang  that  I  and  mystic  Rhea  found, 
The  Timbrel  of  the  Mountain  !     Gather  all 
Thebes  to  your  song  round  Pentheus'  royal  hall. 
I  seek  my  new-made  worshippers,  to  guide 
Their  dances  up  Kithaeron's  pine-clad  side. 

[Js  he  departs,  there  comes  stealing  in  from  the  left 
a  hand  of  fifteen  Eastern  Women,  the  light 
of  the  sunrise  streaming  upon  their  long  zuhite 
robes  and  ivy-bound  hair.  They  wear  fawn- 
skins  over  the  robes,  and  carry  some  of  them 
timbrels,  some  pipes  and  other  instruments. 
Many  bear  the  thyrsus,  or  sacred  Wand, 
made  of  reed  ringed  with  ivy.  They  enter 
stealthily  till  they  see  that  the  place  is  empty, 
and  then  begin  their  mystic  song  of  worship. 

Chorus. 
J  Maiden. 
From  Asia,  from  the  dayspring  that  uprises,    • 

To  Bromios  ever  glorying  we  came. 
We  laboured  for  our  Lord  in  many  guises  ; 
We  toiled,  but  the  toil  is  as  the  prize  is  ; 

Thou  Mystery,  we  hail  thee  by  thy  name  I  . 

Another. 
Who  lingers  in  the  road  ?     Who  espies  us  ? 

He  shall  hide  him  in  his  house  nor  be  bold. 
Let  the  heart  keep  silence  that  defies  us  ; 
For  I  sing  this  day  to  Dionysus 

The  song  that  is  appointed  from  of  old. 


*/ 


THE   RACCFIAE  83 

All  the  Maidens.  '^  2 

Oh,  blessed  he  in  all  wise, 

Who  hath  drunk  the  Living  Fountain, 

Whose  life  no  folly  staineth,  f^ 

And  his  soul  is  near  to  God  ; 
Whose  sins  are  lifted,  pall-wise, 
As  he  worships  on  the  Mountain, 
And  where  Cybele  ordaineth, 
Our  Mother,  he  has  trod  : 

His  head  with  ivy  laden 

And  his  thyrsus  tossing  high. 
For  our  God  he  lifts  his  cry  ; 
"Up,  O  Bacchae,  wife  and  maiden, 
Come,  O  ye  Bacchae,  come  ; 
Oh,  bring  the  Joy-bestower, 
God-seed  of  God  the  Sower, 
Bring  Bromios  in  his  power 

From  Phrygia's  mountain  dome  ; 
To  street  and  town  and  tower, 
^'fi^O  i^H *■  ^^'  ^'"'"g  y'^  Bromios  home  !  " 

Whom  erst  in  anguish  lying 
P'or  an  unborn  life's  desire. 

As  a  dead  thing  in  the  Thunder 

His  mother  cast  to  earth  ;  ( 

For  her  heart  was  dying,  dying. 
In  the  white  heart  of  the  fire  ; 
Till  Zeus,  the  Lord  of  WonJer, 
Devised  new  lairs  of  birth  ; 

Yea,  his  own  flesh  tore  to  hide  hi:n, 

And  with  clasps  of  bitter  gold  C 

Did  a  secret  son  enfold, 


EURIPIDES 


-\r; 


Hal 


ON 

Sac 


F«rtkcofok 
Tmst 


THE   BACCHAE  85 

,    f- 

The  wild  orb  of  our  orgies,  ^      ,' 

Our  Timbrel  ;  and  thy  gorges  "^     ; 

Rang  with  this  strain  ;  and  blended  Phrygian  chant      b     ! 

And  sweet  keen  pipes  were  there.  -^    * 

But  the  Timbrel,  the  Timbrel  was  another's, 
And  away  to  Mother  Rhea  it  must  wend  ; 
And  to  our  holy  singing  from  the  Mother's 
The  mad  Satyrs  carried  it,  to  blend 
In  the  dancing  and  the  cheer 
Of  our  third  and  perfect  Year  ; 
And  it  serves  Dionysus  in  the  end ! 

A  Maiden. 
'\^        O  glad,  glad  on  the  mountains  "^        ^ 

To  swoon  in  the  race  outworn,  t  ^ 

When  the  holy  fawn-skin  clings,  c. 

And  all  else  sweeps  away,  r» 

To  the  joy  of  the  red  quick  fountains, 
The  blood  of  the  hill-goat  torn. 
The  glory  of  wild-beast  ravenings, 
Where  the  hill-tops  catch  the  day  ; 


To  the  Phrygian,  Lydian,  mountaiii 


'Tis  Bromios  leads  the 


way. 


Another  Maiden. 

Then  streams  the  earth  with  milk,  yea,  streams 

With  wine  and  nectar  of  the  bee. 

And  through  the  air  dim  perfume  steams 

Of  Syrian  frankincense  ;  and  He, 

Our  leader,  from  his  thyrsus  spray 

A  torchlight  tosses  high  and  higher, 

A  torchlight  like  a  beacon-fire, 

To  waken  all  that  faint  and  stray  ; 


86  EURIPIDES 

And  sets  them  leaping  as  he  sings,  Ql 

His  tresses  rippling  to  the  sky,  i^ 

And  deep  beneath  the  Maenad  cry  \y 

His  proud  voice  rings  :  ^l     ^ 
"  Come,  O  ye  Bacchae,  come  ! " 

All  the  Maidens. 
Hither,  O  fragrant  of  Tmolus  the  Golden,  ft. 

Come  with  the  voice  of  timbrel  and  drum  ; 
Let  the  cry  of  your  joyance  uplift  and  embolden 

The  God  of  the  joy-cry  ;  O  Bacchanals,  come  !    0 
With  pealing  of  pipes  and  with  Phrygian  clamour,    ^ 

On,  where  the  vision  of  holiness  thrills,  ^. 

And  the  music  climbs  and  the  maddening  glamour. 
With  the  wild  White  Maids,  to  the  hills,  to  the 
hills !  i" 

Oh,  then,  like  a  colt  as  he  runs  by  a  river,  ,o 

A  colt  by  his  dam,  when  the  heart  of  him  sings. 
With    the    keen    limbs    drawn   and   the   fleet    foot 
a-quiver, 

Away  the  Bacchanal  springs  ! 

Enter  Teiresias.  He  is  an  old  man  and  blind,  leaning 
upon  a  staff  and  moving  with  slow  stateliness,  though 
wearing  the  Ivy  and  the  Bacchic  fawn-skin. 

Teiresias. 

Ho,  there,  who  keeps  the  gate  ? — Go,  summon  me 
Cadmus,  Agenor's  son,  who  crossed  the  sea 
From  Sidon  and  upreared  this  Theban  hold. 
Go,  whosoe'er  thou  art.     See  he  be  told 
Teiresias  seeketh  him.     Himself  will  gauge 
Mine  errand,  and  the  compact,  age  with  age. 


THE   BACCHAE  87 

I  vowed  with  him,  grey  hair  with  snow-wliitc  hair, 
To  deck  the  new  God's  thyrsus,  and  to  wear 
His  fawn-skin,  and  with  ivy  crown  our  brows. 

Enter  Qahmus  from  the  Castle.     He  is  even  older  than 
Teiresias,  and  wears  the  same  attire. 

Cadmus. 

True  friend  !     I  knew  that  voice  of  thine,  tliat  flows 

Like  mellow  wisdom  from  a  fountain  wise. 

And,  lo,  I  come  prepared,  in  all  the  guise 

And  harness  of  this  God.     Are  we  not  told 

His  is  the  soul  of  that  dead  life  of  old 

That  sprang  from  mine  own  daughter  ?     Surely  then 

Must  thou  and  I  with  all  the  strength  of  men 

Exalt  him. 

Where  then  shall  I  stand,  where  tread 
The  dance  and  toss  this  bowed  and  hoary  head  ? 

0  friend,  in  thee  is  wisdom  ;  guide  my  grey 
And  eld-worn  steps,  eld-worn  Teiresias. — Nay  ; 

1  am  not  weak. 

\^At  the  first  movement  of  worship  his  manner 
begins  to  change  ;  a  fnysterious  strength  and 
exaltation  enter  into  him. 

Surely  this  arm  could  smite 
The  wild  earth  with  its  thyrsus,  day  and  night. 
And  faint  not  !     Sweetly  and  forgetfully 
The  dim  years  fall  from  off  me  1 

Teiresias. 

As  with  thee. 
With  me  'tis  likewise.     Light  am  I  and  young, 
And  will  essay  the  dancing  and  the  song. 


88  EURIPIDES 

Cadmus. 
Quick,  then,  our  chariots  to  the  mountain  road. 

Teiresias. 
Nay  ;  to  take  steeds  were  to  mistrust  the  God. 

Cadmus. 
So  be  it.     Mine  old  arm  shall  guide  thee  there. 

Teiresias. 
The  God  himself  shall  guide  !     Have  thou  no  care. 

Cadmus. 
And  in  all  Thebes  shall  no  man  dance  but  we  ? 

Teiresias. 
Aye,  Thebes  is  blinded.     Thou  and  I  can  see. 

Cadmus. 
'Tis  weary  waiting  ;  hold  my  hand,  friend  ;  so. 

Teiresias. 
Lo,  there  is  mine.     So  linked  let  us  go. 

Cadmus. 
Shall  things  of  dust  the  Gods'  dark  ways  despise  ? 

Teiresias. 
Or  prove  our  wit  on  Heaven's  high  mysteries  ? 
Not  thou  and  I  !     That  heritage  sublime 
Our  sires  have  left  us,  wisdom  old  as  time. 
No  word  of  man,  how  deep  soe'er  his  thought 
And  won  of  subtlest  toil,  may  bring  to  naught. 


THE   BACCHAE  89 

Ave,  men  will  rail  that  I  forget  my  years, 
To  dance  and  wreathe  with  ivy  these  white  hairs  ; 
What  recks  it  ?     Seeing  the  God  no  line  hath  told 
To  mark  what  man  shall  dance,  or  young  or  old  ; 
But  craves  his  honours  from  mortality 
All,  no  man  marked  apart ;  and  great  shall  be  ! 

Cadmus  [cifter  looking  away  toward  the  Mountain). 

Teiresias,  since  this  light  thou  canst  not  read, 
I  must  be  seer  for  thee.     Here  comes  in  speed 
Pentheus,  Echion's  son,  whom  I  have  raised 
To  rule  my  people  in  my  stead. — Amazed 
He  seems.    Stand  close,  and  mark  what  we  shall  hear. 
[The  two  stand  back^  partially  concealed^  while 
there  enters  in  hot  haste  PENTHEVSy  followed 
by   a    bodyguard.       He    is    speaking    to    the 
Soldier  in  command. 

Pentheus. 

Scarce  had  I  crossed  our  borders,  when  mine  ear 
Was  caught  by  this  strange  rumour,  that  our  own 
Wives,  our  own  sisters,  from  their  hearths  are  flown 
To  wild  and  secret  rites  ;  and  cluster  there 
High  on  the  shadowy  hills,  with  dance  and  prayer 
To  adore  this  new-made  God,  this  Dionyse, 
Whate'er  he  be  ! — And  in  their  companies 
Deep  wine-jars  stand,  and  ever  and  anon 
Away  into  the  loneliness  now  one 
Steals  forth,  and  now  a  second,  maid  or  dame, 
Where  love  lies  waiting,  not  of  God  !     The  flame. 
They  say,  of  Bacchios  wraps  them.    Bacchios!  Nay, 
'Tis  more  to  Aphrodite  that  tiicy  pray. 


90  EURIPIDES 

Howbeit,  all  that  I  have  found,  my  men 
Hold  bound  and  shackled  in  our  dungeon  den  ; 
The  rest,  I  will  go  hunt  them  !     Aye,  and  snare 
My  birds  with  nets  of  iron,  to  quell  their  prayer 
And  mountain  song  and  rites  of  rascaldom  ! 

They  tell  me,  too,  there  is  a  stranger  come, 
A  man  of  charm  and  spell,  from  Lydian  seas, 
A  head  all  gold  and  cloudy  fragrancies, 
A  wine-red  cheek,  and  eyes  that  hold  the  light 
Of  the  very  Cyprian.     Day  and  livelong  night 
He  haunts  amid  the  damsels,  o''er  each  lip 
Dangling  his  cup  of  joyance  ! — Let  me  grip 
Him  once,  but  once,  within  these  walls,  right 

swift 
That  wand  shall  cease  its  music,  and  that  drift 
Of  tossing  curls  lie  still — when  my  rude  sword 
Falls  between  neck  and  trunk  !     'Tis  all  his  word. 
This  tale  of  Dionysus  ;  how  that  same 
Babe  that  was  blasted  by  the  lightning  flame 
With  his  dead  mother,  for  that  mother's  lie, 
Was  re-conceived,  born  perfect  from  the  thigh 
Of  Zeus,  and  now  is  God  !     What  call  ye  these  ? 
Dreams  ?    Gibes  of  the  unknown  wanderer  r    Blas- 
phemies 
That  crave  the  very  gibbet  ? 

Stay  !     God  wot. 
Here  is  another  marvel  !     See  I  not 
In  motley  fawn-skins  robed  the  vision-seer 
Teiresias  ?     And  my  mother's  father  here — 
O  depth  of  scorn  ! — adoring  with  the  wand 
Of  Bacchios  ? — Father  ! — Nay,  mine  eyes  are  fond  ; 
It  is  not  your  white  heads  so  fancy-flown  ! 
It  cannot  be  !     Cast  off  that  ivy  crown, 


THE   BACCHAE  91 

0  mine  own  mother's  sire  !     Set  free  that  hand 
That  cowers  about  its  staff. 

'Tis  thou  Iiast  planned 
This  work,  Teiresias  !     'Tis  thou  must  set 
Another  altar  and  another  yet 
Amoncst  us,  watch  new  birds,  and  win  more  hire 
Of  gold,  interpreting  new  signs  of  fire  ! 
But  for  thy  silver  hairs,  I  tell  thee  true. 
Thou  now  wcrt  sitting  chained  amid  thy  crew 
Of  raving  damsels,  for  this  evil  dream 
Thou  hast  brought  us,  of  new  Gods  !     When  once 

the  gleam 
Of  grapes  hath  lit  a  Woman's  Festival, 
In  all  their  prayers  is  no  more  health  at  all  I 

Leader  of  the  Chorus 
{the  words  are  not  heard  by  Pentheus). 
Injurious  King,  hast  thou  no  care  for  God, 
Nor  Cadmus,  sower  of  the  Giants'  Sod, 
Life-spring  to  great  Echion  and  to  thee  ? 

Teiresias. 
Good  words,  my  son,  come  easily,  when  he 
That  speaks  is  wise,  and  speaks  but  for  the  right. 
Else  come  they  never  !     Swift  are  thine,  and  bright 
As  though  with  thought,  yet  have  no  thought  at  all. 
Lo,  this  new  God,  whom  thou  dost  flout  withal, 

1  cannot  speak  the  greatness  wherewith  He 

In  Hellas  shall  be  great  !     Two  spirits  there  be. 
Young  Prince,  that  in  man's  world  are  first  of  worth. 
Dcmcter  one  is  named ;  she  is  the  Earth — 
Call  her  which  name  thou  will ! — who  feeds  man's  frame 
With  sustenance  of  things  dry.     And  that  whicli  came 


92  EURIPIDES 

Her  work  to  perfect,  second,  is  the  Power 
From  Semele  born.     He  found  the  liquid  shower 
Hid  in  the  grape.     He  rests  man's  spirit  dim 
From  grieving,  when  the  vine  exalteth  him. 
He  giveth  sleep  to  sink  the  fretful  day 
In  cool  forgetting.     Is  there  any  way 
With  man's  sore  heart,  save  only  to  forget  ? 

Yea,  being  God,  the  blood  of  him  is  set 
Before  the  Gods  in  sacrifice,  that  we 
For  his  sake  may  be  blest. — And  so,  to  thee. 
That  fable  shames  him,  how  this  God  was  knit 
Into  God's  flesh  ?     Nay,  learn  the  truth  of  it. 
Cleared    from    the    false.  —  When    from    that    deadly 

light 
Zeus  saved  the  babe,  and  up  to  Olympus'  height 
Raised  him,  and  Hera's  wrath  would  cast  him  thence. 
Then  Zeus  devised  him  a  divine  defence. 
A  fragment  of  the  world-encircling  fire 
He  rent  apart,  and  wrought  to  his  desire 
Of  shape  and  hue,  in  the  image  of  the  child, 
And  gave  to  Hera's  rage.     And  so,  beguiled 
By  change  and  passing  time,  this  tale  was  born, 
How  the  babe-god  was  hidden  in  the  torn 
Flesh  of  his  sire.     He  hath  no  shame  thereby. 

A  prophet  is  he  likewise.     Prophecy 
Cleaves  to  all  frenzy,  but  beyond  all  else 
To  frenzy  of  prayer.     Then  in  us  verily  dwells 
The  God  himself,  and  speaks  the  thing  to  be. 
Yea,  and  of  Ares'  realm  a  part  hath  he. 
When  mortal  armies,  mailed  and  arrayed, 
Have  in  strange  fear,  or  ever  blade  met  blade. 
Fled  maddened,  'tis  this  God  hath  palsied  them. 
Aye,  over  Delphi's  rock-built  diadem 


THE   BACCHAE  93 

Thou  yet  shalt  see  him  leaping  with  his  train 
Of  fire  across  the  twin-peaked  mountain-plain, 
Flaming  the  darkness  with  his  mystic  wand, 
And  great  in  Hellas. — List  and  understand, 
King  Pentheus  !    Dream  not  thou  that  force  is  power  ; 
Nor,  if  thou  hast  a  thought,  and  that  thought  sour 
And  sick,  oh,  dream  not  thought  is  wisdom  ! — Up, 
Receive  this  God  to  Thebes  ;  pour  forth  the  cup 
Of  sacrifice,  and  pray,  and  wreathe  thy  brow. 

Thou  fearest  for  the  damsels  ?     Think  thee  now  ; 
How  toucheth  this  the  part  of  Dionyse 
To  hold  maids  pure  perforce  ?     In  them  it  lies. 
And  their  own  hearts  ;  and  in  the  wildest  rite 
Cometh  no  stain  to  her  whose  heart  is  white. 

Nay,  mark  me  !     Thou  hast  thy  joy,  when  the  Gate 
Stands  thronged,  and  Pentheus'  name  is  lifted  great 
And  high  by  Thebes  in  clamour  ;  shall  not  He 
Rejoice  in  his  due  meed  of  majesty  ? 

Howbeit,  this  Cadmus  whom  thou  scorn'st  and  I 
Will  wear  His  crown,  and  tread  His  dances  !     Aye, 
Our  hairs  are  white,  yet  shall  that  dance  be  trod  ! 
I  will  not  lift  mine  arm  to  war  with  God 
For  thee  nor  all  thy  words.     Madness  most  fell 
Is  on.  thee,  madness  wrought  by  some  dread  spell, 
But  not  by  spell  nor  leechcraft  to  be  cured  ! 

Chorus. 
Grey  prophet,  worthy  of  Phoebus  is  thy  word, 
And  wise  in  honouring  Bromios,  our  great  God. 

Cadmus. 
My  son,  right  well  Tciresias  points  thy  road. 
Oh,  make  thine  habitation  here  with  us. 
Not  lonely,  against  men's  uses.     Hazardous 


94  EURIPIDES 

Is  this  quick  bird-like  beating  of  thy  thought 

Where  no  thought  dwells. — Grant  that  this  God  be 

naught, 
Yet  let  that  Naught  be  Somewhat  in  thy  mouth  ; 
Lie  boldly,  and  say  He  Is  !     So  north  and  south 
Shall  marvel,  how  there  sprang  a  thing  divine 
From  Semele's  flesh,  and  honour  all  our  line. 

[^Drawing  nearer  to  Pentheus. 
Is  there  not  blood  before  thine  eyes  even  now  ? 
Our  lost  Actaeon's  blood,  whom  long  ago 
His  own  red  hounds  through  yonder  forest  dim 
Tore  unto  death,  because  he  vaunted  him 
Against  most  holy  Artemis  ?     Oh,  beware, 
And  let  me  wreathe  thy  temples.     Make  thy  prayer 
With  us,  and  walk  thee  humbly  in  God's  sight. 

[He  makes  as  if  to  set  the  wreath  on  Pentheus'  head. 

Pentheus. 
Down  with  that  hand  !     Aroint  thee  to  thy  rite, 
Nor  smear  on  me  thy  foul  contagion  ! 

[Turning  upon  Teiresias. 
This 
Thy  folly's  head  and  prompter  shall  not  miss 
The  justice  that  he  needs  ! — Go,  half  my  guard, 
Forth  to  the  rock-seat  where  he  dwells  in  ward 
O'er  birds  and  wonders  ;  rend  the  stone  with  crow 
And  trident ;  make  one  wreck  of  high  and  low, 
And  toss  his  bands  to  all  the  winds  of  air  ! 

Ha,  ha/e  I  found  the  way  to  sting  thee,  there  ? 
The  rest,  forth  through  the  town  !     And  seek  amain 
This  girl-faced  stranger,  that  hath  wrought  such  bane 
To  all  Thebes,  preying  on  our  maids  and  wives. 
Seek  till  ye  find  3  and  lead  him  here  in  gyves, 


THE   BACCHAE  95 

Till  he  be  judged  and  stoned,  and  weep  in  blood 
The  day  he  troubled  Pentheus  with  his  God  ! 

[The  guards  set  forth  in  two  bodies ;  Pentheus 
goes  into  the  Castle. 

Teiresias. 
Hard  heart,  how  little  dost  thou  know  what  seed 
Thou  sowest  I     Blind  before,  and  now  indeed 
Most  mad  ! — Come,  Cadmus,  let  us  go  our  way. 
And  pray  for  this  our  persecutor,  pray 
For  this  poor  city,  that  the  righteous  God 
Move  not  in  anger. — Take  thine  ivy  rod 
And  help  my  steps,  as  I  help  thine.     'Twere  ill. 
If  two  old  men  should  fall  by  the  roadway.     Still, 
Come  what  come  mav,  our  service  shall  be  done 
To  Bacchios,  the  All-Father's  mystic  son. 

O  Pentheus,  named  of  sorrow  !     Shall  he  claim 
From  all  thy  house  fulfilment  of  his  name, 
Old  Cadmus  ? — Nay,  I  speak  not  from  mine  art. 
But  as  I  see — blind  words  and  a  blind  heart  ! 

[The  two  Old  Men  go  offtoiuards  the  Mountain. 

Chorus. 
So7ne  Maidens. 
Thou  Immaculate  on  high  ; 
Thou  Recording  Purity  ; 
Thou  that  stoopest.  Golden  Wing, 
Earthward,  manward,  pitying, 
Hearest  thou  this  angry  King  ? 
Hearest  thou  the  rage  and  scorn 

'Gainst  the  Lord  of  Many  Voices, 
Him  of  mortal  mother  born, 

Him  in  whom  man's  heart  rejoices, 


96  EURIPIDES 

Girt  with  garlands  and  with  glee, 
First  in  Heaven's  sovranty  ? 

For  his  kingdom,  it  is  there. 

In  the  dancing  and  the  prayer, 
In  the  music  and  the  laughter. 

In  the  vanishing  of  care. 
And  of  all  before  and  after ; 
In  the  Gods'  high  banquet,  when 

Gleams  the  grape-blood,  flashed  to 
heaven  ; 
Yea,  and  in  the  feasts  of  men 
Comes  his  crowned  slumber  ;  then 

Pain  is  dead  and  hate  forgiven  ! 

Others. 
Loose  thy  lips  from  out  the  rein  ; 
Lift  thy  wisdom  to  disdain  ; 
Whatso  law  thou  canst  not  see, 
Scorning  ;  so  the  end  shall  be 
Uttermost  calamity  ! 
'Tis  the  life  of  quiet  breath, 

'Tis  the  simple  and  the  true. 
Storm  nor  earthquake  shattereth. 

Nor  shall  aught  the  house  undo 
Where  they  dwell.     For,  far  away, 
Hidden  from  the  eyes  of  day. 

Watchers  are  there  in  the  skies, 

That  can  see  man's  life,  and  prize 
Deeds  well  done  by  things  of  clay. 

But  the  world's  Wise  are  not  wise. 
Claiming  more  than  mortal  may. 
Life  is  such  a  little  thing  ; 

Lo,  their  present  is  departed, 


THE    BACCHAE  97 

And  the  dreams  to  which  they  ch'ng 
Come  not.     Mad  imagining 

Theirs,  I  ween,  and  empty-hearted  ! 

Divers  Maidens. 

Where  is  the  Home  for  me  ? 

O  Cyprus,  set  in  the  sea, 
Aphrodite's  home  In  the  soft  sea-foam. 

Would  I  could  wend  to  thee  ; 
Where  the  wings  of  the  Loves  are  furled, 
And  faint  the  heart  of  the  world. 

Aye,  unto  Paphos'  isle, 

Where  the  rainless  meadows  smile 

With  riches  rolled  From  the  hundred-fold 
Mouths  of  the  far-off  Nile, 

Streaming  beneath  the  waves 

To  the  roots  of  the  seaward  caves. 

But  a  better  land  is  there 
Where  Olympus  cleaves  the  air. 
The  high  still  dell  Where  the  Muses  dwell. 

Fairest  of  all  things  fair  ! 
O  there  is  Grace,  and  there  is  the  Heart's  Desire, 
And  peace  to  adore  thee,  thou  Spirit  of  Guiding 
Fire! 


A  God  of  Heaven  is  he. 

And  born  in  majesty  ; 
Yet  hath  he  mirth  In  the  joy  of  the  Earth, 

And  he  loveth  constantly 
Her  who  brings  increase, 
The  Feeder  of  Children,  Peace, 

G 


98  EURIPIDES 

No  grudge  hath  he  of  the  great ; 

No  scorn  of  the  mean  estate  ; 
But  to  all  that  liveth  His  wine  he  giveth, 

Griefless,  immaculate  ; 
Only  on  them  that  spurn 
Joy,  may  his  anger  burn. 

Love  thou  the  Day  and  the  Night ; 
Be  glad  of  the  Dark  and  the  Light ; 
And  avert  thine  eyes  From  the  lore  of  the  vv^ise, 

That  have  honour  in  proud  men's  sight. 
The  simple  nameless  herd  of  Humanity 
Hath  deeds  and  faith  that  are  truth  enough  for  me ! 
[y/i    the   Chorus    ceases^    a  party  of  the  guards 
return^leading  in  the  midst  of  them  DiONYSUS, 
bound.       The   Soldier   in  command  stands 
forthy  as  Pentheus,   hearing  the  tramp  of 
feety  comes  out  from  the  Castle. 

Soldier. 
Our  quest  is  finished,  and  thy  prey,  O  King, 
Caught ;  for  the  chase  was  swift,  and  this  wild  thing 
Most  tame  ;  yet  never  flinched,  nor  thought  to  flee. 
But  held  both  hands  out  unresistingly — 
No  change,  no  blanching  of  the  wme-red  cheek. 
He  waited  while  we  came,  and  bade  us  wreak 
All  thy  decree;  yea,  laughed,  and  made  my  hest 
Easy,  till  I  for  very  shame  confessed 
And  said  :  '  O  stranger,  not  of  mine  own  will 
I  bind  thee,  but  his  bidding  to  fulfil 
Who  sent  me.' 

And  those  prisoned  Maids  withal 
Whom  thou  didst  seize  and  bind  within  the  wall 


THE   BACCHAE  99 

Of  thv  great  dungeon,  they  are  fled,  O  King, 

Free  in  the  woods,  a-dance  and  glorying 

To  Bromios.     Of  their  own  impulse  fell 

To  earth,  men  say,  fetter  and  manacle. 

And  bars  slid  back  untouched  of  mortal  hand. 

Yea,  full  of  many  wonders  to  thy  land 

Is  this  man  come.  .  .  .   Howbeit,  it  Hes  with  thee  ! 

Pentheus. 
Ye  are  mad  ! — Unhand  him.     Howso  swift  he  be, 
My  toils  are  round  him  and  he  shall  not  fly. 

[The    guards    loose    the    arms    of    Dionysus  ; 
Pentheus  studies  him  for  a  tvhile  in  silence^ 
then   speaks  jeeringly.       DiONYSUS    remains 
gentle  and  unafraid. 
Marry,  a  fair  shape  for  a  woman's  eye. 
Sir  stranger  !     And  thou  seek'st  no  more,  I  ween  ! 
Long  curls,  withal  !     That  shows  thou  ne'er  hast  been 
A  wrestler  ! — down  both  cheeks  so  softly  tossed 
And  winsome  !     And  a  white  skin  !     It  hath  cost 
Thee  pains,  to  please  thy  damsels  with  this  white 
And  red  of  cheeks  that  never  face  the  light  ! 

[Dionysus  is  silent. 
Speak,  sirrah  ;  tell  me  first  thy  name  and  race. 

Dionysus. 
No  glory  is  therein,  nor  yet  disgrace. 
Thou  hast  heard  of  Tmolus,  the  bright  hill  of  flowers  ? 

Pentheus. 
Surely  ;  the  ridge  that  winds  by  Sardis'  towers. 

Dionysus. 
Thence  am  I  ;  Lydia  was  my  fatherland. 


100  EURIPIDES 

Pentheus. 
And  whence  these  revelations,  that  thy  band 
Spreadeth  in  Hellas  ? 

Dionysus. 
Their  intent  and  use 
Dionysus  oped  to  me,  the  Child  of  Zeus. 

Pentheus  {brutally). 
Is  there  a  Zeus  there,  that  can  still  beget 
Young  Gods  ? 

Dionysus. 

Nay,  only  He  whose  seal  was  set 
Here  in  thy  Thebes  on  Semele. 

Pentheus. 

What  way 
Descended  he  upon  thee  ?     In  full  day 
Or  vision  of  night  ? 

Dionysus. 
Most  clear  he  stood,  and  scanned 
My  soul,  and  gave  his  emblems  to  mine  hand. 

Pentheus. 
What  like  be  they,  these  emblems  ? 

Dionysus. 

That  may  none 
Reveal,  nor  know,  save  his  Elect  alone. 

Pentheus. 
And  what  good  bring  they  to  the  worshipper  ? 

Dionysus. 
Good  beyond  price,  but  not  for  thee  to  hear. 


THE   BACCHAE  loi 

Pentheus. 

Thou  trickster !    Thou  wouldst  prick  me  on  the  more 
To  seek  them  out  ! 

Dionysus. 
His  mysteries  abhor 
The  touch  of  sin-lovers. 

Pentheus. 

And  so  thine  eyes 
Saw  this  God  plain  ;  what  guise  had  he  ? 

Dionysus. 

What  guise 
It  liked  him.     'Twas  not  I  ordained  his  shape. 

Pentheus. 
Aye,  deftly  turned  again.     An  idle  jape, 
And  nothing  answered  ! 

Dionysus. 

Wise  words  being  brought 
To  blinded  eyes  will  seem  as  things  of  nought. 

Pentheus. 

And  comest  thou  first  to  Thebes,  to  have  thy  God 
Established  ? 

Dionysus. 

Nay  ;  all  Barbary  hath  trod 
His  dance  ere  this. 

Pentheus. 

A  low  blind  folk,  I  ween. 
Beside  our  Hellenes  ! 


102  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 

Higher  and  more  keen 
In  this  thing,  though  their  ways  are  not  thy  way. 

Pentheus. 
How  is  thy  worship  held,  by  night  or  day  ? 

Dionysus. 
Most  oft  by  night ;  'tis  a  majestic  thing. 
The  darkness. 

Pentheus. 

Ha  !  with  women  worshipping  ? 
'Tis  craft  and  rottenness  ! 

Dionysus. 

By  day  no  less, 
Whoso  will  seek  may  find  unholiness. 

Pentheus. 
Enough  !     Thy  doom  is  fixed,  for  false  pretence 
Corrupting  Thebes. 

Dionysus. 
Not  mine  ;  but  thine,  for  dense 
Blindness  of  heart,  and  for  blaspheming  God  ! 

Pentheus. 
A  ready  knave  it  is,  and  brazen-browed, 
This  mystery-priest ! 

Dionysus. 

Come,  say  what  it  shall  be. 
My  doom  ;   what  dire  thing  wilt  thou  do  to  me  ? 


THE   BACCHAE  103 

Pentheus. 

First,  shear  that  delicate  curl  that  dangles  there. 

\^He  beckons  to  the  soldiers^  who  approach  Dionysus, 

Dionysus. 
I  have  vowed  it  to  my  God  ;  'tis  holy  hair. 

[The  soldiers  cut  off" the  tress. 

Pentheus. 
Next,  yield  mc  up  thy  staff! 

Dionysus. 

Raise  thine  ow^n  hand 
To  take  it.     This  is  Dionysus'  wand. 

[Pentheus  takes  the  staff. 

Pentheus. 
Last,  I  will  hold  thee  prisoned  here. 

Dionysus. 

My  Lord 
God  will  unloose  me,  when  I  speak  the  word. 

Pentheus. 
He  may,  if  e'er  again  amid  his  bands 
Of  saints  he  hears  thy  voice  1 

Dionysus. 

Even  now  he  stands 
Close  here,  and  sees  all  that  I  suffer. 

Pentheus. 

What  ? 
Where  is  he  ?     For  mine  eyes  discern  him  not. 


104  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 
Where  I  am  !     'Tis  thine  own  impurity 
That  veils  him  from  thee. 

Pentheus. 

The  dog  jeers  at  me  ! 
At  me  and  Thebes  !     Bind  him  ! 

[^The  soldiers  begin  to  bind  him. 

Dionysus. 

I  charge  ye,  bind 
Me  not !     I  having  vision  and  ye  blind  ! 

Pentheus. 
And  I,  with  better  right,  say  bind  the  more  ! 

[^The  soldiers  obey. 
Dionysus. 

Thou  knowest  not  what  end  thou  seekest,  nor 
What  deed  thou  doest,  nor  what  man  thou  art ! 

Pentheus  {mocking). 
Agave's  son,  and  on  the  father's  part 
Echion's,  hight  Pentheus  ! 

Dionysus. 

So  let  it  be, 
A  name  fore-written  to  calamity  ! 

Pentheus. 
Away,  and  tie  him  where  the  steeds  are  tied  ; 
Aye,  let  him  lie  in  the  manger  ! — There  abide 
And  stare  into  the  darkness  ! — And  this  rout 
Of  womankind  that  clusters  thee  about, 


THE    BACCHAE  105 

Thy  ministers  of  worship,  are  my  slaves  ! 
It  may  be  I  will  sell  them  o'er  the  waves, 
Hither  and  thither  ;  else  they  shall  be  set 
To  labour  at  my  distaffs,  and  forget 
Their  timbrel  and  their  songs  of  dawning  day  ! 

Dionysus. 

I  go  ;  for  that  which  may  not  be,  I  may 
Not  suffer  !     Yet  for  this  thy  sin,  lo,  He 
Whom  thou  deniest  cometh  after  thee 
For  recompense.     Yea,  in  thy  wrong  to  us, 
Thou  hast  cast  Him  into  thy  prison-house  ! 

[Dionysus,  without  his  wandy  his  hair  shorn^  and 
his  arms  tightly  bound,  is  led  off  by  the  guards 
to  his  dungeon.  Pentheus  returns  into  the 
Palace. 

Chorus. 

Some  Maidens. 

AcheloQs'  roaming  daughter, 
Holy  Dircd,  virgin  water. 
Bathed  he  not  of  old  in  thee. 
The  Babe  of  God,  the  Mystery  ? 
When  from  out  the  fire  immortal 

To  himself  his  God  did  take  him. 

To  his  own  flesh,  and  bespake  him  : 
"  Enter  now  life's  second  portal. 
Motherless  Mvstery  ;  lo,  I  break 
Mine  own  body  for  thy  sake. 

Thou  of  the  Twofold  Door,  and  seal  thee 
Mine,  O  Bromios," — thus  he  spake — 

"And  to  this  thy  land  reveal  thee." 


io6  EURIPIDES 

All. 
Still  my  prayer  toward  thee  quivers, 

Dirce,  still  to  thee  I  hie  me  ; 
Why,  O  BlessM  among  Rivers, 
Wilt  thou  fly  me  and  deny  me  ? 
By  His  ovi^n  joy  I  vow. 
By  the  grape  upon  the  bough, 
Thou  shalt  seek  Him  in  the  midnight,  thou  shalt  love 
Him,  even  now  ! 

Other  Maidens. 
Dark  and  of  the  dark  impassioned 
Is  this  Pentheus'  blood  ;  yea,  fashioned 
Of  the  Dragon,  and  his  birth 
From  Echion,  child  of  Earth. 
He  is  no  man,  but  a  wonder  ; 

Did  the  Earth-Child  not  beget  him, 

As  a  red  Giant,  to  set  him 
Against  God,  against  the  Thunder  ? 
He  will  bind  me  for  his  prize. 
Me,  the  Bride  of  Dionyse  ; 

And  my  priest,  my  friend,  is  taken 
Even  now,  and  buried  lies ; 

In  the  dark  he  lies  forsaken  ! 

All. 
Lo,  we  race  with  death,  we  perish, 

Dionysus,  here  before  thee  I 
Dost  thou  mark  us  not,  nor  cherish, 
Who  implore  thee,  and  adore  thee  ? 
Hither  down  Olympus'  side, 
Come,  O  Holy  One  defied. 
Be  thy  golden  wand  uplifted  o'er  the  tyrant  in  his  pride ! 


THE   BACCHAE 

A  Maiden. 

Oh,  where  art  thou  ?     In  thine  own 
Nysa,  thou  our  help  alone  ? 
O'er  fierce  beasts  in  orient  lands 

Doth  thy  thronging  thyrsus  wave, 
By  the  high  Corycian  Cave, 
Or  where  stern  Olympus  stands  ; 
In  the  elm-woods  and  the  oaken. 

There  where  Orpheus  harped  of  old, 

And  the  trees  awoke  and  knew  him, 

And  the  wild  things  gathered  to  him. 
As  he  sang  amid  the  broken 

Glens  his  music  manifold  ? 
Blessed  Land  of  PiCrie, 
Dionysus  lovcth  thee  ; 

He  will  come  to  thee  with  dancing, 
Come  with  joy  and  mystery  ; 
With  the  Maenads  at  his  best 
Winding,  winding  to  the  West  ; 

Cross  the  flood  of  swiftly  glancing 
Axios  in  majesty  ; 
Cross  the  Lydias,  the  giver 

Of  good  gifts  and  waving  green  ; 
Cross  that  Father-Stream  of  story. 
Through  a  land  of  steeds  and  glory 
Rolling,  bravest,  fairest  River 

E'er  of  mortals  seen  ! 

A  Voice  Within. 

lo  !     lo  ! 
Awake,  ye  damsels  ;   hear  my  cry, 

Calling  my  Chosen  ;  hearken  ye  ! 


107 


io8  EURIPIDES 

A  Maiden. 
Who  speaketh  ?     Oh,  what  echoes  thus  ? 

Another. 
A  Voice,  a  Voice,  that  calleth  us  ! 

The  Voice. 

Be  of  good  cheer  !     Lo,  it  is  I, 

The  Child  of  Zeus  and  Semele. 

A  Maiden. 
O  Master,  Master,  it  is  Thou  ! 

Another. 
O  Holy  Voice,  be  with  us  now  ! 

The  Voice. 

Spirit  of  the  Chained  Earthquake, 
Hear  my  word  ;  awake,  awake  ! 
[yf«  Earthquake  suddenly  shakes  the  pillars  of  the 
Castle. 

A  Maiden. 

Ha  !  what  is  coming  ?     Shall  the  hall 
Of  Pentheus  racked  in  ruin  fall  ? 

Leader. 
Our  God  is  in  the  house  !     Ye  maids  adore  Him  ! 

Chorus, 

We  adore  Him  all ! 


THE   BACCHAE  109 

The  Voice. 

Unveil  the  Lightning's  eye  ;  arouse 
The  fire  that  sleeps,  against  this  house  ! 

\^fire  leaps  up  on  the  Tomb  of  Semele. 

A  Maiden. 

Ah,  saw  ye,  marked  ye  there  the  flame 

From  Semele's  enhallowed  sod 
Awakened  ?     Yea,  the  Death  that  came 
Ablaze  from  heaven  of  old,  the  same 

Hot  splendour  of  the  shaft  of  God  ? 

