No More Learning

XANTHIAS. And when you go off grumbling, after having been well thrashed?

AEACUS. I am delighted.

XANTHIAS. And when you make yourself important?

AEACUS. I know of nothing sweeter.

XANTHIAS. Ah! by Zeus! we are brothers. And when you are listening to
what your masters are saying?

AEACUS. 'Tis a pleasure that drives me to distraction.

XANTHIAS. And when you repeat it to strangers?

AEACUS. Oh! I feel as happy as if I were emitting semen.

XANTHIAS. By Phoebus Apollo! reach me your hand; come hither, that I may
embrace you; and, in the name of Zeus, the Thrashed one, tell me what all
this noise means, these shouts, these quarrels, that I can hear going on
inside yonder.

AEACUS. 'Tis Aeschylus and Euripides.

XANTHIAS. What do you mean?

AEACUS. The matter is serious, very serious indeed; all Hades is in
commotion.

XANTHIAS. What's it all about?

AEACUS. We have a law here, according to which, whoever in each of the
great sciences and liberal arts beats all his rivals, is fed at the
Prytaneum and sits at Pluto's side . . .

XANTHIAS. I know that.

AEACUS. . . . until someone cleverer than he in the same style of thing
comes along; then he has to give way to him.

XANTHIAS. And how has this law disturbed Aeschylus?

AEACUS. He held the chair for tragedy, as being the greatest in his art.

XANTHIAS. And who has it now?

AEACUS. When Euripides descended here, he started reciting his verses to
the cheats, cut-purses, parricides, and brigands, who abound in Hades;
his supple and tortuous reasonings filled them with enthusiasm, and they
pronounced him the cleverest by far. So Euripides, elated with pride,
took possession of the throne on which Aeschylus was installed.

XANTHIAS. And did he not get stoned?

AEACUS. No, but the folk demanded loudly that a regular trial should
decide to which of the two the highest place belonged.

XANTHIAS. What folk? this mob of rascals? (_Points to the spectators. _)

AEACUS. Their clamour reached right up to heaven.

XANTHIAS. And had Aeschylus not his friends too?

AEACUS. Good people are very scarce here, just the same as on earth.

XANTHIAS. What does Pluto reckon to do?

AEACUS. To open a contest as soon as possible; the two rivals will show
their skill, and finally a verdict will be given.

XANTHIAS. What! has not Sophocles also claimed the chair then?

AEACUS. No, no! he embraced Aeschylus and shook his hand, when he came
down; he could have taken the seat, for Aeschylus vacated it for him; but
according to Clidemides,[459] he prefers to act as his second; if
Aeschylus triumphs, he will stay modestly where he is, but if not, he has
declared that he will contest the prize with Euripides.

XANTHIAS. When is the contest to begin?

AEACUS. Directly! the battle royal is to take place on this very spot.
Poetry is to be weighed in the scales.

XANTHIAS. What? How can tragedy be weighed?

AEACUS. They will bring rulers and compasses to measure the words, and
those forms which are used for moulding bricks, also diameter measures
and wedges, for Euripides says he wishes to torture every verse of his
rival's tragedies.

XANTHIAS. If I mistake not, Aeschylus must be in a rage.

AEACUS. With lowered head he glares fiercely like a bull.

XANTHIAS. And who will be the judge?

AEACUS. The choice was difficult; it was seen that there was a dearth of
able men. Aeschylus took exception to the Athenians . . .

XANTHIAS. No doubt he thought there were too many thieves among them.

AEACUS. . . . and moreover believed them too light-minded to judge of a
poet's merits. Finally they fell back upon your master, because he
understands tragic poetry. [460] But let us go in; when the masters are
busy, we must look out for blows!

