Frogs

XanthiasMaster, shall I say one of the usual things, the ones the audience always laughs at?

DionysusBy Zeus, anything you like, except “I’m getting crushed.” Watch out for that one. It just makes me sick by now.

XanthiasNot some other witty one either?

DionysusAnything but “Oof, I’m being squashed!”

XanthiasWell then, shall I say the really funny one?

DionysusBy Zeus, go right ahead, don’t be shy. Just make sure you don’t say that one—

XanthiasWhich one?

Dionysus—where you shift your carrying pole and say you need to take a shit.

XanthiasNot even that I’ve got such a load on me that if somebody doesn’t take it off, I’m going to fart it out?

DionysusPlease, no, I beg you. Not unless I’m about to throw up.

XanthiasThen why did I have to carry all this baggage, if I’m not going to do any of the stuff Phrynichus and Lycis and Ameipsias always do?note

DionysusWell, don’t. Because when I’m sitting in the audience and I see one of those clever tricks, I go home more than a year older.

XanthiasOh, my poor, god-forsaken neck: it gets squashed, but it isn’t allowed to say the funny bit.

DionysusIsn’t this outrageous, the height of pampering? Here am I, Dionysus, son of Wine Jar, walking and slogging away myself, while I give this one a ride so he won’t wear himself out or have to carry a load.note

XanthiasSo I’m not carrying anything?

DionysusHow can you be carrying when you’re being carried?

XanthiasWell, I’m carrying this stuff.

DionysusHow?

XanthiasVery heavily.

DionysusIsn’t the donkey carrying the weight you’re carrying?

XanthiasNot the load I’ve got on me and am carrying, it isn’t. By Zeus, no.

DionysusHow can you be carrying it, when you’re being carried by someone else?

XanthiasI don’t know. But this shoulder of mine is getting crushed.

DionysusWell, since you say the donkey’s no help to you, take your turn: pick up the donkey and carry it.

XanthiasOh, damn my luck! Why wasn’t I in the sea battle? Then I’d be telling you to go howl, long and loud.note

DionysusGet down, you rascal. I’m already near the door here, where I was supposed to turn off first. Boy! Boy! Hey, boy!

HeraclesWho’s banging on the door? Whoever it was charged at it like a Centaur. Tell me, what was all that?

DionysusBoy.

XanthiasWhat is it?

DionysusDidn’t you notice?

XanthiasNotice what?

DionysusHow scared he was of me.

XanthiasBy Zeus, yes: scared you’d gone mad.

HeraclesBy Demeter, I can’t help laughing. I’m biting my lip, but I’m laughing anyway.

DionysusMy dear fellow, come here. I need something from you.

HeraclesI just can’t shoo this laughter away, seeing a lion skin draped over a saffron gown. What’s the idea? What are a woman’s boot and a club doing together? Where on earth have you been traveling?note

DionysusI was serving aboard Cleisthenes—note

HeraclesAnd you fought at sea?

DionysusYes, and we sank enemy ships, twelve or thirteen of them.

HeraclesYou two?

DionysusBy Apollo, yes.

XanthiasAnd then I woke up.

DionysusAnd there on the ship, while I was reading the Andromeda to myself, all of a sudden a longing struck my heart. You can’t imagine how hard.note

HeraclesA longing? How big?

DionysusSmall. About the size of Molon.note

HeraclesFor a woman?

DionysusNo.

HeraclesFor a boy, then?

DionysusNot at all.

HeraclesFor a man, then?

DionysusAaagh!

HeraclesDid you get it on with Cleisthenes?

DionysusDon’t make fun of me, brother. I’m in a really bad way: that’s the kind of desire that’s tearing me to pieces.

HeraclesWhat kind, little brother?

DionysusI can’t explain it. But I’ll tell you in riddles anyway. Have you ever had a sudden craving for pea soup?

HeraclesPea soup? Wow! Ten thousand times in my life.

DionysusAm I making it clear, or shall I put it another way?

HeraclesNot about pea soup, please. I understand perfectly.

DionysusWell, that’s the kind of longing that’s devouring me—for Euripides.

HeraclesWhat, and him dead?

DionysusYes, and nobody on earth could talk me out of going after him.

HeraclesWhat, down to Hades?

DionysusYes, by Zeus, and further down, if there’s anything further.

HeraclesWhat for?

DionysusI need a clever poet. The good ones are gone, and the ones who are left are bad.

HeraclesWhat? Isn’t Iophon alive?note

DionysusWell, that’s the one good thing still left—if it even is that. I’m not really sure how that one stands, either.

HeraclesThen if you have to bring someone up from there, why not bring Sophocles rather than Euripides?

DionysusNot until I’ve got Iophon on his own and tested how he rings without Sophocles. Besides, Euripides is a slippery customer: he might even try to run away up here with me. Sophocles, though, was easygoing here and he’s easygoing there.

HeraclesAnd where’s Agathon?

DionysusHe’s left me and gone away, a good poet and much missed by his friends.note

HeraclesWhere on earth has the poor man gone?

DionysusTo the Feast of the Blessed.note

HeraclesAnd Xenocles?note

DionysusTo hell with him, by Zeus!

HeraclesAnd Pythangelus?

XanthiasAnd nobody says a word about me, with my shoulder getting worn down like this.

HeraclesBut aren’t there other young lads around here writing tragedies, more than ten thousand of them, and a mile more talkative than Euripides?

DionysusThose are runts left on the vine, chatterboxes, choirs of twittering swallows, butchers of the art. Give them a chorus and they’re gone in a flash, after pissing on tragedy just once. Look as hard as you like, you won’t find a fertile poet anymore, one who could sound out a noble phrase.

HeraclesFertile how?

DionysusFertile like this: a man who’ll come out with something daring, along the lines of “Aether, Zeus’s little parlor,” or “the foot of time,” or “a mind that would not swear upon the sacrifice, and a tongue that perjured itself apart from the mind.”note

HeraclesAnd you like that stuff?

DionysusLike it? I’m more than crazy about it.

HeraclesCome on, it’s sheer flimflam, and you know it.

Dionysus“Do not take up lodging in my mind”: you have a house of your own.

HeraclesWell, it obviously is just plain rotten.

DionysusYou teach me how to eat dinner.

XanthiasAnd nobody says a word about me.

DionysusAnyway, the reason I’ve come in this get-up, dressed as you: it’s so you can tell me about your hosts, the ones you used that time you went after Cerberus, in case I need them. Tell me about them: harbors, bakeries, brothels, rest stops, turnoffs, springs, roads, towns, lodgings, landladies—the places with the fewest bedbugs.

XanthiasAnd nobody says a word about me.

HeraclesYou poor devil, are you really going to dare go too—you?

DionysusNo more of that. Just tell me which road will get us down to Hades fastest. And don’t tell me one that’s too hot, or one that’s too cold.

HeraclesWell now, which one shall I tell you about first? Which? There’s one by way of a rope and a stool: you hang yourself.

DionysusStop it. That one’s stifling.

HeraclesWell, there’s a short, well-beaten path—through the mortar.

DionysusYou mean hemlock?

HeraclesExactly.

DionysusA cold, wintry one. It freezes your shins straightaway.note

HeraclesWant me to tell you a fast one, downhill?

DionysusYes, by Zeus. I’m not much of a walker.

HeraclesThen stroll on down to the Ceramicus.note

DionysusAnd then what?

HeraclesClimb up the tall tower—

DionysusAnd do what?

Heracles—and watch the torch being let go from up there. Then when the spectators shout “Let them go!”, let yourself go too.

DionysusWhere?

HeraclesDown.

DionysusBut I’d splatter two pies’ worth of brains. I won’t take that road.

HeraclesWhich one, then?

DionysusThe one you went down by that time.

HeraclesBut it’s a long voyage. First you’ll come to a huge lake, absolutely bottomless.

DionysusAnd how do I get across?

HeraclesIn a tiny little boat, this big, an old man, a ferryman, will take you over. His fare is two obols.

DionysusWow! Those two obols have such power everywhere! How did they get down there too?

