That's a clever notion,
thoroughly
worthy of you.
Aristophanes
will the swallow never appear to end the winter
of my discontent? Why the fellow has kept me on the run ever since early
this morning; he wants to kill me, that's certain. Before I lose my
spleen entirely, Euripides, can you at least tell me whither you are
leading me?
EURIPIDES. What need for you to hear what you are going to see?
MNESILOCHUS. How is that? Repeat it. No need for me to hear. . . .
EURIPIDES. What you are going to see.
MNESILOCHUS. Nor consequently to see. . . .
EURIPIDES. What you have to hear. [544]
MNESILOCHUS. What is this wiseacre stuff you are telling me? I must
neither see nor hear.
EURIPIDES. Ah! but you have two things there that are essentially
distinct.
MNESILOCHUS. Seeing and hearing.
EURIPIDES. Undoubtedly.
MNESILOCHUS. In what way distinct?
EURIPIDES. In this way. Formerly, when Ether separated the elements and
bore the animals that were moving in her bosom, she wished to endow them
with sight, and so made the eye round like the sun's disc and bored ears
in the form of a funnel.
MNESILOCHUS. And because of this funnel I neither see nor hear. Ah! great
gods! I am delighted to know it. What a fine thing it is to talk with
wise men!
EURIPIDES. I will teach you many another thing of the sort.
MNESILOCHUS. That's well to know; but first of all I should like to find
out how to grow lame, so that I need not have to follow you all about.
EURIPIDES. Come, hear and give heed!
MNESILOCHUS. I'm here and waiting.
EURIPIDES. Do you see that little door?
MNESILOCHUS. Yes, certainly.
EURIPIDES. Silence!
MNESILOCHUS. Silence about what? About the door?
EURIPIDES. Pay attention!
MNESILOCHUS. Pay attention and be silent about the door? Very well.
EURIPIDES. 'Tis there that Agathon, the celebrated tragic poet,
dwells. [545]
MNESILOCHUS. Who is this Agathon?
EURIPIDES. 'Tis a certain Agathon. . . .
MNESILOCHUS. Swarthy, robust of build?
EURIPIDES. No, another. You have never seen him?
MNESILOCHUS. He has a big beard?
EURIPIDES. No, no, evidently you have never seen him.
MNESILOCHUS. Never, so far as I know.
EURIPIDES. And yet you have pedicated him. Well, it must have been
without knowing who he was. Ah! let us step aside; here is one of his
slaves bringing a brazier and some myrtle branches; no doubt he is going
to offer a sacrifice and pray for a happy poetical inspiration for
Agathon.
SERVANT OF AGATHON. Silence! oh, people! keep your mouths sedately shut!
The chorus of the Muses is moulding songs at my master's hearth. Let the
winds hold their breath in the silent Ether! Let the azure waves cease
murmuring on the shore! . . .
MNESILOCHUS. Brououou! brououou! (_Imitates the buzzing of a fly. _)
EURIPIDES. Keep quiet! what are you saying there?
SERVANT. . . . Take your rest, ye winged races, and you, ye savage
inhabitants of the woods, cease from your erratic wandering . . .
MNESILOCHUS. Broum, broum, brououou.
SERVANT. . . . for Agathon, our master, the sweet-voiced poet, is going . . .
MNESILOCHUS. . . . to be pedicated?
SERVANT. Whose voice is that?
MNESILOCHUS. 'Tis the silent Ether.
SERVANT. . . . is going to construct the framework of a drama. He is
rounding fresh poetical forms, he is polishing them in the lathe and is
welding them; he is hammering out sentences and metaphors; he is working
up his subject like soft wax. First he models it and then he casts it in
bronze . . .
MNESILOCHUS. . . . and sways his buttocks amorously.
SERVANT. Who is the rustic who approaches this sacred enclosure?
MNESILOCHUS. Take care of yourself and of your sweet-voiced poet! I have
a strong instrument here both well rounded and well polished, which will
pierce your enclosure and penetrate your bottom.
SERVANT. Old man, you must have been a very insolent fellow in your
youth!
EURIPIDES (_to the servant_). Let him be, friend, and, quick, go and call
Agathon to me.