Leader. 
Oh,  cast  ye,  cast  ye,  to  the  earth  !     The  Lord 

Cometh  against  this  house  !     Oh,  cast  ye  down. 
Ye  trembling  damsels  ;  He,  our  own  adored, 

God's  Child  hath  come,  and  all  is  overthrown  ! 

[The  Maidens  cast  themselves  upon  the  ground^ 
their  eyes  earthward.  Dionysus,  alone  and 
unbound^  enters  from  the  Castle. 

Dionysus. 

Ye  Damsels  of  the  Morning  Hills,  why  lie  ye  thus 
dismayed  ? 

Ye  marked  him,  then,  our  Master,  and  the  mighty 
hand  he  laid 

On  tower  and  rock,  shaking  the  house  of  Pentheus  ? 
— But  arise. 

And  cast  the  trembling  from  your  flesh,  and  lift  un- 
troubled eyes. 


no  EURIPIDES 

Leader. 

0  Light  in  Darkness,  is  it  thou  ?     O  Priest,  is  this 

thy  face  ? 
My  heart  leaps  out  to  greet  thee  from  the  deep  of 
loneliness. 

Dionysus. 

Fell  ye  so  quick  despairing,  when  beneath  the  Gate 
I  passed  ? 

Should  the  gates  of  Pentheus  quell  me,  or  his  dark- 
ness make  me  fast  ? 

Leader. 
Oh,  what  was  left  if  thou  wert  gone  ?     What  could  I 

but  despair  ? 
How  hast  thou  ""scaped  the  man  of  sin  ?     Who  freed 

thee  from  the  snare  ? 

Dionysus. 

1  had  no  pain  nor  peril ;  'twas  mine  own  hand  set  me 

free. 

Leader. 
Thine  arms  were  gyved  ! 

Dionysus. 

Nay,  no  gyve,  no  touch,  was  laid  on  me  ! 
'Twas  there  I  mocked  him,  in  his  gyves,  and  gave  him 

dreams  for  food. 
For  when  he  led  me  down,  behold,  before  the  stall 

there  stood 
A  Bull  of  Offering.     And  this  King,  he  bit  his  lips, 

and  straight 
Fell  on  and   bound  it,   hoof  and   limb,  with  gasping 

wrath  and  sweat. 


THE    BACCHAE  in 

And  I  sat  watching  ! — Then  a  Voice  ;  and  lo,  our 

Lord  was  come, 
And  the  house  shook,  and  a  great  flame  stood  o'er  his 

mother's  tomb. 
And  Pentheus  hied   this  way  and  that,  and  called   his 

thralls  amain 
For  water,  lest  his  roof-tree  burn  ;  and  all  toiled,  all 

in  vain. 
Then  deemed  a-sudden  I  was  gone  ;  and  left  his  fire, 

and  sped 
Back  to  the  prison  portals,  and  his  lifted  sword  shone  red. 
But  there,  methinks,  the  God  had  wrought — 1  speak 

but  as  I  guess — 
Some  dream-shape  in  mine  image  ;   for  he  smote  at 

emptiness, 
Stabbed   in   the  air,  and  strove   in   wrath,  as  though 

'twere  me  he  slew. 
Then  'mid  his  dreams  God  smote  him  yet  again  !    He 

overthrew 
All  that  high  house.     And  there  in  wreck  for  ever- 
more it  lies. 
That   the   day  of  this  my   bondage   may   be  sore  in 

Pentheus'  eyes  ! 
And   now  his  sword  is  fallen,  and  he  lies  outworn 

and  wan 
Who  dared  to  rise  against  his  God   in  wrath,  being 

but  man. 
And  I  uprose  and   left  him,  and  in  all  peace  took  my 

path 
Forth   to  my  Chosen,  recking  light  of  Pentheus  and 

his  wrath. 
But    soft,   methinks   a    footstep  sounds  even    now 

within  the  hall  j 


112  EURIPIDES 

'Tis  he  ;  how  think  ye  he  will  stand,  and  what  words 

speak  withal  ? 
I  will  endure  him  gently,  though  he  come  in  fury  hot. 
For  still  are  the  ways  of  Wisdom,  and  her  temper 

trembleth  not ! 

Enter  Pentheus  in  fury, 
Pentheus. 
It  is  too  much  !     This  Eastern  knave  hath  slipped 
His  prison,  whom  I  held  but  now,  hard  gripped 
In  bondage. — Ha  1     'Tis  he  ! — What,  sirrah,  how 
Show'st  thou  before  my  portals  ? 

\^He  advances  furiously  upon  him. 

Dionysus. 

Softly  thou  ! 
And  set  a  quiet  carriage  to  thy  rage. 

Pentheus. 
How  comest  thou  here  ?     How  didst  thou  break  thy 

cage  ? 
Speak  ! 

Dionysus. 

Said  I  not,  or  didst  thou  mark  not  me. 
There  was  One  living  that  should  set  me  free  ? 

Pentheus. 
Who  ?     Ever  wilder  are  these  tales  of  thine. 

Dionysus. 
He  who  first  made  for  man  the  clustered  vine. 

Pentheus, 
I  scorn  him  and  his  vines  ! 


THE   BACCHAE  113 

Dionysus. 

For  Dionyse 
'Tis  well ;  for  in  thy  scorn  his  glory  lies. 

Pentheus  [to  his  guani). 
Go  swift  to  all  the  towers,  and  bar  withal 
Each  gate  ! 

Dionysus. 

What,  cannot  God  o'erleap  a  wall  ? 

Pentheus. 
Oh,  wit  thou  hast,  save  where  thou  needest  it  ! 

Dionysus. 

Whereso  it  most  imports,  there  is  my  wit ! — 
Nay,  peace  !     Abide  till  he  who  hasteth  from 
The  mountain  side  with  news  for  thee,  be  come. 
We  will  not  fly,  but  wait  on  thy  command. 

l^Enter  suddenly  and  in  haste  a  Messenger  from 
the  Mountain. 

Messenger. 

Great  Pentheus,  Lord  of  all  this  Theban  land, 
I  come  from  high  Kithaeron,  where  the  frore 
Snow  spangles  gleam  and  cease  not  evermore.  .  .  . 

Pentheus. 
And  what  of  import  may  thy  coming  bring  ? 

Messenger. 
I  have  seen  the  Wild  White  Women  there,  O  King, 
Whose  fleet  limbs  darted  arrow-like  but  now 
From  Thebes  away,  and  come  to  tell  thee  how 

H 


114  EURIPIDES 

They  work  strange  deeds  and  passing  marvel.     Yet 
I  first  would  learn  thy  pleasure.     Shall  I  set 
My  whole  tale  forth,  or  veil  the  stranger  part  ? 
Yea,  Lord,  I  fear  the  swiftness  of  thy  heart, 
Thine  edged  wrath  and  more  than  royal  soul. 

Pentheus. 

Thy  tale  shall  nothing  scathe  thee. — Tell  the  whole. 
It  skills  not  to  be  wroth  with  honesty. 
Nay,  if  thy  news  of  them  be  dark,  'tis  he 
Shall  pay  it,  who  bewitched  and  led  them  on. 

Messenger. 
Our  herded  kine  were  moving  in  the  dawn 
Up  to  the  peaks,  the  greyest,  coldest  time. 
When  the  first  rays  steal  earthward,  and  the  rime 
Yields,  when   I  saw   three  bands  of  them.     The 

one 
Autonoe  led,  one  Ino,  one  thine  own 
Mother,  Agave.     There  beneath  the  trees 
Sleeping  they  lay,  like  wild  things  flung  at  ease 
In  the  forest  ;  one  half  sinking  on  a  bed 
Of  deep  pine  greenery  ;  one  with  careless  head 
Amid  the  fallen  oak  leaves  ;  all  most  cold 
In  purity — not  as  thy  tale  was  told 
Of  wine-cups  and  wild  music  and  the  chase 
For  love  amid  the  forest's  loneliness. 
Then  rose  the  Queen  Agave  suddenly 
Amid  her  band,  and  gave  the  God's  wild  cry, 
"  Awake,  ye  Bacchanals  !  I  hear  the  sound 
Of  horned  kine.     Awake  ye  !  " — Then,  all  round, 
Alert,  the  warm  sleep  fallen  from  their  eyes, 
A  marvel  of  swift  ranks  I  saw  them  rise, 


THE   BACCHAE  115 

Dames  young  and  old,  and  gentle  maids  unwed 
Among  them.     O'er  their  shoulders  first  they  shed 
Their  tresses,  and  caught  up  the  fallen  fold 
Of  mantles  where  some  clasp  had  loosened  hold. 
And  girt  the  dappled  fawn-skins  in  with  long 
Quick  snakes  that  hissed  and  writhed  with  quivering 

tongue. 
And  one  a  young  fawn  held,  and  one  a  wild 
Wolf  cub,  and  ted  them  with  white  milk,  and  smiled 
In  love,  young  mothers  with  a  mother's  breast 
And  babes  at  home  forgotten  !     Then  they  pressed 
Wreathed  ivy  round  their  brows,  and  oaken  sprays 
And  flowering  bryony.     And  one  would  raise 
Her  wand  and  smite  the  rock,  and  straight  a  jet 
Of  quick  bright  water  came.     Another  set 
Her  thyrsus  m  the  bosomed  earth,  and  there 
Was  red  wine  that  the  God  sent  up  to  her, 
A  darkling  fountain.     And  if  any  lips 
Sought  whiter  draughts,  with  dipping  finger-tips 
They  pressed  the  sod,  and  gushing  from  the  ground 
Came  springs  of  milk.     And  reed-wands  ivy-crowned 
Ran  with  sweet  honey,  drop  by  drop. — O  King, 
Hadst  thou  been  there,  as  I,  and  seen  this  thing. 
With  prayer  and  most  high  wonder  hadst  thou  gone 
To  adore  this  God  whom  now  thou  rail'st  upon  ! 

Howbeit,  the  kine-wardens  and  shepherds  straight 
Came  to  one  place,  amazed,  and  held  debate  ; 
And  one  being  there  who  walked  the  streets  and  scanned 
The  ways  of  speech,  took  lead  of  them  whose  hand 
Knew  but  the  slow  soil  and  the  solemn  hill. 
And  flattering  spoke,  and  asked  :  "Is  it  your  will, 
Masters,  we  stay  the  mother  of  the  King, 
Agave,  from  her  lawless  worshipping. 


ii6  EURIPIDES 

And  win  us  royal  thanks  ?  " — And  this  seemed  good 
To  all ;  and  through  the  branching  underwood 
We  hid  us,  cowering  in  the  leaves.     And  there 
Through  the  appointed  hour  they  made  their  prayer 
And  worship  of  the  Wand,  with  one  accord 
Of  heart  and  cry — "  lacchos,  Bromios,  Lord, 
God  of  God  born  !  " — And  all  the  mountain  felt, 
And  worshipped  with  them  ;  and  the  wild  things  knelt 
And  ramped  and  gloried,  and  the  wilderness 
Was  filled  with  moving  voices  and  dim  stress. 

Soon,  as  it  chanced,  beside  my  thicket-close 
The  Queen  herself  passed  dancing,  and  I  rose 
And  sprang  to  seize  her.     But  she  turned  her  face 
Upon  me  :  "  Ho,  my  rovers  of  the  chase. 
My  wild  White  Hounds,  we  are  hunted  !     Up,  each 

rod 
And  follow,  follow,  for  our  Lord  and  God  ! " 
Thereat,  for  fear  they  tear  us,  all  we  fled 
Amazed  ;  and  on,  with  hand  unweaponed 
They  swept  toward  our  herds  that  browsed  the  green 
Hill  grass.     Great  uddered  kine  then  hadst  thou  seen 
Bellowing  in  sword-like  hands  that  cleave  and  tear, 
A  live  steer  riven  asunder,  and  the  air 
Tossed  with  rent  ribs  or  limbs  of  cloven  tread, 
And  flesh  upon  the  branches,  and  a  red 
Rain  from  the  deep  green  pines.     Yea,  bulls  of  pride. 
Horns  swift  to  rage,  were  fronted  and  aside 
Flung  stumbling,  by  those  multitudinous  hands 
Dragged  pitilessly.     And  swifter  were  the  bands 
Of  garbed  flesh  and  bone  unbound  withal 
Than  on  thy  royal  eyes  the  lids  may  fall. 

Then  on  like  birds,  by  their  own  speed  upborne, 
They  swept  toward  the  plains  of  waving  corn 


THE   BACCHAE  117 

That  lie  beside  Asopus'  banks,  and  bring 
To  Thebes  the  rich  fruit  of  her  harvesting. 
On  Hysiae  and  Erythrae  that  lie  nursed 
Amid  Kithaeron's  bowering  rocks,  they  burst 
Destroying,  as  a  focman's  army  comes. 
They  caught  up  little  children  from  their  homes. 
High  on  their  shoulders,  babes  unheld,  that  swayed 
And  laughed  and  fell  not ;  all  a  wreck  they  made  ; 
Yea,  bronze  and  iron  did  shatter,  and  in  play 
Struck  hither  and  thither,  yet  no  wound  had  they  ; 
Caught  fire  from  out  the  hearths,  yea,  carried  hot 
Flames  in  their  tresses  and  were  scorched  not  ! 

The  village  folk  in  wrath  took  spear  and  sword. 
And  turned  upon  the  Bacchae.     Then,  dread  Lord, 
The  wonder  was.     For  spear  nor  barbed  brand 
Could  scathe  nor  touch  the  damsels  ;  but  the  Wand, 
The  soft  and  wreathed  wand  their  white  hands  sped, 
Blasted  those  men  and  quelled  them,  and  they  fled 
Dizzily.     Sure  some  God  was  in  these  things  ! 

And  the  holy  women  back  to  those  strange  springs 
Returned,  that  God  had  sent  them  when  the  day 
Dawned,  on  the  upper  heights  ;  and  washed  away 
The  stain  of  battle.     And  those  girdling  snakes 
Hissed  out  to  lap  the  waterdrops  from  cheeks 
And  hair  and  breast. 

Therefore  I  counsel  thee, 
O  King,  receive  this  Spirit,  whoe'er  he  be, 
To  Thebes  in  glory.     Greatness  manifold 
Is  all  about  him  ;  and  the  tale  is  told 
That  this  is  he  who  first  to  man  did  give 
The  grief-assuaging  vine.     Oh,  let  him  live  ; 
For  if  he  die,  then  Love  herself  is  slain, 
And  nothing  joyous  in  the  world  again  ! 


ii8  EURIPIDES 

Leader. 
Albeit  I  tremble,  and  scarce  may  speak  my  thought 
To  a  king's  face,  yet  will  I  hide  it  not. 
Dionyse  is  God,  no  God  more  true  nor  higher  1 

Pentheus. 
It  bursts  hard  by  us,  like  a  smothered  fire. 
This  frenzy  of  Bacchic  women  !     All  my  land 
Is  made  their  mock. — This  needs  an  iron  hand  ! 
Ho,  Captain  !     Quick  to  the  Electran  Gate  ; 
Bid  gather  all  my  men-at-arms  thereat ; 
Call  all  that  spur  the  charger,  all  who  know 
To  wield  the  orbed  targe  or  bend  the  bow  ; 
We  march  to  war  ! — 'Fore  God,  shall  women  dare 
Such  deeds  against  us  ?     'Tis  too  much  to  bear  ! 

Dionysus. 

Thou  mark'st  me  not,  O  King,  and  boldest  light 
My  solemn  words  ;  yet,  in  thine  own  despite, 
I  warn  thee  still.     Lift  thou  not  up  thy  spear 
Against  a  God,  but  hold  thy  peace,  and  fear 
His  wrath  !     He  will  not  brook  it,  if  thou  fright 
His  Chosen  from  the  hills  of  their  delight. 

Pentheus. 
Peace,  thou  !     And  if  for  once  thou  hast  slipped  thy 

chain. 
Give  thanks  ! — Or  shall  I  knot  thine  arms  again  ? 

Dionysus. 
Better  to  yield  him  prayer  and  sacrifice 
Than  kick  against  the  pricks,  since  Dionyse 
Is  God,  and  thou  but  mortal. 


THE   BACCHAE  119 

Pentheus. 

That  will  I  ! 
Yea,  sacrifice  of  women's  hlood,  to  cry 
His  name  through  all  Kithaeron  ! 

Dionysus. 

Ye  shall  fly, 
All,  and  abase  your  shields  of  bronzen  rim 
Before  their  wands. 

Pentheus. 

There  is  no  way  with  him, 
This  stranger  that  so  dogs  us  !     Well  or  ill 
I  may  entreat  him,  he  must  babble  still  ! 

Dionysus. 

Wait,  good  my  friend  !     These  crooked  matters  may 
Even  yet  be  straightened. 

[Pentheus  has  started  as  though  to  seek  his  army 
at  the  gate. 

Pentheus. 

Aye,  if  I  obey 
Mine  own  slaves'  will  ;   how  else  ? 

Dionysus. 

Myself  will  lead 
The  damsels  hither,  without  sword  or  steed. 

Pentheus. 
How  now  ? — This  is  some  plot  against  me  ! 

Dionysus. 

What 
Dost  fear  r     Only  to  save  thee  do  I  plot. 


I20  EURIPIDES 

Pentheus. 
It  is  some  compact  ye  have  made,  whereby 
To  dance  these  hills  for  ever  ! 

Dionysus. 

Verily, 
That  is  my  compact,  plighted  with  my  Lord  ! 

Pentheus  {turning  from  him). 
Ho,  armourers  !     Bring  forth  my  shield  and  sword  ! — 
And  thou,  be  silent  ! 

Dionysus 
{after  regarding  him  fixedly,  speaks  with  resignation^. 
Ah  ! — Have  then  thy  will  ! 
[He  fixes  his  eyes  upon  Pentheus  again,  while 
the  armourers  bring  out  his  armour  ;    then 
speaks  in  a  tone  of  command. 
Man,  thou  wouldst  fain  behold  them  on  the  hill 
Praying  I 

Pentheus 
{who  during  the  rest  of  this  scene,  with  a  few  exceptions, 
simply  speaks  the  thoughts  that  Dionysus  puts  into 
him,  losing  power  over  his  own  mind). 

That  would  I,  though  it  cost  me  all 
The  gold  of  Thebes  ! 

Dionysus. 
So  much  ?     Thou  art  quick  to  fall 
To  such  great  longing. 

Pentheus 
{somewhat  bewildered  at  what  he  has  said). 

Aye  ;  'twould  grieve  me  much 
To  see  them  flown  with  wine. 


THE   BACCHAE  121 

Dionysus. 

Yet  cravcst  thou  such 
A  sight  as  would  much  grieve  thee  ? 

Pentheus. 

Yes  ;  I  fain 
Would  watch,  ambushed  among  the  pines. 

Dionysus. 

'Twere  vain 
To  hide.     They  soon  will  track  thee  out. 

Pentheus. 

Well  said  ! 
'Twere  best  done  openly. 

Dionysus. 

Wilt  thou  be  led 
By  me,  and  try  the  venture  ? 

Pentheus. 

Aye,  mdeed  ! 
Lead  on.     Why  should  we  tarry  ? 

Dionysus. 

First  we  need 
A  rich  and  trailing  robe  of  fine-linen 
To  gird  thee. 

Pentheus. 

Nay  ;  am  I  a  woman,  then, 
And  no  man  more  ? 

Dionysus. 
Wouldst  have  them  slay  thee  dead  ? 
No  man  may  see  their  mysteries. 


122    •  EURIPIDES 

Pentheus. 

Well  said  !- 
I  marked  thy  subtle  temper  long  ere  now. 

Dionysus. 
'Tis  Dionyse  that  prompteth  me. 

Pentheus, 

And  how 
Meanest  thou  the  further  plan  ? 

Dionysus. 

First  take  thy  way 
Within.     I  will  array  thee. 

Pentheus. 

What  array  ? 
The  woman's  ?     Nay,  I  will  not. 

Dionysus. 

Doth  it  change 
So  soon,  all  thy  desire  to  see  this  strange 
Adoring  ? 

Pentheus. 

Wait !     What  garb  wilt  thou  bestow 
About  me  ? 

Dionysus. 

First  a  long  tress  dangling  low 
Beneath  thy  shoulders. 

Pentheus. 

Aye,  and  next  ? 


THE    BACCHAE  123 

Dionysus. 

The  said 
Robe,  falling  to  thy  feet  ;  and  on  thine  head 
A  snood. 

Pentheus. 

And  after  ?     Hast  thou  aught  beyond  ? 

Dionysus, 
Surely  ;  the  dappled  fawn-skin  and  the  wand. 

Pentheus  {after  a  struggle  with  himself). 
Enough  !  I  cannot  wear  a  robe  and  snood. 

Dionysus. 
Wouldst  liefer  draw  the  sword  and  spill  men's  blood  ? 

Pentheus  [again  doubting). 
True,  that  were  evil. — Aye  ;  'tis  best  to  go 
First  to  some  place  of  watch. 

Dionysus. 

Far  wiser  so, 
Than  seek  by  wrath  wrath's  bitter  recompense. 

Pentheus. 
What  of  the  city  streets  ?     Canst  lead  me  hence 
Unseen  of  any  ? 

Dionysus. 
Lonely  and  untried 
Thy  path  from  hence  shall  be,  and  I  thy  guide  ! 

Pentheus. 
I  care  for  nothing,  so  these  Bacchanals 
Triumph  not  against  me  !  .  .   .  Forward  to  my  halls 
Within  ! — I  will  ordain  what  seemeth  best. 


124  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 

So  be  it,  O  King  !     'Tis  mine  to  obey  thine  best, 
Whate'er  it  be. 

Pentheus 
{after  hesitating  once  more  and  waiting). 

Well,  I  will  go — perchance 
To  march  and  scatter  them  with  serried  lance. 
Perchance  to  take  thy  plan.  ...  I  know  not  yet. 

l^Exit  Pentheus  into  the  Castle. 

Dionysus. 

Damsels,  the  Hon  walketh  to  the  net  ! 
He  finds  his  Bacchae  now,  and  sees  and  dies, 
And  pays  for  all  his  sin  ! — O  Dionyse, 
This  is  thine  hour  and  thou  not  far  away. 
Grant  us  our  vengeance  ! — First,  O  Master,  stay 
The  course  of  reason  in  him,  and  instil 
A  foam  of  madness.     Let  his  seeing  will. 
Which  ne'er  had  stooped  to  put  thy  vesture  on. 
Be  darkened,  till  the  deed  is  lightly  done. 
Grant  likewise  that  he  find  through  all  his  streets 
Loud  scorn,  this  man  of  wrath  and  bitter  threats 
That  made  Thebes  tremble,  led  in  woman's  guise. 

I  go  to  fold  that  robe  of  sacrifice 
On  Pentheus,  that  shall  deck  him  to  the  dark. 
His  mother's  gift  ! — So  shall  he  learn  and  mark 
God's  true  Son,  Dionyse,  in  fulness  God, 
Most  fearful,  yet  to  man  most  soft  of  mood. 

l^Exit  Dionysus,  following  Pentheus  into  the 
Castle. 


THE   BACCHAE  125 

Chorus. 
Some  Maidens. 
Will  they  ever  come  to  me,  ever  again, 

The  long  long  dances. 
On  through  the  dark  till  the  dim  stars  wane  ? 
Shall  I  feel  the  dew  on  my  throat,  and  the  stream 
Of  wind  in  my  hair  ?    Shall  our  white  feet  gleam 

In  the  dim  expanses  ? 
Oh,  feet  of  a  fawn  to  the  greenwood  fled, 

Alone  in  the  grass  and  the  loveliness  ; 
Leap  of  the  hunted,  no  more  in  dread. 

Beyond  the  snares  and  the  deadly  press : 
Yet  a  voice  still  in  the  distance  sounds, 
A  voice  and  a  fear  and  a  haste  of  hounds  ; 
O  wildly  labouring,  fiercely  fleet, 

Onward  yet  by  river  and  glen  .  .  . 
Is  it  joy  or  terror,  ye  storm-swift  feet  ?  .  .  . 
To  the  dear  lone  lands  untroubled  of  men, 
Where  no  voice  sounds,  and  amid  the  shadowy  green 
The  little  things  of  the  woodland  live  unseen. 

What  else  is  Wisdom  ?     What  of  man's  endeavour 
Or  God's  high  grace,  so  lovely  and  so  great  ? 
To  stand  from  fear  set  free,  to  breathe  and  wait ; 
To  hold  a  hand  uplifted  over  Hate  ; 

And  shall  not  Loveliness  be  loved  for  ever  ? 

Others. 
O  Strength  of  God,  slow  art  thou  and  still, 

Yet  failest  never  ! 
On  them  that  worship  the  Ruthless  Will, 
On  them  that  dream,  doth  His  judgment  wait. 
Dreams  of  the  proud  man,  making  great 

And  greater  ever, 


126  EURIPIDES 

Things  which  are  not  of  God.     In  wide 

And  devious  coverts,  hunter-wise, 
He  coucheth  Time's  unhasting  stride, 

Following,  following,  him  whose  eyes 
Look  not  to  Heaven.     For  all  is  vain. 
The  pulse  of  the  heart,  the  plot  of  the  brain, 
That  striveth  beyond  the  laws  that  live. 
And  is  thy  Faith  so  much  to  give, 
Is  it  so  hard  a  thing  to  see. 
That  the  Spirit  of  God,  whate'er  it  be. 
The  Law  that  abides  and  changes  not,  ages  long. 
The  Eternal  and  Nature-born — these  things  be  strong? 

What  else  is  Wisdom  ?     What  of  man's  endeavour 
Or  God's  high  grace  so  lovely  and  so  great  ? 
To  stand  from  fear  set  free,  to  breathe  and  wait ; 
To  hold  a  hand  uplifted  over  Hate  ; 

And  shall  not  Loveliness  be  loved  for  ever  ? 

Leader. 

Happy  he,  on  the  weary  sea 
Who  hath  fled  the  tempest  and  won  the  haven. 

Happy  whoso  hath  risen,  free. 
Above  his  striving.     For  strangely  graven 

Is  the  orb  of  life,  that  one  and  another 

In  gold  and  power  may  outpass  his  brother. 

And  men  in  their  millions  float  and  flow 
And  seethe  with  a  million  hopes  as  leaven  ; 

And  they  win  their  Will,  or  they  miss  their  Will, 

And  the  hopes  are  dead  or  are  pined  for  still ; 
But  whoe'er  can  know. 
As  the  long  days  go, 
That  To  Live  is  happy,  hath  found  his  Heaven  ! 


THE   BACCHAE  127 

Re-enter  Dionysus /row  the  Castle. 
Dionysus, 
O  eye  that  cravest  sights  thou  must  not  see, 
O  heart  athirst  for  that  which  slakes  not  !     Thee, 
Pentheus,  I  call ;   forth  and  be  seen,  in  guise 
Of  woman.  Maenad,  saint  of  Dionyse, 
To  spy  upon  His  Chosen  and  thine  own 
Mother ! 

[^Enter  Pentheus,  clad  like  a  Bacchanal,  and 
strangely  excited,  a  spirit  of  Bacchic  madness 
overshadowing  him. 

Thy  shape,  methinks,  is  like  to  one 
Of  Cadmus'  royal  maids  ! 

Pentheus. 

Yea  ;  and  mine  eye 
Is  bright !  Yon  sun  shines  twofold  in  the  sky, 
Thebes  twofold  and  the  Wall  of  Seven  Gates.  .  .  , 
And  is  it  a  Wild  Bull  this,  that  walks  and  waits 
Before  me  ?  There  are  horns  upon  thy  brow  ! 
What  art  thou,  man  or  beast  ?  For  surely  now 
The  Bull  IS  on  thee  ! 

Dionysus. 

He  who  erst  was  wrath, 
Goes  with  us  now  in  gentleness.     He  hath 
Unsealed  thine  eyes  to  see  what  thou  shouldst  see. 

Pentheus. 
Say  ;  stand  I  not  as  Ino  stands,  or  she 
Who  bore  me  ? 


128  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 

When  I  look  on  thee,  it  seems 
I  see  their  very  selves  !— But  stay  ;  why  streams 
That  lock  abroad,  not  where  I  laid  it,  crossed 
Under  the  coif? 

Pentheus. 
I  did  it,  as  I  tossed 
My  head  in  dancing,  to  and  fro,  and  cried 
His  holy  mvisic  ! 

Dionysus  [tending  htm). 

It  shall  soon  be  tied 
Aright.    'Tis  mine  to  tend  thee.  .  .  .  Nay,  but  stand 
With  head  straight. 

Pentheus. 

In  the  hollow  of  thy  hand 
I  lay  me.     Deck  me  as  thou  wilt. 

Dionysus. 

Thy  zone 
Is  loosened  likewise  ;  and  the  folded  gown 
Not  evenly  falling  to  the  feet. 

Pentheus. 

'Tis  so. 
By  the  right  foot.     But  here,  methinks,  they  flow 
In  one  straight  line  to  the  heel. 

Dionysus  {while  tending  him). 

And  if  thou  prove 
Their  madness  true,  aye,  more  than  true,  what  love 
And  thanks  hast  thou  for  me  ? 


THE    BACCHAE  129 

Peni-heus  {not  listt-nirig  to  him). 

In  my  right  hand 
Is  it,  or  thus,  that  I  should  hear  the  wand. 
To  be  most  hkc  to  them  ? 

Dionysus. 

Up  let  It  swing 
In    the    right    hand,    timed    with     the    right     foot's 

spring.  .  .  . 
'Tis  well  thy  heart  is  changed  ! 

Pentheus  [rjiore  wildly). 

What  strength  is  this  ! 
Kithaeron's  steeps  and  all  that  in  them  is — 
How  say'st  thou  ? — Could  my  shoulders  lift  the  whole 

Dionysus. 
Surely  thou  canst,  and  if  thou  wilt  !     Thy  soul. 
Being  once  so  sick,  now  stands  as  it  should  stand. 

Pentheus. 
Shall  it  be  bars  of  iron  ?     Or  this  bare  hand 
And  shoulder  to  the  crags,  to  wrench  them  down  ? 

Dionysus. 

Wouldst  wreck  the  Nymphs'  wild  temples,  and   the 

brown 
Rocks,  where  Pan  pipes  at  noonday  ? 

Pentheus. 

Nay  ;  not  I  ! 
Force  is  not  well  with  women.      I  will  lie 
Hid  in  the  pine-brake. 


I30  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 

Even  as  fits  a  spy 
On  holy  and  fearful  things,  so  shalt  thou  lie  ! 

Pentheus  {with  a  laugh). 
They  lie  there  now,  methinks — the  wild  birds,  caught 
By  love  among  the  leaves,  and  fluttering  not ! 

Dionysus. 
It  may  be.     That  is  what  thou  goest  to  see, 
Aye,  and  to  trap  them — so  they  trap  not  thee  ! 

Pentheus. 
Forth  through  the  Thebans'  town  !     I  am  their  king, 
Aye,  their  one  Man,  seeing  I  dare  this  thing  ! 

Dionysus. 
Yea,  thou  shalt  bear  their  burden,  thou  alone  ; 
Therefore  thy  trial  awaiteth  thee  ! — But  on  ; 
With  me  into  thine  ambush  shalt  thou  come 
Unscathed  ;  then  let  another  bear  thee  home  ! 

Pentheus. 
The  Queen,  my  mother. 

Dionysus. 

Marked  of  every  eye, 

Pentheus. 


For  that  I  go 


Dionysus. 
Thou  shalt  be  borne  on  high  ! 


Pentheus. 
That  were  like  pride  ! 


THE    BACCHAE  131 

Dionysus. 
Thy  mother's  hands  shall  share 


Thy  carrying. 

Pentheus. 


Nay  ;  I  need  not  such  soft  care  ! 
Dionysus. 


So  soft  ? 


Pentheus. 
Whate'er  it  be,  I  have  earned  it  well  ! 
[Exit  Pentheus  towards  the  Mountain. 

Dionysus. 
Fell,  fell  art  thou  ;  and  to  a  doom  so  fell 
Thou  walkest,  that  thy  name  from  South  to  North 
Shall  shine,  a  sign  for  ever  ! — Reach  thou  forth 
Thine  arms,  AgAv^,  now,  and  ye  dark-browed 
Cadmeian  sisters  !     Greet  this  prince  so  proud 
To  the  high  ordeal,  where  save  God  and  me, 
None  walks  unscathed  ! — The  rest  this  day  shall  see. 
[Exit  DioiiYi,vs  following  Pentheus. 

Chorus. 
Some  Maidens. 

O  hounds  raging  and  blind. 

Up  by  the  mountain  road. 
Sprites  of  the  maddened  mind. 

To  the  wild  Maids  of  God  ; 
Fill  with  your  rage  their  eyes. 

Rage  at  the  rage  unblest. 
Watching  in  woman's  guise. 

The  spy  upon  God's  Possessed. 


132  EURIPIDES 

A  Bacchanal. 
Who  shall  be  first,  to  mark 

Eyes  in  the  rock  that  spy, 
Eyes  in  the  pine-tree  dark — 

Is  it  his  mother  ? — and  cry  : 
«  Lo,  what  is  this  that  comes, 

Haunting,  troubling  still. 
Even  in  our  heights,  our  homes, 

The  wild  Maids  of  the  Hill  ? 
What  flesh  bare  this  child  ? 

Never  on  woman's  breast 
Changeling  so  evil  smiled  ; 

Man  is  he  not,  but  Beast ! 
Lion-shape  of  the  wild, 

Gorgon-breed  of  the  waste  !  " 

All  the  Chorus. 
■  Hither,  for  doom  and  deed  ! 
Hither  with  lifted  sword, 
Justice,  Wrath  of  the  Lord, 
Come  in  our  visible  need  ! 
Smite  till  the  throat  shall  bleed, 
Smite  till  the  heart  shall  bleed. 
Him  the  tyrannous,  lawless.  Godless,  Echion's  earth- 
born  seed  ! 

Other  Maidens. 

Tyrannously  hath  he  trod  ; 

Marched  him,  in  Law's  despite, 
Against  thy  Light,  O  God, 

Yea,  and  thy  Mother's  Light ; 
Girded  him,  falsely  bold. 

Blinded  in  craft,  to  quell 
And  by  man's  violence  hold 

Things  unconquerable. 


THE   BACCHAE  133 

J  Bacchanal. 
A  strait  pitiless  mind 

Is  death  unto  godliness  ; 
And  to  feel  in  human  kind 

Life,  and  a  pain  the  less. 
Knowledge,  we  are  not  foes  ! 

I  seek  thee  diligently  ; 
But  the  world  with  a  great  wind  blows, 

Shining,  and  not  from  thee  ; 
Blowing  to  beautiful  things, 

On,  amid  dark  and  light. 
Till  Life,  through  the  trammellings 

Of  Laws  that  are  not  the  Right, 
Breaks,  clean  and  pure,  and  sings 

Glorying  to  God  in  the  height ! 

/Ill  the  Chorus. 
Hither  for  doom  and  deed  ! 
Hither  with  lifted  sword. 
Justice,  Wrath  of  the  Lord, 
Come  in  our  visible  need  I 
Smite  till  the  throat  shall  bleed, 
Smite  till  the  heart  shall  bleed. 
Him  the  tyrannous,  lawless.  Godless,  Echion's  earth- 
born  seed  ! 

Leader. 
Appear,  appear,  whatso  thy  shape  or  name 

O  Mountain  Bull,  Snake  of  the  Hundred  Heads, 
Lion  of  Burning  Flame  ! 
O  God,  Beast,  Mystery,  come  !     Thy  mystic  maids 
Are  hunted  ! — Blast  their  hunter  with  thy  breath. 

Cast  o'er  his  head  thy  snare  ; 
And  laugh  aloud  and  drag  him  to  his  death. 
Who  stalks  thy  herded  madness  in  its  lair  ! 


134  EURIPIDES 

Enter  hastily  a  Messenger /row  the  Mountain^ 
pale  and  distraught. 

Messenger. 
Woe  to  the  house  once  blest  in  Hellas  !     Woe 
To  thee,  old  King  Sidonian,  who  didst  sow 
The  dragon-seed  on  Ares'  bloody  lea  ! 
Alas,  even  thy  slaves  must  weep  for  thee  ! 

Leader. 

News  from  the  mountain  ? — Speak  !      How   hath  it 
sped  ? 

Messenger. 

Pentheus,  my  king,  Echion's  son,  is  dead  ! 

Leader. 
All  hail,  God  of  the  Voice, 
Manifest  ever  more  ! 

Messenger. 

What  say'st  thou  ? — And  how   strange    thy  tone,  as 

though 
In  joy  at  this  my  master's  overthrow  ! 

Leader. 
With  fierce  joy  I  rejoice, 
Child  of  a  savage  shore  ; 
For  the  chains  of  my  prison  are  broken,  and  the  dread 
where  I  cowered  of  yore  ! 

Messenger. 

And  deem'st  thou  Thebes  so  beggared,  so  forlorn 
Of  manhood,  as  to  sit  beneath  thy  scorn  ? 


THE    BACCHAE  135 

Leader. 
Thebes  hath  oV-r  me  no  sway  ! 
None  save  Him  I  obey, 
Dionysus,  Child  of  the  Highest,  Him  I  obey  and  adore  ! 

Messenger. 
One  can  forgive  thee  ! — Yet  'tis  no  fair  thing, 
Maids,  to  rejoice  in  a  man's  suffering. 

Leader. 
Speak  of  the  mountain  side  ! 
Tell  us  the  doom  he  died. 
The  sinner  smitten  to  death,  even  where   his  sin  was 
sore  ! 

Messenger. 
We  climbed  beyond  the  utmost  habitings 
Of  Theban  shcplierds,  passed  Asopus'  springs, 
And  struck  into  the  land  of  rock  on  dim 
Kithaeron — Pcntheus,  and,  attending  him, 
I,  and  the  Stranger  who  should  guide  our  way. 
Then  first  in  a  green  dell  we  stopped,  and  lay, 
Lips  dumb  and  feet  unmoving,  warily 
Watching,  to  be  unseen  and  yet  to  see. 

A  narrow  glen  it  was,  by  crags  o'ertowercd. 
Torn  through  by  tossing  waters,  and  there  lowered 
A  shadow  of  great  pines  over  it.     And  there 
The  Maenad  maidens  sate  ;  in  toil  they  were. 
Busily  glad.     Some  with  an  ivy  chain 
Tricked  a  worn  wand  to  toss  its  locks  again  ; 
Some,  wild  in  joyance,  like  young  steeds  set  free, 
Made  answering  songs  of  mystic  melody. 

But  my  poor  master  saw  not  the  great  band 
Before  him.     "  Stranger,"  cried  he,  "  where  we  stand 


136  EURIPIDES 

Mine  eyes  can  reach  not  these  false  saints  of  thine. 
Mount  we  the  bank,  or  some  high-shouldered  pine, 
And  I  shall  see  their  follies  clear  !  "     At  that 
There  came  a  marvel.     For  the  Stranger  straight 
Touched    a  great    pine-tree's   high  and    heavenward 

crown. 
And  lower,  lower,  lower,  urged  it  down 
To  the  herbless  floor.     Round  like  a  bending  bow, 
Or  slow  wheel's  rim  a  joiner  forces  to, 
So  in  those  hands  that  tough  and  mountain  stem 
Bowed  slow — oh,  strength  not  mortal  dwelt  in  them ! — 
To  the  very  earth.     And  there  he  set  the  King, 
And  slowly,  lest  it  cast  him  in  its  spring, 
Let  back  the  young  and  straining  tree,  till  high 
It  towered  again  amid  the  towering  sky  ; 
And  Pentheus  in  the  branches  !     Well,  I  ween. 
He  saw  the  Maenads  then,  and  well  was  seen  ! 
For  scarce  was  he  aloft,  when  suddenly 
There  was  no  Stranger  any  more  with  me. 
But  out  of  Heaven  a  Voice — oh,  what  voice  else  ? — 
'Twas  He  that  called  !     "  Behold,  O  damosels, 
I  bring  ye  him  who  turneth  to  despite 
Both  me  and  ye,  and  darkeneth  my  great  Light. 
'Tis  yours  to  avenge  ! "     So  spake  he,  and  there  came 
'Twixt  earth  and  sky  a  pillar  of  high  flame. 
And  silence  took  the  air,  and  no  leaf  stirred 
In  all  the  forest  dell.     Thou  hadst  not  heard 
In  that  vast  silence  any  wild  thing's  cry. 
And  up  they  sprang  ;  .but  with  bewildered  eye. 
Agaze  and  listening,  scarce  yet  hearing  true. 
Then  came  the  Voice  again.     And  when  they  knew 
Their  God's  clear  call,  old  Cadmus'  royal  brood. 
Up,  like  wild  pigeons  startled  in  a  wood, 


THE   BACCHAE  137 

On  flying  feet  they  came,  his  mother  blind, 

Ag.lve,  and  her  sisters,  and  behind 

All  the  wild  crowd,  more  deeply  maddened  then. 