HeraclesTheseus brought them. After that you’ll see snakes and wild beasts by the thousand, most terrible.note

DionysusDon’t try to scare me or frighten me. You won’t turn me back.

HeraclesThen lots of mud and ever-flowing shit. And lying in it, anyone who ever wronged a guest, or screwed a boy and filched the money back, or beat his mother, or punched his father in the jaw, or swore a false oath, or copied out a speech of Morsimus.note

DionysusBy the gods, they should add anyone who learned Cinesias’ war dance, too.note

HeraclesNext, a breath of pipes will surround you, and you’ll see a most beautiful light, just like here, and myrtle groves, and happy bands of men and women, and loud clapping of hands.

DionysusAnd who are they, exactly?

HeraclesThe initiates—

XanthiasBy Zeus, I’m the donkey carrying the Mysteries, that’s for sure. But I’m not holding this stuff any longer.note

Heracles—who’ll tell you everything you need. They live right beside the road, at the very doors of Pluto. And so, a fond farewell, brother.

DionysusBy Zeus, you too: take care. You, pick up the bedding again.

XanthiasBefore I’ve even put it down?

DionysusYes, and be quick about it.

XanthiasNo, please, I beg you. Hire one of the dead people being carried out, someone who’s going that way anyway.

DionysusAnd if I can’t find one?

XanthiasThen take me.

DionysusGood idea. And look, they’re carrying out a dead man right here. You there—yes, I mean you, the dead one! Fellow, do you want to carry a bit of baggage down to Hades?

CorpseHow much?

DionysusThis.

CorpseYou’ll pay two drachmas?

DionysusZeus, no. Less.

CorpseKeep going, you lot.

DionysusHold on, my good fellow, let’s see if we can come to terms.

CorpseIf you don’t put down two drachmas, don’t bother talking.

DionysusTake nine obols.

CorpseI’d sooner come back to life!

XanthiasHow stuck-up the damned thing is! He’ll be sorry. I’ll walk.

DionysusYou’re a good man and a true. Let’s head for the boat.

CharonOhop! Bring her in!

XanthiasWhat’s this?

DionysusThis? By Zeus, it’s the lake he was telling us about, and I can see a boat.

XanthiasBy Poseidon, and that’s Charon there.

DionysusHello, Charon! Hello, Charon! Hello, Charon!

CharonWho’s for rest from troubles and cares? Who’s for the Plain of Lethe, or the Donkey-Shearings, or the Cerberians, or the crows, or Taenarum?note

DionysusMe.

CharonGet in, quick.

DionysusWhere are you planning to land? Really at the crows?

CharonYes, by Zeus—for your sake, anyway. Come on, get in.

DionysusBoy, over here.

CharonI don’t take slaves, unless he fought in the sea battle to save his hide.

XanthiasBy Zeus, I didn’t. I happened to have eye trouble.

CharonThen you can run around the lake, can’t you?

XanthiasSo where should I wait?

CharonBy the Withering Stone, at the rest stop.

DionysusGot it?

XanthiasGot it perfectly. Damn my luck, what bad omen did I run into when I set out?

CharonSit to the oar. Anyone else sailing, hurry up. You there, what are you doing?

DionysusWhat am I doing? What else but sitting on the oar, where you told me to?

CharonSit down here, won’t you, Potbelly?

DionysusThere.

CharonNow put your hands forward and stretch out your arms.

DionysusThere.

CharonStop fooling around! Brace your feet and row like you mean it.

DionysusAnd how am I supposed to row, when I’m inexperienced, unseafaring, un-Salamined?note

CharonEasily. You’ll hear the loveliest songs, as soon as you dip your oar—

DionysusWhose?

CharonFrog-swans. Amazing.

DionysusCall the stroke, then.

CharonO-op, op! O-op, op!

DionysusWell, I’m starting to get a pain
in my ass, you koax koax.
Not that you care, I suppose.

FrogsBrekekekex koax koax.

DionysusTo hell with you, koax and all!
You’re nothing but koax.

FrogsAnd rightly so, you busybody.
For the Muses of the lovely lyre love me,
and horn-hoofed Pan, who plays the reedy pipe,
and Apollo the lyre-player delights in me too,
for the reed I grow for him, the bridge beneath his lyre,
here in the waters of the marsh.
Brekekekex koax koax.

DionysusWell, I’ve got blisters,
and my ass has been sweating for ages,
and any minute now it’ll poke out and say—

FrogsBrekekekex koax koax.

DionysusPlease, you song-loving tribe,
stop.

FrogsNo, we’ll sing all the louder,
if ever on sunny
days
we’ve leapt through the sedge
and the rushes, rejoicing in our song’s
many-diving melodies,
or, fleeing the rain of Zeus,
we’ve sung, deep down in the water,
our shimmering dance
in bubbly-splashy-plops.

DionysusBrekekekex koax koax.
I’m taking that one off you.

FrogsThen we’re in for something awful.

DionysusSomething worse for me, if I row
until I burst.

FrogsBrekekekex koax koax.

DionysusGo howl. I don’t care.

FrogsOh yes, we’ll croak
as loud as our throats
can hold, all day long.

DionysusBrekekekex koax koax.
You won’t beat me at that.

FrogsAnd you certainly won’t beat us.

DionysusAnd you won’t beat me,
not ever. I’ll shout,
all day long if I have to,
brekekekex koax koax,
till I beat you at your koax,
brekekekex koax koax.

I knew I’d stop you and your koax in the end.

CharonWhoa, stop, stop! Bring her in with the oars. Get out. Pay the fare.

DionysusHere you are, two obols. Xanthias! Where’s Xanthias? Hey, Xanthias!

XanthiasHallooo!

DionysusCome over here.

XanthiasHello, master.

DionysusWhat’s it like over there?

XanthiasDarkness and mud.

DionysusSo did you see the father-beaters anywhere around there, and the perjurers he told us about?

XanthiasDidn’t you?

DionysusBy Poseidon, I did, and I can see them right now. Well then, what shall we do?note

XanthiasBest to keep moving, because this is the place where he said the terrible beasts were.

DionysusHe’ll be sorry. He was just bragging to scare me, out of jealousy, knowing what a fighter I am. There’s nobody as vain as Heracles. Me, I’d pray to run into something and win some exploit worthy of the trip.

XanthiasBy Zeus, I can hear some sort of noise.

DionysusWhere, where is it?

XanthiasBehind us.

DionysusGet behind, then.

XanthiasNo, it’s in front.

DionysusGet in front, then.

XanthiasOh, by Zeus, now I see a huge beast.

DionysusWhat sort?

XanthiasTerrible. It keeps turning into all sorts of things: one moment a cow, now a mule, and now again a gorgeous woman.

DionysusWhere is she? Let me go at her.

XanthiasBut it’s not a woman any more. Now it’s a dog.

DionysusThen it’s Empusa.note

XanthiasWell, its whole face is blazing with fire.

DionysusAnd has she got a bronze leg?

XanthiasBy Poseidon, yes, and the other one’s made of cow shit, I swear.

DionysusWhere can I turn?

XanthiasWhere can I?

DionysusPriest, protect me, so I can come drinking with you!note

XanthiasWe’re done for, lord Heracles!

DionysusPlease, man, don’t call me that! Don’t say the name!

XanthiasDionysus, then.

DionysusThat’s even worse than the other. Keep going the way you’re going.

XanthiasThis way, this way, master.

DionysusWhat is it?

XanthiasCheer up, it’s all turned out well. We can say, like Hegelochus, “Out of the waves I see once more a clam.” Empusa’s gone.note

DionysusSwear it.

XanthiasBy Zeus.

DionysusSwear it again.

XanthiasBy Zeus.

DionysusSwear.

XanthiasBy Zeus.

DionysusOh, poor me, how pale I went when I saw her!

XanthiasAnd this thing here got so scared it turned brown on your behalf.

DionysusOh, where have these troubles fallen on me from? Which of the gods shall I blame for my destruction?

Xanthias“Aether, Zeus’s little parlor”? Or “the foot of time”?

DionysusHey, you.

XanthiasWhat is it?

DionysusDidn’t you hear?

XanthiasHear what?

DionysusA breath of pipes.