SERVANT. 'Tis not worth the trouble, for he will soon be here himself. He
has started to compose, and in winter[546] it is never possible to round
off strophes without coming to the sun to excite the imagination. (_He
departs. _)
MNESILOCHUS. And what am I to do?
EURIPIDES. Wait till he comes. . . . Oh, Zeus! what hast thou in store for
me to-day?
MNESILOCHUS. But, great gods, what is the matter then? What are you
grumbling and groaning for? Tell me; you must not conceal anything from
your father-in-law.
EURIPIDES. Some great misfortune is brewing against me.
MNESILOCHUS. What is it?
EURIPIDES. This day will decide whether it is all over with Euripides or
not.
MNESILOCHUS. But how? Neither the tribunals nor the Senate are sitting,
for it is the third of the five days consecrated to Demeter. [547]
EURIPIDES. That is precisely what makes me tremble; the women have
plotted my ruin, and to-day they are to gather in the Temple of Demeter
to execute their decision.
MNESILOCHUS. Why are they against you?
EURIPIDES. Because I mishandle them in my tragedies.
MNESILOCHUS. By Posidon, you would seem to have thoroughly deserved your
fate. But how are you going to get out of the mess?
EURIPIDES. I am going to beg Agathon, the tragic poet, to go to the
Thesmophoria.
MNESILOCHUS. And what is he to do there?
EURIPIDES. He would mingle with the women, and stand up for me, if
needful.
MNESILOCHUS. Would he be openly present or secretly?
EURIPIDES. Secretly, dressed in woman's clothes.
MNESILOCHUS.
That's a clever notion, thoroughly worthy of you. The prize
for trickery is ours.
EURIPIDES. Silence!
MNESILOCHUS. What's the matter?
EURIPIDES. Here comes Agathon.
MNESILOCHUS. Where, where?
EURIPIDES. That's the man they are bringing out yonder on the
machine. [548]
MNESILOCHUS. I am blind then! I see no man here, I only see Cyrene. [549]
EURIPIDES. Be still! He is getting ready to sing.
MNESILOCHUS. What subtle trill, I wonder, is he going to warble to us?
AGATHON. Damsels, with the sacred torch[550] in hand, unite your dance to
shouts of joy in honour of the nether goddesses; celebrate the freedom of
your country.
CHORUS. To what divinity is your homage addressed? I wish to mingle mine
with it.
AGATHON. Oh! Muse! glorify Phoebus with his golden bow, who erected the
walls of the city of the Simois. [551]
CHORUS. To thee, oh Phoebus, I dedicate my most beauteous songs; to thee,
the sacred victor in the poetical contests.
AGATHON. And praise Artemis too, the maiden huntress, who wanders on the
mountains and through the woods. . . .
CHORUS. I, in my turn, celebrate the everlasting happiness of the chaste
Artemis, the mighty daughter of Latona!
AGATHON. . . . and Latona and the tones of the Asiatic lyre, which wed so
well with the dances of the Phrygian Graces. [552]
CHORUS. I do honour to the divine Latona and to the lyre, the mother of
songs of male and noble strains. The eyes of the goddess sparkle while
listening to our enthusiastic chants. Honour to the powerful Phoebus!
Hail! thou blessed son of Latona!
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! ye venerable Genetyllides,[553] what tender and
voluptuous songs! They surpass the most lascivious kisses in sweetness; I
feel a thrill of delight pass up my rectum as I listen to them. Young
man, whoever you are, answer my questions, which I am borrowing from
Aeschylus' 'Lycurgeia. '[554] Whence comes this effeminate? What is his
country? his dress? What contradictions his life shows! A lyre and a
hair-net! A wrestling school oil flask and a girdle! [555] What could be
more contradictory? What relation has a mirror to a sword? And you
yourself, who are you? Do you pretend to be a man? Where is the sign of
your manhood, your penis, pray? Where is the cloak, the footgear that
belong to that sex? Are you a woman? Then where are your breasts? Answer
me. But you keep silent. Oh! just as you choose; your songs display your
character quite sufficiently.
AGATHON. Old man, old man, I hear the shafts of jealousy whistling by my
ears, but they do not hit me. My dress is in harmony with my thoughts. A
poet must adopt the nature of his characters. Thus, if he is placing
women on the stage, he must contract all their habits in his own person.