Through  the  angry  rocks  and  torrent-tossing  glen, 

Until  they  spied  him  in  the  dark  pine-tree  : 

Then  climbed  a  crag  hard  by  and  furiously 

Some  sought  to  stone  him,  some  their  wands  would  fling 

Lance-wise  aloft,  in  cruel  targeting. 

But  none  could  strike.     The  height  o'ertopped  their 

rage. 
And  there  he  clung,  unscathed,  as  in  a  cage 
Caught.     And  of  all  their  strife  no  end  was  found. 
Then,  "  Hither,"  cried  Agave  ;  "stand  we  round 
And  grip  the  stem,  my  Wild  Ones,  till  we  take 
This  climbing  cat-o'-the-mount  !     He  shall  not  make 
A  tale  of  God's  high  dances  !  "     Out  then  shone 
Arm  upon  arm,  past  count,  and  closed  upon 
The  pine,  and  gripped  ;  and  the  ground  gave,  and  down 
It  reeled.     And  that  high  sitter  from  the  crown 
Of  the  green  pine-top,  with  a  shrieking  cry 
Fell,  as  his  mind  grew  clear,  and  there  hard  by 
Was  horror  visible.     'Twas  his  mother  stood 
O'er  him,  first  priestess  of  those  rites  of  blood. 
He  tore  the  coif,  and  from  his  head  away 
Flung  it,  that  she  might  know  him,  and  not  slay 
To  her  own  misery.     He  touched  the  wild 
Cheek,  crying:   "Mother,  it  is  I,  thy  child, 
Thy  Penthcus,  born  thee  in  Echion's  hall  ! 
Have  mercy,  Mother  !     Let  it  not  befall 
Through  sin  of  mine,  that  thou  shouldst  slay  thy  son  !  " 

But  she,  with  lips  a-foam  and  eyes  that  run 
Like  leaping  fire,  with  thoughts  that  ne'er  should  be 
On  earth,  possessed  by  Bacchios  utterly, 


138  EURIPIDES 

Stays  not  nor  hears.     Round  his  left  arm  she  put 

Both  hands,  set  hard  against  his  side  her  foot, 

Drew  .  .  .  and  the  shoulder  severed  ! — Not  by  might 

Of  arm,  but  easily,  as  the  God  made  light 

Her  hand's  essay.     And  at  the  other  side 

Was  Ino  rending  ;  and  the  torn  flesh  cried, 

And  on  Autonoe  pressed,  and  all  the  crowd 

Of  ravening  arms.     Yea,  all  the  air  was  loud 

With  groans  that  faded  into  sobbing  breath, 

Dim  shrieks,  and  joy,  and  triumph-cries  of  death. 

And  here  was  borne  a  severed  arm,  and  there 

A  hunter's  booted  foot ;  white  bones  lay  bare 

With  rending  ;  and  swift  hands  ensanguined 

Tossed  as  in  sport  the  flesh  of  Pentheus  dead. 

His  body  lies  afar.     The  precipice 
Hath  part,  and  parts  in  many  an  interstice 
Lvirk  of  the  tangled  woodland — no  light  quest 
To  find.     And,  ah,  the  head  !     Of  all  the  rest. 
His  mother  hath  it,  pierced  upon  a  wand. 
As  one  might  pierce  a  lion's,  and  through  the  land, 
Leaving  her  sisters  in  their  dancing  place. 
Bears  it  on  high  !      Yea,  to  these  walls  her  face 
Was  set,  exulting  in  her  deed  of  blood, 
Calling  upon  her  Bromios,  her  God, 
Her  Comrade,  Fellow-Render  of  the  Prey, 
Her  All- Victorious,  to  whom  this  day 
She  bears  in  triumph  .  .  .  her  own  broken  heart ! 

For  me,  after  that  sight,  I  will  depart 
Before  Agave  comes. — Oh,  to  fulfil 
God's  laws,  and  have  no  thought  beyond  His  will. 
Is  man's  best  treasure.     Aye,  and  wisdom  true, 
Methinks,  for  things  of  dust  to  cleave  unto  ! 

[The  Messenger  departs  into  the  Castle. 


THE    BACCHAE  139 

Chorus. 

Some  Maidens. 
Weave  ye  the  dance,  and  call 

Praise  to  God  ! 
Bless  ye  the  Tyrant's  fall  ! 

Down  is  trod 
Pentheus,  the  Dragon's  Seed  ! 
Wore  he  the  woman's  weed  ? 
Clasped  he  his  death  indeed, 

Clasped  the  rod  ? 

/i  Bacchanal. 

Yea,  the  wild  ivy  lapt  him,  and  the  doomed 

Wild  Bull  of  Sacrifice  before  him  loomed  ! 

Others. 

Ye  who  did  Bromios  scorn. 

Praise  Him  the  more. 
Bacchanals,  Cadmus-born  ; 

Praise  with  sore 
Agony,  yea,  with  tears  ! 
Great  are  the  gifts  he  bears  ! 
Hands  that  a  mother  rears 
Red  with  gore  ! 

Leader. 
But  stay,  Agave  cometh  !     And  her  eyes 
Make  fire  around  her,  reeling  !      Ho,  the  prize 
Cometh  !     All  hail,  O  Rout  of  Dionyse  ! 

[Enter  from  the  Mountain  Agave,  mad,  and  to 
all  seeming  wondrously  happy ,  bearing  the  head 
of  Pentheus  in  her  hand.  The  Chorus 
Maidens  stand  horror-struck  at  the  sight  ; 
the  Leader,  also  horror-struck,  strives  to 
accept  it  and  rejoice  in  it  as  the  God's  deed. 


140  EURIPIDES 

Agave. 
Ye  from  the  lands  of  Morn  ! 

Leader. 
Call  me  not ;  I  give  praise  ! 

Agave. 
Lo,  from  the  trunk  new^-shorn 
Hither  a  Mountain  Thorn 
Bear  vi^e  !     O  Asia-born 

Bacchanals,  bless  this  chase  ! 

Leader. 

I  see.     Yea  ;  I  see. 

Have  I  not  welcomed  thee  ? 


Agave  [very  calmly  and  peacefully). 
He  w^as  young  in  the  wildwood  : 
Without  nets  I  caught  him  ! 
Nay  ,  look  without  fear  on 
The  Lion  ;  I  have  ta'en  him  ! 

Leader. 
Where  in  the  wildwood  ? 

Whence  have  ye  brought  him  ? 

Agave. 
Kithaeron.  .   .  . 

Leader. 

Kithaeron  ? 
Agave. 
The  Mountain  hath  slain  him  ! 


THE    BACCHAE  141 

Leader. 
Who  first  came  nigh  him  ? 

Agave. 
I,  I,  'tis  confessed  ! 
And  they  named  me  there  by  him 
Agave  the  Blessed  ! 

Leader. 
Who  was  next  in  the  band  on  him  ? 

Agave. 
The  daughters.  .  .  . 

Leader. 

The  daughters  ? 
Agave. 
Of  Cadmus  laid  hand  on  him. 

But  the  swift  hand  that  slaughters 
Is  mine  ;  mine  is  the  praise  ! 
Bless  ye  this  day  of  days  ! 
[The    Leader    tries  to  speak,   but  is  not   able; 
Agave  begins  gently  stroking  the  head. 

Agave. 
Gather  ye  now  to  the  feast  ! 

Leader. 
Feast ! — O  miserable  ! 

Agave. 
See,  It  falls  to  his  breast, 
Curling  and  gently  tressed, 
The  hair  of  the  Wild  Bull's  crest— 
The  young  steer  of  the  fell  ! 


142  EURIPIDES 

IvF.AOF.R. 

Mc^st  likf  a  bc.ist  of  the  wild 
Tliat  luMil,  those  locks  ilefilal. 

Agave  {/if ting  up  the  haui,  more  excitedly). 
He  wakened  his  Mad  Ones, 
A  Chase-God,  a  wise  God  ! 
He  sprang  them  to  sei/.e  this  ! 
He  preys  where  his  band  preys. 

Leader  {brooding,  with  horror). 
In  the  trail  of  thy  Mad  Ones 
l^hou  tearcst  thy  prize,  God  ! 

AiJAVE. 

Dost  praise  it  ? 

Leadkr. 

I  praise  this  ? 
Ac;  AVE. 
Ah,  soon  shall  the  land  praise  ! 

Leader. 
And  IVntheus,  O  Mother, 
Thy  child  I 

Agave. 

He  shall  cry  on 
My  name  as  none  other. 

Bless  the  spoils  of  the  Lion  ! 


THE   BACCHAE  143 

Leader. 
Aye,  strange  is  thy  treasure  ! 
Agave. 
And  strange  was  the  taking  ! 

Leader. 
Thou  art  glad  r 

Agave. 

Beyond  measure  ; 
Yea,  glad  in  the  breaking 
Of  dawn  upon  all  this  land, 
By  the  prize,  the  prize  of  my  hand  ! 

Leader. 
Show  then  to  all  the  land,  unhappy  one, 
The  trophy  of  this  deed  that  thou  hast  done  ! 

Agave. 
Ho,  all  ye  men  that  round  the  citadel 
And  shining  towers  of  ancient  Thebe  dwell. 
Come  !     Look  upon  this  prize,  this  lion's  spoil, 
That  we  have  taken — yea,  with  our  own  toil. 
We,  Cadmus'  daughters  !     Not  with  leathern-set 
Thessalian  javelins,  not  with  hunter's  net. 
Only  white  arms  and  swift  hands'  bladed  fall. 
Why  make  ye  much  ado,  and  boast  withal 
Your  armourers'  engines  ?    See,  these  palms  were 

bare 
That  caught  the  angry  beast,  and  held,  and  tare 
The  limbs  of  him  !  .  .  .  Father  !  .  .  .  Go,  bring 

to  me 
My  father !  .  .  .  Aye,  and  Pcntheus,  where  is  he. 


[44  EURIPIDES 

My  son  ?     He  shall  set  up  a  ladder-stair 
Against  this  house,  and  in  the  triglyphs  there' 
Nail  me  this  lion's  head,  that  gloriously 
I  bring  ye,  having  slain  him — I,  even  I  ! 

[^She  goes  through  the  crowd  towards  the  Castle^ 
showing  the  head  and  looking  for  a  place  to 
hang  it.  Enter  from  the  Mountain  Cad- 
mus, with  attendants^  bearing  the  body  of 
Pentheus  on  a  bier. 

Cadmus. 

On,  with  your  aw^ful  burden.     Follow  me, 
Thralls,  to  his  house,  w^hose  body  grievously 
With  many  a  weary  search  at  last  in  dim 
Kithaeron's  glens  I  found,  torn  limb  from  limb, 
And  through  the  interweaving  forest  weed 
Scattered. — Men  told  me  of  my  daughters'  deed. 
When  I  was  just  returned  within  these  walls. 
With  grey  Teiresias,  from  the  Bacchanals. 
And  back  I  hied  me  to  the  hills  again 
To  seek  my  murdered  son.     There  saw  I  plain 
Actaeon's  mother,  ranging  where  he  died, 
Autonoe  ;  and  Ino  by  her  side, 
Wandering  ghastly  in  the  pine-copses. 

Agave  was  not  there.     The  rumour  is 
She  Cometh  fleet-foot  hither. — Ah  !     'Tis  true  ; 
A  sight  I  scarce  can  bend  mine  eyes  unto. 

Agave 
{turning  from  the  Palace  and  seeing  him). 

My  father,  a  great  boast  is  thine  this  hour. 
Thou  hast  begotten  daughters,  high  in  power 


THE   BACCHAE  145 

And  valiant  above  all  mankind — yea,  all 
Valiant,  though  none  like  me  I     I  have  let  fall 
The  shuttle  by  the  loom,  and  raised  my  hand 
For  higher  thmgs,  to  slay  from  out  thy  land 
Wild  beasts  !     See,  in  mine  arms  I  bear  the  prize, 
That  nailed  above  these  portals  it  may  rise 
To  show  what  things  thy  daughters  did  !     Do 

thou 
Take  it,  and  call  a  feast.     Proud  art  thou  now 
And  highly  favoured  in  our  valiancy  I 

Cadmus. 
O  depth  of  grief,  how  can  I  fathom  thee 
Or  look  upon  thee  ! — Poor,  poor,  bloodstained 

hand  ! 
Poor  sisters  ! — A  fair  sacrifice  to  stand 
Before  God's  altars,  daughter  ;  yea,  and  call 
Me  and  my  citizens  to  feast  withal  ! 

Nay,  let  me  weep — for  thine  affliction  most. 
Then  for  mine  own.     All,  all  of  us  are  lost. 
Not  wrongfully,  yet  is  it  hard,  from  one 
Who  might  have  loved — our  Bromios,  our  ov/n  ! 

Agave, 
How  crabbed  and  how  scowling  in  the  eyes 
Is  man's  old  age  ! — Would  that  my  son  likewise 
Were  happy  of  his  hunting,  in  my  way, 
When  with  his  warrior  bands  he  will  essay 
The  wild  beast  ! — Nay,  his  valiance  is  to  fight 
With  God's  will  !      Father,  thou  shouldst  set  him 

right.  .  .  . 
Will  no  one  bring  him  hither,  that  mine  eyes 
May  look  on  his,  and  show  him  this  my  prize  ! 

K 


146  EURIPIDES 

Cadmus. 
Alas,  if  ever  ye  can  know  again 
The  truth  of  what  ye  did,  what  pain  of  pain 
That  truth  shall  bring  !     Or  were  it  best  to  wait 
Darkened  for  evermore,  and  deem  your  state 
Not  misery,  though  ye  know  no  happiness  ? 

Agave. 
What  seest  thou  here  to  chide,  or  not  to  bless  ? 

Cadmus  {after  hesitation^  resolving  himself). 
Raise  me  thine  eyes  to  yon  blue  dome  of  air  ! 

Agave. 
'Tis  done.     What  dost  thou  bid  me  seek  for  there  ? 

Cadmus. 
Is  it  the  same,  or  changed  in  thy  sight  ? 

Agave. 
More  shining  than  before,  more  heavenly  bright ! 

Cadmus. 
And  that  wild  tremor,  is  it  with  thee  still  ? 

Agave  {troubled). 
I  know  not  what  thou  sayest ;  but  my  will 
Clears,  and  some  change  cometh,  I  know  not  how. 

Cadmus. 
Canst  hearken  then,  being  changed,  and  answer,  now  ? 

Agave. 
I  have  forgotten  something  ;  else  I  could. 


THE   BACCHAE  147 

Cadmus. 

What  husband  led  thee  of  old  from  mine  abode  ? 

Agave. 
Echion,  whom  men  named  the  Child  of  Earth. 

Cadmus. 
And  what  child  in  Echion's  house  had  birth  ? 

Agave. 
Pentheus,  of  my  love  and  his  father's  bred. 

Cadmus. 
Thou  bearest  in  thine  arms  an  head — what  head  ? 

Agave 
{beginning  to  tremble^  and  not  looking  at  what  she  carries). 
A  lion's — so  thev  all  said  in  the  chase. 

Cadmus. 
Turn  to  it  now — 'tis  no  long  toil — and  gaze. 

Agave. 
Ah  !   But  what  is  it  r     What  am  I  carrying  here  r 

Cadmus. 
Look  once  upon  it  full,  till  all  be  clear  ! 

Agave. 
I  see  .  .  .  most  deadly  pain  !     Oh,  woe  is  me  ! 

Cadmus. 
Wears  it  the  likeness  of  a  lion  to  thee  ? 


148  EURIPIDES 

Agave. 
No  ;  'tis  the  head — O  God  ! — of  Pentheus,  this  ! 

Cadmus. 

Blood-drenched  ere  thou  wouldst  know  him  !     Aye, 

'tis  his. 

Agave. 

Who  slew^  him  ? — How^  came  I  to  hold  this  thing  ? 

Cadmus. 
O  cruel  Truth,  is  this  thine  home-coming  ? 

Agave. 
Answer  !     My  heart  is  hanging  on  thy  breath  ! 

Cadmus. 
'Twas  thou. — Thou  and  thy  sisters  wrought  his  death. 

Agave. 
In  what  place  was  it  ?     His  own  house,  or  where  ? 

Cadmus. 
Where  the  dogs  tore  Actaeon,  even  there. 

Agave. 
Why  went  he  to  Kithaeron  ?     What  sought  he  ? 

Cadmus. 
To  mock  the  God  and  thine  own  ecstasy. 

Agave. 
But  how  should  we  be  on  the  hills  this  day  ? 

Cadmus. 
Being  mad  !     A  spirit  drove  all  the  land  that  way. 


THE    BACCHAE  149 

ACAVE. 

'Tis  Dionyse  hath  done  it  !     Now  I  see. 

Cadmus  {earnestly). 
Ye  wronged  Him  !     Yc  denied  his  deity  ! 

Agave  {turning  from  him). 
Show  me  the  body  of  the  son  I  love  ! 

Cadmus  {leading  her  to  the  l>ier). 
'Tis  here,  my  child.      Hard  was  the  quest  thereof. 

Agave. 
Laid  in  due  state  r 

\^Js  there  is  no  answer,  she  lifts  the  veil  of  the  bier., 
and  sees. 

Oh,  if  I  wrought  a  sin, 
'Twas  mine  !     What  portion  had  my  child  therein  r 

Cadmus. 
He  made  him  like  to  you,  adoring  not 
The  God  ;  who  therefore  to  one  bane  hath  brought 
You  and  this  body,  wrecking  all  our  line. 
And  me.     Aye,  no  man-child  was  ever  mine  ; 
And  now  this  first-fruit  of  the  flesh  of  thee, 
Sad  woman,  foully  here  and  frightfully 
Lies  murdered  !     Whom  the  house  looked  up  unto, 
[Kneeling  by  the  body. 
O  Child,  my  daughter's  child  !  who  heldcst  true 
Mv  castle  walls  ;  and  to  the  folk  a  name 
Of  fear  thou  wast  ;  and  no  man  sought  to  shame 
My  grey  beard,  when   they  knew  that  thou  wast 

there, 
Else  had  they  swift  reward  ! — And  now  I  fare 


150  EURIPIDES 

Forth  in  dishonour,  outcast,  I,  the  great 
Cadmus,  who  sowed  tlie  seed-rows  of  this  state 
Of  Thebes,  and  reaped  the  harvest  wonderful. 
O  my  beloved,  though  thy  heart  is  dull 
In  death,  O  still  beloved,  and  alway 
Beloved  !     Never  more,  then,  shalt  thou  lay 
Thine  hand  to  this  white  beard,  and  speak  to  me 
Thy  "Mother's  Father" ;  ask  "Who  wrongeth  thee  ? 
Who  stints  thine  honour,  or  with  malice  stirs 
Thine  heart  ?     Speak,  and  I  smite  thine  injurers  I  " 
But  now — woe,  woe,  to  me  and  thee  also. 
Woe  to  thy  mother  and  her  sisters,  woe 
Alway  !     Oh,  whoso  walketh  not  in  dread 
Of  Gods,  let  him  but  look  on  this  man  dead  ! 

Leader. 
Lo,  I  weep  with  thee.     'Twas  but  due  reward 
God  sent  on  Pentheus  ;  but  for  thee  .  .  .  'Tis  hard. 

Agave. 
My  father,  thou  canst  see  the  change  in  me, 

*  *  *  *  * 

***** 
[^  page  or  tiiore  has  here  been  torn  out  of  the  MS.  from 
which  all  our  copies  of  **  The  Bacchae  "  are  derived.  It 
evidently  contained  a  speech  of  Agave  [followed  presum- 
ably by  some  words  of  the  Chorus)^  and  an  appearance  of 
Dionysus  upon  a  cloud.  He  must  have  pronounced  Judg- 
ment upon  the  Thebans  in  general,  and  especially  upon  the 
daughters  of  Cadmus,  have  justified  his  own  action,  and 
declared  his  determiyiation  to  establish  his  godhead.  Where 
the  MS.  begins  again,  we  find  him  addressing  Cadmus.] 
***** 


THE   BACCHAE  151 

Dionysus. 


And  tell  of  Time,  what  gifts  for  thee  he  bears, 
What  griefs  and  wonders  in  the  winding  years. 
For  thou  must  change  and  be  a  Serpent  Thing 
Strange,  and  beside  thee  she  whom  thou  didst  bring 
Of  old  to  be  thy  bride  from  Heaven  afar, 
Harmonia,  daughter  of  the  Lord  of  War. 
Yea,  and  a  chariot  of  kine — so  spake 
The  word  of  Zeus — thee  and  thy  Queen  shall  take 
Through  many  lands,  Lord  of  a  wild  array 
Of  orient  spears.     And  many  towns  shall  they 
Destroy  beneath  thee,  that  vast  horde,  until 
They  touch  Apollo's  dwelling,  and  fulfil 
Their  doom,  back  driven  on  stormy  ways  and  steep. 
Thee  only  and  thy  spouse  shall  Ares  keep, 
And  save  alive  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 
Thus  speaketh  Dionysus,  Son  confessed 
Of  no  man  but  of  Zeus  ! — Ah,  had  ye  seen 
Truth  in  the  hour  ye  would  not,  all  had  been 
Well  with  ye,  and  the  Child  of  God  your  friend  ! 

Agave. 
Dionysus,  we  beseech  thee  !     We  have  sinned  ! 

Dionysus. 
Too  late  !     When  there  was  time,  ye  knew  me  not  ! 

Agave. 
We  have  confessed.     Yet  is  thine  hand  too  hot. 

Dionysus. 
Ye  mocked  me,  being  God  ;  this  is  your  wage. 


152  EURIPIDES 

Agave. 
Should  God  be  like  a  proud  man  in  his  rage  ? 

Dionysus. 
'Tis  as  my  sire,  Zeus,  willed  it  long  ago. 

Agave  {turning  from  him  abnost  with  disdain^ 
Old  Man,  the  word  is  spoken  ;  we  must  go. 

Dionysus. 
And  seeing  ye  must,  what  is  it  that  ye  wait  ? 

Cadmus. 
Child,  we  are  come  into  a  deadly  strait, 
All ;  thou,  poor  sufferer,  and  thy  sisters  twain. 
And  my  sad  self.     Far  off  to  barbarous  men, 
A  grey-haired  wanderer,  I  must  take  my  road. 
And  then  the  oracle,  the  doom  of  God, 
That  I  must  lead  a  raging  horde  far-flown 
To  prey  on  Hellas  ;  lead  my  spouse,  mine  own 
Harmonia,  Ares'  child,  discorporate 
And  haunting  forms,  dragon  and  dragon-mate, 
Against  the  tombs  and  altar-stones  of  Greece, 
Lance  upon  lance  behind  us  ;  and  not  cease 
From  toils,  like  other  men,  nor  dream,  nor  past 
The  foam  of  Acheron  find  my  peace  at  last. 

Agave. 
Father  !     And  I  must  wander  far  from  thee  ! 

Cadmus. 
O  Child,  why  wilt  thou  reach  thine  arms  to  me, 
As  yearns  the  milk-white  swan,  when  old  swans  die  ? 

Agave. 
Where  shall  I  turn  me  else  ?     No  home  have  I. 


THE   BACCHAE  153 

Cadmus. 
I  know  not ;  I  can  help  thee  not. 
Agave. 
Farewell,  O  home,  O  ancient  tower  ! 
Lo,  I  am  outcast  from  my  bower, 
And  leave  ye  for  a  worser  lot. 

Cadmus, 
Go  forth,  go  forth  to  misery. 

The  way  Actaeon's  father  went  ! 

Agave. 
Father,  for  thee  my  tears  are  spent. 
Cadmus. 
Nay,  Child,  'tis  I  must  weep  for  thee  ; 

For  thee  and  for  thy  sisters  twain  ! 
Agave. 
On  all  this  house,  in  bitter  wise, 
Our  Lord  and  Master,  Dionyse, 

Hath  poured  the  utter  dregs  of  pain  ! 

Dionysus. 
In  bitter  wise,  for  bitter  was  the  shame 
Ye  did  me,  when  Thebes  honoured  not  my  name. 

Agave. 

Then  lead  me  where  my  sisters  be  ; 
Together  let  our  tears  be  shed. 
Our  ways  be  wandered  ;  where  no  red 

Kithaeron  waits  to  gaze  on  me  ; 


[54  EURIPIDES 

Nor  I  gaze  back  ;  no  thyrsus  stem, 

Nor  song,  nor  memory  in  the  air. 
Oh,  other  Bacchanals  be  there, 
Not  I,  not  I,  to  dream  of  them  ! 

[Agave  with  her  group  of  attendants  goes  out  on 
the  side  away  from  the  Mountain.  DiONYSUS 
rises  upon  the  Cloud  and  disappears. 

Chorus. 
There  be  many  shapes  of  mystery. 
And  many  things  God  makes  to  be. 

Past  hope  or  fear. 
And  the  end  men  looked  for  cometh  not, 
And  a  path  is  there  where  no  man  thought. 

So  hath  It  fallen  here.  [Exeunt. 


/^(T 


NOTES   ON   THE    HIPPOLYTUS 

Prologue. — The  Aphrodite  of  Euripides'  actual 
belief,  if  one  may  venture  to  dogmatise  on  such  a 
subject,  was  almost  certainly  not  what  we  should  call 
a  goddess,  but  rather  a  Force  of  Nature,  or  a  Spirit 
working  in  the  world.  To  deny  her  existence  you 
would  have  to  say  not  merely,  "There  is  no  such 
person,"  but  "  There  is  no  such  thing  ; "  and  such  a 
denial  would  be  a  defiance  of  obvious  facts.  It  is  in 
this  sense  that  it  is  possible  to  speak  of  Hippolytus  as 
"sinning  against  Aphrodite." 

For  the  purposes  of  drama,  of  course,  this  "thing" 
must  be  made  into  a  person,  and  even  represented  in 
human  form  according  to  the  current  conceptions  of 
mythology.  And,  once  personified,  she  becomes,  like 
most  of  the  Olympians  in  Euripides,  certainly  hateful 
and  perhaps  definitely  evil,  though  still  far  removed 
from  the  degraded,  ultra-feminine  goddess  of  Ovid  and 
the  handbooks  of  mythology.  In  this  prologue  she 
retains  much  of  the  impersonal  grandeur  of  a  Force  of 
Nature.  The  words  "I  grudge  it  not  :  no  grudge 
know  I,  nor  hate,"  are  doubtless  intended  to  be  true. 


P.  3,  1.  II,  Pitthcus.] — Father  of  Aethra,  who  was 
Theseus'  mother.  Formerly  King  of  Trozcn,  now 
ending  his  days  in  a  life  of  meditation. 

P.  4,  11.  31  ff..  She  built  a  shrine.] — An  obscure 
passage,    in    which    I    follow   the   suggestion    of  Dr. 


156  EURIPIDES 

Verrall  {Class,  Rev.  xv.  449).  Euripides  is  evidently- 
giving  an  account  of  the  origin  of  a  sanctuary  of 
Aphrodite  Pandemos  on  the  Acropohs,  which  in  his 
day  was  known  as  ' Af^pohiTrj  iirl  ' iTnrokvrw.,  i.e.  (as, 
at  least,  he  imagined)  "Aphrodite  for  Hippolytus,"  or 
"  with  a  view  to  Hippolytus."  Phaedra,  he  says, 
built  this  shrine  because  of.,  thinking  of.,  Hippolytus 
— i.e.  seeking  to  exorcise  her  passion  for  him,  and  to 
fix  her  errant  love  at  home  as  she  fixed  the  shrine  in 
the  rock.  She  perhaps — so  Dr.  Verrall  suggests — 
called  it  Aphrodite  Endemos,  "  Love-at-home "  or 
"  in-the-land."  When  her  plan  failed,  and  it  appeared 
that  Love  will  not  be  fixed  down  in  one  place,  the  name 
was  changed  to  Pandemos,  "  of-all-lands."  Of  course 
it  is  not  certain,  nor  even  very  probable,  that  either 
ndvSr]fxo<;  or  eVt ' IiriTokvra)  originally  bore  the  mean- 
ing that  Euripides  and  his  contemporaries  attached  to 
them.  'EttI  ' iTnroXvTO),  for  instance,  is  quite  likely, 
in  its  original  form,  to  have  meant  "  the  shrine  at  the 
place  where  horses  are  unyoked." 

P.  6,  1.  73,  From  a  green  and  virgin  meadow.] 
— There  are  long  discussions  in  the  ancient  Greek 
commentators,  whether  this  meadow  is  real  or  alle- 
gorical. Is  it  only  the  garland  of  his  adoration  from 
the  meadow  of  his  virgin  soul  ?  "  It  seems  odd,"  says 
one  of  them,  "  to  have  a  meadow  which  you  are  not 
allowed  to  enter  until  you  can  show  that  your  good 
qualities  do  not  come  from  education  ! "  Doubtless 
it  is  a  real  sacred  meadow. 

Pp.  7,  8, 11.  99,  103. — In  two  lines,  "  Then  why  wilt 
thou  be  proud  ? "  and  "  Clean  ?  Nay,  proud,"  I  follow 
my  own  published  text,  reading  ae/j,vo<;  for  aeavrjv  and 
aefivij. 


NOTES  157 

P.  9,  1.  121,  Of  Ocean's  tribe.]— The  river  Ocean 
was,  by  some  accounts,  the  father  of  all  fresh  and 
pure  water. 

P.  10,  11.  142,  143,  Hecate  .  .  .  Pan  ...  the  Cory- 
bantes.] — These  powers  all  produced  seizures,  terrors, 
and  ecstasies.  Dictynna  (often  a  mere  alternative 
name  for  Artemis)  was,  strictly  speaking,  a  Cretan  sea- 
goddess — cf.  hUrvoi'i  "  a  net  " — a  hunter  of  the  sea  as 
Artemis  is  a  hunter  of  the  land.  (She  is  identified  with 
Artemis  on  p.  59.)  She  can  catch  Phaedra  in  Limna, 
the  "  Mere  "  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Trozen,  because 
Limna  is  a  dried-up  lagoon  that  was  once  part  of  the 
sea,  and  therefore  belongs  to  the  sea  powers. 

P.  10,  1.  151,  Erechtheus.]  — An  old  king  of 
Athens. 

P.  12, 11.  193,  194,  This  nameless  and  shining  thing.] 

— Reading  rov  8'  on  tovto  crriX/Sei  .  .  •  SufftptoTe?. 

P.  13,  1.   228,  The  Sea-lorn  Mere.]  —  The  dried 

lagoon,  Limna,  near  Trozt^n,  used  for  chariot  races. 

The  "unseaswept  sands,"  just  below,  are  the  same. 

P.  15,  11.  264,  265.— "Thorough"  and  "Naught 
too  much "  were  mottoes  of  two  of  the  legendary 
Seven  Wise  Men. 

P.  16,  1.  281,  He  is  on  a  journey.]  —  Apparently  to 
an  oracle  (see  below).  Perhaps  there  was  a  definite 
tradition  saying  where  he  had  gone  and  why,  but  if  so, 
it  is  lost.  A  modern  playwright  would,  of  course,  fill 
in  these  details,  for  the  sake  of  verisimilitude  ;  the 
ancient  playwright  intentionally  omits  them  as  irre- 
levant, just  as  he  omits  to  give  proper  names  to  his 
Nurses,  Messengers,  and  Leaders  of  the  Chorus. 

P.  19,  1.  325,  What  wouldst  thou  ?  Force  me.]  — 
It  was  of  the  nature  of  sin  to  reject  a  suppliant,  i.e. 


158  EURIPIDES 

a  person  who  threw  himself  entirely  upon  your  mercy, 
and  implored  you.  The  repugnance  that  an  ordi- 
nary person  has  to  such  a  rejection  was  felt  by  the 
Greeks  in  a  religious  way.  The  ultimate  sanction, 
if  you  did  harden  your  heart,  would  be  twofold  :  first, 
the  gods  would  have  a  natural  repulsion  against  one 
who  formally  and  knowingly  refused  to  be  merciful ; 
secondly,  the  suppliant  might  do  what  the  Nurse 
threatens  to  do  here,  and  stay  immovable  till  he  died 
of  hunger  or  exposure — and  his  death  would  lie  at  the 
door  of  his  rejector  ! 

P.  20,  11.  337-341,  Mother,  poor  Mother,  that  didst 
love  so  sore.] — Phaedra  thinks  of  the  general  wreck 
of  her  house  through  love.  Her  mother,  Pasiphae, 
wife  of  Minos,  loved  the  pirate  or  adventurer  Tauros 
("The  Bull"),  was  cast  into  prison  by  her  husband, 
and  there  starved  herself  to  death  (see  Appendix,  The 
Cretans).  Her  sister,  Ariadne,  had  loved  Theseus ; 
he  saved  her  from  her  father's  vengeance,  but  by  com- 
mand of  the  gods  left  her  on  the  lonely  island  of  Naxos, 
where  the  god  Dionysus  came  and  carried  her  away 
(see  Appendix,  The  Theseus). 

P.  22,  1.  372,  The  Isle  of  awful  Love.]  —  Crete, 
because  of  Pasiphae,  Ariadne,  Aerope,  the  wife  of 
Thyestes,  and  other  heroines  of  terrible  love-stories. 

P.  23,  1.  373,  O  Women,  dwellers  in  this  portal- 
seat.] — This  wonderful  passage  is  very  characteristic 
of  Euripides — a  subtle  and  beautiful  study  of  character 
expressed  in  a  formal,  self-analysing  speech.  The 
"delights"  that  have  tempted  and  undone  her  are, 
first,  the  pleasure  of  long  talks — with  Hippolytus,  or 
about  him  ;  next,  the  pleasure  of  losing  herself  in 
dreams ;   and    thirdly,    in   some   sense   not    precisely 


NOTES  159 

explained,  but  surely  not  difficult  to  understand,  a  feel- 
ing of  shame  or  cowardice.  She  feels  that  if  only  she 
had  had  more  courage  all  might  have  been  well  ! 
Why  this  "  shame,"  this  yielding  to  fear,  strikes  her 
at  this  moment  as  a  "delight,"  is  not  explained  ;  but 
it  does  not  seem  to  me  unnatural. 

P.  25,  1.  433,  Mistress,  a  sharp,  swift  terror,  &c.] — 
This  speech  of  the  Nurse,  so  beautiful  and  so  full  of 
sophistries,  is  typically  the  kind  of  thing  that  caused 
Euripides  to  be  accused  of  immoral  writing. 

P.  28,  1.  478,  Love-philtres.] — The  situation  at 
the  end  of  this  scene  seems  to  be  this  :  The  Nurse 
goes  in  to  prepare  a  magic  charm  %uhich  shall  cure 
Phaedra  of  her  love^  but  mentions  that,  in  order  to 
prepare  it,  she  must  get  something  belonging  to 
Hippolytus  to  weave  into  the  charm.  (Either  a 
material  object  to  be  actually  woven  into  the  charm, 
or  a  word,  to  be  ceremonially  caught  and  woven  in 
— a  common  device  in  magic.)  Phaedra  suspects  that 
she  means  to  speak  to  Hippolytus,  and  the  Nurse's 
next  words  rather  confirm  her  suspicions  ;  but,  broken 
and  weary  as  she  is,  she  has  not  strength  or  keenness 
of  mind  enough  to  make  sure  and  to  prevent  her  doing 
so.  A  large  part  of  her  nature,  no  doubt,  longs  to  have 
Hippolytus  told,  and  succeeds  at  this  critical  moment 
in  lulling  to  sleep  her  exhausted  will  and  conscience. 

P.  30,  11.  545-564,  Chorus.] — The  second  strophe 
and  antistrophe  ("  On  Oechalian  hills,  iS-'c"),  are  rather 
obscure.  The  connection  of  thought  is  :  "Think  of 
the  terrible  things  that  have  befallen  through  love  I 
How  Iol<},  daughter  of  Eurytus,  suffered,  when  the 
angry  love  of  Heracles  made  him  burn  her  father's 
house  in  Oechalia,  and  carry  her  oflf  amid  flames  and 


i6o  EURIPIDES 

blood.  And  how  Semelc,  the  mother  of  Bacchus, 
suffered  in  Thebes  by  the  waters  of  Dirc^,  when 
Zeus  came  to  her  in  a  blaze  of  lightning,  and  his  love 
was  her  death." 

P.  33,  1.  612,  'Twas  but  my  tongue,  'twas  not 
my  soul  that  swore.] — A  line  constantly  misrepre- 
sented and  attacked  (see  on  Frogs^  1.  loi,  p.  187).  In 
reality  Hippolytus  faces  death  rather  than  break  the 
oath  that  he  was  trapped  into. 

P.  34,  1.  616,  O  God,  why  hast  thou  made  this 
gleaming  snare.] — The  fury  of  this  speech,  while  not 
unnatural  to  the  youthful  saintliness  of  Hippolytus, 
is  intentionally  made  bitter  and  offensive  by  the  play- 
wright, so  as  to  throw  our  sympathies  for  the  time 
entirely  on  the  side  of  Phaedra.  We  hate  Hippolytus, 
and  can  for  the  moment  sympathise  with,  or  at  least 
understand,  her  terrible  act  of  blind  self-preservation 
and  revenge. 

P.  36,  1.  690,  He  speeds  to  abase  me  to  the  King.] 
— He  had  definitely  said  that  he  would  not  do  so  ; 
but  she  felt  his  hatred,  she  had  no  reason  to  trust 
him,  she  had  just  been  betrayed  by  one  much  closer 
to  her,  and  probably  she  had  hardly  even  noticed  the 
actual  words  in  his  torrent  of  rage. 

P.  38,  1.  712,  Know  naught  and  speak  of  naught.] 
— This  oath  of  the  Chorus  is  important  for  the  sequel 
of  the  play.    It  prevents  them  from  saving  Hippolytus. 

P.  39,  1.  732,  Could  I  take  me  to  some  cavern  for 
mine  hiding.] — This  lovely  song  seems  to  me  a  good 
instance  of  the  artistic  value  of  the  Greek  chorus. 
The  last  scene  has  been  tragic  to  the  point  of  pain- 
fulness  ;  the  one  thing  that  can  heal  the  pain  without 
spoiling  the   interest  is  an  outburst  of  pure   poetry. 


NOTES  i6i 

And  the  sentiment  of  this  song,  the  longing  to  escape 
to  a  realm,  if  not  of  happiness,  at  least  of  beautiful 
sadness,  is  so  magically  right, 

Phacthon,  who  tried  to  drive  the  chariot  of  the  Sun 
and  fell,  was  buried  by  the  river  Eridanus  (afterwards 
identified  with  the  Po).  His  sisters  wept  over  his 
grave,  and  their  tears  turned  to  drops  of  amber. 

P.  39,  1.  742,  The  apple-tree,  the  singing  and  the 
gold.] — The  Garden  of  the  Hesperides,  or  Daughters 
of  the  Sunset,  was  in  the  West,  near  the  Pillars  of 
Heracles,  which  marked  the  utmost  limit  to  which 
man  might  travel.  The  apple-tree  bore  golden 
apples,  and  it  was  here  that  Zeus  walked  in  the 
garden  and  first  met  his  bride,  Hera. 

P.  40,  1.  756,  Sure  some  spell  upon  either  hand.]  — 
A  curse  or  spell  must  have  come  with  her  from  Crete. 
It  was  difficult  for  a  curse  to  come  from  one  country 
to  another.  Exactly  like  infection,  it  had  to  be  some- 
how carried.  The  women  suggest  that  it  came  with 
Phaedra  in  the  ship,  and  then,  when  the  ship  was 
moored  in  Munychia,  the  old  harbour  of  Athens,  it 
crawled  up  the  cables  to  the  shore. 

P.  42,  1.  803,  A  fit  of  the  old  cold  anguish  ?]  —  It 
is  characteristic  of  Euripides  to  throw  these  sudden 
lights  back  on  the  history  of  his  characters.  We 
never  knew  before  (except  perhaps  from  the  Pro- 
logue) that  Phaedra  had  had  these  fits  of  "cold 
anguish,"  or  that  Theseus  had  noticed  them.  Cf.  p. 
56,  where  for  the  first  time  we  have  a  reference  to 
Theseus'  own  turbulent  youth,  and  his  crime  against 
the  Amazon,  Hippolytus'  mother.  And  p.  50,  where 
we  first  hear  that  Hippolytus  fasted  and  followed 
Orphic  rites. 