XanthiasI did. And a breeze of torches wafted over me, very mystical.

DionysusLet’s crouch down quietly and listen.

XanthiasThat’s it, master: the initiates he told us about are celebrating somewhere around here. Anyway, they’re singing the Iacchus hymn, the one Diagoras sings.note

DionysusI think so too. So the best thing is to keep quiet until we know for sure.

ChorusIacchus, much-honored, dwelling here in your shrine,
Iacchus, Iacchus,
come to dance across this meadow
to your holy companions,
shaking the fruitful
myrtle crown that blooms
around your head, and stamping with a bold
foot our unbridled,
play-loving rite,
that holds the greatest share of the Graces, the pure and holy
dance for your holy initiates.

XanthiasLady, much-honored daughter of Demeter, what a sweet smell of pork has wafted over me!note

DionysusThen keep still, won’t you, and maybe you’ll get some sausage too.

ChorusRouse the blazing torches, for he comes, shaking them in his hands,
Iacchus, Iacchus,
the light-bearing star of our nighttime rite.
The meadow blazes with flame;
old men’s knees are leaping;
they shake off their sorrows
and the long seasons of their ancient years
at your holy rite.
And you, ablaze with your torch,
lead forward to the flowering marshy plain,
blessed one, the young who make the dance.

Let there be holy silence, and let him stand aside from our choruses who is a stranger to words like these, or is not pure in mind; who has never seen or danced the rites of the noble Muses, or been initiated into the Bacchic mysteries of the tongue of bull-eating Cratinus; who enjoys clownish words when they’re out of place; who doesn’t put an end to hateful faction or deal kindly with his fellow citizens, but stirs it up and fans it, greedy for his own gain; who, holding office while the city is tossed by storms, takes bribes; who betrays a fort or ships, or smuggles forbidden goods out of Aegina—I mean Thorycion, that wretched tax collector—sending oar pads and sailcloth and pitch across to Epidaurus;note

Now go, each of you, boldly
into the flowery hollows
of the meadows, stamping,
and mocking,
and playing and jeering:
we’ve had lunch enough.

Now step out, and be sure to lift up
the Savior Goddess nobly,
singing her praise aloud,
who promises to keep
our land safe through all its seasons,
even if Thorycion doesn’t want it.

Come now, raise another kind of hymn: honor the fruit-bearing queen, the goddess Demeter, and sing her glory in holy songs.

Demeter, queen of the pure rites,
stand by us,
and keep your own chorus safe,
and let me, safely, all day long,
play and dance;

and let me say many funny things,
and many serious things too, and,
when I’ve played and joked in a way
worthy of your festival,
win, and wear the victor’s ribbons.

Come on, now,
call the youthful god here too
with songs, the fellow traveler of our dance.

Iacchus, much-honored, who found
the sweetest song of our festival, come along with us
to the goddess,
and show how without toil
you travel a long road.
Iacchus, lover of the dance, escort me on my way.

For it was you who, for a laugh
and to save money, ripped this little sandal
and this rag,
and you found a way for us
to play and dance without paying a penny.
Iacchus, lover of the dance, escort me on my way.

For just now, with a sidelong glance,
I caught sight of a girl, a very pretty
playmate,
and through a tear in her little dress
a nipple was peeking out.
Iacchus, lover of the dance, escort me on my way.

DionysusAnd me, somehow I always like
to follow along, and I want
to play and dance with her.

XanthiasMe too!

ChorusSo shall we all together
make fun of Archedemus?
At seven he still hadn’t cut his citizen teeth.note

But now he’s a leader of the people
among the dead up there,
and he’s top of the villainy over there.

And I hear that Cleisthenes’ son
is plucking his asshole at the tombs
and tearing at his cheeks;note

and he was beating his breast, bent over,
and weeping and wailing
for Sebinus, whoever he is, of Anaphlystus.note

And they say Callias,
this son of Hippobinus,
fights at sea in a lion skin made of pussy.note

DionysusCould you tell the two of us
where Pluto lives around here?
We’re strangers, just arrived.

ChorusYou needn’t go far,
or ask me again:
you’ve come right to his door, believe me.

DionysusPick it up again, boy.

XanthiasWhat’s this business now? Same old “Corinth, son of Zeus,” in the bedding.note

ChorusGo now
into the goddess’s holy circle, through her flowering grove,
at play, all who share in this festival the gods love;
and I’ll go with the girls and the women,
where they keep the night-long vigil for the goddess, to carry the holy light.

Let’s go to the meadows
full of roses and flowers,
playing in our own way,
the way of the loveliest dances,
which the blessed
Fates bring together.

For the sun and the joyful light
belong to us alone,
all of us who have been initiated
and have led righteous
lives toward strangers
and toward our fellow citizens.

DionysusRight, so how do I knock on this door? How? How do the locals knock around here, I wonder?

XanthiasQuit stalling and give that door a taste of you. You’ve got Heracles’ outfit and Heracles’ guts.

DionysusBoy! Boy!

AeacusWho’s there?

DionysusHeracles the mighty.

AeacusYou disgusting, shameless, reckless creature, you vile, all-vile, vilest of the vile! You drove off our dog Cerberus, throttled him, bolted, and got clean away with him, the dog I was guarding! But now you’re caught in the middle. So fast does the black-hearted rock of Styx and the blood-dripping crag of Acheron hold you under guard, and the prowling hounds of Cocytus, and the hundred-headed Viper, who will rend your guts to shreds! A Tartessian lamprey shall fasten on your lungs, and your two kidneys, bloodied, bowels and all, shall the Teithrasian Gorgons tear apart. To fetch them I now direct my racing foot!note

XanthiasHey, you, what have you done?

DionysusI’ve shat myself. Call on the god!note

XanthiasYou ridiculous creature, get up, quick, before some stranger sees you!

DionysusBut I’m feeling faint. Here, bring me a sponge for my heart.

XanthiasThere, take it, hold it on.

DionysusWhere is it?

XanthiasGolden gods! That’s where you keep your heart?

DionysusIt got scared and crawled down into my lower belly.

XanthiasYou’re the biggest coward of all gods and men!

DionysusMe? How can I be a coward when I asked you for a sponge? No other man would have done that.

XanthiasThen what would he have done?

DionysusIf he were a coward, he’d have lain there sniffing it. But I got up, and what’s more, I wiped myself.

XanthiasWhat bravery, by Poseidon!

DionysusI think so too, by Zeus. And you weren’t scared by all his thundering words and threats?

XanthiasNo, by Zeus, I didn’t give them a thought.

DionysusAll right then, since you’re so gutsy and brave, you be me. Take this club and the lion skin, if your guts are so fearless. And I’ll take my turn as your baggage carrier.

XanthiasHand them over, quick. I’ve no choice but to obey. Now take a look at Heraclexanthias and see whether I turn out a coward with a spirit like yours.

DionysusNo, by Zeus, you look exactly like that rascal from Melite who needs a whipping. Come on, then, let me pick up this baggage.note

MaidHeracles, darling, is it you? Come in here! The moment the Goddess heard you were coming, she started baking bread and boiling up two or three pots of split-pea soup. She roasted a whole ox over the coals and baked cakes and rolls. Come on in!

XanthiasThat’s very kind. No, thank you.

MaidBy Apollo, I’m not going to stand by and let you leave, not when she’s stewed up some chicken too, and toasted nibbles, and mixed the sweetest wine. Come in with me.

XanthiasVery nice of you.

MaidDon’t be silly. I’m not letting you go. There’s a gorgeous flute girl in there waiting for you, and two or three dancing girls besides.

XanthiasWhat’s that? Dancing girls?

MaidRipe young things, freshly plucked. Come in! The cook was just about to take the fish steaks off the fire, and the table was being brought in.

XanthiasGo on, then. First of all, tell the dancing girls in there that I’m coming in personally. Boy! Follow me this way with the luggage.

DionysusHold it, you! You’re not taking this seriously, are you, just because I dressed you up as Heracles for a joke? Stop fooling around, Xanthias. Pick up the baggage and carry it again.

XanthiasWhat’s this? You’re not thinking of taking back what you gave me yourself?