MNESILOCHUS. Then you ride the high horse[556] when you are composing a
Phaedra.
AGATHON. If the heroes are men, everything in him will be manly. What we
don't possess by nature, we must acquire by imitation.
MNESILOCHUS. When you are staging Satyrs, call me; I will do my best to
help you from behind with standing tool.
AGATHON. Besides, it is bad taste for a poet to be coarse and hairy. Look
at the famous Ibycus, at Anacreon of Teos, and at Alcaeus,[557] who
handled music so well; they wore headbands and found pleasure in the
lascivious dances of Ionia. And have you not heard what a dandy
Phrynichus was[558] and how careful in his dress? For this reason his
pieces were also beautiful, for the works of a poet are copied from
himself.
MNESILOCHUS. Ah! so it is for this reason that Philocles, who is so
hideous, writes hideous pieces; Xenocles, who is malicious, malicious
ones, and Theognis,[559] who is cold, such cold ones?
AGATHON. Yes, necessarily and unavoidably; and 'tis because I knew this
that I have so well cared for my person.
MNESILOCHUS. How, in the gods' name?
EURIPIDES. Come, leave off badgering him; I was just the same at his age,
when I began to write.
MNESILOCHUS. At! then, by Zeus! I don't envy you your fine manners.
EURIPIDES (_to Agathon_). But listen to the cause that brings me here.
AGATHON. Say on.
EURIPIDES. Agathon, wise is he who can compress many thoughts into few
words. [560] Struck by a most cruel misfortune, I come to you as a
suppliant.
AGATHON. What are you asking?
EURIPIDES. The women purpose killing me to-day during the Thesmophoria,
because I have dared to speak ill of them.
AGATHON. And what can I do for you in the matter?
EURIPIDES. Everything. Mingle secretly with the women by making yourself
pass as one of themselves; then do you plead my cause with your own lips,
and I am saved. You, and you alone, are capable of speaking of me
worthily.
AGATHON. But why not go and defend yourself?
EURIPIDES. 'Tis impossible. First of all, I am known; further, I have
white hair and a long beard; whereas you, you are good-looking, charming,
and are close-shaven; you are fair, delicate, and have a woman's voice.
AGATHON. Euripides!
EURIPIDES. Well?
AGATHON. Have you not said in one of your pieces, "You love to see the
light, and don't you believe your father loves it too? "[561]
EURIPIDES. Yes.
AGATHON. Then never you think I am going to expose myself in your stead;
'twould be madness. 'Tis for you to submit to the fate that overtakes
you; one must not try to trick misfortune, but resign oneself to it with
good grace.
MNESILOCHUS. This is why you, you wretch, offer your posterior with a
good grace to lovers, not in words, but in actual fact.
EURIPIDES. But what prevents your going there?
AGATHON. I should run more risk than you would.
EURIPIDES. Why?
AGATHON. Why? I should look as if I were wanting to trespass on secret
nightly pleasures of the women and to ravish their Aphrodite. [562]
MNESILOCHUS. Of wanting to ravish indeed! you mean wanting to be
ravished--in the rearward mode. Ah! great gods! a fine excuse truly!
EURIPIDES. Well then, do you agree?
AGATHON. Don't count upon it.
EURIPIDES. Oh! I am unfortunate indeed! I am undone!
MNESILOCHUS. Euripides, my friend, my son-in-law, never despair.
EURIPIDES. What can be done?
MNESILOCHUS. Send him to the devil and do with me as you like.
EURIPIDES. Very well then, since you devote yourself to my safety, take
off your cloak first.
MNESILOCHUS. There, it lies on the ground. But what do you want to do
with me?
EURIPIDES. To shave off this beard of yours, and to remove your hair
below as well.
MNESILOCHUS. Do what you think fit; I yield myself entirely to you.
EURIPIDES. Agathon, you have always razors about you; lend me one.
AGATHON. Take if yourself, there, out of that case.
EURIPIDES. Thanks. Sit down and puff out the right cheek.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! oh! oh!
EURIPIDES. What are you shouting for? I'll cram a spit down your gullet,
if you're not quiet.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! (_He springs up and starts running
away. _)
EURIPIDES. Where are you running to now?