CHORUS. Ah! what fearful wrath will be surging in his heart! what a roar
there'll be when he sees the babbler who challenges him sharpening his
teeth! how savagely his eyes will roll! What a battle of words like
plumed helmets and waving crests hurling themselves against fragile
outbursts and wretched parings! We shall see the ingenious architect of
style defending himself against immense periods. Then, the close hairs of
his thick mane all a-bristle, the giant will knit his terrible brow; he
will pull out verses as solidly bolted together as the framework of a
ship and will hurl them forth with a roar, while the pretty speaker with
the supple and sharpened tongue, who weighs each syllable and submits
everything to the lash of his envy, will cut this grand style to
mincemeat and reduce to ruins this edifice erected by one good sturdy
puff of breath. [461]

EURIPIDES (_to Dionysus_). Your advice is in vain, I shall not vacate the
chair, for I contend I am superior to him.

DIONYSUS. Aeschylus, why do you keep silent? You understand what he says.

EURIPIDES. He is going to stand on his dignity first; 'tis a trick he
never failed to use in his tragedies.

DIONYSUS. My dear fellow, a little less arrogance, please.

EURIPIDES. Oh! I know him for many a day. I have long had a thorough hold
of his ferocious heroes, for his high-flown language and of the monstrous
blustering words which his great, gaping mouth hurls forth thick and
close without curb or measure.

AESCHYLUS. It is indeed you, the son of a rustic goddess,[462] who dare
to treat me thus, you, who only know how to collect together stupid
sayings and to stitch the rags of your beggars? [463] I shall make you rue
your insults.

DIONYSUS. Enough said, Aeschylus, calm the wild wrath that is turning
your heart into a furnace.

AESCHYLUS. No, not until I have clearly shown the true value of this
impudent fellow with his lame men. [464]

DIONYSUS. A lamb, a black lamb! Slaves, bring it quickly, the storm-cloud
is about to burst. [465]

AESCHYLUS. Shame on your Cretan monologues! [466] Shame on the infamous
nuptials[467] that you introduce into the tragic art!

DIONYSUS. Curb yourself, noble Aeschylus, and as for you, my poor
Euripides, be prudent, protect yourself from this hailstorm, or he may
easily in his rage hit you full in the temple with some terrible word,
that would let out your Telephus. [468] Come, Aeschylus, no flying into a
temper! discuss the question coolly; poets must not revile each other
like market wenches. Why, you shout at the very outset and burst out like
a pine that catches fire in the forest.

EURIPIDES. I am ready for the contest and don't flinch; let him choose
the attack or the defence; let him discuss everything, the dialogue, the
choruses, the tragic genius, Peleus, Aeolus, Meleager[469] and especially
Telephus.

DIONYSUS. And what do you propose to do, Aeschylus? Speak!

AESCHYLUS. I should have wished not to maintain a contest that is not
equal or fair.

DIONYSUS. Why not fair?

AESCHYLUS. Because my poetry has outlived me, whilst his died with him
and he can use it against me. However, I submit to your ruling.

DIONYSUS. Let incense and a brazier be brought, for I want to offer a
prayer to the gods. Thanks to their favour, may I be able to decide
between these ingenious rivals as a clever expert should! And do you sing
a hymn in honour of the Muses.

CHORUS. Oh! ye chaste Muses, the daughters of Zeus, you who read the fine
and subtle minds of thought-makers when they enter upon a contest of
quibbles and tricks, look down on these two powerful athletes; inspire
them, one with mighty words and the other with odds and ends of verses.
Now the great mind contest is beginning.

DIONYSUS. And do you likewise make supplication to the gods before
entering the lists.

AESCHYLUS. Oh, Demeter! who hast formed my mind, may I be able to prove
myself worthy of thy Mysteries! [470]

DIONYSUS. And you, Euripides, prove yourself meet to sprinkle incense on
the brazier.

EURIPIDES. Thanks, but I sacrifice to other gods. [471]

DIONYSUS. To private gods of your own, which you have made after your own
image?

EURIPIDES. Why, certainly!

DIONYSUS. Well then, invoke your gods.

EURIPIDES. Oh! thou Aether, on which I feed, oh! thou Volubility of
Speech, oh! Craftiness, oh! Subtle Scent! enable me to crush the
arguments of my opponent.

