Heritage History | Stories from the Greek Comedians by Alfred J. Church (2024)

The long struggle between Athens andSparta which goes by the name of the Peloponnesian War broke out earlyin 431 B.C. Athens kept for a considerable time the command of the sea,but was unable to resist in the fieldthe overwhelming forces of Sparta and her allies. Early in the summer ofthe first year of the war, Archidamus,one of the kings of Sparta, entered the Athenian territory at the headof an army of eighty thousand men.Pericles, who was then the leading statesman of Athens, had persuadedhis countrymen to dismantle theircountry-houses and farms, and to bring all their movable and portableproperty within the walls. Still thesight of the ravages of the invading host, which, of course, could beplainly seen from the walls, roused thepeople almost to madness. The Athenians, though excelling in maritimepursuits, were passionately fond of acountry life, and it was almost more than they could bear to see theirfarms and orchards and olive-yardswasted with fire. Inferior as they were in numbers, they loudly demandedto be led out against the invaders,and it was as much as Pericles could do to keep them within the walls.The inhabitants of the deme or townshipof Acharnæ were prominent among the malcontents. Acharnæ was the richestand most populous of the townships ofAttica, contributing no less than ten thousand men to the total force(about twenty-nine thousand) which Athenscould put into the field. The chief occupation of the place wascharcoal-burning, the woods of Mount Parnesbeing conveniently near. No place was more interested in the question ofpeace and war, as it was here that theSpartan king pitched his camp. The invasion was repeated year afteryear, though on some few occasions variousthings happened to prevent it. Not only did Athenians lose greatly bythe desolation of their country, but theysuffered much by being cooped up within thewalls of the city; a most fatal pestilence was thus caused in the secondyear of the war. And it was but asmall satisfaction to retaliate by ravaging the coasts of thePeloponnesians, and by annually invading theterritory of Megara, a city which had concluded an alliance with Sparta.There had always been a peace party inthe state, and when Pericles died, early in the third year of the war,this party became more powerful. At thesame time the war party conducted affairs less prudently. The cautiouspolicy of Pericles was discarded forremote expeditions and out-of-the-way schemes. Aristophanes, in thisplay, exhibited in February, 425 (it isthe earliest comedy that has come down to us), sets forth the views ofthe advocates of peace. He expresses thefeeling of distress caused by the desolation of the country, and alsothe dislike felt by prudent politiciansfor the extravagant ideas of the war party. The play, or, as I may callit for my present purpose, the story,opens in the Athenian place of Assembly (Pnyx). Dicæopolis (Just-City),whose name I have Englished by "Mr.Honesty," is sitting alone on one of the empty benches, and begins byexpressing his disgust at theindifference of his fellow-citizens.

"Dear me!" said Mr. Honesty to himself, as he got up and walked about theempty place of Assembly at Athens,"how careless these people are about their country! Look at them there,lounging among the market stalls, anddodging the rope.Even the magistrates are not here. As for peace—nobody gives athought to it. For myself, I think of nothingelse. I am here the first thing in the morning, and it is always'peace,' 'peace' with me. How I hate the city!How I long to see the fields again, my own village, and my poor littlefarm! No fellows there bawling out, 'Buymy charcoal!' 'Buy my oil!' 'Buy my everything!' There was nobuying there. Everything came off the estate, and was to be had fornothing. Ah! here they come at last. Well,nobody shall say a word with my goodwill, except he speaks for peace."

After various preliminaries the magistrates took their places, thepeople crowded in, and a herald opened theproceedings by shouting out, "Does any one wish to speak?"

"Yes; I do," cried out a strange-looking creature, dressed as if he hadstepped down from a pedestal in atemple.

"What is your name?" asked the herald.

"Demigod," said the stranger. "I am directly descended from the goddessDemeter, and I am sent by the gods toarrange for a peace between this city and Sparta; only, unfortunately, Iwant a little ready money for myjourney, and I can't get the magistrates to advance it."

"This is a very sensible man," said Mr. Honesty. The next moment he wasamazed to see that the presiding magistrate was sending the archersto turn the stranger out. "Hold!" he cried, "you insult the people.Don't you know that the man wants to give us peace?"

Just at this moment there was a diversion. The herald shouted out,"Silence there! Make way for the ambassadorsfrom the Great King!"

"Gentlemen," said one of the ambassadors, comingforward, "you will remember that you sent us a few years ago on anembassy to the Great King with a poorallowance of a couple of guineas a day."

"Poor guineas!" muttered Mr. Honesty, "we shall never see them again."

The ambassadors went on: "You ought to know, gentlemen, that it was avery laborious service on which you sentus. All day we had to ride in carriages, lying on soft cushions, with anawning over our heads."

"Very laborious!" growled Honesty. "I was on guard all night, withnothing over me, and only a mat under me."

Ambassador. "Then the barbarians entertained us, and we wereobliged to drink strong wine, without adrop of water in it, if you will believe us, out of cups of crystal orgold, for this, you must know, is thetest with them; the best man is he who can eat and drink most. At theend of four years we reached the royalpalace, and found that His Majesty had gone to the hills for his health.There he stayed eight months, till thecure was complete. When he came home he gave us audience, andentertained us at a royal banquet, at which wereserved up oxen baked whole in crust."

Honesty. "Oxen baked whole in crust! Did you ever hear such alie?"

Amb. "Also there was served up to us a big bird, as big as a man,that they call the Chousibus."

Hon. "Chousibus indeed! You have choused us out of our guineas."

Amb. "However, we did not go for nothing; we have brought backwith us a great Persian nobleman.Sham-Artabas is his name; he is nothing less than the King's Eye. Comeforward, Sham-Artabas, and explain tothe people of Athens what the Great King means to do for them."

On this, a curious creature, wearing a mask which was all one big eye,came forward, followed by a train ofattendants in Persian attire. He muttered something which sounded like—

"Artaman exarksam anapissonai satra." "There!" cried theambassador, "didn't you hear him? Don't you understand him?"

"Understand him!" said Mr. Honesty, "no; not a syllable."

Amb. "Why, he said that the Great King means to send us somegold. Tell them" (turning toSham-Artabas), "tell them about the gold; speak louder and moreplainly."

The Eye spoke again: "Gapey Greeks, gold a fooly jest."

Hon. "Ah, that is plain enough!"

Amb. "Well, what do you make of it?"

Hon. "Why, that it is a foolish jest for us Greeks to think thatwe shall get any gold."

Amb. "You're quite wrong; he didn't say 'jest,' but 'chest.' Hetold us that we should get chests fullof gold."

Hon. "Chests indeed! You're nothing but a swindler. Stand off,now, and I will get the truth out of thefellow. Now listen to me, Mr. Sham-Artabas, and answer me plainly. Yousee this fist; if you don't want abloody nose of right royal purple, speak the truth. Is the king going tosend us any gold?"

The Eye shook his head.

"Are the ambassadors cheating us?"

The Eye nodded.

"Well, anyhow, the creature knows how to nod in Greek."

While saying this he closely scrutinized the strangers, and cried out,"I believe he comes from this very city;and, now I come to look, I see two scoundrels in his train whom I knowas well as I know my own brother. Hothere, you rascal! what do you mean—?"

"Silence!" shouted the herald; "the Senate invites the King's Eye todine in the Town Hall."

Hon. "Is not that enough to make a man hang himself? Theserascals are to dine in the Town Hall, and Iam left outside here! But here comes Demigod. Now, my good fellow, takethese two half-crowns, and make thebest of your way to Sparta, and conclude a separate peace for me, mywife, my children, and my maid-servant.But whom have we here?"

"Silence!" cried the herald again, "for His Excellency, the ambassador,returned from Thrace!"

"Gentlemen," said the ambassador, "I should not have stayed so long—"

Hon. (aside). "If you had not been paid by the day."

Amb. "If it had not been for the snow, which covered all thecountry and froze up all the rivers. Wepassed the time drinking with King Sitalces, who is a very good friendof yours, gentlemen; he chalks up yourname on the walls, for all the world like a lover.

As for his son, a citizen as you know, he is passionately fond ofAthenian sausages, and would not be satisfiedtill his father promised to send an army to help us. The king swore thathe would, aye, and so big a one thatwe should say when we saw it, 'Good heavens! what a tremendous flight oflocusts!'"

Hon. "Well, you're right there. Locusts indeed!"

"These are the men," the ambassador went on, pushing forward as he spokea troop of deplorable lookingragamuffins; "they are the fiercest fellows in Thrace. Give them atrifle of a couple of shillings a day, andthey will worry the Bœotians out of their lives."

"What!" shouted Honesty, "a couple of shillings a day for these beggars!How about our brave seamen,the men who really keep us safe? What do they get? Two shillings! Whatan iniquity! Yes, and one of thescoundrels has stolen my garlic. Ho there, you magistrate, are you goingto see a citizen robbed before youreyes ? Well, if you won't listen, I will put a stop to this. I protestagainst going on with business. I felt a drop of rain."

Hereupon the herald proclaimed, "The Thracians must attend again on thefirst of next month. The Assembly isadjourned."

"That is all right," said Honesty, "but I have lost my luncheon all thesame. However, here comes my friendDemigod back. Welcome, Demigod!"

"It's a very poor welcome that I've had," said the man, who was pantingfor breath. "As I was coming along,some wild fellows—charcoal-burners they seemed to be—smeltout the treaties of peace. 'What!' they cried, 'youbring treaties of peace, when our vines are cut down to the ground!Stone him! Down with him!' And they filledtheir pockets with stones and ran howling after me."

Hon. "Let them howl. Have you brought the treaties?"

"Yes, indeed," said Demigod, producing three wine-skins, "I have threesamples of them. Here is a five years'specimen; what do you think of it?"

Hon. "I don't like it at all. It smells of rosin—no, notexactly rosin, but pitch and ship-tar."

Dem. "Try this ten years' one, then; that may suit you."

Hon. "That's not much better. There is a kind of acidity aboutit; some sort of taste, it seems to me,of ambassadors going about to quicken allies, and allies hanging back."

Dem. "Well, here's the thirty years' sort. What do you think ofthat?"

Hon. "Admirable! That's the kind for me. This is pure nectar andambrosia. No smack of 'every man willprovide himself with rations for three days' here, but a 'go where youplease' kind of taste in one's mouth.I'll take this; no more wars for me, but a jolly time on my own farmwhen the vintage feast comes round again."

Dem. "Very good; but I must be off, or those charcoal-burnerswill be down upon me."

Saying this, Demigod disappeared.

"And now," said Honesty, "for a little festival of my own."

At this point the charcoal-burners rushed in, in hot pursuit of Demigod,a set of stout old fellows, all grimyand black with their work. While they were looking about for thefugitive, cursing his impudence for thinkingof peace when their vines and fig-trees were burnt to the ground, andlamenting the burden of years which hadmade them lag behind in therace, they spied Honesty coming out with his household, prepared tocelebrate the festival in the old fashion.His daughter walked in front, bearing on her head a basket with a longroll of bread in it; Honesty himselfcarried a bowl of porridge, and two slaves brought up the rear. Theworthy man was very anxious that everythingshould be done in order. He cried "Silence!" to the spectators, told hiswife to go up to the roof and look on,and was very particular in his directions to his daughter. "Carry itprettily, my dear," he said, "and lookyour primmest, and mind no one filches your ornaments in the press. Youare a nice girl," he went on, as he sawhow well she behaved; "your husband will be a lucky man. And now let mesing the song.

Scarcely had he finished, when the charcoal-burners, who had been inhiding, burst in upon him,crying, "This is the scoundrel with the treaties! Stone him! Stone him!"

Hon. "What is all this about? You'll break the bowl."

Charcoal-burners. "Stone him! Stone him!"

Hon. "But why, my venerable friends?"

C.-b. "You ask us why! You're a traitor. You have made peace onyour own account."

Hon. "But you haven't heard why I made it."

C.-b. "No, and won't hear either. Stone him! Stone him!"

Hon. "How! hold!"

C.-b. "Why should we hold? You've made peace with the Spartans."

Hon. "You won't listen, then?"

C.-b. "Not to a word."

Hon. "Well, if you won't, I'll have my revenge. I've got a youngtownsman of yours here, and as sure asyou throw a single stone, I'll run him through."

C.-b. "Good heavens! What does the fellow mean? Has he got one ofour children there?"

Hon. "Throw, throw if you want to. But he dies the death."

So saying, he produced what looked like a baby in long clothes, butturned out to be—a coal scuttle. "Sparehim! Spare him!" cried the charcoal-burners, and shook out all thestones from their pockets, while Honestydropped his sword. After this he was allowed to plead his cause.

But to plead it effectively he had to make sure of rousing thecompassion of his judges, and this, it occurredto him, could not be better done than by donning some of the pitiablerags with which Euripides, the tragedian,was wont to clothe the heroes of his dramas. "I must make my way toEuripides," he cried, and hurried off tothe poet's house. After a little difficulty in discovering whether thegreat man was at home or not,—he was athome himself, writing a play, the servant explained, but his mind wasout collecting verses,—the petitioner wasallowed an interview. Euripides, who was sitting in his garret, himselfdressed in rags, that he might be morein sympathy with his subject, which was, as usual, a hero in reducedcirc*mstances, demanded what his visitorwanted.

Hon. "I implore you, my dear Euripides, to give me some rags fromthat old play of yours. I have to makemy defence, and if I fail it means death."

Euripides. "What play? What rags? Do you want those in which theluckless old Œneus wrestled with fate?"

Hon. "No, no; it must be some one far more wretched than Œneus."

E. "The blind Phœnix, then?"

Hon. "No, not Phœnix; far worse off than he."

E. "What does the man want? The rags of the beggar Philoctetes?"

Hon. "No; ten times more of a beggar than Philoctetes."

E. "Bellerophon, then, the blind Bellerophon?"

Hon. "No, not Bellerophon, though it is true that he was a blindbeggar and a terrible fellow to talk."

E. "I know the man you mean—Telephus of Mysia."

Hon. "Exactly; it is Telephus's rags I want."

E. (to his servant) "Boy, give this gentleman the rags ofTelephus. They are on the top ofThyestes's and below Ino's."

Hon. "You have been very kind, Euripides, but if you would giveme also the Mysian hat."

E. "Here it is."

Hon. "And the beggar's staff."

E. "Take it, and vanish from my marble halls."

Hon. "O my soul! see how hard he is on me, andI want a number of other things. Do give me a wicker lamp-shade with ahole burnt in it."

E. "Know, fellow, that you bore me, and depart."

Hon. "Once more I ask—a cup with broken lip."

E. "Take it and perish, trouble of my house!"

Hon. "And yet again a pitcher plugged with sponge."

E. "Fellow, you rob me of my work; and yet I give it—go!"

Hon. "Oh! yet once more I begOne thing which lacking I am all undone;O dearest, sweetest singer, may the godsDestroy me, if I ask but one thing more,One only, single, solitary boon,A plant of chevril from your mother's store."

E. "The man insults us; close the palace doors."

Thus clad, and laying his head on the chopping-block, to be ready, if hefailed to make out his case, forinstant execution, Honesty proceeded to defend himself.

"You blame me for making peace,"—this was the substance of hisargument,—"but what was the war about? Why, themost trumpery thing in the world! A girl is kidnapped from ourneighbours of Megara. Our neighbours kidnap twogirls from us, and the mighty Pericles, forsooth, must bring out histhunder and lightning, for all the worldlike Olympian Zeus, till all Greece was in a turmoil. Then came hisdecree, short and sharp: 'No one fromMegara shallhave any trade with Athens.' Our neighbours, being half starved, go tothe Spartans and ask them to intercede.The Spartans beg us to repeal these decrees. Once, twice, thrice theyask, and we refuse. Then they go to war.But say, were these poor people so very wrong after all? Suppose theSpartans had manned a boat, and stolen apuppy-dog from one of the islands, would you have sat quietly clownunder the insult? Not so; you would havelaunched three hundred ships, and all the city would have been in anuproar with troops marching and crewsclamouring for pay and rations, and we should have had newly giltstatues of the goddess carried about thestreet, and wineskins, and strings of onions and garlic in nets, andsinging girls, and bloody noses. No, no;they only did just what we should have done."

Honesty's eloquence converted half his enemies; the other half calledthe darling of the war party, GeneralDobattle, to their aid. He came at once, in full armour, wearing ahelmet with an enormously large crest, anddeclaiming in pompous tones,

"Dear me!" cried Honesty, pretending to be frightened; "what an awfulplume! What kind ofbird does it come from? A white-feathered boastard [bustard] by chance?"

Dobattle. "Fellow, thou diest!"

Hon. "You're not the man to do it."

Dobat. "Do you know you're speaking to a general, you beggar?"

Hon. "Beggar! Beggar in your teeth! You a general! Only one ofthe draw-his-pay sort!"

Dobat. "I was duly elected."

Hon. "Elected! yes, by half a dozen cuckoos. I am sick of thewhole business; white-haired men servingin the ranks, and you and your young sprigs of nobility off on anembassy to Thrace or Sicily or heaven knowswhere!—but always drawing pay."

Dobat. "We were duly elected."

Hon. "But why is it always you, and never honest fellows such ashe? Here, Coaldust, did you ever go onan embassy? He shakes his head. And yet he would have done admirably forit. Or you, Heart-of-Oak? Or you,Bend-in-the-Shoulders? No, you see, not one of them."

Dobat. "O sovereign people, shall I bear such wrong?"

Hon. "All things are borne, so Dobattle is paid."

On this Dobattle marched off, finding that he could make nothing of hisantagonist. "Hereby I proclaim," hesaid, as he departed, "that I will harass the men of the Peloponnesusnight and day."

"And I," said Honesty, "hereby proclaim that Iopen a market for the men of the Peloponnesus and their allies, and thatthey may come and buy and sell withme, but not with General Dobattle."

The other half of the charcoal-burners now proclaimed their conversion,and Honesty, encouraged by theirsupport, set about marking out the boundaries of his market, appointedconstables to see that the regulationswere observed, and set up in the midst a pillar with the terms of thetreaty engraved upon it.

The first dealer that presented himself was one of the neighbours fromMegara. The poor fellow had got nothingto sell but his two little girls; still he was delighted to see anAthenian market again.

Then he turned to the children: "But you, the luckless children of aluckless sire, what is to be done withyou? Would you sooner be sold or starve at home?"

"Sell us, sell us, dear papa!" cried the two in chorus.

"Yes; but who will buy you? It would be a sheer loss. Hold! I have anidea. Put these pettitoes on and theselittle snouts, and mind you grunt and whine and kick about like pigs. Ifyou don't, I shall have to carry youback home, and you will be worse starved than ever.—Mr. Honesty,do you want to buy some pigs?"

Hon. "What? Who is this? A man from Megara?"

Megarian. "Yes; I have come to market."

Hon. "And how are you getting on?"

Megar. "As hungry as thunder."

Hon. "And your government? What is that doing?"

Megar. "Doing its best to ruin us."

Hon. "Well, what have you got in your sack there? Salt?"

Megar. "Salt? How could it be salt, when you have got all oursalt-pans?"

Hon. "Garlic, then?"

Megar. "Garlic indeed! How could it be garlic when you came anddug up the very roots, like so manyfield-mice?"

Hon. "What is it, then?"

Megar. "Pigs, pigs for sacrifice."

Hon. "Oh! indeed."

Megar. "Yes, pigs. Don't you hear them squeak?" (Aside)"Squeak, you little wretches, or it willbe the worse for you."

"Wee, wee," squeaked the two daughters.

Hon. "Can they feed without their mother?"

Megar. "I should think they could, and without their fathereither."

Hon. "What do you want for them?" after some more chaffering.

Megar. "This I will sell for a rope of onions, and the other fora bushel of salt."

Hon. "Very good; I'll take them. Stand there a moment."

"That's good business," said the man to himself. "I only wish I couldsell my wife and mother at the samerate."

At this point one of the informers, who made a living out of denouncingcontraband goods, made his appearance."Who are you?" he said to the man from Megara.

"A man of Megara, come to sell pigs," was the answer.

"I denounce you and your goods as contraband of war. Here, hand themover."

"Mr. Honesty, Mr. Honesty," screamed the man, "I am being denounced!"

"Constable," said Honesty, "put the fellow out; no informers are allowedin this market. And here, my goodfriend, is the garlic and the salt. And now farewell."

"Farewell indeed," said the poor man; "but it is not our way in Megarato fare well."

A dealer from Bœotia was the next to come. The man had a heavy basket onhis back, and was followed by slavessimilarly burdened. "That's a pretty load," he said, as he put thebasket on the ground. "And now, my friend,what will you buy?"

"What have you got?"

"Got? Why, everything, as a body may say; all the good things ofThebes,—marjoram, penny-royal,rush-mats, lamp-wicks, ducks, jackdaws, partridges, coots, sandpipers,divers."

"Why, you are like a north wind in winter, with all the birds youbring."

"Yes, and I've got geese, and hares, and foxes, and moles, andhedgehogs, and weasels, and mountain cats,and—what do you think?—eels from Copais!"

"What! Eels? Let me see the eels."

The Bœotian held out a fine eel in his hand, and addressed it withprofound respect:—

The Athenian answered in a similar strain:—

Bœotian. "Yes, very good; but what are you going to give me forher?"

Hon. "Oh! I take this as a sort of perquisite; but if you haveanything else for sale I shall be glad tobuy."

Bœot. "Everything is for sale."

Hon. "Well, what do you say for the lot? I suppose you won't mindtaking a return cargo?"

Bœot. "Certainly not; but what is there that you have in Athensand we haven't got in Bœotia?"

Hon. "Anchovies? Crockery?"

Bœot. "Anchovies and crockery we have in plenty. But surely thereis something that you have, and wehave not!"

Hon. "Ah! I have it. Ho there! Bring out the informer; pack himas so much crockery."

Bœot. "Excellent! excellent! I should make ever so much money byexhibiting him as a mischievous ape."

Hon. "See there; there is another of the same kind coming."

Bœot. "He is very small."

Hon. "Yes, but very bad."

Informer the second came in. "What goods are these," he said.

"Mine," replied the Bœotian. "We be come from Thebes."

Informer. "Then I denounce them. They come from the enemy'scountry."

Bœot. "What! denounce the birds and beasts? What harm have theydone? "

Inf. "Yes, and I denounce you, too."

Bœot. "Me! What have you to say against me?"

Inf. "Just to satisfy the bystanders I will explain. You havebrought in lamp-wicks. That means a plotto burn the arsenal."

Honesty interrupted at this point. "What in the world do you mean? Burnthe arsenal with the wick of a lamp!"

Inf. "Certainly."

Hon. "But how?"

Inf. "Listen! This Bœotian rascal would catch a water-spider,fasten the wick on its back, wait for astrong north wind, light the wick, and send the spider with it into theharbour. Let the fire once catch asingle vessel, and the whole place would be in a blaze."

"Stop his mouth!" cried Honesty. "Tie a hay-band round him, and send himoff."

The charcoal-burners, by this time thoroughly converted to peace views,were so delighted that they burst outinto song.

Honesty took up the strain:—

The Bœotian bade one of his servants take the package on his back andmarch off with it.

"Well," said Honesty, looking after the party, "you've got a queer pieceof goods with you; if you do makeanything of him, you will be the first person that ever got anythinggood out of an informer."

A slave now appeared with a message: "General Dobattle sends fiveshillings, and wishes to buy a dish ofquails and a good-sized eel from Copais."

Hon. "General Dobattle! And who, pray, is General Dobattle?"

Messenger. "The fierce and hardy warrior; he that wields TheGorgon shield and waves the triple plume."

Hon. "Let him wave his triple plume over a mess of salt fish;quite good enough for him."

By this time it was noised about that Honesty had got some of thatprecious commodity, peace, and he wasoverwhelmed with applications for it. A countryman came in groaning andlamenting.

"What's all this about?" asked Honesty.

"Oh, my dear friend," said the man, "just a little drop of peace."

Hon. "What's the matter?"

Countryman. "I'm ruined, I'm ruined! The Bœotians came down thismorning and carried off my pair ofplough oxen. They were all my living."

The lucky possessor would not part with a drop. The only petitioner thatsucceeded was a bridesmaid whom thebride had sent with a little bottle. "She wanted," she said, "just alittle drop to keep her husband at home."Mr. Honesty was willing to oblige a lady, and sent her away with thebottle full, explaining that the bridemust use it the next time there was a ballot for recruits.

Meanwhile, General Dobattle had come in person to try whether he couldnot succeed better than his messenger.But before he could open his mouth, a despatch from the War Officearrived. "You are hereby directed to musteryour men, and march to the mountain passes. There you must ambush in thesnow, information having been receivedthat a marauding party is coming from the Bœotian frontier."

Hardly had he read the despatch when a message came for Honesty. It wasto this effect: "You are herebyrequested to come with all your belongings to the temple of Bacchus. Thecompany are waiting for you, andeverything is ready,—plum cake and plain, confectionery, fruitspreserved and fresh, savouries and sweets,flowers and perfumes." And now began a bustle of preparation on eitherside.

The General. "Quick with my knapsack!"

Hon. "Quick with my dinner and wine!"

Gen. "Give me a bunch of leeks."

Hon. "Veal cutlets for me."

Gen. "Let me see the salt fish. It does not smell good."

Hon. "How fresh this mullet is! Cook it on the spot."

Gen. "Bring me the lofty feather of my crest."

Hon. "Bring doves and quails; I scarce know which is best."

Gen. "Behold this snowy plume of dazzling white!"

Hon. "Behold this roasted dove, a savoury sight!"

This was past all bearing, and the General attempted to draw his sword,but found it rusted to the scabbard. Onthe other hand, Honesty was going to defend himself with the spit, buthad first to disengage it from the roastmeat. However, they didn't come to blows. The General contented himselfwith a threat: "Pour oil upon theshield. What do I see in it? An old man frightened to death because heis going to be tried for cowardice."

"Ah!" said Honesty, "pour honey on the pancake. What do I see in it? Ajolly old fellow, who tells theDobattles and the Gorgons to go and hang themselves."

The General marched off to the frontier, while Honesty went to thefeast, the charcoal-burners bidding the tworivals farewell in the following stave:—

After a while a message arrived from the seat of war. He said:—

Immediately afterwards the General himself appeared in the sorriestplight, and at the same time Honesty, whohad won the prize at the feast by finishing a gallon of wine, came insupported by his companions.

The campaign which followed the productionof the Acharnians greatly encouraged the war party, anddashedthe hopes of the advocates of peace. The most important victory of theyear is referred to in the story aboutto be told, and must be briefly described. As the result of a series ofoperations, which it is needless torelate in detail, a body of four hundred and twenty Spartan soldierswere blockaded in Sphacteria, an islandclose to Pylos on the western coast of the Peloponnesus (near the modernNavarino). For some time the siegedragged on, the Athenian generals seeming unable to bring it to asuccessful issue. The demagogue, Cleon,censured their incompetency in the Assembly at Athens, and declared thatwere he in command, he would bring theSpartans to Athens within a few days. He was taken at his word, almostcompelled to go, and, strange to say,whether from trick, skill, or the audacity of ignorance, accomplishedhis task. Such a disaster had neverbefore happened to Sparta. The men whose lives were in danger were aconsiderable part of the fighting power ofthe state. The Spartan authorities at once asked for an armistice, andto secure it consented to hand overtheir fleet to the Athenian admiral in command on the spot. This done,they sent an embassy to Athens andopened negotiations for peace, offering most favourable terms, all, infact, that could reasonably have beenexpected. These, however, were rejected, and the war went on.Aristophanes exhibited the play of the Knights (so called from the chorus, which was supposed to consist of the"Gentlemen" of Athens, a class next to thewealthiest). We are told that Cleon was at this time so powerful and somuch dreaded that the people whomanufactured masks for the theatre refused to make one that wouldrepresent the demagogue's features.Aristophanes, who acted the character himself, possibly because he couldnot find an actor willing to undertakeit, had to "make up" for the part by smearing his face with the lees ofwine.

It is only fair to say that a view of Cleon's character and policy verydifferent from that which we get fromAristophanes, and, it may be added, from Thucydides, may be found insome modern writers, notably In Mr. Groteand Sir George Cox. ("Greek Statesmen," second Series.)

It should be explained that, there are five characters in the story:

1. Demos (people), who is represented as aselfish old man, of a very uncertain and fickle temper, very hard on oldservants who have done well for himfor years, and taking up with new favourites who humour his caprices andminister to his appetites. Theoriginal of this is the Athenian people.

2 and 3. Two old servants whom I call Victor and Hearty. They are nowout of favour with their master, thanksto the interference of a new-comer, Bluster (or the Tanner), and lookabout for some means of getting rid oftheir oppressor. The originals are two well-known Athenian soldiers andstatesmen, Nicias (niké—victory) andDemosthenes (sthenos—strength, and demos—thepeople). These names nowhere occur in the play, but the characterswere doubtless recognized at once by the resemblance of their masks tothe features of the originals.

4. Bluster (or the Tanner) = Cleon.

5. The Sausage-seller, destined to be Demos's new favourite.

A body of "Knights" or "Gentlemen" is present, and takes the part ofBluster's enemies.

"What a scandal and a shame it is!" cried Hearty, coming out of Demos's house,followed by Victor; "ever sinceMaster brought home that scoundrel Bluster, not a day passes without histhrashing us unmercifully; confoundhim, I say!"

"And I say so, too," cried Victor, rubbing his arms and shoulders.

Hearty. "Well, it is no good cursing and crying. We must dosomething. What do you propose?"

Victor. "Can't you propose something yourself?"

H. "No, no! I look to you."

V. "Well, I have thought of something. Say 'run.'"

H. "Very good. I say it: 'run.'"

V. "Now say 'away.'"

H. "Quite so: 'away.'"

V. "Now both together very quick: first 'run,' then 'away.'"

H. "Here you have it: 'run away.'"

V. "Well, doesn't that sound sweet?"

H. "I don't know. I seem to hear the crack of a whip somewhereabout."

V. "Then we must think of something else."

H. "Shall I tell the state of things to our friends here?"pointing to a little crowd of people that hadgathered round.

V. "You could not do better."

H. "Listen, then, my good friends. We have a master at home here,a rough, passionate old gentleman, andjust a little deaf. The first of last month he bought a new slave,Bluster by name, who had worked in atanner's yard. A more wicked, lying fellow there never was. Well, he gotto know our master's ways, andflattered and wheedled him with this kind of thing—'You'll take abath, sir; you've done business enough forone day, and here's a little trifle of money that has just come in foryou,'and, 'Can I serve you with anything, sir?' And as sureas any one of us got something nice ready for the old gentleman, hewould lay hands on it and give it to him.Why, this very morning I had made some Spartan pudding, and he comes inthe most rascally way and carries itoff, and serves it up as his own. Yes, the pudding that I had made. Hewon't let one of us go near the oldgentleman, but stands behind him with a great flap of his own leather,and keeps us all off like so many flies.Then he tells lies about us and we get flogged. Or he goes round amongus and blackmails us. 'You know,' hesays, 'what a beating Barker got the other day. It was all through me;and if you don't make it worth my whileyou'll catch it ten times worse.' If we say no, then old Demos knocks usdown and tramples on us till wehaven't any breath left in us. That's about the state ofthings—isn't it?" he went on, turning to Victor. "Thequestion is—what are we to do?"

V. "I see nothing so good as the runaway trick."

H. "Run away! It is impossible. The fellow has his eyeseverywhere."

V. "Then there is nothing left for it but to die. Only we mustdie like men."

H. "Well, what is your idea?"

V. "I think that we should drink bull's blood. We can't do betterthan follow Themistocles."

H. "Bull's blood indeed! the blood of the grape, I say! Then wemight have some happy inspiration."

V. "What? Do you think getting tipsy will help us?"

H. "Yes, I do, you poor water-pitcher. Do you mean to doubt theinspiration of wine? Where can you findanything more potent? Is there anything that men can't do when they aredrunk? Wealth, prosperity, good luck,helping their friends, every-thing is easy to them. Bring me a pitcherof wine. I'll moisten my understandingtill the inspiration comes."

V. "You'll ruin us with your drink."

H. "Ruin you! Nothing of the kind. Off with you and bring thewine."

Victor ran off and in a few minutes reappeared carrying a pitcher ofwine. "Well!" he said, "it was lucky thatI got it without any one seeing."

H. "Tell me, what was Bluster doing?"

V. "He had gorged himself with half-digested confiscations, andwas lying fast asleep and snoring on aheap of his own hides."

Hearty went on drinking and thinking. At last he started up, crying:—

V. "What is it?"

H. "That you go and steal the prophecies that Bluster keepsindoors."

This was not really to Victor's liking. However, he went, and came backwith them. One he knewto be especially precious. Bluster, he explained, had been so fastasleep that he knew nothing of what wasbeing done. Hearty took the writing and looked at it and asked foranother cup of wine. "Well," said hiscompanion after a pause, "what says the prophecy?"

H. "Another cup."

V. "Does it say 'another cup '?"

H. "O Bacis!"

V. "What is it?"

H. "Quick with the cup!"

V. "Bacis seems to have been very fond of cups."

H. "O scoundrel of a Bluster! I don't wonder you kept thisprophecy so close, for it shows how your fallwill be brought about."

V. "Quick, tell me—what does it say?"

H. "It says that it is ordained that first of all a hemp-jobbershall rule the city."

V. "That's jobber number one. Go on."

H. "After him a calves-jobber."

V. "Jobber number two. But what is to happen to him?"

H. "He is to prosper till a greater scoundrel than he shall come,a daring, thieving rascal, a tanner bytrade, and Bluster by name."

V. "And what of him? Is there another jobber to come? "

H. "Yes; one with a noble business."

V. "What is it?"

H. "Must I tell you?"

V. "Certainly."

H. "Then listen. A sausage-seller shall drive out the man ofhides."

V. "A sausage-seller! Good heavens! what a trade! where are we tofind him?"

H. "We must look for him. And, as I am alive, there he comes justin the nick of time.

The sausage-seller, greatly astonished at this address, wanted to knowwhat was meant, and was told to put downhis tray and then kiss the earth, and make a reverence to the gods.Again he asked what they wanted, and wasagain addressed with profound respect:—

Sausage-seller. "Come, come, don't make game of me; let me washmy paunches and sell my sausages."

H. "Paunches indeed, and sausages! Look here. Do you see thesecrowds of people?"

S.-s. "Yes, I see 'em."

H. "Well, you'll be their lord and master.Everything—Assembly, Senate, admirals, generals—will beunderyour heel."

S.-s. "What? my heel?"

H. "Yes; and that is not all. Get up on this stall and look atthe islands."

The sausage-seller climbed on to the stall, which was supposed to command a view of the islands in the ÆgeanSea, tributary to Athens, as members of the Delian Confederacy."Yes, I see them," he said.

H. "You see their ports and their merchant vessels?"

S.-s. "Yes."

H. "And are you not a lucky man? Now look a little further; lookat Asia with your right eye, andCarthage with your left."

S.-s. "I don't see much happiness in squinting."

H. "All this is yours to buy and sell. So the prophecy says."

S.-s. "What! mine, and I a sausage-seller?"

H. "That's the very thing that makes your title, because you area low-bred, vulgar, impudent fellow."

S.-s. "I don't see how I am fit for such a big thing."

H. "Not fit! What do you mean? I am afraid that you havesomething good on your conscience. Are you byany chance a gentleman by birth?"

S.-s. "A gentleman? Bless me, no. I am come of as poor a lot asany in the town."

H. "What luck! You could not have started better."

S.-s. "But I've got no education; just a little writing, and thatvery bad."

H. "Well, that's against you, that you can write at all.Greatness here, you must understand, is not foreducated, respectable people. Dunces and blackguards get it. So don'tyou let the chance slip. Now listen tothe prophecy:—

Do you understand all this? No? Well, listen: the leathern eagle isBluster. His claws are his way of pouncingon people's money. The snake, of course, is a black pudding. Snakes arelong and black, so are black puddings;snakes are full of blood, so are black puddings. There's a prophecy foryou!"

S.-s. "Yes, it sounds fine. But how shall I be able to manage thepeople?"

H. "Manage the people? The easiest thing inthe world. Do just as you have been doing. Mangle and mash everything.Flavour and spice to suit the people'staste. You have got every qualification for a demagogue. You have a vilevoice, you are low-born, you areill-bred. Absolutely nothing is wanting, and here are the propheciesfitting in. So make your prayer to the godof Boobydom, and tackle the fellow."

S.-s. "Yes; but who will be on my side? The rich are afraid ofhim, and as for the poor, they shake intheir shoes."

H. "Who will be on your side? Why, a thousand gentlemen of Athenswho scorn and detest him, aye, andevery honest man in the city."

At this point there was a terrified cry from behind, "He's coming! he'scoming!" and Bluster rushed out of thehouse, vowing vengeance against everybody. The sausage-seller was aboutto take to his heels, when Heartyentreated him to stand firm, as his friends were at hand. The nextmoment the promised host of gentlemenappeared on the scene, and gaining confidence by their support, thesausage-seller came forward and confrontedhis adversary. A fierce contest followed, in which each combatant soughtto overpower his adversary with abuseand threats.

Bluster. "I charge this man with treason. He sells sausages tothe Peloponnesian fleet."

S.-s. "I charge this man with worse than that.He runs into the Town Hall with his belly empty, and runs out with itfull."

Bluster was still unconvinced that he had found his match and more; andthe sausage-seller related for theencouragement of his backers incidents in his bringing up which fullyjustified their hopes. "It is not fornothing," he said, "that ever since I was a child I have been cuffed andbeaten, that I have been fed onscraps, and yet grown to the big creature that I am. Oh! I used to playrare tricks. I would say to a cook,'See, there's a swallow, the spring is coming,' and when he looked awayI stole a bit of his meat. Mostly I gotclear off; but in case any one saw me, I swore that I had never takenit. I remember a great politician inthose days, who saw me do it, saying, 'This child will be a great manwith the people some day.' "

After another fierce encounter of words, the two fell to blows, Blustergetting the worst of it, especiallywhen they closed, and the sausage-seller tripped him by a speciallynasty trick. Enraged at being thus worsted,he rushed off to the Senate, threatening informations, charges oftreason, and other dreadful things.

"He's gone to the Senate," said the sausage-seller's backers to him."Now's your time to show your mettle, ifyou are the mighty thief and liar that you pretend to be."

"I'm after him," said the fellow, and off he went, having been dulyrubbed with grease to make him slippery,and primed with garlic, like a fighting-co*ck, to give him courage.Before very long he was back, and told hisbackers, who had been getting a little anxious about him, the story ofhow he had fared.