MNESILOCHUS. To the temple of the Eumenides.
of my discontent? Why the fellow has kept me on the run ever since early
this morning; he wants to kill me, that's certain. Before I lose my
spleen entirely, Euripides, can you at least tell me whither you are
leading me?
EURIPIDES. What need for you to hear what you are going to see?
MNESILOCHUS. How is that? Repeat it. No need for me to hear. . . .
EURIPIDES. What you are going to see.
MNESILOCHUS. Nor consequently to see. . . .
EURIPIDES. What you have to hear. [544]
MNESILOCHUS. What is this wiseacre stuff you are telling me? I must
neither see nor hear.
EURIPIDES. Ah! but you have two things there that are essentially
distinct.
MNESILOCHUS. Seeing and hearing.
EURIPIDES. Undoubtedly.
MNESILOCHUS. In what way distinct?
EURIPIDES. In this way. Formerly, when Ether separated the elements and
bore the animals that were moving in her bosom, she wished to endow them
with sight, and so made the eye round like the sun's disc and bored ears
in the form of a funnel.
MNESILOCHUS. And because of this funnel I neither see nor hear. Ah! great
gods! I am delighted to know it. What a fine thing it is to talk with
wise men!
EURIPIDES. I will teach you many another thing of the sort.
MNESILOCHUS. That's well to know; but first of all I should like to find
out how to grow lame, so that I need not have to follow you all about.
EURIPIDES. Come, hear and give heed!
MNESILOCHUS. I'm here and waiting.
EURIPIDES. Do you see that little door?
MNESILOCHUS. Yes, certainly.
EURIPIDES. Silence!
MNESILOCHUS. Silence about what? About the door?
EURIPIDES. Pay attention!
MNESILOCHUS. Pay attention and be silent about the door? Very well.
EURIPIDES. 'Tis there that Agathon, the celebrated tragic poet,
dwells. [545]
MNESILOCHUS. Who is this Agathon?
EURIPIDES. 'Tis a certain Agathon. . . .
MNESILOCHUS. Swarthy, robust of build?
EURIPIDES. No, another. You have never seen him?
MNESILOCHUS. He has a big beard?
EURIPIDES. No, no, evidently you have never seen him.
MNESILOCHUS. Never, so far as I know.
EURIPIDES. And yet you have pedicated him. Well, it must have been
without knowing who he was. Ah! let us step aside; here is one of his
slaves bringing a brazier and some myrtle branches; no doubt he is going
to offer a sacrifice and pray for a happy poetical inspiration for
Agathon.
SERVANT OF AGATHON. Silence! oh, people! keep your mouths sedately shut!
The chorus of the Muses is moulding songs at my master's hearth. Let the
winds hold their breath in the silent Ether! Let the azure waves cease
murmuring on the shore! . . .
MNESILOCHUS. Brououou! brououou! (_Imitates the buzzing of a fly. _)
EURIPIDES. Keep quiet! what are you saying there?
SERVANT. . . . Take your rest, ye winged races, and you, ye savage
inhabitants of the woods, cease from your erratic wandering . . .
MNESILOCHUS. Broum, broum, brououou.
SERVANT. . . . for Agathon, our master, the sweet-voiced poet, is going . . .
MNESILOCHUS. . . . to be pedicated?
SERVANT. Whose voice is that?
MNESILOCHUS. 'Tis the silent Ether.
SERVANT. . . . is going to construct the framework of a drama. He is
rounding fresh poetical forms, he is polishing them in the lathe and is
welding them; he is hammering out sentences and metaphors; he is working
up his subject like soft wax. First he models it and then he casts it in
bronze . . .
MNESILOCHUS. . . . and sways his buttocks amorously.
SERVANT. Who is the rustic who approaches this sacred enclosure?
MNESILOCHUS. Take care of yourself and of your sweet-voiced poet! I have
a strong instrument here both well rounded and well polished, which will
pierce your enclosure and penetrate your bottom.
SERVANT. Old man, you must have been a very insolent fellow in your
youth!
EURIPIDES (_to the servant_). Let him be, friend, and, quick, go and call
Agathon to me.
SERVANT. 'Tis not worth the trouble, for he will soon be here himself. He
has started to compose, and in winter[546] it is never possible to round
off strophes without coming to the sun to excite the imagination. (_He
departs. _)
MNESILOCHUS. And what am I to do?