CHORUS. We are curious to see upon what ground these clever tilters are
going to measure each other. Their tongue is keen, their wit is ready,
their heart is full of audacity. From the one we must expect both
elegance and polish of language, whereas the other, armed with his
ponderous words, will fall hip and thigh upon his foe and with a single
blow tear down and scatter all his vain devices.

DIONYSUS. Come, be quick and speak and let your words be elegant, but
without false imagery or platitude.

EURIPIDES. I shall speak later of my poetry, but I want first to prove
that Aeschylus is merely a wretched impostor; I shall relate by what
means he tricked a coarse audience, trained in the school of
Phrynichus. [472] First one saw some seated figure, who was veiled, some
Achilles or Niobe,[473] who then strutted about the stage, but neither
uncovered their face nor uttered a syllable.

DIONYSUS. I' faith! that's true!

EURIPIDES.
Meanwhile, the Chorus would pour forth as many as four tirades
one after the other, without stopping, and the characters would still
maintain their stony silence.

DIONYSUS. I liked their silence, and these mutes pleased me no less than
those characters that have such a heap to say nowadays.

EURIPIDES. 'Tis because you were a fool, understand that well.

DIONYSUS. Possibly; but what was his object?

EURIPIDES. 'Twas pure quackery; in this way the spectator would sit
motionless, waiting, waiting for Niobe to say something, and the piece
would go running on.

DIONYSUS. Oh! the rogue! how he deceived me! Well, Aeschylus, why are you
so restless? Why this impatience, eh?

EURIPIDES. 'Tis because he sees himself beaten. Then when he had rambled
on well, and got half-way through the piece, he would spout some dozen
big, blustering, winged words, tall as mountains, terrible scarers, which
the spectator admired without understanding what they meant.

DIONYSUS. Oh! great gods!

AESCHYLUS. Silence!

EURIPIDES. There was no comprehending one word.

DIONYSUS (_to Aeschylus_). Don't grind your teeth.

EURIPIDES. There were Scamanders, abysses, griffins with eagles' beaks
chiselled upon brazen bucklers, all words with frowning crests and hard,
hard to understand.

DIONYSUS. 'Faith, I was kept awake almost an entire night, trying to
think out his yellow bird, half cock and half horse. [474]

AESCHYLUS. Why, fool, 'tis a device that is painted on the prow of a
vessel.

DIONYSUS. Ah! I actually thought 'twas Eryxis, the son of
Philoxenus. [475]

EURIPIDES. But what did you want with a cock in tragedy?

AESCHYLUS. But you, you foe of the gods, what have you done that is so
good?

EURIPIDES. Oh! I have not made horses with cocks' heads like you, nor
goats with deer's horns, as you may see 'em on Persian tapestries; but,
when I received tragedy from your hands, it was quite bloated with
enormous, ponderous words, and I began by lightening it of its heavy
baggage and treated it with little verses, with subtle arguments, with
the sap of white beet and decoctions of philosophical folly, the whole
being well filtered together;[476] then I fed it with monologues, mixing
in some Cephisophon;[477] but I did not chatter at random nor mix in any
ingredients that first came to hand; from the outset I made my subject
clear, and told the origin of the piece.

AESCHYLUS. Well, that was better than telling your own. [478]

EURIPIDES. Then, starting with the very first verse, each character
played his part; all spoke, both woman and slave and master, young girl
and old hag. [479]

AESCHYLUS. And was not such daring deserving of death?

EURIPIDES. No, by Apollo! 'twas to please the people.

DIONYSUS. Oh! leave that alone, do; 'tis not the best side of your case.

EURIPIDES. Furthermore, I taught the spectators the art of speech . . .

AESCHYLUS. 'Tis true indeed! Would that you had burst before you did it!

EURIPIDES. . . . the use of the straight lines and of the corners of
language, the science of thinking, of reading, of understanding,
plotting, loving deceit, of suspecting evil, of thinking of
everything. . . .