"I followed him," he said, "close upon his heels to the Senate House.There he was storming and roaring,bellowing out words like thunderbolts, raving against the aristocrats,calling them traitors and what not, andthe Senate sat listening, looking sharp as mustard. And when I saw theytook in all his lies, and how he wascheating them, I muttered a prayer, 'Hear me, Powers of Fraud, andBoobydom, and ye Spirits of the Market andthe Street, the places where I was bred, and thou, great Impudence, hearme, and help, giving me courage, and aready tongue, and a shameless voice.' And when I had ended my prayer, Itook courage, for I knew that the GreatSpirits had heard me, and cried aloud, 'O Senators,I have come with good news, for I was resolved that none should hearthem before you. Never since the war brokeupon us, no, never have I seen anchovies cheaper.' Their faces changedin a moment; it was like a calm after astorm. Then I moved that they should lay hands on all the bowls in thetown, and go to buy the anchovies beforethe price went up. At that they shouted and clapped their hands. ThenBluster, seeing what a hit I had made,and knowing of old how to deal with them, said, 'I propose, gentlemen,that in consideration of the happy eventthat has been reported to the Senate, we have a good-news sacrifice tothe goddess of a hundred oxen.' Thattook the Senate, you may be sure. Well, I wasn't going to be outdonewith his oxen; so I bid over him. 'Ipropose,' I said, 'that the sacrifice be of two hundred oxen! Andfurthermore, that we sacrifice a thousandgoats to Artemis, if sprats should be fifty a penny.' That brought theSenate round to me again. And when hesaw it he lost his head, and began to stammer out some nonsense, tillthe archers dragged him away. And whatdid he, when the Senators were just off after their anchovies, but tryto keep them. 'Stop a moment,gentlemen,' he said, 'to hear what the herald from Sparta has got tosay; he has come about peace.' 'Peace!'they all cried with one voice (that's because they knew that anchovieswere cheap), 'we don't want peace; letthe war go on.' Then theybellowed to the magistrate to dismiss the Senate, and leapt over therailings. But meanwhile I got down to themarket and bought up all the fennel, and gave it to them for sauce, whenthey were at their wits' end where tofind any. How much they made of me, to be sure! I bought the wholeSenate, you may believe me, for threeha'porth of fennel!"

His backers, delighted at the story, greeted him with a song of triumph:—

And, indeed, the man had need of all his courage; for the next momentBluster arrived, furious at his defeat,and swelling, as his adversaries said, like a wave of the sea. "Ah!" hecried, "you contrived to get the betterof me in the Senate; but come along to the Assembly, and you shall see.—Pray come out, my dear Demos," hewent on, for they were just in front of Demos's house; "pray come outfor a moment." The sausage-seller joinedin, "Yes, father, come out by all means."—"Come, dearest Demos,"said Bluster, "come and see how they areinsulting me."

The old man bounced out in a rage. "What is all this noise about? Getaway with you! See what a disturbance youhave made. Well, Bluster, who has been hurting you?"

B. "This fellow, with his young bloods, has been beating me."

D. "And why?"

B. "Only because I love you."

D. (turning to the sausage-seller). "And who are you, sir?"

S.-s. "One who loves you far better than this fellow. Aye, that Ido, and so do other good men and true;only, unhappily, you won't have anything to do with them, but giveyourself up to lamp-sellers, and cobblers,and tanners, and such low folk."

B. "But I have done Demos good service."

S.-s. "How, pray?"

B. "Did I not sail to Pylos, and come back bringing my Spartanprisoners?"

S.-s. "Yes; and I, on my walks the other day, saw a dish of meatthat somebody else had cooked, andfilched it."

B. "Well, Demos, call an assembly, and settle which is your bestfriend."

S.-s. "Settle it by all means, but not in the Pnyx."

D. "I can't sit anywhere else."

S.-s. "Then I am a lost man. The old gentleman is sensible enoughat home; but once let him settlehimself on those stone seats, and he takes leave of his senses."

However, his friends encouraged him; he plucked up spirit, and, whenDemos had taken his seat in the Pnyx,boldly confronted his rival. "Demos," began Bluster, "now listen to me:—

The sausage-seller was not behindhand. "Listen to me," he said:—

B. "Demos, had you ever a better friend than I have been? Haven'tI piled up heaps of money in yourtreasury, torturing and squeezing and threatening, caring nothing forany man, as long as I could do you a goodturn?"

S.-s. "There is nothing wonderful about that. I can do all thatfor you. I can filch another man'sloaves and serve them up at your table. But I havesomething better for you than that. Is it not a fact that you, whofought the Persians at Marathon andconquered them so gloriously, have been sitting here ever since withnothing between you and the hard stone?Look at this cushion that I have stitched together for you. Get up, mydear sir; and now will you sit downagain? Never again will you have to rub what you made so sore atSalamis."

D. "My dear sir, who are you? One of the family of Harmodius,I fancy. I never saw a more truly patriotic thing."

B. "Well, that is a trumpery little thing to make so much of."

S.-s. "I dare say; but you have trapped him with baits five timessmaller."

B. "Now, I'll wager my life that there never was a man who lovedDemos more than I."

S.-s. "You love him! and you have let him live now for eightyears in tubsand crannies and turrets on the wall! Ah! you have shut him in, likebees in a hive, and taken his honey, too.And when the ambassadors brought proposals for peace,—and a verygood peace, too,—you kicked them out."

B. "And quite right, too. It has all been done to make him lordof Greece; for what do the propheciessay? Listen:

S.-s. Arcadia indeed! Much you thought about Arcadia! What youare thinking about is how to make a pursefor yourself out of the tribute, while Demos—thanks to the dustthat you kick up—can see nothing of what isgoing on. But let him once get back to his farm, and get up his couragewith a dish of porridge, and tackle anolive cake, and he will make you pay for all your villainies."

B. "O my dear Demos! don't believe him. You have never had abetter friend, or a more watchful. Haven'tI kept you up? Haven't I watched night and day, and discovered treasons,plots, and conspiracies without end?"

S.-s. "Oh, yes; we all know what you mean by your treasons andplots. You are just like the fellows thatfish for eels. When the water is clear, they catch nothing; when theystir up the mud, then they have excellentsport. You confound everything with your talk about treason, and, whennobody is looking, pocket your fees andyour bribes. But come; answer me this: you with all your leather, haveyou ever given him a single skin to mendhis old boots with?"

D. "That he hasn't, I swear."

S.-s. "Does not that show what sort of a fellow he is? Now, lookhere at this nice pair of shoes; Ibought them on purpose for you to wear."

D. "This is the very best patriot I ever saw."

S.-s. "Look again. It's winter now, and this fellow knew that youwere getting on in years, and yet hehas never given you a tunic. Now, see this nice one with two sleeves that I have bought you."

D. "Why, this is a better thing than even Themistocles everthought of; not that the Peiræuswasn't a good idea, but it wasn't so good as this warm tunic."

B. (offering a leather cloak). "Take this, my dear sir; it willkeep you admirably warm."

D. (turning up his nose). "Take it away; it smells mostabominably of hides."

S.-s. "Of course it does; this is part of a regular plan to chokeyou."

Demos had sat awhile, buried in thought, and weighing against each otherthe claims and services of the tworival candidates for his favour. At last he roused himself from hisreverie and spoke.

"I have come to the conclusion that the sausage-seller is the bestfriend that the workingman has ever had.You, Bluster, have made great pretences,and done me nothing but mischief. Hand me over my ring. You shall not bemy steward any longer."

B. "Take it; take it; if you will not let me be your steward, youwill find a far worse."

Demos took the ring and examined it. "Why," he said, "this is not myring. The device is not the same, or Ihave lost my eyesight."

S.-s. "What was the device?"

D. "A steak of beef ready cooked."

S.-s. "That is certainly not here."

D. "Not the steak? What is it, then?"

S.-s. "Why, a cormorant standing on a rock with his mouth wideopen."

Demos was on the point of giving the sausage-seller another ring as thesign of his appointment, when Blusterentreated him to wait awhile, at least till he had heard the propheciesthat he (Bluster) had got at homereferring to him. There was a whole chestful, he declared, and they werefull of the most delightful thingsthat were to happen hereafter.

The sausage-seller was not to be outdone. He had prophecies, too, athome; a whole attic and two flats werefull of them. Bluster boasted that his were by the famous prophet Bacis."Mine," retorted the sausage-seller,"are by Bacis's elder brother, Glanis." Both of them went to fetch theseprecious documents, and both returnedstaggering under a load. "Now," said Demos to Bluster, "hand methat one that I like so much, of how I shall become an eagle in theclouds."

Bluster reads:—

D. "What is all this about? What is meant by Erectheus and thedog and the jay?"

B. "I am the dog; I bark for you, and Apollo says that you are totake care of me."

S.-s. "It is nothing of the kind. I have got the true oracleabout the dog. Listen to this:

D. "That sounds much better, Glanis."

B. "Listen again to this:—

I am the lion; Apollo commands you to take care of me."

D. "You the lion? Why, a moment ago you were a dog."

S.-s. "Ah! sir, but he hides the true sense of the prophecy ofthe lion and the wooden wall in whichApollo says you are to keep him."

D. "What is it?"

S.-s. "Of course it is the stocks; you are to keep him in thestocks."

D. "Good! That is a prophecy that seems very likely to befulfilled. But I have not heard about theeagle yet."

B. "Listen then:

S.-s. "And now hear mine:—

D. "I think Glanis is a better prophet than Bacis. But nowlisten, you two. Have done with yourpromises and prophecies. The man that serves me up the best dinner Ishall make manager-in-chief. Away withyou, and see what you can get for me."

The two competitors ran off in furious haste, and the gentlemen who hadbeen backing the sausage-seller tookthe opportunity of reproaching the old man with his easy surrender tounworthy favourites.

Demos makes reply:—

The Gentlemen.

At this point the two competitors returned and began their finalstruggle. Bluster put a chair for his master,but the sausage-seller outdid him by putting a table.

B. (handing a dish). "See, here's a pudding which I made atPylos."

S.-s. (handing another). "Here are some cheese-cakes which thegoddess has made with her own ivoryhand."

D. "Mighty goddess, what a big hand you have!"

B. "Here's some pease-pudding."

S.-s. "Here's a fine mess of porridge."

B. "Here's a batter pudding, also from the goddess."

S.-s. "And here's a savoury stew with sippets that she sendsyou."

B. "Taste this pancake."

S.-s. "Try these fritters and this cup of wine."

D. "The wine is excellent."

S.-s. "So it should be, for she mixed it herself."

B. "Here, I have got a slice of cake for you."

S.-s. "And here, I have got a whole cake."

B. (aside to the S.-s.) "Here is hare pie. When will you get hare pie?"

S.-s. (to himself) "How shall I get hare pie. O my soul, inventsome knavish trick!"

B. "Do you see the hare pie, you poor devil?"

S.-s. "Never mind (pretending to look away). They arecoming to me."

B. "Who? Who?"

S.-s. "Some envoys with bags of silver."

B. (looking eagerly round) "Where? Where?"

S.-s. "Can't you let the strangers alone? (Snatches at thehare pie while Bluster is looking abouthim, and offers it to Demos.) See, my dear Demos, the hare pie Ihave got for you."

B. "Why, the villain has taken my dish."

S.-s. "Just what you did at Pylos, my friend."

D. "Tell me, how did you think of stealing it?"

S.-s. (piously) "The thought was born of heaven, the theft wasmine."

B. "I took all the trouble."

S.-s. "But I served it up."

D. "Who hands it gets the thanks."

S.-s. "Come now, can't you decide, my dear sir, who treats youbest?"

D. "How am I to judge?"

S.-s. "I will tell you. Look at my basket and see what is in it,and then look at his. That willdecide."

This Demos did. The sausage-seller's was found to be practically empty.Bluster's had all kinds of good thingsin it, especially the rest of the cake, of which he had only served up asmall slice to his master. This rousedDemos's wrath to the utmost. "O villain!" he cried, "and this is the wayyou have been cheating me."

B. "I stole for my country's good."

D. "For your country's good indeed! Take away his crown."

Bluster, seeing that it was all over with him, took it off with apathetic farewell:—

S.-s. "O Zeus of Hellas, thine the victory!"

And now it turned out that Demos had indeed made a most fortunate choicein his new favourite. Thesausage-seller retired with his master, and after a short intervalappeared again, crying, "Silence! Have donewith your litigation; close the courts; I bring good news."

And so indeed it was. The old man came forward, changed to a handsomeyouth, and wearing in his hair theold-fashioned ornament of the grasshopper, symbol of the antiquity ofthe Athenian race. Not a little ashamedwas he when his new adviser reminded him of the follies of the past; howhe would listen to any unprincipledpolitician that proclaimed himself his friend; how he would spend thepublic money, not in equipping fleets,but in feeing the jurymen. But he is resolved to be wiser in the future.Orators who appeal to his selfishfears shall be tossed headlong into the pit.The seamen shall have all their pay the very moment of their return toport. No one whose name stands on theroll for military service shall be permitted to evade the obligation.

"And now," said the new minister, when he had heard all these goodresolutions, "see what I have got for you!"

And he led out the lovely figure of Peace.

"Where did you find her?" cried Demos.

"Bluster hid her away in his house," replied the minister, "that youmight not catch sight of her. Take her;she is yours; and live henceforth in the country home where you arealways so happy."

An interval of four years separated the production of the Acharnians from that of the play with which I amnow dealing.

The successes achieved by Athens in the years 427–5 B.C., especially the capture of the Spartan garrison ofPylos,—an event to which frequent allusions are made in the Knights,—were succeeded in 423 by greatdisasters. The Athenians had long coveted, the fertile country of their Bœotian neighbours, a country widelydifferent from their own barren though picturesque and attractive land. They had once asserted their supremacyover it, and had maintained it for seven years, till dispossessed by the disastrous defeat of Coronea in B.C.440. And now, again encouraged by a sense of immunity from invasion,—they had threatened to put all theirprisoners to death if a Spartan army should again cross their frontiers,—they attempted to renew it. Theirhopes were again crushed. The whole military force of the city, except a few small detachments that wereserving elsewhere, was routed by the Bœotians at Delium. Another defeat, even more serious, at least asthreatening more widely reaching consequences, followed. The reverse at Delium did nothing more than convincethe Athenians that certain hopes which they had long entertained must be abandoned forever; but the losseswhich were sustained in the following year in Thrace deprived them of possessions which they had long regardedas their own, and threatened to bring down their whole empire in ruin. Brasidas, probably the ablest man thatSparta ever produced, succeeded, by a remarkable combination of military skill and attractive personalcharacter, in detaching from Athens some of its most important dependencies on the northwest coast of theÆgean. Amphipolis and other cities of Thrace were now in the hands of the Spartans. Athens made a great effortto stay the tide of Spartan victory, despatching the largest force she could raise to attempt the recapture ofAmphipolis. The effort failed totally and even disgracefully; the Athenian forceswere routed under the walls of that city,—routed almost without making a struggle.

But this disaster had its compensations. The Spartans lost but eight killed in the battle, but among the eightwas Brasidas; and Brasidas was not only a very able soldier, but he was vehemently opposed to peace. Among theslain on the Athenian side was Cleon, the notorious leader of the war party. And now came the triumph of thepeace party in the two states. Aristophanes, conscious that he had the majority of his fellow-citizens on hisside, again did his best to promote his favourite object. The Peace was exhibited in January, 321. About threemonths afterwards peace for the period of fifty years was made, and, a few days later, an alliance, offensiveand defensive, between Sparta and Athens was concluded. (This is known in history as the "Peace ofNicias.")

"Now my man," said the steward of Trygæus the Athenian to one of the under-slaves, "bring another cake for thebeast." With much grumbling the man obeyed, and fetched first one, then another, and then, again, several more,till the creature was satisfied.

But what was the beast? Nothing less than an enormously large dung-beetle which Trygæus had contrived to catch,and which he kept in one of the courts of his house, and was feeding up till it should grow big enough andstrong enough to help him in carrying out a certain purpose of his. The fact was, that Trygæus, like manyanother Athenian citizen, was heartily sick of the war, and had got the idea into his head that, if he couldcontrive to get up to the palace of Zeus, he might persuade the god to fulfil his wish, which was, to put itshortly, to secure Peace,—long-banished, long-desired Peace. His firstplan was to get some very thin scaling-ladders made, and to scramble up to heaven by means of them.Unfortunately they broke, and brought him down with them to the ground. After this he got the beetle, andproposed to fly on its back up to the sky.

The animal having finished its meal, Trygæus mounted on its back, and was preparing to start, first giving hissteed sundry cautions not to set off at too great a pace, or to put itself out of breath. The steward entreatedhis master to give up the idea, and after vainly endeavouring forcibly to stop him, called to the oldgentleman's daughter to come and help him. Accordingly the girl came running out of the house into thecourt-yard, where Trygæus, who had now risen some way from the ground, was preparing to fly off. "Father," shesaid, "surely it isn't true that you are thinking of leaving us and going to the crows?Tell me the truth, if you love me."

Trygæus. "Yes, it is true. The fact is, that I can't bear to hear you poor creatures saying to me,'Papa, give us some bread,' when I haven't got a stiver of money in the house to buy it with. Only let mesucceed in this plan of mine, and I will give you, not only bread, but the biggest buns that you ever saw."

Girl. "But, dear papa, how are you going? Ships can't carry you."

T. "I have got a winged horse. None of your sea-voyages for me."

G. "What! a beetle, papa? How can you get to heaven on a beetle?"

T. "'Tis the only living creature that ever got to heaven; so Æsop tells us."

G. "Oh, it's past all believing, that such a nasty, creeping creature should get so far!"

T. "Yes; but it did, when it went to break the eagle's eggs."

G. "But why not mount Pegasus?"

T. "Far too expensive to feed, my dear."

G. "Well, if you must go, take care you don't fall off. If you should, the fall would be sure to lameyou, and then Euripides would make you the hero of one of his tragedies. Think of that!"

T. "I'll see to that. Good by, my dear."

Finally, not without running many risks, chiefly from the animal's inclination to descend in search of itsfavourite food, the rider reached his destination,and found himself outside the celestial palace. He at once called loudly for admittance. Hermes, who wasacting as porter, opened accordingly, and was not a little astonished and disgusted at what he saw. "What isthis?" he said. "A beetle-horse," said the visitor. "Away with you, then, you and your beetle-horse," cried thegod. Trygæus, however, had come prepared to overcome this obstacle, and made his peace with a piece of fleshthat he had brought with him. "And now," said he, "step in, and tell Zeus that I want to see him."

Hermes. "Oh! that's impossible. You can't see the gods; they are gone to the seventh heaven."

T. "But how come you to be here, then?"

H. "Oh, they left me to look after a few little matters, pots and pans, and so forth, that they lefthere."

T. "But why did they go away?"

H. "Because they were displeased with the Greeks. That is why they went away, and left War settled herefor good. He is to do what he likes with you. They are not going to look at you with your everlasting fightingsany more."

T. "Oh, but why is this? What have we done?"

H. "When they wanted Peace, you were always for War. First the Spartans would get a little the better ofthe fight, and then it was, 'These Athenian rascals shall suffer for it.' Then you had a turn of luck, and itwas, 'No, no, we won't listen; as long as we keep Pylos, we shall always have them on their knees.' "

T. "Yes, yes; that is exactly what we said."

H. "The end of it all is that you will probably never see Peace again."

T. "What? Where is she gone, then?"

H. "War has thrown her into a deep pit."

T. "What pit?"

H. "The one you see down there. Just look at the heap of stones he has piled on the top to prevent youfrom getting her out."

T. "And what does he mean to do with us?"

H. "That I can't say. I only know that last night he brought a monstrously large mortar into the house."

T. "What can he want with a mortar?"

H. "He is thinking of pounding the cities up in it. But I must be going. I hear him making a noiseinside, and I think that he is coming out."

The next moment, War, a fully armed figure, with a great nodding plume, came out of the palace of the gods,carrying in his hands a huge mortar, and muttering, as he went, about a bad time coming for men. He set themortar on the ground, and began throwing in the ingredients for a salad. First came leeks. "You'll be nicelypounded up, my friends," said he, as he threw them in.

"That doesn't matter to us," said Trygæus; "that's a blow for our friends the Spartans."

Garlic followed.

"That's a bad lookout for Megara," was Trygæus's comment.

After garlic came cheese.

Trygæus rubbed his hands. "Now for the Sicilians," he said.

But the next ingredient did not find him so indifferent. It was honey, actual Attic honey from Hymettus.

"Hold!" he cried; "none of that. That costs sixpence a pound."

"Now," said War to his boy Hubbub, dealing him at the same time a sharp rap on the knuckles, "bring me apestle."

"We haven't got one, master," said Hubbub. "We moved in only yesterday."

War. "Then run and borrow one from Athens." Hubbub. "I'm off, or I shall catch it."

"This is a terrible thing," said Trygæus. "If that varlet brings back a pestle, there'll soon be nothing leftof our cities."

In a short time Hubbub returned. The Athenian pestle had been lost.

W. "Then fetch the Spartan pestle, and be quick about it."

T. "This is an anxious moment."

In a short time Hubbub returned empty-handed, and in a great state of dismay.

W. "How now? Why haven't you brought it?"

H. "The Spartan pestle is lost, master."

W. "How is that, you rascal?"

H. "They sent it to some folk somewhere Thraceway, and they lost it."

T. "And they did quite right, too. By the great Twin-brethren, all may be well yet!"

W. "Hubbub, take the things indoors. I will make another pestle for myself."

Overjoyed to see War depart, Trygæus shouted out, calling on all Greeks to take the opportunity of riddingthemselves of their troubles by pulling Peace out of the cave in which she had been imprisoned.

A miscellaneous crowd of husbandmen, natives and foreigners, dwellers in the islands and dwellers on themainland, answered to the call, and came hurrying in, furnished with crowbars and ropes, and loudly expressingtheir delight at accomplishing the rescue of Peace, best and greatest of goddesses.

"Hush!" cried Trygæus; "make less noise, or you'll rouse War, who is indoors there."

Husbandmen. "Oh, we were so glad to hear yourproclamation! So different it was from that hateful 'Come with three days' rations apiece!' "

T. "Yes; but remember Cerberus down there. With his blustering and barking he may do what he did when hewas up here, and hinder us from dragging the lovely goddess out of her cave."

Hus. "Hinder us! Nothing shall tear her from us, if we only once get hold of her."

T. "I tell you that you'll be the ruin of the whole business with your dancing and singing. Why can'tyou keep your tongues and your feet still?"

The husbandmen protested that they could not help themselves. Their legs would dance whether they wished ornot. All Trygæus's cautions and exhortations were in vain. They begged for only one more turn with the rightleg, and when this was granted, for only one turn with the left, and wound up with a vigorous movement of both."Wait," cried Trygæus, "till you've got her safe. Then you may really rejoice." So delighted was he with theprospect that he broke out into a song:—

The husbandmen replied with another:—

Trygæus then began to inspect the stones that covered the pit in which Peace was immured, and to consider thebest way of moving them. At this moment Hermes appeared, and loudly protested against the daring deed on whichthey were about to venture. Trygæus and his friends entreated him not to betray them. At first he absolutelyrefused to listen. The death penalty had been proclaimed by Zeus against all that presumed to dig in thatplace, and he could not but denounce the offenders. Prayers seemed in vain till Trygæus bethought him ofworking upon his fears. "I'll tell you," said he, "about a great and dreadful secret, no less than a plotagainst the gods."

Hermes. "Go on; you may say something worth hearing."

T. "Well; it is this. The Moon and that terrible rascal the Sun have been plotting against you now formany years; they are intending, in short, to betray Greece to the barbarians."

H. "But why are they doing this?"

T. "Why? Because while we sacrifice to you, the barbarians sacrifice to them: so, of course, they wantto get us out of the way, and then they will get all the sacrifices themselves."

H. "Oh! I see; and that, I suppose, is the reason why they have been filching part of our days, andnibbling off bits from their rounds."

T. "Just so, my dear Hermes; so lend us a hand, and help to pull Peace out of the cave; and it is toyou that we'll keep all the great feasts,—the feast of Athené, the feast of Zeus, and the feast of Adonis,and all the rest of them. Yes; all the cities will sacrifice to you as Hermes the Saviour. And here, my dearHermes, by way of earnest, is a gold cup." (Produces a gold cup.)

H. "Dear me! how very pitiful the sight of the gold makes me. Now, my men, it is for you to do therest. Up with your shovels, and work away."

T. But let us first do our duty to the gods. Hermes, hold out the cup, and we'll begin with libationsand prayers."

H. "Silence for the libation!"

(Spits on the ground in disgust.)

This ceremony ended, all set to work, and pulled away at the rope with which the prisoners, that is, Peace andher attendants, were to be hauled out of their dungeon. Hermes encouraged them, and Trygæus watched to see thatnone shirked their task. This, indeed, he soon found some inclined to do. The Bœotians were very lukewarm, and made only a show of working. Then some of his own country-men, such as Lamachus,did nothing but get in the way, while the men of Argos made no effort at all, but laughed at both sides, andtook their profit from each. As for the men of Megara, they seemed eagerenough, but they were so weak with hunger that they gave no help. Sometimes it seemed as if no progress wasbeing made. Still the work went on, and at last, with a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together,the thing was done. Peace, with her two handmaids, Harvest-home and Mayfair, was lifted out of the pit. Trygæuswas almost beside himself with delight. "Welcome, mighty mother of vintages!" he cried, "welcome,Harvest-home! welcome, Mayfair! O Mayfair, what a lovely face you have! and how sweet your breath! what aperfume!"

H. "Not the smell of a knapsack, eh?"

T. "A knapsack indeed! No such abomination as that, but a fragrance of harvests, and feasts, andflutes, and thrushes, and bleating of lambs, and empty flasks, and all kinds of good things."

Then he burst out into song again:—

"Now," said Hermes to the husbandmen, "I will explain to you the cause of all the mischief. Phidias began it bygetting into trouble. Then Pericles, fearing lest he should be involved with him, and knowing your fiercetemper, set the city in a blaze by his decree against Megara.The smoke of that burningdrew tears from every eye in Greece. Not a vine there was but groaned when it heard it, not a cask but dasheditself against its neighbour. There was nobody to stop the uproar, and Peace disappeared. Then the subjectcities, when they saw you snarling at each other, thought that they could get rid of their tribute, and bribedthe great people at Sparta to help them; so there was trouble abroad and trouble at home, and the greatestmischiefmaker of all was a certain tanner."

T. "Say no more about him, my dear Hermes; let him rest where he is; he is one of your people now. But,my dear lady (turning to Peace), why so silent?"

H. "She has been too much wronged to forgive easily."

(Peace, it should be said, was represented by a colossal statue with a head which could turn round. Hermesspeaks to her and affects to listen to her answers.)

H. "Dearest lady, tell me your thought. Ah! that is it, is it? She says that when she came, after thataffair at Pylos, with a chest full of treaties, she was thrice rejected in full assembly."

T. "So she was; but our wits were covered up with hides in those days."

H. "She wants to know who among you loves Peace and hates War most."

T. "Cleonymus, of course."

H. "What about him?"

T. "He is not the son of the man whom he calls his father, and when he goes to battle, he throws awayhis shield and runs away."

H. "Peace wants to know who is the first man in the Assembly now?"

T. "Hyperbolus, of course. But, dear lady, why so disgusted?"

H. "She is disgusted with the people for choosing such a leader."

T. "Oh! he is only a make-shift. And besides, we thought that, as we were all groping in the dark, hemight throw a little light on affairs."

H. "How so?"

T. "Because he makes lamps."

H. "She wants to know whether witty old Cratinus is alive.

T. "No, poor fellow, he died when the Spartans invaded us. He saw a butt of wine staved in, and it brokehis heart to see so much good liquor wasted."

In the end it was arranged that Trygæus should return home with Peace and her two handmaids, oneof whom, Harvest-home, he should have for his own wife. He accordingly, after taking an affectionate leave ofHermes, called for the beetle. The beetle, however, was not available, having been harnessed to the car ofZeus; and Trygæus and his charges descended to earth by a staircase, which Hermes pointed out to him. "Dearme!" he said, when he felt his feet on firm ground again, "what a business it was to get up to the gods! How mylegs ache! And how small you looked," he went on, speaking to the slaves, who had assembled to greet him, "fromup there! I thought you seemed a bad lot, when I looked down on you, but now I see you closer, I find you verymuch worse."

A servant. "What have you got, master?"

T. "Got? A pain in my legs from travelling so far."

S. "And did you see anybody else wandering about up there?"

T. "Only a minor poet or two."

S. "And is it true that when we die we are turned into stars?"

T. "Of course it is."

S. "What are the shooting stars, then?"

T. "Rich stars going from dinner with lighted lanterns in their hands. But take the young lady; let herhave a bath, and be dressed for our wedding. She is to be my bride."

S. "And is she to have anything to eat?"

T. "To eat? No. She can't eat our food; she's used to ambrosia."

Harvest-home being thus disposed of, Trygæus proceeded to make a sacrifice to Peace, to whom he and hisservant, assisted by the husbandmen, addressed an ode of praise and thanksgiving:—

While the sacrifice was going on, a soothsayer approached, crowned with laurel, after the manner of hisprofession. Trygæus thought that he was going to interfere with the ratification of the treaties of Peace; theservant, on the other hand, believed that he was attracted by the smell of the meat. Both turned out to beright, in a way. The soothsayer did wish to have a finger in the pie, and made sundry suggestions as to thetreaties, which would be repaid, he hoped, by an invitation to share in the feast. But as his advances wererejected with very scant courtesy, he proceeded to quote prophecy after prophecy, foretelling a disastrous endto the proceeding. Trygæus, however, had an answer ready to all his sinister suggestions, and when finallyaskedto produce the prophecy in reliance on which he had himself been acting, he bravely replied with what waswanted. It came from Homer, he said, but of course it was an impromptu of his own.

Soothsayer. "Strange the words that thou halt uttered; not the Sibyl's speech, are they?"

T. "Strange they may be, yet full wisely did the mighty Homer say:—

The soothsayer continued to interrupt and intrude and in the end Trygæus and his servants drove him away. Thesacrifice ended, it became time to lay out the wedding-supper, at which it was soon evident there would be nolack of guests. Trygæus took his helmet, and pulling out the crest, handed it to the servant, with the remarkthat, as he had no more use for it, it had better be used for wiping down the tables. While this was beingdone, a sickle,maker and a cooper made their appearance. Both were in the highest spirits. The first had sold sickles, forwhich for years past no one would give a farthing, for a couple of pounds; the latter had disposed of a lot ofcasks for country use at half-a-crown each. They offered Trygæus as many of both articles as he wanted, andgave him some money, too, by way of wedding present. The bride-groom invited them in to take part in the feast.The next moment a maker of crests appeared. He was as much depressed as the others had been elated. "What isthe matter?" said the bridegroom, "A surfeit of crests? eh?"—"You have ruined my trade," replied the man;"and my neighbour's, too, who burnishes spears."

T. "Well, what shall I give you for these two crests?"

Crest-maker. "What will you give?"

T. "I hardly like to say. Well, as there is a good deal of work about them, say three quarts of raisinsfor the pair. They'll do to wipe my tables with."

C.-m. "Fetch the raisins; better that than nothing."

T. (handling them, when they came to pieces) "Take the rotten things away. The hairs are allcoming out. Not a single raisin for the pair."

An armourer now appeared on the scene with a breastplate, which had cost, he said, forty pounds. Trygæusoffered to buy it for a pan, but found itunsuitable, and packed the man off. A trumpeter followed, wanting to sell a trumpet, which had cost him, hesaid, two pounds ten. Trygæus could only suggest that he should fill it with lead, fasten a pair of scales atthe top, and use it for weighing out rations of figs for the labourers at the farm. A helmet-maker was advisedto take his helmets, which had cost him, he said, four pounds, to Egypt, where they might be used to measuremedicines with, while the man that burnished spears had an offer made to him that if he would lop off theheads, and saw the shafts in two, Trygæus would buy them for vine poles, at twelve a penny. The men went offgreatly insulted. Trygæus now espied some singing boys, whom the guests had brought with them by way ofcontribution to the feast. "Come," he said to one of them, "stand here by me, and let me hear you practise whatyou are going to sing."

The boy began:—

T. "None of that, boy; have done with your heroes. There is peace, and I want to hear nothing aboutthem."

Boy (singing again).

T. "Buckler! Boy, how dare you talk about bucklers?"

Boy (singing).

T. "Say another word about 'groans of dying' and you shall repent it."

Boy. "But what am I to sing? Tell me the sort of songs you like."

T. "Then on flesh of beeves they feasted,—something of that sort."

Boy (singing).

T. "That's good. They had had enough of war, and then feasted. Sing again of how they had had enough andfeasted."

Boy (singing).

T. "Yes, called for casks, and very glad to do it."

Boy (singing).

T. "Confound you, boy, you and your battles! You can't sing of anything but war. Who is your father?"

Boy. "Lamachus."

T. "Ah! I thought when I heard you that you must be the son of some swash-buckler. Go and sing to thespearmen. Where is the son of Cleonymus? Here, sing us something before we go in. You won't sing of suchthings. Your father has too much of the better part of valour."

Second boy (singing).

T. "Good boy! Are you singing about your father?"

Sec. boy. "But I saved my own life."

T. "And your parents you shamed. But go in, my boy. If you are your father's son, you won't forgetabout the shield, I fancy. And you, my friends, set to; there is plenty for all, and there is not good inhaving fine teeth if you don't use them.

Hus. "We will do our duty; but you were quite right to mention it."

T. "Set to; or you will be sorry for it some day."

Frequent reference is made in the plays of Aristophanes to the judicial system of Athens. The body of judgesor jurymen—the second term is, on the whole, more descriptive of them than the first—consisted of six thousandcitizens, chosen by lot out of the whole number. These six thousand were divided into ten bodies of fivehundred each, who sat in different courts, dealing with different kinds of cases. The thousand that remainedover were called upon to supply vacancies. Sometimes part only of a section would sit; sometimes two or moresections were combined. On very important occasions, it is said, the whole body was assembled. Each jurymanreceived three oboli or half a drachma, as a fee for his attendance; this sum having been increased, accordingto some authorities, by Cleon. The poet in this drama directs his satire against the characteristic faults ofthe courts thus constituted, faults which may be summed up in the phrase, "want of a judicial temper."

The Wasps was exhibited in the early part of 422 B.C., when Cleon was at the height of his power. A few monthslater he was killed. (See introduction to the Peace.)

There was an old gentleman at Athens who was afflicted with a very strange disease. It was a passion, not forthe things that some of his contemporaries were devoted to, as drinking or gaming, but for the law courts. Hewas never happy except he was serving on a jury and trying a case. Such a hold had this passion got upon himthat he could not sleep at night for thinking of his favourite employment, and if he ever did doze off for a moment his soul seemed to flutter about the clockby which the advocates' speeches were timed. When he got up in the morning, he always put his thumb and twofingers together exactly as if he were holding a voting pebble in them; and if a lover had written on thewalls,

he would write underneath,

When a co*ck happened to crow in the evening he would cry: "That co*ck has been bribed to be late in waking meby some officials who don't like the idea of giving in their accounts." Supper was hardly over before heclamoured for his shoes; and before dawn he was off to the court, and went to sleep leaning against the pillaron which the notices were posted up. And when he was sitting, he was always for severity. It was always thelongest sentence that pleased him most.So afraid was he thathe might perchance not have a pebble to vote with that he kept a private beach in his own house.

The old gentleman's name was Philocleon; and he had a son, Bdelycleon, who strongly disliked his father's ways. At first this son did his best to persuade the old man to stop athome. Then he tried baths and purges; they did no good. Then he got him to join the worshippers of Cybele.The old man rushed into court with a timbrel in his hand, and took his place as usual. Then he took him acrossthe straits to Ægina, and made him sleep inside the temple of Æsculapius; but the very next morning he wasstanding at the court-rail. After that the only thing was to keep the old man at home. But he tried to get outthrough the water-pipes; when these were stopped up with rags, he drove perches into the wall and hopped downthem like a jackdaw. Then his son surrounded the housewith nets, putting a couple of slaves in charge of them. These two watchmen had been keeping guard all nightand had dropped off to sleep, when they heard the voice of the young master crying out, "Run, run at once, oneof you! my father has got into the kitchen-flue." Scarcely had he said this when he heard a voice from upabove, and called out, "What's that noise in the chimney?"

Philocleon (who was trying to get out that way). "Only a little smoke escaping."

Bdelycleon. "Smoke? Of what wood, pray?"

Phil. "Fig-tree, to be sure."

Bdel. "The most biting kind there is." (To the slaves) "Run and clap a stone on the top ofthe chimney. You must try some other dodge, my dear sir.

Then the old man tried to make his way out by the door; finding that barred by the slaves, he screamed out, "Iwill gnaw the net."

"But you haven't any teeth, father," replied the son. Then he tried craft. It was market day, and he wanted tosell the donkey, and he was sure he would make a better bargain than his son. The son would not listen. Hewould take the donkey to market himself, and accordingly had the beast driven out. The creature seemed veryloath to move, and Bdelycleon addressed it:—

"Why so sad, my ass? Because you are to be sold to-day? Move a little quicker. Why grunt and groan, unless youare carrying a new Ulysses?"

Slave. "And, by Zeus! there is a fellow hanging on underneath."

Bdel. "What? Where?"

Slave. "Here, to be sure."

Bdel. "Who in the world are you?"

Phil. "No man."

Bdel. "No man, are you? Where do you come from?"

Phil. "From Ithaca, the son of Runaway."

Bdel. "Well, however you'll not get off in this way." (To the slaves)&nbps; "Drag him out."

The old man accordingly was dragged off, and pushed inside, and the door was bolted, barred, and still furtherfortified by stones and other things piled up against it. While the slaves were busy about this, one of themwas startled by a clod of earth falling on his head. Philocleon had mounted on to the roof, and seemed to beintending to fly off. "Throw the net over him," cried his son. This done, the slaves ventured to suggest that asleep would be welcome. Of this, however, their young master would not hear.

"Sleep!" he cried, "why, his fellow-juryman willbe here very soon to call for him, and we shall have to deal with them."

"But, sir," said the slave, "it is only just twilight."—"Ah!" replied Bdelycleon, "then they are very lateto-day; soon after midnight is their usual time for coming."

Slave. "Well, if they do come, we can easily pelt them with stones."

Bdel. "Pelt them, indeed! You might as well stir up a wasps' nest as anger these old men. Every one ofthem wears a terrible sting, and they'd leap on you like live coals out of the fire."

Slave. "Don't be afraid. Give me some stones, and I'll scatter their wasps' nest, be it ever so big."