DionysusI’m not thinking about it, I’m doing it. Put down that skin.

XanthiasI call witnesses to this! I leave it to the gods!

DionysusWhat gods? Wasn’t it stupid and empty-headed of you to expect that you, a slave and a mortal, could be Alcmene’s son?

XanthiasFine, fine. Have them. Maybe some day you’ll need me, god willing.

ChorusThat’s the way of a man
with brains and sense,
who’s sailed the seas a lot:
always roll yourself across
to the side of the ship that’s riding well,
rather than stand there like a painted
picture, stuck
in one pose. To swing round
to the comfier spot
is the mark of a clever man,
a born Theramenes.note

DionysusWouldn’t it be a joke
if Xanthias, a slave,
sprawled back on Milesian
rugs, were kissing a dancing
girl, then called for a pot to piss in,
and I, watching him,
grabbed hold of my chickpea,
and he, being a rogue himself,
spotted it, and then
punched me on the jaw and knocked out
the front row of my chorus?note

InnkeeperPlathane, Plathane, come here! It’s that crook who came into our inn once and gobbled up sixteen of our loaves.

PlathaneBy Zeus, it’s the very man!

XanthiasSomebody’s in for trouble.

InnkeeperAnd twenty helpings of stewed meat on top of that, at half an obol each.

XanthiasSomebody’s going to pay.

InnkeeperAnd all that garlic.

DionysusYou’re talking nonsense, woman. You don’t know what you’re saying.

InnkeeperOh, so you thought I wouldn’t recognize you anymore, just because you’re wearing those boots? And what else? I haven’t even mentioned all that salt fish.

PlathaneNo, by Zeus, or the fresh cheese, you poor thing, that he wolfed down baskets and all.

InnkeeperAnd then, when I asked for my money, he gave me a nasty look and started bellowing.

XanthiasThat’s him all over. That’s how he behaves everywhere.

InnkeeperAnd he pulled out his sword, acting like a madman.

PlathaneBy Zeus, he did, you poor dear!

InnkeeperAnd we two were so terrified we jumped straight up onto the shelf, and he rushed out and was off, taking the mats with him.

XanthiasThat’s him all over too.

PlathaneWell, we have to do something.

InnkeeperGo on, call my patron Cleon for me.note

PlathaneAnd you, if you run into Hyperbolus, get him for me, so we can crush this man.

InnkeeperYou disgusting gullet, how I’d love to take a rock and smash those molars you used to eat up my stock!

PlathaneAnd I’d love to throw you into the Pit.

InnkeeperAnd I’d love to take a sickle and cut out that throat you swallowed my sausages with.

PlathaneWell, I’m off to Cleon. He’ll have a summons on you today and reel it all back out of you.

DionysusMay I die horribly if I don’t love Xanthias.

XanthiasI know, I know what you’re thinking. Stop, stop right there. I’m not going to be Heracles again.

DionysusDon’t say that, Xanthias, dear.

XanthiasAnd how could I be Alcmene’s son, when I’m a slave and a mortal?

DionysusI know, I know you’re angry, and you’re right to be. Even if you hit me, I wouldn’t say a word. But if I ever take it away from you again from now on, may I die horribly, root and branch, me, my wife, my kids, and bleary-eyed Archedemus too.note

XanthiasI accept the oath, and on those terms I’ll take it.

ChorusNow it’s your job, since
you’ve taken back the costume
you had at the start,
to make yourself young again …
and glare fiercely once more,
remembering the god
you’re playing.
But if you’re caught babbling
and let slip anything soft,
you’ll have to lift
the baggage again.

XanthiasNot bad advice, gentlemen.
As it happens, I was just
thinking the same myself.
I know perfectly well
that if something good turns up
he’ll try to take it all back.
But even so, I’ll show
myself brave in spirit
with a glare as sharp as oregano.
And it looks like I’ll need to: I hear
a noise at the door already.

AeacusTie up this dog thief, quick, so he can pay for it. Hurry up, you two!

DionysusSomebody’s in for trouble.

XanthiasGo to hell! Don’t you come near me!

AeacusOh, so you want a fight? Ditylas! Sceblyas! Pardocas! Get over here and fight this man.

DionysusWell, isn’t that shocking, him hitting out, when he steals other people’s property too?

AeacusMonstrous, more like.

DionysusDisgraceful, I’d say, and shocking.

XanthiasLook, by Zeus, if I’ve ever been here before, I’m willing to drop dead, or if I ever stole anything of yours worth so much as a hair. And I’ll make you a really generous offer: take this slave of mine and torture him, and if you ever find I’ve done wrong, take me away and put me to death.note

AeacusAnd how shall I torture him?

XanthiasEvery way there is. Tie him to a ladder, hang him up, whip him with a bristle whip, flay him, rack him, pour vinegar up his nose, pile bricks on him, everything else. Only don’t beat him with a leek or a fresh spring onion.

AeacusThat’s fair. And if I maim your slave at all while beating him, you’ll get compensation.

XanthiasNot on my account. Just take him off and torture him.

AeacusNo, right here, so he’ll tell it to your face. You, put down the baggage, quick, and see you don’t tell any lies here.

DionysusI hereby give notice: nobody is to torture me, because I’m immortal. Otherwise you’ll have only yourself to blame.

AeacusWhat are you saying?

DionysusI say I’m immortal, Dionysus, son of Zeus, and this one’s a slave.

AeacusDo you hear that?

XanthiasI do. All the more reason to whip him: if he’s a god, he won’t feel it.

DionysusWell then, since you say you’re a god too, why don’t you take the same number of blows as me?

XanthiasThat’s fair. And whichever of us you see crying first, or minding the beating at all, take it that he’s not the god.

AeacusThere’s no doubt about it, you’re a real gentleman: you go straight for what’s fair. Strip, both of you.

XanthiasSo how will you torture us fairly?

AeacusEasy. Blow for blow, each of you in turn.

XanthiasSounds good.

AeacusThere!

XanthiasNow watch and see if I flinch.

AeacusI’ve already hit you.

XanthiasNo, by Zeus, you haven’t.

AeacusIt doesn’t look like it, either. Well, I’ll go over to this one and hit him.

DionysusWhen?

AeacusI’ve already hit you.

DionysusThen how come I didn’t sneeze?

AeacusI don’t know. I’ll try this one again.

XanthiasGet on with it, won’t you? Ow-ow-ow!

AeacusWhy “ow-ow-ow”? Did that hurt?

XanthiasNo, by Zeus, I was just thinking about when the festival of Heracles at Diomeia comes round.note

AeacusWhat a devout fellow! Back over here again.

DionysusOoh! Ooh!

AeacusWhat is it?

DionysusI see cavalry!

AeacusThen why are you crying?

DionysusI smell onions.

AeacusBecause you don’t mind it at all, of course.

DionysusDoesn’t bother me a bit.

AeacusThen I’d better go over to this one again.

XanthiasOw!

AeacusWhat is it?

XanthiasGet this thorn out.

AeacusWhat’s going on here? Back over this way again.

DionysusApollo!—you who hold Delos, or Pytho somewhere…

XanthiasThat hurt him. Didn’t you hear?

DionysusNot me. I was just remembering a line of Hipponax’s iambics.note

XanthiasYou’re getting nowhere. Pound him in the flanks.

AeacusNo, by Zeus. Right, now let’s have your belly.

DionysusPoseidon…

XanthiasSomebody’s hurting.

Dionysus…who rule the headlands of the Aegean, or the gray sea’s depths!note

AeacusBy Demeter, I just can’t work out which of you is the god. Go on in, both of you. My master will know you himself, and so will Persephone, since they’re gods too.

DionysusYou’re right. Only I wish you’d thought of that before I took the beating.