L 


i62  EURIPIDES 

P.  42,  1.  804,  But  now  arrived  we  be.]  —  A  lie,  to 
make  the  avoidance  of  explanations  easier. 

Pp.  43  f.,  11.  817-851.] — The  laments  of  Theseus, 
though  they  cannot  compensate  for  the  drop  of  dra- 
matic interest  after  Phaedra's  death,  are  full  of  beauty 
and  also  of  character.  They  bring  out  clearly  the 
passionateness  of  the  old  hero,  and  also  the  way  in 
which  he  only  gradually,  and  then  with  increasing 
emotion,  realises  his  loss. 

P.  51, 1.  977.] — Sinis  was  a  robber  slain  by  Theseus 
at  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth.  He  tied  his  victims  to 
the  tops  of  pine-trees,  which  he  had  bent  to  the 
ground,  and,  according  to  Hyginus,  sent  them  flying 
in  the  air  so  that  they  fell  and  were  killed  ;  as 
Pausanias  rather  more  intelligibly  puts  it,  he  tied  them 
between  two  pines,  which  he  had  bent  together,  and 
then  let  the  pines  spring  back  and  rack  the  men 
asunder.  Skiron  was  another  robber  in  the  same 
neighbourhood  ;  he  made  travellers  wash  his  feet  on 
the  top  of  a  cliff — the  Skironian  Rock  (cf.  p.  63) — 
and  then  kicked  them  into  the  sea. 

Pp.  51-54?  11'  983  ft*)  Hippolytus'  speech.] — The 
ineffectiveness  of  this  speech  is,  of  course,  intentional 
on  the  poet's  part.  The  one  effective  answer  for 
Hippolytus  would  be  to  break  his  oath  and  tell  the 
whole  truth.  As  it  is,  he  can  do  nothing  but  appeal 
to  his  known  character,  and  plead  passionately  against 
all  the  inferences  that  his  father  has  drawn  as  to  his 
general  hypocrisy. 

P.  54,  1.  1036,  It  is  enough.]  —  The  Chorus,  de- 
barred from  announcing  the  truth,  catch  at  any  straws 
that  tell  in  favour  of  the  truth. 

P.  54,  1.  1041,  Father,  'tis  thy  mood  that  makes  me 


NOTES  163 

marvel.] — He  means,  I  think,  to  make  Theseus  realise 
that  the  charge  is  flatly  incredible.  "You  yourself  do 
not  believe  that  I  have  done  such  a  thing  !  I  know, 
and  you  know,  that  you  do  not  believe  it.  If  you  did, 
you  would  kill  me  on  the  spot,  not  go  on  talking  like 
this." 

P.  55,  1.  1057,  ^°  prophet's  lot.] — A  prophet  spoke 
from  some  "sign"  or  "lot"  which  he  mterpreted. 
This  might  be  an  actual  "  lot,"  drawn  or  cast ;  or  by 
extension,  any  other  sign,  from  the  flesh  of  a  victim  or 
from  the  flight  of  birds. 

P.  60,  1.  1 142,  And  I,  even  I,  Sec]  —  The  song  of 
this  maiden  may  have  given  Racine  the  hint  of  his 
additional  character,  Aricie,  the  princess  whom  his 
Hippolyte  loves. 

P.  62,  1.  1 195,  And  down  the  road  we  henchmen 
followed.] — They  walked  or  ran  beside  the  chariot, 
accompanying  their  master  to  the  frontier.  Ancient 
chariots,  when  used  for  travelling,  went  slowly. 

P.  70, 1.  1391,  O  breath  of  heavenly  fragrance,  &c.] 
— This  and  the  next  line  make  one  doubt  whether 
Artemis  was  supposed  to  be  visible,  or  only  present 
as  a  voice.  Cf.  p.  6,  1.  86,  "Though  none  may  see 
thine  eyes." 

P.  72,1.  1420,  My  hand  shall  win  its  vengeance.] — 
By  causing  the  death  of  Adonis,  whom  Aphrodite 
loved.  It  is  noteworthy  how  Euripides'  moral  hatred 
of  the  orthodox  Olympian  gods  breaks  out  even  in 
this  passage,  otherwise  so  exquisitely  beautiful.  The 
human  beings  are  full  of  love  and  mutual  forgiveness. 
The  goddess,  radiantly  lovely  as  she  is  and  pure  with 
the  purity  of  dawn,  still  thinks  of  revenge,  and — as 
appears  at  her  departure — is,  in  some  profoundly  tragic 


i64  EURIPIDES 

sense,  unloving  :  a  being  to  be  adored,  not  to  love 
back.  The  last  consolation  of  Hippolytus  is  the 
thought  of  his  perfect  devotion  to  one  who  in  the 
nature  of  things  can  care  for  him  only  a  little  :  "  I 
have  obeyed  Her  all  my  days." 

The  thing  that  is  missing  from  Artemis  is  exactly 
what  is  present  in  the  beautiful  vase  picture  of  the 
Dawn  Goddess  raising  in  her  arms  the  body  of  her 
slain  son,  Memnon. 


This  last  scene  is  one  of  those  passages  which  show 
the  ultimate  falseness  of  the  distinction  between  Classi- 
cal and  Romantic.  The  highest  poetry  has  the  beauty 
of  both. 


uv^ 


EOS,   THK    n.\\VN.(.()|ilil.S>,    K.\I>1N<.    HI  k    -I.AIN    SON 


NOTES   ON    THE   BACCHAE 

INTRODUCTORY   NOTE 

The  Bacchae^  being  from  one  point  of  view  a  religious 
drama,  a  kind  of  "  mystery  play,"  is  full  of  allusions 
both  to  the  myth  and  to  the  religion  of  Dionysus. 

1.  The  Myth,  as  implied  by  Euripides.  Semele, 
daughter  of  Cadmus,  being  loved  by  Zeus,  asked  her 
divine  lover  to  appear  to  her  once  in  his  full  glory  ; 
he  came,  a  blaze  of  miraculous  lightning,  in  the 
ecstasy  of  which  Semele  died,  givmg  premature  birth 
to  a  son.  Zeus,  to  save  this  child's  life  and  make  him 
truly  God  as  well  as  Man,  tore  open  his  own  flesh 
and  therein  fostered  the  child  till  in  due  time,  by  a 
miraculous  and  mysterious  Second  Birth,  the  child 
of  Semelc  came  to  full  life  as  God. 

2.  The  Religion  of  Dionysus  is  hard  to  formulate 
or  even  describe,  both  because  of  its  composite  origins 
and  because  of  its  condition  of  constant  vitality, 
fluctuation,  and  development. 

{a)  The  first  datum,  apparently,  is  the  introduction 
from  Thrace  of  the  characteristic  God  of  the  wild 
northern  mountains,  a  God  of  Intoxication,  of  In- 
spiration, a  giver  of  superhuman  or  immortal  life. 
His   worship    is  superposed    upon    that  of  divers  old 

Tree    or    Vegetation    Gods,    already    worshipped    in 

165 


i66  EURIPIDES 

Greece.  He  becomes  specially  the  God  of  the  Vine. 
Originally  a  god  of  the  common  folk,  despised  and  un- 
authorised, he  is  eventually  so  strong  as  to  be  adopted 
into  the  Olympian  hierarchy  as  the  "youngest"  of 
the  Gods,  son  of  Zeus.  His  "  Olympian  "  name,  so 
to  speak,  is  Dionysus,  but  in  his  worship  he  is  ad- 
dressed by  numbers  of  names,  more  or  less  mystic 
and  secret — Bromios,  Bacchios  or  Baccheus,  lacchos, 
Eleuthereus,  Zagreus,  Sabazios,  &c.  Some  of  these 
may  be  the  names  of  old  spirits  whom  he  has  dis- 
placed ;  some  are  his  own  Thracian  names.  Bromos 
and  Sabaja,  for  instance,  seem  to  have  been  Thracian 
names  for  two  kinds  of  intoxicating  drink.  Bacchos 
means  a  "  wand."  Together  with  his  many  names, 
he  has  many  shapes,  especially  appearing  as  a  Bull  and 
a  Serpent. 

(J?)  This  religion,  very  primitive  and  barbarous, 
but  possessing  a  strong  hold  over  the  emotions  of 
the  common  people,  was  seized  upon  and  transfigured 
by  the  great  wave  of  religious  reform,  known  under 
the  name  of  Orphism,  which  swept  over  Greece  and 
South  Italy  in  the  sixth  century  B.C.,  and  influenced 
the  teachings  of  such  philosophers  as  Pythagoras, 
Ansteas,  Empedocles,  and  the  many  writers  on  puri- 
fication and  the  world  after  death.  Orphism  may 
very  possibly  represent  an  ancient  Cretan  religion  in 
clash  or  fusion  with  one  from  Thrace.  At  any  rate,  it 
was  grafted  straight  upon  the  Dionysus-worship,  and, 
without  rationalising,  spiritualised  and  reformed  it. 
Ascetic,  mystical,  ritualistic,  and  emotional,  Orphism 
easily  excited  both  enthusiasm  and  ridicule.  It  lent 
itself  both  to  inspired  saintliness  and  to  imposture.  In 
doctrine    it    laid   especial   stress   upon    sin,    and    the 


NOTES  167 

sacerdotal  purification  of  sin  ;  on  the  eternal  reward 
due  beyond  the  grave  to  the  pure  and  the  impure,  the 
pure  living  in  an  eternal  ecstasy — "  perpetual  intoxi- 
cation," as  Plato  satirically  calls  it — the  impure  toiling 
through  long  ages  to  wash  out  their  stains.  It  recast 
in  various  ways  the  myth  of  Dionysus,  and  especially 
the  story  of  his  Second  Birth.  All  true  worshippers 
become  in  a  mystical  sense  one  with  the  God  ;  they 
are  born  again  and  are  "Bacchoi."  Dionysus  being  the 
God  within,  the  perfectly  pure  soul  is  possessed  by  the 
God  wholly,  and  becomes  nothing  but  the  God. 

Based  on  very  primitive  rites  and  feelings,  on  the 
religion  of  men  who  made  their  gods  in  the  image 
of  snakes  and  bulls  and  fawns,  because  they  hardly 
felt  any  difference  of  kind  between  themselves  and 
the  animals,  the  worship  of  Dionysus  kept  always  this 
feeling  of  kinship  with  wild  things.  The  beautiful 
side  of  this  feeling  is  vividly  conspicuous  in  The 
Bacchae.  And  the  horrible  side  is  not  in  the  least 
concealed. 

A  curious  relic  of  primitive  superstition  and  cruelty 
remained  firmly  imbedded  in  Orphism — a  doctrine 
irrational  and  unintelligible,  and  for  that  very  reason 
wrapped  in  the  deepest  and  most  sacred  mystery  :  a 
belief  in  the  sacrifice  of  Dionysus  himself,  and  the 
purification  of  man  by  his  blood. 

It  seems  possible  that  the  savage  Thracians,  in  the 
fury  of  their  worship  on  the  mountains,  when  they 
were  possessed  by  the  God  and  became  "  wild  beasts," 
actually  tore  with  their  teeth  and  hands  any  hares, 
goats,  fawns,  or  the  like  that  they  came  across.  There 
survives  a  constant  tradition  of  inspired  Bacchanals  in 
their  miraculous  strength  tearing  even  bulls  asunder 


i68  EURIPIDES 

— a  feat,  happily,  beyond  the  bounds  of  human  possi- 
bility. The  wild  beast  that  tore  was,  of  course,  the 
savage  God  himself.  And  by  one  of  those  curious 
confusions  of  thought,  which  seem  so  inconceivable  to 
us  and  so  absolutely  natural  and  obvious  to  primitive 
men,  the  beast  torn  was  also  the  God  !  The  Orphic 
congregations  of  later  times,  in  their  most  holy 
gatherings,  solemnly  partook  of  the  blood  of  a  bull, 
which  was,  by  a  mystery,  the  blood  of  Dionysus- 
Zagreus  himself,  the  "  Bull  of  God,"  slain  in  sacrifice 
for  the  purification  of  man.  And  the  Maenads  of 
poetry  and  myth,  among  more  beautiful  proofs  of  their 
superhuman  or  infra-human  character,  have  always  to 
tear  bulls  in  pieces  and  taste  of  the  blood.  It  is 
noteworthy,  and  throws  much  light  on  the  spirit 
of  Orphism,  that  apart  from  this  sacramental  tasting 
of  the  blood,  the  Orphic  worshipper  held  it  an  abomi- 
nation to  eat  the  flesh  of  animals  at  all.  The  same 
religious  fervour  and  zeal  for  purity  which  made  him 
reject  the  pollution  of  animal  food,  made  him  at  the 
same  time  cling  to  a  ceremonial  which  would  utterly 
disgust  the  ordinary  hardened  flesh-eater.  It  fascinated 
him  just  because  it  was  so  incredibly  primitive  and 
uncanny  ;  because  it  was  a  mystery  which  transcended 
reason  ! 

It  will  be  observed  that  Euripides,  though  certainly 
familiar  with  Orphism — which  he  mentions  in  The 
Hippolytus  and  treated  at  length  in  The  Cretans 
(see  Appendix) — has  in  The  Bacchae  gone  back  behind 
Orphism  to  the  more  primitive  stuff  from  which  it 
was  made.  He  has  little  reference  to  any  specially 
Orphic  doctrine ;  not  a  word,  for  instance,  about 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.     And  his  idealisation  or 


NOTES  169 

spiritualisation  of  Dionysus-worship  proceeds  along  the 
h'nes  of  his  own  thought,  not  on  those  already  fixed  by 
the  Orphic  teachers. 


P.  80,  1.  17,  Asia  all  that  by  the  salt  sea  lies,  <?cc.], 
i.e.  the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor  inhabited  by  Greeks, 
Ionia,  Aeolis,  and  Doris. 

P.  80,  1.  27,  From  Dian  seed.] — Dian  =  belonging 
to  Zeus.  The  name  Dionysus  seemed  to  be  derived 
from  AL6<;y  the  genitive  of  "Zeus." 

P.  81,  1.  50,  Should  this  Theban  town  essay  with 
wrath  and  battle.  Sec] — This  suggestion  of  a  possi- 
bility which  is  never  realised  or  approached  is  perhaps 
a  mark  of  the  unrevised  condition  of  the  play.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  the  repetitions  in  the  Prologue. 

Pp.  82-86,11.  64-169. — This  first  song  of  the  Chorus 
covers  a  great  deal  of  Bacchic  doctrine  and  myth. 
The  first  strophe,  "  Oh  blessed  he  in  all  wise," 
&c.,  descrTBesTKe  bliss  of  Bacchic  purity  ;  the  anti-_ 
strophe  gives  the  two  births  of  Dionysus,  from 
Semele  and  from  the  body  of  Zeus,  mentioning  his 
mystic  epiphanies  as  Bull  and  as  Serpent.  The  next 
strophe  is  an  appeal  to  Thebes,  the  birthplace  or 
'^TTurse "  of  the  Code's  mother,  Semele ;  the  anti- 
strophe,  an  appeal  to  the  cavern  in  Crete,  the  birthplace 
of  Zeus,  "the  God's  father,  and  the  original  home  of 
the  mystic  Timbrel.  The  Epode,  or  closing  song,  is 
full,  not  of  doctrine,  but  of  the  pure  poetry  of  the 
worship. 

Pp.  86-95,  11.  170-369,  Tcircsias  and  Cadmus.] — 
Teiresias  seems  to  be  not  a  spokesman  of  the  poet's  own 
views — far  from  it — but  a  type  of  the  more  cultured 


170  EURIPIDES 

sort  of  Dionysiac  priest,  not  very  enlightened,  but 
ready  to  abate  some  of  the  extreme  dogmas  of  his  creed 
if  he  may  keep  the  rest.  Cadmus,  quite  a  different 
character,  takes  a  very  human  and  earthly  point  of 
view  :  the  God  is  probably  a  true  God  ;  but  even 
if  he  is  false,  there  is  no  great  harm  done,  and  the 
worship  will  bring  renown  to  Thebes  and  the  royal 
family.  It  is  noteworthy  how  full  of  pity  Cadmus  is 
— the  sympathetic  kindliness  of  the  sons  of  this  world 
as  contrasted  with  the  pitilessness  of  gods  and  their 
devotees.  See  especially  the  last  scenes  of  the  play. 
Even  his  final  outburst  of  despair  at  not  dying  like 
other  men  (p.  152),  shows  the  same  sympathetic 
humanity. 

Pp.  89  fF.,  11.  215-262. — Pentheus,  though  his  case 
against  the  new  worship  is  so  good,  and  he  might  so 
easily  have  been  made  into  a  fine  martyr,  like  Hippo- 
lytus,  is  left  harsh  and  unpleasant,  and  very  close  in 
type  to  the  ordinary  "  tyrant "  of  Greek  tragedy  (cf. 
p.  118).  It  IS  also  noteworthy,  I  think,  that  he  is,  as 
it  were,  out  of  tone  with  the  other  characters.  He 
belongs  to  a  different  atmosphere,  like,  to  take  a  recent 
instance,  Golaud  in  Pelle'as  et  Melisande. 

P.  91,  1.  263,  Injurious  King,  &c.]  —  It  is  a  mark 
of  a  certain  yielding  to  stage  convention  in  Euripides'" 
later  style,  that  he  allows  the  Chorus  Leader  to  make 
remarks  which  are  not  "  asides,"  but  are  yet  not  heard 
or  noticed  by  anybody. 

P.  91,  1.  264,  Sower  of  the  Giants'  sod.] — Cadmus, 
by  divine  guidance,  slew  a  dragon  and  sowed  the  teeth 
of  it  like  seed  in  the  "Field  of  Ares."  From  the 
teeth  rose  a  harvest  of  Earth-born,  or  "  Giant "" 
warriors,  of  whom  Echion  was  one. 


NOTES  171 

P.  92,  1.  287,  Learn  the  truth  of  it,  cleared  from 
the  false.] — This  timid  essay  in  rationalism  reminds 
one  of  similar  efforts  in  Pindar  (e.g.  01.  i.).  It  is 
the  product  of  a  religious  and  unspeculative  mind, 
not  feeling  difficulties  itself,  but  troubled  by  other 
people's  questions  and  objections.  (See  above  on 
Teiresias.) 

P.  92,  1.  292,  The  world-encircling  Fire.]  —  This 
fire,  or  ether,  was  the  ordinary  material  of  which 
phantoms  or  apparitions  were  made. 

Pp.  93-95,  11.  330-369. — These  three  speeches  are 
very  clearly  contrasted.  Cadmus,  thoroughly  human, 
thinking  of  sympathy  and  expediency,  and  vividly  re- 
membering the  fate  of  his  other  grandson,  Actaeon  ; 
Pentheus,  angry  and  "  tyrannical "  ;  Teiresias  speakmg 
like  a  Christian  priest  of  the  Middle  Ages,  almost 
like  Tennyson's  Becket. 

P.  95, 1.  370. — The  goddess  'Ocrta,  "  Purity,"  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  many  abstractions  which  were  half 
personified  bv  philosophy  and  by  Orphism.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  the  word  is  really  adjectival,  "Immaculate 
One,"  and  originally  an  epithet  of  some  more  definite 
goddess,  e.g.  as  Miss  Harrison  suggests,  of  Nemesis. 

In  this  and  other  choruses  it  is  very  uncertain  how 
the  lines  should  be  distributed  between  the  whole 
chorus,  .the  two  semi-choruses,  and  the  various  indi- 
vidual chorcutae. 

Pp.  97-98,  11.  402-430. — For  the  meaning  of  these 
lines,  see  Introduction,  pp.  Ixi,  Ixii. 

P.  100,  1.  471,  These  emblems.] — There  were  gene- 
rally associated  with  mysteries,  or  special  forms  of 
worship,  certain  relics  or  sacred  implements,  without 
which  the   rites  could   not  be  performed.     Cf.  Hdt. 


172  EURIPIDES 

vii.  153,  where  Telines  of  Gela  stole  the  sacred  im- 
plements or  emblems  of  the  nether  gods,  so  that  no 
worship  could  be  performed,  and  the  town  was,  as  it 
were,  excommunicated. 

P.  103,  II.  493  ff..  The  soldiers  cut  off  the  tressJ] — The 
stage  directions  here  are  difficult.  It  is  conceivable 
that  none  of  Pentheus'  threats  are  carried  out  at  all ; 
that  the  God  mysteriously  paralyses  the  hand  that  is 
lifted  to  take  his  rod  without  Pentheus  himself  knowing 
it.  But  I  think  it  more  likely  that  the  humiliation 
of  Dionysus  is  made,  as  far  as  externals  go,  complete, 
and  that  it  is  not  till  later  that  he  begins  to  show 
his  superhuman  powers. 

P.  104,  1.  508,  So  let  it  be.] — The  name  Pentheus 
suggests  '  mourner,'  from  penthos,  *  mourning.' 

P.  105,  1.  519,  Acheloiis'  roaming  daughter.] — 
Acheloiis  was  the  Father  of  all  Rivers. 

P.  107,  1.  556,  In  thine  own  Nysa.] — An  unknown 
divine  mountain,  formed  apparently  to  account  for 
the  second  part  of  the  name  Dionysus. 

P.  107,  1.  571,  Cross  the  Lydias,  &c.] — These  are 
rivers  of  Thrace  which  Dionysus  must  cross  in  his 
passage  from  the  East,  the  Lydias,  the  Axios,  and  some 
other,  perhaps  the  Haliacmon,  which  is  called  "  the 
father-stream  of  story," 

P.  108,  1.  579,  A  Voice,  a  Voice.] — Bromios,  the 
God  of  Many  Voices — for,  whatever  the  real  deriva- 
tion, the  fifth-century  Greeks  certainly  associated  the 
name  with  /3pe/x,6o,  '  to  roar ' — manifests  himself  as  a 
voice  here  and  below  (p.  136). 

Pp.  109-112,11.  6o2-64i,Ye  Damsels  of  theMorning 
Hills,  &c.] — This  scene  in  longer  metre  always  strikes 
me  as  a  little  unlike  the  style  of  Euripides,  and  inferior. 


NOTES  173 

It  may  mark  one  of  the  parts  left  unfinished  by  the 
poet,  and  written  in  by  his  son.  But  it  may  be  that 
I  have  not  understood  it. 

P.  1 18, 11.  781  fF.,  Call  all  who  spur  the  charger,  &c.] 
— The  typical  '  Ercles  vein  '  of  the  tragic  tyrant. 

Pp.  1 20- 1 24, 11.  8 1 0  ff. — This  scene  of  the  '  hypnotis- 
ing'— if  one  may  use  the  word — of  Pentheus  probably 
depends  much  on  the  action,  which,  however,  I  have 
not  ventured  to  prescribe.  Pentheus  seems  to  struggle 
against  the  process  all  through,  to  be  amazed  at  him- 
self for  consenting,  while  constantly  finding  fresh 
reasons  for  doing  so. 

P.  121,  1.  822,  Am  I  a  woman,  then  ?] — The  robe 
and  coif  were,  in  the  original  legend,  marks  of  the 
Thracian  dress  worn  by  the  Thracian  followers  of 
Dionysus,  and  notably  by  Orpheus.  The  tradition 
became  fixed  that  Pentheus  wore  such  a  robe  and 
coif;  and  to  the  Greeks  of  Euripides'  time  such  a 
dress  seemed  to  be  a  woman's.  Hence  this  turn  of 
the  story  (cf.  above,  p.  167). 

P.  125,  11.  877-881. — The  refrain  of  this  chorus 
about  the  fawn  is  difficult  to  interpret.  I  have  practi- 
cally interpolated  the  third  line  ("To  stand  from  fear 
set  free,  to  breathe  and  wait  "),  in  order  (i)  to  show  the 
connection  of  ideas  ;  (2)  to  make  clearer  the  meaning 
(as  I  understand  it)  of  the  two  Orphic  formula,  "  What 
is  beautiful  is  beloved  for  ever,"  and  "A  hand  uplifted 
over  the  head  of  Hate."  If  I  am  wrong,  the  refrain 
is  probably  a  mere  cry  for  revenge,  in  the  tone  of  the 
refram,  "  Hither  for  doom  and  deed,"  on  p.  132.  It  is 
one  of  the  many  passages  where  there  is  a  sharp  anta- 
gonism between  the  two  spirits  of  the  Chorus,  first, 
as  furious  Bacchanals,  and,  secondly,  as  exponents  of 


174  EURIPIDES 

the  idealised  Bacchic  reHgion  of  Euripides,  which  is 
so  strongly  expressed  in  the  rest  of  this  wonderful 
lyric. 

P.  127,  1.  920,  Is  it  a  Wild  Bull,  this  ?] — Pentheus, 
in  his  Bacchic  possession,  sees  fitfully  the  mystic  shapes 
of  the  God  beneath  the  human  disguise.  This  second- 
sight,  the  exaltation  of  spirit,  and  the  feeling  of  super- 
natural strength  coine  to  Pentheus  as  they  came  to 
the  two  Old  Men.  But  to  them  the  change  came 
peacefully  and  for  good  ;  to  Pentheus  it  comes  by 
force,  stormily  and  for  evil,  because  his  will  was  against 
the  God. 

P.  131,  1.  976,  O  hounds  raging  and  blind.] — i.e. 
Spirits  of  Madness.  This  lyric  prepares  us  for  what 
follows,  especially  for  Agave's  delusion,  which  other- 
wise might  have  been  hard  to  understand.  I  have 
tried  to  keep  the  peculiar  metre  of  the  original,  the 
dochmiac,  with  a  few  simple  licences.  The  scheme 
is  based  on  «•'  •'«■'  or  -^-w  -«■',  the  latter  being  much 
commoner. 

P.  133,11.997-1011. — The  greater  part  of  this  chorus 
is  generally  abandoned  as  unintelligible  and  corrupt. 
The  last  ten  lines  ("  Knowledge,  we  are  not  foes," 
&c.)  will,  I  think,  make  sense  if  we  accept  a  very 
slight  conjecture  of  my  own,  aivrcovy  "  let  them  blow," 
instead  of  the  impossible  ael  rcov.  The  four  lines 
before  that  ("A  strait  pitiless  mind,"  &c.)  are  an 
almost  literal  translation  of  the  MS.  reading,  which, 
however,  is  incorrect  in  metre,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  exactly  what  Euripides  wrote. 

P.  134,  1.  1036,  And  deem'st  thou  Thebes  so  beg- 
gared.]— The  couplet  is  incomplete  in  the  MS.  But 
the  sense  needed  is  obvious. 


NOTES  175 

P.  137,  1.  1 1 20,  Let  it  not  befall  through  sin  of 
mine,  iScc] — This  note  of  unselfish  feeling,  of  pity  and 
humanity,  becomes  increasingly  marked  in  all  the 
victims  of  Dionysus  towards  the  end  of  the  play,  and 
contrasts  the  more  vividly  with  the  God's  pitilessness. 
Cadmus  is  always  gentle,  and  always  thinking  of  the 
sufferings  of  others  ;  and,  indeed,  so  is  Agave,  after  her 
return  to  reason,  though  with  more  resentment  against 
the  oppressor. 

Pp.  139-143, 11.  1 165-1200. — This  marvellous  scene 
defies  comment.     But  I  may  be  excused  for  remarking 

( 1 )  that  the  p>vchological  change  of  the  chorus  is,  to  my 
mind,  proved  by  the  words  of  the  original,  and  does  not 
in  the  least  depend  on  my  interpolated  stage  directions  ; 

(2)  the  extraordinary  exultation  of  Agave  is  part  of 
her  Bacchic  possession.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that, 
if  she  had  really  killed  a  lion,  such  joy  would  be  the 
natural  thing. 

P.  141,  after  1.  1 1 83,  The  Leader  tries  to  speak,  Sec] — 
It  is  also  possible  that  by  some  error  of  a  scribe  two 
lines  have  been  omitted  in  the  MS.  But  I  think  the 
explanation  given  in  the  text  more  probable  and  more 
dramatic. 

P.  142,1.  1 195,  And  Pentheus,  O  Mother?] — The 
Leader  mentions  Pentheus,  I  suppose,  in  order  de- 
liberately to  test  Agave's  delusion,  to  see  if  she  is 
indeed  utterly  unconscious  of  the  truth. 

P.  146,  1.  1267,  More  shining  than  before,  &c.] — 
The  sight  of  the  pure  heaven  brings  back  light  to  her 
mind — that  is  clear.  But  does  she  mean  that  the  sky 
is  brighter  because  of  her  madness  which  still  remains, 
or  that  it  is  brighter  now,  after  having  been  darkened 
in  her  madness  ? 


176  EURIPIDES 

P.  149, 1.  1313,  And  now  I  fare  forth  in  dishonour.] 
— He  has  not  yet  been  sentenced  to  exile,  though  he 
might  well  judge  that  after  such  pollution  all  his  family- 
would  be  banished.  But  probably  this  is  another 
mark  of  the  unrevised  state  of  the  play. 

P.  151,  1.  1330,  For  thou  must  change  and  be  a 
Serpent  Thing,  &c.] — A  prophecy  like  this  is  a  very 
common  occurrence  in  the  last  scenes  of  Euripides' 
tragedies.  "The  subject  of  the  play  is  really  a  long 
chain  of  events.  The  poet  fixes  on  some  portion  of 
it — the  action  of  one  day,  generally  speaking — and 
treats  it  as  a  piece  of  vivid  concrete  life,  led  up  to  by 
a  merely  narrative  introduction  (the  Prologue),  and 
melting  away  into  a  merely  narrative  close.  The 
method  is  to  our  taste  undramatic,  but  it  is  explicable 
enough.  It  falls  in  with  the  tendency  of  Greek  art 
to  finish,  not  with  a  climax,  but  with  a  lessening  of 
strain  "  [Greek  Literature^  p.  267). 

The  prophecy  was  that  Cadmus  and  Harmonia 
should  be  changed  into  serpents  and  should  lead  a 
host  of  barbarian  invaders — identified  with  an  Illyrian 
tribe,  the  Encheleis— against  Hellas;  they  should 
prosper  until  they  laid  hands  on  the  treasures  of 
Delphi,  and  then  be  destroyed.  Herodotus  says  that 
the  Persians  were  influenced  by  this  prophecy  when 
they  refrained  from  attacking  Delphi  (Hdt.  ix.  42). 


'U 


<x 


^77 


THE    FROGS 

OF 

ARISTOPHANES 


':? 


CHARACTERS   OF   THE   PLAY 

The  God  Dionysus. 

Xanthias,  his  slave. 

Aeschylus. 

Euripides. 

Heracles. 

Pluto. 

Charon. 

Abacus,  house  porter  to  Pluto. 

A  Corpse. 

A  Maidservant  of  Persephone. 

A  Landlady  in  Hades. 

Plathane,  her  servant. 

A  Chorus  of  Frogs. 

A  Chorus  of  Initiated  Persons. 

Attendants  at  a  Funeral ;   Women  worship f'ing  lacchus  ; 
Servants  of  Pluto,  Sd'C 

"  The  play  was  first  produced  in  Athens  at  the  Feast  of  the  Lenaea 
in  the  year  405  B.C.  It  obtained  the  first  prize.  Phrynichus  was 
second  with  '  The  Muses,'  Plato  third  with  '  The  Cleophon:  " 


'79 


THE   FROGS 

At  the  hack  of  the  scene  is  the  house  o/"  Heracles.  Enter 
Dionysus,  wearing  high-heeled  stage  boots  and  a 
tunic  of  saj^ron  silk;  over  them  a  lion-skin,  in  his 
hand  a  club.  He  is  followed  by  Xanthias,  seated 
on  a  donkey  and  carrying  an  immense  bale  of  lug(rage 
on  a  porter  s  pole.  They  advance  for  a  while  in 
silence. 

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  all  squeezed  flat." 
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. 


i8o  EURIPIDES 

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  many  Jugs, 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  i8i 

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). 

Pm  carrying  this. 

Dionysus. 

How? 

Xanthias. 

With  my  back  half-broken. 

Dionysus. 
That  bag  is  clearly  carried  by  the  donkey. 

Xanthias. 
No  donkey  carries  bags  that  /  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. 


i82  EURIPIDES 

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  1  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  minuie/y^    then    chokes 
with  silent  emotion. 


Boy! 


Dionysus  {aside  to  Xanthias). 

Xanthias. 
What,  sir  ? 

Dionysus. 


Did  you  notice  ? 

Xanthias. 

Notice  what  ? 
Dionysus. 
How  afraid  he  was. 

Xanthias. 

Yes,  sir  ;  {aside)  afraid  you're  cracked  ! 

Heracles  {struggling  with  laughter). 
I  wouldn't  if  I  possibly  covild  help  it  : 
I'm  trying  to  bite  my  lips,  but  all  the  same  .  .  .  {roars 
with  laughter). 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  183 

Dionysus. 
Don't  be  absurd  !     Conic  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  i 

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. 
Xa  NTH  IAS  {aside). 

And  then  I  woke,  and  it  was  all  a  dream  1 

Dionysus. 
Well,  one  day  I  was  sitting  there  on  deck 
Reading  the  Andromeda,  when  all  at  once 
A  great  desire  came  knockmg  at  my  heart, 
You'd  hardly  think  .  .   . 

Heracles. 

A  great  desire  ?     How  big  ? 


i84  EURIPIDES 

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. 
Tou  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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  185 

Dionysus. 

Sec'st  then  the  sudden  truth  ?     Or  shall  I  put  it 
Another  way  ? 

Heracles. 

Oh,  not  about  pease-broth. 
I  sec  It  quite. 

Dionysus. 

Well,  I  am  now  consumed 
By  just  that  sort  of  restless  cravmg  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. 
lophon's  still  alive. 

Dionysus. 

Well,  there  you  have  it  ; 


i86  EURIPIDES 

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  IVe  had  lophon  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 — 
Innocent  here  is  innocent  in  death. 

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  ! 


And  Xenocles  ? 


Heracles. 

Dionysus. 
Oh,  plague  take  Xenocles  ! 


Heracles. 
Pythangelus,  then  ? 

[Dionysus  shrugs  his  shoulders  in  expressive  silence. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  187 

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  emptv  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 — like  holy  Ether,   parlour  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  I  "    Use  your  own  donkey. 


i88  EURIPIDES 

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  himse/f). 

And  no  one  thinks  of  me. 

Dionysus. 
But  w^hy  I  came  in  these  especial  trappings — 
Disguised  as  you,  in  fact — v^^as  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  ? — 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  189 

Which  now  ? — Ah,  yes  ;  suppose  you  got  a  boatman 
To  tug  vou,  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  ? 


190  EURIPIDES 

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  you  row  across  the  ferry  ...  for  two  obols. 


ARISTOPHANES'  FROGS  iqi 

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  ! 

Heraci.es. 

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  about  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  he  ? 


192  EURIPIDES 

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. 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS  193 

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. 


194  EURIPIDES 

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. 
Both. 


Charon,  ahoy 


Ahoy  !  Charon,  ahoy  ! 

Charon 

{approaching  in  the  boat.  He  is  an  old,  grim,  and  squalid 
Ferryman,  wearing  a  slave's  felt  cap  and  a  sleeve- 
less tunic). 

Who  seeks  for  rest  from  sufferings  and  cares  ? 

Who's  for  the  Carrion  Crows,  and  the  Dead  Donkeys  ; 

Lethe  and  Sparta  and  the  rest  of  Hell  ? 


ARISTOPHANES^   FROGS  195 

Dionysus. 
I! 

Charon. 
Get  in. 

Dionysus. 

Where  do  you  touch  ?     You  didn't  say 
The  Crows  ? 

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  T  meet  you  ? 

Charon. 
The  place  of  waiting  by  the  Stone  of  Shivers  ! 

DiONYsui  [to  Xanthias,  who  hesitates). 
You  understand  ? 


196  EURIPIDES 

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  ? 


And  stretch  . 


Charon. 

Put  out  your  arms 

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 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  197 

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  Jnthesteria^ 
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-:lx,  as  we  move  in  a  ring  ; 

As  in  Limnae  we  sang  the  divine 
Nyse'ian  Giver  of  Wine, 

When  the  people  in  lots 

With  their  sanctified  Pots 
Came  reeling  around  my  shrine. 


EURIPIDES 

Co-Sx,  co-ax,  co-ax, 
Brekekekex  co-ax. 

Dionysus. 
Don't  sing  any  more  ; 
I  begin  to  be  sore  ! 
Frogs. 
Brekekekex  co-ax. 

Co-ax,  co-ax,  co-ax, 
Brekekekex  co-ax  ! 

Dionysus. 
Is  it  nothing  to  you 
If  I'm  black  and  I'm  blue  ? 
Frogs. 
Brekekekex  co-ax  ! 

Dionysus. 
A  plague  on  all  of  your  swarming  packs. 
There's  nothing  in  you  except  co-ax  ! 

Frogs. 
Well,  and  what  more  do  you  need  ? 
Though  it's  none  of  your  business  indeed, 

When  the  Muse  thercanent 

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. 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS  199 

Co-ax,  co-ax,  co-Sx, 
Brekekekex  co-Sx ! 

Dionysus. 

Peace,  musical  sisters  ! 

I'm  covered  with  blisters. 

Frogs. 
Brekekekex  co-ax. 

Co-ax,  co-Sx,  co-ax, 
Brekekekex  co-ax  ! 

Our  song  we  can  double 

Without  the  least  trouble  : 
Brekekekex  co-Sx. 


Sing  we  now,  if  ever  hopping 

Through  the  sedge  and  flowering  rushes  j 
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-ax,  co-ax  ! 

Dionysus. 
Brekekekex  co-Sx,  co-ax  ! 

I  can  sing  it  as  loud  as  you. 

Frogs. 
Sisters,  that  he  never  must  do  ! 


200  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 
Would  you  have  me  row  till  my  shoulder  cracks  ? 

Frogs. 
Brekekekex  co-ax,  co-ax  ! 

Dionysus. 
Brekekekex  co-Sx,  co-ax  ! 
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-ax,  co-ax  !  ! 
Dionysus. 
Brekekekex  co-ax,  co-ax  !  ! 
ril  see  you  don't  outdo  me  in  that. 

Frogs. 
Well,  you  shall  never  beat  ui — 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-ax,  co-ax 
— I  assure  you  they're  thoroughly  strong — 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS  201 

Until  your  efforts  at  last  relax  : 
Brelcekekex  co-iix,  co-Jix  !  ! 

[^No  answer  from  the  Frogs. 
Brelcekekex  co-ax,  co-iix  !  !  ! 
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  sec  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  ? 


202  EURIPIDES 

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. 
What  is  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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  203 

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  ? 


204  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus 
[running  forward  and  addressing  the  Priest  of  Dionysus 

in  his  seat  of  state  in  the  centre  of  the  front  row 

of  the  audience^ 
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  waves  I  catch  a  piece  of  tail!" 

Empusa's  gone. 

Dionysus. 

Swear  it. 

Xanthias. 

By  Zeus,  she's  gone  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  205 

Dionysus. 
Again. 

Xanthias. 

By  Zeus,  she's  gone  ! 

Dionysus. 

Your  solemn  oath. 

Xanthias. 
By  Zeus  !  ! 

Dionysus  [raising  himse/f). 

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  parlour  of  God,  perhaps,  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. 


2o6  EURIPIDES 

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). 

lacchus,  O  lacchus  ! 
lacchus,  O  lacchus  ! 

Xanthias. 

That'^s  it,  sir.     These  are  the  Initiated 
Rejoicing  somev/here  here,  just  as  he  told  us. 
Why,  it's  the  old  lacchus  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  Initiat- 
ing 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 
hack  scene  again  changes.  The  lake  disappears 
and  we  find  ourselves  in  front  of  the  house  oj 
Pluto. 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS         207 

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,  lacchus  ;  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,  lacchus,  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 


2o8  EURIPIDES 

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  joyous  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  ow^ns  an  intellect  muddled  vv^ith  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  Cratinus  the 

Bull-eater''s  tongue  : 
If  he  likes  in  a  comedy  nothing  but  riot  and  meaning- 
less 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  canva?  and  hide. 
Or  tries  to  persuade  some  neutral,  well  paid,  for  the 

enemy's  ships  to  provide  : 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  209 

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  hvmn  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. 


210  EURIPIDES 

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. 
lacchus  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. 

lacchus,  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. 

lacchus,  happy  dancer,  be  our  guide. 