Sure enough, before many minutes had passed, the host of jurymen appeared, a set of poorly dressed, hungry looking fellows. They came slowly on, picking their way, while theiryoung sons carried lanterns by their side. They were greatly astonished, on arriving at Philocleon's house, tosee no trace of their colleague, and sang a stave, in the hope of bringing him out:—

Philocleon replied in corresponding strains:—

Colleague. "But who is it keeps you shut up, my friend?"

Phil. "My own son. But hush! he is asleep. Speak softly."

Coll. "But why? What reason does he give?"

Phil. "He wants to keep me from sitting on juries, and in fact from doing any mischief. He makes mecomfortable enough, but I won't give in."

Coll. "Ah! I see; he's mixed up in some conspiracy, and afraid of what you might find out. But isn'tthere some way of giving him the slip?"

Phil. "How I wish there were! Can you think of anything?"

Coll. "You might dress yourself up in a beggar's rags, as Ulysses did, and creep out somehow."

Phil. "There is not a cranny that a gnat could get through. No, you must think of something better thanthat."

Coll. "Don't you remember how you stole the roast meat and let yourself down by the wall, when we werebesieging Naxos?"

Phil. "Ah! but I was a young man then and could go where I pleased; but now I am old, and, besides, theywatch me too closely."

Coll. "Well, think of something; for the day is beginning to break, and time presses."

Finally Philocleon gnawed through one of thenets with which all the outlets to the house were secured, and, tying round his body a rope, the other end ofwhich he secured to a bar of the window, began to let himself down into the street, imploring his colleaguesthat if anything should happen to him—the rope breaking, for instance—they would pay him due honours, andbury him under the railings round the judges' seat. His friends encouraged him; and the thing was nearly done,when something chanced to rouse the slumbering Bdelycleon. The old man dropped, indeed, to the ground, but onlyto find himself in the hands of his keepers. In vain he appealed to his son's sense of filial duty,pathetically reminding him of how, long ago, catching him stealing grapes, he had tied him to an olive-tree andthrashed him, to the admiration of all beholders. In vain the old man's colleagues charged in the hope ofrescuing him, using their stings freely. Bdelycleon and his slaves, first with sticks and then by means ofsmoke (always a thing which wasps detest), contrived to repel the attack. "Tyranny! Tyranny!" cried theassailants, as they found themselves beaten back. Bdelycleon suggested compromise; they would have none of it. "Tyranny! He's plotting to set up a tyranny!" they repeated.

"Ah!" said the young man, "that is what is always on your tongues now,—Tyranny! Conspiracy! You think ofnothing else. For instance, Igo into the fish-market and buy a bass, and don't buy pilchards. Immediately the fellow who is sellingpilchards grumbles, 'A man who buys fish in this way must be thinking of being a tyrant.' Or, again, I want aleek as sauce to my anchovies. What does the girl that sells pot-herbs do but say, 'Ah! you buy pot-leeks. Youwould be a tyrant, I see.' Now this is the sort of thing that I want to get my father away from; and as soon asI try, then immediately I am an aristocrat, a tyrant."

Phil. "And quite right, too! Do you think that I would change those beloved courts for anything that youcould give me? No, not for all the pigeon's milk in the world. Skates indeed, and eels! No; give me a nicelittle plea dished up with pettifogger's sauce."

Bdel. "Yes; that's the thing you have been so fond of all your life. Still, I think I can convince youthat you have been wrong, if you will only sit still and listen."

Phil. "Wrong, do you say? I wrong to like sitting on juries?"

Bdel. "Yes; and scorned and mocked and cheated by the men you worship,—a slave without knowing it."

Phil. "You call me a slave? Why, I am lord of all."

Bdel. "Not you; you think that you are, but you are really a servant. Tell me now, father, what good youget out of your lordship."

Phil. "That I will gladly. We will argue the matter out, and let there be umpires to decide between us."

Bdel. "Very good." (To the slaves) "Let him go."

Phil. "And give me a sword; if I am worsted in this encounter I will fall upon it, and put an end to mytroubles."

Philocleon, urged by his colleagues to do his best, lest their common employment should fall into disrepute,now proceeded to expound his view of the advantages of the juryman's profession. "Our kingdom," so ran hisspeech, "is inferior to none in the world. There is not a creature more blest, more petted, more feared, thanthe juryman. When I come trudging from my bed in the morning there are big fellows waiting for me at the bar.As soon as I come in, a delicate hand, that knows its way, I warrant you, into the public purse, is thrust intomine. How they bow, and scrape, and beg, and pray, lowering their voices to a whine, with a 'Pity me, sire, Ibeseech you, if you have ever made a little purse for yourself out of an office or a contract.' So they plead;fellows who would never have known that I existed, if they had not been acquitted before. So I take my seat, inexcellent humour, as every one thinks; but I never think of keeping any of the promises that I have made. Ilisten to all that they say to persuade me to acquit them—and what will they not say? Some make amoan over their poverty,—yes, actually try to make themselves out as badly off as I am; and some tell mefables, or quote something funny out of Æsop; and some banter and jest to make me laugh, to put me into a goodtemper. And if this doesn't move me, then the man brings his children, boys and girls. They huddle together,and bleat like so many lambs, while their father beseeches me to pass his accounts and let him go free.And I just let my wrath down by a peg or two. Then if a player gets into trouble, he has to give me one of hisvery best speeches; and if a piper wins a suit, he plays us out of court with a quick march. If a father leaveshis daughter and his fortune to a friend, what do we care for the will with its big seal? Nothing at all; we dojust what we please with the girl and her money, and there is nobody to call us to account. Then the governmenttakes care that we are not overworked. One suit a day, they say, and then we may go home. Why, we are the onlypeople whom Cleon does not nibble atand vex, but sits and keeps guard over us and brushes off the flies. What do you say to all this, you who wouldhave it that I was a mere slave and dupe? And then, what is the most delightful thing of all, and yet I hadalmost forgotten it, when I get home with my day's pay in my pocket. How glad they all are to see me! Firstcomes my daughter, and washes my feet, and anoints them, and kisses me. 'Dear papa,' she says, fishing out themoney with her tongue ever so cleverly, pretty little creature! Then my wife is so kind, bringing me a littlepudding she has made, and sitting by me and pressing me to eat, with a 'Do take a little more,' and 'Justanother helping.' Oh! it is pleasant.

Bdelycleon now addressed himself to the task of proving his point, and began by addressing the old man as "Sonof Chronos, my father."

Phil. "Don't try to get round me with 'father, father.' Prove that I am a slave, or you die."

Bdel. "Very well, dear papa; and don't look so stern. Just begin by reckoning—not exactly, of course,but roughly and in round numbers—the revenue that comes in from the subject states. Add to this the taxes,and the percentages, and the fees, and the fines, and the silver from the mines, and the market and harbourdues, and the sales. You will find the total not far off two thousand talents.And now put down the jurymen's pay, reckoning how much the six thousand get in a year. Why, it will not come tomuch more than a hundred and fifty talents! And what is that among all the six thousand?"

Phil. "Then our pay is not a tenth part of the whole revenue?"

Bdel. "Certainly not."

Phil. "Pray tell me, then, where the rest of the money goes to."

Bdel. "Why, it goes to the gentlemen who 'will never betray the rabble of Athens,' who 'will alwaysfight for the people.' And, O father, 'tis all your fault. It is you who make these men your masters, cheatedby their fine words. And then they get presents, fifty talents at a time, from the allies, by means of threatsof this kind, 'Hand over the tribute, or there will be an end of your city!' And you are content to gnaw awayat the offal, while they eat the meat. Do you suppose that the allies are not clever enough to see all this? Ofcourse they do. When they find you growing lanky and lean, and your masters round and fat, it is to them thatthey bring their presents,—their wine, their cheeses, their jars of pickle, their pots of honey, their caps,their mantles, their necklaces, and all that a man wants to be healthy and wealthy. And you, from all theempire that you have won by toils on land and toils on sea, you don't get a head of garlic to flavour yourboiled sprats with."

Phil. "Quite true; I had to send to the green-grocer's yesterday for three heads. But you take a longtime in proving that I am a slave."

Bdel. "Isn't it slavery when the men in power—yes, and their toadies, too—get at the money, and youare content with your miserable sixpence,—money that you have earned yourselves on ship-board, in battles,and in sieges? Doesn't some young fop come and bid you attend at the court betimes? Don't you lose yoursixpence if you are late, while he comes whenever he may choose andpockets his shilling? And then if there's a bite going, do you get it? Not you; it goes to him and his partner.They work it between them, like two men at a saw, one pulling and one giving way."

Phil. "Is that what they do? This is terrible hearing."

Bdel. "Think how rich you might be, if it wasn't for these demagogues,—you, the master of I know nothow many cities from the Black Sea to Sardinia,—and they dole you out this miserable pittance, just as ifthey were dropping oil from wool. The fact is, that they want you to be poor, and I'll tell you why. You mustknow your feeder's hand; and then if he sets you on any one that he wants to bring down, you fly at the wretchlike a wild beast. Now listen to me. There are a thousand cities that are subject to us and pay us tribute.Allot twenty Athenian citizens to each to feed. Then you have twenty thousand citizens living like princes onhare and cream and all good things, with garlands on their heads, just as the men deserve to live who won thegreat fight at Marathon."

Coll. "Well, that was a wise man who said, 'Don't decide till you have heard both sides.' Bdelycleon,you have gained the day.

Bdelycleon besought his father to yield. The old man would comply in everything but one. Death would be betterthan not sitting as a juryman.

Bdel. "Well, if you are so bent on this, why not stop here and judge your own household?"

Phil. "Judge my own household? What nonsense!"

Bdel. "Not at all. The porteress, for instance, opens the door on the sly. You fine her a shilling. Justwhat you did there. If the day is fine, you will hold your court in the sun; if it snows, you will sit by thefire. And the best of it will be that if you choose to sleep till noon, no one will shut the door in yourface."

Phil. "An excellent idea."

Bdel. "Then again, however long-winded counselmay be, you need not sit hungry, worrying yourself and the prisoner as well."

Phil. "But do you think that I shall really be able to judge and digest at the same time?"

Bdel. "Why not? You will do your judging all the better. Don't they say when there is a good deal ofhard swearing in a case that the judge could scarcely digest it?"

Phil. "I can't resist you. But tell me true; who will give me my pay?"

Bdel. "I will."

Phil. "Good! then I shall always get my fee. That joker played me a pretty trick the other day. We had adrachma between us. He changed it in the fish-market, and put down three fish scales for my share. I poppedthem in my mouth, thinking they were coins. Oh, the vile smell as I spat them out!"

Bdel. "You see, then, how much better you will fare in this way."

Phil. "Yes, yes; something considerable. But make haste and do it."

Bdel. "Wait a bit. I will go and get the things."

Phil. "See how the oracle comes true. It ran thus, I remember:—

The son now returned, bringing with him a number of judicial properties, such as red boxes to hold the votesand the like, and he set a basin of gruel by the fire, for the old man to refresh himself with. Everythingbeing ready, Philocleon said, "Call the first case; I have been waiting a long time." This demand puzzled theson not a little. Who was to be tried? Who in the household had committed a fault? Well, the Thracian maid hadburnt the pitcher. While he was meditating whether he should not begin with her, Philocleon discovered to hishorror that the judges were not railed off from the rest of the court. To go on without the rails wasimpossible; he would go and find some for himself. Bdelycleon was meditating on the force of habit, when one ofthe slaves cried out, "Confound the dog! Why do they keep such a brute as that?"

Bdel. "Why, what has happened?"

Slave. "Pincher has got to the safe and stolen a rich Sicilian cheese."

Bdel. "Has he? Then that shall be the first case for my father to try. You shall be prosecutor."

Slave. "Not I, thank you. The other cur says he will prosecute with pleasure."

At this point the old man returned with some railings from the pigsty, two bowls for voting-urns, andeverything at last was complete. So important a business, however, could not be inaugurated without sacrificeand prayer. Philocleon called for frankincense,a pan of coals on which to burn it, and some sprigs of myrtle.

The colleagues sang:—

Bdelycleon took up the chant:—

Phil. "Who is the accused in this case?" (Aside) "He'll not get off very easily."

Bdel. "Listen to the indictment: Cur, of the town of Cydathon, accuses Pincher of Ænone of havingembezzled a Sicilian cheese and eaten it all himself.Proposed sentence, a dog-collar of fig-wood."

Phil. "A collar indeed! To be hanged like a dog, if he is found guilty."

Bdel. "The prisoner Pincher is here, and pleads not guilty."

Phil. "A manifest villain! What a thievish look he has! And how he grins! thinking, I suppose, to takeme in. Where is the accuser, Cur of Cydathon?"

Cur. "Bow, wow!"

Bdel. "Silence in the court! Cur, go up into the box and state the charge."

Slave (as representing Cur, the prosecutor). "Gentlemen of this honourable court, you have heard thecharge that I bring against the accused. I say that he played a most scandalous trick on me and my fellows. Heran off into a corner by himself, and gorged himself with the cheese."

Phil. "He is manifestly guilty. The rascal smells of cheese most vilely."

Slave. "Yes; he devoured it, and would not give a morsel to me when I asked him. Mark this, he gavenothing to me, your favourite, Tear 'em."

Phil. "What! nothing to you? and nothing to me, either!"

Bdel. "My dear father, for heaven's sake don't decide the case before you have heard both sides!"

Phil. "Why not, my boy? The thing is quite plain. It speaks for itself."

Slave. "Don't let him off. There never was such a keeping-all-to-himself dog. And, as you know, onebush is not big enough for two thieves."

Phil. "Here is a string of charges. The creature is clearly a regular thief."

Bdel. (to Pincher). "Now, up with you, and make your defence! What! can't you speak?"

Phil. "Because he has got nothing to say for himself."

Bdel. "No, no, sir; I have seen it happen before in court." (To the dog) "Get down, andI'll plead your cause myself." (To the court) "It is not easy, gentlemen, to defend a dog that hasgot a bad name. Still, I will do my best. He is a good dog, and drives away wolves."

Phil. "A good dog indeed! I call him a thief and a traitor."

Bdel. "He is the best dog that we have got about the place. He is fit to take charge of any number ofsheep."

Phil. "What is the good of that, if he steals cheeses and eats them?"

Bdel. "What good? He fights for you, he watches at your door; altogether, he is an excellent creature.And if he did steal a bit, well, you see that he has not been properly educated. But I have a witness."

The advocate now called a cheese-grater, which was directed to get into the box, and on examination testifiedthat it had grated cheese for the accused, and that others had received a share. This disposed of the charge ofhaving devoured the stolen propertyin solitude.He then proceeded to say that Pincher was a hard-working animal, that lived on odds and ends, bones, gristle,anything, in short, that he could get, while Cur was a mere stay-at-home, always asking for a share of what wasbrought in, and biting if he did not get it. The next thing, following the regular course of proceeding, was toexcite the compassion of the court. With this object, a litter of puppies was brought in, and made to whimperfor mercy for their father.

Phil. "You can step down; I am satisfied."

Bdel. "Step down I will; though I don't quite trust you. I have known many men taken in before this.Well, father, will he get off?"

Phil. "'Tis hard to say."

Bdel. "My dear father, I do beseech you to take the merciful side. Here is the voting pebble. Pray dropit in the 'Not guilty' urn. It is that far one, you know. Shut your eyes while you are passing the other."

Phil. "No, no, my boy; you see I have not been educated."

Bdel. "Let me lead you, sir."

Phil. "Is this the 'Guilty' urn?"

Bdel. "Yes, sir."

Phil. "In she goes!"

The fact was, that Bdelycleon, seeing that his father was resolved to condemn, deceived him, and pointed outthe "Not guilty" as the "Guilty" urn. "I have taken him in," he said, as the vote was dropped in. "And now,sir," he went on, addressing his father, "I will count the votes."

Bdel. "How has it gone?"

Phil. "Pincher is acquitted."

The old man was so overpowered by this unexpected result that he almost fainted, and had to ask for water. "Ishe indeed acquitted?" he inquired; and when assured that it was so, he broke out into a doleful strain:—

And now it was proved that it is not always a good thing to change a man's habit of life, even though it may bea bad one; for it is quite possible that he may turn to something worse. Philocleon went to the feast. At firstit was not easy to make him enjoy himself. He did not know how to behave himself among gay company; his veryattitude was ungainly; he could think of nothing to talk about but old experiences in the law-courts. But helearnt his lesson with amazing rapidity. Before the banquet was half finished he was the noisiest of thecompany, jumping and frisking about like a donkey that has had a feed of corn, bantering the guests, tellingstories that were not in the least to the point, and at last, when the party broke up, beating every one thathe met on his way home. The slave Xanthias, who had come in for a sound thrashing, had just time to givewarning at home of what had happened when the old man appeared. "Dear me," he said, "it is hard for a youngfellow like me to be kept so strict! There's my son, the most cross-grained guardian that could be, alwaysafraid that I shall turn out badly; but then, I am his only father, you see!" While he was speaking, the peoplewhom he had maltreated on his way came flocking in. A girl that sold breadcomplained that theold man had knocked at least a dozen loaves off her tray with his torch. Philocleon had nothing to say to herexcept it was to tell some of the pleasant stories which his son had said would suit gay society. "My goodgirl," he said, "what do you think Æsop once said to a dog that barked at him as he was going home fromdinner?"—"I don't want to know," said the girl.—"Well," he went on, "it was something like this: 'Don'tmake all that noise, but—buy some more flour.'""And you insult me, too," she cried. "I'll bring you before the clerk of the market."—"No, but listen," hereplied; "I may be able to satisfy you. Simonides and Lasus once had a trial of skill; and Lasus said, 'I don't care.' And that's just what I say." Next came a mancomplaining of having his head broken. "I'll make it all right with him," said Philocleon. The man was pleased.He did not want, he said, to go to law if he could help it. "Well, then, listen: a girl at Sybaris broke a jug—"—"Oh!" cried the man, "if that's the way you are going to make it right with me, I shall call my witnesses."—"That's just what the jug said," the old man went on; "and the girl told it that it would show more sense if itleft off calling witnesses, and bought a rivet to mend itself with."—"Ah! you may laugh," said the aggrievedman; "but it will be a different thing when the magistrate calls on the case." The son now lost all patience,and forcibly carried his father into the house, already probably wishing that he had been content to leave himin the enjoyment of his old occupation.

It is difficult to write anything about this play without going into matters more serious than would bebecoming in such a volume as this. Something, however, may he said, by way of explanation, of the object whichthe poet had in view. He was a strong conservative, as in politics, so in education. And a new school ofteachers, to whom the name of sophists had been given, had in his time come into vogue at Athens. These men, ofwhom Protagoras of Abdera and Gorgias of Leontium were perhaps the most famous, were not at all to the likingof Aristophanes. He clung to the old faith (though this adherence did not prevent him from being on occasionexceedingly profane), while the sophists explained it away. He held with the old notions of right and wrong,and they, as Mr. Merry expresses it, "did not profess to believe in an absolute standard of morality, or in anypositive truth." Their aim in teaching was to be practically useful, to make their pupils fit for life,especially public life. But success in public life largely depended on power in speaking. "Rhetoricians" wasthe name for Athenian politicians. Hence the sophists gave especial attention to the art of speaking. So far asthey believed that there was no absolute right or wrong, so far they would teach their pupils to use therhetorical art which they learnt without regard to these considerations. To judge from the account given of histeaching by Plato, Socrates did not approve of the sophists. Again and again he is represented as confutingthem. Yet it was not unnatural that Aristophanes should confound him with them, or even pick him out for attackas their representative. In truth, however, he was nothing of the kind. These sophists were mainly foreigners;Socrates was an Athenian. They lectured in private, receiving only those who were willing and able to pay thehigh fees which they demanded; Socrates taught in the public streets and squares any one who chose to listen tohim.

The attack could have had only a remote influence in bringing about the condemnation of the great philosopherby his countrymen.This took place in 399 B.C., whereas the play was acted in 423. Still it helped in producing the greatprejudice which undoubtedly existed and which resulted in his being put to death. To this fact Socrates isrepresented as referring in the defense or apology which Plato puts into his mouth. He says:—

"I have had many to accuse me to you. This they have done for many years, saying things about me, not one ofwhich was true. And of these enemies I am more afraid than I am of Anytus and his fellow-accusers, thoughthese, too, are formidable. But, gentlemen, these old enemies are more formidable. These have represented toyou in your childhood a false story, how that there is a certain Socrates, or wise man, who speculates onthings above the earth, and searches into things under the earth, and makes the worse appear the better reason.It is they, men of Athens, who by spreading about this report of me, have been my really dangerous accusers;for those who listen to them hold that they who busy themselves with such speculations do not even believe inthe gods."

And a little later he says: "You yourselves have seen this in Aristophanes's comedy, in which a certainSocrates is introduced, saying that he 'walks in air,' and talking much other nonsense on subjects on which Ido not profess to know much or little."

However much Aristophanes was mistaken in his estimate of Socrates's character and teaching, it was theestimate commonly held. Indeed, there is no reason to suppose that the story sometimes told of the Athenianshaving repented of their condemnation of their great countryman, is true.

Strepsiades, once a wealthy Athenian land-owner, but now reduced by losses that followed the war and by hisson's extravagance to great distress, was meditating sadly on his troubles as he lay awake in the earlymorning. "Will it never be light?" he said to himself; "and yet I'm sure I heard the co*ck crow a long time ago.All the slaves are snoring, and one can't thrash them now, thanks to that detestable war. And there's my sonthere; nothingdisturbs him. I can't sleep a wink for thinking of my debts. What with his foppery, and his horse-racing therest of it, he ruins me." After another vain effort to get a little-more sleep, the old gentleman gave it up,and, calling for a light, began a doleful calculation of his debts. "Fifty pounds to Prasias," he read over tohimself. "When did I borrow fifty pounds of Prasias? Oh! I remember. I was to buy that Corinthian hack.'Hack,' I wish that I had had my eye hacked out before I saw him." At this point the son, Pheidippides, criedout in his sleep, "It's not fair, Philo; keep to your own course."—"Ah!" said the old man, "that is my ruin,always racing, even in his dreams."

Pheidippides (still asleep). "How many rounds do the chariots run?"

Strepsiades. "You are running your father a pretty round. But let me see. What was next to Prasias'saccount? Ten pounds to Ameinias for a pair of wheels and a body."

Phei. (still asleep). "Give the colt a roll on the sand, and then take him home."

Strep. "Ah! you dog, you have rolled me out of house and home."

Phei. (waking). "Ah! my dear father, what makes you so uncomfortable that you toss about all night?"

Strep. "I am being bitten, my dear boy, badly bitten, by bailiffs."

Phei. "Well, do let me go to sleep."

Strep. "Sleep away; but all this will fall on your own head some day. Now a plague on the match-maker, Isay, who made it up between your mother and me. I was living the jolliest life possible in the country, with mybee-hives, and my flocks, and my wine-vats. Then I married a niece of Megacles, son of Megacles, I a farmer,and she a fine city lady. Then our son was born, and my lady and I had some words about his name. She must havesomething horsey, of course,—Xanthippus, Charippus, or Callippides.I was for Pheidonides, my own grand-father's name.At last we compromised it, and he was called Pheidippides.Then when he grew a big boy she would say, 'When you are a man, my dear, you shall drive a chariot to thecitadel, as Megacles did, and wear a fine cloak';and I used to say, 'When you're a man you shall drive the goats home with a leather jerkin on, as your fatherdid.' But he did not heed me in the least, and he has brought on my estate a gallopping consumption, as I maycall it. However, I have thought of an excellent way out of my difficulties, if I can persuade him totake it. Now, how shall I wake him? Pheidy, my boy!"

Phei. "What is it, father?"

Strep. "Kiss me, and give me your hand."

Phei. "Yes, yes; certainly."

Strep. "Now, do you love me?"

Phei. "By the god of horses, yes."

Strep. "None of that, none of that; the god of horses is the cause of all my trouble. But if you loveme, my son, do what I shall ask you."

Phei. "But what is it?"

Strep. "You'll do it, then?"

Phei. "By Bacchus, yes."

Strep. "Do you see that door over there?"

Phei. "Yes; what of it?"

Strep. "That is the Reflectory of wise souls. There live the men who can prove that the heaven is afire-cover, and we are the sparks. Give them money, and they'll teach you to prove anything you want, be itright or wrong."

Phei. "Well, who are they?"

Strep. "I don't rightly know what they call them. But they are very clever fellows."

Phei. "Oh! I know—the rascals! You mean those pale, slipshod fellows, that wretched Socrates, andChærephon, and their lot."

Strep. "Hush! don't say anything foolish. If you love your father, cut your horse-racing and take upwith them."

Phei. "I take up with them! No, not for Leagoras's thoroughbreds."

Strep. "My dear son, I do entreat you to go and learn of them."

Phei. "What am I to learn?"

Strep. "They say that these people keep two arguments, whatever they may be,—the Better and the Worse;and that anybody who uses the Worse gets the upper hand, even when he has a bad case. You go and learn this,and then I sha'n't have to pay a shilling to any one of the debts which I have run up on your account."

Phei. "I could not think of it. You don't suppose I could meet the gentlemen who are on the Turf withouta scrap of colour on my face!"

Strep. "Well, if you won't, not another mouthful shall you have from me, you or your shaft-horse, oryour leader. Out you go, bag and baggage."

Phei. "As you please. My great-uncle Megacles, I am sure, won't let me want for a horse."

The old man, however, was not going to be beaten by this refusal. If his son wouldn't learn, he would learnhimself, though he doubted whether he was clever enough to acquire these subtleties. However, he took hiscourage in his hands, and knocked at the door of the Reflectory. The knock was answered by a disciple, whor*buked the visitor for the unmannerly loudness of his kick. "You made," he said, "such a fine thing of mine tomiscarry."

Strep. "Pardon me; I live a long way off in the country. Tell me, pray, what it was that I injured."

Disciple. "But these things are told only to disciples."

Strep. "Never mind; I am come to be a disciple."

Dis. "Very well; but remember these things are secret. The other day Socrates asked Chærephon how manyof its own feet a flea could jump. One had been biting Chærephon's eyebrow, you must understand, and jumped onto Socrates's head."

Strep. "How did he measure it?"

Dis. "In the cleverest way possible. He melted some wax; then he took the flea and dipped its feet intothe wax. When this was cold, the flea had slippers on; these he undid, and measured the distance."

Strep. "What a clever thing!"

Dis. "I can tell you something else. Yesterday evening we had nothing for dinner. So Socrates sprinkleda thin coat of ashes on the carving-board,bent a spit, and making it into a compass, stole a piece of meat from the sacrifice."

Strep. "Wonderful! and we talk about Thales! Let me into the Reflectory. Show me Socrates, for I ambent on becoming a disciple."

Accordingly the door was thrown open.

"Good heavens!" cried the visitor, as soon as he was admitted, seeing the disciples scattered aboutin various attitudes, "what kind of creatures are these? What are they looking on the ground for?"

Dis. "They are investigating things that are under the earth."

Strep. "Looking for truffles, eh? No use here; but I can tell them where they can find some very fineones. And these who are bent double there—what are they doing?"

Dis. "In sub-Tartarean realms of night they grope."

Strep. "And why is their other end turned up in that fashion?"

Dis. "It is learning astronomy on its own account."

Strep. "Stay a moment; what is this?"

Dis. "That is Geometry."

Strep. "What do you use it for?"

Dis. "Measuring the countries."

Strep. "I see, the countries where we have allotments."

Dis. "No, no; the countries generally, the whole earth."

Strep. "Splendid! What a patriotic notion! Dividing the whole earth among us Athenians."

Dis. "Look here; this is a map of the earth. Here is Athens."

Strep. "That Athens? I don't believe it. I don't see the courts sitting anywhere."

Dis. "Ah, but it is! And that's Eubœa stretching along there."

Strep. "Yes; we stretched it, we did, Pericles and the rest of us.But where's Sparta?"

Dis. "There."

Strep. "Oh! but how near! See if you can't contrive to put it further off."

Dis. "Quite impossible."

Strep. "So much the worse for you. But who is the man in the basket there?"

Dis. "That is He."

Strep. "What he?"

Dis. SOCRATES.

After two or three fruitless attempts, Strepsiades succeeded in attracting the great man's attention. "Whatwant you, creature of a day?" he asked.

Strep. "Oh, you look down on the gods from a basket, do you?"

Socrates. "I never could have found out aerial things had I not detached my thoughts, bringingthem into the kindred air. Had I stayed on earth it would have been impossible, for the earth forcibly draws toitself the moisture of the intellect. Just the same thing happens to cress."

Strep. "What is it? Intellect attracts moisture to cress; is that it? But descend a while, and teach methat which I came here to learn."

Soc. "What is that?"

Strep. "I want to learn to speak. I am being cheated and plundered by the cruelest set of creditors."

Soc. "But how did you get into debt without knowing it?"

Strep. "A plague of horses has eaten me up. Now I want you to teach me one of the two arguments youkeep; the not-paying-your-creditors argument, I mean. Teach me, and I will swear by the gods to pay you yourfee."

Soc. "What gods? Gods don't pass current here."

Strep. "What does pass, then? Pieces of iron, such as they have at Byzantium?"

Soc. "Do you want to know the truth about gods and such things?"

Strep. "Yes, by Zeus!—if there is a Zeus."

Soc. "And make acquaintance with the clouds? They are what we worship, you understand."

Strep. "By all means."

Socrates then descended from his basket, seated the old man on a pallet-bed, put a chaplet on hishead, and sprinkled him with flour,—proceedings which somewhat dismayed him, as they suggested the idea thathe was going to be sacrificed.But he was assured that all who desired to become disciples had to do it, and that, once initiated, he wouldlearn the art of clever speech, would become, in fact, the flower (flour) of advocates. "Well, that'strue in a way," said Strepsiades; "there's a good deal of flour about me now." Socrates then proceeded toinvoke the clouds, while the new disciple folded his cloak over him, lest, as he said, he should be drenched.

Presently an answering voice was heard, accompanied by the noise of rolling thunder that seemed to come nearerand nearer:—

Strep. "Tell me, Socrates, who are these that sing this very solemn strain? Are they heroines?"

Soc. "Not at all; they are the Clouds of heaven. It is they who give us wise maxims, and logic, andcircumlocution, and cheating."

Strep. "Yes; and when I hear them my soul is all agog for all kinds of subtleties and chatterings. But Ishould like to see them plainly, if it is possible."

Soc. "Look towards Mount Parnes, then; I see them plainly coming down from it."

Strep. "Where? where?"

Soc. "There, down through the glens and thickets."

Strep. "I can't see them."

Soc. "Surely you must see them now, unless you are as blind as a bat."

Strep. "Now I do; indeed, they are everywhere."

Soc. "And didn't you know that they were goddesses?"

Strep. "Not I; I thought that they were dew and mist. But tell me, if they are clouds, why they are likewomen. For the real clouds are not."

Soc. "What are they, then?"

Strep. "Why, they are like fleeces floating about, but not in the least like women. Those clouds therehave noses."

Soc. "Now answer me a few questions. Have you ever looked up into the sky and seen a cloud that was likea centaur, or a panther, or a wolf, or a bull?"

Strep. "Often; what then?"

Soc. "They become whatever they like. When they see a minor poet with his hair all long about hisshoulders, they mock at his folly, and make themselves into centaurs."

Strep. "What do they do when they see Simon, who stole the public money?"

Soc. "They become wolves, to be sure."

Strep. "And so, when they see Cleonymus the coward, they turn into deer, I suppose."

The Clouds now greeted the sage who had invoked their presence:—

Soc. "You see, my friend, that these are the only divinities. All the others are mere moonshine."

Strep. "Stop! isn't Olympian Zeus a divinity, then?"

Soc. "What Zeus? Don't talk nonsense. There is no Zeus."

Strep. "What? Who is it that rains, then?"

Soc. "Why, these, of course. Did you ever see it rain without clouds? Zeus ought to rain from a clearsky, if he did it."

Strep. "Well, but who is it that thunders?"

Soc. "These; they thunder as they roll along. They are laden with water, and come crashing together, andso make a great noise."

Strep. "But who makes them move? It must be Zeus."

Soc. "No; it isn't Zeus: it is Whirl."

Strep. "So Whirl is king instead of Zeus. Well, I didn't know it. But tell me about the lightning.Doesn't Zeus strike perjurers with it?"

Soc. "Well, you are an antiquated old fool. If Zeus strikes the perjurers, why doesn't he strikeSimon, and Cleonymus, and Theorus? Why does he strike his own temples, and the cliffs of Sunium,and the oaks? The oaks don't perjure themselves."

Strep. "There is something in what you say."

The Clouds now addressed Strepsiades:—

Strep. "Well, you'll find me as hard as an anvil."

Soc. "And you won't believe in any gods besides ours—Clouds, Chaos, and Tongue—these three?"

Strep. "I won't even speak to the rest, if I should meet them."

The Clouds. "Tell us plainly what you want."

Strep. "I want to be miles away the cleverest speaker in Greece."

Clouds. "So you shall; no man shall carry more resolutions in the Assembly than you."

Strep. "I don't care about resolutions in the Assembly; I want to slip through my creditors' hands."

Clouds. "Oh, that's a very little matter. Hand your accounts to our attendants, and fear nothing."

Strep. "I will trust you to the uttermost. What with my debts and my extravagant wife, I have no otherchoice. Hunger, thirst, cold, torture, anything that you please, so long as you make me a real clever speaker."

Clouds. "The man has a bold temper. Well, if you learn all this from me, you will be the most fortunateof men. You will have clients always sitting at your door to get your advice in heavy cases. And now, Socrates,take him and teach him."

Soc. "Well, my friend, have you got a good memory?"

Strep. "A very long memory when money is owing to me; a very short one, when I owe it myself."

Soc. "How will you be able to learn?"

Strep. "Well enough; don't be afraid."

Soc. "Can you speak?"

Strep. "I can't speak, but I can cheat."

Soc. "If I let drop a bit of the higher wisdom, you must snatch it up at once."

Strep. "What? Grab wisdom like a dog?"

Soc. "This is a very ignorant, barbarous creature. Old man, I am afraid you'll want a good beating.Come, take off your coat."

Strep. "Why, what have I done wrong?"

Soc. "Nothing; but it is our custom to come in without our coats."

Strep. "Well, give me a honey-cake. I feel as if I was going down into the cave of Trophonius."

After a while Socrates came out again, loudly complaining of the ignorance, stupidity, and forgetfulness of hisnew pupil. He had no sooner learnt a little subtlety than he forgot it. However, he was willing to try oncemore. Accordingly he proceeded to instruct him in various questions of prosody and grammar. All, however, wasto no purpose. The old man remained hopelessly dense. As a last resource the teacher ordered him to lie down ona couch with which he had been provided, wrap himself closely up, and proceed to think. "If you get anywhere,"he said, "whence you can't get out, then lightly leap to some other notion of the soul."

Strep. "Oh! oh!"

Clouds. "What is the matter?"

Strep. "Oh, the fleas are coming out of the mattress and biting me."

Clouds. "Don't trouble."

Strep. "How can I help it? My money is gone, and my skin is gone, and my life is gone, yes, and myshoes, too."

Soc. "Are you not thinking?"

Strep. "Yes; indeed I am."

Soc. "What about?"

Strep. "Whether the fleas will leave anything of me."

Soc. "Don't be a coward; wrap yourself up and think."

Strep. (after a pause). "My dear Socrates, I have a device for escaping interest."

Soc. "Explain it."

Strep. "I should buy a witch from Thessaly; she would bring down the moon out of the sky for me. Ishould shut it up in a round crest case, and keep it."

Soc. "How would that help you?"

Strep. "How? Why, if the moon was never to rise, of course I should not pay interest."

Soc. "Why not?"

Strep. "Because it is due at the new moon."

Soc. "Very good; but answer me this: An action is brought against you for five talents; how would itget rid of it?"

Strep. "How? how? I don't know, but I will consider."

Soc. "Don't keep your mind always going round and round yourself. Let it fly about like a co*ck-chafertied by a string."

Strep. "I have found the very cleverest way of getting rid of a suit. You have seen at the druggist'sthat pretty transparent stone with which they light fires?"

Soc. "A burning glass, I suppose you mean."

Strep. "Just so. Well, might not I take this, and while the registrar was writing down the case, turnthe sun on to it, and melt the wax?"

Soc. "By the Graces! a clever thought."

Strep. "I should really like having a suit for five talents brought against me."

Soc. "Now, turn your mind to this: You are defendant in a case, you are going to be cast, you have nowitnesses,—how would you get out of it?"

Strep. "In the easiest way in the world."

Soc. "Tell me."

Strep. "Why, when the last case was on, before mine was called, I should go and hang myself."

Soc. "You are a fool. I will have nothing more to do with you. There never was an old man so stupid andso forgetful. Away with you!"

Strep. "Dear me! What shall I do? Dear, worshipful Clouds, advise me!"

Clouds. "If you have a grown-up son, we recommend you to send him to learn in your place."

Strep. "Well, I have a son, but he won't learn."

Clouds. "And you allow him?"

Strep. "You see, he is a sturdy fellow, and his mother is a fine lady. However, I'll go after him, andif he still refuses I'll turn him out of my house."

Pheidippides was not easy to persuade. "Father, what is it?" he said. "By Zeus! you are out of your senses."

Strep. "There you are with your Zeus—how silly!"

Phei. "What is there to laugh at?"

Strep. "Your talking about Zeus; there is no Zeus."

Phei. "Who told you this nonsense?"

Strep. "Socrates."

Phei. "And you believe these lunatics?"

Strep. "Hush! say nothing against these clever, sensible men. They are so economical that they nevershave themselves or go to the bath. As for you, you wash away my property, just as if I were dead. But do goand learn what they have to teach you."

Phei. "Very clever, indeed; and that is the reason, perhaps, why you have lost your cloak."

Strep. "I haven't lost it; I thought it away."

Phei. "And your shoes—what of them?"

Strep. "Lost them, like Pericles, for a necessary purpose. But go, I beseech you."

Phei. "Yes, I'll go; but you'll be sorry for it some day."

The two Arguments, the Just and the Unjust, now appeared, and immediately engaged in a battle royal over thenew pupil. "I'll be too much for you," cried the Just Argument. "How?" replied the Unjust.

Just. "By saying what is right."

Unjust. "There is no such thing as right."

Just. "You say that there is no such thing?"

Unjust. "Where is it?"

Just. "With the gods."

Unjust. "Why, then, did Zeus put his father in prison?"

Just. "This gets worse and worse; it makes me sick."

Unjust. "What an ignorant fellow!"

Just. "You're a shameless beast."

Unjust. "Your lips drop roses."

Just. "You are a ribald jester."

Unjust. "This is praise!"

Clouds. "Well, make an end of this quarrelling. Plead each of you his cause. You, Just Argument, tell uswhat you used to teach the last generation. You, Unjust, explain to us the new education. This young man shallchoose between you. Now, you shall speak first."