AESCHYLUS. Oh! true, true again!

EURIPIDES. I introduced our private life upon the stage, our common
habits; and 'twas bold of me, for everyone was at home with these and
could be my critic; I did not burst out into big noisy words to prevent
their comprehension; nor did I terrify the audience by showing them
Cycni[480] and Memnons[481] on chariots harnessed with steeds and
jingling bells. Look at his disciples and look at mine. His are
Phormisius and Megaenetus of Magnesia[482], all a-bristle with long
beards, spears and trumpets, and grinning with sardonic and ferocious
laughter, while my disciples are Clitophon and the graceful
Theramenes. [483]

DIONYSUS. Theramenes? An able man and ready for anything; a man, who in
imminent dangers knew well how to get out of the scrape by saying he was
from Chios and not from Ceos. [484]

EURIPIDES. 'Tis thus that I taught my audience how to judge, namely, by
introducing the art of reasoning and considering into tragedy. Thanks to
me, they understand everything, discern all things, conduct their
households better and ask themselves, "What is to be thought of this?
Where is that? Who has taken the other thing? "

DIONYSUS. Yes, certainly, and now every Athenian who returns home, bawls
to his slaves, "Where is the stew-pot? Who has eaten off the sprat's
head? Where is the clove of garlic that was left over from yesterday? Who
has been nibbling at my olives? " Whereas formerly they kept their seats
with mouths agape like fools and idiots.

CHORUS. You hear him, illustrious Achilles,[485] and what are you going
to reply? Only take care that your rage does not lead you astray, for he
has handled you brutally. My noble friend, don't get carried away; furl
all your sails, except the top-gallants, so that your ship may only
advance slowly, until you feel yourself driven forward by a soft and
favourable wind. Come then, you who were the first of the Greeks to
construct imposing monuments of words and to raise the old tragedy above
childish trifling, open a free course to the torrent of your words.

AESCHYLUS. This contest rouses my gall; my heart is boiling over with
wrath. Am I bound to dispute with this fellow? But I will not let him
think me unarmed and helpless. So, answer me! what is it in a poet one
admires?

EURIPIDES. Wise counsels, which make the citizens better.

AESCHYLUS. And if you have failed in this duty, if out of honest and
pure-minded men you have made rogues, what punishment do you think is
your meet?

DIONYSUS. Death. I will reply for him.

AESCHYLUS. Behold then what great and brave men I bequeathed to him! They
did not shirk the public burdens; they were not idlers, rogues and
cheats, as they are to-day; their very breath was spears, pikes, helmets
with white crests, breastplates and greaves; they were gallant souls
encased in seven folds of ox-leather.

EURIPIDES. I must beware! he will crush me beneath the sheer weight of
his hail of armour.

DIONYSUS. And how did you teach them this bravery? Speak, Aeschylus, and
don't display so much haughty swagger.

AESCHYLUS. By composing a drama full of the spirit of Ares.

DIONYSUS. Which one?

AESCHYLUS. The Seven Chiefs before Thebes. Every man who had once seen it
longed to be marching to battle.

DIONYSUS. And you did very wrongly; through you the Thebans have become
more warlike; for this misdeed you deserve to be well beaten.

AESCHYLUS. You too might have trained yourself, but you were not willing.
Then, by producing 'The Persae,' I have taught you to conquer all your
enemies; 'twas my greatest work.

DIONYSUS. Aye, I shook with joy at the announcement of the death of
Darius; and the Chorus immediately clapped their hands and shouted,
"Triumph! "[486]

AESCHYLUS. Those are the subjects that poets should use. Note how useful,
even from remotest times, the poets of noble thought have been! Orpheus
taught us the mystic rites and the horrid nature of murder; Musaeus, the
healing of ailments and the oracles; Hesiod, the tilling of the soil and
the times for delving and harvest. And does not divine Homer owe his
immortal glory to his noble teachings? Is it not he who taught the
warlike virtues, the art of fighting and of carrying arms?