Lo  there  1  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. 

lacchus,  happy  dancer,  be  our  guide. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  211 

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  Archedemus^  the  politician^ 
who  has  never  succeeded  in  making  out  a  clear 
Athenian  pedigree  for  himself ;  CleistheneSy 
who  went  into  mourning  for  imaginary  re- 
latives 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  Archedcmus, 
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. 


212  EURIPIDES 

Chorus. 
To  believe  he  would  incline  us 
That  a  person  named  Sebinus 
Is  tossing  yet  unburied  on  the  waves  ! 

HlEROPHANT. 

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. 

HlEROPHANT. 

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  ! 

HlEROPHANT. 

Now  onward  through  Demeter's  ring 
Through  the  leaves  and  flowers, 

All  who  love  her  junketing, 
All  who  know  her  powers  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  213 

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  IForshipping  IVomen,  as  they  file  off). 
Then  on  'mid  the  meadows  deep, 
Where  thickest  the  rosehuds  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  ! 

The  HiEROPHANT  and  the  JVonhipping  Women  go  off. 
The  Men  remain^  forming  an  ordinary  Chorus. 
Dionysus  approaches  the  central  door. 

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. 


214  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus  {knocking). 
Ho  there  ! 

[The  door  opens  and  a  Porter  appears^  whose  dress 
shows  him  to  be  Abacus,  the  Judge  of  the 
Dead. 

Aeacus. 
Who  summons  ? 


Dionysus. 


Aeacus. 


Heracles  the  Brave. 


Thou  rash,  impure,  and  most  abandoned  man, 
O  foul,  all  foul,  yea  foulest  of  the  foul. 
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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  215 

Dionysus. 

But  I  feci 
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  ! 


2i6  EURIPIDES 

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  Melitean  jail-bird,  on  my  life  I   .  .  . 
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  Perse- 
phone. 

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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  217 

Xanthias  {(js  Heraci.es). 
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  sv/cet 
Young  dancing  girls, 

Xanthias  (wavering). 

Did  you  say  dancing  girls  ? 

Maid. 
Yes.     Do  come  in. — They  just  were  gomg  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. 


2i8  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  219 

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^  Plathan^. 

Landlady. 
Ho,  Plathane,  here,  I  want  you,  Plathanc  !   .  .  . 
Here  is  that  scamp  who  came  to  the  inn  before. 
Ate  sixteen  loaves  of  bread.  .   .  . 

Plathane. 

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'U  catch  it  now  ! 

Landlady. 
And  all  that  garlic. 


220  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 

Nonsense,  my  good  woman, 
You  don't  know  what  you're  saying. 

Plathane. 

Did  you  thmk 
I  wouldn't  know  you  in  those  high-heeled  boots  ? 

Landlady. 
And  all  the  salt-fish  I've  not  mentioned  yet,  .  .  , 

Plathane  {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  ! 

Plathane. 
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 ! 


ARISTOPHANES^  FROGS  221 

Xanthias. 
Just  like  him,  again. 

Plathan^.. 

But  something  must  be  done  ! 

Landlady  {to  Plathan^.). 
Run,  you,  and  fetch  me  my  protector,  Cleon. 

Plathan^ 

{to  the  Landlady,  as  they  run  excitedly  to  go  of  in 

different  directions). 

And  you  fetch  me  Hyperbolus,  if  you  meet  him.  .  .  . 

Then  we  shall  crush  him  ! 

Landlady  {returning). 

Oh,  that  ugly  jaw  ! 
How  I  should  like  to  take  a  stone  and  knock 
Those  grinders  out,  that  ground  my  larder  dry  ! 

Plathan£  {returning  on  the  other  side). 
And  I  should  like  to  fling  you  in  the  pit  I 

Landlady  {turning  again  as  she  goes  off). 
And  I  should  like  to  get  a  scythe,  and  cut 
That  throat  that  swallowed  all  my  sausages. 

Plathan£  {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  Plathane  go  off  in  different 
directions.  A  painful  silence  ensues.   At  length: 

Dionysus. 
Plague  take  me  !     I've  no  friend  in  all  the  world,  .  .  . 
Except  old  Xanthias  1 


222  EURIPIDES 

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  this — death  and  destruction  fall 
On  me  myself,  my  wife,  my  little  ones, — 
And,  if  you  like,  on  the  old  bat  Archedemus  ! 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  223 

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  ! 

The  ctntral  door  opens  and  the  Porter^  Aeacus,  comes  out 
with  several  ferocious-looking  Thracian  or  Scythian 
constables. 

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  ! 

Aeacus. 

Wliat  ?  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  ! 


224  EURIPIDES 

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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  225 

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 
[zuho  has  hitherto   been  speech/ess  with  horror,  now  burst- 
ing 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. 

Yes; 
All  the  more  reason,  that,  tor  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. 


226  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  227 

Aeacus. 
It  is  odd  ! — Well,  I'll  try  the  first  again. 

[He  crossts  to  Xa  nth  I  as. 

Xanthias. 
All  right.      Be  quick.      [The  blow  falls)  Whe-ew  ! 

Aeacus. 

Ah,  why  "  whe-c\v  "  ? 
It  didn't  hurt  you  r 

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  ? 


228  EURIPIDES 

Dionysus. 

Hurt  ?     Not  it. 
Aeacus. 
I'll  step  across  again  then  to  the  first  one. 

[Strikes  Xanthias,  ivho  also  hozvls. 

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  1  ..."  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. 

Abacus  [to  Xanthias). 

A  good  idea  !     Turn  over  on  your  back  ! 

[Strikes  him. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  229 

Xanthias  {as  before). 
O  Lord  ! 

Aeacus. 

What's  that  ? 

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  charm  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 


230  EURIPIDES 

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  w^isdom  and  its 

bliss, 
To  assist   the    state   w^ith    counsel.      Now    our    first 

advice  is  this  : 
AH  Athenians  must   be  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,  we  want  no  man  in  Athens  robbed  of  every 

native  right. 
Shame  it  were  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, 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  231 

Who  have  ofttimes  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  ven- 
geance 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  and  weak,  with  Athens  tossing  in  the 

billow's  arm. 
After  days  shall  judge  the  madness  that  has  brought 

our  land  to  harm. 

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  Clcigenes — 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  cautious  and  quick 

For  if  ever  from  supper  he  trotted, 
Talking  genially  thick 
And  without  his  big  stick. 

We  should  probably  find  him  garottcd. 


232  EURIPIDES 

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  game's. 
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  1 
Creatures   just    arrived    in   Athens,   whom   our   city, 

years  ago. 
Scarcely  would  have  used  as  scapegoats  to  be  slaugh- 
tered 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 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  233 

That  we  fought  our  fight  with  wisdom  ;  or,  if  all  is 

lost  for  good, 
Let  the  tree  on  which  they  hang  us,  he,  at  least,  of 

decent  wood  ! 


[T/h-  door  opem^  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  hut  wine  and  wenches  I 

Aeacus. 
But  not  to  whip  you  when  you  were  clean  convicted, 
A  slave  caught  masquerading  as  his  master  I 

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,  ch  r 

Abacus. 

Like  it  ?     Why,  when  I  get 
Behind  my  master's  back  and  quietly  curse  him, 
I  feel  just  like  the  Blessed  in  the  Mysteries  ! 


234  EURIPIDES 

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  ? 

Abacus. 

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  trx 
house. 
But  Zeus  ! — our  own  Zeus  of  the  Friendly  Jailbirds — 
What  is  that  noise  . . .  those  shouts  and  quarrelling . . 
Inside  ? 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  235 

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  ? 


236  EURIPIDES 

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? 

Abacus. 
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  ? 

Abacus. 
Goodness  is  scarce,  you  know.     [Indicating  the  audi- 
ence) The  same  as  here  ! 

Xanthias. 
And  what  does  Pluto  mean  to  do  about  it  ? 

Abacus. 
Why,  hold  a  trial  and  contest  on  the  spot 
To  test  their  skill  for  certain. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  237 

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  we'll  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  I     Line  by  line 
Euripides  will  test  all  tragedies  ! 


238  EURIPIDES 

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  ? 

Abacus. 

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  is  a  parody  of  the  metre  and  style  ^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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  239 

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  prancmg 

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  EuRlPlDES,  Dionysus, 
and  Aeschylus. 

Euripides, 
No,  no  !     Don't  talk  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. 


240  EURIPIDES 

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,"  vi^ooden-mouthed, 
No  door,  no  bolt,  no  bridle  to  his  tongue, 
A  torrent  of  pure  bombast — tied  in  bundles  ! 

Aeschylus  [breaking  out). 
Hovi^  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  1 

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). 

^ou  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, 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  241 

Get  out  of  the  hailstones  quick,  or  else,  by  Zeus, 
Some  wortl  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,  Meleager, 
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  poetry  hasn't  died  with  me. 
As  his  has  ;  so  he'll  have  it  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  ! 

Q 


242  EURIPIDES 

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,  w^hen,  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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  243 

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  common- 
places. 

Euripides. 

A  little  later  I  will  treat  my  own  artistic  mettle. 

This  person's  claims  I  should  prefer  immediately  to 
settle. 


244  EURIPIDES 

I'll  show  you  how  he  posed  and  prosed  ;  with  what 

audacious  fooling 
He  tricked  an  audience  fresh  and  green  from  Phryni- 

chus'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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  245 

Dionysus. 
Ot"  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  wlien  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  gor- 

gons  round  the  border. 
That  no  man  ever  heard  on  earth. 

Aeschylus. 

The  red  plague  .  .  .   ! 

Dionysus. 

Order,  order  ! 
Euripides. 
Intelligible — not  one  line  I 

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  ! 


246  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  247 

Euripides. 

I  didn't  rave  at  random,  or  plunge  in  and  make  con- 
fusions. 

My  first  appearmg  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  m.ade  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. 


248  EURIPIDES 

'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.     I  never 

flashed  and  lightened 
And  thundered  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 

Megainctus, 
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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  249 

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  yery  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 


250  EURIPIDES 

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. 

0  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. 

1  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. 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS  251 

Aeschylus. 
And  suppose  you  have  done  the  reverse, 
And   have  had  upon  good  strong  men  the  effect  of 

making  them  vi^eaker  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  I     Good  six-footers,  solid  of  limb. 
Well-born,  well-bred,  not  ready  to  fly  from  obeying 

their  country's  call. 
Nor  in  latter-dav  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  I     How  was  it  due  in   especial 

to  you,  if  they  were  so  very — well-bred  r 

Dionysus. 
Come,  answer  him,  Aeschylus  !      Don't  be  so  hot,  or 
smoulder  in  silent  disdain, 

Aeschylus  {crushingly). 
By  a  tragedy  '  brimming  with  Ares  ! ' 


252  EURIPIDES 

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. 
Tm  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 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  253 

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  ! 


254  EURIPIDES 

Euripides. 
No,  you  hadn't  exactly  the  style  to  attract  Aphrodite  ! 

Aeschylus. 

Pm  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 — 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  255 

Euripides. 
And  words  like  Mount  Lycabettus 
Or  Fames,  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  im- 
plores us  his  state  to  behold. 


256  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  257 

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  I 

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 ! 


258  EURIPIDES 

If  you  tear,  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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS         259 

Aeschylus  {quoting  the  first  lines  of  the  Choephoroi). 
"  Guide  of  the  Dead,  warding  a  father's  way, 
Be  thou  my  h'ght  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  /  care  ? 
Point  out  the  faults. 


26o  EURIPIDES 

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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS         261 

Aeschylus. 
"Be  thou  my  light  and  saviour  where  I  pray 
In  this  my  fatherland  returned,  restored." 

KURIIUDES. 

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  '  re,>tored.' 

Dionysus. 
VVhv,  yes  !     It's  just  as  if  you  asked  your  neiglibour, 
'  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  ? 


262  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS  263 

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  anythini:  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  I 


264  EURIPIDES 

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  old  umbrella, 
God  helping  me,  and  smash  your  prologues  whole  I 

Euripides. 
Umbrellas  to  my  prologues  ? 

Aeschylus. 

One  umbrella  ! 
You  write  them  so  that  nothing  comes  amiss. 
The  bed-quilt,  or  the  umbrella,  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. 

"  Acgyptus,  so  the  world-wide  tale  is  spread, 
With  fifty  damsels  o'er  the  salt  sea  fled. 
And,  reaching  Greece  ..." 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  265 

Aeschylus. 

Found  his  umbrella  gone  ! 

Dionysus. 
What's  that  about  the  umbrella  !     Drat  the  thing  ! 
Quote  him  another  prologue,  and  let's  see. 

Euripides. 
"Dionysus,  who  with  wand  and  fawn-skin  dight 
On  great  Parnassus  dances  in  the  light 
Of  leaping  brands,  ..." 

Aeschylus. 

Found  his  umbrella  gone  ! 

Dionysus. 
Alas!  again  the  umbrella  finds  our  heart! 

Euripides  [heginmng  to  reflect  anxiously). 

Oh,  it  won't  come  to  much,  though  !     Here's  another, 
With  not  a  crack  to  stick  the  umbrella  through  ! 
"  No  man  hath  bliss  in  full  and  flawless  health  ; 
Lo,  this  one  had  high  race,  but  little  wealth  ; 
That,  base  in  blood,  ..." 

Aeschylus. 

Found  his  umbrella  gone  ! 

Dionysus. 
Euripides  ! 

Euripides. 
Well  ? 

Dionysus. 

Better  furl  your  sails  ; 
The  great  umbrella  bellies  in  the  wind  I 


266  EURIPIDES 

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  avoid  umbrellas. 

Euripides. 
"  From  Sidon  sailing  forth,  Agenor's  son, 
Cadmus,  long  since,  ..." 

Aeschylus. 

Found  his  umbrella  gone  ! 

Dionysus. 
Oh,  this  is  awful  !     Buy  the  thing  outright. 
Before  it  riddles  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  for  his  umbrella. 
"  As  rapid  steeds  to  Pisa  bore  him  on, 
Pelops  the  Great,  ..." 

Aeschylus. 

Found  his  umbrella  gone  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'    FROGS  267 

Dionysus. 
What  did  I  tell  you  r     There  it  sticks  again  I 
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. 
"  Oineus  from  earth,  ..." 

Aeschylus. 

Found  his  umbrella  gone. 

Euripides. 
You  must  first  let  me  quote  one  line  entire  ! 
"  Oineus  from  earth  a  goodly  harvest  won, 
But,  while  he  prayed,  ..." 

Aeschylus. 
Found  his  umbrella  gone  1 

Dionysus. 
During  the  prayers  I     Who  can  have  been  the  thief? 

Euripides  [desperately). 
Oh,  let  him  be  1     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  umbrellas,  hedgehog-wise. 

Your  prologues  ;  theyVe  as  bunged  up  as  your  eyes  ! 

For  God's  sake  change  the  subject. — Take  his  songs  ! 


268  EURIPIDES 

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. 
ril  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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  269 

Euripides. 
"Thou  choice   of  Achaia,  wide-ruling  Atrides,  give 
heed  to  my  schooling  ! 

Yea,  sliock,  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  I  " 

Dionysus. 

0  Zeus  Almighty,  what  a  chain  of  shocks  ! 

1  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  there- 
over he  wingeth 

Flattothrat  toflattothrat  ! 


270  EURIPIDES 

With  decdful  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  stuff,  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  Meletus,  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  chatter  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, 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  271 

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-beak^d  ships. 
And  tosses  with  aerial  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-pressure  !  " 

[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  Cyrcnc's  flute  ! 

There,    that's    your    choral    stuff!      But     I've     not 

finished, 
I  want  to  show  the  spirit  of  his  solos  ! 


272  EURIPIDES 

[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,  Glyk^  hath  stolen  my  cock,  and  away  from  the 
neighbourhood  cleared  ! 

[m/d/y. 

(Ye  Nymphs  of  the  Mountain  give  aid  ! 
And  what's  co^iie  to  the  scullery-maid  ? ) 

[Tearfu/Iy. 
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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  273 

[Junost  xueeping. 
— 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  Jlorid^  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  Hecate  ;  in  all  men's  eyes 

Let  the  detective  sheen 

Flashed  from  thy  torches  keen. 
Light  me  to  Glykc'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  ! 


274  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  275 

Dionysus. 

Cuckoo  !     Let  go. — Ah,  down  comes  Aeschvlus 
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  hea\ier  ! 
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  "Jntigone"). 
"  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  ! 


276  EURIPIDES 

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  ! 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  277 

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  luith  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  I     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 


278  EURIPIDES 

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. 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  279 

Euripides. 
Where  Mistiust  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. 
It  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  r 

Aeschylus. 

First  tell  me  about  the  City  ; 
What  servants  does  she  choose  ?     The  good  ? 


She  loathes  them  ! 


Dionysus. 

Great  Heavens, 

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  ! 


28o  EURIPIDES 

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  j 
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  r 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  281 

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  ! 

[They  all  depart  Into  the  house. 


Chorus. 
0  blessed  are  they  who  possess 

An  extra  share  of  brains  1 
'Tis  a  fact  that  more  or  less 
All  fortunes  of  men  express  ; 
As  now,  by  showing 
An  intellect  glowing, 


282  EURIPIDES 

This  man  his  home  regains  j 
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 ! 


Re-enter  Pluto,  Dionysus,  Aeschylus,  and  Attend- 
antSy  who  join  with  the  Chorus  to  form  a  pro- 
cession. 

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, 


ARISTOPHANES'   FROGS  283 

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  1 

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  1 

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, 


284 


EURIPIDES 


War  and  the  clashing  of  wrong. — And  for  Cleophon, 
why,  if  he'd  rather, 

Let  him  fight  by  himself  with  his  friends,  in  the  far- 
off  fields  of  his  father. 
[They  all  go  off  in  a  procession^  escorting  Aeschylus. 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS 

P.  179,  1.  I,  Xaiithias.] — A  common  slave's  name 
from  Xanthus,  the  chief  town  of  Lycia,  or  possibly 
from  ^av66<:,  "  auburn,"  "  red-headed."  Northern 
slaves  were  common. 

P.  180,  11.  14,  16,  Phrynichus,  Ameipsias,  Lykis.] — 
Contemporary  comic  poets.  Phrynichus  was  com- 
peting with  his  "Muses"  against  Aristophanes  on  the 
present  occasion,  and  won  the  second  prize.  Ameipsias' 
Connos  won  the  first  prize  over  the  Clouds,  and  his 
Revellers  over  the  Birds. 

P.  182,  1.  33,  Why  wasn't  I  on  board  at  Argin- 
usae  ?] — All  slaves  who  fought  in  that  battle  had  been 
set  free.  It  and  its  consequences  loom  so  large  in  The 
Frogs  that  it  is  desirable  to  give  some  account  of  them. 
It  was  a  great  victory.  Seventy  Spartan  ships  were 
destroyed  and  the  admiral,  Callicratidas,  slain.  But  it 
was  not  properly  followed  up,  and  it  was  dearly  bought 
by  the  loss  of  twenty-five  triremes,  with  nearly  the 
whole  of  their  crews,  amounting  to  about  five  thousand 
men.  It  was  believed  that  with  more  care  many  of 
these  men  might  have  been  saved,  and  most  of  the 
dead  bodies  collected  for  burial.  The  generals  were 
summoned  home  for  trial  for  this  negligence.  They 
pleaded  bad  weather,  and  also  that  they  had  given 
orders  to  the  trierarchs  (or  captains)  to  see  to  recover- 
ing the  men  overboard.      The  trierarchs  were  thus 


286  EURIPIDES 

forced  in  self-defence  to  throw  over  the  generals,  and 
it  happened  that  they  had  among  them  the  famous 
orator  and  "  Moderate  "  politician,  Theramenes.  He, 
naturally,  led  the  case  for  his  fellow-trierarchs,  and 
succeeded  in  showing  that  the  order  to  see  to  the 
shipwrecked  men  was  sent  out  much  too  late,  after 
the  storm  had  arisen.  A  coincidence  intensified  the 
general  emotion.  The  Feast  of  the  Apaturia,  de- 
voted to  family  observances  and  the  ties  of  kindred, 
chanced  to  occur  at  the  time  of  the  trial.  Whole 
kindreds  were  seen  in  mourning.  (It  was  rumoured 
afterwards  that  impostors  were  hired  by  the  enemies 
of  the  generals  to  go  about  in  black,  wailing  for 
imaginary  relatives — like  Sebinus  below  (p.  212) — 
"  floating  unburied  on  the  waves  !  ")  The  generals 
were  condemned,  and  six  of  them,  including  Erasinides 
(p.  264),  executed.  Theramenes  "  came  off  scratch- 
less  "  (p.  248),  except  in  reputation. 

P.  183,  1.  48,  Cleisthenes.] — Noted  for  his  effemi- 
nate good  looks.  He  may  or  may  not  have  been  in 
command  of  a  ship. 

P.  183,  I.  53,  The  Andromeda.] — See  Appendix. 
Molon  was  a  very  tall  actor  who  performed  in  it. 

P.  185,  1.  64,  Seest  then  the  sudden  truth.] — From 
"Euripides' Hypsipyle.    Acted  41 1-409.    See  Appendix. 

P.  185,  1.  72,  For  most  be  dead,  &c.] — From  Euri- 
pides' Oineus.     See  Appendix. 

P.  185,  1.  73,  lophon.] — Son  of  Sophocles.  Fifty 
plays  are  attributed  to  him  by  Suidas,  among  others  a 
Bacchae  or  Pentheus^  from  which  we  have  the  frag- 
ment :  "  This  I  understand,  woman  though  I  be  ;  that 
the  more  man  seeketh  to  know  the  Gods'  mysteries, 
the  more  shall  he  miss  knowledge."      He  won  the 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     287 

second  prize  in  428,  when  the  Hippolytus  obtained 
the  first. 

P.  186,  1.  83,  Agathon.] — The  much-praised  tragic 
poetjforwhose  first  victory  in  B.C. 41 6  the  "Symposium" 
of  Plato's  dialogue  professes  to  be  held.  He  left  Athens 
"  to  feast  %vith  peaceful  Kings,''''  i.e.  with  Archelaus  of 
Macedon,  in  B.C.  407,  at  the  age  of  forty,  immediately 
lifter  Aristophanes'  attack  on  him  in  the  Gerytades,  and 
before  his  influence  had  established  itself  on  Athenian 
tragedy.     He  is  a  butt  in  the  Thesmophoriasusae  also. 

P.  i86,  1.  86,  Xenocles.] — Son  of  Carcinus.  No 
critic  has  a  good  word  for  him,  though  he  won  the 
first  prize  in  415  over  Euripides'  Troades.  He  is 
nicknamed  "  The  Dwarf,''  "  Datis  the  Mcde,"  and 
"  Pack-o'-tricks  "  {hoih€Ka^ir)-)(avo^).  One  line  of  his 
seems  to  be  preserved,  from  the  Licymnius — 

"  0  bitter  fate,  0  fortune  edged  with  gold.''"' 

P.  186,  1.  87,  Pythangelus.]  —  Nothing  whatever 
is  known  of  this  man  except  the  shrug  of  Dionysus' 
shoulders.  And  that  has  carried  his  name  to  2500 
years  of  "  immortality  "  ! 

P.  187,  1.  89,  Other  pretty  fellows.] — Among  them 
would  be  Plato.  Other  celebrated  men  of  this  time 
who  in  their  youth  tried  writing  tragedies  were 
Antiphon,  Meletus  the  accuser  of  Socrates,  Critias  the 
Oligarch,  and  Thcognis  his  colleague,  Dionysius  the 
tyrant  of  Syracuse  ;  later.  Crates  the  philosopher,  and 
perhaps  the  great  Diogenes. 

P.  187,  1.  100,  O  holy  Ether.]  —  "I  swear  by  the 
holy  Ether,  home  of  God,"  from  Euripides'  Melanippe 
the  IFise.     See  Appendix. 

P.  187,  1.  100,  Foot  of  Time.] — The  phrase  occurs 


288  EURIPIDES 

very  boldly  in  Bacchae^  888  (translated  "stride"),  but 
that  play  was  not  yet  published.  Euripides  had  said, 
"  On  stepped  the  foot  of  Time,"  in  the  Alexandras^ 
acted  B.C.  415. 

P.  187,  1.  1 01,  Souls  that  won't  take  oaths,  while 
tongues,  &c.] — See  Hippolytus^  612  (p.  33).  The  fre- 
quent misrepresentations  of  this  line  are  very  glaring, 
even  for  Aristophanes.  Cf.  Frogs^  I47i>  Thesm.  275; 
also  Plato,  Theaet.  i54d,  and  Symp,  i()()a.,  who,  however, 
refers  to  the  phrase  sympathetically. 

P.  187,  1.  105,  Ride  not  upon  my  soul.] — The 
source  of  this  quotation  is  not  known. 

P.  189,  1.  124,  The  hemlock  way.] — The  ordinary 
form  of  capital  punishment  at  Athens  was  poisoning 
with  hemlock.  Socrates  in  the  Phaedo  describes  the 
gradual  chilling  of  his  body  after  drinking  it. 

P.  189,  1.  129,  Cerameicus.] — The  Potter's  Quarter 
of  Athens.  The  "  great  tower  "  is  probably  that  built 
by  Timon  the  Misanthrope  in  this  quarter.  It  would 
command  a  view,  for  instance,  of  the  torch  races  at 
the  feasts  of  Prometheus  and  Hephaestus,  and  at  the 
Panathenaea,  which  ran  "  from  the  Academy  to  the 
City  through  the  Kerameicus  "  (Pausanias,  I.  xxx.  2, 
with  Frazer's  note). 

P.  190,  1.  139,  For  two  obols.] — Two  obols  con- 
stituted the  price  of  a  day's  work  as  legally  recognised 
by  the  early  Athenian  democracy.  It  was  the  pay- 
ment made  for  attendance  at  the  Jury  Courts,  and 
distributed  to  poor  citizens  to  enable  them  to  attend 
festivals.  Hence  it  was  also  the  price  of  entry  to  the 
theatre.  It  was  probably  also  the  original  payment 
for  attendance  at  the  Ecclesia,  or  serving  in  garrison, 
or  on  ship-board,  in  cases  where   payment  was  not 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     289 

made  in  rations.  The  payments  were  greatly  altered 
and  increased  (owing  to  the  rise  in  prices)  during  the 
war  and  the  fourth  century. 

Charon  traditionally  took  one  obol,  the  copper  coin 
which  was  put  in  the  dead  man's  mouth.  But 
Theseus,  the  fountain-head  of  the  Athenian  con- 
stitution, has  introduced  the  Two-obol  System  in 
Hades  ! 

P.  191,  1.  151,  Morsimus.] — Son  of  Philocles  and 
grand-nephew  of  Aeschylus,  was  a  doctor  as  well  as 
a  tragic  poet.  No  one  has  a  good  word  for  his  poetry, 
and  no  fragments — except  one  conjectural  half  line — 
exist. 

P.  191,  1.  153,  Kinesias.] — A  dithyramhic  poet  of 
the  new  and  florid  school  of  music,  from  whom  Aris- 
tophanes can  never  long  keep  his  hands.  He  had 
frail  health  and  thin  legs;  and  you  could  not  "tell 
right  from  left"  in  his  music.  The  parodies  of  his 
stvle  in  the  Birds  are  rather  charming.  Plato  de- 
nounces him  and  his  music  in  the  Gorgias  (50 1 e).  But 
it  is  interesting  to  observe  that  he  was  the  author  of 
a  law  reducing  the  extravagance  and  sumptuousness 
of  choric  performances — which  does  not  look  like 
"corrupt "  art. 

P.  192,  1.  158,  The  Initiated.] — Persons  initiated 
in  the  Eleusinian  Mysteries,  as  in  those  of  Orpheus 
and  others,  had  their  sins  washed  away,  saw  a  great 
light  not  vouchsafed  to  other  eyes,  and  had  eternal 
bliss  after  death. 

P.  192,  1.  159,  The  donkey,  holiday-making.] — 
Much  as  a  costermonger's  donkey  with  us  celebrates 
its  master's  Bank  Holiday  by  extra  labour. 

P.  194,  11.  186  f.,  Lethe  and  Sparta  and  the  rest  of 


290  EURIPIDES 

Hell.] — I  suspect  that  in  A'>]6r}^  ireBlov,  ovov  nroKaf;^ 
Taivapovy  we  have  a  reference  to  a  proposal,  by  some 
member  of  the  war  party,  to  take  the  offensive  against 
Sparta  by  sailing  round  the  Laconian  coast — as  Tol- 
mides  had  done — and  landing  at  AeuKrj'^  irehiov,  ovov 
<yvddo<i  (Strabo,  8,  363),  and  Taivapov. 

P.  195, 1.  191,  The  battle  of  the  Cold  Meat  Unpre- 
served.] — Arginusae,  see  above,  p.  285.  Ophthalmia 
seems  to  have  been  a  common  cause  of  disablement 
or  malingering  in  Greek  soldiers.     See  Hdt.  vii.  229. 

P.  202,  1.  282,  What  is  so  flown  with  pride] — "as 
man's  weak  heart  ?"  So  says  Odysseus  of  himself  in 
the  opening  of  Euripides'  Philoctetes.     See  Appendix. 

P.  203,  1.  293,  Empusa.] — A  vague  phantom  ap- 
pearing in  dark  places,  whose  chief  characteristic  was 
to  be  constantly  changing,  so  that  whenever  you 
looked  it  seemed  different.  Like  other  phantoms,  she 
was  sent  by  Hecate.  Aeschines'  mother  was  so  nick- 
named (Dem.  xviii.  130)  as  being  (i)  changeable, 
always  devoted  to  some  new  religion  ;  (2)  associated 
with  uncanny  mysteries. 

P.  204,  1.  303,  Hegelochus.] — An  actor  who  per- 
formed the  hero's  part  in  Euripides'  Orestes,  B.C.  408. 
He  ought  to  have  said,  "I  catch  a  tale  of  peace." 
He  seems  to  have  pronounced  'yaXrjv  opw,  in  Orestes^ 
v.  279,  so  that  it  sounded  like  <ya\7Jv  opSi,  "I  see  a 
weasel."  We  hear  much  of  this  slip.  See  Sannyrion, 
fr.  8,  and  Strattis,  fr.  i  and  60. 

P.  205,1.  311,  Parlour  of  God.] — See  on  p.187,  l.ioo. 

P.  206,  1.  320,  Diagoras.] — Diagoras  of  Melos, 
nicknamed  "the  atheist,"  who  was  condemned  to 
death  for  his  attack  on  the  Mysteries,  but  happily 
escaped  to  Pellene  and  the  Peloponnese, 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     291 

P.  207, 1.  338,  Roasting  pig.] — Pigs  were  sacrificed 
before  the  Mysteries.     Cf.  Peace^  374 — 

"Lend  me  three  drachmas  for  a  sucking  pig  ! 
I  must  be  purified  before  I  die." 

P.  208,  1,  353,  The  Mere.] — Ai/ivai,  the  district 
between  the  three  hills — Acropolis,  Areopagus,  and 
Pnyx — where  the  '  Lenaion,'  or  '  Wine-Press,'  and 
the  shrine  and  precinct  of  Dionysus  have  been  re- 
cently discovered. 

P.  208,  11.  354  ff. — The  Hierophant's  address  is  ap- 
parently a  parody  of  some  similar  warning  off  of  the 
impure  at  the  Mysteries  before  the  addresses  to  Korc 
(the  Maiden),  Demcter,  and  lacchus.  As  to  the 
allusions  :  Cratinus  is  the  celebrated  comic  poet,  pre- 
cursor and  rival  of  Aristophanes.  He  was  personally 
a  burly  and  vigorous  "Beef-eater,"  and  the  word  is 
additionally  suitable  in  this  context  because  the  cere- 
monial eating  of  an  ox's  flesh,  being  sacramentally 
the  flesh  of  Dionysus,  the  Mystic  Bull  of  Zeus,  was 
an  essential  part  of  the  Orphic  Mysteries.  There 
were  contests  with  bulls  at  the  Eleusinian  also. — 
Lobeck.  Agl.  p.  206,  note  c. 

P.  208,  1.  363. — Thorycion  is  unknown  except  for 
the  allusions  in  this  play. 

P.  209,  I.  366,  A  teacher  of  Choirs.]— He  alludes 
to  a  ribald  anecdote  about  the  poet  Kinesias  (p.  289). 

P.  209,  1.  367,  Pitiful  fines.] — Many  laws  were 
passed  restricting  the  licence  and  the  expensiveness  of 
comedy,  e.g.  by  Archinos,  Agyrrhius,  and  Arche- 
d^mus. 

P.  214,  1.  464,  Aeacus.] — This  character  and  his 
speech  seem  to  be  parodied  from  the  Peir'ithous^  a 
tragedy  attributed  either   to   Euripides  or   to   Critias 


292  EURIPIDES 

(acted  after  411),  where  the  real  Heracles  is  con- 
fronted and  threatened  by  the  real  Aeacus.  "Gorgons" 
and  "lampreys"  are  suitable  in  the  infernal  regions; 
but  "  lampreys  of  Tartessus  "  in  Spain  were  a  well- 
known  delicacy,  and  the  "  Gorgons "  of  the  Attic 
district  Tithras  were  apparently  something  human  and 
feminine — like  the  Hostess  who  appears  presently. 

P.  216,  1.  501,  Melitean.] — The  quarter  of  Athens 
called  Melite  possessed  a  temple  of  Heracles,  and 
perhaps  a  rough  population. 

P.  216,  1.  505,  Split-pea  porridge,  5c c] — Heracles, 
nearly  always  a  comic  figure  on  the  Athenian  stage 
(perhaps,  as  Professor  Ridgeway  suggests,  because  he 
was  a  "  Pelasgian  "  hero),  has  gross  and  simple  tastes 
in  his  food.  Xanthias,  I  think,  refuses  out  of  caution, 
feeling  that  Persephone  will  detect  his  imposture,  and 
then  is  overcome  by  temptation. 

P.  218,  1.  531,  Alcmena's  son,  &c.] — A  tragic  line, 
but  of  origin  unknown. 

P.  218, 1.  541,  Theramenes.] — This  interesting  man 
owes  his  bad  name  in  The  Frogs  to  his  conduct  with 
regard  to  the  impeachment  of  the  generals  after 
Arginusae  (see  pp.  248, 286).  But  he  had  made  a  similar 
impression,  and  earned  his  nickname  of  "  The  Buskin  " 
— which  goes  equally  well  on  either  foot — in  411, 
when  he  first  was  a  leader  in  the  Oligarchic  Revolu- 
tion, and  then  turned  against  it,  and  even  spoke 
in  accusation  of  his  late  associates,  Antiphon  and 
Archeptolemus,  when  they  were  being  condemned 
to  death.  It  would  have  been  the  same  story  in  the 
second  Oligarchic  Revolution  of  404,  had  not  the 
extreme  Oligarchs  saved  themselves  by  murdering 
him.     A  "  Moderate ""  at  a  time  when  faction  was 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     293 

furiously  high,  he  is  continually  found  supporting 
various  movements  until  they  "  go  too  far."  Aristotle 
{Const,  of  JthfNS,  cap.  28)  counts  him  with  Nicias  and 
Thucydides,  son  of  Melesias,  as  one  of  the  "  three 
best  statesmen  in  Athenian  history,"  and  has  an  in- 
teresting defence  of  his  character.  He  was  certainly 
a  man  of  great  culture,  eloquence,  ability,  and  per- 
sonal influence.  And  his  policy  has  a  way  of  seeming 
exactly  right.  Yet  he  is  unpleasantly  stained  with 
the  blood  of  his  companions,  and  one  is  not  surprised 
to  find  the  tone  of  Aristophanes  towards  him  pecu- 
liarly soft  and  venomous,  unlike  his  ordinary  loud 
railing. 

P.  221,  11.  569,  570,  Cleon  .  .  .  Hyperbolus.] — It 
is  interesting  to  observe  the  duties — even  in  cari- 
cature— of  a  TTpoardrrj'i  rov  SjjfjLoVy  or  Champion  of 
the  Demos.     He  fought  the  causes  of  the  oppressed. 

P.  222,  1.  588,  Archedcmus.] — See  above,  p.  21 1. 

P.  223,  1.  608,  Ditylas,  Skeblyas,  Pardokas.] — The 
barbarous  names  seem  to  be  Thracian  or  Scythian. 
Police  work  in  Athens  was  done  by  Scythian  slaves. 

P.  224,  1.  616,  Question  this  poor  boy.] — A  man's 
slaves  would  generally  know  about  his  movements. 
Hence  it  was  a  mark  of  conscious  innocence  for  an  ac- 
cused person  to  offer  his  slaves  to  be  examined.  They 
were  examined  under  torture,  or  threats  of  torture,  in 
order  that  they  might  fear  the  law  as  much  as  they 
feared  their  master,  and  were  guaranteed  protection 
against  his  anger  if  they  told  the  truth.  The  master 
usually  stipulated  that  no  severe  or  permanently  inju- 
rious torture  should  be  used.  Xanthias  generously 
offers  to  let  them  maltreat  Dionysus  as  much  as  ever 
they  like  ! 


294  EURIPIDES 

P.  224,  1.  621,  No  scourges  made  of  leeks  or  young 
shalott.] — Why  should  any  one  imagine  scourges 
made  of  such  things  ?  Because  such  things  were  used 
for  certain  ceremonial  scourgings  ;  for  instance,  Pan's 
statues  were  whipped  with  squills  (Theoc.  vii.  106), 
the  scapegoats  [pharmakoi)  in  Ionia  with  fig-twigs  and 
squills  (Hipponax,  fr.  4-8),  the  disgraceful  boor  in 
Lucian  [Agaitist  the  Boor^  3  ;  cf.  Fugit^  33,  and  Vera 
Hist.,  ii.  26)  with  mallow. 

P.  225,  1.  628,  An  illegal  act,  being  immortal.] — 
A  parody  of  the  law.  It  was  illegal  to  torture  a 
citizen. 

P.  225,  1.  634,  He  won't  feel  it.] — There  appears 
to  be  some  inconsistency  about  this  very  funny 
scene.  Dionysus  does  seem  to  feel  it  as  much  as 
Xanthias. 

P.  227,  1.  651,  Diom^an  Feast.] — Held  in  honour  of 
Heracles  (whom  Xanthias  is  personating)  at  the  deme 
Diomeia  every  four  years. 

P.  228,  1.  661,  Hipponax.] — An  earlier  writer  of 
satire.  The  next  quotation  is  said  to  be  from  the 
Laocoon  of  Sophocles. 

P.  229,  1.  679,  Cleophon.] — The  well-known  belli- 
cose and  incorruptible  demagogue,  who  opposed  peace 
in  410  (after  the  victory  of  Cyzicus),  in  406  (after  the 
victory  of  Arginusae),  and  in  405  (after  the  disaster  of 
Aegospotami).  Cleophon  is  said  to  have  come  drunk 
into  the  Agora  and  vowed  that  "  he  would  cut  oflf  the 
head  of  any  one  who  mentioned  the  word  '  peace.'  " 
He  was  shortly  afterwards  either  assassinated  or  judici- 
ally murdered  by  the  Moderates  and  Oligarchs.  The 
point  of  these  intentionally  obscure  and  nonsensical 
lines  seems  to  be  :  (i)  that  Cleophon  talked  bad  Attic, 


COMMENTARY    ON   THE   FROGS     295 

like  a  barbarian,  and  was  in  fact  of  Thracian  birth  ; 
(2)  that  he  went  about  whining — and  well  he  might  1 
— that  his  political  enemies  meant  to  twist  the  law 
somehow  so  as  to  have  him  condemned  to  death.  An 
equally  divided  vote  counted  by  rights  as  an  acquittal. 
See  also  the  last  two  lines  of  this  play. 

P.  230,  1.  688,  All  Athenians  shall  be  equal,  &c.] — 
That  is,  an  amnesty  should  be  granted  to  those  impli- 
cated in  the  Oligarchical  Revolution  led  by  Phry- 
nichus  in  41 1. 

P.  230,  1.  694,  Become  Plataeans.] — When  Plataca 
was  dcstrovcd  by  Sparta  in  431,  the  refugees  were 
granted  rights  of  Athenian  citizenship  and  eventually 
given  land  (421)  in  the  territory  of  Skione  in  Chal- 
cidice.  The  slaves  who  were  enfranchised  after 
Arginusae  were  apparently  sent  to  join  the  Plataeans. 