Unjust. "He may, if he chooses. I'll make short work with him when he has done."

Just. "Listen to me, when I tell you what the old-fashioned education was. Then a boy was never allowedto say so much as a word. He walked in an orderly fashion to his music-master's, without a cloak, mark you,though the snow might be as thick as meal. And the music was of the good old sort, none of your modern twistsand twirls. Let a lad try one of those, and he would be well thrashed for his pains. And woe betide him if attable he tookA littlish or a sprig of parsley before his elders, or 'bowed a taste for dainty dishes."

Unjust. "What old-fashioned nonsense!"

Just. "Ah, but that is the way I bred the men who conquered at Marathon! Choose me, my young friend, andyou will learn to be ashamed of what is base, and to blush if they banter you, and to rise up from your seatwhen your elders come in, and to mould yourself after the model of honour, keeping yourself from badcompanions, and never contradicting your father, or making game of the nest in which you were hatched."

Unjust. "Yes; and they'll say that you're tied to your mother's apron-strings."

Yes, young man, if you want a chest well filled out, broad shoulders, a clear complexion, and a short tongue,come to me. Go to my adversary, and follow in the ways that are fashionable now, and yourcomplexion will be pale, your shoulders narrow, your chest thin, and your tongue long. Good will be evil toyou, and evil good."

The Unjust Argument now opened his case, proceeding by cross-examination. "You say," he said to his adversary,"that the hot bath is not a good thing. What is your reason for finding fault with it?"

Just. "Because it is a very bad thing, and turns a man into a coward."

Unjust. "Hold! now I have you. Tell me, which of the sons of Zeus was the bravest and performed mostvaliant deeds?"

Just. "No one was superior to Hercules."

Unjust. "Well, did you ever see a cold bath called after Hercules?And yet who was braver than he?"

Just. "Ah! this is the sort of argument which our young men chatter all day, and which make thebath-houses full and the gymnasia empty."

Unjust. "Then again you speak against the Assembly, but I speak well of it. If it had been a bad thing,Homer would never have made Nestor a great speaker in the Assembly. Then about the tongue. You say that youngmen ought not to cultivate it; I say that they ought. You say that they ought to be temperate; I say that theyought not. Tell menow, when did you ever hear of a man getting good by temperance?"

Just. "Many. Peleus got a sword by it."

Unjust. "A sword indeed! and a nice thing it was to him! And how many talents did Hyperbolus thelamp-maker make by his villany? Plenty, to be sure, but certainly not a sword."

Just. "Then Peleus married the goddess Thetis."

Unjust. "Who left him. No, no; this is the way to lose all the pleasures of life; and without them islife worth living?"

Just. "But how about the disgrace that will fall upon you, if you follow these profligate ways?"

Unjust. "Nothing at all. Tell me, who are the great advocates?"

Just. "The profligate."

Unjust. "And the successful tragedians?"

Just. "The profligate."

Unjust. "And the political leaders?"

Just. "The profligate."

Unjust. "Well, what have you got to say?"

Just. "Nothing, but that I am beaten, and that I come over to your side."

After this, of course, Strepsiades could do nothing but hand over his son to Socrates to be instructed by him,receiving the assurance that he would be returned to him an accomplished rhetorician, always able to make theworse appear the better reason.

Meanwhile the time grew near when these powerswould be wanted. "Four days," he said to himself, "and then comes that day which I hate to think of. All mycreditors swear that they will give me no mercy. I make the most reasonable propositions to them. I say, 'Wouldyou mind postponing part of the debt, and cancelling part, and not receiving the rest?' and they won't listento me. However, it will be all right if Pheidippides has learnt his lesson properly. I must go over to theReflectory and see how he has got on." This he did, and had the pleasure of having his son handed over to him,changed into a pale-faced, cunning-looking fellow, who gave promise of being exactly what he wanted. He at onceappealed to him for his help, explaining that he was terribly afraid of the last day of the month, when hiscreditors had declared that they would sue him for the money which he owed to them. Pheidippides explained tohim that his fears were groundless. He had a device which would upset the creditors' calculations. Thesegentlemen did not understand that this last day had been purposely called the "old and the new"by Solon, and so made into two days, in order to give debtors a loophole of escape. Relying on this newinterpretation the old man received the threatenings of tradesmen, who called with requests for payment, withthegreatest coolness. One claimed fifty pounds for a dappled horse. He was met first with the objection about theday, then with the argument that it was very unlikely that he, Strepsiades, notoriously hating all that had todo with horses, should have incurred such a debt, and then, when reminded that he had sworn to pay at theproper time, with ridicule of the gods whom he had named in his oath, and finally by questions of grammar. Itwas quite preposterous, he said, that a man who did not know the gender of nouns should presume to ask forpayment of a debt.

Another was asked a problem in physics. "Is the rain always new water, or does the sun draw up the same overand over again?"—"I don't know and I don't care," said the man.—"Then," replied Strepsiades, "you are notfit to have your money."—"Well," the man went on, "if you are short of money and cannot let me have thecapital, pay me the interest."—"Interest!" replied Strepsiades, "what kind of monster is that? Tell me, doesthe sea grow bigger, or always remain the same!"—"Remains the same, I suppose," said the man.—"Well,"Strepsiades went on, "if the sea does not grow bigger though all the rivers flow into it, how can you expectyour capital to grow bigger? Out of the house with you!" This was all very well; but Strepsiades found beforelong that there was another side to the affair. He asked his son to sing a songof Simonides. The young man refused; Æschylus did not please him any better: he was an empty, bombastic oldcreature. Pheidippides would repeat nothing but Euripides. The father strongly objected, and the affair endedby the young man giving the old one a sound thrashing. In vain did Strepsiades remonstrate. "Shamelesscreature," he cried, "don't you know that I attended to all your wants in your infancy, and see how you treatme now!"

Phei. "Once upon a time I gave all my thoughts to horses, and then I could not say three words withoutmaking some blunder. My father made me give up these ways, and turn my thoughts to clever, sophisticalspeeches. Thanks to him, I can prove quite convincingly that it is quite right for a son to beat his father."

Strep. "For heaven's sake, go on with your horse-racing! That isn't as bad as beating me."

Phei. "I shall return to the point at which you interrupted me. Answer me this question: Did you beatme when I was a child?"

Strep. "Certainly, for your good."

Phei. "And shouldn't I beat you for your good, as it seems that beating does a person good? Why, too,should you go scot-free and I not? I am free born just as you. You say that it is right that a child should bebeaten. But an old man is a child twice over. And an old man deserves to be beaten far more than a child, as hehas less excuse for doing wrong."

Strep. "But it is usual everywhere for children to be beaten."

Phei. "It was a man that made the law; and why should not I make a new one? The old scores we will wipeout; but hereafter the law is, that the sons beat their fathers. Consider, too, the co*ck and other animals.They punish their fathers, and there is no difference between them and us, except that they don't propose billsin the Assembly."

Strep. "Well, if you are going to imitate the co*ck in all things, why don't you eat dung and sleep on aperch?"

Phei. "The argument does not apply. Socrates would not say that it did."

Strep. "But some day you will repent of it, for your son will beat you."

Phei. "But if I have no son, what then?"

Strep. "I am afraid you have me there."

Phei. "Well, listen again. I shall beat my mother just as I beat you."

Strep. "Why, that's worse than ever. You and your Unjust Argument and Socrates with you ought to bethrown into the pit. Clouds, do you hear what he says?"

Clouds. "It serves you right. You led the lad into wicked ways."

Strep. "Yes, but you encouraged me, a poor, ignorant old man."

Clouds. "Because you were dishonest. That isour way. We always do this to those whom we know to be disposed to evil, that they may learn to fear the gods."

Strep. "Well, it is very bad, but it is just. But come, my son, let us destroy these scoundrels who havedeceived both you and me."

Strepsiades accordingly, with the help of his slaves, for his son refused to lend a hand, proceeded to attackthe Reflectory. The slaves set a ladder against the wall, mounted it, and plied a pick-axe on the roof. The oldman himself caught up a lighted torch and set fire to the lower story. "What are you doing?" cried onedisciple.—"Chopping logic with the beams," said the assailant.—"Who are you?" shouted another.—"The manwhose cloak you stole."—"What are you after?" asked Socrates himself.—"I walk in air, and contemplate thesun," was the answer.—"I shall be suffocated," cried Socrates.—"I shall be burnt alive," said Chærephon. Butthe Clouds appeared. "Strike, and spare not," they said; "you have many good reasons, and the best isthis,—that they blasphemed the gods."

This play was exhibited at the Great or City Festival of Bacchus in the year 414 B.C. The struggle inSicily, which was to end so disastrously for Athens in the following year, was then going on; and it has beensuggested that the poet's purpose was to warn his countrymen against wild and hare-brained expeditions andschemes of conquest. This suggestion is scarcely probable, for the expedition had hitherto had a fair measureof success, and was still greatly popular at Athens. The question, however, need not be here discussed; but itmay be well to mention, for the benefit of readers not familiar with the history of the time, an importantincident connected with it. Alcibiades had been one of the chief advocates of the expedition, and had beenappointed one of the three generals in command, Nicias and Lamachus being his colleagues. On the eve ofembarkation an extraordinary outrage was committed in the city. This was the simultaneous mutilation of all thepedestal statues of Hermes that stood in the streets and public places of Athens. Suspicion at once fell onAlcibiades and the riotous young aristocrats in whose society he lived. The fact that almost the only statuespared was one that stood near his house was thought to point to his guilt, though to us it suggests that theaffair was the work of his enemies. Alcibiades begged that the matter should be inquired into at once. This hecould not bring about; but he was permitted, even compelled, to accompany the expedition. Not long afterwardshe was recalled to take his trial, and one of the state galleys was sent to fetch him. He obeyed the summons,but escaped on his way home, and took refuge at Sparta. There he exerted himself to do all the injury possibleto his country.

Two citizens of Athens, of whom one had the name of Plausible, and the other of Hopeful, Plausible being theleader, set out from Athens in searchof some country where they might live at peace, being free from the troubles of lawsuits and debts. Plausiblehad bought a raven and Hopeful a jackdaw, hoping that they might be useful to them as guides. They had a notionof finding King Tereus, who many years before had married an Athenian princess, and had been changed into ahoopoe, or, as some said, a hawk; and a bird-seller in the city had persuaded them that these creatures wouldhelp them to do so. Tereus, if they could light upon him, would tell them of some country or other that he hadseen in his migrations. After many wanderings, in which their guides, as far as they could make out, didnothing but contradict each other and bite their masters' fingers, they came to a great rock, where theirguides behaved in such a way as to make them believe that they had reached their journey's end. Hopeful gave akick to the rock, calling out at the same time, "Hoopoe! Hoopoe!"

"Who wants the master?" said the porter, who turned out to be a sandpiper. The visitors did not by any meansplease him. "A couple of bird-catching villains," he said, when he had taken a look at them. "You shall both beput to death." They roundly denied that they were men. Hopeful declared that he was a bird from Africa;Plausible professed to come from the river Phasis.With some unwillingness the porter consented to call hismaster who was having a sleep after his midday meal of myrtle-berries and winged ants.

Before long King Hoopoe appeared, a majestic creature with a triple crest, and inquired of the strangers whatthey wanted. They replied that they had come to consult him.

King-Hoopoe. "Consult me? About what?"

Hopeful. "You were once a man, as we are; you owed money, as we do; you were glad to get off paying it,as we are; after this you were changed into a bird; you have flown over lands and seas, and have all thefeelings both of a bird and of a man; we have come therefore to you, hoping that if you have seen in yourjourneyings any snug country where we might find a comfortable place to lie down in, you would tell us of it."

K. H. "Do you want a finer city than Athens?"

Hope. "Not a finer one certainly, but one that would suit us better."

K. H. "What kind of a place are you thinking of?"

Hope. "Why, a place where the most important business they do is of this kind. Your friend comes to yourdoor the first thing in the morning and says, 'Mind you come, you and your children, dressed in your best, forI am to give a wedding feast.' "

K. H. "Well, I know of a place that might suit you near the Red Sea."

Hope. "No; that won't do. It must not be anywhere near the sea, or else I shall have the stategalley coming after me some fine morning, with an order for my arrest.But tell me, what kind of a life do you lead among the birds here? Of course you know all about it."

K. H. "Not a bad one, on the whole. You can get on without money."

Hope. "Then you get rid of a vast amount of trouble."

At this point Plausible broke in with an idea of his own. "I see a great future," he said, "for the race ofbirds, if you will only listen to me."

K. H. "Listen to you,—about what?"

Plausible. "Do you ask about what? First, you mustn't go gaping about everywhere with open bills. It isquite an undignified thing to do. Among us, when we see any one particularly apt to change, we say, 'He is aflighty, volatile creature.' "

K. H. "By Bacchus! you are right. Well, what do you advise?"

Plaus. "Found a city, I say, a city of birds."

K. H. "How could we birds possibly found a city?"

Plaus. "How can you ask? Nothing could be easier. Look down."

K. H. "I am looking down."

Plaus. "Now look up."

K. H. "I am looking up."

Plaus. "Now turn your neck round."

K. H. "What good shall I get by ricking my neck?"

Plaus. "Did you see anything?"

K. H. "I saw the clouds and the sky."

Plaus. "Well, that is the 'pole' of the birds."

K. H. "Pole of the birds'! What do you mean?"

Plaus. "I mean that the birds will there get a polity. Make a city of this, and men will be as much inyour power as if they were so many locusts; and as for the gods, you will starve them out just as we starvedthe poor wretches in Melos."

K. H. "How is that to be managed?"

Plaus. "Don't you see? The air is between the gods and the earth; so, just as we, when we want to sendto Delphi, have to ask the Bœotians for a passage, the gods will have to come to you, and unless they pay you aproper tribute, you won't let the smell of the sacrifices go through your territory."

K. H. "Good! good! Earth and clouds! springs and nooses! I never heard a cleverer thing in my life. I amquite ready to help you found the city you talk of; that is, if the other birds agree."

Plaus. "But who is to explain the matter to them?"

K. H. "You. They know Greek now; before I came among them they had only their own foreign lingo, but Ihave taught them the language."

Plaus. "And how can you collect them?"

K. H. "I will just step into the thicket here and call the nightingale. They'll come fast enough whenthey hear her voice."

The king then summoned his herald by a song:—

This was answered by a burst of music, as of the most exquisitely played flute, from the neighbouring thicket:—

Then the king began again:—

Before long a vast crowd of birds had assembled. The king told them the business on which he had called themtogether—two ambassadors from mankind had come to make a proposal of great importance to the bird-nation.This announcement was not received with any favour. Their king, the birds declared, had betrayed them, andbroken their laws. He had introduced into their country two creatures of a race which from its birth washostile to the bird-nation. For this he would have to answer at some future time; the first thing to be donewas to put the intruders to death. Accordingly the birds proceeded to put themselves in battle array, thestrangers meanwhile arming themselves with the first things thatcame ready to their hands, the lid of a pot for a shield and a spit for a spear. The two parties were about tocome to blows, when King Hoopoe made another effort to preserve the peace.

K. H. "Vilest of all creatures, do you intend to kill, for no reason at all, two strangers who are mywife's countrymen and kinsmen?"

Birds. "Why should we spare them? They are the worst enemies we have."

K. H. "Enemies, perhaps, by nature, but friends in intention and come hither to teach us something veryuseful."

Birds. "How can they teach us anything useful? They were our grandfathers' enemies, and they are ours."

K. H. "Still, the wise learn even from their enemies, caution, for instance; your friends don't teachyou that. Isn't it from their enemies that men learn to build lofty walls, and ships of war, and so keepthemselves and their belongings safe?"

These arguments prevailed so far that a truce was called. The birds gave up their hostile attitude, and the menlaid down their arms.

Plausible then proceeded to address them with much solemnity, having first washed his hands and put a chapleton his head. "My friends," he began, "I am sorely troubled when I consider your present condition, you who werekings in old time."

Birds. "We kings! Kings of what?"

Plaus. "Kings of everything and everybody. You were older, you must understand, than Chronos and theTitans and the earth."

Birds. "We older than the earth!"

Plaus. "Yes; it is so."

Birds. "Well, that I never knew before."

Plaus. "Of course not; because you have not been properly educated. You have not read what Æsop tellsabout the Lark; how his father died, and he did not know where to bury him, because as yet there was no earth;so he buried him in his own head. As for the fact that birds were kings in old time, there is an abundance ofproof. Take the co*ck: he was king of Persia once, long before the time of Darius. Isn't he called the 'Persianbird' to this day? And isn't it a proof of his old power, that even now, as soon as his voice is heard in themorning, all sorts of people—brass-workers, potters, cobblers, and the rest of them—jump up, put on theirshoes, and go about their business, even though it is still dark? Then the Kite was once king of the Greeks."

Birds. "The Kite king of the Greeks!"

Plaus. "Yes; don't people make a bow to him to this day?Then the Cuckoo was king of Egypt and all Phœnicia. Even now, when he cries 'cuckoo' these people begin to cuttheir corn. Again, not so very long ago, in our own cities,

kings such as Agamemnon or Menelaus had a bird sitting on their sceptres who had his share of all the dues thatthey received. Zeus—and this, mark you, is the weightiest proof of all—has an eagle on his head, by way oftoken of his kingship; and his daughter Athené has an owl, and Apollo a hawk. What do you suppose to be themeaning of all this? Why, that when any sacrifice was made to the god, the bird had his share first,—yes,before the god himself. Yes; in old time men thought you holy and venerable; how do they treat you now?

Plaus. "To begin with, you birds must build one great city and surround it with a wall of baked bricks,just as if it were another Babylon. Then you must send an embassy to Zeus and require him to surrender thekingdom to you. If he refuses, or makes any difficulty, you must forbid him and his gods to pass through yourdomain on any errand or pretext whatsoever. After this you must send a herald to men, and bid them make theirsacrifices in future to you and not to the gods."

K. H. "But will men really look upon us as gods when they see us flying about and having wings?"

Plaus. "Why not? Does not Hermes use wings? Hasn't Victory pinions of gold? And Eros, too? And doesn't Homer say that Iris flew like a ringdove?"

K. H. "But suppose Zeus should send his thunder, what then?"

Plaus. "Oh! we'll soon teach them that we and not the gods are the people to be feared. We will send aflock of sparrows to eat up the grain in their fields; and the ravens to pick out the eyes of their sheep andtheir plough-oxen. Let Demeter feed the men and Apollo heal the beasts—if they can!"

Hope. (interrupting). "Very good; but I should like to sell my two bullocks before we try this."

Plaus. "But if, on the other hand, men have the good sense to give you the honours that really belongto you, they will get all kinds of blessings. Say that a flock of locusts comes when the vines are in bloom, atroop of owls or hawks will eat them up; then as for the maggots which spoil their figs, a flock of thrusheswill dispose them.

K. H. "But how will we make them rich? That is the thing they really care about?"

Plaus. "Easily enough. You will show them profitable mines, and good places for trade and will takecare than no seaman be lost."

K. H. "How shall we manage that?"

Plaus. "When they consult the oracle about a voyage some bird will give them information. 'Don't sailnow,' it will say, 'there is going to be a storm'; or, 'Sail now; you will make a good thing of it.'"Hope. (interrupting). "I am not going to stop with you. I shall buy a merchantman, and make a fortuneby trade."

Plaus. "Then the birds will show them treasures that have been buried in former times. They know allabout such things. Don't people say, 'Nobody knows of the hoard, except it may be a bird'?"

Hope. "I shall sell my merchantman, buy a mattock, and dig up pots full of money."

K. H. "How shall we give them health? Health is a gift of the gods."

Hope. "That won't matter much. Depend upon it that a man is never ill if his affairs go well, and neverwell if they go ill."

K. H. "How about long life? That again is a gift of heaven. Must they die in their youth?

Plaus. "Certainly not. The birds will add three hundred years or so to their span."

K. H. "Where will they get them? Why from their own store to be sure. Don't you know that the crowoutlives five generations of men?"

Hope. "It is quite clear that the birds will make much better kings than Zeus."

Plaus. "Yes; and men will no longer have to build temples of stone and gold-plated doors. The birdswill be quite content to live in the trees; and ilex will do for the commoner sort, and the most exalted willhave an olive-tree. There will be no more need to go to Delphi or Ammon; men will stand in a shrubbery with apennyworth of barley in their hands,—that will be sacrifice enough for these easy-going deities."

King Hoopoe now proceeded to invite the two friends to come into this nesting-place, as he called it; theyshould be enrolled, he said, in the bird-nation. The difficulty of their having no wings wherewith to flywould be easily got over. There was a root he knew of which would make wings grown without any loss of time.While they were gone to go through the ceremony of becoming naturalized citizens, and to fit themselves outwith feathers, the assembled birds sang a ditty in which they set forth the superiority of their race over men.

By this time the two friends had come back, equipped for the functions which they would have in future toperform. The first thing to be done was to give the new city a name. "Cloud Cuckoo Land" was finally settledupon, and the tutelary deity was to be a gameco*ck.The builders were set to work, and an inaugurating sacrifice wasperformed to the new deities. This had scarcely been done when a poet appeared on the scene, with a ready-madeode.

Plaus. "What have we got here? Who are you, sir?"

Plaus. "A servant with long hair!"

Poet. "All who teach the art of song are 'servants of the Muses,' as Homer puts it."

Plaus. "Well, what have you come here for?"

Poet. "I have brought an assortment of verses,—some epic poems, songs for a chorus of girls, and atrifle in Simonides's manner."

Plaus. "But when did you make all these?"

Poet. "Long have I named this city's noble name."

Plaus. "Well, that is odd, for I've only just given it."

Plaus. "This fellow will give us a lot of trouble unless we get rid of him. You there (speaking to aslave)—you have got a jerkin as well as a tunic. Give him the jerkin. So clever a poet well deserves it.There, poet, take the jerkin. You seem very cold."

Plaus. "We are not going to get rid of him just yet, I see."

Plaus."I guess that you want the tunic. Here, fellow; off with it. You ought to help a poor poet."

The next visitor was a dealer in prophecies. "Stop the sacrifice," he cried, as soon as he appeared; "I have aprophecy of Bacis that speaks expressly about Cloud Cuckoo Land."

Plaus. "But why did we not hear of it before the city was founded?"

Soothsayer. "The divine voice forbade me."

Plaus. "Well, there is nothing like having the words."

Plaus. "But what have I got to do with Corinth?"

Sooth. "Oh! Bacis meant the air under the figure of Corinth,—

Plaus. "Does he mention the sandals?"

Sooth. "Yes; look at the book. But listen again:

Plaus. "Does he mention the flesh?"Sooth. "Yes; look at the book. But he goes on:—

Plaus. "Does he say all that?"

Sooth. "Yes; look at the book."

Plaus. "Do you know that the prophecy that I have got—and I wrote it down from the very lips of Apollo—is quite different. Listen:—

Sooth. "That is nonsense."

"Look at the book!" cried Plausible; and, producing a stout cudgel, he drove the fellow away.

The next arrival was an astronomer, carrying some mathematical instruments, with which he proposed to measureout and survey the territory of the new state. He was no more welcome than his predecessor. Plausible professedto respect him, and indeed to see in him another Thales; but gave him some friendly advice to the effect thathe had better be going about his business. There was trouble brewing, he said; it was likely that all strangerswould be expelled from the country, especially strangers ofthe impostor kind. This was a hint that the astronomer could not but take. "I am off," he said.—"Very good,"said Plausible; "but you are scarcely in time. The trouble is come," he added, administering a sound cuff."There," he said, "you can measure your way back, I suppose."

Next came an inspector from Athens. "Where is the consul?" he asked, as he strutted in.

Plaus. "Who is this Sardanapalus?"

Insp. "I am the duly appointed inspector to the city of Cloud Cuckoo Land."

Plaus. "An inspector, are you? Well, don't you think you might take your fees at once, and go backwithout giving us any trouble?"

Insp. "A good idea that! I did want to stop at home, and propose something in the Assembly. I have somebusiness in hand for the Persians."

Plaus. (striking him). "Here is your pay; take it, and off with you!"

Insp. "I protest that I, an inspector from Athens, am being assaulted."

Plaus. "Off with you, ballot-boxes and all. The idea of sending an inspector before we have evensacrificed!"

The next interruption came from a merchant who had a brand-new constitution to sell. Plausible treated him withas little ceremony as the others, and then, despairing of quiet, resolved to finish the sacrifice indoors. Wheneverything had been duly performed, with, as it appeared, the happiest omens for the future, a messengerappeared, to announce the completion of the wall. So broad it was that two chariots could be driven on it sideby side, while it was no less than a hundred fathoms high. The speed with which so vast a work had beencompleted astonished Plausible, and he demanded particulars. "Who had done it?"

First Messenger. "Do you ask who did it? The birds, and nobody else. There wasn't an Egyptianbricklayer, or mason, or carpenter. They did it all themselves. I was amazed to see it. About thirty thousandCranes came from Africa. They had swallowed the stones with which to build the fortifications. These the Water-railsworked up with their beaks. Ten thousand Storks laid the bricks, and the Curlews and River-birds brought water.The Herons carried the mud, and the Geese trod it with their broad feet. The Ducks were the bricklayers'labourers, and the Woodpeckers did the carpentering. And now the work is finished,—gates, and staples, andbars; the sentries are set, the beacons are in the towers; in fact, everything is ready."

A second messenger now arrived, but his news was less satisfactory. One of the gods had bolted through thegates, in spite of the Jackdaws on guard. What god he was, no one knew, but only that he had wings. However, asquadron of thirty thousand Hawks had been sent after him. He could not have gone far. Indeed, almost beforethe messenger had finished, the intruder came flying back. It was Iris, the messenger of Zeus, clad in thecolours of the rainbow.

Plaus. "What is your name, may I ask?"

Iris. "Iris of the swift foot."

Plaus. "Why does not some one take her into custody?"

Iris. "Take me into custody! What madness is this?"

Plaus. "You will repent of this."

Iris. "This is really too absurd."

Plaus. "Tell me which gate you came in by."

Iris. "I know nothing about your gates."

Plaus. "See how she pretends to be ignorant. Did you go to the General of the Jackdaws? or can you showthe seal of the Storks?"

Iris. "Is the man in his senses?"

Plaus. "Then I understand that none of the bird-commanders gave you a pass."

Iris. "Gave me a pass indeed!"

Plaus. "How dare you then come quietly flying through other people's city, through the air, in fact?"

Iris. "What other way can we fly from heaven to earth?"

Plaus. "That I can't say; you are not going to fly this way. Do you know that it would serve you rightif you were put to death?"

Iris. "Put to death! But I am an Immortal."

Plaus. "That makes no difference. It would be a terrible state of things, if, while everybody elsesubmits to us, you gods are rebellious, and won't understand that we are your masters. But tell me, where wereyou flying to?"

Iris. "I? I was flying from Father Zeus to tell men that they must sacrifice sheep and oxen as usual tothe Olympian gods."

Plaus. "What gods do you say?"

Iris. "What gods? The gods in heaven, of course."

Plaus. "Do you call yourselves gods?"

Iris. "What others are there?"

Plaus. "The birds are now gods. It is to them that sacrifice must be made, not, by Zeus! to Zeus."

Iris. "My father shall speak to you."

Plaus. "No, no, my dear; you must find some younger man."

Iris immediately flew off skywards.

A herald now arrived with the news of the extraordinary popularity of the birds among mankind. Everybody wasdevoted to them. Before the new city was founded Spartan ways were all the fashion. Men walked about thestreets with their hair long, half-starved themselves, and did as little washing as Socrates. Now, birds werethe rage—men rose with the lark, hatched plots against each other, in fact did their best to make themselveslike winged creatures. The new city must therefore prepare for a great immigration. There would be at least tenthousand applications for citizenship, and all the new-comers would of course want wings. Of these theauthorities of Cloud Cuckoo Land at once set themselves to lay in a store. While they were thus engaged the newarrivals began to drop in. The first was a young fellow who sang as he came:—

Plaus. "The news was true. Here comes a fellow singing about eagles."

Young Man. "Of all things flying is the most delightful. I am in love with your laws, my dear birds, andwant to live under them."

Plaus. "What law in particular are you so fond of?"

Y. M. "The one that makes it lawful for a young bird to kick his father."

Plaus. "Yes; we do think it a fine thing for a chicken to get the better of his father."

Y. M. "That is why I want to migrate. My idea is to strangle my father and take possession of hisproperty."

Plaus. "But, sir, we have a law that the young cranes must support their father."

Y. M. "Support my father indeed! That would not suit me at all."

Plaus. "Well, my young friend, I will give you a piece of advice. You seem fond of fighting. Go off toThrace, and have your fill of it there. But you will hardly do for us."

The next arrival was a lyric poet, who wanted wings, that he might mount into the clouds, and search among themfor fine ideas. After him came an informer, who thought it would be very convenient if he could fly from placeto place in search of victims, without any of the dangers of travel. All that he got was what Plausible calleda slashing pairof wings, but was really a cowhide whip very vigorously applied.

But now came a more important visitor, Prometheus, wrapped up in a close disguise and in a terrible fright lestZeus should see him. At last, finding from his inquiries that all was safe, he came out from his concealmentand was heartily welcomed.

Plaus. "My dear Prometheus!"

Prometheus. "Hush! hush! Don't make a noise."

Plaus. "What is the matter?"

Pro. "Don't mention my name. I am undone if Zeus sees me. Here, hold this umbrella over me while wetalk."

Plaus. "Very good; an excellent idea of yours. It is all safe; talk away."

Pro. "Zeus is ruined."

Plaus. "Since when?"

Pro. "Since you built your city. From that time we have not had the smell of a single sacrifice fromearth. We are simply starving; and the end of it is that the barbarian gods vow that they will invade the realmof Zeus, unless he consents to open the ports and to let sacrifice smoke enter free."

Plaus. "Barbarian gods! I did not know that there were such beings. What is their name?"

Pro. "Triballi. But listen. You will have an embassy coming here very soon from Zeus and the Triballi.But don't you make peace unless Zeus restores the sovereignty to the birds, and gives you the lady Queenship towife."

Plaus. "Who is the lady Queenship?"

Pro. "The prettiest girl in the world. She keeps Zeus's thunderbolts for him, and, in fact, everythingthat he has got,—order, temperance, the navy, and the jurymen's fees."

Plaus. "She's his general steward, you mean."

Pro. "Just so. Get her, and you get everything. This is what I came to tell you. I was always partial tomen, you know."

Plaus. "Very true. It is only you we have to thank for being able to cook our victuals."

Pro. "Yes; and I hate the gods."

Plaus. "Very true again; that was always your way."

Pro. "Yes. I am a regular Timon.But now hold the umbrella over me. If Zeus should see me he'll only think I am walking in a procession."

Prometheus had scarcely gone, when the embassy arrived. There were three envoys, Poseidon, Hercules, and aTriballian god.

Poseidon. (addressing the Triballian). "What are you doing there? Is that the way to wear yourcloak? Not on the left like that; on the right side always. Democracy, what are you bringing us to, when afellow like that is put on an embassy?"

Triballian (to Poseidon, who is trying to arrange his cloak). "Hands off, will you?"

Pos. "Confound you!—the most barbarous god I ever saw! Well, Hercules, what are we to do?"

Hercules. "You heard my opinion. Throttle the villain."

Pos. "But we came to treat for a peace."

Her. "I don't care. I say, throttle the villain."

Plausible took no notice whatever of the new arrivals. "Give me the cheese-grater," he said to his assistant."Now a little cheese; now a blast with the bellows."

Her. "Man, we three gods greet you heartily."

Plaus. "Grate the cheese."

Hercules, always a great eater, and now furiously hungry, was profoundly interested in the cooking, and couldnot help showing it. "What meat is this?"

Plaus. "Certain birds rebelled against the bird-state, and were condemned to death."

Her. "And you are grating cheese over them."

Plaus. "O my dear Hercules, how are you? What brings you here?"

Her. "We have come from the gods to treat for peace."

A slave. "There is no oil in the flask, sir."

Plaus. "Get some, my man; bird-meat must have plenty of oil with it."

Her. "The war brings us no good. As for you, by being on good terms with us you can always have rain inyour cisterns, and always fine weather. We have come, you will understand, with full powers to treat."

Plaus. "Well, we did not begin the war, you know, and we are quite ready to make peace, if you arewilling to do the right thing. Give back to the birds the power which they once possessed, and the matter issettled. On these terms I invite the ambassadors to breakfast."

Her. "These terms satisfy me; I vote for accepting them."

Pos. "You are a fool and a glutton. Are you going to rob your father of his kingdom?"

Plaus. "Don't you think that you gods will be all the more powerful if we birds rule the lower region?As things are now, men take your name in vain, because you can't see them for the clouds. Call the birds tohelp you, and as soon as any rascal for-swears himself, a crow will have his eye out in a trice."

Pos. "That is well put."

Her. "And so I think."

Pos. (to the Triballian). "And what is your opinion?"

Trib. "Say true."

Plaus. "He agrees, you see. Then, again, men make vows, and are a long time in paying them. 'The godsare easy creditors,' they say. Well, we will set that right for you."

Pos. "How?"

Plaus. "When the man is counting out his money, a hawk will fly down, snatch the price of a couple ofsheep, and carry it off."

Her. "I vote to give back the kingdom to the birds."

Plaus. "Ask the Triballian what he thinks."

Her. (showing his fist to the Triballian). "Vote yes, or you shall suffer for it."

Trib. "Ya, ya, goot, goot."

Pos. "Well, if you think so, I agree."

Plaus. "There is another little matter which I have just remembered. Zeus may keep Heré, but I must havethe lady Queenship to wife."

Pos. "I see you don't really want peace; we shall go.

Plaus. "I don't care. Cook, take care to make the sauce sweet enough."

Her. "My good Poseidon, are we to have war just about a mere woman?"

Pos. "What are we to do then?"

Her. "Make peace, I say."

Pos. "Don't you see, you silly fellow, how you are being cheated? Supposing Zeus should die, when he hashanded over the kingdom to this fellowhere, you would be a beggar. Otherwise, of course, all the property he may leave will come to you.

Plaus. "Now, Hercules, listen to me. Your uncle is cheating you; you are not a legitimate son, and youwould have nothing. Your father couldn't leave you his property even if he wished to do it. 'Failing legitimatechildren, to the testator's brother,' that is how the law runs. Your uncle would have it all. Now, put in yourlot with us, and I'll make it worth your while."

Her. "You are quite right about the girl. I'm for giving her up."

Pos. "I vote against the proposition."

Plaus. "The matter rests with the Triballian. Triballian, what do you say?"

Trib. "Pitty girli and great Queendi I give to Birdi."

Pos. "Well, have your own way; I shall say nothing now."

Plausible, accordingly, departed to heaven to fetch his bride, Hercules staying behind to look after thecooking. In a very short time he returned, bringing the fair lady with him, and was greeted with a song ofwelcome from his subjects:—

This play was exhibited at the Lenæan festival in 405 B.C. Its main purpose may be described as critical,i.e. it is intended to satirize the dramatic art, the style, and the morality of Euripides. This poet, as wellas his great rival Sophocles, had died in the preceding year; and Bacchus, finding Athens without any tolerabletragedian at all,—Aristophanes is willing to concede that there might be worse poets even than Euripides,—proposes to make a journey to the regions of the dead to bring him back.

Once upon a time two travellers, a master and his slave, might have been seen making their way across themarket-place of Thebes. The master was attired in the saffron-coloured robe commonly worn at the festivals ofBacchus, and had on his legs the buskins used by the actors in tragedy to give them additional height; butthese garments contrasted oddly enough with the lion's skin which was wrapped round his shoulders and the heavyclub which he carried in his hand. This was, in fact, Bacchus. We shall soon learn why he had thus disguisedhimself, and what he had come for. Behind him came his slave Xanthias, riding on a donkey, and carrying on hisshoulders a heavy knapsack, which contained his master's luggage. This burden seemed to distress the poorfellow very much, and he grumbled greatly at itsweight, not being much consoled by his master's assurance that it was really the donkey that carried both himand it. "All the same, I feel it on my shoulders," said the man.—"Well," replied the master, "if you say thedonkey is no use to you, why don't you get down and take a turn at carrying the donkey?"

They had reached by this time the house for which they were bound. It was that in which Hercules lived; andBacchus, who assumed a certain swagger, as being suitable to his equipment, kicked loudly at the door. "Who'sthat?" cried Hercules from with-in. "It might have been a centaur kicking."—"You see how afraid of me he is,"said Bacchus in an aside to his slave.—"Afraid!" replied Xanthias; "he was only afraid you were mad." Andindeed Hercules did seem to think that his visitor was out of his mind. So queer was his appearance that hecould not help laughing. "What do you want?" he said; "what do you mean by your buskins and your club?"

Bacchus. "Now, brother, don't laugh at me; I am really suffering a great deal. I do want Euripides so.He is dead, you know, and I have made up my mind to go and look for him."

Hercules. "What? down to Hades?"

Bac. "Yes, and further too, if need be."

Her. "What do you want?"

Bac. "A good poet. The good poets are dead, and those who are alive are not good."

Her. "But you have got Iophon."

Bac. "Yes; he's the only one, and I don't feel certain about him."

Her. "If you must bring back a poet, why not Sophocles, who is much to be preferred to Euripides?"

Bac. "Ah! but, you see, I want to get Iophon by himself, and see what he can do without his father.And then, Euripides is just the rascal who would be ready to run away. As for Sophocles, he is sure to becontented there, as he was here."

Her. "How about Agathon?"

Bac. "He has gone. An excellent poet he was, and his friends miss him very much."

Her. "But where has he gone?"

Bac. "Oh! to a better country."

Her. "But surely you have ten thousand and more young fellows that write tragedies, who could giveEuripides more than a furlong in chattering and beat him."

Bac. "O yes, I know them! the last leavings of

the vintage, the poorest chatterboxes in the world. They try one play, and then we see no more of then. But Iknow no one who dares venture on a really fine thing."

Her. "What do you mean?"

Bac. "Well, something of this kind:—

or

or

Her. "And you like that sort of thing?"

Bac. "I am simply crazy for it."

Her. "I call it abominable rubbish."

Bac. "Indeed; now if you were to give us your opinion about dining it might be worth having. However, Iwill explain why I have come dressed up in this fashion like you. I want you to tell me what friends you stayedwith when you went down after Cerberus, and all about the provision shops, and the harbours, and the roads, andthe springs, and the inns where there were fewest fleas."

Her. "Are you really thinking of going?"

Bac. "Yes; on that point I want to hear nothing more. But tell me the shortest way down. Mind, it mustnot be too hot or too cold."

Her. "Well, let me think. Which is the best? There is a good road by the Rope and Noose. You hangyourself, you know."