ChorusMuse of the holy choruses, step forward and come
to delight in my song,
to look on the great throng of people where countless skills
sit in their seats,
more hungry for honor than Cleophon—
on whose babbling lips
a Thracian swallow
roars terribly,
perched on a foreign leaf;
she trills a nightingale’s tearful dirge: that he’ll be done for
even if the votes come out even.note

It’s right for the sacred chorus to join in giving the city good advice and instruction. So first of all, we think the citizens should be put on an equal footing and their fears taken away. If anyone slipped up, tripped by Phrynichus’ wrestling holds, I say those who stumbled then should be allowed to clear themselves of the charge and wipe out their earlier mistakes. Next, I say no one in the city should be stripped of his citizen rights. It’s a disgrace that men who fought in one sea battle should become Plataeans overnight, masters instead of slaves. Not that I could call that anything but well done; no, I approve. It’s the only sensible thing you’ve done.note

If I can see straight into the life and ways
of a man who has a beating coming,
he won’t be long either, this ape who pesters us now,
little Cleigenes,
the worst bath-man of all who lord it
over fake-soda lye mixed with ash
and Cimolian clay,
he won’t hang around long. Knowing this, he’s no
man of peace, so he won’t someday be stripped while drunk,
walking without his stick.note

AeacusBy Zeus the Savior, your master’s a real gentleman.

XanthiasHow could he not be a gentleman? All he knows is drinking and fucking.

AeacusAnd not beating you after you’d been caught red-handed claiming to be the master when you were the slave!

XanthiasHe’d have been howling if he had.

AeacusNow that’s a proper slave’s move you just made, the kind of thing I love doing.

XanthiasYou love it, really?

AeacusOh, yes. I feel like I’ve reached the top grade of the Mysteries when I curse my master behind his back.

XanthiasAnd what about grumbling under your breath when you’ve had a good beating and you’re heading out the door?

AeacusI enjoy that too.

XanthiasAnd poking your nose into everything?

AeacusBy Zeus, there’s nothing like it!

XanthiasZeus, god of our kin! And eavesdropping on whatever the masters are saying?

AeacusIt drives me wild.

XanthiasAnd blabbing it all to outsiders?

AeacusMe? By Zeus, when I do that, I come all over myself.

XanthiasPhoebus Apollo! Give me your right hand, let me kiss you, and you kiss me. And tell me, by Zeus, the god of all of us who get whipped, what’s all this racket in there, the shouting and the abuse?

AeacusAeschylus and Euripides.

XanthiasAh.

AeacusThere’s a business, a big business, got stirred up big among the dead, a whole lot of strife.

XanthiasOver what?

AeacusThere’s a law laid down here for all the arts that are great and clever: whoever’s the best among his fellow artists gets free meals in the town hall and a chair next to Pluto—note

XanthiasI see.

Aeacus—until someone else came along who was more skilled in the art than he was. Then he had to make way.

XanthiasSo why has this got Aeschylus so worked up?

AeacusHe held the chair of tragedy, as the best at the art.

XanthiasAnd who has it now?

AeacusWhen Euripides came down, he started putting on shows for the muggers and purse-snatchers and father-beaters and housebreakers, and that’s the crowd in Hades. And when they heard his counter-arguments and his twists and turns, they went crazy for him and decided he was the most skilled. Then he got puffed up and laid claim to the chair where Aeschylus sat.

XanthiasAnd nobody threw stones at him?

AeacusNo, by Zeus. The people clamored for a trial to decide which of them was more skilled in the art.

XanthiasThe people—that crowd of crooks?

AeacusBy Zeus, yes, to high heaven.

XanthiasAnd didn’t Aeschylus have any allies on his side?

AeacusDecent people are few and far between, just like here.

XanthiasSo what’s Pluto planning to do?

AeacusHold a contest, right away, a trial and test of their art.

XanthiasThen how come Sophocles didn’t lay claim to the chair too?

AeacusNo, by Zeus, not him. When he came down, he kissed Aeschylus and clasped his right hand, and Aeschylus made room for him on the chair. And now, as Cleidemides said, he was going to sit by as the reserve: if Aeschylus wins, he’ll stay where he is; if not, he said, he’d fight it out with Euripides over the art.note

XanthiasSo it’s really going to happen?

AeacusBy Zeus, yes, any minute now. And that’s when the terrible stuff will get going. The art of the Muses will be weighed on the scales—

XanthiasWhat? They’re going to weigh out tragedy like a sacrificial lamb?

AeacusThey’ll bring out rulers and yardsticks for words, and folding frames—

XanthiasWhat, are they making bricks?

Aeacus—and set squares and wedges. Euripides says he’s going to put the tragedies to the torture, word by word.

XanthiasI imagine Aeschylus is taking that pretty hard.

AeacusWell, he lowered his head and glared like a bull.

XanthiasAnd who’s going to judge all this?

AeacusThat was the tricky part. The two of them found skilled men in short supply. Aeschylus didn’t get on with the Athenians—

XanthiasMaybe he thought a lot of them were housebreakers.

Aeacus—and he thought everyone else was rubbish when it came to judging poets’ talents. So they handed it over to your master, since he knows the art. But let’s go in. When our masters get serious, it means tears for us.

ChorusTerrible, surely, the rage that will rise in the thunderer’s heart
when he sees his rival, the sharp-tongued one,
whetting his tusk; and then, in a terrible frenzy,
his eyes will roll.note

There will be helmet-flashing battles of horse-plumed words,
splintering axles and shavings of fine-chiseled work,
as the man who carpenters minds fights to fend off
phrases that ride on horseback.

Bristling the shaggy mane on his natural crest,
knitting a terrible brow, he will roar and hurl
words bolted together, ripping them off like planks
with the blast of an earthborn giant.

Then the mouth-crafting tongue, smooth tester of verses,
uncoiling itself, shaking the reins of envy,
will split up his phrases and chop into tiny arguments
all that huge labor of lungs.

EuripidesI won’t give up the chair, so don’t lecture me. I say I’m better at the art than he is.

DionysusAeschylus, why are you silent? You can hear what he’s saying.

EuripidesHe’ll start by putting on his grand, aloof act—the same trick he used to pull every time in his tragedies to amaze people.

DionysusMy good man, don’t talk too big.

EuripidesI know this man. I’ve had him figured out for ages: a maker of wild men, stubborn-mouthed, with a mouth that has no bridle, no control, no gate; a man nobody can out-talk, a bundler of bombast.

AeschylusIs that so, son of the goddess of the vegetable patch? You say this to me, you collector of chit-chat, you maker of beggars, you stitcher of rags? You won’t get away with saying it.note

DionysusStop, Aeschylus, and do not let wrath inflame your heart with rancor.

AeschylusNo, not until I’ve shown him up plainly for what he is, this maker of lame heroes, for all his swagger.

DionysusA lamb, a black lamb, boys, bring it out! There’s a hurricane getting ready to break.note

AeschylusYou who scrape together Cretan solos and bring unholy marriages into the art!note

DionysusHold it right there, most honored Aeschylus. And you, Euripides, you rogue, get yourself out of range of the hailstones if you’ve got any sense, or in his rage he’ll hit you on the temple with a capital phrase and knock your Telephus out of your skull. And you, Aeschylus, not in anger: test him and be tested calmly. It isn’t proper for poets to trade abuse like bread-sellers in the market. But you go straight off roaring like a holm oak on fire.note

EuripidesI’m ready, myself, and I’m not backing out: I’ll bite and be bitten first, if he likes—my verses, my lyrics, the very sinews of tragedy, yes, by Zeus, my Peleus and my Aeolus and my Meleager, and above all my Telephus.note

DionysusAnd you, what do you want to do? Speak, Aeschylus.

AeschylusI’d rather not have competed here. The contest between us isn’t on equal terms.

DionysusWhy not?

AeschylusBecause my poetry didn’t die with me, but his died with him, so he’ll have it all on hand to recite. Still, since you think so, it has to be done.note

DionysusCome on then, somebody give me incense here, and fire, so I can pray, before all this cleverness starts, that I judge this contest in the truest spirit of the Muses. And you, sing the Muses a song.

ChorusDaughters of Zeus, nine maidens pure,
Muses, who look down on the subtle and clever minds
of men who mint maxims, whenever they come to a quarrel
and argue with sharp-witted, twisting wrestling holds,
come and watch the power
of two most formidable mouths to supply
phrases and sawn-off scraps of verse.
For now the great contest of skill gets down to work at last.

DionysusNow you two pray as well, before you recite your verses.