EURIPIDES. Wait till he comes. . . . Oh, Zeus! what hast thou in store for
me to-day?
MNESILOCHUS. But, great gods, what is the matter then? What are you
grumbling and groaning for? Tell me; you must not conceal anything from
your father-in-law.
EURIPIDES. Some great misfortune is brewing against me.
MNESILOCHUS. What is it?
EURIPIDES. This day will decide whether it is all over with Euripides or
not.
MNESILOCHUS. But how? Neither the tribunals nor the Senate are sitting,
for it is the third of the five days consecrated to Demeter. [547]
EURIPIDES. That is precisely what makes me tremble; the women have
plotted my ruin, and to-day they are to gather in the Temple of Demeter
to execute their decision.
MNESILOCHUS. Why are they against you?
EURIPIDES. Because I mishandle them in my tragedies.
MNESILOCHUS. By Posidon, you would seem to have thoroughly deserved your
fate. But how are you going to get out of the mess?
EURIPIDES. I am going to beg Agathon, the tragic poet, to go to the
Thesmophoria.
MNESILOCHUS. And what is he to do there?
EURIPIDES. He would mingle with the women, and stand up for me, if
needful.
MNESILOCHUS. Would he be openly present or secretly?
EURIPIDES. Secretly, dressed in woman's clothes.
MNESILOCHUS.
That's a clever notion, thoroughly worthy of you. The prize
for trickery is ours.
EURIPIDES. Silence!
MNESILOCHUS. What's the matter?
EURIPIDES. Here comes Agathon.
MNESILOCHUS. Where, where?
EURIPIDES. That's the man they are bringing out yonder on the
machine. [548]
MNESILOCHUS. I am blind then! I see no man here, I only see Cyrene. [549]
EURIPIDES. Be still! He is getting ready to sing.
MNESILOCHUS. What subtle trill, I wonder, is he going to warble to us?
AGATHON. Damsels, with the sacred torch[550] in hand, unite your dance to
shouts of joy in honour of the nether goddesses; celebrate the freedom of
your country.
CHORUS. To what divinity is your homage addressed? I wish to mingle mine
with it.
AGATHON. Oh! Muse! glorify Phoebus with his golden bow, who erected the
walls of the city of the Simois. [551]
CHORUS. To thee, oh Phoebus, I dedicate my most beauteous songs; to thee,
the sacred victor in the poetical contests.
AGATHON. And praise Artemis too, the maiden huntress, who wanders on the
mountains and through the woods. . . .
CHORUS. I, in my turn, celebrate the everlasting happiness of the chaste
Artemis, the mighty daughter of Latona!
AGATHON. . . . and Latona and the tones of the Asiatic lyre, which wed so
well with the dances of the Phrygian Graces. [552]
CHORUS. I do honour to the divine Latona and to the lyre, the mother of
songs of male and noble strains. The eyes of the goddess sparkle while
listening to our enthusiastic chants. Honour to the powerful Phoebus!
Hail! thou blessed son of Latona!
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! ye venerable Genetyllides,[553] what tender and
voluptuous songs! They surpass the most lascivious kisses in sweetness; I
feel a thrill of delight pass up my rectum as I listen to them. Young
man, whoever you are, answer my questions, which I am borrowing from
Aeschylus' 'Lycurgeia. '[554] Whence comes this effeminate? What is his
country? his dress? What contradictions his life shows! A lyre and a
hair-net! A wrestling school oil flask and a girdle! [555] What could be
more contradictory? What relation has a mirror to a sword? And you
yourself, who are you? Do you pretend to be a man? Where is the sign of
your manhood, your penis, pray? Where is the cloak, the footgear that
belong to that sex? Are you a woman? Then where are your breasts? Answer
me. But you keep silent. Oh! just as you choose; your songs display your
character quite sufficiently.
AGATHON. Old man, old man, I hear the shafts of jealousy whistling by my
ears, but they do not hit me. My dress is in harmony with my thoughts. A
poet must adopt the nature of his characters. Thus, if he is placing
women on the stage, he must contract all their habits in his own person.