Bac. "Too choky by far."

Her. "Then there is a very short cut by the Pestle and Mortar."

Bac. "Do you mean the hemlock road?"

Her. "Certainly."

Bac. "Too cold and wintry for me. One's hands and feet get so numb."

Her. "Come, shall I tell you the quickest and most direct of all?"

Bac. "Yes, yes; I am but a poor traveller."

Her. "Stroll down, then, to the Potter's Quarter;climb to the top of the tower, and watch till the torch race begins, and when the people say, 'They're off!'off with you."

Bac. "Off where?"

Her. "Why, down to the bottom."

Bac. "Yes, and lose two platefuls of brain? Not that way for me, thank you."

Her. "How do you intend to go, then?"

Bac. "By the way that you went, to be sure."

Her. "But that's a long journey. First, you will come to a very big lake without any bottom."

Bac. "How am I to get over?"

Her. "Oh! there's an old sailor with a tiny boat, just so big (spans a length of five or sixfeet), will ferry you over for a groat."

Bac. "Ah! a groat means something everywhere."

Her. " After this, you will find a great slough of mire and filth in which lie all sorts of villains,men who have robbed their friends, or boxed their father's ears, or perjured themselves, or copied out one ofMorsimus's speeches.This once passed, your ears will be greeted with the soft breathing of flutes, and you will see a very lovelylight, and happy troops of men and women, who will tell you all you want to know; and now good by, brother."

Bac. "Good by. Xanthias, take up the baggage."

Xanthias. "Take it up! I have never put it down."

Bac. "No nonsense! Take it up at once."

Xan. "But won't you hire one of the dead people who are going this way to carry it?"

Bac. "A good idea! Ho! you dead man there, will you carry some baggage to Hades?"

Dead Man. "How much is there?"

Bac. "What you see there."

D. M. "Down with a couple of shillings, if we are to have a deal."

Bac. "Won't you take eighteen pence?"

D. M. "I'd sooner come to life again."

Xan. "What airs the fellow puts on! I'll go."

Bac. "You are a really good fellow. Come along."

In course of time they came to the lake of which Hercules had spoken. The old sailor was there,calling out, "Any one for Happy Despatch, or the Pig-shearers, or Cerberus Reach, or the Isle of Dogs?" Bacchusstepped on board with many entreaties to the boatman to be careful; but Xanthias was not allowed to follow. "Itake no slaves," said the old man, "except they are volunteers."Accordingly he had to run round and wait for his master on the other side."In with you," said Charon to his passenger. "Anybody else for the further side? Now to your oar."

Every one was expected to work his passage.

"What are you after there?" cried the ferryman; for the passenger was sitting on the oar, not at it.

"Wasn't this what you told me to do?" replied the god.

"Sit on the bench there, Corpulence, and forward with your hands."

Bacchus stretched his hands out, but without the oar.

"No more nonsense," cried Charon; "but set to, and row with a will."

Bac. "How can I, when I have never been to sea in my life?"

Charon. "You will do it easily enough. Just dip your oar in, and you'll hear the sweetest singing youever heard in your life."

And, indeed, the next moment the frogs in the lake began a strain:—

In due course the boat reached the further shore. Bacchus paid his fare, and, stepping out, began calling forhis slave. Xanthias appeared, and congratulated his master on his safe arrival.

Bac. "What is that before us?"

Xan. "The darkness and mire that Hercules told us of."

Bac. "Have you seen any of the parricides and murderers?"

Xan. "Have not you?"

Bac. "Certainly I have, and do at this moment; and not very far off, either."

Xan. "Well, master, I think that we had better be going on, for this is the place where he said thedreadful monsters were."

Bac. "Oh, that's all nonsense! The fact is, Hercules was jealous of me. He knew what a plucky fellow Iwas, and wanted to frighten me. I do really wish to have some little adventure that might make it worth whilefor me to have come so far."

Xan. "O master! I hear a noise."

Bac. "Where, where?"

Xan. "Just behind us."

Bac. "Get behind then, can't you?"

Xan. "Oh! now I seem to hear it just in front."

Bac. "Get in front."

Xan. "Dear me, I see a monster."

Bac. "What is it like?"

Xan. "All sorts of things. Now it's an ox, and now it's a mule, and now it's a woman, and now it's adog."

Bac. "It must be the Vampyre."

Xan. "Its face is all ablaze with fire."

Bac. "Has it one leg of brass?"

Xan. "Yes; and the other of cow-dung. Oh! we are lost, King Hercules."

Bac. "For heaven's sake, don't call me that!"

Xan. "Bacchus, then."

Bac. "Oh! that's still worse. Dear me, what shall I do?"

Xan. "Courage, master; all's well; the Vampyre's gone."

The two travellers now proceeded on their way till they found themselves in front of a buildingwhich they were assured was the palace of Pluto. "How shall I knock?" Bacchus inquired. "How do people knock inthese parts?"—"Knock away, master," the slave replied, "just as Hercules would."—"Who is there?" called outÆacus the porter from within.—"The mighty Hercules," was the reply. The result was unexpected. The door wasflung open, and the porter overwhelmed the visitor with a torrent of abuse.

Bac. "Oh, what a terrible noise! Xanthias, weren't you frightened?"

Xan. "Not a bit; never gave a thought to them."

Bac. "Well, you are a brave fellow. Come now, you shall be me. Take the lion's skin and the club, andI'll carry the baggage."

Xan. "Now mark the Xanthias-Hercules, and see if he shows the white feather."

The transformation had hardly been effected when a maid-servant from Proserpine's palace appeared upon thescene, with a warm invitation for Hercules. "As soon as she knew of your coming," said the girl, "her Majestyset to work making fresh loaves, boiled two or three pots of porridge, roasted an ox whole, and cooked aquantity of cheese-cakes. Come in, if you please."

Xan. "Thank your mistress very much, but—"

Servant. "Oh, we can't excuse you—we have boiled fowl, and sweetmeats, and the best wine that can begot."

Xan. "Well, as you are so pressing. Come after me, my man, with the bundles."

Bac. "Oh, nonsense, man! You did not think I was in earnest about this changing clothes? Come, you'llcarry the baggage again."

Xan. "Surely you are not going to take away the lion's skin and the club?"

Bac. "Oh, but I am! down with them this moment."

Xan. "I make appeal to the high gods in heaven."

Bac. "Gods indeed! How could you fancy that you could pass for the son of Alcmena, a mere man, a mereslave?"

Xan. "Very well, take the things, but you may want me after all."

Two women who kept eating-houses in those regions now appeared.

"Plathané, Plathané," cried one to the other, "here's that villain come again who ate those sixteen loaves!"

Second Woman. "Yes, by Zeus! it is the very man."

Xan. "Some one is in a scrape."

First Woman. "Aye, and he ate besides twenty cutlets at threepence each."

Xan. "Some one is in for it."

First W. "And a whole lot of garlic."

Bac. "Nonsense, woman! I don't know what you are talking about."

First W. "Ah! you thought I should not know you because you had buskins on. And I haven't mentioned thesalt fish."

Second W. "No; nor the green cheese which the fellow ate up, baskets and all, and when I asked him forthe money he looked so fierce, and bellowed so."

Xan. "Just like him. That's his way everywhere."

Second W. "And he out with his sword, just like a madman, but I scrambled up into the loft. And whatdid he do but go off with our mattresses."

Xan. "Another trick of his."

First W. "Tell Cleon to come. He's my counsel."

Second W. "Mine is Hyperbolus, if you should see him."

First W. "Ah! you villain, how I should like to knock out those greedy teeth with which you ate up apoor woman's living, aye, and rip up your throat!"

Bac. "Curse me, if I am not very fond of Xanthias!"

Xan. "I know what you want. It is of no use your saying. I cannot possibly be Hercules."

Bac. "Don't say so, my dear fellow."

Xan. "But how could I be the son of Alcmena, 'a mere man, a mere slave'?"

Bac. "I know that you are angry, and I don't blame you. If you were to strike me, I could not object.But do take the things once more; and if I take them again, may I perish, I and my wife and my children and allthat I have."

Xan. "I accept on these terms."

At this point Æacus reappeared with some attendants, and attempted to arrest the false Hercules for havingstolen Cerberus. Xanthias, however, succeeded in beating them off, while Bacchus protested that it wasmonstrous that the culprit should add an assault to his former misdeeds.

Xan. "I protest that I have never been near the place in my life, much less stolen a farthing's worth ofproperty belonging to it. But I'll tell you what I'll do, and it's really a generous offer. You may take myslave there and examine him by torture. If you can find out from him anything against me, then you can do whatyou like."

Æacus. "What torture will you allow?"

Xan. "Oh, any that you like. You may tie him to the triangles, or flog him with a cat-o'-nine-tails, orpour vinegar into his nostrils, or press him; in fact, do as you please."

Æ. "Very good; and if I happen to injure the fellow, of course I shall be liable to you for the money."

Xan. "Never mind about the money; take him away, and set to work."

Æ. "No, no; we'll have it here in your presence. Now then, my man, put down the baggage, and see thatyou tell no lies."

Bac. "I warn you not to touch me. I'm a god. After that, if you get into trouble, blame yourself."

Æ. "What do you say?"

Bac. "I say that I am an immortal god, Bacchus, son of Zeus. The slave is that fellow there."

Æ. (to Xanthias). "Do you hear this?"

Xan. "Yes; all the more reason for beating him, I say. If he is an immortal god, he won't be able tofeel."

Bac. "Why shouldn't you be beaten, too, for you're an immortal god, you say?"

Xan. "That's only fair. Whichever of us shows any sign of being hurt, you will conclude that he is notthe god."

Æ. (to Xanthias). "You really are a very fair-minded fellow. Strip, both of you."

Xan. "How will you manage to test us fairly?"

Æ. "Oh! easily enough; blow and blow about."

The first blow was dealt to Xanthias, and received without a sign.

"I have struck you," said Æacus.—"No; did you, really?" replied the man.

The next came to Bacchus. "When are you going to begin?" said the god, after the stroke had been administered.So it went on. The lashes extorted, indeed, an exclamation or other sign of pain, but the sufferers alwayscontrived to account for them. If Bacchus, for instance, was seen to have tears in his eyes after a sharpstroke, "It was the smell of onions," he said. After another, he cried, "Apollo!" but the next moment went onas if he were repeating a favourite passage:—

At last Æacus gave it up. "I can't find out," he cried, "which of you is the real god. You must go into thepalace. My master and Persephone will know, for they are gods themselves."

"Quite right," said Bacchus, "but I wish you had thought of it a little sooner."

Pluto and his queen were found to possess the necessary power of distinguishing the god from the slave. As theyalso satisfied themselves that it was not the real Hercules that had come down to Hades, the proceedings aboutthe carrying off of Cerberuswere dropped, and Bacchus was hospitably entertained, while Xanthias was handed over to the care of Æacus.

"That's a real gentleman, that master of yours," said the porter to his guest.

"I believe you," replied the slave, "he does not know how to do anything but drink and amuse himself."

Æ. "To think of his not hitting you when you faced him out, pretending that you were the master, whenyou were only the slave."

Xan. "He would have been sorry for it if he had."

Æ. "You're the right sort, I see. That's just the sort of thing that I like to say."

Xan. "You like it, do you?"

Æ. "Yes; but the best of all is to curse my master when I am alone."

Xan. "And what do you think of muttering when you have been well beaten and are going out of the door?"

Æ. "That's pleasant, too."

Xan. "What of making mischief?"

Æ. "Better than anything."

Xan. "And listening at the door when they're talking secrets?"

Æ. "I'm simply mad on it."

Xan. "And gossiping out-of-doors about what you hear?"

Æ. "I can't contain myself for joy."

Xan. "Give me your hand, my dear fellow, and kiss me; you are my own brother. But tell me, what is allthat noise and shouting and abuse about outside?"

Æ. "Oh! that's only Æschylus and Euripides."

Xan. "What?"

Æ. "There has been a tremendous disturbance and dispute among the dead people lately."

Xan. "What about?"

Æ. "There is a rule down here that the best man in any art—I mean arts of the nobler sort—should havefree entertainment in Government-house and a seat next to Pluto's own."

Xan. " I understand."

Æ. "But he has this only till some better man than he arrives. When that happens, he must give way.Well, Æschylus occupied the seat of honour among tragedians."

Xan. "And who occupies it now?"

Æ. "When Euripides came down, he showed off to the robbers, and pick-pockets, and murderers, andburglars,—and we have a multitude of these gentry in Hades,—and they, when they heard his equivocations, andevasions, and turns, and twists, were beside themselves with delight, and declared that he was the best manthat there was in his art. Thereupon he was so puffed up that he actually claimed Æschylus's seat."

Xan. "And was pelted, of course, for his pains."

Æ. "Not so; the mob cried out that there must be a trial to decide which was the better man."

Xan. "You mean the mob of scoundrels."

Æ. "Yes; and an awful noise they made."

Xan. "But Æschylus had his friends, too, I suppose."

Æ. "O yes! but good people are scarce down here, as they are up above."

Xan. "Well, what does Pluto mean to do?"

Æ. "He means to have a trial which will show who is the better man."

Xan. "How about Sophocles? Did he claim the seat?"

Æ. "Not he: as soon as he came down he kissed Æschylus, and Æschylus made room for him on his seat. Andnow he means, if Æschylus should get the better in the trial, to stay where he is; but if Euripides, then tochallenge him for the first place."

Xan. "And what sort of a trial are they going to have?"

Æ. "A rare one, you may be sure. You'll see poetry measured by the pound weight, and rules, andcompasses, and wedges. Euripides says he is going to take the plays to pieces."

Xan. "Æschylus takes it hard, I reckon."

Æ. "Yes indeed, he's like a bull going to charge."

Xan. "But who is to be the judge?"

Æ. "Ah! that was the difficulty. Good judges are scarce. You know that Æschylus did not get onaltogether well, even with the Athenians. However, they handed over the matter to your master. It was in hisline, they thought. But we had better go in, or we shall catch it."

The two rival poets now appeared.

"I am not going to give up my claim to the seat," said Euripides, "so you may spare your advice."

Bac. "You hear what he says, Æschylus? Why don't you speak?"

Eur. "Oh! that's his solemn way that we used to have in his tragedies."

Bac. "Come, come, Euripides, be moderate."

Bac. "A black lamb this moment, my man;there's a hurricane coming. But I do beg you, my honoured Æschylus, to restrain yourself; and you, you unluckyEuripides, I advise you to get into shelter from the hail; a big stone might hit you on the head, and spill oneof your precious tragedies. To both of you I would say that two poets ought not to abuse each other like acouple of bread-sellers."

Eur. "Well, I'm ready; I am not going to shrink from any test you like. Test my music, my language, mycharacters, anything that you please."

Bac. "And what say you, Æschylus?"

Æsch. "I had rather not be put to the trial down here. My poetry did not die with me; but this fellow'sdid. There he has the advantage. However, let it be as you will."

Bac. "Bring some incense and a red-hot coal. I should like to pray before they begin, that I may havethe wit and taste to decide this matter aright. And each of you should say a prayer before you commence."

Bac. "Now, Euripides, it is your turn."

Eur. "It is well; I pray to quite another kind of god."

Bac. "I understand; gods of your own, a new coinage, as it were."

Eur. "Just so."

Bac. "Pray away, then, to these particular gods of yours."

These preliminaries ended, the trial began. Euripides opened the attack. "Of my own poetry," he said, "I willspeak afterwards. My first task will be to show what a braggart and cheat this fellow was. He found a sillyaudience used to the old-fashioned poets, and befooled it. First he put on the stage a figure muffled up andsilent, that looked very tragical, but did not utter a syllable. Meanwhile the chorus sang an ode of immeasurable length; but from the hero not a word."

Bac. "And it seemed to me very fine, much finer than the chatter that I hear now."

Eur. "That was because you were an ignoramus."

Bac. "Perhaps you are right. But why did what's-his-name do it?"

Eur. "Out of sheer impudence. The spectator was to sit waiting till Niobe, or whoever it was, should saysomething. And so the play would get on.

Bac. "Oh, what a rascal! How he took me in!" (To Æschylus) "What is the matter with you,twisting about in that fashion?"

Eur. "It's because I'm finding him out. Then, after all this rubbish, when the play was about half-waythrough, our silent friend would mouth out some dozen words, each as big as an ox, and ugly as a bug-bear, thatnone of the audience could understand."

Bac.(to Æschylus, who had groaned). "Be quiet there."

Eur. "A plain, intelligible word he never used."

Bac. (to Æschylus). "Don't grind your teeth."

Eur. "It was all about 'Scamander streams' and 'embattled trenches,' and 'shields embossed withvulture-eagles wrought in bronze,' and such neck-breaking words."

Bac. " 'And I through weary hours of darkness lay,'thinking what sort of a bird a 'tawny co*ck-horse' could possibly be."

Æsch. "It was the device on a ship, to be sure, you ignoramus." (To Euripides) "And pray,what were your inventions?"

Eur. "Not co*ck-horses, nor goat-stags, you may be sure, the sort of creatures you see on Persianhangings. No, I found my art swollen out with these heavy, pompous words, and I fined her down with verselets,and administered decoctions of chatter. Then I did not confuse my characters. My heroes began by giving theirpedigree."

Æsch. "A better pedigree than your own, I should hope."

Eur. "Then from the very beginning there was no time wasted: wife, slave, master, maiden, old woman,—allspoke in the same style."

Æsch. "That was a mortal sin."

Eur. "Not at all; a true democratic idea I call it. Then I introduced subtle rules of style, and finefinishing of verses, and twists and turns, and contrivances and suspicions."

Æsch. "Exactly what I say."

Eur. "And all this in matters of every-day life, things of daily use and wont, things which the audienceknow all about, and in which they are competent to judge my art. I did not try to drive them out of their sobersenses with Cycnuses and Memnons, and battle steeds and clattering shields!

Æsch. "It makes me angry, it vexes me to the heart, to have to reply to such a fellow as this; still Iwill do it, lest he should say that he had got the better of me in the debate. Tell me now—What is mostadmirable in a poet?"

Eur. "Righteousness and true counsel; the power of making our fellow-citizens better."

Æsch. "Then, if this is exactly what you have not done, if, instead, you found them honest men and leftthem villains, what do you deserve?"

Bac. "Death, of course; don't ask him."

Æsch. "Remember what our citizens were when they first came into your hands, fine tall fellows, whoshirked no public duty, not cheats and scoundrels as now, but breathing spears and javelins and white crestedhelmets and breasts of seven fold hide."

Bac. "But, Æschylus, how did you do it?"

Æsch. "By dramas that were full of war."

Bac. "Which, for instance?"

Æsch. "The Seven against Thebes; no man could see that and not long to be a warrior."

Bac. "That's all very well; but you made the Thebans dangerously good soldiers."

Æsch. "Well, you might have made yourselves the same, but you chose other things. Then I exhibitedThe Persians, and I made them ever eager to conquer their foes. Yes, this is the function of the poet.And see how in all ages the really noble poets have discharged it. Orpheus taught us to worship the gods, andto keep our hands from blood; Musæus instructed us in medicine, and told us of the future; Hesiod sang ofhusbandry and the seasons; and for what is Homer famous, but that he sang of battle array, and noble deeds, andheroes arming for the fight? Then were trained such men as the hero Lamachus, and many another like him. But tothink of the creatures that you have brought upon the stage, the foolish women, for instance! whereas I don'tknow that I ever introduced a woman in love."

Eur. "No, you did not know how."

Æsch. "No, and I don't want to know."

Eur. "But were they not true to life?"

Æsch. "I dare say; but that was no reason why you should put them on the stage. The poet should hidewhat is bad, not bring it forward. What the teacher is to the child, that is the poet to the youth."

Eur. "But what virtue was there in your huge-sounding phrases? Should you not use the common speech ofmen?"

Æsch. "Wretch, don't you know that noble ideas must be clothed in noble words? Demigods surely shoulduse a loftier speech than ours, and wear amore splendid vesture. All this I set forth, and you departed from it most villainously."

Eur. "But how?"

Æsch. "You clothed your kings in rags, to move the pity of men."

Eur. "What harm did this do?"

Æsch. "It taught the rich men to shirk their duties. They dress in rags, and whine about their poverty.Then you taught men sophistry and lying. You emptied the gymnasia. You made the young effeminate and base. Youtaught the seamen to answer their officers, whereas in my time they knew no more than to call for theirporridge, and to cry, 'Pull away!'

So much, then, was said about matter and morals. From this the competition passed on to style. "Repeat one ofyour prologues," said Euripides.

Æschylus began:—

Eur. "See, the wise Æschylus has said the same thing twice. 'Come' and 'returned'mean the same."

Bac. "Yes, yes; just as if a woman were to say to her neighbour, 'Use the kneading trough, and, if youchoose, the trough for kneading.' "

Æsch. "They are not the same; the thing is quite rightly expressed."

Bac. "How? Explain what you mean."

Æsch. "Don't you see? A man that has been exiled not only comes to his own country, but returns, for hehas been there before."

Bac. "Very good! What do you say to that, Euripides?"

Eur. "I say that Orestes did not return to his country; for he came secretly against the wish of therulers."

Bac. "And that is good also; but I don't know in the least what he means."

Eur. "Now give us another."

Æschylus went on:—

"Listen to him," cried Euripides, " 'to hear and hearken'; there's a repetition for you!"

Bac. "Repetition! Of course there is. Is he not speaking to the dead, to whom we call three times, andeven then they do not hear us?"

Æsch. "And now let me see what I can make of his prologues. I'll spoil them all with a single flask ofoil."

Eur. "What! a flask of oil?"

Æsch. "Yes; one little flask. For you, Euripides, compose them in such a way that one can always fitin 'a little fleece,' or 'a little flask,' or 'a little wallet.' "

Bac. "Try another one."

Bac. "Dear me! the flask has caught us again."

Eur. "I don't care. Now listen: here is a prologue, to which he won't be able to fit in his flask:—

Bac. "Try another, and do keep clear of the flask."

Bac. "My good man, buy his flask, or it will assuredly ruin your prologues."

Eur. "I buy it! Certainly not. Listen again:—

Bac. "No, no; you can't get rid of the flask. It sticks to your verses just like a sty on a man'seyelid. We will go to something else."

Æsch. "I am for the balance and weights. Let that decide between us."

Bac. "Well, if you will have it so, though it seems odd to deal with the work of a couple of poets as acheesemonger with his cheeses. Boy, bring out a pair of scales. Now, then, stand each of you by one of thescales, take a verse, but don't drop it till I say 'cuckoo.' "

Æsch. and Eur. "We are ready."

Bac. "Now, then!"

Bac. "Now, then, 'cuckoo'! See, Æschylus's scale is much lower."

Eur. "What is the reason of that?"

Bac. "Why, he did what the wool-sellers do with their wool: he damped his verse with a whole river,while yours was a very airy affair."

Eur. "Let us have another trial."

Bac. "Very good. Are you ready?"

Æsch. and Eur. "Yes."

Bac. "Go on, then."

Bac. "There it is; down again."

Eur. "I am sure that what I said about Persuasion was very fine."

Bac. "But Persuasion is a light thing, while Death is the heaviest of all evils. Well, you shall haveone more trial, and this must be the last. Think, Euripides, of something solid to weigh him down."

Eur. "I have it:—

Bac. "There, he has done you again!"

Eur. "How?"

Bac. "Why, by bringing in a couple of chariots and two corpses, more than a hundred Egyptians couldlift."

Æsch. "Come, no more single lines. Let him put himself and his wife and his children and all his booksand his ghost to boot into the scale, and I will weigh them all down with a couple of verses."

Bac. "Well, I don't think I can decide. One I think very wise, and the other I like; and I should notwish to be on bad terms with either."

Pluto. "And are you not going to do what you came for?"

Bac. "Well, if I do decide, what then?"

Plu. "You will take the one you choose and go. So you won't have come for nothing."

Bac. "Bless you for a good fellow. Then I'll try. I came down for a poet."

Eur. "With what object?"

Bac. "This: I want to have a prosperous Athens exhibiting tragedies as they should be exhibited; and soI mean to take back with me the man who can give the country a good piece of advice. What do you think aboutAlcibiades? Athens is having a hard time of it with him."

Eur. "And what does she feel about him?"

Bac. "I am puzzled still. Try again. How would you save your country?"

Bac. "Now, Æschylus, what have you got to say?

Æsch. "Tell me first, to whom does Athens go? To honest men?"

Bac. "No; she hates them like poison."

Æsch. "Then she likes the rogues?"

Bac. "Not she; but she is forced to employ them."

Bac. "Do think of something good,—that is, if you want to go back."

Plu. "Now you must decide."

Bac. "My tongue has sworn—yet Æschylus I choose."

Eur. "Villain, what have you done?"

Bac. "Done? Chosen Æschylus, to be sure. Why not?"

Eur. "And you are going to leave me here down among the dead?"

Bac. "It may be; death is life, and life is death."

This is one of the poet's later plays, having been produced in 392 B.C. The satire is, for the most part,social rather than political. There is, indeed, a sarcasm on the passion for change and for novel experimentsin government, when the proposal for placing power in the hands of the women is approved as being the onlyscheme which had not yet been tried in Athens. But the general object of the satire is woman, while there isdoubtless a special reference to the fashion for imitating Spartan manners. The Spartan women, it must beremembered, lived in a sort of comradeship, so to speak, with the men, which was wholly unlike Athenianways.

Once upon a time it happened in Athens that every form of government having been tried to no good purpose, andthings getting worse and worse instead of better, the women thought it would be well to take affairs into theirown hands. How they managed this will be told; but first it should be said that their leader in this revolutionwas a certain Praxagora.

On the appointed day, while it was still dark, Praxagora made her way to the place in the suburbs where she hadarranged to meet her fellow-conspirators, and began by hanging up the lamp with which she had lighted her wayfrom home, and paying it her respects. She said:—

"But how is this?" she went on, looking round about, "I don't see one of the friends whom I expected, althoughit is almost dawn, and the Assembly will soon be meeting. We must fill up the places first. Have they not beenable to get the beards, or have they found it too hard to steal the men's clothes? But stay—I see a lampapproaching. I will just step out of the way in case it should be a man."

And now a number of women appeared. One declared that the co*ck did but crow the second time as she left herhouse; another said that her husband had been ill all night from having eaten too many pilchards, and that hehad only just fallen asleep; a third had stood in the sun all the day before to give herself a manly brown; afourth showed a formidable club which she had secured. A thrifty dame, who thought it would be well to savetime by spinning while the place of Assembly was filling, incurred a severe rebuke, though she pleaded that shecould listen just as well while she was at work, and that her poor children had nothing to put on. To spinwould be fatally certain to betray them; whereas, if they would only sit in front, keep well muffled up, andshow their beards, no one but would think that they were men. "A number of old women," said Praxagora, "havepassed themselves off as men in the Assembly before now." The conspirators now proceeded to have a rehearsal ofwhat they would have to do in the Assembly. For a time there was a doubt whether any one would be able to makea speech; but they comforted themselves by remembering that speech was the special gift of woman. One of themeeting began by proposing that vintners who kept a tank of water on their premises for weakening their winesshould be severely punished. She made, however, the sad blunder of swearing by the two goddesses, an oath whichwomen only were accustomed to use; and, when allowed to address the audience again, actually styled them"Ladies." Praxagora, hopeless of getting anything done by helpers so inefficient, resolved to carry the affairthrough by herself, and, having assumed the chaplet, addressed the meeting:—

"Gentlemen," she said, "the weal of this city is dear to me as it is to all of you, and it grieves me to seehow ill its affairs prosper. Why do they prosper ill? Because you have no leaders. If a man behaves honestlyfor one day, he will be a scoundrel for ten. Make a change, some will say. Well, your new man will only do moremischief."

"By Aphrodite! you speak well," cried one of the audience.

"By Aphrodite indeed!" cried Praxagora, turning on the speaker.

"What a thing to say! Supposing that you had said it in the Assembly itself!"

"Oh! but there I should have been more careful."

"Well, be careful now. Then you are always blowing hot and cold. The allies of one day are the enemies of thenext. Then you are not agreed. 'Man a fleet,' says the poor man, who is looking out for pay. 'No, no,' say therich men, who don't want the taxes increased."

"That's a clever man," said the woman who had spoken before.

"Ah," cried Praxagora, "now that is the right sort of compliment. Well, gentlemen, the fault is in yourselves.The public wealth goes into private pockets. No man cares for the state; every man looks out for himself; andthe country goes to ruin. What, then, is the remedy? Why, put the, government into the hands of the women. Theymanage your houses; why not let them manage the state? Do you want to know why they are likely to do it well?I'll tell you. Because they keep to old ways, and do as their mothers used to do. They wash wool in hot water,for instance, after the old fashion. You won't see them trying new-fangled ways ofdoing things. And an excellent thing it would be for Athens if it did the same. They bake bread sitting, astheir mothers did; they bear loads on their heads, as their mothers did; they make cheesecakes, as theirmothers did; they beat their husbands, as their mothers did; they keep titbits for themselves, as their mothersdid; they like good liquor, as their mothers did. I say, then, hand over the state to them; ask no idlequestions as to what line of policy they will follow; think only of this: they are the mothers of our soldiersand they won't see them killed or starved; they are admirable providers; they are themselves so good atdeceiving that no one will ever be able to deceive them. I need say no more: take my advice, and you will livehappily ever after."

"But, my dear creature," cried one of the women who had been listening, "how did you learn to speak so well?"

"Oh!" replied Praxagora, "once when we had to leave the countryI lodged with my good man close by the place of Assembly, and I learnt the trick of speaking by listening tothe politicians."

Woman. "Very good! and you shall be our first prime minister. But how shall we manage to elect you? Tellus that."

Praxagora. "It won't be an easy matter, but still it can be done. Tuck up your tunics; tie on yoursandals, just as you see the men do when they are going out. When this is done, fasten on your beards; put yourhusbands' cloaks, which I hope you have stolen, over all; take your staves, and march to the place of Assembly.You can sing, as you go, some old-fashioned ditty, and people will take you for voters from the country. Andmake haste. Mind, we must be there before dawn. Now let us be off, and sing a stave as we go."

The women accordingly marched away singing:—

Meanwhile there was much perplexity and confusion in the houses which the women had left. "Where in the worldis my wife?" said one poor man, who was Praxagora's husband. "I can't find my shoes or my cloak; so I have hadto put on her mantle, and make shift to get my feet as far as they would go into her Persian slippers. Foolthat I was to marry a wife at my age! However, I must be going, if I am to get to the Assembly in time."

Just as he was outside the door, a friend met him. "Can this be Blepyrus?" he cried. "Why have you got thatscarlet thing on?"

Blepyrus. "'Tis my wife's. I had to put it on."

Friend. "But where is your own cloak?"

Blep. "That I can't say. I have been looking for it everywhere."

Fr. "But your wife—why did you not ask her?"

Blep. "She's not at home. She's gone somewhere on the sly."

Fr. "Why, my dear sir, that is exactly what has happened to me. My wife has taken off my cloak; yes, andthat is not the worst, but my shoes, too."

Blep. "My shoes are gone, too."

Fr. "Perhaps a friend has invited her to breakfast."

Blep. "Very likely; she is not a bad sort, after all."

Fr. "Well, I must be off to the Assembly; that is, if I can find my cloak, for I haven't got another."

Very soon afterwards another friend came in, Chremes by name. He had come, he said, from the Assembly. "What,"asked Blepyrus, "is it dismissed already?

Chremes. "Yes, and almost before it was light."

Blep. "You got your pay, I suppose?"

Chr. "I wish that I had; as it was, I came too late."

Blep. "How was that?"

Chr. "A whole crowd of people, more than I ever saw together, came into the Pnyx; we thought, to look atthem, they were a set of indoor artisans, they had such pale faces. However, they filled the place, and I couldnot get my money, and a good many more were in the same plight."

Blep. "Then I could not get it if I went now?"

Chr. "No, indeed; nor would you have got it, even if you had gone at second co*ck-crowing."

Blep. "Well, what, pray, was the business that brought all this crowd together?"

Chr. "The public safety. That was the question which the magistrates had prepared. One said one thing,and one another. The gentleman who seemed to have nothing over his tunic, though he declared himself that hehad a cloak, proposed that the clothiers should be compelled to furnish cloaks to all persons in need. Weshould escape cold and pleurisy in that way. Any one who should refuse, and shut his door in the winter againstan applicant, was to be fined three blankets."

Blep. "An excellent proposition; and if he had added that the corn-chandlers were to supply every poorman with three pecks of barley, under pain of death, he would not have found any one to vote against it."

Chr. "After that a good-looking young fellow, rather pale in the face, stood up and proposed that themanagement of affairs should be handed over to the women. At this all the artisans cried out, 'Hear!hear!' while the country-folk shouted 'No! no!'"

Blep. "And right they were, by Zeus!"

Chr. "Yes; but they were beaten. The young fellow said all kinds of good things about the women. Theywere choke-full of good sense; they made money; they could keep a secret; they could lend each other clothes,gold, silver, plate, and not cheat each other—no, not though there were no witnesses: whereas we were alwaysdefrauding each other."

Blep. "Yes, indeed, witnesses or no witnesses."

Chr. "They didn't inform against each other, nor prosecute, nor plot against the people: all this andother things too he said about the women."

Blep. "Well, what was the end of it all?"

Chr. "It was determined to hand over the management of affairs to them. You see, this is the only thingthat has never been tried in Athens."

Blep. "You mean that the law passed?"

Chr. "Yes."

Blep. "That the women are to discharge all our duties?"

Chr. "Exactly so."

Blep. "That my wife and not I is to try causes?"

Chr. "Yes; and your wife, not you, is to keep the house."

Blep. "This is all very alarming."

Chr. "Nay, nay; don't vex yourself. What says the old proverb?

But I must be going. Take care of yourself."

The women who had been passing this revolutionary vote now came hurrying in, looking about them as if theyfeared pursuit, and singing as they went:—

They had scarcely finished when Praxagora appeared, calmly walking up to her house. Her husband naturallywanted to know where she had come from.

Prax. "A dear friend who had been taken ill sent for me in the night."

Blep. "But why not tell me that you were going?"

Prax. "Ought not I to have gone, then?"

Blep. "Gone—yes; but why did you take my cloak?"

Prax. "It was so cold, and I am not very strong, and I left you snugly wrapped in your blankets."

Blep. "But why my sandals and staff?"

Prax. "I was afraid, so I did my best to make myself look like you. I stamped with my feet, and knockedthe stones with the staff."

Blep. "Well, you've made me lose a peck of wheat which I should have brought home from the Assembly."

Prax. "Never you mind about that; it was a very fine boy."

Blep. "Whose boy? the Assembly's?"

Prax. "No; my friend's. But has there been an Assembly?"

Blep. "Of course. Don't you remember that I told you yesterday it was to be?"

Prax. "So you did."

Blep. "And don't you know what they have done?"

Prax. "Not I."

Blep. "They have handed over to you women the government of affairs."

Prax. "Spinning, do you mean?"

Blep. "No—ruling."

Prax. "Ruling? Ruling what?"

Blep. "Ruling everything."

Prax. "By Aphrodite, a very lucky thing for the country!"

Blep. "Why a lucky thing?"

Prax. "For many reasons; she won't be the prey of bad men any more. There will be no more perjuries, nomore informers."

Blep. "Woman, what do you mean? Why, these are the things I live by."

Prax. "Silence, my good man, and let your wife speak. There'll be no stealing, no arguing, no nakedness,no poverty, no slander, no distraint for debt."

Blep. "That's all very fine if true."

Prax. "True! I'll warrant every word is true."

The women, who had assembled round their leader while this conversation was going on, now encouraged her todevelop her plan for the better government of the city. They put their thoughts into verse:—

Prax. "The first thing in my plan is that all should share and share alike. I won't have some rich andsome poor; one man with a broad domain, and another with not ground enough for a grave; one man with manyslaves, and another with not even one poor page. No. All the citizens shall fare alike. How shall I do it, doyou ask? I shall make the land common property, and the money, and all that every man possesses. These thingswe women will wisely manage, apportioning to each what he wants."

Blep. "But what will you do with those who don't own land, but have a secret store of gold and silver?"

Prax. "We must bring them into the common stock."

Blep. "But suppose that the man swears that he hasn't got them?"

Prax. "Why should he? 'Tis only poverty that makes men forswear themselves, and there will be no povertyhere. Every man will have whatever he wants for the asking."

Blep. "But who is to cultivate the land?"

Prax. "The slaves, of course. All that you will have to do will be to go nicely dressed to dinner whenthe dial shows the hour."

Blep. "And how shall we get new clothes?"

Prax. "What there are now will serve for the present, and then we women will spin you new ones."

Blep. "Suppose there is a judgment against a man for a sum of money, how is he to pay it? Not out of thecommon stock, I suppose?"

Prax. "But there will be no suits or judgments."

Blep. "No suits! If any man owes money and denies the debt, how then?"

Prax. "How did the creditor get the money to lend when everything is common?"

Blep. "Good! But tell me this: If a man is fined for assault, how then? This will puzzle you, I takeit."

Prax. "Not at all. He'll pay in pudding. Starve him a bit, and he'll learn not to be insolent."

Blep. "Then no one will steal?"

Prax. "Why should he? He'll be stealing his own property."

Blep. "Then there'll be no footpads?"

Prax. "No; for all will have enough. And if a man should stop you with, 'Your coat or your life!' you'llonly have to give it to him and go to the public store and get another."

Blep. "Will there be any gambling?"

Prax. "What should they gamble for?"

Blep. "And what is our fare to be?"

Prax. "The same for all. The city will in fact be one house."

Blep. "Where shall we dine?"

Prax. "We shall make the courts and the colonnades into dining-rooms. We sha'n't want them for purposesof law any more."

Blep. "And the speakers' platform,—what will you do with that?"

Prax. "We shall stand our mixing-bowls and water-pitchers on it. And the singing-boys shall stand on itand celebrate the deeds of the valiant, so that if by chance there should be any cowards they may slink awayashamed. Does this please you?"

Blep. "Excellently well."

"Excellent, my dear," said Blepyrus. "I will come with you. How the people will stare at me, and say to eachother, 'Look there! Do you know who that is? That is the husband of the lady in command.'"

There seem to have been two editions of the play entitled The Plutus (God of Riches). One was produced in408 B.C.; the other in 388 B.C. According to the Argument or Introduction commonly prefixed, we have the secondof these two editions. It is said to have been the last play which the poet exhibited in his own name. Hiscareer as a dramatist had then lasted thirty-nine years; his first comedy, The Banqueters, had been produced,though not in his own name, in 427 B.C. The character of The Plutus suits this position in the catalogue ofthe poet's works. It is mainly a comedy of morals, and in spirit resembles the dramas which are classed as theNew Comedy, though the form is the same as that to which we are accustomed in the earlier plays; and there issomething of the same savage satire on individuals.