AeschylusDemeter, who nourished my mind, make me worthy of your mysteries.note

DionysusYou take some incense too and put it on.

EuripidesNo, thank you. The gods I pray to are different ones.

DionysusPrivate ones of your own? A new coinage?

EuripidesVery much so.

DionysusGo on, then, pray to your private gods.

EuripidesAether, my pasture, and Pivot of the Tongue, and Intelligence, and Nostrils keen to scent: grant that I rightly refute whatever arguments I get hold of.note

ChorusAnd we are eager
to hear from two skilled men
what melody of words
you’ll bring along the road of battle.
Their tongues have turned savage,
neither of them lacks nerve,
and neither mind is slow to move.
So we can expect
that one will say something smart
and filed down fine,
while the other, ripping words up
roots and all,
will fall on him and scatter
a whole dust-wallow of verses.

DionysusWell, you need to speak as quickly as you can. But make sure what you say is smart—no similes, and nothing anyone else would say.

EuripidesWell now, what sort of poet I am myself I’ll tell you at the very end. First I’ll show up this man for the charlatan and fraud he was, and the tricks he used to cheat his audiences—fools he took over after Phrynichus had raised them. First of all he’d sit some single figure down, all wrapped up—an Achilles, say, or a Niobe—without showing the face, as window-dressing for the tragedy, and they didn’t make a peep, not even this much.note

DionysusNo, by Zeus, they didn’t.

EuripidesAnd the chorus would pound out strings of songs, four in a row, one after another, while the characters stayed silent.

DionysusAnd I enjoyed the silence. It gave me as much pleasure as the chatterers do now.

EuripidesThat’s because you were simple-minded, believe me.

DionysusI think so too. But why did what’s-his-name do it?

EuripidesPretentiousness. So the spectator would sit there waiting for the moment when Niobe would say something. And meanwhile the play would be running on.

DionysusWhat a total scoundrel! So that’s how he was conning me. —What are you squirming and fretting for?

EuripidesBecause I’m showing him up. And then, after he’d done all this nonsense and the play was already half over, he’d say a dozen words as big as oxen, with eyebrows and crests on them, fearsome bogey-faced things nobody in the audience had ever heard of.

AeschylusOh, misery!

DionysusBe quiet.

EuripidesAnd he’d never say a single clear thing—

DionysusDon’t grind your teeth.

Euripides—but it was all Scamanders, or trenches, or bronze-beaten griffin-eagles on shields, and words as steep as cavalry cliffs, which weren’t easy to make sense of.

DionysusBy the gods, I for one once lay awake a long stretch of the night trying to work out what sort of bird the tawny horse-rooster was.note

AeschylusIt was an emblem painted on ships, you complete ignoramus!

DionysusAnd I thought it was Eryxis, son of Philoxenus.note

EuripidesSo you had to put a rooster into tragedy too?

AeschylusAnd you, you enemy of the gods, what sort of things did you make?

EuripidesNot horse-roosters, by Zeus, or goat-stags like you, the kind they paint on Persian tapestries. No: when I first took over the art from you, all bloated with bombast and heavy words, the very first thing I did was slim it down and take off the weight with little verses and walks and white beets, giving it a juice of chit-chat strained out of books. Then I built it up again on solos—note

Dionysus—with a dose of Cephisophon mixed in.note

EuripidesThen I didn’t babble whatever came into my head, or plunge in and make a mess. No, the first character to come out would right away give me the play’s whole pedigree—

DionysusWell, by Zeus, it was a better one than your own.note

EuripidesThen from the opening lines on I’d leave nobody idle. The wife would speak, and the slave just as much, and the master and the young girl and the old woman.

AeschylusWell then, shouldn’t you have been put to death for daring that?

EuripidesNo, by Apollo. I was doing something democratic.

DionysusLeave that one alone, my friend. When it comes to that subject, it’s not the best walk for you to take.note

EuripidesThen I taught these people to talk—

AeschylusI’ll say you did. And I wish you’d burst down the middle before you taught them!

Euripides—to apply subtle rules and set square to verses, to think, see, understand, twist, love, contrive, suspect the worst, think round everything—

AeschylusI’ll say you did.

Euripides—bringing in everyday things, things we use, things we live with, where I could be shown up, since these people knew them and could criticize my art. But I didn’t blow hot air, dragging them away from good sense, and I didn’t stun them with Cycnuses and Memnons riding horses with bells on their bridles. You’ll recognize his disciples and mine. His are Phormisius and Megaenetus the oaf, trumpet-lance-beards, flesh-ripping pine-benders. Mine are Cleitophon and Theramenes the smart.note

DionysusTheramenes? A smart man, and clever at everything. If he ever falls into trouble and it’s right on top of him, he’s fallen clear of the trouble: no losing Chian, he, but a lucky Ceian.note

EuripidesThat’s the kind of thinking I introduced to these people, putting reasoning and inquiry into my art, so that now they understand everything and see through it all—and, in particular, run their households better than before and look into things: “How’s this doing?” “Where’s that thing of mine?” “Who took this?”

DionysusBy the gods, yes: now every Athenian who walks into his house yells at the slaves and demands, “Where’s the pot?” “Who’s bitten the head off the sprat?” “The bowl I had last year is dead on me.” “Where’s yesterday’s garlic?” “Who’s been nibbling the olive?” Whereas before they sat there like perfect idiots, gaping Mammacythuses, Melitideses.note

Chorus“You see this, shining Achilles”:
but you, come, what will you say to this?
Only take care
your temper doesn’t seize you
and carry you off past the olive trees;
he has made terrible charges.
So, noble sir, take care
you don’t answer in a rage:
reef in your sails
and use only their edges,
then little by little bring her on
and keep watch
until you catch a wind
that’s smooth and steady.note

DionysusCome on, you who first of all the Greeks built towering words of grandeur and dressed up tragic drivel: have courage and open the tap!

EuripidesFor cleverness and good advice, because we make people better in their cities.

AeschylusThen if you haven’t done that, but have taken good, noble men and turned them into utter wretches, what will you say you deserve to suffer?

DionysusDeath. Don’t ask him.

AeschylusWell then, look at the kind of men he got from me to begin with: noble, six feet tall, not dodgers of their civic duty, not market-loafers or tricksters like today’s, or rogues, but men breathing spears and lances and white-plumed helmets and casques and greaves and hearts of sevenfold oxhide.

DionysusHere comes the trouble now. He’ll wear me out with his helmet-making again.

EuripidesAnd what did you do to teach them to be so noble?

DionysusTell him, Aeschylus, and don’t be so stubbornly proud and touchy.

AeschylusI wrote a play full of Ares.

DionysusWhich?

AeschylusSeven Against Thebes. Every man who saw it longed to be a warrior.

DionysusThat was a bad thing you did there: you made the Thebans braver in war. You deserve a beating for that.note

AeschylusBut you could all have trained for it yourselves; you just didn’t turn your minds to it. Then after that I put on Persians and taught them always to long to beat their enemies, glorifying a superb achievement.note

DionysusI certainly loved it when I heard about dead Darius, and the chorus at once clapped their hands together like this and cried “iauoi!”note

AeschylusThat’s what poets ought to work at. Look how useful the noble poets have been from the very beginning. Orpheus taught us rites and to keep from killing; Musaeus taught cures for diseases and oracles; Hesiod the working of the land, the seasons for crops, plowing. And the divine Homer—where did he get his honor and fame if not from teaching useful things: battle formations, feats of excellence, the arming of men?note

DionysusAnd yet he didn’t teach Pantacles, at any rate, the clumsiest man alive. Just the other day, when he was marching in the procession, he’d strapped his helmet on first and was about to fasten the crest on afterward.note

AeschylusBut he taught plenty of other good men, I tell you, including Lamachus the hero. My mind took its imprint from him and created many excellences—Patrocluses, lion-hearted Teucers—to rouse the citizen to measure himself against them whenever he heard the trumpet. But no, by Zeus, I didn’t create lustful women like Phaedra or Stheneboea, and nobody knows of any woman in love I ever created.note

EuripidesNo, by Zeus, there wasn’t a bit of Aphrodite in you. And may there never be!