P.  232,  11.  718-720,  Is  the  same  towards  men  and 
money.] — Mr.  George  Macdonald  has  convinced  me 
that  such  is  the  meaning  of  this  passage.  Gold 
coins  were  struck  at  this  period  (b.c,  407  ;  Scholiast 
quoting  Hellanicus  and  Philochorus),  and  were,  to 
judge  from  those  specimens  now  extant,  of  exceptional 
purity.  Bronze  coins  also  were  struck  (Schol.  on 
V.  725)  in  the  year  406-5,  and  apparently  found 
unsatisfactory,  as  they  were  demonetised  by  the  date 
of  the  Ecclesiazusae,  B.C.  392  (Eccl.  8i6  ff.).  Sec 
Kohler  in  Zeitsch.  filr  Numismatik^  xxi.  pp.  1 1  S. 
Others  take  the  general  sense  to  be  : — 

"It  has  ofren  struck  our  notice  that  this  city  draws 
the  same 
Line  between   her  sons  true-hearted  and   tlic  men 
who  cause  her  shame, 


296  EURIPIDES 

As  between  our  ancient  silver  and  the  stuff  we  now 

call  gold. 
Those  old  coins  knew  naught  of  alloys  ;  everywhere 

their  fame  was  told. 
Not  all  Hellas  held  their  equal,  not  all  Barbary  far 

and  near, 
Every   tetradrachm   well   minted,    tested  each  and 

ringing  clear." 

This  would  be  very  satisfactory  if  there  was  any 
reason  to  suppose  either  that  (i)  there  was  an  issue  of 
base  gold  at  this  time,  or  (2)  the  new  bronze  coinage 
was  jestingly  called  "  the  new  gold." 

P.  232,  1.  730,  Red-haired  things.] — Northerners, 
especially  from  the  Athenian  colonies  on  the  coast  of 
Thrace.  Asiatic  aliens  are  comparatively  seldom 
mentioned  in  Attic  writers. 

P.  232,  1.  733,  Scapegoats.] — ^apjxaKoiy  like  "  Guy 
Fawkeses."  Traditions  and  traditional  ceremonies 
survived  in  various  parts  of  Greece,  pointing  to  the 
previous  existence  of  an  ancient  and  barbarous  rite  of 
using  human  "  scapegoats,"  made  to  bear  the  sins  of 
the  people  and  then  cast  out  or  killed.  See  the  frag- 
ments of  Hipponax,  4-8.  It  is  stated  by  late  writers 
that  in  Athens  two  criminals,  already  condemned  to 
death  and  '  full  of  sin,'  were  kept  each  year  to  be 
used  in  this  way  at  the  Feast  of  Thargelia.  The 
sins  of  the  city  were  ritually  laid  upon  them  ;  they 
were,  in  ceremonial  pretence,  scourged  before  exe- 
cution ;  their  bodies  were  burnt  by  the  sea-shore 
and  their  ashes  scattered.  The  evidence  is  given  in 
Rohde,  Psyche^  p.  366,  4.  It  is  preposterous,  to  my 
thinking,  to  regard   this  as  a  "  human   sacrifice  " — a 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     297 

thing  uniformly  referred  to  with  horror  in  Greek 
literature. 

P.  234,  1.  756,  Zeus  of  the  Friendly  Jailbirds.] — 
A  deity  invented  to  meet  the  occasion  of  their  swearing 
friendship. 

P.  237,  1.  791,  Clidemides  informs  us.] — The  joke 
is  now  unintelligible.  Even  the  Alexandrian  scholars 
did  not  know  who  Clidemides  was.  He  may,  for 
instance,  have  been  some  fussy  person  who  toadied 
Sophocles  and  liked  to  give  news  about  him. 

P.  237,  11.  799  ff.,  Straight-edges  and  cubit-rules, 
&c.] — The  art  of  scientific  criticism,  as  inaugurated 
by  Gorgias,  Prodicus,  Thrasymachus,  and  afterwards 
developed  by  Isocrates  and  Aristotle,  would  seem 
absurd  to  Aristophanes  ;  the  beginnings  of  physics 
and  astronomy  and  grammar  are  similarly — and  less 
excusably — satirised  in  the  Clouds. 

P.  238,  11.  814-829. — The  parody  of  Aeschylus  is 
not  so  brilliant  as  that  upon  Euripides,  whom  Aristo- 
phanes knew  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers  (pp.  270  seqq.). 
The  "  Thunderer  "  and  "  Thoughtbuilder ''  is  Aeschy- 
lus ;  the  "Man  of  the  Mouth,"  Euripides. 

P.  240,  1.  837,  Bard  of  the  noble  savage.] — Aeschy- 
lus drew  largely  from  the  more  primitive  and  wild 
strata  of  Greek  legend,  as  in  the  Prometheus  and 
Suppliants.  The  titles  and  fragments  of  the  lost 
plays  show  the  same  tendency  even  more  strongly. 

P.  240,  1.  840,  How  sayst  thou.  Son  of  the  Goddess 
of  the  Greens.] — A  parody  of  a  line  of  Euripides 
(possibly  from  the  Telephus\  where  "Sea"  stood  in 
place  of  "  Greens."  Euripides'  mother,  Cleito,  was 
of  noble  family  (twv  a^oSpa  eiryei/w^)  and  owned  land. 
For  some  unknown  reason    it  was  a  well-established 


298  EURIPIDES 

joke  to  call  her  a  "  Greengroceress."  (Cf.  Ach.  457, 
478;  Knights,  18  fF.;  Thesm.  387,  456,  910,  and 
the  "  beetroot  and  book  juice,"  below,  p.  246.)  Pos- 
sibly the  poet  was  at  some  time  of  his  life  a  vegetarian. 

P. 240, 1.  842,  Blind-beggar-bard  ;  crutch-and-cripple 
playwright.] — Euripides  seems  to  have  used  more  or 
less  realistic  costumes.  With  him  the  shipwrecked 
Menelaus  looked  shipwrecked,  the  lame  Telephus 
lame ;  Electra,  complaining  of  the  squalor  of  her 
peasant  life,  was  dressed  like  a  peasant-woman.  It  is 
curious  how  much  anger  this  breach  in  the  tradition 
seems  to  have  created.  We  are  told  that  Aeschylus 
dressed  all  his  characters  in  gorgeous  sacerdotal  robes. 
Yet  I  wonder  if  we  moderns  would  have  felt  any 
very  great  difference  between  his  Philoctetes  or 
Telephus  (in  both  of  which  cases  the  lameness  is 
essential)  and  that  of  Euripides. 

P.  240,  1.  844,  Strike  not  thine  heart,  &c.] — A 
tragic  line,  the  source  not  known. 

P.  240,  1.  847,  A  black  lamb.] — As  sacrificed  to 
appease  Typhon,  the  infernal  storm-god. 

P.  240,  1.  849,  Cretan  dancing-solos.] — Possibly  a 
reference  to  his  Cretan  tragedies  [The  Cretans,  The 
Cretan  Women) ;  perhaps  merely  a  style  of  dancing 
accompanied  by  song. 

P.  241,  1.  855,  Knock  out  all  the  Telephus.] — (Cf. 
"That'll  knock  the  Sordello  out  of  him"),  i.e.  his 
brains,  which  consist  of  Telephus  in  masses.  No  play 
of  Euripides  is  so  often  mocked  at. 

P.  242,  1.  877,  Founts  of  Quotation.] — Literally 
"  makers  of  Gnomae  "  or  quotable  apophthegms. 

P.  244,  1.  910,  Phrynichus.] — The  tragic  poet,  pre- 
decessor of  Aeschylus,  not  the  oligarchical  conspirator. 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     299 

P.  244,  1.  911,  Sole  veiled  figures.] — In  the  extant 
plays  the  silent  Prometheus  and  the  silent  Cassandra 
are  wonderfully  impressive.  Achilles  (in  the  Phrygians) 
and  Niobe  (in  the  Niobe)  seem  to  have  been  'dis- 
covered '  sitting  silent  at  the  opening  of  the  play. 
The  Adrastus  of  Euripides'  Suppliants  (v.  104  ff.)  is 
exactly  similar  ;  the  silences  of  Heracles  [Her.  v.  12 14) 
and  Hecuba  [Hec.  v.  485),  in  the  plays  that  bear  their 
names,  are  different. 

P.  246,  1.  931,  A  question  comes  in  night's  long 
hours.] — From  Hippolytus^  v.  375.  A  hippalector 
(horse-cock,  a  kind  of  flying  horse  with  a  bird's  tail, 
see  p.  284),  was  mentioned  in  the  Myrmidons  of 
Aeschylus ;  both  the  adjective  (translated  "  russet," 
but  perhaps  meaning  "shrill")  and  the  noun  were 
obscure,  and  the  phrase  is  often  joked  upon  ;  e.g. 
Birds^  805,  of  the  basket-seller  Dieitrephes,  who,  from 
being  nobody 

"  Rose  on  wicker  wings  to  captain,  colonel,  cavalry 
inspector, 
Till  he  holds  the  world  in  tow  and  ranks  as  russet 
hippalector," 

— where  "scarlet"  or  "screaming"  would  suit  better. 

P.  246,  1.  934,  Eryxis.] — Unknown.  The  next 
line  is  considered  spurious  by  some  critics,  as  being 
inconsistent  with  Euripides'  general  argument. 

P.  246,  1.  937. — A  "tragelaph,"  "goat-stag,"  was  a 
name  for  the  figures  of  antelopes,  with  large  saw-like 
horns,  found  on  Oriental  tapestry. 

P.  246,  1.  941,  Treatment  for  such  distension  .  .  . 
fed  it  up  on  solos.] — This  account  is  generally  true. 
Euripides,  as  an  artist,  first  rationalised  and  clarified 


300  EURIPIDES 

his  medium,  and  then  re-enriched  it.  He  first  reduced 
the  choric  element  and  made  the  individual  line  much 
lighter  and  less  rich.  Then  he  developed  the  play  of 
incident,  the  lyrical  '  solo  singing,'  and  the  back- 
ground of  philosophic  meditation. 

P.  246,  1.  944,  Cephisophon.] — A  friend  of  Euri- 
pides (not  a  slave,  as  his  name  shov^^s),  known  chiefly 
from  a  fragment  of  Aristophanes — 

"  Most  excellent  and  black  Cephisophon, 
You  lived  in  general  w^ith  Euripides, 
And  helped  him  in  his  poetry^  they  say." 

A  late  story,  improbable  for  chronological  reasons, 
makes  him  a  lover  of  the  poet's  wife. 

P.  247,  1.  952,  That's  no  road,  Szc] — Euripides  in 
later  life  severely  attacked  the  democratic  party.  E.g. 
Orestes,  902-930.     See  introduction  to  The  Bacchae. 

P.  248,  1.  963,  Magic  Swans.] — It  is  not  known 
in  what  play  Aeschylus  introduced  the  swan-hero 
Cycnus.  Memnon,  the  'Aethiop  knight,'  occurred 
in  two  plays,  the  Memnon  and  the  Soul-weighing. 

P.  248,  1.  964. — The  difference  between  the  pupils 
of  Aeschylus  and  Euripides  is  interesting.  Aeschylus 
turned  out  stout,  warlike,  old-fashioned  Democrats ; 
Euripides,  "  intellcctuels "  of  Moderate  or  slightly  oli- 
garchical politics. 

P.  248,  1.  965,  Phormisius.] — One  of  the  Demo- 
cratic stalwarts  who  returned  with  Thrasybulus. 
He  proposed  the  amnesty  of  403,  recalling  the  exiles. 
He  was  afterwards  ambassador  to  Persia.  He  is 
described  as  bearded,  shaggy,  and  of  truculent  aspect, 
and  died  (according  to  gossip)  in  a  drinking  bout.  A 
sort  of  Mapad(ovofid^r]<i  person,  loyal  and  unsubtle. 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     301 

P.  248,  1.  965. — Megainetus  is  not  elsewhere  men- 
tioned, and  the  meaning  of  the  word  yuaiA^)?,  "looby 
lump,"  is  obscure.  It  seems  to  be  a  slave's  name,  and 
also  the  name  of  a  bad  throw  at  dice. 

P.  248,  1.  967,  Cleitophon.] — One  of  the  coadjutors 
of  Theramenes  in  the  Oligarchical  Revolution  of 
411  (y/r.  Rtp.  Ath.  29,  3).  He  also  gives  his  name 
to  a  fragmentary  Platonic  dialogue,  where  he  argues 
that  Socrates  is  of  inestimable  value  in  rousing  the 
conscience  of  the  quite  unconverted  man,  but  worse 
than  useless  to  the  converted  man  who  seeks  positive 
guidance.  Cleitophon  is  there  connected  with  Lysias 
and  Thrasymachus,  both  of  them  Democrats.  His 
political  attitude  would  therefore  seem  to  be  like  that 
of  Theramenes.  This  party  may  be  taken  to  repre- 
sent the  general  views  of  Euripides,  Thucydides, 
Isocrates,  and  Aristotle,  and  indeed,  apart  from  certain 
personal  prejudices  and  a  dislike  to  intellectualism,  of 
Aristophanes  himself.  In  general,  as  Mr.  Neil  says  in 
his  introduction  to  the  Knights,  "  Attic  literature  is  on 
the  side  of  the  Moderates,  in  favour  somewhat  vaguely 
of  a  restricted  franchise  and  clearly  of  a  Panhellenic 
peace"  (involving  a  more  liberal  treatment  of  the 
Allies).  The  closer  Platonic  circle  was  in  a  different 
position.  Many  of  its  members  were  compromised  by 
the  bitterer  Oligarchic  Revolution  of  404,  and  sepa- 
rated from  Moderates  as  well  as  Democrats  by  a  river 
of  blood. 

P.  248, 1.  967. — For  Theramenes,  see  above,  p.  292. 

P.  249,  1.  970,  Not  aces — no  ;  all  sixes.] — E.g.  it 

looked  as  if  Theramenes  was  fatally  compromised  by 

the  non-recovery  of  the  bodies  at  Arginusae  ;  instead 

of  which   he  contrived  to  make  himself  leader  of  the 


302  EURIPIDES 

agitation  on  that  very  subject.  (The  reading,  however, 
is  doubtful.) 

P.  249, 1.  992,  Great  Achilles  gaze  around  thee] — 
"  on  the  spear-tortured  labours  of  the  Achaeans,  while 
thou  within  thy  tent  .  .  .  " — From  the  Myrmidons  of 
Aeschylus. 

P.  252,  1.  1026. — The  Persae  was,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  performed  in  472,  before  the  Seven  against  Thebes 
(467)  ;  nor  does  the  exact  exclamation  "  Yow-oy," 
lavol,  occur  in  it.  But  various  odd  quasi-Persian  forms 
do  :  o2,  ooLf  load. 

P.  253, 1.  1031,  Those  poets  have  all  been  of  practi- 
cal use,  &c.] — This  passage,  dull  and  unintelligent  as 
it  seems  (unless  some  jest  in  it  escapes  me),  is  not 
meant  to  be  absurd.  It  implies  an  argument  of  this 
sort :  "  All  poetry,  to  be  good,  must  do  something 
good  ; "  a  true  statement  as  it  stands.  "  Homer  and 
the  ancients  do  good  to  people."  No  one  would 
dare  to  deny  this,  and  no  doubt  it  is  true  ;  he  does 
them  good  by  helping  them  to  see  the  greatness  and 
interestingness  of  things,  by  filling  their  minds  with 
beauty,  and  so  on  ;  but  the  ordinary  man,  having  a 
narrower  idea  of  good,  imagines  that  Homer  must 
do  him  "  good  "  in  one  of  the  recognised  edifying  or 
dogmatic  ways,  and  is  driven  to  concluding  that 
Homer  does  him  good  by  his  military  descriptions 
and  exhortations  ! 

Aeschylus  proceeds,  "I  am  like  Homer  because  I 
describe  battles  and  brave  deeds,  and  similar  things 
that  are  good  for  people.  Euripides  is  unlike  Homer, 
because  he  describes  all  sorts  of  other  thinj!;s,  which 
are  not  in  Homer,  and  are  therefore  probably  trash  ; 
at  any  rate  some  of  them  are  improper !  " 


COMMENTARY   ON    THE   FROGS     303 

This  is  ordinary  philistinism.  Aeschylus  struck 
Aristophanes  as  being  like  Homer,  not  because  they 
were  both  warlike,  but  chiefly  because  they  were  both 
great  well-recognised  poets  of  the  past,  whom  he  had 
accepted  in  his  childhood  without  criticism.  He 
attacks  Euripides  for  making  him  think  and  feel  in 
some  new  or  disturbing  way,  or  perhaps  at  a  time 
of  life  when  he  does  not  expect  really  to  think  and 
feel  at  all.  Probably  the  contemporaries  of  Aeschylus 
attacked  him  in  just  the  same  way.  He  made  people 
think  of  the  horrors  of  victory  and  of  vengeance  ; 
he  made  a  most  profound  and  un-Homeric  study  of 
the  guilty  Clytaemnestra.  But  Aristophanes,  when 
in  his  present  mood,  resembles  that  modern  critic 
who  is  said  to  have  praised  Shakespeare  for  writ- 
ing "  bright,  healthy  plays  with  no  psychology  in 
them." 

P.  253,  1.  1036,  Pantaclcs.] — A  lyric  poet,  one  of 
whose  victories  is  recorded  on  an  extant  inscribed 
pillar  (Dittenberger,  410).  The  "procession"  was 
doubtless  at  the  Panathenaea  six  months  before. 

P.  253, 1,  1039,  Lamachus.] — The  general  who  died 
so  heroically  in  the  Sicilian  expedition.  He  is  attacked 
in  the  Acharnians  as  representative  of  the  war  party, 
partly  perhaps  because  of  his  name  ("  Love-battle  "  or 
"  Host-fighter  ").  He  is  treated  respectfully  in  Thesm. 
841. 

P.  253,  1.  1043,  Stheneboia.]  —  See  Appendix. 
Phaedia,  heroine  of  the  Hippolytiis. 

P.  253,  1.  1044,  A  woman  in  love  in  one  act  of  one 
play.] — An  exaggeration.  Clytaemnestra  is  in  love 
with  Aegisthus,  as  any  subtle  reading  of  the  Agamem- 
non shows  ;   but  other  passions  are  more  prominent. 


304  EURIPIDES 

and  love  in  Aeschylus  is  on  the  whole  treated  with 
reserve  and  stiffness.  There  was,  however,  a  famous 
speech  of  Aphrodite  in  the  Danatdes^  explaining  her- 
self as  a  world-force.  And  Euripides  would  probably 
have  shrunk  from  writing  such  lines  as  MyrmidonSy 
fr.  135,  136,  and  from  representing  Semele's  pregnancy 
as  Aeschylus  seems  to  have  done  in  the  play  called 
by  her  name  (see  Naiick),  a  great  deal  more  than 
Aeschylus  would  have  shrunk  from  the  delicate  psy- 
chology of  Euripides'  Phaedra.  In  the  dramatic 
treatment  of  female  character  Aeschylus  was  really 
the  pioneer  who  opened  the  road  for  Euripides. 
The  Clytaemnestra  of  the  Agamemnon  probably  differs 
from  the  women  of  earlier  poets  in  just  the  same 
way  as  Phaedra  differs  from  her,  and  to  a  far  greater 
degree. 

P.  254,  1.  1046,  Once  .  .  .  left  you  flat  on  the 
ground.] — The  allusion  is  entirely  obscure. 

P.  254,  1.  105 1,  To  gratify  Bellerophontes.] — That 
hero,  in  a  fury,  had  wished  that  all  women  might 
poison  themselves. 

P.  255,  1.  1058,  The  language  of  men.] — Euripides, 
as  represented,  agrees  with  Wordsworth.  The  general 
voice  of  poetry  is  clearly  against  both. 

P.  256,  1.  1074,  And  spit  on  the  heads,  &c.] — One 
of  the  passages  which  show  that  Aristophanes  could 
see  the  other  side  when  he  chose.  Your  stout,  igno- 
rant pre-sophistic  farmer  or  sailor  was  a  bit  of  a  brute 
after  all  ! 

P.  256,  1.  1080,  Goes  into  shrines.] — Auge.  See 
Appendix  for  all  three. 

P.  256,  1.  1 08 1,  Her  own  brother's  wife.] — Canac^ 
in  the  Aeolus, 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     305 

P.  256, 1.  1082,  Life  is  not  Life.] — See  below,  p.  343, 
from  the  Po/yuius.  The  same  sentiment  occurs  in 
the  Phrixus. 

P.  258,  1.  1 109,  If  you  fear  from  former  cases,  &c.] 
— The  meaning  may  also  be  that  they  have  a  book 
in  their  hands  at  the  time,  viz.  a  copy  of  the  play. 
So  Van  Lceuwen  :  "  These  verses  were  added  in  the 
second  performance  of  The  Frogs.  At  the  first  per- 
formance .  .  .  this  part  of  the  play  had  been  over  the 
heads  of  some,  perhaps  many,  of  the  audience.  But 
now,  says  the  Chorus,  this  objection  is  removed;  copies 
of  the  play  are  in  every  citizen's  hand." 

P.  258,  I.  1 124,  Oresteia.] — The  prologue  quoted 
is  that  of  the  Choephori ;  Oresteia  ("  The  Orestes- 
poetry  "),  seems  to  have  been  another  name  for  that 
play.  We  apply  the  word  to  the  whole  trilogy — 
Agamemnon^  Choephori,  Eumenides.  The  growth  of 
formal  titles  for  books  was  a  very  slow  thing.  Pro- 
bably Aeschylus  scarcely  "  named "  his  plays  much 
more  definitely  than  Herodotus  and  Thucydides 
"named"  their  histories.  Even  Euripides'  plays 
sometimes  bear  in  the  MSB.  varying  names  :  Bacchae 
or  Pentheusy  Hippolytus  or  Phaedra.  By  the  time  of 
Plato  regular  names  for  plays  must  have  been  estab- 
lished, as  he  named  his  dialogues  in  evident  analogy 
from  plays. 

P.  259,  1.  1 126,  Warding  a  father's  way.]  —  A 
phrase  really  obscure.  Commentators  differ  about  the 
interpretation. 

P.  260,  1.  1 1  50,  Dionysus,  dull  of  fragrance,  &c.] — 
Apparently  a  tragic  line. 

P.  263,  I.  1182,  At  first  was  Oedipus,  kc] — Pro- 
logue to  Euripides'  Antigone. 

U 


3o6  EURIPIDES 

P.  264,  1.  1 1 96,  Erasinides.] — One  of  the  com- 
manders at  Arginusae.  There  was  one  piece  of  bad 
luck  that  Oedipus  missed. 

P.  264,  1.  1200,  One  umbrella.] — Literally  "one 
oil  cruse."  An  ancient  Athenian  carried  a  cruse  of 
olive  oil  about  with  him,  both  to  anoint  himself  with 
after  washing  and  to  eat  like  butter  with  his  food. 
Naturally  he  was  apt  to  lose  it,  especially  when 
travelling.  I  can  find  no  object  which  both  ancient 
Greeks  and  modern  Englishmen  would  habitually  use 
and  lose  except  an  umbrella. 

The  point  of  this  famous  bit  of  fooling  is,  I  think, 
first,  that  Euripides'  tragic  style  is  so  little  elevated 
that  umbrellas  and  clothes-bags  are  quite  at  home  in 
it ;  secondly,  that  there  is  a  certain  monotony  of 
grammatical  structure  in  Euripides'  prologues,  so  that 
you  can  constantly  finish  a  sentence  by  a  half-line 
with  a  verb  in  it. 

The  first  point,  though  burlesquely  exaggerated,  is 
true  and  important.  Euripides'  style,  indeed,  is  not 
prosaic.  It  is  strange  that  competent  students  of 
Greek  tragic  diction  should  ever  have  thought  it  so. 
But  it  is  very  wide  in  its  range,  and  uses  very  collo- 
quial words  by  the  side  of  very  romantic  or  arcliaic 
ones — a  dangerous  and  difficult  process,  which  only  a 
great  master  of  language  can  successfully  carry  through. 
Cf.  the  criticism  on  the  'light  weight'  of  his  lines, 
below,  pp.  273  flF. 

As  to  the  second  point,  it  is  amusing  to  make  out 
the  statistics.  Of  the  extant  Greek  tragedies,  the 
following  can  have  XtjkvOiov  airocikeae  stuck  on  to 
one  of  the  first  ten  lines  of  the  prologue  :  Aesch.  Prom. 
8,    Sept.    6,    Bum.    3    (a    good    one,    rj    Brj    to    fjL-rjrpb'i 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     307 

XrjKvdiop  aTTcoXeaevjy  and  several  other  lines  ;  Soph. 
O.  T.  4,  E/.  5,  Track.  3  and  6,  Antig.  2  and  7 
{ap  otaO''  oTi  Zev<;  \.  a.) ;  Euripides,  Tro.  10,  Hec.  2, 
PAufw,  7,  Hi/ld^  2  and  4,  i/^r.  9,  //f/.  4,  £■/.  10,  /.  J. 
54  (  =  6),  and  /.  T.  2,  quoted  here.  Thus  all  three 
tragedians  have  such  passages  in  the  opening  of  about 
half  their  extant  plays,  and  the  "  monotony,"  if  such 
it  be,  belongs  rather  to  the  style  of  the  tragic  prologue 
than  to  Euripides. 

A  third  allusion  seems  to  have  been  felt  by  the 
ancient  writers  on  rhetoric.  Ai]kv9o^  and  XijkvOlov 
(Synesius  p.  55),  in  the  sense  of  "paint-flask"  (Latin 
ampulla),  were  cant  terms  for  "ornament  in  dic- 
tion." Euripides'  tragic  heroes,  with  their  plain 
style  of  speech,  seem  to  have  lost  their  paints.  I  do 
not  think  Aristophanes  meant  this. 

P.  264,  1.  1206,  Aegyptus,  &c.] — The  first  words, 
it  is  said,  of  the  Archelaus,  though  Aristarchus,  the 
famous  Alexandrian  scholar,  says  that  the  Archelaus 
as  published  in  his  time  had  a  different  prologue 
without  these  words.  Apparently  there  were  two 
alternative  prologues  ;  of.  the  Iph'tgema  in  Aulis, 

P,  265,  1.  121 1,  Dionysus,  &c.]  —  Opening  of  the 
Hypsipyle.     It  went  on  :  "amid  the  Delphian  maids." 

P.  265,  1,  1 21 7,  No  man  hath  bliss,  ^v'c] — Opening 
of  the  Stheneboea.  It  went  on  :  "  Rich  acres  holds  to 
plough." 

P.  266,  1.  1225,  Cadmus  long  since] — "his  way 
to  Thcbe  won."     Opening  of  the  Phrixus. 

P.  266,  1.  1232,  Pelops  the  Great] — "a  royal  bride 
had  won."  Opening  of  the  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  still 
extant. 

P.  267,  1.    1238,  Oineus  from  earth.] — From  the 


3o8  EURIPIDES 

Meieager^  but  not  (according  to  the  Scholiast)  the  first 
words.  It  went  on  :  "  Left  one  due  deed  undone, 
Praising  not  Artemis." 

P.  267, 1.  1244,  Great  Zeus  in  heaven,  &c.] — Open- 
ing of  Melanippe  the  JVise.  It  went  on  :  "  Was  sire 
to  Hellen,"  and  therefore  did  not  really  admit  the 
XrjKvdcov  tag. 

P.  267, 1.  1247,  ^s  bunged  up  as  your  eyes.] — There 
are  various  allusions  to  Euripides'  bodily  infirmities  in 
his  extreme  old  age. 

Pp.  268  ff.,  11.  1264  ff. — Aristophanes  parodying 
Aeschylus  is  not  nearly  as  brilliant  and  funny  as  when 
parodying  Euripides.  The  lines  here  are  all  actual 
lines  of  Aeschylus  :  a  refrain  is  made  of  a  line  which 
is  good  sense  when  first  used,  but  easily  relapses  into 
gibberish.  The  plays  quoted  are,  in  order,  the 
Myrmidons^  Raisers  of  the  Dead^  Telephus  (?),  Priestesses^ 
Agaynemnon  (v.  104) ;  then,  for  the  cithara  songs, 
Agamemnon  (v.  1 09),  Sphinx,  Agamemnon  (v.  ill). 
Sphinx  (?),  Thracian  Women. 

P.  270,  1.  1294,  War  towards  Aias.] — Obscure  and 
perhaps  corrupt. 

P.  270, 1.  1296,  Was  it  from  Marathon,  &c.] — "  Did 
you  find  that  sort  of  stuff'  growing  in  the  marsh  of 
Marathon  when  you  fought  there  ? "  Aeschylus 
answers :  "  Never  you  mind  where  I  got  it.  It 
was  from  a  decent  place  !  "  The  metre  of  the  song, 
and  presumably  the  music,  is  Stesichorean. 

P.  270, 1.  1308,  No  Lesbian.]—/.^,  she  is  very  unlike 
the  simple  old  Lesbian  music  of  Sappho  and  Alcaeus  ; 
but  there  is  a  further  allusion  to  the  supposed  impro- 
prieties of  Lesbian  women. 

P.  270,  1.   1309,  Ye  halcyons,  &c.] — This  brilliant 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     309 

parody  contains  a  few  actual  Euripidcan  phrases  ;  cf. 
/.  T.  1089— 

"  O  bird,  that  whechng  o'er  the  main 
By  crested  rock  and  crested  sea 
Cryest  for  ever  pitcously, 
O  Halcyon,  I  can  read  thy  pain,"  ^'c. 

and  El.  435  seqq.^  "Where  the  tuneful  dolphin  winds 
his  way  before  the  dark-blue-beaked  ships."  "The 
shuttle's  minstrel  mind  "  is  said  by  the  Scholiast  to  be 
from  the  Meleager. 

P.  271,  1.  1 3 14,  Wi-i-i-ind.] — A  musical  "shake," 
This  particular  word  elXla-croj  is  scanned  el-eCkiaa oj 
(and  actually  so  written  in  one  MS.)  in  El.  437,  the 
passage  cited  above  ;  and  a  papyrus  fragment  of  the 
Orestes  has  ax?  written  (atu?  with  two  musical  notes 
above  it.  Of  course  the  thing  is  common  in  lyric 
poetry,  both  Greek  and  English,  but  decidedly  rarer 
in  Aeschylus  than  in  Euripides. 

P.  271,  1.  1323,  That  foot.] — The  metrical  foot, 
7repi/3aXX',  an  anapaest  rather  irregularly  used  :  I 
imitate  the  effect  in  "  arm-pressure." 

P.  271,  1.  1328,  Cyrene.] — Not  much  is  known  of 
her,  and  that  not  creditable. 

P.  272,  1.  1 331,  Thou  fire-hearted  Night,  &c.] — 
Cf.  the  solo  of  Hecuba  [Hec.  68  seqq.).  The 
oxymoron  ("  his  soul  no  soul ")  and  the  repetitions 
are  very  characteristic  of  Euripides,  though  common 
enough  in  Aeschylus  {e.g.  Aesch.  Suppliants^  836  ff., 
where  there  are  seven  such  repetitions).  It  is  not 
Euripides,  but  Greek  tragedy  in  general,  that  is  hit  by 
this  criticism. 

P.  273,  1.  1356,  Cretans  take  up  your  bows,  »Scc.] — 


310  EURIPIDES 

From  Euripides'  Cretans,  according  to  the  Scholiast, 
but  he  does  not  specify  the  hnes. 

P.  273,  1.  1365,  Bring  him  to  the  balance  :  the  one 
sure  test.] — This  is  indeed  the  one  test — and  a  fairly- 
important  one — in  which  Euripides  must  be  utterly 
beaten  by  Aeschylus.  Every  test  hitherto  has  been 
inconclusive. 

P.  277,  after  1.  1410,  Room  for  the  King,  &c.] — I 
have  inserted  this  line.  There  seems  to  be  a  gap  of 
several  lines  in  our  MSS. 

P.  277, 1.  1 41 3,  The  one's  so  good,]  =  viz.  Euripides, 
and  "  I  so  love  "  Aeschylus. — Euripides  was  0-0(^09, 
being  master  of  the  learning,  including  conscious  poeti- 
cal theory,  which  had  not  fully  entered  into  the  ideals 
of  the  educated  Athenian  in  Aeschylus'  time. 

P.  278,  1.  1422,  Alcibiades,] — He  was  now  in  his 
second  exile.  Appointed  one  of  the  three  generals 
of  the  Sicilian  expedition  in  415,  he  was  called  back 
from  his  command  to  be  tried  for  "  impiety  "  (in  con- 
nection with  the  mutilation  of  the  Hermae).  He  fled 
and  was  banished  ;  then  he  acted  with  Sparta  against 
Athens  in  order  to  procure  his  recall.  Upon  the  out- 
break of  the  Oligarchic  Revolution  of  411,  the  fleet, 
which  remained  democratic,  recalled  Alcibiades.  He 
commanded  with  success  for  three  years,  returned  to 
Athens  in  triumph  in  408,  and  was  formally  appointed 
Commander-in-Chief.  The  defeat  at  Notium  in  406, 
for  which  his  carelessness  was  considered  responsible, 
caused  him  to  be  superseded,  and  he  retired  to  the 
castles  which  were  his  private  possessions  in  the 
Chersonese,  maintaining  an  ambiguous  political  atti- 
tude, but  on  the  whole  friendly  to  Athens.  He  was 
mysteriously   assassinated    in    404.      The    divergent 


COMMENTARY   ON   THE   FROGS     311 

advice  of  the  two  poets  is  clear  and  probably  charac- 
teristic. Euripides  says,  "  Have  no  dealings  with  such 
a  shifty  and  traitorous  person  ; "  Aeschylus  says, 
"Make  all  the  use  you  can,  even  with  some  risk, 
of  every  good  fighter."  And  this  would,  no  doubt, 
be  Aristophanes'  view,  to  judge  from  the  Parabasis 
of  this  play  (pp.  230-232). 

P.  278,  1.  1425,  She  loves  and  hates,  &:c.] — Said  to 
be  parodied  from  a  line  in  The  Sentinels  {(ppovpoc)  by 
Ion  oi  Chios. 

P.  278,  1.  1434,  The  one  so  wise,  kc] — I  do  not 
think  that  any  real  distinction  is  drawn  between  ao(})(o^, 
"  wisely,"  and  aat^w';,  "  truly"  or  "  convincingly." 

P.  279,  1.  1443,  Where  Mistrust  is,  &c.] — The  re- 
spective lines  of  advice  are  the  same  as  before.  Euri- 
pides says,  "  Purge  your  governing  bodies  and  keep 
the  morale  of  the  state  sound "  ;  Aeschylus  says, 
"Fight  your  hardest  and  think  of  nothing  but 
fighting." 

P.  280, 1.  1468,  Mv  choice  shall  fall,  Jvjc] — Seems  to 
be  a  tragic  line. 

P.280, 1. 1 47 1,  My  tongue  hath  sworn.] — Hippolytus^ 
V.  612  (see  above,  p.  288). 

P.  281, 1.  1474,  Canst  meet  mine  eyes,  Sec] — From 
Euripides'  Aeolus  (see  Appendix). 

P.  281,  1.  1477,  Who  knoweth  if  to  live,  c^:c.] — 
From  the  Polyuius  (cf.  above,  p.  256). 

P.  282,  1.  1482,  Then  never  with  Socrates,  (Sec] — A 
most  interesting  attack  on  the  Socratic  circle  for  lack 
of  brains — of  all  charges  !  Plato,  Critias,  and  "  other 
pretty  fellows"  (sec  p.  287)  wrote  tragedies,  and  no 
doubt  seemed  to  old  stagers  like  Aristophanes  to  break 
"  the  drama's  principal  rules." 


312  EURIPIDES  . 

P.  282,11. 1504  ff.jThis  sword  is  forCleophon.] — Viz. 
to  kill  himself  with  (see  on  Cleophon  above,  p.  294). 
The  "Board  of  Providers"  was  specially  appointed  to 
raise  revenue  by  extraordinary  means  after  the  Sicilian 
disasters.  Myrmex  and  Archenomus  are  otherwise 
unknown.  Nicomachus  was  a  legal  official  against 
whom  Lysias  wrote  his  speech,  No.  XXX,  Adei- 
mantus  is  a  better  known  figure.  A  disciple  of  Prota- 
goras, he  was  a  general  in  407  and  in  actual  command 
at  the  defeat  at  Notium.  He  was  appointed  general 
again  after  the  condemnation  of  those  concerned  in 
the  battle  of  Arginusae  ;  continued  in  his  command 
next  year,  and  was  responsible,  through  incompetence 
or  deliberate  treachery,  for  the  annihilation  of  the 
Athenian  fleet  by  Lysander  at  Aegospotami  (404). 

P.  283,  1.  1528,  Peace  go  with  him,  &c.] — The 
dactylic  hexameter  metre  is  rather  characteristic  of 
Aeschylus,  and  so  is  the  solemnity  of  these  last  lines — 
so  charmingly  broken  by  the  jest  at  the  very  end. 

P.  284, 1.  1533,  Fields  of  his  father.] — The  leader  of 
the  extreme  '  patriotic  '  party  was  supposed  to  be  a 
foreigner — of  Thracian  descent. 


EROS   WITH   A   LYRE 


P-  313 


^/3 


APPENDIX    ON    THE    LOST    PLAYS 

AEOLUS 

Acted  before  421  B.C.  The  plot  is  based  on 
Homer's  description  {Oriyssey,  x.,  beginniniz)  of  the 
*  floating  isle,  where  lived  Aeolus,  son  of  Hippotas, 
the  Wind-King,  with  his  six  sons  and  six  daughters, 
shut  off  from  the  world  by  a  brazen  wall,  for  ever 
feasting  amid  the  wailing  of  his  winds.  And  the  six 
daughters  he  gave  to  his  six  sons  to  wife.' 

In  a  Homeric  fairy-tale,  the  last  statement  produces 
no  moral  shock.  And  in  some  early  Greek  societies, 
as  later  among  the  Ptolemies,  the  marriage  of  brother 
and  sister  was  lawful  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
marriage  of  first  cousins  was  in  some  societies  for- 
bidden. Classical  Athenian  feeling  agreed  with  our 
own  on  the  subject. 

In  Euripides'  tragedy,  the  eldest  son,  Macareus,  loved 

his  sister  Canace.     Aeolus  discovered  what  he  regarded 

as  his  daughter's  guilt,  and  sent  her  by  a  slave  a  naked 

sword,  with  no  message.     Macareus,  hearing  of  the 

discovery,  threw  himself  at  his  father's  feet.     The  old 

King  broke  out  upon  him  : — 

Aeolus. 

Canst  meet  mine  eyes,  fresh  from  thy  deed  of  shame  ? 

Macareus. 


314  EURIPIDES 

Macareus  prays  for  his  sister's  life  and  for  mercy. 
Love  is  above  custom,  and  his  father's  moral  indigna- 
tion has  its  base  in  custom.     The  old  King  argues  and 
is  beaten  ;  his  rage  flickers  out ;  he  feels  his  weakness: — 
"  God  help  us  all  ; 
'Tis  an  old  gibe,  and  bitter  true  withal — 
Wc  old  men  are  as  nothmg,  every  one  ; 
A  little  noise,  a  shape  against  the  Sun, 
Something  that  gropes  and  wanders  like  a  dream. 
And  seeing  our  wits  are  very  slow,  we  deem 
Slowness  is  wisdom  !  " 

He  relents.     Macareus  hastens  to  Canacc's  chamber, 

to  tell  her  that  her  life  is  spared.     He  finds  her  lying 

in  her  blood,  takes  the  same  sword  and  dies  with  her. 

Some  words  remain  of  the  speecli  of  the  messenger 

who  tells  of  their  deaths  : — 

"  This  Cvprian, 
She  is  a  thousand  thousand  changing  things; 
She  brings  more  pain  than  any  god  ;  she  brings 
More  joy.     I  cannot  judge  her.     May  it  be 
An  hour  of  mercy  when  she  looks  on  me  !  " 

The   play   is   naturally   a  frequent   theme   of  attack. 

See  Clouds^  137 1  ;  also  p.  256,  1.  1080. 

ALEXANDR08. 

Acted  B.C.  414,  with  the  Troadn. 