Once upon a time two travellers, a master, Chremylus by name, and his slave Cario, might have been seenpainfully making their way from Delphi to Athens. The strange thing about them was that they were following theguidance of a blind man, a proceeding on which the master insisted, much to the annoyance of his slave. Thelatter bewailed the hard fate which compelled a sensible man to follow the caprices of a foolish one, blamedthe god of the oracle, who, though he had the reputation of being both a physician and a prophet, had sent aninquirer away in a condition of madness. "For what," said the slave to himself, "could be a greater proof ofmadness than for a man who can see to follow the leading of one who is blind; and a fellow, too, who won'tanswer a syllable to any question?" At last the slave made up his mind to speak to his master. "Tell me," hesaid, "who this man is that you seem determined to follow. You know that I have always done my best for you."—"That is so," said Chremylus, "that is so; I have always found you the most faithful of my slaves—and thegreatest thief. However, I'll have no secrets from you. You know that I am a pious and honest man, and that Ihave always been unlucky and poor."

Cario. "I know it perfectly well."

Chremylus. "And that robbers of temples, informers, politicians, and scoundrels of all sorts are rich.Well, I went to consult Apollo about it. My days, I knew, were pretty nearly over; but I wanted to know aboutmy only son. Was he to give up my virtuous ways and turn into a villain, as it was only the villains whoprospered? The answer was this: 'Follow the first person whom you see after leaving my temple; don't losesight of him, but make him go home with you.' "

Car. "And who was the first person you saw?"

Chrem. "That man there."

Car. "Well, master, that is very stupid of you. Of course Apollo meant that you were to bring up the boyas a villain. Everybody is a villain; therefore the first person you meet will be a villain; thereforeyou must follow a villain. Even a blind man could see so much."

Chrem. "Apollo meant nothing of the kind, but something much more serious. If we can only find out whothe man is, and what he wants, then we should know what the god meant."

For a time the stranger refused to speak; at last, under compulsion, and after a promise that he should bereleased when he had answered, he revealed his name and condition. "I am the god of wealth," he said.

Chrem. "You the god of wealth! and in this miserable plight!"

Plutus. "That is easily accounted for. I am just come from the house of a miserly fellow who never wentto the bath from the day of his birth, or let me go either."

Chrem. "And how came you to be blind?"

Plu. "When I was a lad I said that I intended to visit only the wise and good. Thereupon Zeus made meblind, that I might not know them. He is jealous of the wise and good."

Chrem. "And yet it is only they who honour him."

Plu. "It is so."

Chrem. "Tell me, now; if you could recover your sight, would you keep to your intention, and avoid thebad?"

Plu. "I certainly would."

Chrem. "And keep company with the good?"

Plu. "Certainly; it is many a long day since I saw one of that sort."

Chrem. "Just as it has been with me, and yet I can see."

Plu. "Now, then, you'll let me go."

Chrem. "Let you go indeed No; we'll stick to you closer than ever."

Plu. "Ah! that is just what I feared."

Chrem. "My dear friend, don't leave me; you won't find a more honest man than I am to live with."

Plu. "So they all say; but as sure as ever I come to them, they turn into the worst rogues of all."

Chrem. "Ah! but you may trust me. And now listen to me, and I'll tell you what you will get by cominghome with me; I hope, please the gods, to recover you of your blindness."

Plu. "No, no; I don't want to see."

Chrem. "Why not?"

Plu. "Because I am afraid what Zeus might do to me."

Chrem. "Don't be afraid of Zeus. You are a much greater power than he. Why do men pray to Zeus? For thesake of money, to be sure. Don't they pray for this in so many words? And could you not stop all this if youchose?"

Plu. "How could I stop it?"

Chrem. "Because no man could offer an ox, no, not even a barley-cake, without your good-will. You findthe money for it. So it is clear that you haveonly to say the word, and the power of Zeus topples down."

Plu. "Do you really mean that I have all this to do with sacrifices?"

Chrem. "Yes, indeed; and everything on earth that has splendour or beauty about it comes from you; andyou are the cause of every art and every craft that has ever been discovered. You make the cobbler squat, andthe brazier hammer, and the carpenter ply his adze, and the goldsmith melt the gold—you give him the gold.Aye, and you make one man filch people's clothes from the bath, and another break into houses."

Plu. "Dear me! I knew nothing of all this."

Chrem. "You give all his glory to the Great King,call together the Public Assembly, man the ships of war, pay the soldiers, make us bear Mr. Vulgar's mannersand listen to Mr. Dryasdust's stories."

Plu. "Can I really do all this?"

Chrem. "Yes, indeed; and much more than this. You are the one thing of which men can never have enough.Of everything else they get a surfeit,—of love, for instance."

Car. "And of bread."

Chrem. "Of poetry."

Car. "And of sweetmeats."

Chrem. "Of honour."

Car. "And cheesecakes."

Chrem. "Of courage."

Car. "And figs."

Chrem. "Of glory."

Car. "And hasty-pudding."

Chrem. "Of office."

Car. "And pease-pudding."

Chrem. "But of you they never can have enough. If a man has thirteen talents, does he not straight-waywant sixteen? And if he gets sixteen, does he not want forty, if life is to be worth living?"

Plu. "You seem to be a very sensible man. But there is one thing I am afraid of. Tell me: if I get thispower, shall I be able to keep it?"

Chrem. "They are quite right in saying that wealth is the most timid of creatures."

Plu. "Not timid at all. This was a slander that a burglar invented, when he got into my house and foundeverything locked up. Because I am cautious he said I was timid."

Chrem. "Well, never mind. Trust me, and I will make you keen-sighted as a lynx."

Plu. "But how will you contrive it? You're only a man.

Chrem. "I have good hopes that Apollo will help me."

Plu. "Does he know what you are doing?"

Chrem. "Yes; he does. I'll help you, if I diefor it, and so will all my friends and neighbours. Cario, go and call them; it is only right that they shouldhave a share of my good luck. And now, Plutus, come into my house."

Plu. "I tell you that I don't at all like going into another man's house. I never got any good fromdoing it. If my host has been of the frugal sort, he has buried me in the ground; aye, and if a good fellowcame to borrow a silver coin, has sworn that he has never set eyes upon me. If he has been one of the wildyoung fellows, then I am given over to bad company and dice, and turned naked out of doors at a moment'snotice."

Chrem. "That is because you never happened to light upon a moderate man. I like to save; no man more.And I like to spend, at the proper time. But come in; I should like you to see my wife and my son. He is myonly son, you must understand; and I love him better than anything else in the world,—of course after you."

Meanwhile Cario had been inviting the neighbours to come to his master's house. They were not slow to answerthe call, but left their work in the fields, and hurried up, followed by one Blepsidemus, who was the principalperson among them. Blepsidemus was suspicious. His friend, he had heard, had become suddenly rich. This was initself an unusual circ*mstance, and, put together with the mysterious answers which he got to his questions,inclined himto believe that his friend had committed some crime. When he heard that the god of riches was actually aninmate in his neighbour's house, his astonishment was great, nor was it diminished at being told thatChremylus's intention was to make his friends sharers in his good luck. He agreed with the notion that the godshould, if possible, be cured of his blindness, but did not see how it could be done. This, indeed, puzzledboth of the friends, till Chremylus suggested that the best plan would be to make him pass a night in thetemple of Æsculapius. Scarcely had they resolved on this course when a strange visitor appeared, Poverty, alean and spectral figure, from whom the two men fled in terror. However, they plucked up courage, and cameback, wondering what it could be. "A Fury escaped from a tragedy, perhaps," said one of them. "It has a mad,tragical look."

"No," replied the other, "it hasn't got a torch."

"Who do you think I am?" said the figure.

Chrem. "The landlady of an inn, or an oyster-girl; you made such an uproar when no one had hurt you."

"I tell you," cried the Unknown, "that you are both intending to do a most villainous thing. Know that I amPoverty—your old inmate, Poverty."

Blep. "Good heavens! I'm off."

Chrem. "Coward, you are not going to run away?"

Blep. "Yes, but I am."

Chrem. "What! two men run away from one woman?"

Blep. "Yes; but the one woman is Poverty, and a more terrible creature does not exist."

At last, however, Blepsidemus consented to stay, and the matter was argued out.

Chremylus argued on behalf of his plan for restoring eyesight to Plutus. He said: "Every one allows that goodmen ought to prosper, and that the bad and impious should fare ill. It has been our object to bring this about,and after much thinking we have devised a really good plan for doing so. If for the future Plutus should beable to see, and not wander about blindly, as he has hitherto done, then he will take up his abode with thegood and shun the bad. So it will come about that all men will become good and pious. Is it possible to inventa better scheme than this? As for man's life, as it is at present, it is nothing but sheer, raving madness. Badmen enjoy the wealth which they collected by the most villainous devices, and the good are next door tostarvation."

Poverty. "Now, you foolish old creature, listen to what I have got to say. Let Plutus divide his favoursequally, and who would cultivate any art or knowledge? who would be a brazier, a shipwright, a tailor, awheelwright, a shoemaker, a brickmaker, a dyer, or a skinner? who would sow and reap when he might sit at easeand enjoy himself?"

Chrem. "Our slaves would do all this for us."

Pov. "But where would you get your slaves?"

Chrem. "Buy them, to be sure."

Pov. "But who would take the trouble to sell them if he had money already?"

Chrem. "The slave-dealer, I suppose."

Pov. "Not a bit of it. Who would risk his life for money, when he could get it without? No; you willhave to do all these things for yourselves. No more lying on couches, for couches there won't be; no more finerobes, for who will care to weave? no more perfumes, not even on your wedding day. And what will be the good ofyour riches without these things? But stick to me, and you will have the necessaries of life in plenty. It is Iwho stand by and drive men to work by my strong compulsion."

Chrem. "Oh, I know the sort of life you will give us,—bawling children, and cross old women, and buzzinggnats, and biting fleas, all bidding us get up and work; and rags instead of clothes, and rushes for featherbeds, and a mat for a carpet, and a stone for a pillow."

Pov. "This is the way in which beggars live."

Chrem. "Well, is not Poverty sister to Beggary?"

Pov. "So you say; but then, you don't know the difference, I suppose, between Dionysius the tyrant, andThrasybulus the patriot.A beggar may liveas you say, but a poor man lives frugally and sticks to his work."

Chrem. "Yes; happy man and dies without leaving enough to bury him."

Pov. "Yes; you may laugh, but I make better men than wealth can make,—better in mind, better in body,not gouty, big-bellied, thick-legged creatures, but spare, and small-waisted, and terrible fellows to fight."

Chrem. "Spare enough, I dare say, for you starve them pretty well."

Pov. "And as for good manners, you find them with me; it is wealth that is insolent."

Chrem. "Oh, yes! excellently good manners—to steal and break into houses!"

Pov. "Then look at the politicians. While they are poor, they are honest; let them get a taste of thepublic money, and good by to their honesty."

Chrem. "I don't say that you're wrong here. Still this shall not help you."

Pov. "And how about Zeus? Isn't he poor? At the Olympic games, where all Greece meets every four years,what is the prize that he gives to the conquerors? A wreath of wild olive. If he had been rich, would it nothave been of gold?"

Chrem. "He satisfies them with a trifle, and keeps the riches to himself."

All Poverty's arguments having proved to be unavailing, she was driven away, though not withoutwarning her adversaries that it would not be long before they sent for her.The next thing was to cure Plutus of his blindness. The story of how this was done was told next morning byCario to his mistress.

"The first thing that we did was to take him down to the shore and bathe him in the sea. After that we went upto the temple, offered on the altar the usual sacrifices, and then laid Plutus down, every one of us at thesame time making his own bed. He was not the only suppliant. Indeed, I noticed another blind man, who, however,is a cleverer thief than most people with eyes, and there were other persons suffering from all manner ofdiseases. Then an attendant came round, put out the light, and bade us go to sleep, telling us to be silent incase we should hear any noise. As for me, I could not get to sleep; there was an old woman near me, and alittle way off from her head was a pitcher of porridge, for which I had quite an inspired longing, so good didit smell. And when I opened my eyes I saw the priest snatching the pastry and figs from the holy table, andthen going the round of the altars to see if there was a cake left on any of them. Whatever he found heconsecrated into a wallet that he had. When I found that this was a devotion practised in the place, I crept upto the porridge-pitcher. The old woman heard me coming, and put out her hand to hold the porridge, and Ihissed like a serpent, and bit it. Thereupon she drew it back, and covered her head with the bed-clothes. Asfor me, I had a good meal from the porridge, and lay down in my bed. After a while Æsculapius himself cameround with his two daughters, Recovery and All-Healer,followed by a boy who carried a stone mortar, a pestle, and a small chest. I was very much frightened andcovered myself up; still I could see what was done through a peep-hole in my cloak—I had a good choice ofpeep-holes. The god began by making an ointment to plaster on the eyes of that blind thief I spoke of; he mixedtogether three heads of garlic, fig-tree sap,and mastic, and moistened it with vinegar. Then he turned the fellow's eyelids out—to hurt him more, youunderstand. The thief roared like a bull, and ran out of the temple. The god laughed and said, 'There, there;now you may learn not to forswear yourself.' After this he came and sat down by Plutus. The first thing that hedid was to stroke his head; then he took a clean napkin, and wiped his eyelids with it. Next, All-Healercovered his head with a purple kerchief. Then the god whistled, and two huge serpents came out of thesanctuary. These put their heads under the kerchief, and, I imagine, licked the eyelids; and—inless time than you could drink a pint of wine—Plutus stood up seeing as you or I. I clapped my hands for joy,and woke my master; the god and his serpents vanished into the sanctuary, and we all wished Plutus joy of hisrecovery, and watched till the day broke. And now he is coming with a great crowd of people after him rejoicingand singing."

The slave had scarcely finished his narrative when Plutus appeared, and returned thanks in solemn fashion forhis recovery:—

And indeed the change was something marvellous. Chremylus, who had not been popular in the days of his poverty,now found himself the object of admiring attention from friends without number. In his house everything waschanged. The bin, in old times generally empty, was full of the finest flour, the jar of delicious wine, thecoffers of gold and silver. The well was brimming over with oil, and the oil-cruse with perfume. Thefish-platters, once of wood andhalf-rotten, were found to be silver, the dresser was ivory; the very slaves played at odd and even with goldpieces.

Not less wonderful was the crowd of visitors that came to pay their respects to the god. The first arrival wasa good man, who had been poor. He had been left a comfortable fortune, he explained, by his father, and hadthought that the best use he could make of it would be to help his friends. If he should come to need, ofcourse they would help him. Naturally he had not been long in reaching the bottom of his purse, and then hefound that his friends could not so much as see him. Thanks to this change in the god, he was now well off, andhe was coming to dedicate to him the ragged cloak and worn-out shoes which he had worn in the days of hispoverty. The next comer was as much disgusted at the new order of things as his predecessor had been pleased.He was an informer, and came in a condition of frantic hunger; his business had failed him, and he threatenedthe most fearful penalties against those who had ruined him. All the satisfaction he got was to be stripped ofhis fine clothes, have the good man's cloak wrapped round him, and the shoes fastened on his forehead. Nextcame an elderly lady, who had lost the suitor who had paid her attentions on account of her wealth, but now,being rich himself, had transferred them elsewhere. She too got nothing by her visit. The succeeding visitorshowed that the influenceof the revolution had reached to heaven itself. Hermes presented himself, complaining that since Plutus hadrecovered his sight, no one had offered to the gods so much as a grain of frankincense, a twig of laurel, or acake. "I," said the god, "am a peculiar sufferer. You know that I am a little friendly to rogues, and these, inreturn, used to give me some perquisites. That is all over now; I go hungry all day long. Give me," he went on,addressing the slave Cario, "a loaf and a piece of the flesh."

Car. "I can't. The things are not to be taken out."

Hermes. "Ah! my man, don't you remember how I used to help you when you filched anything of yourmaster's?"

Car. "Yes, but only on condition of having your share."

Her. "Which share you always ate yourself."

Car. "And very right. Who got the stripes, if I was found out?"

Her. "Well, well, let's have an amnesty now that the battle is over. For heaven's sake, make me one of your household here!"

Car. "What! you going to leave the gods and stay here!"

Her. "Yes; you seem to be much better off."

Car. "A deserter is a mean sort of creature."

Her. "Listen:—"My country is the land where best I fare."

Car. "But what good will you be to us?"

Her. "I will be your turnkey."

Car. "We want none of your turns."

Her. "Your merchant, then."

Car. "We are rich; we want no huckstering."

Her. "Your master of craft?"

Car. "We want no craft; simple ways are the fashion now."

Her. "Your guide?"

Car. "The god has his sight, and will want no more guiding."

Her. "Your Chief of the Sports? for, of course, he will do well to have musical competitions and games."

Car. "What a thing it is to have a number of titles! At last he has hit upon some capacity in which hemay be useful to us. Well, go to the spring and wash these haunches for me, that you may learn to make yourselfuseful and handy."

A priest now came, with the same complaint that Hermes had made,—he was starving. No one wanted anything;therefore, no one offered sacrifices. He was glad to take service with the new deity.

A procession was now organized to conduct Plutus to his temple. The elderly lady who had come back in very gayattire was induced to carry the pots of boiled pulse,on the promise that her suitor should return to her, and the god of wealth was solemnly enthroned as the oneand only deity thenceforward to be worshipped in Athens.

[From PHILEMON, Traslated by PLAUTUS ]

Charmides, a citizen of Athens, being compelled to go abroad on business, intrusted the charge of his affairsto his old friend Callicles. Among the matters which he put in his friend's hands was an important secret,nothing less than the fact that he had buried under the floor of one of the rooms in his house a treasure ofthree thousand gold philips.This he had done to provide a dowry for his daughter, in case she should be sought in marriage during hisabsence. His son, Lesbionicus by name, he could not trust, so extravagant was the young man. And indeed whathappened after his departure seemed to prove that he had been right. Lesbionicus went from bad to worse,squandered everything that he could lay his hands on, till at last nothing was left him but the house and asmall farm outside the city. The house he promptly advertised forsale.Callicles, dismayed at the thought that it was going to pass into other hands, and that the new purchaser mightdiscover, even if he were not legally entitled to, the buried treasure, determined to buy the property himself.But this proceeding did not satisfy everybody. Some of his friends and acquaintances suspected him of havingtaken advantage of the young man's folly, and made a good bargain for himself. Accordingly, no sooner had hetaken possession of his new purchase than a friend, Megaronides by name, presented himself and told him whatpeople were saying.

Megaronides. "You're in bad repute, my friend. People do not scruple to call you a vulture. 'Friend orfoe,' they say, 'it is all one to him, as long as he makes his meal.' This vexes me, you may believe, verymuch."

Callicles. "Well, I can't prevent people talking; but whether they are right is another matter."

Meg. "Tell me, was Charmides a friend of yours?"

Cal. "He was and is. If he had been anything else, would he have handed his affairs over to me, when hesailed for Syria, charging me with the care of his grown-up daughter—his wife, as you know, is dead—andthat spendthrift of a son?"

Meg. "Ah! it was about the son that I was goingto speak. Have you endeavoured to reform him? Would you not have done better to try to make a respectable manof him than to abet him in his bad courses?"

Cal. "How have I abetted him? What have I done?"

Meg. "Behaved like a rascal, to speak plainly."

Cal. "That's not my way."

Meg. "Did you not buy this house from the young man? Why don't you answer? I mean this very house inwhich you are living."

Cal. "I did buy it. I paid the money to the young man, two hundred pounds down."

Meg. "You paid the money?"

Cal. "Certainly. I see nothing to be ashamed of in that."

Meg. "Well, then, I say that you betrayed your trust. You gave the young fellow a sword to kill himselfwith when you supplied him with the means of crowning the edifice of his folly."

Cal. "Oughtn't I to have paid him the money?"

Meg. "You ought not to have had any buying and selling with him. See how the thing stands. The young manis put in your charge, and you get possession of his house. On my word, you are a fine trustee!"

Cal. "My friend, when you talk to me in this fashion, I have no choice but to tell you a secret that Iwas charged to keep strictly to myself. Can I trust you?"

Meg. "Implicitly."

Cal. "Can anybody overhear us?"

Meg. "No one."

Cal. "Then listen. When Charmides was on the point of leaving Athens, he showed me a treasure which hehad buried in a room in this house—you are sure there is no one listening?"

Meg. "There is no one near."

Cal. "As much as three thousand philips. He begged me not to let his son know anything about it. If hecomes back safe, I shall give it up to him; if anything should happen to him, then I have the means of findinga dowry for his daughter."

Meg. "Good heavens! this is quite another story. But go on."

Cal. "Well, I happened to go away for a week, and, without saying a word, my young friend advertises thehouse for sale."

Meg. "Ah! the old story. The wolf watches till the dog is asleep, and then makes a meal of the wholeflock."

Cal. "So he would have done, but the dog was beforehand with him. But tell me, what was I to do? Was Ito inform him of the existence of the treasure, when his father had specially charged me to say nothing aboutit? Or was I to let a stranger become the owner of the house? Of course not. I had to buy it myself, not formy own profit, as you see, but for my friend. So I did; I paid the moneyout of my own pocket. Well, if that is behaving like it rascal, as you put it, I plead guilty."

Meg. "You are right; I have nothing to say."

Cal. "And now I want you to help me."

Meg. "I am at your service. But tell me, where does the young man now live?"

Cal. "When he sold the house, he kept back this little building in the rear, and he is living therenow."

Meg. "And the daughter?"

Cal. "She is in my house. I treat her just as I do my own child. Good by, my friend, and don't be soready to believe all that these busybodies say. They know everything: what the king whispers in the queen'sear, what Zeus has to say to Heré, in short, everything that is, and a great deal that is not."

Meanwhile, a conversation was going on elsewhere in the city which promised to produce a new complication. Ayoung Athenian named Lysiteles has fallen in love with the daughter of Charmides. The difficulty was that thegirl was probably without a dowry. Her father was abroad, no one knew where; her brother, who was the mostnotorious young spendthrift in Athens, could not be expected to do anything for her. The young man was in greatdoubt whether Philto, his father, could be induced to consent to his marriage with a portionless girl. Anyhow,he would see what could be done. Accordingly he proceeded to pay the old gentleman a visit. He found him in amoralizing mood. "My son," saidthe old man, "as you love me, don't have anything to do with the worthless fellows who are to be foundeverywhere nowadays. This is an awful time that we are living in. I know it well; there is robbing and lyingeverywhere; nothing is sacred to these fellows. I can't sleep for thinking of it. I positively weep to thinkthat I have lived to see such days. My dear son, do mind what I say to you. Do as I do; that is the good,old-fashioned way of living; keep to that, and you'll never get into trouble."

Lysiteles. "My dear father, I have always felt that, freeman as I was, I could not do better than beyour slave."

Philto. "The great question with a young man is this: are his inclinations to master him, or is he tomaster his inclinations? If you get the better in this conflict, it will be all right with you; if you areworsted, it will be all wrong."

Lys. "I have always done my best to keep myself from harm. I have shunned bad companions; I have keptgood hours; I have avoided anything that could vex you; I have followed your precepts to the utmost of mypower."

Phil. "Don't reckon up your goodness in that fashion. My days are pretty well over; it is you whom thesethings concern, and I take it that a really honest man is never very well satisfied with himself."

Lysiteles now saw that his protestations of filialpiety and rectitude were not likely to do him much good, and thought it better to go straight to the point. "Ihave a great favour to ask you, my dear father," he said.

Phil. "What is it? I shall be glad to do anything I can."

Lys. "There is a young friend of mine, of an excellent family I should say, who has not managed hisaffairs very prudently. I should like to help him."

Phil. "With your own means?"

Lys. "Certainly; I suppose I may say that what is yours is mine. I am sure that all that is mine isyours."

Phil. "Is your friend poor?"

Lys. "He is poor."

Phil. "Had he any property?"

Lys. "He had."

Phil. "How did he lose it? By farming, or the taxes, or by trade ventures?"

Lys. "No, no; by nothing of that kind."

Phil. "How was it, then?"

Lys. "By his lazy ways, and a certain habit he had of pleasing himself."

Phil. "Well, you are certainly a candid friend. You don't mince matters,—a poor fellow that never didanything that he ought, and yet is in want. Somehow I don't care that you have friends of this kind."

Lys. "There is no harm in him, and I should like to give him a little help."

Phil. "You don't really help a beggar by giving him something to spend in eating and drinking. You losewhat you give him, and only prolong his misery. However, I don't mean this to apply to your friend. I don'tlike, in fact, to refuse anything in reason. Tell me what it is you want. Speak freely to your father."

Lys. "Lesbionicus, who lives there—"

Phil. "Oh! that is the man, is it? The fellow who has eaten up all that he had and all that he hadn't.However, what do you want to give him?"

Lys. "Nothing at all, father; only you must not hinder him from giving me something, if he wants to."

Phil. "How you're to help him by taking something from him I cannot see."

Lys. "Perhaps I can show you. You know what family he belongs to?"

Phil. "Yes; it's as good as any in Athens."

Lys. "He has a grown-up sister. I want to marry her without a dowry."

Phil. "Without a dowry!"

Lys. "Yes, father; it won't make us worse thought of."

Phil. "Well, let it be so, if you will have it."

Lys. "One thing more; would you mind asking for her?"

Phil. "This is a pretty business I have let myself in for. However, it has to be done. What is the useof trying to cross one's son? It only breeds trouble for oneself, and does no sort of good. But here comes theyoung man himself in the nick of time."

And, indeed, Lesbionicus had just come out of his house in consultation with his slave Stasimus. "Stasimus," hesaid, "it is just a fortnight since Callicles paid me two hundred pounds for my house. Is it not so?"

Stasimus. "I do remember something about it."

Lesbionicus. "Well, what has become of the money?"

Stas. "Eaten away, drunk away, bathed away; the fishmongers, bakers, cooks, butchers, greengrocers,poulterers have got it. They are like so many ants with a poppy-head."

Les. "I don't think they had more than five and twenty pounds."

Stas. "Then there are the presents you made."

Les. "Put them down at as much more."

Stas. "Then there is what I cheated you of."

Les. "Ah! that is more than either."

Stas. "Then you had to pay fifty pounds to the bank for Olympias, the money you were surety for."

Les. "Ah! poor fellow, I could not refuse to help. I was so sorry for him."

Stas. "I wish you would be sorry for yourself."

At this point Philto came up. He courteously introduced the business which he had in hand. Lesbionicus couldnot believe him to be serious. It was not like him, he said, to make fun of an unfortunate man. Philtoprotested that he had no thought of the kind in his head; but only to be met with the reply that the twofamilies were not in the same position. The daughter of an impoverished house could not marry into one sowealthy. "I had hoped," said the old man, "for a kinder answer. It is not wise to refuse a friendly offer."

Stas. "The old man is right."

Les. (to the slave). "Hold your tongue, or I'll knock your eye out."

Stas. "I don't care. If I had only one eye I should say the same."

Phil. "You say our position is not the same. Well, consider this. You are next to a rich man at a publicdinner. Something is served to him which you like; would you eat it with him, or go away dinnerless?"

Les. "I should eat it with him, if he did not object."

Stas. "So should I, whether he objected or not. We must have no false shame about eating. It is a matterof life and death. I will make way for a man in the street or the footpath; but when it comes to eating—no; inthese hard times a dinner is not to be despised."

Phil. "My dear Lesbionicus, what are the odds between one man and another? The gods are great and rich,but we mortals—what are we? Just a breath of air; that gone, the rich man and the beggar are just the same. Andnow to show you that we have no feeling of superiority, I ask you to give your sister to my son without adowry. Heaven prosper the match! May I consider it settled? Pray say, 'I promise.' "

Stas. "The other day he was ready enough to say, 'I promise'; now when he ought to, he won't."

Les. "Philto, I am greatly honoured by your high opinion of my family. However, though things have notgone very well with me, I have still a little farm, near the city. That I will give as my sister's dowry."

Phil. "I assure you that I do not want a dowry."

Les. "I am resolved to give it."

Stas. (aside to his master). "What are you doing ? Giving away our only subsistence? How are we to livenow?"

Les. (to the slave). "Hold your tongue! Am I going to give account to you?"

Stas. "We are undone, unless I can contrive to stop it somehow."

He drew Philto aside, and whispered to him, "Let me have a word with you."

Phil. "Speak on."

Stas. "For heaven's sake, never allow that farmto become yours or your son's. When we plough it, the oxen cannot get through five furrows without dying. Thewine gets rotten before it is ripe. Sow corn, and you'll get just a third of it back."

Phil. "Ah! that should be just the place to sow bad habits."

Stas. "Every one to whom that field has belonged has come to a bad end. Some have been banished; othersare dead and gone; some have hanged them-selves. The man to whom it now belongs is utterly ruined."

Phil. "I'll have nothing to do with it."

Stas. "Ah! you would say that if you knew all. Every other row of trees is struck with lightning. Thesows die of suffocation. The sheep get scabby; they are as smooth as my hand. And as for men, the Syrians, who,as you know, are the hardiest labourers there are, can live there only six months. Now don't say that I toldyou, but the fact is that my master wants to get rid of the place."

Phil. "Well, I promise you it shall never be mine."

Stas. (aside). "Ah! I've frightened the old gentleman off. How in the world we should have livedwithout that farm is more than I can say."

Phil. "How about our matter, Lesbionicus?"

Les. "What was that fellow talking to you about?"

Phil. "Oh! it seems he wants to be free, and hasn't got the money."

Les. "Just as I want to be rich, and I haven't got the money. Now, Stasimus, go to Callicles's house,and tell my sister what has been settled."

Stas. "I will go."

Les. "And give her my congratulations."

Stas. "Of course."

Les. "And tell Callicles that I should be glad to see him."

Stas. "Hadn't you better go, sir?"

Les. "To settle about the dowry."

Stas. "Pray go!"

Les. "I have quite made up my mind that she must have a dowry."

Stas. "Now do go!"

Les. "Of course I can't let her be injured—"

Stas. "Pray go!"

Les. "By my carelessness."

Stas. "Pray go!"

Les. "It is only fair that if I have done wrong—"

Stas. "Now do go!"

Les. "I should suffer."

Stas. "Go, go!"

Les. "Father, father, shall I ever see you again?"

Stas. "Go, go, go!"

Les. "Well, I am going. See that you do what I told you."

Stas. "At last I have got rid of him. If I have saved the farm, there is something done, for we have gota good husband for the young mistress. But I don't feel quite easy; and if the farm goes, then it is all overwith my neck. I shall have to carry shield, helmet, and knapsack; for the young master will be off as soon asthe wedding is over. He will go soldiering to some accursed place, and I shall have to go with him. But now formy errand, though I hate the sight of the house, since we have been turned out of it."

Callicles was not a little surprised at the news which Stasimus communicated—Lesbionicus's sister was to bemarried to Philto's son, and without a dowry. He was more than surprised; he was scandalized. The idea wasmonstrous; such a thing could not be permitted. Finally, he made up his mind to ask the advice of Megaronides,his censor, as he called him, and went off for that purpose. "Ah! my friend," said Stasimus, as soon as hisback was turned, "I see what you are after. You mean to turn the poor fellow out of his farm as you did out ofhis house. O my poor master Charmides, what havoc they are making with your property! How I should like to seeyou come back and punish these false friends, and reward your poor, faithful Stasimus!"

The slave's prospects continued to have a gloomy look. A conversation which he overheard betweenhis young master and the son-in-law that was to be did not reassure him. The young spendthrift was determinednot to let his sister go portionless into another family. He roundly accused his friend of unwittingly desiringto do him a great injury. The friend retorted that all the injury that he had suffered had been done byhimself. His father and his grandfather's exertions had laid an honourable career open to him, and by hisidleness and folly he had lost the opportunity.

"I want," said Lysiteles, "to leave you this farm as something to begin with. As an utterly penniless man youwould have no chance of retrieving your position."

Lesbionicus had no hesitation in acknowledging that he had been grievously to blame. "Only," he said, "what youwant to do would send me down from bad to worse. I should be poor, if I do as I propose, but I should not bedishonourable. To let my sister marry without a dowry would be to disgrace her and myself; for you to take herwould, indeed, redound to your credit, but in exactly the same degree it would be discreditable to me."

"Redound to my credit!" cried Lysiteles, "it would do nothing of the kind. I know what you are going to do. Themarriage once celebrated, you mean to fly from your kinsfolk, friends, and country. And what will people say ofme? Why, that my greed had driven you away."

Stasimus could not contain himself at this, so admirable did the argument appear. "Good! good! Lysiteles," hecried, "your play gets the prize."

Les. "What brings you here?"

Stas. "My feet, to be sure, and they are going to take me away. Ah!" he went on, as the two young menwalked away, unable to come to an agreement; "what will become of me? There is nothing left for me but to strapup my knapsack and throw my shield over my shoulders. However keen the fighters I may fall in with, I warrant Ishall be quite as keen—in running away. Fit me out with a bow and arrows in my hand, and a helmet on my head,and I'll be as good as any man, as far as sleeping in my tent is concerned. However, there is that talent thatis owing me. I will go and get it; that will give me something for my journey."

Meanwhile Callicles had asked his friend's advice in the matter of the marriage portion. That the girl shouldgo without a dowry when there was money at hand was impossible, as well as for other reasons. Callicles couldnot pay it out of his own pocket. People would be sure to say that he was giving a part only of what the absentfather had provided. The marriage could not be put off, for the young man might change his mind; and the secretof the treasure could not be revealed, in view of the father's strict injunctions to the contrary. Under thesecirc*mstances the friend's advice wasto this effect: Make every one believe that the girl's father has sent home a messenger with a thousand goldphilips for his daughter's dowry. The money you can supply yourself, repaying it out of the treasure when theproper time comes. The supposed messenger you can find in one of those fellows who are always glad to do anykind of job for a consideration. Dress him up in some outlandish fashion, and tell him to say that he comesfrom Charmides in Seleucia; that the old man is well, and means to return very shortly; meanwhile, he sends hislove and this money. He must have with him two letters, one to his son, one to you. These we shall have to makeup. The letters must desire the gold to be given to you; as a matter of fact, you will pay it over to thehusband when the wedding is over. The son will think it comes from his father; and you can repay yourself outof the treasure when all is quiet. There may be a difficulty about the seal on the letters. The young manprobably knows his father's device, and will wonder that the new documents did not bear it. That, however, mayeasily be accounted for. Charmides might have lost his seal, or the letters might have been opened in thecustom-house.

This plan did not altogether commend itself to Callicles, who did not like the idea of so elaborate a plot.However, he agreed to do his part and proceeded to hire a messenger.

Meanwhile Charmides himself had landed, and was making his way to his home. It so happened, indeed, that he andhis own pretended messenger came at the same time into the street in which his house stood. His attention wasattracted by the man's curious dress, the most conspicuous feature of which was a huge hat resembling amushroom. A closer inspection did not make him like the man's look any more. "That's some swindler orcutpurse," he said to himself. "He's probably examining the house, and means to pay them a visit some night."When the next moment he saw the stranger knock at his own door, it seemed to him high time to interfere. "Ho!young man," he cried, "what do you want? What are you knocking at that door for?"

Messenger. "I want a young man of the name of Lesbionicus, and an old gentleman, Callicles by name, whohas a white head like you."

Charmides (aside). "Why, he is asking after my son, and the friend to whom I entrusted my family and myproperty."

Mes. "Can you tell me where these gentlemen live?"

Char. "You tell me first who you are, what is your family, and where you come from."

Mes. "That is a great number of questions to put all at once. I don't know which to answer first. Putthem quietly one by one, and I'll tell you my name, what I have done, and where I have travelled."

Char. "Very good; begin by telling me your name."

Mes. "You're beginning with something very difficult."

Char. "Why so?"

Mes. "I have so many names that, if you began at dawn, you would not reach the end before midnight."

Char. "Your first name, then?"

Mes. "'Pax.' That is my every-day name."

Char. "Well, what business have you with these people whom you are asking after?"

Mes. "The father of this young friend of mine, Lesbionicus, gave me two letters."

Char. (aside). "Well, I have got him here. He says that I gave him two letters. I'll have a fine gamewith the fellow."

Mes. "The old gentlemen said that I was to hand one of the letters to his son Lesbionicus, and the otherto his friend Callicles."

Char. "Where was he?"

Mes. "He was quite well."

Char. "But where?"

Mes. "In Seleucia."

Char. "Did he give you the letters himself?"

Mes. "Yes, with his own hands."

Char. "What sort of look had he?"

Mes. "Oh, a foot and a half taller than you."

Char. "There's a hitch here—it seems that I am taller there than here. Do you know him?"

Mes. "What a question! Do I know the man that I used to dine with?"

Char. "What was his name?"

Mes. "Name? An honest man's name."

Char. "That makes me want more to hear it."

Mes. "His name was—was—" (Aside) "Here's a piece of bad luck!"

Char. "What is the matter?"

Mes. "I had it on the tip of my tongue."

Char. "You don't seem to know him very well."

Mes. "Not know him! I know him as well as I know myself. But it is always the way—the thing you knowbest you are apt to forget. However, I can make it out letter by letter. I know it begins with a 'C.' "

Char. "Callias?"

Mes. "No."

Char. "Callippus?"

Mes. "No."

Char. "Callidemides?"

Mes. "No."

Char. "Callimenes?"

Mes. "No."

Char. "Callimachus?"

Mes. "It is of no use; and indeed it does not matter in the least."

Char. "Well, there are many men of the name Lesbionicus here, and unless you know the father's name youmay not be able to find the young man. See whether you can guess it."

Mes. "Well, it was something beginning with 'Char.' "

Char. "Chares? or Charides? or was it by any chance Charmides?"

Mes. "Ah! that was it. Confound the fellow!"

Char. "Why confound him?"

Mes. "Because the villain kept giving me the slip."

Char. "How did you come across him?"

Mes. "Oh! in the course of my travels."

Char. "Where did you travel, then?"

Mes. "First I sailed to Arabia in Pontus."

Char. "Oh! Pontus is in Arabia, is it?"

Mes. "I don't mean the place where the frankincense grows, but the wormwood country."

Char. (aside). "This is a pretty kind of liar! But what a fool I am to ask him these questions; still, Iwant to see how he'll get out of it." (To the messenger) "Well, where did you go after Arabia?"

Mes. "Oh! to the river that rises in heaven under the throne of Zeus."

Char. "Under the throne of Zeus?"

Mes. "Just so."

Char. "Rises in heaven, did you say?"

Mes. "Yes, in heaven, in the middle of it."

Char. "So you've been up to heaven?"

Mes. "Just so; we sailed upstream in a skiff."