AeschylusWhereas on you and yours she sat heavy, very heavy—so heavy she knocked you yourself flat.note

DionysusBy Zeus, that’s certainly true. What you wrote about other men’s wives, you got hit with yourself.

EuripidesAnd how, you wretch, do my Stheneboeas harm the city?

AeschylusBecause you induced noble women, wives of noble men, to drink hemlock out of shame on account of your Bellerophons.

EuripidesSo this story I composed about Phaedra wasn’t true, then?

AeschylusNo, by Zeus, it was true. But a poet ought to hide what’s wicked, not bring it on stage and teach it. Little children have a schoolmaster to tell them things; grown men have poets. We absolutely must say what’s good for them.

EuripidesSo when you talk to us about Lycabettuses and things the size of Parnassus, is that teaching what’s good? You ought to talk like a human being.note

AeschylusBut, you poor devil, great thoughts and ideas necessarily give birth to words of the same size. Besides, it’s fitting for demigods to use bigger words; after all, they wear far grander clothes than we do. I set a good example, and you ruined it.

EuripidesBy doing what?

AeschylusFirst, by dressing kings in rags, so they’d look pitiful to people.

EuripidesAnd what harm did I do by that?

AeschylusWell, because of it no rich man is willing to serve as a trierarch. He wraps himself up in rags and whines and says he’s poor.note

DionysusYes, by Demeter, with a tunic of thick wool on underneath. And if he gets away with that story, up he pops at the fish stalls.

AeschylusThen you taught them to cultivate chatter and glib talk, which emptied the wrestling schools and wore down the butts of the young men sitting around chattering, and persuaded the crew of the Paralus to talk back to their officers. Yet back when I was alive, all they knew how to do was call for their barley cake and shout “rhyppapai!”note

DionysusYes, by Apollo, and fart in the face of the rower below, and smear shit on their messmate, and go ashore and mug somebody. Now he talks back, and doesn’t row anymore, just sails this way and then back again.note

AeschylusWhat evils isn’t he to blame for? Didn’t he put on stage women who act as go-betweens, and women giving birth in temples, and sleeping with their brothers, and saying that life isn’t life? And because of this our city has filled up with undersecretaries and buffoon monkeys of the people, forever deceiving the people—and nobody can carry a torch anymore, they’re so out of training.note

DionysusNo, by Zeus, they can’t. I nearly dried up laughing at the Panathenaea, when some slow fellow was running, bent over, pale, fat, falling behind, and making a terrible job of it. And then the Potters’ Quarter men at the gates slapped him on the belly, ribs, flanks, butt, and as they beat him with their flat palms, he let out a little fart, and, blowing on his torch, ran off.note

ChorusBig the issue, fierce the quarrel, mighty the war that’s coming on.
So it’s a hard job to decide,
when one of them pulls with violence
and the other can wheel around
and push back sharply.
But don’t both stay sitting in one place:
there are plenty of other lines of attack, and clever ones.
Whatever you have to quarrel about,
speak, charge, flay
the old things and the new,
and take the risk of saying something subtle and skilled.

And if you’re afraid of this, that there may be some ignorance
among the spectators, so that
they won’t catch the subtleties of what you say,
don’t worry about that at all: it’s not like that anymore.
They’re veterans,
and every one of them has a book and is learning the clever stuff.
Their natures are superb anyway,
and now they’ve been sharpened too.
So don’t be afraid at all, but
go through everything, since, as far as the audience goes, they’re wise.

EuripidesAll right, now I’ll turn to your prologues themselves. That’s the first part of a tragedy, so that’s where I’ll test this clever man first. He was unclear in setting out the facts.

DionysusAnd which one of his will you test?

EuripidesLots of them. But first recite me the one from the Oresteia.

DionysusCome on, then, silence, everybody. Speak, Aeschylus.

Aeschylus“Hermes of the underworld, you who watch over a father’s powers, be my savior and my ally, I beg you. For I have come to this land, and I return.”note

DionysusCan you find anything to fault there?

EuripidesMore than a dozen things.

DionysusBut that’s only three lines altogether.

EuripidesAnd each one has twenty mistakes in it.

DionysusAeschylus, I advise you to keep quiet. Otherwise you’ll turn out to owe a lot more than three lines of iambics.

AeschylusMe, keep quiet for him?

DionysusIf you take my advice, yes.

EuripidesBecause right off the bat he’s made a mistake as big as the sky.

AeschylusYou see what drivel you’re talking?

DionysusI couldn’t care less.

AeschylusHow do you say I made a mistake?

EuripidesSay it again from the beginning.

Aeschylus“Hermes of the underworld, you who watch over a father’s powers.”

EuripidesNow, isn’t it Orestes who says this, at the tomb of his dead father?

AeschylusThat’s exactly what I’m saying.

EuripidesSo what does he mean? His father was killed violently at a woman’s hand, by secret treachery, and Hermes “watched over” that?

AeschylusOf course not. It’s Hermes the Helper he’s addressing as the god of the underworld, and he makes it clear by saying that Hermes holds this office as a privilege from his father—

EuripidesThat’s an even bigger mistake than I was hoping for. Because if he holds his underworld office from his father—

DionysusThen he’d be a grave robber on his father’s side.

AeschylusDionysus, the wine you’re drinking has no bouquet.

DionysusRecite him the next one. And you, keep an eye out for the damage.

Aeschylus“Be my savior and my ally, I beg you. For I have come to this land, and I return—”

EuripidesThe wise Aeschylus has told us the same thing twice.

DionysusTwice how?

EuripidesLook at the wording, and I’ll explain it to you. “For I have come to this land,” he says, “and I return.” But “I have come” is the same thing as “I return.”

DionysusBy Zeus, yes! It’s as if someone said to his neighbor, “Lend me a kneading bowl, or if you’d rather, a bowl for kneading.”

AeschylusNo, it’s not the same thing at all, you chattered-out windbag. That line is as good as a line can be.

EuripidesHow so? Go on, explain to me what exactly you mean.

AeschylusAnybody who has a share in his country can “come” to it. He’s come, and nothing more to it. But a man in exile both “comes” and “returns.”

DionysusGood one, by Apollo! What do you say to that, Euripides?

EuripidesI say Orestes didn’t “return” home. He came in secret, without the authorities’ permission.

DionysusGood one, by Hermes! Though I don’t understand what you’re saying.

EuripidesWell then, carry on with the next one.

DionysusGo on, Aeschylus, carry on, hurry up. And you, watch out for the bad bit.

Aeschylus“Upon this mound of the tomb I call upon my father to hear, to hearken.”

EuripidesThere he goes again, saying the same thing twice: “to hear, to hearken.” They’re obviously the same.

DionysusHe was talking to the dead, you pest. You can’t get through to them even if you say it three times.

AeschylusAnd how did you write your prologues?

EuripidesI’ll tell you. And if I say the same thing twice anywhere, or you see any padding in it that isn’t doing a job, spit on me.

DionysusGo on, then, recite. I’ve no choice but to hear how perfectly correct the words of your prologues are.

Euripides“At first, Oedipus was a happy man”—note

AeschylusNo, by Zeus, he certainly wasn’t! He was unhappy by birth. Before he was even born, Apollo said he would kill his father—before he even existed! How was he “at first a happy man”?

Euripides“Then later he became the most wretched of mortals.”

AeschylusNo, by Zeus, he certainly didn’t! He never stopped being that. How could he? First, as soon as he was born, they put him out in a pot in the middle of winter, so that he wouldn’t grow up and murder his father. Then he hobbled off to Polybus with both feet swollen. Then, young as he was, he married an old woman, and on top of that she was his own mother. Then he blinded himself.

DionysusSo he was happy—provided he’d also served as a general with Erasinides.note

EuripidesDrivel. I write fine prologues.

EuripidesWith a little oil flask? You, destroy mine?

AeschylusJust one. The way you write, anything fits into your iambics: a little fleece, a little oil flask, a little sack. I’ll show you right now.

EuripidesOh, really? You’ll show me?

AeschylusI will.

DionysusAll right, then, you have to recite.