DIONYSUS. At all events he has not taught it to Pantacles,[487] the most
awkward of all men; t'other day, when he was directing a procession,
'twas only after he had put on his helmet that he thought of fixing in
the crest.

AESCHYLUS. But he has taught a crowd of brave warriors, such as
Lamachus,[488] the hero of Athens. 'Tis from Homer that I borrowed the
Patrocli and the lion-hearted Teucers,[489] whom I revived to the
citizens, to incite them to show themselves worthy of these illustrious
examples when the trumpets sounded. But I showed them neither
Sthenoboea[490] nor shameless Phaedra; and I don't remember ever having
placed an amorous woman on the stage.

EURIPIDES. No, no, you have never known Aphrodite.

AESCHYLUS. And I am proud of it. Whereas with you and those like you, she
appears everywhere and in every shape; so that even you yourself were
ruined and undone by her. [491]

DIONYSUS. That's true; the crimes you imputed to the wives of others, you
suffered from in turn.

EURIPIDES. But, cursed man, what harm have my Sthenoboeas done to Athens?

AESCHYLUS. You are the cause of honest wives of honest citizens drinking
hemlock, so greatly have your Bellerophons made them blush. [492]

EURIPIDES. Why, did I invent the story of Phaedra?

AESCHYLUS. No, the story is true enough; but the poet should hide what is
vile and not produce nor represent it on the stage. The schoolmaster
teaches little children and the poet men of riper age. We must only
display what is good.

EURIPIDES. And when you talk to us of towering mountains--Lycabettus and
of the frowning Parnes[493]--is that teaching us what is good? Why not
use human language?

AESCHYLUS. Why, miserable man, the expression must always rise to the
height of great maxims and of noble thoughts. Thus as the garment of the
demi-gods is more magnificent, so also is their language more sublime. I
ennobled the stage, while you have degraded it.

EURIPIDES. And how so, pray?

AESCHYLUS. Firstly you have dressed the kings in rags,[494] so that they
might inspire pity.

EURIPIDES. Where's the harm?

AESCHYLUS. You are the cause why no rich man will now equip the galleys,
they dress themselves in tatters, groan and say they are poor.

DIONYSUS. Aye, by Demeter! and he wears a tunic of fine wool underneath;
and when he has deceived us with his lies, he may be seen turning up on
the fish-market. [495]

AESCHYLUS. Moreover, you have taught boasting and quibbling; the
wrestling schools are deserted and the young fellows have submitted their
arses to outrage,[496] in order that they might learn to reel off idle
chatter, and the sailors have dared to bandy words with their
officers. [497] In my day they only knew how to ask for their
ship's-biscuit and to shout "Yo ho! heave ho! "

DIONYSUS. . . . and to let wind under the nose of the rower below them, to
befoul their mate with filth and to steal when they went ashore. Nowadays
they argue instead of rowing and the ship can travel as slow as she
likes.

AESCHYLUS. Of what crimes is he not the author? Has he not shown us
procurers, women who get delivered in the temples, have traffic with
their brothers,[498] and say that life is not life. [499] 'Tis thanks to
him that our city is full of scribes and buffoons, veritable apes, whose
grimaces are incessantly deceiving the people; but there is no one left
who knows how to carry a torch,[500] so little is it practised.

DIONYSUS. I' faith, that's true! I almost died of laughter at the last
Panathenaea at seeing a slow, fat, pale-faced fellow, who ran well behind
all the rest, bent completely double and evidently in horrible pain. At
the gate of the Ceramicus the spectators started beating his belly,
sides, flanks and thighs; these slaps knocked so much wind out of him
that it extinguished his torch and he hurried away.

CHORUS. 'Tis a serious issue and an important debate; the fight is
proceeding hotly and its decision will be difficult; for, as violently as
the one attacks, as cleverly and as subtly does the other reply. But
don't keep always to the same ground; you are not at the end of your
specious artifices. Make use of every trick you have, no matter whether
it be old or new!