Char. "And did you see Zeus?"

Mes. "No; the other gods said that he had gone to his country-house to serve out his slaves' rations.But would you point out to me the persons who ought to have the letters?"

Char. "If you were to happen to see this Charmides, do you think you would know him again?"

Mes. "Know him again? Do you take me for a fool not to know the man that I have lived with? And do youthink that he would have trusted me with a quantity of gold—a thousand philips, nothing less—unless we hadknown each other perfectly well?"

Char. "Now, if I could but swindle the swindler! A thousand philips indeed! and I would not trust himwith one brass farthing—no, not if it were a matter of life and death! Come, Pax, a word with you."

Mes. "Three hundred, if you like."

Char. "Have you got that money you talked of?"

Mes. "Yes, of course; a thousand gold pieces."

Char. "And you received it from Charmides himself?"

Mes. "From whom should I receive it? Not from his father or his grandfather, who are dead, I take it."

Char. "Then hand over the gold to me, my young friend."

Mes. "Hand it over to you! Why?"

Char. "Because you said that I gave it you. I am Charmides."

Mes. "You Charmides? Not you!"

Char. "I tell you I am Charmides."

Mes. "It is no good, my friend; you are tooclever. When I mentioned the gold, you made yourself Charmides; now you may unmake yourself."

Char. "But who am I, if I am not Charmides?"

Mes. "What is that to me? You may be anybody but he."

And the man went off to tell his employer the curious adventure he had met with.

Stasimus, who had been trying to drown his cares in drink, now returned, talking to himself about thedegeneracy of the times. For a while Charmides listened to his soliloquy without knowing who he was, but whenthe slave happened to turn his face, he recognized him. "Ho! Stasimus," he cried.—"Order your own servant,"was the answer.—"Well," said Charmides, "you are my servant, for I certainly bought you." The slave, who wasscarcely sober, continued to make impertinent answers, till his master said, "Look at me; I am Charmides."

Stas. "Who spoke of that good man Charmides?"

Char. "The good man himself."

Stas. "Heaven and earth! Is it the man himself, or is it not? It is he; it certainly is! O my dear, dearmaster!"

Char. "Are my children well?"

Stas. "Very well indeed."

Char. "Both of them?"

Stas. "Yes; both of them."

Char. "Well, I have a hundred things to talk about. Come in here" (pointing to his old house).

Stas. "Where are you going?"

Char. "Where should I go?"

Stas. "That's not your house now; your son sold it for two hundred pounds in ready money."

Char. "Good heavens! and who bought it?"

Stas. "Callicles, your fine friend whom you trusted."

Char. "And where does my son live?"

Stas. "In the little place at the back."

Char. "To think of this, after all I have done for him! It kills me. Hold me up, Stasimus."

It was not difficult, however, to console the old man. Callicles, who was actually digging up the treasure atthe time, came running out in the street, just as he was, on hearing his friend's voice, and explained what hadhappened. While he was talking Lysiteles appeared, and after listening a while to the conversation of the twofriends, introduced himself, was warmly greeted, and had his betrothal confirmed by the father of the ladyhimself. Only he was given to understand he must be content to take the dowry as well as the girl. To this hecould make no objection; and, the engagement ratified, he proceeded to ask a favour on his own account. WouldCharmides forgive his spendthrift son? The old man hesitated a moment. "I hardly think it right," he said, "andyet I should not like to refuse your first request. Let it be as you wish." Lesbionicus, accordingly, wassummoned, and greetedhis father with no little confusion of face. "Father," he began, "if you have suffered—" he stammered out.—"Oh! it has been nothing," said the old man, "if you would only turn over a new leaf." Lesbionicus was profusein his promises of amendment. "Then," said his father, "suppose you marry the daughter of our friend Callicleshere."

Les. "Certainly, my dear father, her and any one else you please to mention."

Char. "No, no. I was angry with you, and not without good reason; but, after all, one plague is enough,even for you."

Les. "I am going to reform."

Char. "So you say; let us hope you will do it."

Lys. "Is there any reason why I should not be married to-morrow?"

Char. "None whatever; and you, my son, be ready to be married the day after."

[From PHILEMON. Translated by PLAUTUS.]

Philolaches, a young Athenian gentleman, had been left by his father, during the latter's absence on mercantilebusiness in Egypt, with considerably more liberty than was good for him. The business had kept the old man awayfor as much as three years, and during that time the son had run through no small amount of money, and hadcommitted a variety of follies. His adviser and abettor in these had been a certain slave, Tranio by name.

One evening he was about to sit down to dinner, when a friend, Callidamates by name, came in with somecompanions. The new arrival had already been drinking deeply at another entertainment, but growing weary of hishost, had thought fit to change the scene. "Philolaches," he said, "is always the best of fellows and thepleasantest of hosts. I will go and see him." It was no easy task for his friends to pilot him through thestreets, for more than once he manifested a decided inclination to lie down. When at last he arrived, he coulddo nothing but go to sleep. A few minutes after, the slave Traniocame bustling in with some very alarming news. He had been sent by his master down to the harbour, withinstructions to buy some fish. When the young man saw him, he only supposed that the errand had beenaccomplished. "Ah!" he said, "Tranio at last! Now we shall be able to dine."—"Philolaches!" cried the man,breathlessly, for he had been running as fast as he could.

Philolaches. "Well, what is it?"

Tranio. "You and I—"

Phil. "What about you and me?"

Tra. "Are undone."

Phil. "What do you mean?"

Tra. "Your father has come back."

Phil. "Where is he?"

Tra. "At the harbour."

Phil. "Who saw him?"

Tra. "I did, with my own eyes."

Phil. "Well, if that's true, it is all over with me."

Tra. "True! of course it is true. What should I tell a lie for?"

Phil. "But what am I to do?"

Tra. "Get rid of your company here in the first place. Who is that asleep on the couch there?"

Phil. "That is Callidamates. Wake him," he went on, speaking to another of the guests.

Guest. "Callidamates, Callidamates, wake up!"

Callidamates. "I am awake. Give me something to drink."

Guest. "Wake up, I say. Philolaches's father has come back from abroad."

Cal. "Bother his father!"

Phil. "For goodness' sake, wake up! My father has come."

Cal. "Your father has come? Then make him go away again; what business has he to come bothering here?"

Phil. "What can I do? My father will be here directly and find pretty goings on. It's a bad business. Ican't think what is to be done. It is like beginning to dig a well when one is dying of thirst. And see, thatfellow there has dropped asleep again. Wake! I say. Don't you know that my father will be here in a minute?"

Cal. "Your father, do you say? Give me my shoes and my sword; I'll kill your father."

Tranio now rose to the occasion. He bade his master cheer up. He would keep, he said, the old man from cominginto the house. The guests need not go; they might continue to enjoy themselves; only the house must he shutup; there must be no noise, and if there was a knocking at the door, there must be no attempt to reply. To makeassurance doubly sure, he would take the precaution of locking the door from the outside. These arrangementshad scarcely been made, when the father, whose name was Theopropides, arrived, followed by his slaves. Reachinghis house, he stood awhile toreturn thanks to Poseidon for having allowed him to come back safe. "But," he went on, "I don't trust youagain. If I do, I give you leave to do what you please."

Tra. (aside). "Poseidon, you made a great mistake when you allowed this fellow to come back."

Theopropides. "Three years have I been away in Egypt, and my household, I hope, will be glad to see meback again. But what is the meaning of this? The door shut in the daytime! Ho, there, open the door!"(Knocks.)

At this point Tranio came up, and was recognized by his master. After mutual greetings, the old man expressedhis astonishment that he could not get any one to open the door, or even to make any answer. He had alreadyalmost broken in the door. Wasn't there any one at home?"

Tra. "Have you really touched the house?"

Theo. "Why shouldn't I touch it? Touched it indeed! I have pretty nearly broken the doors in."

Tra. "You have actually touched it?"

Theo. "Yes; touched it and kicked it."

Tra. "That's a bad business."

Theo. "What is the matter?"

Tra. "I can't say what a terrible thing you have done."

Theo. "What?"

Tra. "For heaven's sake, come away, come nearer to me. Did you really touch the door?"

Theo. "Touched it? I tell you I kicked it."

Tra. "Then you have utterly ruined you and yours. But tell those men to go away, and I'll explain. Forseven months past, ever since we left it, no one has set foot inside that house."

Theo. "But why?"

Tra. "Listen. But first, can any one hear me?"

Theo. "No, no. It's all safe."

Tra. "Look again."

Theo. "There is no one; go on."

Tra. "A frightful murder was once done in that house. The crime was committed many years ago, and hadbeen forgotten. We only lately came to know of it."

Theo. "What was it? Who did it?"

Tra. "In that house a host murdered his guest,—I fancy it was the man who sold the house to you,—possessed himself of his victim's money, and buried the body somewhere in the house."

Theo. "What makes you suspect that such a thing happened?"

Tra. "I'll tell you: listen. One night your son came home after dining out. He went to bed, and so didwe all. It so happened that I had forgotten to put out one of the lamps. All of a sudden he cried out—"

Theo. "Who cried out, my son?"

Tra. "Hush! don't say a word. He said that the dead man had appeared to him in his sleep."

Theo. "In his sleep, you say?"

Tra. "Certainly. How could he have appeared to him when he was awake, seeing that it was sixty yearssince the man was killed? You are sometimes extraordinarily stupid, my master."

Theo. "I say no more."

Tra. "What the dead man said to him was this: 'I am a stranger from over the sea, Diapontius by name. Idwell here. The regions below would not receive me because I was slain before my time. I was treacherouslymurdered by my host in this house, and within these walls. I was thrust into the earth without due burialrites. All this the villain did for the sake of gain. Depart thou hence. This is a wicked house; it is under acurse.' This is what the ghost said. As for the horrible things that happen here, it would take me a year andmore to tell them. Hush!"

At this point a noise was heard from within. The party had forgotten their situation, and were becominguproarious.

Theo. "Good heavens! What is it?"

Tra. (speaking to the ghost). "It was he that knocked, not I."

Theo. "Oh, dear! the dead man will carry me off alive!"

Tra. (aside). "These fellows will spoil the whole business with their noise."

Theo. "What are you talking to yourself about?"

Tra. "Come away from the door, I implore you. Come to me. I am not afraid. I am on good terms with thedead."

A voice from within cried, "Tranio!"

"Don't call me," said the slave. "I tell you it wasn't I that knocked; it was my master."

Theo. "Whom are you talking to?"

Tra. "Was it you that called? On my word, I thought it was the dead man remonstrating with me because Ihad knocked at the door. But come away. Cover your head and fly."

Theo. "Why don't you fly?"

Tra. "I am on good terms with the dead."

Theo. "I thought you seemed very frightened."

Tra. "Never mind about me; I can take care of myself."

A new danger now presented itself. A money-lender, who had supplied the young Philolaches with a considerablesum, appeared on the scene, and loudly complained, after the habit of his kind, of the very unlucky year he hadhad. He loudly demanded his money, while Tranio vainly endeavoured to get rid of him. If he would come back alittle later he should have it without fail. The money-lender, however, preferred to stay. He had been put offseveral times before, and would wait no longer. Meanwhile Theopropides returned. He had been to see the personof whom he had bought the house, and had told him the whole story. He had beenmet with a flat contradiction, and he now returned to make further inquiries. The clamour made by themoney-lender attracted the attention of Theopropides. "Who is this fellow," he said, "that is making all thisuproar? He seems to have some complaint against my son."

Tra. "Oh, throw the money in his face, the horrid wretch!"

Money-Lender. "Throw away; I don't object to being pelted with silver."

Tra. "Do you hear what he says? A regular usurer all over."

Theo. "I don't care who he is, or what he is. I want to know about this money."

Tra. "Well, if you must know, your son Philolaches owes him something."

Theo. "How much?"

Tra. "One hundred and sixty pounds, or there-abouts. You don't think that very much."

Theo. "A mere trifle, of course."

Tra. "Then there is a little matter of interest, say ten pounds, or thereabouts. Say that you will payhim, and send him off.

Theo. "I am to say that I will pay him?"

Tra. "Yes, you. But listen. It is all right. Say you will."

Theo. "Tell me this—what has been done with the money?"

Tra. "It's all safe."

Theo. "If it's safe, why don't you pay for it yourselves?"

Tra. "The fact is, your son bought a house."

Theo. "A house ?"

Tra. "Yes, a house."

Theo. "Good, good! He is a chip of the old block; he has an eye to business. You say a house?"

Tra. "Yes, a house; but what kind of a house, do you think?"

Theo. "How can I tell?"

Tra. "Where?"

Theo. "What do you mean?"

Tra. "Don't ask me."

Theo. "Why?"

Tra. "I tell you it's a perfect picture."

Theo. "Well done; but what does he give for it?"

Tra. "Four hundred and eighty pounds, and has paid the hundred by way of deposit. You see, when he foundout how it was with the other house, he bought a new one for himself."

Theopropides was so pleased with his son's smartness that he made no difficulty about promising themoney-lender that he would pay the debt. "And now," he said, turning to Tranio, "tell me where the house is."The question perplexed Tranio. "A lie," he said to himself, "is best served up hot, I have heard. I must saythe first thing that comes uppermost." (To Theopropides) "It was our next door neighbour's housethat he bought."

Theo. "Really?"

Tra. "Yes, really, if you are going to pay the money; but not really, if you don't."

Theo. "Well, I should like to see it."

Tra. (to himself). "Here is another trouble. I'm no sooner off one shoal than I am on to another."

Theo. "What are you stopping for? Call some one."

Tra. "But, sir, there are ladies there; and we ought to find out whether they are willing to have thehouse seen."

Theo. "Very good; go and inquire. I will wait for you here."

Tra. "Confound the old man! how he ruins all my little schemes. But here comes our neighbour Siniohimself. Sinio, my master is very anxious to see your house."

Sinio. "But it is not for sale."

Tra. "I am quite aware of that; but the old man wants to build apartments for the women, with a bath anda colonnade."

Sin. "What is he dreaming about?"

Tra. "You see he wants his son to marry as soon as may be. So he is anxious to build a new women'sapartment. He has heard an architect say that your house is astonishingly well built, and he wants to make hison the same pattern. It is a capital place in summer, he hears."

Sin. "Oh, indeed! I know the sun is like adun; we never get rid of him. As for shade, there is none, except you get into the well. However, if he wantsto see the house, he is quite welcome, and to copy it, too, if he pleases."

Tranio now went to fetch his master, who had been waiting impatiently for him. The vendor, he explained, hadbeen busy, and he had to wait till he was at leisure. "There he is," he went on, "standing at his door andwaiting for us. See how sad he is about having sold his house. He begged me to persuade your son to give up thebargain."—"Give up the bargain!" said Theopropides. "No, no; every man for himself. If he made a bad bargain,we are not going to give it up. If one gets a little bit of advantage, one must keep it."

Sinio received his visitor very politely, begging him to walk over the house as if it were his own. "As if,"said Theopropides, half aloud.

"Don't, don't!" interrupted Tranio;" say nothing about having bought the house. Don't you see how gloomy helooks?"

As a matter of fact, Sinio's gloom had been caused by a naturally bad temper and a quarrel with his wife.

Theopropides now went over the house, criticising this and that detail, but admiring it on the whole, whileTranio pointed out its beauties, and felt not a little relief when the owner, pleading business elsewhere, leftthe two to inspect the remainder of thehouse by themselves. The result of this inspection was a thorough satisfaction on the old man's part with thebargain that his son had made. "I would not take fifteen hundred pounds for the place, money down," he said,when he had finished his survey. Tranio promptly claimed credit for his share in the transaction. "I advisedit," he said; "I made him borrow the money for the deposit." Theopropides declared his intention of concludingthe business the next day by paying up the balance that remained to be paid, and directed Tranio to announcehis arrival to his son, who, he had been given to understand, was at his farm outside the city.

A slave of Callidamates now made his appearance. He had come to fetch his master, who would probably be unableby that time to make his way home alone. Theopropides, who was surveying his new possession, as he supposed itto be, from the outside, seeing him knock at the door, and hearing him call for Tranio, asked him his business.

Slave. "I have come to fetch Callidamates."

Theo. "But why knock at that door?"

Slave. "Because my master is drinking inside."

Theo. "Nonsense, young man. No one lives here."

Slave. "Doesn't Philolaches live here?"

Theo. "He used to live here, but he has moved."

Slave. "You are very much mistaken, my dear sir; unless he moved yesterday or to-day, he certainly lives here. The fact is, that since his father went abroad, he has been keeping it up here with hisjolly companions."

Theo. "Who has been keeping it up, do you say?"

Slave. "Philolaches."

Theo. "What Philolaches?"

Slave. "Why, the Philolaches whose father is named Theopropides."

Theo. "You say Philolaches has been in the habit of drinking here with your master?"

Slave. "Just so."

Theo. "And you are sure that you haven't come to the wrong house?"

Slave. "I know what I am about. This is the house, and Philolaches is the young gentleman's name. He hasbeen borrowing lately—"

Theo. "Borrowing what?"

Slave. "A hundred and sixty pounds."

Theo. "And you say that he has been keeping it up with your master?"

Slave. "Just so."

Theo. "Didn't he buy this next house?"

Slave. "I never heard of it."

Sinio, who had finished his business, now came back, and Theopropides questioned him about the house. "Youreceived," he said, "a hundred and sixty pounds from my son Philolaches."—"Never a shilling," Sinioreplied.—"Well, from Tranio the slave."—"No, nor from him." A few more questions sufficed to show the old man that the whole story was a fiction from beginning to end. "Well," saidhe to his neighbour, "lend me two stout slaves and a whip or two; that is all you can do for me, for I havebeen most abominably cheated."

Tranio had succeeded in clearing his master's house of its inconvenient inmates, and was meditating what wasbest to be done, when he saw his master approach. A brief conversation followed, and Tranio soon understoodthat his game was up. The slaves were not to be seen, for Theopropides had told them to keep in the backgroundtill he should call them, but the culprit was perfectly well aware that a very severe punishment awaited him.His only resource was to flee for protection to the family altar. This he at once did, and no persuasions couldinduce him to leave it.

Affairs were in this situation when Callidamates, who had by this time slept off his drunkenness, appeared uponthe scene. Tranio, impudent to the last, bantered his master on having been cheated so grossly. "A man withwhite hair ought," he said, "to have known better. If you have a friend among the comedians, you could not dobetter than tell him the story of how a slave has taken you in." Callidamates here intervened. "You must knowthat I am your son's closest friend. After what has happened he is ashamed to show himself. Pray pardon hisyouthful folly. Young men will do such things,and I am just as much in fault as he is. As for the money, I will pay it, capital and interest, out of my ownpocket."

"Very good," said Theopropides; "as you are so liberal, I will forgive him. But as to that scoundrel there, Iwill be the death of him."

"No, no, replied Callidamates; "pardon him, for my sake."

"Pardon him!" cried the old man, "a likely thing indeed!"

"You may as well," said Tranio, from his place of refuge. "You won't lose anything by it. You may be certainthat I shall do something as bad to-morrow, and then you can punish me to your heart's content."

Theo. "Well, well; I'll excuse you this once, but you have to thank my friend Callidamates for yourescape."

[From DIPHILUS. Translated by PLAUTUS.]

"That was a terrible storm we had last night, my man," said Dæmones to his slave Sceparnio.

"True, master," replied Sceparnio; "I never knew a worse. It has made more windows in the poor old cottage thanthe builder ever meant there to be."

"Yes, indeed," Dæmones went on. "And look at the roof! It has as many holes in it as a sieve."

Dæmones was a worthy Athenian who, though he had not a single vice, had contrived to ruin himself aseffectually as if he had been the veriest spend-thrift in the city. Nobody was more generous, and nobody moreunlucky. At last things came to such a pass that he was obliged to leave Athens, and settle down, with the fewpounds that he had been able to save out of the wreck, on a little farm which a kinsman had left him nearCyrene. He was now ruefully contemplating the damage which had been done to the old farmhouse by the wind.Looking round he saw a handsomely dressed young man, whohad come up unobserved. His name was Plesidippus, and he lived at Cyrene.

"Good morning, father," said the stranger respectfully.—"Father!" muttered the old man to himself. It was acommon mode of address from the young to their elders, but poor Dæmones could never hear it without emotion. Itreminded him of what had been a far greater trouble than the loss of his fortune. He had been robbed yearsbefore of his only child, a sweet little girl of three years or so. She had wandered out alone one morning,while her maid was busy with some work, and had never been heard of again.

"Good morning, my son," he replied, recovering himself. "What can I do for you?"

Plesidippus. "Have you seen a slave dealer, an old rascal with curly white hair?"

Dæmones. "Old rascals I have seen in plenty, or else I should not be here."

Ples. "He had two girls with him, and he was going to sacrifice in the temple of Aphrodite here. It wasto have been to-day, or possibly it was yesterday, though I think not."

Dæm. "There has been no one here on that errand; I am sure. The fact is, that no one comes to sacrificewithout my knowing it. They are always wanting water, or fire, or dishes, or knives, or something. My thingsbelong much more to the goddess than to me. No, my young friend, you may besure that no one has been here for several days past."

Ples. "Dear me! This is a bad business."

Dæm. "He asked you to dine with him after the sacrifice?"

Ples. "He did."

Dæm. "And hasn't come?"

Ples. "Exactly; but there is more than that. He has cheated me most shamefully."

Dæm. "Stop! I see two men over there, by the sea; possibly your friend may be one of them."

Ples. "Where? where?"

Dæm. "There; to the right."

Ples. "I see; I hope it is the scoundrel."

And the young man set off, running as fast as he could.He had hardly been gone a minute, when Dæmones's slave, Sceparnio, who had been standing by, listening to theconversation, cried out, "Look, master!"

"What is it?" said Dæmones.

Sceparnio. "The boat! the boat! to the left there."

Dæm. "It is too far, I can't see anything."

Scep. "There are two women in it by themselves, poor things. Good heavens! how the sea is knocking themabout! Ah! they're on the rock. No; the wave carried them clear—a pilot couldn't have done it more cleverly.But what an awful sea! I have never seen anything so bad in my life. Ah!

there's one of them tossed right out of the boat! She is lost! No, she's not! she's in shallow water, and hasgot upon her feet. Capital! And now the other has jumped on shore; silly thing, she does not see her friend,and is going the wrong way."

Dæm. "Well, my man, now that you have seen them safe on shore, perhaps you wouldn't mind going on withyour work; you are my servant, not theirs. Come with me."

Scep. "Very good, master, I am coming."

And the two went off to fetch what was wanted for repairing the house.While they were thus employed, one of the two shipwrecked girls came along. She was in a terrible state ofdistress, poor creature, for she had lost everything she had in the world except what she stood up in, and shebelieved that her friend had been drowned.

"Dear! dear!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Why am I so dreadfully unlucky? I am sure that I have alwaystried to be a good girl. I loved my dear father while I had one, and I used to go regularly to the temples; andyet, if I had been the wickedest girl in the world, I could not have been worse off. No food, no shelter,nothing left but what I have on; and my dear Ampelisca drowned! I could have borne it if she had been with me."

And she sat down and cried as if her heart would break. So overwhelmed was she with distress thatshe never caught sight of the cottage or the temple, but fancied that she had been thrown ashore at someuninhabited place.

Things, however, were not as bad as she feared. Ampelisca had not been drowned, and, though she had missed herfriend on first getting to land, had afterwards wandered along the shore in the same direction, looking forher, and very unhappy because she could not find her.

"I am sure I don't want to live if everything is going to be wretched," she said to herself. "My darlingPalæstra is lost, and there is nobody to ask whether they have seen her. I shouldn't have thought that therewas such a lonely place in all the world as this seems to be."

She said this out loud, almost without knowing it, and Palæstra, who was not far off, caught the sound. "Isthat some one speaking?" she said.

Ampelisca heard her, and cried, "Who's there?"

"It sounds like a woman's voice," said Palæstra.

"It must be a woman," answered the other.

"Is it you, Ampelisca?"

"Is it you, Palæstra?"

There was a sort of thicket between them, and the girls did not find it easy to get through it. At last theymanaged it, and rushed into each other's arms, and kissed each other.

"Now, Palæstra dear, what are we to do?" said Ampelisca. Palæstra always took the lead.

"Walk along the shore," answered Palæstra; "we must come to some place sooner or later."

Amp. "What! with these dripping clothes?"

Pal. "There is no help for it."

Amp. "Stay! stay! don't you see the temple there?"

Pal. "Where?"

Amp. "To the right; and a very pretty temple it seems."

Pal. "Well, if there is a temple, there must be people about. Let us go there."

So the girls went and fell on their knees in the porch, and prayed: "Dear god or goddess, whoever thou art,hear us, and help two unhappy women."

The priestess, who was sitting inside, heard them and came out.

"Good morning, mother," said the girls.

"Good morning, my children," answered the priestess. "But how is it you come in such a sorry plight? We expectour visitors to be dressed in white, and to bring offerings with them."

"Yes, dear mother; but then we have been ship-wrecked, and had nothing to bring, and nothing to wear but whatyou see. Do help us, pray, and give us something to eat."

"So I will, poor creatures," said the priestess, making them get up from their knees. "We are very poor here,you must know," she went on; "I serve Aphrodite, but I get nothing for it: I have to keep myself."

"What!" said Ampelisca; "is this a temple of Aphrodite?"

"Just so, and I am the priestess. But come along, and I will do the best I can for you."

Just as the three women disappeared into the temple, Plesidippus's servant, Trachalio, came running along thebeach, looking for his master, who had said he should be at the temple at noon. It was now past noon, but hewas not there. Some fishermen, slaves of Dæmones, were just getting their nets ready, and Trachalio spoke tothem. "Have you seen my master," he asked, "a fine, bold young fellow, with a fresh-coloured face?"

"No," said one of the men, "no one of the kind."

"Well, have you seen an old wretch with a huge stomach and arched eyebrows, for all the world like a satyr, whohad two rather pretty girls with him?"

"No," replied the fishermen, "we haven't seen either your good-looking young man, or your ill-looking old one."

"Well," said Trachalio to himself, "I will go and inquire at the temple."

Just at that moment Ampelisca was coming out with a water-can in her hand. She was going to fill it at thecottage.

"Good heavens!" cried Trachalio, "why, it is Ampelisca herself!"

"Why, it is Trachalio, Plesidippus's valet," said the girl, equally surprised.

"How are you getting on, my dear Ampelisca?"

Amp. "Only poorly. But where's your master?"

Trachalio. "What a question! Of course he is inside there."

Amp. "Inside! I have never seen him."

Trach. "I suppose the dinner is about ready?"

Amp. "What dinner?"

Trach. "Why, the sacrifice dinner, to which your master Labrax invited my master."

Amp. "I see, I see! He has cheated the man, and he has cheated the god. There is no sacrifice, and nodinner. Just like him!"

Trach. "Explain, explain!"

Amp. "Listen, then. After he had made the appointment with your master to meet him here, old Labrax tookPalæstra and me, and every stick of property he had, and set sail for Sicily. He was going to sell us there."

Trach. "The scoundrel!"

Amp. "Well, the ship was wrecked, and everything went to the bottom."

Trach. "Good Poseidon! But what became of Labrax?"

Amp. "He died of drinking—salt water."

Trach. "Aha! very good. Poseidon sconced him to some purpose. But you—how did you escape?"

Amp. "Why, we jumped into a boat when we saw that the ship was drifting on to the rocks, and after beingterribly knocked about, got to land more dead than alive."

Trach. "Just so, my dear. That's Poseidon's way. He's very particular. Give him a bad piece of goods,and he's sure to throw it up."

Amp. "You're an impudent rascal!"

Trach. "And so Labrax tried to carry you off. Well, it is exactly what I knew he would do. After thisI'll let my hair grow, and set up for a prophet."

Amp. "But if you knew it, my friend, why didn't you take care, your master and you, that he did not runoff?"

Trach. "But how?"

Amp. "Ask how, and he a lover? Why, watch the girl night and day. Fine care he has taken of her,indeed!"

Trach. "Well, well; this watching is not so easy as you think. You see, the thief knows the honest man,but the honest man doesn't know the thief. But where is Palæstra? I should like to see her."

Amp. "You will find her in the temple. She is crying, poor thing."

Trach. "But why?"

Amp. "Because she has lost the casket that had her tokens in it. I mean the tokens by which her parentswere to recognise her. You know she was free-born. She had put the casket into a little trunk, and now it hasgone to the bottom."

Trach. "I dare say some one has dived down and recovered it. Anyhow, I will go in and try to cheer herup."

Amp. "Very good; and I will go and fetch the water. What a good, kind creature the priestess is! If wehad been her own daughters, she could not have treated us better."

While she went on her errand, who should appear on the scene but Labrax himself. The old villain had not beendrowned after all. As may be supposed, he was in a towering rage.

"Well," he said, stamping his foot on the ground, "if a man wants to be a beggar, let him venture on the sea.This is the sort of plight that he comes home in! But where is the old fool who let me in for all this? Ah! Isee him."

The "old fool's" name was Charmides. He was in Labrax's employment, and it was he who had advised the voyage toSicily.

"What are you in this deadly hurry about?" cried Charmides, who was an old man, when, with much panting andpuffing, he came up with his employer.

Labrax turned upon him sharply.

"Oh, it's you, Charmides, is it? I wish you had been crucified in your dear Sicily before ever I set eyes onyou."

Charmides. "And I wish I had lodged in a jail rather than with you."

Labrax. "What in the world possessed me to listen to you? It has ended in my losing every farthing Ihad."

Char.. "No wonder: ill got, soon gone."

Labr. "Yes; and you told me that I should make my fortune in a trice in that precious island of yours.

Char.. "And you thought, I suppose, that you were going to swallow the place whole."

Labr. "I tell you what, Charmides, some whale has swallowed the trunk in which I had packed all my goldand silver."

Char.. "The very same, I fancy, Labrax, that has gobbled down my little pouch full of coin."

Labr. "And the end of it is that I am reduced to this tunic and cloak."

Char.. "Well, we can go into partnership, for my capital is just the same as yours."

Labr. "If only the two girls had been saved, I should not have minded. But now—and there's Plesidippus,who paid me a deposit for Palæstra: if he catches sight of me, there will be a pretty piece of business."

The truth was that Plesidippus had caught sight of the girl as she was going back to her master's house from amusic lesson, and had fallen in love with her. Somehow he contrived to get a few words with her, and findingthat she was free-born, had arranged to buy her and make her his wife. Part of the purchase-money he paid down,but he had to wait till the rest was remitted to him from Athens. Meanwhile, the old villain, Labrax, had takenup the idea of making off from Cyrene and going toSicily, where he would get a high price for his slaves, and put Plesidippus's deposit into his pocket besides.The very day the purchase was to be completed, he had set sail, having fooled the young man by making anappointment at the temple.

Labrax, of course, had no idea that what he said about the two girls being saved could possibly be true. He wassitting very disconsolately on the ground, when he overheard the slave of Dæmones talking to himself. The manhad been so charmed with Ampelisca, who was a very pretty and lively girl, that he had drawn the water whichshe had come to fetch, and had carried it for her into the temple. What he saw there so astonished him that hecould not help talking about it when he came out.

"I never saw such a thing in my life," he said. "Two girls sitting with their arms round the statue of thegoddess, as if they were afraid of being dragged away."

Labrax pricked up his ears. "What do you say, young man?" he asked. "Two girls! Where?"

"In the temple, to be sure," said the man.

"Charmides," cried Labrax, "they must be mine. I will go in and see."

Just as he went in, Dæmones came out of his cottage, talking to himself.

"What fools the gods make of us. Even at night they don't let us sleep in peace. Last night I hadthe strangest dream. I thought I saw an ape trying to climb up to a swallow's nest. The beast could not manageit, so he came and asked me to lend him a ladder. I said 'No; I am an Athenian, and the swallows are mykinsfolk; for the first swallow was an Athenian princess. I can't have you hurt them.' The ape was furious, andthreatened me with all sorts of trouble. Thereupon I got angry, caught the beast round the middle, and shut himup in a prison. Now what in the world can be the meaning of such a dream as that? But, hark! What's all thisuproar in the temple?"

Almost as he spoke, the slave Trachalio rushed out of the temple door, shouting, "Help, help, everybody! Don'tallow such abominable things to be done! They are carrying off some poor creatures who have taken sanctuary.Make an example of the scoundrels! Help, help!"

"What in the world is the matter with you?" said Dæmones.

Trach. "I beseech you, old man, by your knees, whoever you are—"

Dæm. "Never mind about my knees. Tell me what you are making all this noise about."

Trach. "I beseech you, as you hope for a good crop of garlic—"

Dæm. "Is the fellow mad?"

Trach. "I beseech you, as you would have your assafœtida—"

Dæm. "I beseech you, as you would not have a good crop of birch twigs about your legs, to tell why youare making all this uproar."

Trach. "Well, sir, there are two poor girls in the temple here, who want your help; and the priestess,too, is being shamefully knocked about."

Dæm. "Knocked about! The priestess! Who could have dared? Who is the man, and who are the girls?"

Trach. "The man is a slave-dealer; the girls, both of them by rights free, had their arms round thegoddess; he tried to drag them away, and when the priestess wanted to stop him he nearly strangled her."

Dæm. "Strangle the priestess! I'll strangle him. Ho, there!"

Two stout fellows came hurrying out at the call.

"Quick!" said the old man; "quick, into the temple with you! There is a fellow there who has hold of two girls.Drag him out by the heels like a dead pig."

While this was going on the girls had wrenched themselves from the hands of the slave-dealer, and came rushingout of the temple by another door into the court outside. Dæmones had followed his men, and was inside.

"We'll kill ourselves sooner than be carried off," cried both the girls.

"Don't talk nonsense about killing yourselves,"said Trachalio. "I'll see that you come to no harm. Go and sit on the altar there."

"The altar!" said Palæstra. "How will the altar help us any more than the image?"

"Never you mind; sit you down. I will take care of you."

The girls did as they were told, and began to sing:—

When they had finished, Dæmones, with his men, came pushing Labrax out of the temple. "Out with you, youscoundrel!" he cried.

"You shall suffer for this," said the slave-dealer, as soon as he could get his breath.

Dæm. "What! You threaten me?"

Labr. "Yes, I do. Those two girls are my slaves, and I'm not going to be robbed of them for nothing."

"Slaves!" cried Trachalio, interrupting. "Your slaves! Touch one of them with your little finger and you'llsee."

Labr. "See what?"

Trach. "Why, see that I'll beat you into a jelly."

"I'm not going to talk to this gallows'-bird of a slave," said Labrax, turning to Dæmones. "I tell you, thesegirls are my slaves."

"And I tell you," cried Trachalio, "that they are your betters, real Greek girls, none of your colonists. Oneof them, I know, was born at Athens."

"What do you say?" said Dæmones, more interested than ever, when he heard Athens mentioned.

"I say that this one here," and he pointed to Palæstra, "was born at Athens of free parents."

Dæm. "What? A countrywoman of mine?"

Trach. "Why, I thought you were a Cyrenean."

Dæm. "No, no. I was born and brought up at Athens."

Trach. "Well, then you are bound to help your countrywoman."

Dæm. "Yes, yes. How the girl reminds me of my dear little daughter: she was three when I lost her, andsite would be just of this girl's age if she were alive."

"This is all nonsense," said the slave-dealer. "I bought these girls with my own money, and I don't care abrass farthing whether they were born at Athens or at Thebes."

A long dispute followed, things being brought to a point by Labrax declaring that if he could not drag thegirls from the altar, he should burn them out. This was more than Trachalio could stand. "Look after them," hesaid to Dæmones, "and I will run and tell my master."

"Run," replied the old man; "they shall not come to any harm."

When the slave was gone the dispute waxed fierce again, Labrax declaring that he would carry off his ownproperty in spite of all the gods of Olympus, and Dæmones bidding him lay a finger on either of them at hisperil. It ended by the old man going away, and leaving the two slaves in charge. "Stand here," he said; "ifthat fellow touches either of the girls, or if he offers to go away himself, then use your sticks to him. Stoptill Trachalio and his master, Plesidippus, come back; then you can go home." They had not to stop long. Thetwo came hurrying back, talking as they went. "What!" he cried; "did the scoundrel try to drag my dear Palæstrafrom the altar? Why did you not kill him at once?"

Trach. "I did not happen to have a sword handy."

Ples. "Why not with a club or a stone?"

Trach. "They would hardly have served."

Labrax recognized his voice. "Good heavens!" he cried, "here is Plesidippus! It's all over with me!"

The next moment the young man rushed into the court.

"Good morning," said Labrax, as coolly as he could.

"Bother your good morning! You have got to have a rope round your neck and go before a magistrate."

Labr. "But what have I done?"

Ples. "What have you done? Why, you took a deposit for Palæstra, and then ran off with her."

Labr. "I didn't run off. I wish I had" (aside). "Didn't I agree to meet you here? and here I am.

Ples. "Hold your tongue, you villain! Here you go!"

And in a trice he had a rope round the fellow's neck, and dragged him off, in spite of his protests andappeals, to which, indeed, no one, not even his friend Charmides, would listen for a moment. As soon as he wasgone the two girls, and the slaves who had been set to keep guard over them, went into the cottage.

Meanwhile, one of the fishermen to whom Trachalio had spoken, Gripus by name, had drawn up something in his netthat promised to be much more valuable than fish—a little travelling trunk, which was so heavy that he feltsure it must have something inside it.

"It must be gold," he said to himself, as he walked along the shore, dragging his new treasure after him by arope. "Gripus, you have got your chance at last, and you must not lose it. First, I must buy my freedom; Ishall have to be careful how I manage that. Of course the old man must know nothing about this, or else he willrun up the price. Well, suppose that is done, and I amfree. First, I shall buy an estate. Then I shall make a great fortune in trade. When I am rich I shall build atown all for myself. Gripus I shall call it, and be the first king myself. Yes, Gripus, a king—nothing less;but just now I wish that I had something better for breakfast than bread with a dash of salt, and a draught ofmaster's very small beer."

He had got so far in his day-dreaming, when he heard some one calling out, "Ho! stop there!" "Stop!" he cried,"why should I stop?"

The new-corner was Trachalio, who recognized the trunk as that which Palæstra had lost.

Trach. "I should like to help you with the rope. It's always a pleasure to help a good fellow."

Gripus. "Do you know you are very tiresome?"

Trach. "That may be; meanwhile you are not going away."

Grip. "But why not?"

Trach. "Because I am going to keep you. Now listen. I saw a man steal something. I know whom he stole itfrom. I go to him and say: 'Give me half and I'll say nothing about it.' Don't you think that I ought to haveit?"

Grip. "Yes, indeed; and more. If he won't pay, tell his master."

Trach. "Very good; I quite agree. Now listen. You are the man."