Hecuba,  Queen  of  Troy,  dreamed  that  she  gave 
birth  to  a  burning  brand.  So  when  her  child  was 
born,  it  was  exposed  by  the  priests'  orders  on  Mount 
Ida,  after  being  named  Alexandros.  The  boy  was 
rescued  and  bred  up  by  shepherds,  who  named  him 
Paris.       Priam    and    Hecuba,    however,    believe    him 


APPENDIX   ON   LOST   PLAYS      315 

dead,  and  are  haunted  by  remorse.  Some  one  remon- 
strates with  Hecuba  on  her  folly  : — 

"To  lie 
In  new-shed  tears  for  sorrow  long  gone  by." 
At  last  they  determine  to  hold  a  funeral  feast  in 
honour  of  the  lost  son.  It  will  also  serve  to  display  the 
prowess  of  their  other  sons.  Amid  other  preparations, 
Priam  sends  his  servants  to  buy  a  certain  splendid  bull 
that  has  been  seen  on  Mount  Ida  guarded  by  a  young 
unknown  herdsman.  The  herdsman,  who  is,  of 
course,  Alexandres,  follows  them,  and  so  comes  to 
contend  at  his  own  funeral  games.  Many  strangers 
also  contend. 

A  messenger  tells  the  result  to  Priam.  The  foreign 
competitors  have  been  duly  defeated.  So  far  it  is 
well  for  Troy  : — 

"But  for  thee,  O  wearer  of  the  crown, 
The  arm  that  should  have  conquered  is  struck  down. 
And  that  wliich  skilled  not  conquers  !    The  prize  falls 
Not  to  thy  children,  Priam,  but  thy  thralls." 
The  young  herdsman,  who  is  a  slave,  like  all  other 
herdsmen,  has  vanquished  every  one.    They  taunt  him. 
The  Prince  Deiphobus  calls  to  the  other  sons  of  Priam 
not  to  tolerate  the  slave's  insolence,  and  draws  sword 
upon  him.     The  herdsman  breaks  out  : — 

"  O  cowards  and  caitiffs,  oh,  not  slaves  in  name. 
But  lives  bred  deep  in  slavery  and  shame.   .  .  ." 

He  flies  to  the  altar-hearth  of  Priam's  palate,  where 
he  is  somehow  recognised  by  his  sister,  the  prophetess 
Cassandra. 

The  fragments  are  full  of  discussions  of  slavery  and 
its  injustices. 


3i6  EURIPIDES 


ANDROMEDA. 


Acted  B.C.  412,  seven  years  before  The  Frogs.  This 
play  was  very  celebrated,  and  is  remarkable  as  being 
almost  the  only  simple  and  unclouded  love  story  that 
Euripides  ever  v^^rote.  Kepheus,  King  of  Ethiopia, 
having  in  some  way  offended  the  gods,  his  daughter 
Andromeda  was,  by  their  command,  exposed  in  chains 
upon  a  cliff  to  be  devoured  by  a  sea-monster.  Perseus, 
returning  from  the  slaying  of  the  Gorgon  Medusa, 
passed  near  and  saw  what  he  took  to  be  a  statue 
carved  in  the  rock  : — 

"What  clifiris  yonder,  islanded  above 
Wild  foaming  seas  ?     And  on  the  face  thereof. 
Is  it  the  image  of  a  virgin,  white 
And  marble,  for  some  cunning  hand's  delight 
Hewn  in  the  living  rock  ?  " 

He  approaches  and  speaks  to  her  : — 

Perseus. 
O  Chained  Maiden,  my  heart  bleeds  for  thee  ! 
Andromeda. 
Who  speaks  ?     Who  art  thou,  that  canst  pity  me  ? 

He  learns  her  doom  and  offers  to  fight  the  sea- 
monster  : — 

"O  virgin,  if  I  save  thee,  wilt  thou  keep 
Remembrance  of  me  ?  " 

Andromeda. 

Wouldst  thou  make  me  weep 
With  dreams  of  hope  that  never  can  be  won  ? 

Perseus. 
Deeds  that  men  dreamed  not  of,  have  yet  been  done  ! 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST    PLAYS      317 

It  is  perhaps  in  this  context  that  the  beautiful  lines 
occur  : — 

"Methinks  it  is  the  morrow,  day  by  clay, 
That  cows  us,  and  the  Coming  Thing  alway 
Greater  than  things  to-day  or  yesterday." 
He  slays  the  monster,  and  in  discharge  of  his  pro- 
mise prepares  to  restore  Andromeda  to  her  parents. 
But  she  does  not  care  to  return  ;  she  loves  him  : — 
"Take  me,  O  Stranger,  for  thine  handmaiden 
Or  wife  or  slave !  " 
It  is  not  clear  who  speaks  the  lines  : — 

"We  cast  us  on  this  torrent,  love,  to  meet 
Another  soul  beneath  the  torrent's  feet ; 
And  if  that  soul  be  good,  oh,  life  is  sweet ! " 
There  is  some  parleying  with  Kepheus,  who  seems 
to  be  a  covetous  and  crafty  old  king  ;  but  love  wins 
the  day,  and  Perseus  carries  off  Andromeda  to  be  his 
queen  in  Argos. 

The  play  opened,   it  would  seem,   without  a  pro- 
logue, showing  the  heroine  chained  to  the  cliff,  and 
watching   for    the   first    glimmer   of  dawn    with   the 
words,  "  O  holy  Night,  how  long  is  the  wheeling  of 
thy  chariot  I  "     There  are  fragments  of  a  long  lyrical 
scene  between  Andromeda  and  some  Maidens,  broken 
into  by  the  babbling  of  Echo — the  Echo  of  the  cliffs 
and  caves — which  are  full  of  romantic  beauty  : — 
"Oh,  by  the  coolness  of  the  caverned  stone, 
By  all  its  gentleness. 
Thou  Echo,  Echo,  mocking  my  distress, 
Peace  !   Let  me  weep  alone. 
Alone   with    them   that   love   me,  till   all    my   tears 
be  run." 


3i8  EURIPIDES 

The  long  celebrity  of  the  play  is  shown  by  a 
pleasant  story  of  Lucian's  about  the  tragedy-fever 
that  once  fell  upon  the  people  of  Abdera,  so  that  they 
went  about  declaiming  iambics  "and  especially  sang 
the  solos  from  the  Andromeda^  and  went  through  the 
great  speech  of  Perseus,  one  after  another,  till  the  city 
was  full  of  seven-day-old  tragedians,  pale  and  haggard, 
crying  aloud  : — 

*Er6s,  high  monarch  over  gods  and  men, 
Oh,  lest  thy  lovers  perish,  turn  again 
Beauty  to  be  not  Beauty  any  more  ; 
Or  give  us  joyous  strength  to  stand  before 
Her  face,  and  climb  the  grievous  paths,  O  thou 
Who  madcst  them,  wherein  we  falter  now  ! '  " 


ANTIGONE. 

The  date  is  uncertain.  The  plot  is  said  to  have 
been  much  the  same  as  in  Sophocles'  great  tragedy  : 
viz.  Creon,  ruler  of  Thebes,  has  ordered  that  the  dead 
body  of  Polyneices,  the  unjustly  exiled  prince,  who 
has  returned  to  fight  against  his  country,  shall  be  cast 
out  to  dogs  and  not  buried  ;  Polyneices'  sister  Anti- 
gone defies  the  law,  and  with  her  own  hands  buries 
the  body,  and  is  doomed  to  death.  Creon's  son, 
Haemon,  slays  himself  for  love  of  her.  But  in  Euri- 
pides, we  are  told,  "  being  discovered  burying  her 
brother's  body  with  Haemon,  she  is  given  to  him  in 
marriage  and  bears  a  child,  Maeon  "  (Soph.  Ant.  Argu- 
ment^ cf.  Schol.  ib.  1350).  Dionysus  seems  to  have 
appeared  at  the  end,  from  which  Hartung  concludes 
that  probably  Antigone  appealed  to  Haemon  to  help 
her  in  burying  the  body  of  Polyneices ;    both  were 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      319 

discovered  ;  then  either  both  were  condemned  to  death, 
or  perhaps  she  onlv  was  condemned,  but  Hacmon 
determined  to  die  with  her,  when  Dionysus  appeared, 
rebuked  Creon,  and  commanded  that  the  two  lovers 
should  be  pardoned  and  united  in  marriage. 

There  is  another  story  in  Hyginus,  possibly  derived 
from    Euripides,   m   which    it    is    Haemon's  duty  to 
watch  the  body  and  put  to  death  any  person  found 
trying  to  burv  it.     Antigone  is  brought  to  him  for 
execution.     He  hides  her  away  on  Mount  Kithaeron 
and  secretly  marries   her,  while  pretending  that  she 
is  dead.     Eventually  their  son  comes  to  Thebes,  and 
is  recognised  by  Creon  through  the  mark  on  his  body 
which  shows  that  he  is  of  the  Dragon's  Seed.     But 
the    plav   from   which    this  story   is   taken    must,   of 
course,   take    place   when   the   son    of   Haemon    and 
Antigone  is  a  grown  youth.     And  one  of  our  frag- 
ments seems  clearly  to   refer  to  the  body  of  Poly- 
neices  as  recently  slain  : — 
"  Death  is  the  end  and  bar  of  human  hate. 
'Tis  plain  to  every  eye.     What  man  shall  sate 
His  wrath  with  torment  of  the  grey  hill  stone, 
Stabbing  until  it  smart  ?     Or  win  one  groan 
From  the  dead  flesh  that  knowsnot  scorn  nor  wrong?" 


ARCHELAUS. 

This  play,  not  produced  during  the  poet's  lifetime, 
was  probably  written  in  his  last  years.  It  celebrates 
the  legendary  ancestor  of  his  host,  Archelaus  of 
Macedon. 

Archelaus,  a   descendant   of  Heracles,  and   son   of 


320  EURIPIDES 

Temenus,  King  of  Argos,  being  driven  into  exile  by 
his  brothers,  comes  into  Macedonia,  beggared,  wan- 
dering as  a  goat-herd.  Kisseus,  the  King  of  Mace- 
donia, is  being  hard  pressed  in  war  by  his  barbarian 
neighbours  ;  "  the  plain  is  a-gleam  with  their  fires." 
The  goat-herd  seems  to  have  met  with  some  adven- 
ture and  distinguished  himself.  Kisseus  offers  him  a 
place  in  his  army.  The  goat-herd  offers  to  take 
command  of  it  and  to  defeat  the  foe,  if  the  King 
will  promise  him  his  daughter  in  marriage,  and  with 
her  the  reversion  of  the  kingdom  !  The  King  pro- 
tests. Archelaus  reveals  who  he  is  ;  tells  of  his  birth 
and  nurture,  and  how  his  father  Temenus  had  trained 
him  to  follow  in  the  paths  of  Heracles.  Either 
Archelaus,  or  possibly  some  third  person,  espousing 
his  cause,  urges  that  a  Heraclid  prince  even  in  poverty 
is  worthy  of  the  King's  daughter  : — 

"In  a  child's  eye  the  goodness  of  the  good 
Shines  ;  and  it  is  a  prize,  that  hardihood, 
More  precious  in  a  bridegroom  than  much  gold, 
The  poor  man's  jewel,  never  lost  nor  sold. 
His  father's  gentleness  !  " 

The  goat-herd  is  young,  poor,  strong-witted — the 
three  together  should  make  the  King  reflect.  Wealth 
is  often  a  positive  hindrance  : — 

"  Sweetness  of  days  and  rest  and  dallying 
Have  never  lifted  any  fallen  thing. 
City  nor  house." 

The  King  at  last  agreed,  but  when  Archelaus  had, 
by  miracles  of  valour  or  divine  protection,  destroyed 
his  enemies,  was  unwilling  to  fulfil  his  promise.  Some 
counsellor  or  other   advised    him    to   assassinate   the 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      321 

stranger  ;  his  daughter  pleaded  the  other  way  in  vain. 
A  plot  was  made  to  lead  the  young  chief  over  a  pit 
full  of  burning  coals,  lightly  covered,  into  which 
he  should  fall.  A  slave  of  the  King's  (or  of  the 
Princess's  ?)  warned  Archelaus.  He  sent  word  in- 
stantly asking  the  King  to  meet  him  alone  for 
an  important  purpose.  The  King  came.  Archelaus 
reproached  him  with  his  treachery,  and  threw  him 
into  his  own  pit.  Amid  the  tumult  that  followed, 
Heracles  appeared  and  commanded  Archelaus  to  fly 
with  a  goat  for  his  guide  and  build  a  town  called  after 
the  goat's  name  (Aegae),  of  which  he  should  be  king. 
Presumably  he  wedded  the  princess. 


AUGE. 

Acted  after  B.C.  415.  Auge,  daughter  of  Aleus, 
king  of  some  town  in  Arcadia,  was  a  priestess  of 
Athena.  During  a  midnight  dance  in  honour  of  the 
Goddess,  Heracles,  passing  that  way  on  his  wanderings, 
saw  Auge,  not  knowing  who  she  was,  ravished  or 
beguiled  her,  and  went  his  ways,  leaving  her  his  ring 
as  a  token.  The  priestess  went  back  to  her  temple, 
and  eventually  bore  a  child,  which  she  kept  concealed 
in  the  sacred  places.  A  plague  fell  upon  the  land, 
and  was  judged  by  the  prophets  to  be  due  to  a  defile- 
ment of  Athena's  house.  The  King,  Aleus,  forced 
his  way — against  the  priestess''s  protest — into  the 
temple,  found  the  babe  and  learned  all  the  story.  He 
had  the  babe  thrown  out  to  wild  beasts  on  the  moun- 
tains of  Arcadia,  and  ordered  Auge  to  be  cast  into 
the  sea,  or  down  a  precipice.  At  this  moment  Heracles, 
returning  from  his  quest  (the  Stymphalian  Birds,  or 


322  EURIPIDES 

the  Augean  Stables  ?),  passed  by  again,  asked  for 
hospitality  from  Aleus,  and  recognised  the  ring  on  the 
finger  of  the  doomed  princess.  He  rescued  Auge, 
made  amends  by  sacrifice  to  Athena,  and,  searching 
the  mountains,  found  the  child  alive  and  being  suckled 
by  a  wild  deer,  from  which  miraculous  fortune  he 
gave  it  the  name  Telephus  (as  though  drj-eXa^oq). 
The  fragments  suggest  that  Auge  requited  with  real 
love  what  was  only  a  passing  and  ignoble  fancy  in 
Heracles.  She  seems  to  have  no  feeling  of  guilt,  nor 
any  hatred  against  her  seducer.  Her  rebellious  outburst 
against  her  own  Virgin  Goddess  was  celebrated  : — 

"  Arms  black  with  rotted  blood. 
Are  sweet  to  thee,  and  dead  men's  wreckage  good 
To  deck  thy  temples  !     Only  Auge's  babe 
Frights  thee  with  shame  !  " 

And  love  seems  to  have  been  in  question  somewhere  : — 
"  For  whoso  deems  him  not  a  God,  this  Love, 
Yea,  an  enthroned  Power  all  gods  above, 
'Tis  a  wry  soul ;  or,  having  never  sought 
Nor  felt  things  beautiful,  he  knoweth  not 
The  Spirit  that  moveth  mightiest  over  men." 


THE   CRETANS. 

The  date  of  this  play  is  uncertain  and  the  story  far 
from  clear.  It  dealt  with  the  love  of  Pasiphae  for 
"  The  Bull,"  and  the  Chorus  was  composed  of  Cretan 
Mystae,  or  ascetic  saints,  devoted  to  the  worship  of 
Idaean  Zeus  and  Zagreus. 

The  Bull  was  originally  a  God,  probably  (to  judge 
from  the  excavations)  the  chief  Cretan  God  j  Pasiphae 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      323 

seems  to  have  been  a  Moon  Goddess,  but  may  quite 
possibly  be  the  Queen  of  the  land  mystically  wedded 
to  the  Bull  God.  The  presence  of  a  Chorus  of 
Mystae  makes  it  conceivable  that  Euripides  treated 
his  monstrous  story  from  this  point  of  view — as  a 
solemn  religious  mystery.  Ordinary  writers  on 
mythology  make  the  Bull  a  miraculous  sea  monster 
sent  by  the  wrath  of  Poseidon.  Many  authors, 
howcxer,  such  as  Plutarch  and  Palaephatus,  rationalise 
the  story,  and  make  Taurus  (Bull)  the  name  of  a 
soldier  or  pirate.  Johannes  Malalas  makes  him  a 
notary  I  We  cite  in  full  his  severely  rationalised 
version  (iv.  p.  105). 

"  At  which  times  lived  Daedalus  and  Icarus,  who 
were  celebrated  because  of  Pasiphaii,  wife  of  Minos 
the  King,  and  Taurus,  her  notary,  by  whose  seduction 
she  bore  a  son,  him  called  Minotaurus,  Daedalus  and 
Icarus  having  helped  her  intrigue.  So  Minos  the 
King  imprisoned  her  in  a  chamber" — this  represents 
the  labyrinth — "with  two  bondmaids,  and  gave  her 
food,  never  seeing  her  more  ;  and  she,  from  affliction 
at  being  deposed  from  her  royal  honour,  was  smitten 
with  disease  and  died.  And  Daedalus  and  Icarus 
were  slain.  Icarus  while  flying  from  his  prison  fell 
into  the  sea  from  his  ship" — not  from  his  melting 
wings! — "while  Daedalus  was  executed.  Euripides 
the  poet  put  out  a  play  about  Pasiphae."  It  is  a 
question  whether  Euripides  kept  the  miraculous  and 
monstrous  elements  of  the  story  or  no.  See  Verrall 
in  Classical  Review^  1 902. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Phaedra  in  the  Hippdytus^  when 
she  mentions  her  mother's  love  story,  is  evidently 
referring  to  a  human   passion,  Taurus  being  a  soldier 


324  EURIPIDES 

or  pirate.  But  in  The  Cretans  I  think  it  probable  that 
Euripides  plunged  wholesale,  and  perhaps  with  hostile 
intentions,  into  a  "  religious  mystery  "  of  a  barbaric 
and  monstrous  kind.  Plutarch  evidently  thought  of 
Taurus  as  a  Bull. 

The  first  words  of  the  Chorus  of  Mystae  are  pre- 
served ;  addressing  Minos,  they  are  full  of  "  mystic  " 
allusions,  most  of  which  will  be  fairly  clear  to  those 
who  have  read  The  Bacchae  : — 

"  Child  of  Europa's  Tyrian  line, 

Zeus-born,  who  boldest  at  thy  feet 
The  hundred  citadels  of  Crete, 
I  seek  to  thee  from  that  dim  shrine. 

Roofed  with  the  Quick  and  Carven  Beam, 
By  Chalyb  steel  and  wild  bull's  blood 
In  flawless  joints  of  cypress  wood 

Made  steadfast.     There  in  one  pure  stream 

My  days  have  run,  the  servant  I, 
Enhallowed,  of  Idaean  Jove  : 
Where  midnight  Zagreus  roves,  I  rove  ; 

I  have  endured  his  thunder-cry  ; 

Fulfilled  his  red  and  bleeding  feasts  ; 

Held  the  Great  Mother's  mountain  flame  ; 

I  am  Set  Free,  and  named  by  name 
A  Bacchos  of  the  Mailed  Priests. 

Robed  in  pure  white,  I  have  borne  me  clean 
From  man's  vile  birth  and  coflfined  clay, 
And  exiled  from  my  lips  alway 

Touch  of  all  meat  where  life  hath  been." 


APPENDIX   ON   LOST   PLAYS      325 

HYPSIPYLE. 

Acted  between  411  and  409  B.C.  In  the  first  scene 
a  nurse  is  seen  with  a  child  in  a  meadow  before  a  great 
cave.  She  plays  with  it,  and  sings  with  the  accom- 
paniment of  the  child's  rattle.  She  describes  how  the 
baby  has  been  playing  in  the  meadow  : — 

"Up  by  the  caverned  bower, 
Plundering,  ravishing,  flower  on  flower, 
This  and  the  next  one — all  are  good — 
On  with  the  joyous  heart,  the  wild 
Infinite  want,  of  babyhood. 

O  cast  thine  arms  about  me.  Child  ! " 

This  nurse  is  really  Hypsipyle,  Princess  of  Lemnos, 
who  had  saved  her  father  many  years  before  in  the 
general  massacre  of  the  men  in  that  island,  and  sent 
him  secretly  away  in  a  boat  together  with  her  two 
infant  sons.  For  this  she  has  been  sold  into  slavery, 
and  after  passing  from  city  ro  city,  has  become  a  bond- 
maid to  Eurydice,  Queen  uf  Nemca,  whose  baby  she 
is  now  guarding.  There  arrives  presently  a  king  with 
some  soldiers,  who  beg  to  be  shown  the  way  to  a  spring 
of  water.  It  is  Adrastus  of  Argos,  leading  his  army 
against  Thebes,  and  his  people  are  dying  of  drought. 
Hypsipyle  leaves  the  child  to  show  them  the  way  to 
the  only  spring  that  has  not  been  dried  up  ;  and  when 
she  returns  the  baby  is  dead,  killed  by  a  serpent ! 
Adrastus  kills  the  serpent,  and  goes  with  the  slave  to 
tell  the  tidings  to  the  Queen  Eurydice.  Eurydice, 
wild  with  grief,  is  going  to  put  the  nurse  to  death. 
Adrastus  intercedes  for  her ;  the  Queen  should  not  be 


326  EURIPIDES 

judge  in  her  own  cause.  And  beyond  that,  she  should 
be  patient : — 

"  And  hearken,  Queen.     I  have  one  counsel  still. 
There  lives  no  man  on  earth  but  hath  much  ill 
In  living.     Aye,  we  see  our  children  die, 
And  beget  others,  and  forget,  and  lie 
Ourselves  in  the  earth.     And  then  must  men  com- 
plain, 
Seeing  the  dust  draws  back  to  dust  again ! 
For  so  'tis  written  ;  like  the  grassy  leas 
In  the  mowing.  Life  is  mown  ;  and  this  man  is, 
And  that  man  is  not.     Step  by  step  to  rue 
These  paths  that  all  things  born  must  travel  through, 
What  doth  it  profit  any  soul  ?     And  that 
Which  must  be,  who  may  chide  or  rage  thereat  ? " 

(Adrastus  in  tragedy  is  always  a  type  of  somewhat 
proverbial  eloquence,  a  superior  Polonius.)  The 
Queen  consents  to  abide  by  the  decision  of  an  impar- 
tial stranger.  There  are  two  youths  from  Lemnos 
who  chance  to  be  staying  as  guests  of  her  husband  at 
the  palace  ;  let  them  be  judges.  The  two  youths 
hear  the  cause,  and  decide  that  the  slave  is  guilty,  and 
may,  if  her  mistress  so  wills,  be  put  to  death,  when, 
by  some  chance  word,  they  discover  that  she  is  Hyp- 
sipyle.  They  are  themselves  the  two  sons  whom  she 
had  sent  off  in  the  boat  with  their  grandfather  Thoas. 
She  has  already  been  led  off  to  death.  They  draw 
their  swords,  rescue  her  from  the  retainers,  reveal 
themselves  by  showing,  apparently,  the  mark  of  a 
vine  leaf  on  their  bodies  ;  then  make  their  way  to  the 
sea-shore  and  fly  with  her  to  Lemnos.  At  the  end,  it 
would  seem,  Dionysus  appears  on  a  cloud,  ordains  the 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      327 

burial  of  the  slain  child  with  great  pomp  and  the 
worship  of  him  under  the  name  of  Archemorus,  "Be- 
ginner of  Death  "  ;  his  fate  is  an  evil  omen  to  the 
march  of  Adrastus. 

MELANIPPE. 

There  were  two  plays  of  Euripides  called  by  this 
name,  and  afterwards  distinguished  by  the  surnames 
Melanippe  the  JVhe  and  Melanippe  the  Prisoner.  The 
dates  are  very  uncertain,  but  both  seem  to  be  late 
plays. 

(i)  Melanippe  the  JFise.  Acted  before  411,  as 
it  is  referred  to  in  the  Lysistrata  of  Aristophanes. 
There  was  born  to  King  Aeolus  and  Hippo,  the  half- 
divine  daughter  of  the  Centaur  Cheiron,  a  dark  and 
marvellously  beautiful  child,  Melanippe.  While 
Aeolus  was  away  from  his  kingdom,  banished  for  a 
manslaying,  Melanippe  was  loved  by  the  God  Posei- 
don, and  bore  him  two  children,  who  by  the  God's 
command  were  exposed  on  a  mountain  and  reared  by 
the  wild  kine.  When  Aeolus  returned,  some  shep- 
herds found  the  babes  being  suckled  by  the  kine  and 
brought  them  to  the  King.  He  consulted  the  aged 
Hellen,  or  some  prophet,  who  decided  that  the  thing 
was  a  portent  and  must  be  expiated  by  burning  the 
two  babes.  The  King  summoned  his  daughter  Mela- 
nippe, and  charged  her  with  the  preparations  for  the 
children's  death.  She  recognised  them,  and  pled 
against  the  prophet,  urging  that  there  were  no  such 
things  as  "  portents,"  expounding  the  order  of  nature 
as  revealed  to  her  by  her  half-divine  mother  : — 
"It  is  not  my  word,  but  my  mother's  word, 

How  Heaven  andEarth  were  once  one  form,  but  stirred 


328  EURIPIDES 

And  strove,  and  dwelt  asunder  far  away  : 
And  then,  re-wedding,  bore  unto  the  day 
And  light  of  life  all  things  that  are,  the  trees, 
Flowers,  birds  and  beasts,  and  them  that  breathe 

the  seas. 
And  mortal  Man,  each  in  his  kind  and  law." 

Eventually  in  her  despair  she  suggests  that  perhaps 
they  are  the  children  of  some  unhappy  girl,  who  has 
exposed  them  through  shame.  Her  pleading  is  re- 
jected. She  goes  away  and  returns  clad  in  black,  like 
the  children,  avows  that  they  are  hers,  and  demands 
to  die  with  them.  Aeolus  in  fury  has  her  blinded 
and  flung  into  a  dungeon.  The  children  are  given 
back  to  the  shepherds  to  cast  out  again  on  the  moun- 
tain. It  is  not  clear  how  this  play  ended.  The 
divine  Hippo  seems  to  have  appeared ;  but,  though 
she  may  have  saved  the  children's  lives,  she  can 
scarcely  have  given  more  than  a  far-oiF  promise  of 
consolation  to  Melanippe. 

(2)  Melanippe  the  Prisoner.  Produced  probably 
about  B.C.  417.  The  shepherds  had  not  the  heart  to 
do  the  King's  command.  And  it  so  chanced  that 
Metapontus,  King  of  Icaria  in  Attica,  had  recently 
threatened  his  wife,  Theano,  that  if  she  continued 
childless  he  would  put  her  away.  She  obtained  Mela- 
nippe's  children  from  the  shepherds,  and  passed  them 
as  her  own.  Later  on,  however,  she  bore  two  chil- 
dren herself,  and  began  to  hate  those  that  were  not 
her  own,  the  more  so  because  Metapontus  specially 
loved  them.  Eventually,  while  the  King  and  the 
sons  of  Melanippe  were  away  sacrificing  to  Artemis, 
Theano  told  her  secret  to  her  brothers,  and  induced 


APPENDIX   ON   LOST  PLAYS     329 

them  to  plot  the  death  of  her  two  foster-sons.  They 
laid  an  ambush,  but  when  it  came  to  fighting  were 
slain  themselves.  (A  large  fragment  of  the  messen- 
ger's account  of  this  scene  is  preserved  on  a  loose 
sheet  of  very  ancient  parchment  from  Egypt.)  The 
sons  of  Melanippe,  learning  through  their  enemies' 
taunts  some  fragment  of  their  story,  fled  without 
sheathing  their  swords  to  the  Boeotian  shepherds 
from  whom,  as  it  now  seemed,  they  were  sprung. 
From  them  they  learn  the  whole  truth  ;  they  are 
princes  after  all,  but  of  another  house.  They  call  on 
the  shepherds  to  follow  them,  cross  the  borders  to 
Boeotia,  and  find  their  mother  languishing  and  blind 
in  her  dungeon  ;  she  greets  her  first  deliverer  with 
the  words : — 

"  O  man,  canst  thou  not  let  the  dead  lie  dead. 
And  pass  the  old  spilt  tears  unharvested  ?" 

They  reveal  themselves  and  are  setting  her  free, 
when  the  aged  tyrant  Aeolus  arrives  to  forbid  them. 
They  slay  him,  and  carry  Melanippe  off  to  the 
borders  again,  when  they  are  met  by  Metapontus 
seeking  vengeance  for  his  wife's  brothers  and  for 
herself.  For  she  m  grief  and  remorse  has  taken  her 
own  life.  At  this  point  Poseidon  appears,  explains 
all,  commands  the  ceasing  of  strife,  and  restores  the 
sight  of  Melanippe.  He  ordains  the  founding  of  a 
sort  of  pilgrim  city — afterwards  named  Mctapontion 
— in  Italy,  and  the  marriage  of  Melanippe  to  Meta- 
pontus the  King.  It  is  perhaps  he  who  gives  to  the 
sons  of  Melanippe  their  names  Aeolus  and  Boeotus. 

A  rather  interesting  fragment  about  divine  justice 
seems  in  style  to  suit  the  lips  of  the  wise  Melanippe, 


330  EURIPIDES 

though  in  substance  it  would  come  better  from  the 
young  men  in  the  midst  of  their  vengeance.  Some 
persons,  presumably  the  Chorus,  seem  to  have  said 
that  men's  sins  did  not  escape  eventual  punishment, 
but  were  all  registered  in  the  sky  ;  to  whom  comes 
the  answer  :— 

"  How  think  you  ?     Are  they  separate  winged  things. 
The  sins  of  men  ;  and  rise  each  on  his  wings 
Up  to  the  throne,  where  in  a  folded  book 
Some  angel  writes,  that  God  some  day  may  look 
And  utter  judgment  due  ?     Not  all  God's  sky 
Were  wide  enough  to  hold  that  registry  ; 
Not  God's  own  eye  see  clear  to  deal  each  sin 
Its  far-off  justice.     She  is  here,  within, 
Not  distant  nor  hereafter  ;  with  each  deed 
Its  judgment  fellow-born,  would  ye  but  heed. 

MELEAGER. 

Acted  before  415.  Althaea,  wife  of  Oeneus,  King 
of  Calydon,  when  she  bore  the  Prince  Meleager,  had 
seen  the  Three  Fates  prophesying  in  her  chamber, 
and  saying  that  the  child's  life  should  waste  away  as 
a  certain  burning  brand  in  the  fire  was  consumed. 
She  sprang  up  and  saved  the  brand  and  kept  it. 
Many  years  afterwards,  Oeneus  having  offended 
Artemis,  the  goddess  in  vengeance  sent  a  monstrous 
wild  boar  to  waste  his  land.  The  Prince  Meleager 
proclaimed  a  hunt  to  slay  the  boar. 

Here  the  play  opens.  Many  chieftains  came  to 
the  hunt,  and  among  them  the  Spartan  virgin 
Atalanta,  a  huntress  and  warrior,  strong  and  wise. 
Meleager   fell   in   love   with   the  virtue  and  courage 


APPENDIX   ON   LOST   PLAYS     331 

of  Atalanta.  His  wife,  Cleopatra,  daughter  of 
Marpessa,  seems  to  have  been  a  weak  and  timid 
woman.  He  talked  to  his  mother  about  Atalanta. 
How  2;rand  a  life  to  be  Atalanta's  husband  and  the 
father  of  such  children  as  hers  must  be !  The 
ordinary  life  of  women  corrupts  them,  and  makes 
it  impossible  for  brave  sons  to  be  born,  even  to  men 
who  have  led  heroic  lives  : — 

"And  so  I  pondered,  one  life  strong  and  brave, 
One  weak  and  low,  what  issue  shall  they  have  ? 
But  two  strong  souls,  how  good  the  fruit  should  be  ! 

That  too  is  a  possession,  manifold 

And  beautiful,  yea,  better  than  fine  gold, 

Mother.     For  heavy  gold  hath  wings  to  fly. 

But  a  good  son  and  true,  even  though  he  die, 

Is  a  deep  treasure  for  the  house  laid  up  ; 

A  tablet  on  the  walls  of  life  ;  a  cup 

That  fails  not,  to  the  twain  that  made  him  live." 

Althaea,  a  passionate  and  '  natural '  woman,  is 
angry,  and  jealous  of  Atalanta.  There  are  several 
fragments  stating  that  the  good  woman  is  not  she 
who  vies  with  men,  but  she  who  stays  within  doors 
and  works  at  the  loom.  Atalanta  herself,  who  has 
heard  nothing  of  Meleager's  feelings,  is  attacked  and 
put  on  her  defence.  How  can  she  ever  expect  to 
be  a  good  wife  ?  She  answers  in  thoughts  exactly 
like  Meleager's.  She  craves  nobility  in  life  : — 
"And  should  I  come  to  wedlock — which  I  pray 

God  send  me  not  ! — how  should  I  be  as  they 

Who  live  dim  days  in  chambers  closed  apart  ? 

My  children  shall  be  higher  in  their  heart ! 


332  EURIPIDES 

Surely  long  days  of  hardihood,  and  toil 

Well  wrought,  in  man  or  woman,  are  the  soil 

The  best  fruit  springs  from." 

Presently  the  hunt  sets  forth,  many  of  the  hunters, 
especially  Althaea's  brethren,  chafing  at  a  woman's 
companionship.  Atalanta  struck  the  boar  first ; 
Meleager  slew  it.  The  head  was  awarded  him  as 
the  prize  of  valour,  and  he  gave  it  to  Atalanta. 
The  two  brethren  of  Althaea,  in  rage  at  this,  laid 
an  ambush  for  Atalanta  and  robbed  her  of  her  prize. 
She  cried  for  aid,  instinctively  calling  to  Meleager, 
though  she  did  not  know  he  was  near.  He  heard 
and  came  to  the  rescue.  The  brethren  fought,  and 
he  slew  them  both.  When  the  news  was  brought 
to  Althaea,  she,  in  grief  for  her  brethren  and  wild 
jealousy  of  Atalanta,  brought  out  the  fatal  brand  and 
cast  it  into  the  fire.  Meleager  wasted  to  death.  She 
repented  too  late,  and  promised  the  dying  Meleager 
various  posthumous  honours.     He  answers  : — 

"  Let  thy  good  deeds  be  done 
To  them  that  live.     Death  maketh  every  one 
The  same.  Earth  and  a  Shadow.     In  that  stress 
The  Nothing  reeleth  back  to  Nothingness." 

Althaea  is  in  mad  despair.  Some  one,  perhaps  the 
despised  Cleopatra,  perhaps  Atalanta  herself,  counsels 
her  to  die  ;  how  can  she  bear  to  live  after  such  deeds  ? 
But  she  cannot  rise  to  the  common  manliness  of 
facing  death.  An  overpowering  cowardice  paralyses 
her.     True,  her  life  is  blasted  ;  yet — 

"  Even  so 
'Tis  well  in  the  sunshine.     And  to  lie  below, 


APPENDIX   ON   LOST   PLAYS     333 

With  dead  things,  in  the  dark,  will  that  be  well  ? — 
I  know  the  dreams  of  it  are  horrible  .  .  . 
I  am  old  now  ;  but,  oh,  with  my  last  breath 
I  spit  it  from  me  !     I  will  not  pray  for  death  !  " 


OENEUS. 

An  early  play,  acted  before  425.  The  aged 
Oeneus,  after  the  death  of  all  his  sons,  was  left  friend- 
less and  alone  in  Calydon.  His  kinsman  Agrios 
('Savage')  and  the  sons  of  Agrios  drove  him  from 
the  throne  and  persecuted  him  with  barbarous  jests 
and  insolence.  At  last  the  old  King  fled  in  disguise 
and  hired  himself  out  as  a  shepherd  at  the  borders  of 
his  kingdom. 

Meantime  his  grandson,  Diomedes,  son  of  Tydeus, 
has  grown  in  exile  up  to  man's  estate,  and  returns 
with  his  friend  Sthenelus  to  Calydon  to  see  his  grand- 
father. The  two  fall  in  with  a  man  who  had  been  a 
servant  in  the  palace.  He  tells  them  of  the  dethrone- 
ment and  persecution  of  the  old  King  ;  of  the  insults 
of  the  drunken  sons  of  Agrios.  (Euripides  may  have 
met  with  some  such  story  of  real  life  among  the  un- 
civilised tribes  of  Aetolia  ;  there  are  many  such  in  the 
East  at  the  present  day.)  How  they  brought  him 
into  the  banquet  hall,  and 

"  Cast,  as  the  mirth  increased, 
Wine  dregs  and  missiles  of  the  tumbled  feast 
At  the  old  man's  head  ;  and  when  one  struck  him, 

there 
Posted  was  I,  to  crown  the  caster's  hair. 
As  cottab-tossers  in  the  game  are  crowned  ! " 


334  EURIPIDES 

The  passage  is  quoted  by  Athenaeus  for  the  purpose 
of  illustrating  the  game  of  '  cottabos.'  Full  of  fury, 
the  two  friends  search  for  the  King.  They  find  him 
in  his  shepherd's  disguise,  and  with  difficulty  break 
through  his  mistrust  and  reserve. 

DlOM^DES. 

Where  be  thy  kin  ?     How  pinest  thou  here  alone  ? 

Oeneus. 
Nay,  most  be  dead.     Only  the  false  live  on. 

A  man  might  trust  his  sons  ;  they  would  not  fail 
In  love.    But  love  that  kinsmen  bear,  turns  pale 
Beside  love  of  themselves. 

Diomedes  names  him  as  Oeneus ;  the  old  man  thinks 
he  is  trapped  and  seeks  to  fly,  but  Diomedes  reveals 
himself.  Here  is  the  son  who  may  be  trusted  !  A 
rapid  plot  is  made.  Diomedes  and  Sthenelus  gather 
some  men,  attack  and  rout  Agrios  and  his  sons,  and 
re-establish  Oeneus  on  his  throne.  Agrios  himself  is 
taken  prisoner.  Diomedes,  fierce  as  always,  is  for 
taking  full  revenge  and  slaying  him  ;  but  Oeneus, 
made  merciful  by  suffering,  intercedes  for  his  life. 
Agrios  is  condemned  to  exile.  He  cannot  bear  his 
humiliation,  and  slays  himself. 

PEIRITHOUS. 

This  play,  though  generally  quoted  as  the  work  of 
Euripides,  was  considered  spurious  by  some  Alexan- 
drian scholars,  and  by  some  attributed  to  the  "  tyrant " 
Critias.     The  fragments  seem  to  me  not  Euripidean, 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      335 

though  it  is  rather  odd  that  Aristophanes  should 
elaborately  parody  a  scene  of  Critias  without  any 
visible  relevancy. 

Peirithoiis  fell  in  love  with  Persephone,  the  Queen 
of  the  Dead,  and  went  to  Hades  to  carry  her  off.  His 
friend  Theseus  accompanied  him.  Peirithoiis  was 
seized  and  bound,  and  watched  over  by  a  ravening 
serpent.  Theseus,  left  free,  would  not  forsake  his 
friend,  but  stayed  in  Hades  : — 

"  Fettered,  where  his  comrade  fell, 
By  Honour's  iron  chains  impalpable." 

At  last  Heracles  came  to  Hades  on  his  expedition  to 
fetch  Cerberus.  He  slew  the  serpent  and  begged 
Pluto  to  let  Peirithoiis  free,  which  Pluto  did,  being 
moved  by  the  valour  of  Heracles  and  the  faithfulness 
of  Theseus. 

PELEUS. 

Acted  before  417  and,  probably,  after  425.  The 
argument  of  the  play  is  quite  uncertain.  Peleus  was 
introduced  as  in  exile  and  poverty,  probably  his  third 
exile,  at  the  hands  of  Acastus  and  his  plotting  wife. 
A  story  in  Dictys  Cretensis  (vi.  7),  tells  how  Neopto- 
Icmus,  being  wrecked  on  Cape  Sepias,  found  there  his 
grandfather  Peleus,  living  in  exile  in  a  cave.  They 
recognised  one  another,  and  arranged  a  plot  against 
Acastus  and  his  sons,  inventing  a  false  tale  of  Neopto- 
lemus'  death.  In  the  end  Acastus  comes  to  the  cave 
to  murder  Neoptolcmus,  and  is  seized.  The  old  and 
wise  Peleus  reproaches  him  with  all  his  evil  deeds,  and 
then  forgives  him.  He,  overcome  by  remorse,  gives  up 
the  throne  to  Neoptolemus.     Some  of  these  incidents 


336  EURIPIDES 

would  suit  our  fragments,  in  which,  for  instance, 
there  seems  to  be  a  recognition-scene  (fr.  622,  3). 
But  the  play  is  chiefly  known  for  the  character  of 
Peleus,  a  sort  of  hero-sage,  stripped  of  all  the  world's 
goods,  and  content.     It  is  he,  no  doubt,  who  says  : — 

"  Prosperity,  I  make  no  count  thereof, 
A  thing  God's  finger,  passing,  blotteth  off. 
Easier  than  a  picture  ! — But  to  be 
Oneself  a  thing  of  Evil  !     Verily, 
There  is  no  waste  of  darkness  on  the  face 
Of  the  wide  world,  no  locked  and  silent  place 
Under  the  sod,  where  one  born  vile  may  sit 
To  hide  his  nature,  nay,  nor  flee  from  it. 