MNESILOCHUS. Then you ride the high horse[556] when you are composing a
Phaedra.
AGATHON. If the heroes are men, everything in him will be manly. What we
don't possess by nature, we must acquire by imitation.
MNESILOCHUS. When you are staging Satyrs, call me; I will do my best to
help you from behind with standing tool.
AGATHON. Besides, it is bad taste for a poet to be coarse and hairy. Look
at the famous Ibycus, at Anacreon of Teos, and at Alcaeus,[557] who
handled music so well; they wore headbands and found pleasure in the
lascivious dances of Ionia. And have you not heard what a dandy
Phrynichus was[558] and how careful in his dress? For this reason his
pieces were also beautiful, for the works of a poet are copied from
himself.
MNESILOCHUS. Ah! so it is for this reason that Philocles, who is so
hideous, writes hideous pieces; Xenocles, who is malicious, malicious
ones, and Theognis,[559] who is cold, such cold ones?
AGATHON. Yes, necessarily and unavoidably; and 'tis because I knew this
that I have so well cared for my person.
MNESILOCHUS. How, in the gods' name?
EURIPIDES. Come, leave off badgering him; I was just the same at his age,
when I began to write.
MNESILOCHUS. At! then, by Zeus! I don't envy you your fine manners.
EURIPIDES (_to Agathon_). But listen to the cause that brings me here.
AGATHON. Say on.
EURIPIDES. Agathon, wise is he who can compress many thoughts into few
words. [560] Struck by a most cruel misfortune, I come to you as a
suppliant.
AGATHON. What are you asking?
EURIPIDES. The women purpose killing me to-day during the Thesmophoria,
because I have dared to speak ill of them.
AGATHON. And what can I do for you in the matter?
EURIPIDES. Everything. Mingle secretly with the women by making yourself
pass as one of themselves; then do you plead my cause with your own lips,
and I am saved. You, and you alone, are capable of speaking of me
worthily.
AGATHON. But why not go and defend yourself?
EURIPIDES. 'Tis impossible. First of all, I am known; further, I have
white hair and a long beard; whereas you, you are good-looking, charming,
and are close-shaven; you are fair, delicate, and have a woman's voice.
AGATHON. Euripides!
EURIPIDES. Well?
AGATHON. Have you not said in one of your pieces, "You love to see the
light, and don't you believe your father loves it too? "[561]
EURIPIDES. Yes.
AGATHON. Then never you think I am going to expose myself in your stead;
'twould be madness. 'Tis for you to submit to the fate that overtakes
you; one must not try to trick misfortune, but resign oneself to it with
good grace.
MNESILOCHUS. This is why you, you wretch, offer your posterior with a
good grace to lovers, not in words, but in actual fact.
EURIPIDES. But what prevents your going there?
AGATHON. I should run more risk than you would.
EURIPIDES. Why?
AGATHON. Why? I should look as if I were wanting to trespass on secret
nightly pleasures of the women and to ravish their Aphrodite. [562]
MNESILOCHUS. Of wanting to ravish indeed! you mean wanting to be
ravished--in the rearward mode. Ah! great gods! a fine excuse truly!
EURIPIDES. Well then, do you agree?
AGATHON. Don't count upon it.
EURIPIDES. Oh! I am unfortunate indeed! I am undone!
MNESILOCHUS. Euripides, my friend, my son-in-law, never despair.
EURIPIDES. What can be done?
MNESILOCHUS. Send him to the devil and do with me as you like.
EURIPIDES. Very well then, since you devote yourself to my safety, take
off your cloak first.
MNESILOCHUS. There, it lies on the ground. But what do you want to do
with me?
EURIPIDES. To shave off this beard of yours, and to remove your hair
below as well.
MNESILOCHUS. Do what you think fit; I yield myself entirely to you.
EURIPIDES. Agathon, you have always razors about you; lend me one.
AGATHON. Take if yourself, there, out of that case.
EURIPIDES. Thanks. Sit down and puff out the right cheek.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! oh! oh!
EURIPIDES. What are you shouting for? I'll cram a spit down your gullet,
if you're not quiet.
MNESILOCHUS. Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! (_He springs up and starts running
away. _)
EURIPIDES. Where are you running to now?
MNESILOCHUS. To the temple of the Eumenides.