Euripides“Aegyptus, as the most widely sown tale tells, with his fifty sons, by the oar of seafaring, putting in at Argos—”note

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.note

DionysusWhat was that “little oil flask”? Damn him! Recite him another prologue, so I can see it again.

Euripides“Dionysus, who, with thyrsus and with skins of fawns arrayed, amid the pine torches down Parnassus leaps in the dance—”note

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.

DionysusOh no, we’ve been hit by the oil flask again!

EuripidesIt won’t be a problem. To this prologue he won’t be able to attach an oil flask. “There is no man who is happy in all things: either he is nobly born and has no livelihood, or being of low birth—”note

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.

DionysusEuripides—

EuripidesWhat is it?

DionysusI think you’d better take in your sail. This little oil flask is going to blow a gale.

EuripidesBy Demeter, I couldn’t care less. This time it’ll be knocked right out of his hands.

DionysusGo on, then, recite another one—and keep away from the oil flask.

Euripides“Cadmus, once, departing from the city of Sidon, Agenor’s son—”note

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.

DionysusMy dear fellow, buy the oil flask off him, so he doesn’t grind our prologues to pieces.

EuripidesWhat? Me, buy it from him?

DionysusIf you take my advice, yes.

EuripidesNo way. I’ve got plenty of prologues I can recite where he won’t be able to attach an oil flask. “Pelops, the son of Tantalus, to Pisa coming with swift horses—”note

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.

DionysusSee? He’s attached the oil flask again. My good man, even now, pay him for it at any price. You’ll get a really fine one for an obol.

EuripidesNo, by Zeus, not yet. I’ve still got lots left. “Oeneus, once, from the land—”

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.

EuripidesLet me say the whole line first! “Oeneus, once, from the land reaping a harvest of many measures, offering the first fruits—”note

Aeschyluslost his little oil flask.

DionysusIn the middle of the sacrifice? And who swiped it?

EuripidesLeave him alone, my friend. Let him try it on this one. “Zeus, as has been told by truth itself—”note

DionysusHe’ll finish you. He’ll say, “lost his little oil flask.” That little oil flask grows on your prologues like styes on the eyes. For gods’ sake, turn to his lyrics instead.

EuripidesAll right, I’ve got material to prove he’s a bad lyric poet who keeps writing the same thing over and over.

ChorusWhatever is going to happen?
I can’t help wondering
what fault he’ll find
with the man who wrote
by far the most lyrics, and the finest,
of anyone to this day.
I wonder how he can ever
find fault with him,
the lord of Bacchic song,
and I’m afraid for him.

EuripidesTruly marvelous lyrics! That’ll soon be clear. I’ll chop all his lyrics down into one.

DionysusAll right, I’ll take some of these pebbles and keep count.

EuripidesPhthian Achilles, why, when you hear the man-slaying—
iē!—pounding, do you not come to the rescue?
Hermes we honor as our forefather, we the people of the lake.
Iē, the pounding! Do you not come to the rescue?note

DionysusThat’s two poundings for you, Aeschylus.

EuripidesMost glorious of the Achaeans, wide-ruling son of Atreus, learn from me.
Iē, the pounding! Do you not come to the rescue?note

DionysusThat’s pounding number three for you, Aeschylus.

EuripidesHush, keep holy silence! The bee-keeping priestesses are at hand to open the house of Artemis.
Iē, the pounding! Do you not come to the rescue?
I have the right to proclaim the auspicious power of the men on the road.
Iē, the pounding! Do you not come to the rescue?note

DionysusZeus almighty, what a load of poundings! I want to go to the bathhouse. With all this pounding my kidneys are swelling up.

EuripidesNot before you’ve heard another set of his lyrics, these made out of the melodies he sings to the lyre.

DionysusGo on, then, get on with it—and don’t add any pounding.

EuripidesHow the twin-throned might of the Achaeans, the flower of Hellas—
tophlattothrat tophlattothrat—
sends the Sphinx, the hound that presides over days of doom—
tophlattothrat tophlattothrat—
with spear and avenging hand, the bird of onslaught—
tophlattothrat tophlattothrat—
granting it to meet the reckless hounds that roam the air—
tophlattothrat tophlattothrat—
and the leaning toward Ajax—
tophlattothrat tophlattothrat.note

DionysusWhat’s this “phlattothrat”? Did you collect these rope-twisters’ songs at Marathon, or where?

AeschylusWell, I took them from a fine source and put them to fine use, so that nobody would see me picking flowers in the same holy meadow of the Muses as Phrynichus. But this man takes from everywhere: from cheap prostitutes’ ditties, from Meletus’ drinking songs, from Carian pipe tunes, from dirges, from dance songs. That’ll soon be clear. Somebody bring me the lyre. And yet what do we need a lyre for, with this stuff? Where’s that girl who clicks the castanets? Come here, Muse of Euripides, you’re just the right accompanist for these songs.note

DionysusThis Muse never sucked anybody off Lesbos-style. Oh no, not her.note

AeschylusHalcyons, who by the ever-flowing waves of the sea
chatter on,
wetting your wings’ skin
with the damp drops, bedewed;
and you, in corners under the roof,
spiders, who whi-i-i-irl with your fingers
the loom-laboring threads of the spindle,
care of the singing shuttle,
where the pipe-loving dolphin leapt
by the dark-beaked prows,
oracles and racecourses,
gleam of the vine’s wine-flower,
tendril of the grape that ends all toil.
Throw your arms around me, child.
Do you see this foot?note

DionysusI see it.

AeschylusWhat, then? Do you see this one?

DionysusI see it.

AeschylusAnd you write stuff like this,
and dare to criticize my lyrics,
you who compose your songs
in the style of Cyrene’s twelve positions?
So much for your lyrics. But I want to go on and run through the style of your solo arias.
Dark-gleaming gloom
of night, what
wretched dream
do you send me from the unseen,
Hades’ messenger,
with a soul that is soulless,
child of black Night,
a shuddering, dreadful sight,
clad-in-black-corpse-robes,
glaring murder, murder,
with great talons?
Come, my maids, light me a lamp,
and draw dew from the rivers in pitchers, and heat water,
so I may wash away the god-sent dream.
Io, god of the sea,
this is it! Io, my housemates,
behold these portents:
Glyce has snatched my rooster
and gone.note

DionysusThat’s enough songs, both of you.

DionysusCome over here, then, if I really have to do this too—weigh out the art of poets like cheese.

ChorusClever people do take pains.
For here’s another marvel,
brand new, full of strangeness—/ who else would have thought it up?
…
By the—I wouldn’t have believed it
if any passer-by had told me;
I’d have thought
he was talking nonsense.

DionysusCome on, stand next to the scale pans,

Aeschylus and EuripidesThere.

Dionysusand each of you take hold and say your line, and don’t let go until I say “cuckoo.”

Aeschylus and EuripidesWe’ve got hold.

DionysusNow speak your line into the scales.

Euripides“Would that the Argo’s hull had never winged its way—”note

Aeschylus“River Spercheius, and pastures where the cattle roam.”note

DionysusCuckoo! Let go. His side goes down a lot lower.

EuripidesAnd what on earth is the reason?

DionysusBecause he put in a river. He made his line wet, the way wool sellers wet their wool, and you put in a line with wings.

EuripidesWell, let him say something else and match it against mine.

DionysusTake hold again, then.

Aeschylus and EuripidesThere.

DionysusSpeak.

Euripides“Persuasion has no temple other than the word.”note

Aeschylus“For Death alone of gods has no desire for gifts.”note

DionysusLet go, let go! His side’s sinking again. He put in death, the heaviest evil there is.

EuripidesAnd I put in persuasion, a beautifully spoken word.

DionysusPersuasion is a lightweight thing with no sense in it. Look for something else, one of the heavyweights, that’ll drag your side down for you, something strong and big.

EuripidesCome on, where have I got anything like that? Where?

DionysusI’ll tell you: “Achilles has thrown two ones and a four.”note

Go ahead, speak. This is your last weigh-in.

Euripides“And in his right hand he took a club heavy with iron.”note

Aeschylus“For chariot on chariot lay, and corpse on corpse.”note

DionysusHe’s fooled you again this time.

EuripidesHow?