PHILOCTETES. 

Acted  B.C.  431,  with  the  Medea.  The  play  evi- 
dently served  as  a  model  to  the  Philoctetes  of  Sophocles 
(409  B.C.),  and  was  itself  based  on  that  of  Aeschylus. 
Philoctetes,  the  comrade  of  Heracles,  and  now  the 
inheritor  of  his  bow  and  arrows,  when  sailing  with 
the  Greeks  to  Troy,  was  bitten  in  the  foot  on  the 
island  of  Lemnos  by  a  supernatural  snake  sent  by 
Hera.  The  wound  was  something  abnormal,  and 
seemed  infectious  ('  Smell '  is  the  ancient  word,  but 
infection  is  what  is  meant).  Therefore,  at  the  advice 
of  Odysseus,  the  Greeks  left  the  sick  man  on  the 
island  with  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  sailed  away. 
A  shepherd  called  Actor  found  and  tended  him. 
Nearly  ten  years  after,  an  oracle  declared  that  victory 
in  the  Trojan  war  would  be  with  those  who  pos- 
sessed Philoctetes  and  the  arrows  of  Heracles.     The 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      337 

question  was  how  to  approach  the  injured  and  furious 
hero. 

The  Trojans  also,  unfortunately,  know  of  the 
oracle,  and  are  sure  to  make  an  effort  to  win  Philoc- 
tctes  to  their  side. 

Here  the  play  begins.  Odysseus  appears  in  dis- 
guise upon  the  island.  He  and  Diomcdcs  have  under- 
taken the  task.  Diomcdes  is  actuated  by  a  boyish 
thir^t  for  adventure  and  peril,  he  himself,  as  it  seems 
to  him  now,  by  some  worse  folly,  some  mere  senseless 
ambition  or  restlessness — he,  the  man  of  wisdom  ! 

"  And  am  I  then 
So  wise,  who  might  have  dwelt  with  simple  men. 
One  in  the  flock,  untroubled,  gathering 
Like  joys  and  fortunes  with  the  subtlest  king  ? 

What  is  so  flown  with  pride  as  the  weak  heart 
Of  man  ?     It  hangs  on  them  that  move  apart 
And  do  great  deeds  and  suffer  ;  Men  of  Men, 
Names  them  amid  their  cities  .   .  ." 

The  fierce  solitary  appears  ;  he  docs  not  recognise 
Odysseus,  but  sees  that  he  is  a  Greek,  and  is  about 
to  shoot  him,  when  Odysseus  saves  himself  with  a 
ready  lie.  He  represents  himself  as  a  friend  of  the 
dead  Palamcdes,  whom  Odysseus  had  destroyed  ;  he 
is  now  flying  from  Odysseus  himself.  This  is  the 
one  road  to  Philoctetes'  sympathy,  and  the  plotter 
is  accepted  as  a  friend.  At  this  moment  an  em- 
bassy of  Trojans  appears,  led  by  Paris.  They  beg 
Philoctetes'  aid,  offering  him  great  gifts  and  dwelling 
upon  his  wrongs.  The  disguised  Odysseus  is  in  a 
difficult  position  (cf.  the   Telcphm^  p.   347).     At  the 

y 


338  EURIPIDES 

risk  of  discovery  he  answers  them.  True,  the  Greeks 
have  behaved  shamefully,  and  he  hates  them ;  but 
still  an  honourable  man  must  not  join  his  country's 
enemies.  Philoctetes  is  touched  and  rejects  the 
Trojans'  appeal.  If  the  Greeks  have  done  him 
wrong,  is  Paris  much  better  ? 

"  Hadst  thou  but  known  to  rein 
Thine  heart,  I  had  been  spared  long  years  of  pain." 

The  Trojans  depart,  and  Philoctetes,  worn  with 
emotion,  falls  into  a  spasm  of  his  disease.  The 
peasant  Actor  arrives,  and  aided  by  Odysseus,  tends 
the  suffering  man  till  he  falls  asleep.  Hereupon 
Odysseus  sends  Actor  to  fetch  Diomedes,  and,  as 
soon  as  he  is  gone,  takes  the  bow  and  arrows.  When 
Philoctetes  wakes  the  bow  and  arrows  are  gone, 
and  Diomedes  is  there  with  Actor.  Diomedes, 
having  no  weapons  to  fear,  openly  announces  his 
mission,  and  appeals  in  a  long  speech  to  Philoc- 
tetes' patriotism.  Nothing  is  said  about  Odysseus. 
Philoctetes  refuses  with  fury.  If  he  had  but  his 
bow,  Diomedes  would  rue  the  day  he  met  him  ! 
Diomedes  presses  him  further.  Is  it  right  that  the 
bow  of  Heracles  should  be  wasted  here  on  sea-birds, 
instead  of  shining  in  battle  ?  Philoctetes  half  con- 
sents to  come  to  Troy  on  one  condition  5  they  must 
expel  from  the  camp  the  arch-villain  Odysseus.  Here 
the  disguised  Odysseus,  it  would  seem,  in  another 
act  of  far-reaching  insight  that  seems  like  folly,  reveals 
himself  and  hands  back  the  bow  and  arrows,  but 
begs  Philoctetes  before  he  slays  him  to  listen  to  his 
defence.  Then,  in  a  greatly  admired  speech,  he 
coolly  lays  bare  his  mind  to  his  raging  and  puzzled 


APPENDIX   ON   LOST   PLAYS      339 

enemy  ;  blames  some  of  his  actions,  explains  others, 
shows  Philoctctes  what  is  right,  and  then,  with  in- 
difference, bids  him  slay  him  if  he  list  !  At  the  end 
Philoctctes,  bitterly  indignant,  cannot  slay  him  in 
cold  blood  and  yet  cannot  forgive  him,  when  the 
goddess  Athena  appears  on  a  cloud  and  commands  a 
reconciliation. 

The  prologue  of  this  play  is  paraphrased  entire  by 
Dio  Chrysostom,  who  speaks  of  the  whole  tragedy 
with  enthusiasm. 

PHRIXUS. 

The  date  is  quite  uncertain.  Athamas,  King  of 
Roeotia,  having  once  been  loved  bv  the  divine  Nephele 
("  Cloud  "),  took  afterwards  a  mortal  wife,  Ino.  Ino 
was  jealous  of  Nephele's  children,  Phrixus  and  Helle, 
and  made  a  plot  against  them.  She  scorched  the  seed- 
corn,  so  that  the  harvest  failed,  and  inquiries  had  to 
be  made  of  the  oracle  at  Delphi.  A  bribed  servant 
of  her  own  was  sent  as  envoy. 

Here  the  play  begins.  The  servant  has  returned 
with  a  forged  answer  demanding  that  Phrixus  shall 
be  sacrificed  as  a  sin-offering  for  the  land.  Athamas 
receives  the  oracle  with  dull  suffering  : — 

"  Or  again 
If  this  were  but  the  morning  of  my  pain. 
Had  I  not  voyaged  year-long  seas  of  it, 
Belike  I  should  have  raged,  as  the  first  bit 
Chafes  a  young  colt  to  rage  and  strive.     But  now 
My  mouth  is  hard,  and  misery  stings  but  slow." 

He  will  not  obey  the  oracle,  and  decides  that  it 
must   be   kept   secret,  especially  from   Phrixus.     Ino 


340  EURIPIDES 

professes  to  aid  him  in  this,  for  Phrixus'  sake  and  her 
own  : — 

"  Stepdames'  fancies  bring  no  good, 

Men  say,  to  children  born  of  other  blood  ; 

I  will  watch  well  that  none  so  deem  of  me." 

There  are  also  several  fragments  describing  what  a 
comfort  she  is,  or  wishes  to  be,  to  her  husband,  and 
how  she  shares  all  his  cares  !  She,  of  course,  contrives 
that  Phrixus  shall  hear  of  the  oracle.  He,  on  hearing 
it,  insists  at  once  that  it  shall  be  obeyed.  It  would  be 
mere  baseness  to  refuse  to  die  for  his  country  ;  and, 
after  all,  is  the  sacrifice  so  great  ? 

"  Who  knoweth  if  this  thing  that  men  call  Death 
Be  Life,  and  our  Life  dying — who  knoweth  ? 
Save  only  that  all  we  beneath  the  Sun 
Are  sick  and  suffering  ;  and  those  foregone 
Not  sick,  nor  touched  with  evil  any  more." 

All  is  ready  for  the  young  prince's  death,  when  the 
bribed  messenger,  moved  by  his  nobleness,  confesses 
all.  Athamas  in  fury  hands  over  Ino  and  her  child 
Melikertes  to  Phrixus  to  slay.  The  end  is  not  clearly 
made  out.  It  would  seem  that  Ino,  who  had  been  one 
of  the  mystic  'Nurses  of  Dionysus,'  calls  upon  that 
god  for  help.  He  sends  a  sudden  maddening  darkness, 
in  which  Phrixus  and  Helle  fly  frenzied  to  the  forest 
and  Ino  escapes.  She  escapes,  however,  only  to  throw 
herself  and  her  child  off  a  cliff  into  the  sea,  while 
Phrixus  and  Helle  are  healed  of  their  madness  by 
Nephele,  the  long-lost  Cloud-mother,  and  borne  away 
to  the  land  of  Colchis  on  a  Flying  Ram  with  a  Fleece 
of  Gold.  This  sequel  probably  occurs  in  the  prophetic 
speech  of  some  divine  personage,  Dionysus  or  Nephele, 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      341 

at  the  end.  Possibly  there  were  two  different  end- 
inc;^,  one  with  Dionysus  and  one  with  Nephcle,  since 
the  Schohast  to  Aristophanes  speaks  of  "  the  second 
Phrixusr 

POLYIDUS. 
Acted  later  than  415.     A  fanciful  folk-tale,  which, 
both  by  its  general  construction  and  by  the  style  and 
metre  of  the  fragments,  would  seem  to  have  taken  the 
place  of  a  Satyr  play  rather  than  a  tragedy. 

PolyiJus,  the  Cretan  seer,  explains  in  the  prologue 
his  strange  plight.     Minos's  child,  Glaucus,  has  sud- 
denly disappeared,  and  the  King  has  been  seeking  for 
a  seer  to  find  him  again.     He  has  tried  all  his  prophets 
by  putting  a  test   to   them — the   interpretation  of  a 
certain  prodigy  that  has  occurred,  a  calf  which  changes 
colour  from  white  to  red  and  then  to  black  during 
the  day.     Polyidus  showed  that  this  referred  to  the 
mulberry  tree,  which  passes  through  the  same  colours 
— though  what  exactly  it  meant  about  the  mulberry 
tree  we  are  not  told.     Minos  thereupon  said  :  "  You 
are  a  true  prophet ;  find  my  son  or  I  will  kill  you  !  " 
"The  artist  and  the  master  hath  a  yoke 
Always  more  hurting  than  the  common  folk. 
Set  out  at  gaze  in  the  midst,  where  all  may  fling 
Blame  ;  'tis  a  hard  and  not  a  liappy  thing  !  " 
And  these  particular  circumstances  are  even   worse  ! 
The  seer  has,  however,  done  his  best  to  make  ready 
for  his  auguries. 

"This  is  the  hour.     And,  ah  !     What  see  I  there  r 
A  great  sea-eagle,  wave-worn  wanderer. 
Shoreward  alit. — The  child's  fate  seeks  dry  land  ! 
Had  he  drawn  seaward,  rising  from  the  strand, 


342  EURIPIDES 

This  dweller  of  the  waves,  that  would  have  said  : 
'The  thing  thou  seekest  in  the  sea  lies  dead.' 
But  now  his  haunts  and  food  he  hath  let  be 
And  flown  to  earth.     That  is  his  word  to  me  : 
'  The  billows  know  not  of  thy  child.'  " 

Eventually  he  sees  the  boy's  name-bird,  an  owl 
[Glanx\  sitting  on  a  great  jar  of  honey  and  driving 
away  the  bees.  He  knows  at  once  that  this  jar — 
Greek  jars  could  be  as  large  as  the  largest  cask — holds 
the  body  of  the  child.  He  has  fallen  in  and  been 
drowned  ! 

The  King  is  pleased,  but  not  satisfied.  Polyidus 
must  now  restore  the  child  to  life.  This,  he  protests, 
is  utterly  beyond  his  power.  A  gorgeous  funeral  is 
prepared,  apparently  on  the  stage.  The  royal  burial- 
place  is  opened,  and  all  the  boy's  dearest  possessions 
are  put  in  it  —  a  superstitious  extravagance  which 
Polyidus  condemns.  When  all  is  ready,  the  King 
bids  the  guard  throw  Polyidus  himself  into  the  sepul- 
chre ;  he  can  restore  the  boy  to  life  or  else  die  with 
him,  just  as  he  chooses  !  He  is  given  a  sword,  and 
thrown  living  into  the  great  tomb. 

Eventually  he  comes  out  with  the  boy  alive.  What 
has  happened  is  this.  As  the  prophet  sat  meditating 
in  the  tomb  he  saw  a  snake  come  towards  the  boy's 
body,  and  promptly  killed  it.  Presently  a  female 
snake  appeared,  and  finding  her  mate  dead,  crept  out 
and  returned  carrying  in  her  mouth  an  herb,  which  she 
laid  on  the  dead  snake.  The  snake  came  to  life. 
Polyidus  noticed  the  herb,  followed  the  snake  to  find 
where  it  grew,  and  brought  the  boy  also  to  life 
with  it. 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      343 

It  is  hard  to  make  out  whether  the  herb 
grew  inside  the  tomb,  or  if  Polyidus  was  able  to 
get  out. 

It  is  the  seer  waiting  for  his  end  with  resignation 
who  speaks  the  lines  : — 

"  Who  knoweth  if  to  live  is  but  to  die 
And  death  life's  gate  to  them  that  have  passed  by  ?  " 

(Cf.  the  Phrixui.) 


STHENEBOEA. 

Acted  before  423.  Stheneboea,  wife  of  Proetus, 
King  of  Tiryns,  fell  in  love  with  the  hero  Bellerophon 
of  Corinth,  who  had  come  to  her  husband  to  be  puri- 
fied of  an  unintentional  manslaying.  He  rejected  her 
love,  and  she  in  terror  slandered  him  to  her  husband, 
who  sent  him  to  lobates,  King  of  Lycia  or  Caria, 
with  a  sealed  letter,  bidding  lobates  contrive  his 
death.  lobates  sent  Bellerophon  against  the  fire- 
breathing  Chimaera,  but  he  slew  it  and  returned  safe. 
lobates  eventually  recognised  his  innocence,  and 
showed  him  Proetus's  letter. 

The  play  opens  at  Tiryns,  during  Bellerophon's 
absence.  He  is  believed  to  be  dead  ;  the  Queen's 
mind  runs  constantly  upon  him,  in  remorse  and 
love.  One  fragment  refers  to  the  ancient  custom  of 
giving  dead  and  broken  things  to  the  spirits  of  the 
beloved  dead  ;  her  nurse  speaks  : — 

"No  cruse  nor  phial  falls,  but  she  will  see 
And  between  still  lips  murmur,  '  Let  it  be 
For  Him  that  came  from  Corinth  ! '  " 


344  EURIPIDES 

Once  caring  little  for  music  or  art,  now  she  is  full 
of  them  : — 

"  Love  teacheth  poesy,  and  all  the  lore 
Of  songcraft,  where  no  Muse  hath  dwelt  before." 

She  reproaches  herself  for  caring  for  one  who  is  pro- 
bably dead  ;  who,  if  alive,  hates  her  : — 

"  So  rages  she  at  love,  and  wails  alone, 
And  that  rebuked  Hunger,  moan  by  moan, 
Creeps  closer,  strangling." 

At  this  point  news  comes  that  Bellerophon  has  re- 
turned. He  summons  the  King  to  speak  with  him, 
and  Stheneboea  is  left  wondering.  How  much  does 
he  know?  Why  has  he  returned?  No  doubt  in 
order  to  denounce  her.  The  King  comes  back  and 
takes  counsel  with  her.  She  sees  at  once  that  she  has 
not  been  betrayed  .  .  .  yet !  The  King  tells  her 
how  Bellerophon  has  seen  the  letter,  and  has  come  in 
a  cold  fury  to  reproach  them  both  for  their  treachery. 
The  King  has  begged  forgiveness  and  feigned  recon- 
ciliation ;  but  is  it  safe  ?  Terror  has  again  the  upper 
hand  with  Stheneboea  ;  the  only  thing,  it  seems  to 
her,  is  to  slay  Bellerophon  outright.  She  advises 
the  King  to  lay  an  ambush.  It  may  be,  though  the 
fragments  do  not  prove  it,  that  she  hopes  this  time 
to  have  the  chance  either  to  save  Bellerophon  if  he 
really  cares  for  her,  or  let  him  be  slain  if  he  hates 
her.  Proetus  goes  out  to  gather  his  men.  At  this 
moment  Bellerophon  appears,  asks  to  see  Stheneboea 
alone,  says  he  loves  her,  and  asks  her  to  fly  !  She 
rapturously   consents,  and  warns   him   of  the  second 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      345 

plot  against  his  life.  He  takes  her  away  ;  then, 
having  her  in  his  power,  tells  how  he  loathes 
her  :— 

"Thou  Viper  of  Hell,  thou  Woman — what  were 
worse 
To  call  thee,  or  what  name  more  like  a  curse  ? " 

He  carries  her  off  on  his  winged  steed,  Pegasus,  and 
flings  her  into  the  sea.  Her  body  is  afterwards  washed 
up  on  the  shore  of  Melos.  Bellerophon  returns  for 
the  last  time  to  hurl  denunciations  upon  Proetus  and 
all  the  human  race,  and  goes  away  to  end  his  life  in 
desert  places. 

Stheneboea  is,  unless  my  reading  errs,  one  of  Euri- 
pides's  sympathetic  sinful  heroines,  like  Phaedra  and 
Medea.  The  stern  righteousness  of  Bellerophon 
shades  away  towards  the  gloom  of  melancholy  mad- 
ness in  which,  according  to  Homer  and  Euripides's 
tragedy,  Bellerophontes^  he  died,  "  eating  his  own  heart, 
avoiding  the  footprint  of  man." 


TELEPHUS. 

Acted  B.C.  438.  The  plot  was  somewhat  as  follows: 
Telephus,  son  of  Heracles  and  Auge  (see  p.  321),  has 
become  King  of  Mysia,  having  been  adopted  by  King 
Teuthras.  The  Greeks  on  the  way  to  Troy,  driven 
out  of  their  course,  have  landed  by  mistake  in  Mysia, 
and  Telephus  has  defeated  them  with  slaughter, 
though  he  himself  has  been  wounded  in  the  left 
thigh  by  Achilles  with  the  miraculous  spear  of 
Chiron.  The  Greeks  have  retired  to  Aulis,  have 
sacrificed  Iphigenia,  and  owing  to  the  incessant  storms 


346  EURIPIDES 

have  gone  back  to  Mycenae  and  almost  abandoned 
the  hope  of  attacking  Troy. 

Telephus's  wound  will  not  heal,  and  an  oracle 
has  told  him  that  "  The  wounder  shall  cure."  He 
determines  to  go  to  Mycenae,  where  the  Greek 
chiefs  are  now  assembled,  and  try  to  get  his  enemy 
Achilles  to  cure  him.  Here  the  play  begins.  Dis- 
guised as  a  beggar,  and  lame  from  his  wound,  he 
arrives  at  Agamemnon's  palace  and  begins  playing 
his  dangerous  part : — 

"  Aye,  I  must  seem  a  beggar  churl,  and  be 
My  very  self,  the  self  that  none  shall  see  ! " 

He  asks  the  Queen  Clytaemnestra  for  hospitality,  and 
finds  with  satisfaction  that  she  hates  her  husband.  It 
seems  that  he  reveals  himself  and  secures  her  secrecy. 
The  chiefs  are  at  a  council,  and  will  soon  return. 
Agamemnon  and  Menclaus  come  first.  They  are 
quarrelling  over  the  Trojan  expedition,  Menelaus  re- 
proaching his  brother''s  vacillation,  Agamemnon  refus- 
ing to  suffer  more  for  Menelaus'  sake.  The  stranger 
is  presented  to  them,  and  explains  that  he  was  once  in 
better  plight : — 

"  Being  master  of  a  ship,  and  put  to  land 
In  Mysia  ;  and  there  a  foeman's  hand 
Gave  me  this  gash." 

Meantime  Odysseus  has  arrived.  He  somehow  sus- 
pects the  truth,  or  at  least  suspects  that  the  pretended 
beggar  is  a  spy.  He  questions  him  a  little  ;  then,  as 
a  trap,  turns  the  conversation  again  to  the  projected 
war,  and  urges  Agamemnon  to  make  the  expedition 
not  against  Troy,  but  against  Mysia — a  rich  land,  and 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      347 

one  to  which  great  vengeance  is  owing.  The  chiefs 
seem  inclined  to  assent.  Telephus,  in  agony  for  the 
fate  of  his  country,  asks  leave,  beggar  though  he  is,  to 
speak  among  the  princes  : — 

"And  take  it  not  in  wrath,  ye  flowers  of  Greek 
Valiance,  that  I,  a  beggared  man,  should  seek 
To  ope  my  lips  among  great  Kings." 

He  pleads  the  cause  of  Mysia  and  of  Telephus.  He 
found  the  Greeks  ravaging  his  land,  and  without  more 
question  dashed  out  to  repel  them  : — 

"  He  wronged  us  there,  ye  say. 
Say  then  what  had  been  right  !  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Had  ye  that  day 
Seen  what  he  saw,  would  ye  have  borne  it  thus 
In  calm  ?     Well  wot  I,  no  !     And  Telephus 
Shall  not  strike  back  as  ye  have  struck  withal  ? 
Have  ye  no  heart,  ye  Princes? " 

This' unpatriotic'  language  infuriates  every  one.  Odys- 
seus, now  sure  of  the  stranger's  identity,  denounces 
him.  The  Greeks  draw  their  swords  to  slay  him  as 
an  enemy  and  a  spy.  Telephus  springs  to  the  hearth, 
snatches  up  the  baby  Orestes,  who  is  lying  there  in 
his  cradle,  and  vows  to  dash  out  the  child's  brains  if 
any  one  touches  him  before  he  has  said  his  say.  Then, 
standing  at  bay,  with  his  enemies  round  him,  he  pleads 
openly  for  himself,  explaining  that  he  is  not  a  spy  and 
has  come  only  for  the  healing  of  his  wound.  Aga- 
memnon has  already  given  his  oath  to  help  him.  If 
they  do  help  him,  he  will  show  them  the  way  to  Troy; 
if  they  slav  him  the  young  prince  shall  be  slain  too. 
Clytaemnestra   takes   his   side — professing   a  mother's 


348  EURIPIDES 

anxiety  for  the  babe,  though  she  seems  to  have  said 
earlier,  "  I  hate  the  vile  seed  of  a  villain  King!  "  The 
chiefs  are  still  hesitating  w^hen  Achilles  arrives  ;  he 
declares  he  knows  no  leechcraft,  and  besides  vv^ill  hear 
of  no  compromise  with  an  enemy.  The  fate  of  Tele- 
phus  seems  to  be  sealed,  when  Calchas  the  prophet 
arrives  also  and  announces  that  it  is  decreed  that  Troy 
cannot  be  taken  without  Telephus's  help,  and  that 
the  oracular  phrase,  "  The  wounder  shall  cure,"  refers 
not  to  the  man,  but  to  the  spear  that  wounded.  A 
salve  is  to  be  compounded  of  the  scrapings  of  the 
spear,  and  Telephus  shall  be  made  whole. 

The  Telephus,  though  rather  a  melodrama  than  a 
tragedy,  is  in  various  ways  characteristic  of  Euripides. 
It  represents  his  great  boldness  and  ingenuity  of  plot ; 
his  swift  theatrical  effects,  such  as  the  snatching  up 
of  the  baby  and  the  speech  afterwards  ;  his  vein  of 
rebellious  criticism  towards  established  dignities,  as 
shown  in  the  quarrels  of  the  heroes  among  themselves, 
the  hatred  of  Clytaemnestra  for  her  husband,  the 
stupid  patriotism  that  resents  Telephus's  arguments. 
Our  very  jejune  fragments  unfortunately  do  no  jus- 
tice to  the  eloquence  of  Telephus,  of  which  we  hear 
much  from  other  sources.  Crates,  the  cynic  philo- 
sopher, is  said  to  have  been  moved  to  giving  up  the 
world  by  admiration  of  the  heroic  beggar  in  this  play. 

TEMENIDAE. 

The  date  is  uncertain,  but  the  fragments  are  late  in 
style. 

The  basis  of  the  plot  is  probably  the  story  of  Hyr- 
netho,   daughter  of   Temenus,   and   her   brothers,   as 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      349 

told  by  Pausanias.  Tcincnus  the  Hcraclid,  King  of 
Argos,  employed  DeVphontcs,  son  of  Antimachus,  as 
captain  of  his  men  in  preference  to  his  own  sons, 
gave  him  his  daughter  Hyrnetho,  and  made  him  ruler 
of  Epidaurus.  The  slighted  sons  rebelled  against 
Temcnus,  and  the  eldest,  Kisus,  became  king  in  his 
stead,  "The  other  sons  knew  that  they  could  not 
wound  Deiphontes  more  deeply  than  by  parting 
him  from  Hyrnetho.  So  Ccrynes  and  Plialces  came 
to  Epidaurus ;  but  the  youngest  brother,  Argaeus, 
disapproved  of  the  plot.  Reining  up  their  chariot 
under  the  city  wall,  they  sent  a  herald  asking  their 
sister  to  come  and  speak  with  them.  When  she  came 
they  fell  to  accusing  Deiphontes  of  many  things,  and 
besought  her  earnestly  to  come  back  to  Argos,  pro- 
mising her  among  the  rest  that  they  would  wed  her  to 
a  far  better  husband  than  Deiphontes,  lord  of  a  greater 
following  and  wealthier  lands.  Stung  by  these  words, 
Hyrnetho  spoke  up  to  them.  She  said  Deiphontes 
was  a  dear  husband  to  her,  and  had  been  a  blameless 
son-in-law  to  Temenus  ;  but  as  for  them,  they  were 
the  murderers  of  Temenus  rather  than  his  sons  !  They 
answered  never  a  word,  but  laid  hold  of  her,  and  plac- 
ing her  in  the  chariot  galloped  away.  Word  came  to 
Deiphontes,  and  he  hastened  to  the  rescue  ;  and  the 
Epidaurians  joined  in  the  hue  and  cry.  Coming  up 
with  the  fugitives,  Deiphontes  shot  Cerynes  dead,  but 
Phalces  clung  so  tight  to  Hyrnetho  that  Deiphontes 
feared  to  shoot  lest  he  should  kill  her.  So  he  grappled 
with  him  and  strove  to  wrench  her  away.  But  Phalces 
held  on,  and  in  that  iron  grip  his  sister  expired,  for 
she  was  with  child.  When  he  saw  what  he  had  done 
to  his  sister,  he  drove  his  chariot  furiously  away  before 


350  EURIPIDES 

the  whole  country-side  should  gather  upon  his  track. 
But  DeTphontes  and  his  children  took  up  Hyrnetho's 
dead  body  and  bore  it  to  the  place  that  was  afterwards 
called  Hyrncthion.  And  they  made  a  shrine  for  her 
and  bestowed  honours  upon  her." — (Pausanias,  ii.  28, 
Frazer's  translation,  slightly  abridged.) 

This  is  a  story  that  obviously  represents  some 
Epidaurian  ritual,  and  the  extant  fragments  of  the 
Temenidae  do  not  fit  it  particularly  well ;  but  it  seems 
to  be  the  foundation  of  the  play.  Perhaps  in  the  play 
Temenus  was  dead,  and  the  good  youngest  brother, 
Argaeus,  was  killed  in  battle.    This  would  explain  : — 

"  War  is  a  hungry  God,  yet  doth  not  crave 
All  things.     He  loves  the  bodies  of  the  brave, 
But  casts  the  craven  back.     So  cometh  red 
Plague  on  the  land,  but  good  name  to  the  dead." 

And  Hyrnetho  is  perhaps  speaking  of  Cerynes  or 
Phalces  in  the  lines  : — 

"  A  crooked  spirit,  a  churl's  door  hard  set 
Against  Love's  knocking,  nimble  to  forget 
What  true  men  brood  on  !     Hardly  shalt  thou  find 
In  men,  though  brothers  of  one  kith  and  kind, 
One  true  friend  to  the  dead.     For  coveting 
Is  fierce,  and  duty  but  a  gentle  thing  ; 
And  the  old  magic  of  the  eyes  hath  sway 
No  more,  when  the  live  man  hath  gone  his  way 
And  the  house  is  not." 

The  words,  however,  would  suit  even  better  a  slander- 
ous accusation  against  Deiphontes,  making  out  that  he 
was  in  some  way  false  to  his  kinsman  and  benefactor, 
Temenus. 


APPENDIX   ON    LOST   PLAYS      351 

THESEUS. 

Acted  before  422.  The  fragments  are  few  and 
the  plot  not  clear.  Hartung  makes  out  something 
like  the  following :  Ariadne,  daughter  of  Minos, 
speaks  the  prologue,  bewailing  her  father's  cruelty, 
and  telling  of  the  tribute  of  seven  youths  and  maidens 
annually  paid  to  him  by  Athens,  to  be  cast  into  the 
labyrinth  and  eventually  slain  by  the  Minotaur.  A 
shepherd  announces  to  her  the  arrival  of  a  ship  with 
a  new  batch  of  victims.  The  ship  has  a  name 
written  upon  its  prow  or  sail.  He  cannot  read, 
but    he   describes   awkwardly,    as    best    he    can,    the 

characters  : — 

"No  skill 
Have  I  of  letters,  but  can  tell  at  need 
What  shapes  I  saw  and  signs,  that  thou  may'st  read 
Their  meaning. — First,  a  perfect  round,  and  through 
The  heart  of  it  one  pricL     The  second,  two 
Posts,  with  one  rail  midway  that  held  them  there 
Upright.     The  third  was  curled  like  curling  hair. 
The  fourth,  one  standing  stave,  wherefrom  there  came 
Three  lying  stiff.     The  fifth  was  hard  to  name  ; 
Two  separate  lines  at  first,  that  fell  and  passed 
Into  one  trunk  together.     And  the  last 
Was  like  the  third." 

It  is,  of  course,  the  name  'Theseus'  {'•HiEyi). 
A  fragment  of  a  speech  of  Theseus  narrates  how  he 
has  sailed  "  to  the  very  hem  of  Europe's  robe "  to 
meet  this  monster  who  devours  the  Athenian  youths, 
and  how  he  has  prepared  himself  for  suffering  by 
meditation  and  training — a  celebrated  little  bit  of 
philosophy.      Ariadne   is  smitten   with   love   for  the 


352  EURIPIDES 

heroic  stranger,  and  gives  him  a  clue  of  thread,  by 
which,  if  he  slays  the  monster,  he  will  be  able  to 
retrace  his  steps  out  of  the  labyrinth.  All  this  he 
does,  and  Ariadne  prepares  to  fly  with  him.  At 
the  end  Athena  appears,  doubtless  preventing  the 
pursuit  and  vengeance  of  Minos,  and  warning 
Theseus  that  Ariadne  shall  not  be  his,  but  must  be 
left  on  the  island  of  Naxos  to  become  the  bride  of 
Dionysus. 

It  is  doubtless  in  this  connection  that  the  interesting 
lines  occur  : — 

"  Another  Love  there  is  in  human  kind, 
A  thing  of  honesty,  of  the  pure  mind 
And  true. — Oh,  would  that  Love  could  only  love 
Beautiful  Spirits  and  the  truth  thereof 
And  mercy  ;  and  leave  Her  to  walk  her  ways, 
God's  golden  Cypris,  without  curse  or  praise  !  " 


-if-^. 


APHRODITE    ON   THK  SWAN. 


^ 


INDEX 


TO  THE  INTRODUCTION  AND  COMMENTARY 


Actors — 

Molon,  286 

Hegelochus,  190 
Adeimantus,  312 
Adrastus,  xxviii,  326 
Aeschylus,  xxii,  xxv,  297,  300 

Oretteia,  305 

Philoctetet,  336 

repetitions,  309;  cf.  261 

treatment  of  love,  304 

weight  of  lines,  310 

pupils  of,  3C0 

politics,  301,  311 
Aethra,  xxx 


Agathon,  287 
Agave,  Iv,  i- 


higher 


Agave,  Iv,  175 
Alcibiades,  310 
Ameipsias,  285 
Aphrodite — 

in  Euripides,  155 

A,  Pandemos,  156 

in  Aeschylus,  304 

contrasted    with    < 
love,  352 
Arginusae,  battle  of,  285  f.,  290 
Artemis,  163 

Athens,  xxv-xxviii,     xxxix,  lii 
rt  pasilm 

Bacoiae,  XX,  li,  liv-lxv 
Bruhn,  E.,  vii 

Bull,  the  Bacchic,  168,  169,  174 
of  Minos  {tte  Taurus) 

Cadmus,  170,  171,  175 
Cephisophon,  300 
Cerameicus,  288 


Cleidemides,  297 
Cleitophon,  301 
Cleophon,  294,  312 
Coins,  295 

Critias,  287,  291,  311,  334 
Curse,    how    carried,    161  ;    cf. 
xxxiv,  xxxv 

DtMOPHON,    xxix    {set    Theseus, 

sons  of) 
Diagoras,  290 
Dictynna,  157 
Dictys  Cretensis,  335 
Dio  Chrysostom,  339 
Dionysus,  fasiim — 
myth,  165 
religion   of,  iviii  itq.^  165- 

169 
appearance    on    stage,    90, 

99,  179,  196,  &c. 
possession  by,  174 
Dochmiac  metre,  174 
Donkey  at  Mysteries,  289 
Dramatists  expressing  own  feel- 

ings,  Iviii 
Dramaturgy — 

use  of  proper  names,  157 
value  of  chorus,  160 
preparations,  174 
lights  thrown  back,  161 
conventionality,  170 
co-itumes,  298 
stage  directions,  ix,  172 
general     d.    of     Euripides, 

299  f.,  348  (Telephus) 
particular  points,  158,  159, 
160,  175 


354 


INDEX 


Ecclesiaxusae,  295 
Echo,  317 
Empusa,  290 
Erasinides,  305 
Eryxis,  299 
Euripides — 

Alcesth,  xxxvi 

Andromeda,  1,  and  App. 
Antigone,  305,  and  App. 
Archelaus,  lii 
Cretans,  298,  and  App. 
Cretan  Women,  298 
Electra,  xxxvi,  1,  Ivii,  309 
Hecuba,     xxxvi,      xlv-xlix, 

299,  309 
Heracles,  xxxiii-xxxv,  299 
Heraclidae,  xxviii,  xxix 
Hlppolytus ,  xix,  XX,  299 
Ion,  xliii 

Iphigenia  in  Aulis,   1,  liii 
Jphigenia  in  Tauris,  309 
Orestes,  xliii 
Phoenissae,  xliv 
Suppliants,    x  X  v  i  i  i-x  x  x  i  i, 

xxxvii,  299 
Telephus,  298,  and  App. 
Troades,  xxxvi,  xliii 
early  plays  and  late,  xxxvi,  1 
supposed  immoral  writing, 

159  (Phaedra's     Nurse), 

160  ('twas  not  my  soul 
that  swore);  cf.  187, 
288,  303  (Stheneboea  and 
Phaedra) 

infirmities  of  body,  308 

mother,  297 

policy,  301,  311;  cf,  Aes- 
chylus 

pupils,  300,  301 

expressions  about  women, 
331  ;  cf.  34,  254,  303 

See  also  Dramaturgy 

Geldart,  "W.  M.,  vii 
Gorgias,  297 

Hall,  F.  W.,  vii 

Harrison,   Miss  J.  E.,  vii,   xv_ 

xvii,  171 
Hegelochus,  290 


Heracles,  292,  xxxiii-xxxv;  The 

H.  (see  Euripides) 
Heralds,  xxx 
Hippalector,  284,  299 
Hippolytus,  The  {see  Euripides) 
Hipponax,  294,  296 
Homer,  302,  303,  313,  345 
'  Hosia,'  171 
Hyginus,  162,  319 
Hypnotising,  173 

Ideals  of  Athens,  xxiii-xxviii 
lophon,  286 
Isocrates,  297,  301 

Johannes  Malalas,  323 

KiNEsiAS,  287,  291 

Lamachus,  313 
A.7)k60lov  airixiXecTe,  306,  307 
Lesbian  music,  308 
Letters  of  alphabet,  351 
Limna — 

at  Athens,  291 

in  Trozen,  157 
Lucian,  294,  318 

Macdonald,  G.,  295 

Marathon,  300,  308 

Marcus  Aurelius,  Ixviii 

Meadow,  mystic,  156 

Memnon,  164,  300 

Mere  [see  Limna) 

Moderates,    policy   of,   301    [see 

also  Theramenes) 
Mysteries,  171,  291,  324 
donkey  at,  289 

Names  of  books,  301; 
Neil,  R.,  301 
Nicomachus,  312 
Nysa,  172 

Oresteia,  305 

Orphism,  Iviii  se(].,  166-169,  173 

Palaephatus,  323 
Pantacles,  303 
Parody,  291,  308 


INDEX 


355 


Pausanias,  i6i.  i88,  349 
Peloponncsian  War,  xxii,  xxxix 

Pentheus,  170,  171 
<papnaKol,  296 
Philistinism,  303 
Phormisius,  300 
Phrynichus,  tragicus,  298 

comicus,  285 

oligarcha,  295 
Pindar,  xxii,  171 
FiritJtous,  The,  29 1 

Plataeans,  295 

Plato,   Ix,    167,    287,    x88,  289, 

301,  311 
Playwrights  (lee   Dramaturgy), 

alio  286,  287,   311 
Plutarch,  323 

Poetry,  doctrines  about,  302 
Politics      of      Aeschylus       and 

Euripides,  301,  311 
Prodicus,  297 
Prophecy,  176 
Purity,    171    [see    Dionysus    and 

Orphism) 
Pythangelus,  287 

Racine,  xix,  xx,  163 

Ridjjeway,  292 
Rohdc,  296 

Sannvrion,  290 
Scapegoats,  296 
'Shakes'  in  music,  309 
Shelley,  Ixiii 
Socrates,  311 


Sophocles,  xxii,  294,  318,  336 

Strattis,  290 

Supplication,  essence  of,  157 

Taurus,  'the  Bull,'  158,  323 
Technique  (see  Dramaturgy) 
Teiresias,  169,  171 
Text,  questions  of,  vii,  xlv,  156, 

157.  172,  174.175.  310 
Theocritus,  294 
Theramenes,  292,  286,  301 
Theseus,    representing    Athens, 
xxix    seq.,    xxxiii-xxxv, 
289 
sons  of,  xxix,  xlix 
in  Hippohjtus,  162 
Thorycion,  291 
Thrasymachus,  297 
Thucydides,    xxv,    xxxix-xliii, 

xlv,  Ixi 
Torture,  293 

Tragic  writers,  lesser,  287,  311 
Translation,  viii 
'Two  obols,'  288 

Van  Leeuwen,  vii,  305 
Verrall,  xliii,  156,  323 

'  Wi-i-i-iND,'  309 

Woman's     dress    of    Pentheus, 

173  ;  cf.  167 
Wordsworth,  304 

Xenocles,  287 

Zagreus  {tee  Orphism 


Printed  by  Ballantvne,  Hansom  b'  Ca 
Edinburgh  &*  London 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

HISTORY  OF  ANCIENT  GREEK  LITERATURE. 

ANDROMACHE :    A  Play. 

CARLYON  SAHIB  :    A  Play. 

THE  EXPLOITATION  OF  INFERIOR  RACES, 
IN  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN  TIMES:  An 
Essay  in  "  Liberalism  and  the  Empire." 

EURIPIDIS  FABULAE:  Brevi  Adnotatione  Critica 
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