Grip. "I?"

Trach. "Yes, you. I know the person to whom that trunk belongs. I know how it was lost."

Grip. "Well, I know how it was found; I know to whom it belongs now. Don't think for one moment that anyone will get it."

Trach. "What! Not its owner?"

Grip. "It has got no owner but me, for I caught it."

Trach. "Caught it?"

Grip. "Yes; just as I catch the fishes. When I have caught them they are mine. No one claims them. Isell them as my own in the market."

After a long argument, at the end of which they were no nearer agreeing than at the beginning, Trachalio caughthold of the other end of the rope, and there was very nearly a fight. At last the two slaves agreed to referthe matter to the arbitration of Dæmones.

Just as they reached the cottage the old man came out, and they put the case before him. When Gripus had hadhis say, claiming the trunk because he had fished it out of the sea, Trachalio began:—

"The trunk is not mine. I don't claim it, no; nor any part of it. But it has got in it the girl's casket—her,I mean, who I said was free-born."

"What!" cried Dæmones, "do you mean my countrywoman?"

Trach. "The very same. She had her old toys in a casket that was in the trunk. They can be of nouse to this man, and she can't find her father and mother without them."

Dæm. "He shall give them up."

"Give them up?" said Gripus, "I shall give up nothing."

Trach. "I want nothing but the casket and the toys."

"I dare say," Gripus replied; "but what if they are gold and silver?"

Trach. "You shall have what they are worth by weight: gold for gold, silver for silver."

Grip. "Let me see the gold, and you shall see the casket."

"Hold your tongue," broke in Dæmones, getting out of all patience. "And you tell me exactly what you want," hewent on to Trachalio.

"Well, the case is this," said Trachalio. "These two girls are free by right; the one, Palæstra mean, wasstolen when she was a little child at Athens, and the proof of it is in that trunk there."

"I understand," said Dæmones. "Now, Palæstra, tell me, is that your trunk?"

"Yes, it is," said the girl. "And there is a wooden casket in it, and in the casket the toys which I had when Iwas a child. I can describe them all. If I am wrong, there is nothing more to be said. If I am right, then praylet me have them back."

"So you shall," said Dæmones. "That's simple right."

"I say it's simple wrong," cried Gripus. "Suppose she's a witch, and so knows what to say? Am I to lose what Ifound because she's a witch?"

"It's all nonsense about witches," said Dæmones. "Open the trunk."

The trunk was opened, and a casket, which Palæstra at once recognized as hers, was found inside. Dæmones toldher to turn her back and describe its contents.

"First," said the girl, "there is a little gold sword, with letters on it."

Dæm. "What are the letters?"

Pal. "My father's name. Next, there is a little hatchet, also of gold. That has not my father's name onit."

Dæm. "But stay. Your father's name—what was it?"

Pal. "Dæmones."

"Dæmones!" cried the old man, astonished. "Still, that is a common name enough. It might not be the same. Whatwas your mother's ?"

Pal. "Dædalis."

Dæm. "She must be my daughter. But tell me what else there is in the casket."

Pal. "A little sickle in silver, and two hands clasped, and a necklace which my father gave me on mybirthday."

Dæm. "Ah! so I did. I remember it, and here it is again, the very thing! It is my own child!

Kiss me, my darling! And now come and see your mother."

Dæmones and his wife had scarcely finished rejoicing over their newly-found child, when young Plesidippus cameup, and told his story, and explained who he was.

"So you fell in love with our little girl," said Dæmones, "when you did not know who she was? Very good; youshall have her."

"I owe you something for what you have done," said Plesidippus to his slave, Trachalio. "I shall set you free."

"A thousand thanks, master!" said Trachalio. "But there is something else, if I may make so bold. There isAmpelisca."

"All right," said Dæmones. "I will buy her of her owner, and you shall marry her."

"And what am I to have?" said Gripus. "If I hadn't fished up the trunk, where would you all have been?"

"Of course you will be satisfied with seeing everybody happy," said his master.

Poor Gripus's face fell.

"Cheer up, my man," cried Dæmones, "you shall have your freedom, and something to start in business with."

[From MENANDER. Translated by TERENCE]

The two brothers Demea and Micio were men of very different tempers. Micio was an easy-going person,self-indulgent and good-natured, living an idle life in the city; Demea was hard-working, frugal, and severe,allowing himself little pleasure, and not expecting others to take it. Demea was married, and had two sons,Ctesipho and Æschinus. Ctesipho lived at home, and was supposed to emulate the virtues of his father; Æschinushad been adopted by his uncle Micio, who treated him with the utmost indulgence. The old man's only thought wasto make his nephew love and trust him. "Other young men," he would say to himself, "keep secrets from theirfathers; I am sure that Æschinus will never do so, for the simple reason that I never find fault with him. Mybrother," he went on, "doesn't approve of this method, and accuses me of spoiling the young man. He pursues aquite different plan with Ctesipho, and, in my judgment, is far too severe. I am convinced that the obediencethat is rendered for fear is worthless. Take away therestraint and the young man will show himself in his true colors."

It was not long before this theory of education was put to a severe test. Demea arrived in a high state ofindignation: "You have heard this about Æschinus?" he said.

Micio. "What has he done?"

Demea. "What has he done? He seems to have neither shame nor fear. As for law, he supposes himself to beabove it. I am not talking of any old story now, but of what he has just done."

Mi. "What is that?"

De. "He broke down a man's door, rushed into his house, beat the owner and his household almost todeath, and carried off a woman he was in love with. Everybody is talking of it. I don't know how many mentionedit to me as I came along. How different from his brother! There is a sober, hard-working fellow. You never findhim doing anything of this kind! And what I say of Æschinus, Micio, I say of you; it is you who are ruining himby your foolish indulgence."

Mi. "I don't agree with you. There is no real harm in a young man's wildness. If you and I neverindulged in such things it was because we were too poor. If you had any human feeling about you, you would letyour Ctesipho have his fling now while he is young. If he puts it off till he is old, when he has buried you,it will be ten times worse."

De. "Well, if you are not enough to drive a man mad! It is no crime forsooth for a young man to do suchthings!"

Mi. "Listen to me. Don't go on hammering in the same thing over and over again. You allowed me to adoptyour son. He is now my own. If he goes wrong, it is my lookout. If he is extravagant, I find the money—solong as I choose. He has broken in a door; it shall be repaired. He has torn a man's coat; it shall be mended.Thank heaven! I have the wherewithal; and at present I am content to supply it. Really, when you talk in thisway, you seem to be repenting of having made him over to me."

De. "Well, well; let him be as extravagant as he pleases; it does not matter to me. But if I ever sayanother word—"

Micio, to tell the truth, was somewhat uneasy at this fresh outbreak on the part of his adopted son. The youngman had promised to reform, and had even expressed his intention of looking out for a wife and settling down,and this violent proceeding of his was a great disappointment. Nor, indeed, was it long before the severe Demeaalso began to feel uncomfortable. A rumour reached him that the model young man Ctesipho had taken part withÆschinus in his scandalous proceedings. He was thinking where he was likely to find his son when he spiedMicio's favourite slave, Syrus. "Ah!" he said, "I'llfind out from him. He is one of that rascally crew indeed, and if he fancies that I am looking for my son, thescoundrel will never tell me. I won't let him know what I want." Syrus was busy with some cooking, and wastalking to a fellow-slave, and pretended not to see the new-comer. He was telling, with much apparentsatisfaction, how Micio had taken the news of Æschinus's recent exploit. "We told the old man the whole storyof what had happened. I never saw any one more delighted."

De. (aside). "Good heavens! what a fool the man must be!"

Syrus. "He praised his son. He thanked me for having suggested the scheme. He counted out the money onthe spot,—you know we paid the dealer what the girl had cost him,—and he gave me two pounds for myself. Ishall know how to spend that."

De. (aside). "Well, that's a nice fellow to trust anything to!"

Sy. "Oh! Demea, I did not see you. How are things going on?"

De. "I can't sufficiently admire your way of proceeding."

Sy. "Well, it is foolish and unreasonable, to speak the truth. Dromo, you may clean the other fish, butlet the big conger play in the water a little time; when I come home I will bone him; but don't do it before."

De. "That there should be such wickedness!"

Sy. "I don't like it at all. Stephanio, see that this salt fish is properly soaked."

De. "Does he really think that it will be to his credit if he ruins his son? I see a day coming when thepoor wretch will be a beggar and will have to enlist."

Sy. "O Demea, this is true wisdom in you, that you see not only what is before your eyes, but also whatis coming."

De. "Tell me; is the singing-girl in the house?"

Sy. "Certainly."

De. "And is going to stop there?"

Sy. "Of course; he has married her; the more fool he!"

De. "To think that such a thing should be possible!"

Sy. "Well, his father is foolishly easy with him."

De. "Oh! as for my brother, I am thoroughly ashamed and disgusted with him."

Sy. "Ah! Demea, there is far too much difference between you. You are nothing but wisdom from top totoe; he is the most frivolous creature. You would not allow your son to do such things!"

De. "Allow him indeed! If he had had a notion of any such thing, I should have smelt it out six monthsago."

Sy. "Oh! I know that you keep your eyes open."

De. "There is no fear of him going wrong."

Sy. "Yes, yes; a son always is what his father would like him to be."

De. "What about him? Have you seen him to-day?"

Sy. "Your son, you mean?" (Aside) "I'll send the old fellow off into the country."(Aloud) "I think that he had some business in the country."

De. "You are sure?"

Sy. "Oh, yes; I saw him go myself."

De. "Very good; I was afraid he might be hanging about here."

Sy. "And a pretty rage he was in!"

De. "Why so?"

Sy. "He had a regular quarrel with his brother, in the market-place, about the singing-girl."

De. "You don't say so!"

Sy. "Ah! but he had, and didn't spare him. He came in unexpectedly, just as the money was being countedout. 'O Æschinus,' he cried, 'to think that you should do such shameful things, so unworthy of our family!' "

De. "Did he speak like that? I could cry for joy."

Sy. "He went on: 'It is not your own money, it is your own self you are losing.' "

De. "Bless him! He is like those who have gone before him."

Sy. "Hem!"

De. "Syrus, he is stocked with maxims of that kind."

Sy. "Ah, yes; he has a teacher at home."

De. "I do my best; I lose no chance. I accustom him to this kind of thing. I tell him to look into hisneighbours' lives, as he might into a looking-glass, and to learn by others. 'Do this,' I say."

Sy. "Excellent!"

De. "'Avoid that.' 'This is to a man's credit; that is set down against him.' "

Sy. "Good, good!"

De. "Then I go on—"

Sy. "Excuse me, but I haven't time to listen. I have got just the fish I wanted, and I must take carethey are not spoilt. It is as much a crime among us to do this, as to do the things you talk of among you; andas far as I can, I instruct my fellow-slaves in this fashion: 'This is too salt,' I say; 'that is burnt; thisis not quite clean; that is very good.' I advise in this way to the very best of my capacity. In a word, Demea,I tell them to look into the dishes as they would into a looking-glass, and tell them what they ought to do.These are but trifles, Demea, that we busy ourselves about; but what would you have? Can I do anything foryou?"

De. "I wish you a better mind; that's all. However, I shall go straight to the farm, as my son, on whoseaccount I came, is there. He is my own, at all events. Let my brother look to the other."

But Demea had not yet heard all Æschinus's misdemeanours. This young man had actually broken off his engagementto a girl, poor, indeed,but of good family, in order, as it appeared, to marry this singing-woman. A friend and kinsman of her father,Hegio by name, had taken up her cause, and appealed to Demea to help him. Demea, now doubly indignant, at onceset about finding his brother. This, much to his annoyance, he was unable to do. He searched for him all overthe town, but to no purpose; and while he was so engaged, he happened to come across a man from the farm, andheard from him that his son had not been there. His wanderings brought him back to the point from which he hadstarted,—his brother's house; and he had no choice but to ask the help of "that scoundrel Syrus," as hecalled him. "My good fellow," said he, "is my brother at home?"

Sy. "Good fellow indeed! I am pretty nearly killed."

De. "What is the matter?"

Sy. "That Ctesipho of yours nearly beat me to death."

De. "What do you say?"

Sy. "See there, how he cut my lip!"

De. "Why did he do it?"

Sy. "Because I was the cause, he said, of the singing-girl having been bought."

De. "But didn't you say that he had gone out to the farm?"

Sy. "So he did; but he came back in a fury. He wasn't ashamed to beat an old man who handled him when hewas only so big."

De. "Excellent! excellent! Ctesipho, you take after your father."

Sy. "Excellent, you call it! Well, he had better keep his hands off me in future."

De. "I say that he couldn't have done better. He felt, as I do, that you were the prime mover in thewhole affair. But is my brother at home?"

Sy. "No."

De. "I want to find out where he is."

Sy. "I know, but I don't mean to tell you."

De. "What is that you say?"

Sy. "That I sha'n't tell you."

De. "I'll break your head, if you don't."

Sy. "Well, I don't know the man's name where he is, but I know the place."

De. "Tell me the place, then."

Sy. "Do you know the arcade, and the market down below?"

De. "Of course I know it."

Sy. "Go straight up that street. After that, there is a slope right in front of you. Go down that. Onthe left hand there is a chapel, and an alley close by."

De. "In which direction?"

Sy. "Where there is a large wild fig-tree. Do you know it?"

De. "Yes, I know it."

Sy. "Well, go up the alley."

De. "But it isn't a thoroughfare."

Sy. "True; well, we all make mistakes. Go back to the colonnade. There is a much nearer way. Do you knowthe house of the rich Cratinus?"

De. "Yes."

Sy. "When you reach that, go up the street to the left. When you come to Diana's temple, turn to theright. Before you come to the gate, there is a mill by the pond, and a workshop exactly opposite. He is there."

De. "What is he doing?"

Sy. "He is having some couches made."

De. "For you to lie on and drink, I suppose."

Sy. (when Demea is out of hearing). "Go, you old skeleton! I'll give you a nice little walk. And now, Ithink, I may take a little something to drink."

Syrus did take the little "something," and the consequence was that when Demea came back, fuming after hisfruitless walk, for of course he did not find his brother, and even the shop was imaginary, he was not able tocope with the situation. "What annoys you?" he asked, when he saw the old man.

De. "Oh, you scoundrel!"

Sy. "Ah, old wisdom overflowing again!"

De. "Oh, if you belonged to me!"

Sy. "You would be a rich man. I should have set your affairs on a sound footing."

De. "I would make an example of you."

Sy. "Why, what have I done?"

De. "Why, not to mention anything else—in all this confusion you have been drinking as if everything wasall right."

At this moment one of Syrus's fellow-slaves called out to him from within, "Syrus, Ctesipho wants you!"

De. (catching the name). "Who is talking of Ctesipho?"

Sy. "It is nothing."

De. "You scoundrel! is Ctesipho here?"

Sy. "Certainly not."

De. "Then why did I hear his name?"

Sy. "Oh, that was quite another person, one of Micio's hangers-on. You must know him."

De. "Well, I'll find out."

Sy. (catching hold of the old man). "What are you about? Where are you going?"

De. "Let me go."

Sy. "I won't."

De. "I'll break your head, if you don't."

So saying, he broke loose from the slave's grasp. "Ah!" said Syrus, "he will not be a welcome addition to theirlittle party."

The fact was, that it was for Ctesipho that Æschinus had carried off the singing-girl; it was the steadyCtesipho, as his father thought him, that had made this not very reputable marriage; and now, after being putoff more than once, the old man had found it out. Things, being at their darkest, now began to lighten.Æschinus was, it turned out, perfectly readyto fulfil the engagement which he was thought to have broken off; and Micio was willing to start his othernephew in life with a handsome present of money. Demea, finding that amiability and complaisance were the orderof the day, determined to fashion his own behaviour accordingly, though he slyly contrived to make hisgood-natured brother bear the burden of the general benevolence. Syrus was to receive his liberty as anencouragement to honest servants; Hegio, who had taken up the cause of Æschinus's neglected bride, was to havehis poverty relieved by the present of a little farm. Finally, the young lady's mother was to be provided for,and in view of this object, what could be a more convenient fact than that Micio was a bachelor? "Brother,"said Demea, "there is your daughter-in-law's mother, a very reputable lady."

Mi. "So I am told."

De. "A little advanced in years, and a lone woman."

Mi. (aside). "What is the man after?"

De. "Don't you think that you ought to marry her?

Mi. "I marry when I am sixty-five years old, and marry an old woman! Is that what you want?"

Æsehinus. "Oh, do, father! In fact, I have promised you would."

Mi. "You have promised I would! Keep your breath to cool your own porridge, my son."

De. "Now, do it."

Æsch. "Don't make any trouble about it."

Mi. "Well, it is absurd; it is quite contrary to all that I have ever done and said. Still, if you areso anxious for it, I will."

Then Demea explained himself. "I wanted to show you, Micio," he said, "that all your easiness and good-naturedid not come from true kindness, but from a lazy habit of giving way to others. If you, Æschinus, persist indisliking me because I do not choose to approve of everything that you do, be it good or bad, let it be so; goyour way, you and your brother, waste and spoil as much as you please. But if you think that after all it wouldbe well that, where you, in your youth and inexperience, fail to see clearly, and are ready to buy yourpleasures too dearly, I should step in, advising and criticising, while not failing to give way on properoccasions, I am at your service."

"You are right," said Æschinus; "you know far better than we do what ought to be done. And how about mybrother?"

"I forgive him," replied Demea. "Now that he is married, he will, I hope, behave himself respectably."

[From MENANDER. Translated by TERENCE]

Terence tells us himself that he had used two comedies of Menander in constructing this play, and that hehad been blamed for so doing by some critics. The two seem to have borne the titles of Andria (the girl ofAndros) and Perinthia (the girl of Perinthos). An early commentator informs us that it is the first part ofthe play that is borrowed from the Andria.

Simo, an Athenian citizen, happening to be present at the funeral of a lady with whom he had had a slightacquaintance, witnessed a spectacle which caused him no little anxiety. Among the women who were attending asmourners was a young girl of singular beauty. This, and the manifest depth and sincerity of her grief, soexcited the old man's interest that he inquired who she was, and was told in reply that she was a sister of thedeceased. The corpse was placed on the funeral pile, and this was lighted in due course. When the flames wereat their fiercest, the young girl rushed forward, as if intending to throw herself into them. So near did shecome that she seriously imperilled her own life, which, indeed, would probably have been sacrificed, had herclothes caught fire. At this point, Simo sawa young man, in whom he recognized his own son Pamphilus, run out from among the crowd of spectators and catchthe girl round the waist. The next moment he heard him remonstrating with her. "My dear Glycerium,"—thesewere his words,—"what are you doing? why do you try to kill yourself?" The girl turned at the sound of hisvoice, and fell into his arms in a passion of tears. It was evident, Simo thought to himself, that this was notthe first time that they had met. And all the time Pamphilus was betrothed to Philumena, the daughter of an oldfriend, Chremes by name. It was a desirable match in every way, and Simo was greatly troubled at the thoughtthat it might be broken off.

This indeed seemed not unlikely to happen. Others besides Simo had witnessed the scene at the funeral, and oneof them had carried the report to Chremes, Philumena's father, with the result that he came in a great rage tohis friend, and declared that he should not think of allowing his daughter to become the wife of a young manwhose affections were evidently bestowed elsewhere, and who, indeed, was possibly married already.

Simo now resolved, by way of bringing matters to a crisis, to tell his son that the marriage with Philumena wasto take place that very day. If the young man made no objection, all was well. The foolish engagement to thegirl seen at the funeral would be broken off, and it would not be difficult to induceChremes to withdraw his objections. Simo's freedman Sosia was charged with the duty of announcing to Pamphilusthe arrangements for his marriage. This he proceeded to do, and his report to his patron was that the young manmade no objection, but that he and his confidential slave Davus were evidently disturbed.

Before long Davus made his appearance. He was talking to himself, unaware, it was evident, of his master'spresence.

Davus. "I wondered what was going to happen. The master's good humour was suspicious. The match brokenoff and not an angry word to any one! It was too good."

Simo (aside). "Well, you'll hear plenty of angry words soon, my man."

Da. "We were to think it all blown over; and then he would spring this upon us. The cunning old fellow!"

Si. (not hearing). "What does he say?"

Da. "Good heavens! there is the master, and I never saw him!"

Si. " Davus!"

Da. "Yes, sir!"

Si. "I am told that my son has made a foolish engagement."

Da. "People will talk, sir."

Si. "A young man so situated would not like marrying the wife his father had chosen for him."

Da. "It is possible, sir."

Si. "He might have had advisers who would encourage him in this feeling."

Da. "I don't understand."

Si. "Not understand?"

Da. "No, sir; I am Davus, not Œdipus."

Si. "Then you want me to speak plainly?"

Da. "If you please, sir."

Si. "Listen, then; if you try any tricks to hinder this match, you will be well flogged and sent to thetreadmill till you die. Is that plain enough?"

Da. "Certainly, sir."

Si. "Well, don't say that you have not been warned."

But there was another complication. Though Pamphilus had no thought of Philumena, his friend Charinus wasdeeply in love with her, and the news of the intended wedding struck him with despair. He hurried, on hearingof it from his slave Byrrhia, to see whether anything could be done. "O Pamphilus," he cried, as soon as he sawhis friend, "are you going to be married to-day?"

Pamphilus. "So they say."

Charinus. "Then you have seen the last of me."

Pam. "Why so?"

Char. "I am ashamed to say." (Turning to his slave) "Tell him, Byrrhia."

Byrrhia. "The truth is, my master is in love with your betrothed."

Pam. "That is more than I am."

Char. "I beseech you not to marry her."

Pam. "I will do my best."

Char. "If you can't help yourself, or if, after all, you really wish to marry her, at least give me afew days to get out of the way, so that I may not see it."

Pam. "My good fellow, I don't want to make any merit of it, but it is the simple truth that I hate theidea of the marriage quite as much as you do. Do all you can to get the girl, and I will help you. But herecomes my clever Davus; he is the man to advise us."

Char. "Is he? This fellow Byrrhia is no use at all."

Davus had good news to tell. The marriage was all an invention. "I suspected something of the kind," he said,"and went to Chremes's house. There wasn't a sign of anything festive. No one was going in or out. There wereno signs of preparation. Then I met his man as he was going away. He had a few vegetables and half a dozenanchovies for the old man's supper. That did not look like a wedding."

Char. "Excellent! excellent!"

Da. "But, my good sir, it does not follow that you will get the young lady because she is not to bemarried to Pamphilus here to-day. Bestir yourself, or you will lose her as sure as fate."

Charinus promptly departed to take counsel withhis friends. This was what Davus wanted. "And now, sir," he said to his master, as soon as the young man haddisappeared, "I should recommend you to go to your father, and say that you have no longer any objection. Ifyou don't, he will find some way of doing a mischief to Glycerium,—will get her banished from Athens, it maybe, for he has interest with the government. Don't be afraid of anything happening. Whatever your father maywish, Chremes is quite resolved that you sha'n't marry his daughter." Pamphilus was persuaded, and, meeting hisfather soon afterwards, let him know that he was ready to fulfil the engagement. As luck would have it, he wasoverheard by Byrrhia, who had been strictly charged by his master, Charinus, to watch the movements of thebridegroom. Byrrhia went off to tell the news, Davus meanwhile making Simo uncomfortable by representing thathe wasn't treating his son very well in the matter. "You keep your purse too close, sir," he said, "for afather who is going to marry his son. That's what he feels. Why, he can't even ask his friends to the wedding."

Simo now conceived the happy idea of turning the feint into a reality. The marriage which he invented to testhis son's feeling might actually take place. Only he must persuade Chremes to withdraw his veto. This he setabout doing. The alliance had been a cherished scheme with both of them for many years. The young man and thegirl had beenintended for man and wife ever since they lay in their cradles. Simo implored his old friend to give way. For atime Chremes stoutly refused. The young man had set his affections elsewhere, and the marriage would turn outbadly. This argument Simo answered by an assurance that the old engagement was at an end. Pamphilus andGlycerium had quarrelled; so Davus, his son's confidential slave, assured him. Overborne by his old friend'sentreaties, Chremes gave way, and consented that the marriage should take place. Davus, who happened to bepassing, was summoned to hear the good news. "Davus," said Simo, "I have had hard work to persuade my friendChremes, but he consents. Pamphilus is to marry Philumena."

Da. "We are all undone."

Si. "What did you say?"

Da. "I said that it was well done of you."

Si. "Now, Davus, I feel that this marriage is really your work. Pray do your best to keep my sonstraight; and if he is a little discontented just at first, do represent things in the best light."

"Here is a pretty state of things!" said the unlucky slave to himself. "I have cheated my old master, entrappedmy young one into a marriage that he hates, and all because I would be so clever! I am simply ruined. I onlywish there was a precipice here for me to throw myself down."

Things were indeed come to a terrible pass. Thefact was that Pamphilus had been really married to Glycerium for nearly a year, and what was more, that veryday his wife had borne him a son. And here he was in a fearful strait. His wife crying out to see him, forsomehow she had heard of the new marriage; his friend Charinus furious at being, as he thought, deceived; andthe preparations for a second wedding going actively on!

Davus, who had had a great deal to do with bringing about this state of things, now came to the rescue. He gothold of the new-born baby, and persuaded Mysis, Glycerium's nurse, to lay it down in front of his master'sdoor. "Why don't you do it yourself?" said the woman. "Because," he replied, "I may have to swear that I didn'tdo it." Just as this had been done, Chremes arrived. He had been making preparations for the marriage, and wasnow come to invite the bridegroom's friends. "But what is this?" he cried, seeing a bundle on the threshold."On my life, it is a child! Woman," he went on, turning to the nurse, "did you put it here?"

The woman was too much flustered to answer, but looked round for Davus, who had disappeared as soon as hecaught sight of Chremes. But when Davus returned he promptly denied all knowledge of the matter, and pretendedto know as little where the child came from as did Chremes himself. "Whose child is it?" he said to the nursein a threatening voice.

The Nurse. "You mean to say you don't know?"

Da. "Never mind whether I know or not; answer my question."

Nurse. "Why, it is the child of your own—"

Da. "My own what?"

Nurse. "Your own master Pamphilus."

Da. "Oh! I dare say. I know where it came from. Take the brat away, or it will be the worse for you."

Nurse. "Is the man sober?"

Da. "The next thing will be that we shall be told that the mother is Athenian born."

Chremes. "A pretty mess I have nearly been getting into!"

Da. (pretending to become aware of his presence). "O Chremes! you here? What ought to be done to thiswicked woman?"

Chr. "I know the whole story. Is Simo at home?"

Saying this, he entered the house. As soon as he was out of sight Davus explained his action to the nurse."Don't you understand," he said, "that this is Philumena's father? This was the only way of frightening him offthe new marriage."

Chremes meanwhile had finally broken off the match. "I was willing," he said, "to do the best I could for yourson. I risked my daughter's happiness on the chance; but knowing what I know, I can't go on. The young man hasanother attachment, and I hear, too, that the woman is a native Athenian. Consider the other affair is at anend."

Davus now made his appearance. The news he had to communicate brought Simo, already furious withdisappointment, to something like madness. "A stranger," said the slave, "has just come, a most respectablelooking man, who declares that Glycerium is a free-born Athenian woman."

Simo deigned to make no answer. "Dromo," he said to another of his slaves, "carry this scoundrel off to prison.He shall learn not to play tricks on his master; aye, and I have something to say to Master Pamphilus himself."In vain did Chremes remonstrate. The old man was quite beside himself with passion, and the unlucky Davus washurried off to punishment.

Pamphilus was the next to come in for a share of the old man's wrath. To a certain extent he contrived to turnit away by a soft answer. At least Simo was persuaded to hear what the stranger had to say about the parentageof Glycerium. At first, the interview seemed to promise little good. Simo roundly accused the stranger, whosename, by the way, was Crito, of having invented the whole story, in the interests of Pamphilus. Thuschallenged, Crito spoke out, and told the whole story; not, however, without being interrupted by exclamationsof incredulity from the angry old man. "Some years ago," he said, "an Athenian citizen was shipwrecked nearAndros, but managed to escape to land. He had with him a little girl, the same person, I have discovered, astheGlycerium of whom I have been told since my arrival at Athens. Both were received in the house of a relative ofmy own, from whom indeed I heard the story. There the man died; the girl was always regarded as a daughter ofmy kinsman."

"What was the name of this Athenian?" asked Chremes.

Crito. "Phania."

Chr. "Good heavens!"

Cri. "At least I think it was, Chremes. I know he was a native of Rhamnus."

Chr. "Did he say that the girl was his daughter?"

Cri. "No; he said she was his niece, his brother's daughter."

Chr. "Phania was my brother. I left him in charge of my child. War broke out, and he followed me toAsia, and I now learn was shipwrecked on the way."

All was now happily settled. Pamphilus brought his wife and child home with the full consent of his relatives,receiving at the same time a substantial portion from his newly-found father-in-law. At the same time, thefaithful Charinus was rewarded with the hand of Philumena.

[From APOLLODORUS. Translated by TERENCE]

Demipho and Chremes were brothers, respectable and well-to-do citizens of Athens. Both had occasion to leavetheir homes on business at the same time, Demipho going to Cilicia, where a friend had promised to find aprofitable investment for him, Chremes to Lemnos, where his wife Nausistrata had a property, the rents of whichhe was accustomed to collect. Each brother had an only son; and both of the young men took the opportunity oftheir fathers' absence to get into formidable scrapes.

Chremes's son Phædria fell violently in love with a music-girl. Really she was a free-born Athenian, but shewas supposed to be a slave, the property of a villainous dealer, Dorio by name, who refused to sell her forless than a hundred and twenty pounds. Phædria, who was bent on buying the girl and making her his wife,obtained the man's promise that if he could find the money, she should not be sold to any one else. For thepresent, however, he waspenniless. All that he could do was to wait at a barber's shop which happened to be opposite the music-schoolwhere she was receiving lessons, and accompany her to her owner's house. One day, as he was looking out forher, his cousin Antipho being with him, a young man of their acquaintance came up, who had a story so piteousto tell that it moved him to tears as he spoke. "I have just had a proof," he said, "what a terrible thingpoverty is. Hard by here I saw a girl mourning for her mother, who had just died. The corpse was laid outopposite the door of the house, and the poor creature had no kinsman, or friend, or acquaintance with herexcept one old woman; a very beautiful girl she was, too." They were all touched by the story, and Antipho saidat once, "Shall we go and see her?"—"Good," said Phædria, "let us go; take us to the house." They went, andfound that the girl, whose name was Phanium, was certainly beautiful. There was nothing to set her off; herhair was dishevelled, her feet bare, her clothing of the meanest. Phædria, his head full of the music-girl,said nothing more than, "She is pretty enough," but with Antipho it was love at first sight. The next day hepaid another visit. The girl he did not see, but the old woman, who turned out to be her nurse, told him thatshe was a free-born Athenian, of good family. Antipho at once made up his mind to have her for his wife. Buthow was it to be managed? He was afraid to dosuch a thing in his father's absence, and yet he knew perfectly well that, were his father at home, he wouldnever consent, for the girl of course had not a penny of dowry. He confided his difficulty to an acquaintance,Phormio by name, a man without either occupation or means, who contrived to pick up a living by his wits.Phormio at once contrived an audacious scheme. "The law directs," he told Antipho, "that when a citizen dies,leaving an orphan daughter, the next of kin must marry her, or provide her with a dowry. I will pretend to be afriend of her father, and will bring a suit against you. We will go into court. There I will invent a name forher father, a name for her mother, and her relationship to you. Of course you will offer no defence, and Ishall win the suit." This was actually done; the suit was brought, Antipho was ordered by the court to marrythe girl, and, as may be supposed, readily obeyed.

From what has been said, it will be evident that both the young men were in no small trouble; Phædria wasafraid that his lady-love might be sold before he could find the money, of which indeed he saw little prospect;Antipho dreaded his father's return. The two were discussing the situation, when Geta, a confidential slave inwhose charge the young men had been left, made his appearance in a state of great agitation. "Your father hasarrived," he cried, when he caught sight of Antipho; "I saw him at theharbour." Antipho was in despair. His cousin and Geta implored him to screw up his courage to the point ofmeeting his father. "Your only chance," they told him, "is to put a bold face on it." Antipho made an effort topluck up his spirit. "Brazen it out," said Geta, "that you were compelled by the court to contract themarriage. Do you understand? But who is that there?" he went on, looking down the street that led to thePiræus. "It is he!" cried Antipho, following the direction of Geta's eyes. "It is my father himself. I can'tstand it. I am off." And in spite of all remonstrances, he disappeared. In a few minutes Demipho made hisappearance. He was in a towering rage. "So Antipho has married without my leave! What audacity! And Geta, too!a pretty counsellor, indeed! Of course I know what he'll say, 'I did it against my will; the law compelled me.'Ah! but did the law compel you to give up the case without a word?"

Phædria (aside). "That's a poser!"

Geta (aside). "I'll answer him. Trust me."

Demipho. "I am so annoyed that I can't bring my mind to consider what's to be done. It is always theway. When everything seems to be going well, then we must look out for trouble. A son goes wrong, a wife dies,a daughter falls ill. These are the things we must expect. Anything that doesn't happen one must count as cleargain."

Ge. (aside). "See, Phædria, how much wiser Iam than my master. I thought of all I should have to put up with when my master came back,—work at the mill,a good beating, my feet in the stocks, set to work at the farm; there is nothing that I haven't reckoned on.And whatever doesn't happen that I shall count as clear gain. But, Phædria, why don't you go forward and speakto him?"

Phæ. (advancing). "How do you do, my dear uncle?"

Dem. "How do you do? But where is Antipho?"

Phæ. "I am delighted—"

Dem. "Where is he?"

Phæ. "At home and quite well. I hope that all is right."

Dem. "Right indeed! A pretty match you made up between you while I was away."

Phæ. "But surely you are not angry with him."

Dem. "Very angry indeed, and I'll let him know it, when I see him."

Phæ. "But he has given you no cause."

Dem. "Oh! yes; you are all tarred with the same brush. He gets into mischief, and you stand by him."

Phæ. "My dear uncle, if Antipho had done wrong, if he had wasted his money, or lost his character, Ishould not say a word against his suffering for it. But if a designing fellow plotted against his youth andinnocence and got the better of him, who was to blame, he or the judges? They, as you know,are always jealous of the rich, and in favour of the poor."

Ge. (aside). "Upon my word, if I didn't know the facts, I should think he was speaking the truth."

Dem. "But what was a judge to do when the defendant doesn't say a word?"

Phæ. "Your son could not say what he had prepared. His modesty struck him absolutely dumb."

Ge. (advancing). "Very glad to see you, master!"

Dem. "You scoundrel! you who were to take care of my house!"

Ge. "Now, this is unjust. A slave is not allowed to plead, or give evidence."

Dem. "That is all very well. But he was not compelled to marry the girl. Why did he not pay the dowry,and let her find another husband?"

Ge. "But where was the money to come from?"

Dem. "He might have found it somewhere."

Ge. "Where? It's easy enough to say."

Dem. "He might have borrowed it."

Ge. "That is good. Who would have lent it while his father was alive?"

Dem. "Anyhow, I won't allow the marriage to stand, no, not for a day. But where is that fellow?"

Ge. "You mean Phormio?"

Dem. "Yes, the woman's advocate."

Ge. "Oh! he'll be here soon, I warrant."

Dem. "Well, tell Antipho I want to see him. I shall look up some friends, and have it out with thisfellow Phormio."

Geta lost no time in finding Phormio, and telling him of the old man's fury. The adventurer was very littleconcerned at the prospect. "I have nothing to lose," he said. "Suppose he gets a verdict against me, and putsme in prison. Well, he'll have to keep me, and I have an excellent appetite."

"Ah!" said Geta, "he's coming, and in a fine rage."

Phormio (to Geta, but speaking loud that Demipho, who has come in with his friends, may hear him). "Andhe positively asserts that Phanium is not a relative!"

Ge. "He does."

Dem. (to his friends). "I do believe that he is talking about me. Come a little nearer."

Phor. "And that he does not know who her father was?"

Ge. "Just so."

Phor. "Because the poor girl was left without money, her father is forgotten and she herself neglected.See what the love of money does!"

Ge. (who pretends to be indignant). "Don't abuse my master, or it will be the worse for you."

Dem. (aside). "Why, the fellow is absolutely abusing me!"

Phor. "I have nothing to say against the young man for not knowing my old friend. He was an elderly man,always busy, and seldom coming to town. He rented a farm of my father. He usedto tell me, I remember, that his kinsman Demipho took no notice of him. But what a man he was! The very bestfellow I ever saw!"

Dem. (advancing). "Young man, I have just a question to ask you. Tell me who this friend of yours was,and how he was related to me."

Phor. "As if you didn't know!"

Dem. "I know!"

Phor. "Of course you know."

Dem. "I declare that I don't."

Phor. "Not know the name of your own cousin?"

Dem. "Tell me yourself."

Phor. (in a whisper to Geta). "I have forgotten. What was it?"

Ge. (in a whisper). "Stilpho."

Phor. "Well, if I must tell you, it was Stilpho."

Dem. "What did you say?"

Phor. "Stilpho; do you know the name?"

Dem. "I never heard of the man, and certainly never had any relative of the name."

Phor. "But if he had left three thousand pounds—"

Dem. "Confound you!"

Phor. "1 warrant you would have had his whole pedigree at your fingers' ends."

Dem. "But you haven't told me how the girl was related to me."

Phor. "I explained the matter quite satisfactorily to the right persons,—that is, the judges. If it wasnot true, why did not your son disprove it?"

Dem. "My son, indeed! the poor fool!"

Phor. "Very good; if you are so wise, go to the court, and ask for another trial. You are master here;and though no one else can have a cause tried twice over, you must have your own way."

Dem. "Well, I know that I've been cheated. Still, to save trouble, I will suppose that the girl isrelated to me. Take her away, and I'll pay twenty pounds."

Phor. "A pretty story, indeed! A girl is married, and you propose to give her a paltry sum of money, andsend her away!"

Dem. "Well, I'll manage it somehow, and not rest till I have."

Phor. "Demipho, I have nothing to do with you. It is your son that is concerned, not you. You are tooold to marry."

Dem. "I shall turn him out of my house, if he objects."

Phor. "My dear sir, would it not be better to put up with what can't be undone? Let us be friends."

Dem. "Friends! As if I wanted to be friends with you!"

Phor. "Make it up with her, and she'll be such a comfort to your old age. Remember your years, my dearsir."

Dem. "She may comfort you; I don't want her."

Phor. "Don't be angry!"

Dem. "Enough of this! Except you take thewoman away immediately, I'll turn her out of doors. That is my last word, Phormio."

Phor. "Lay a finger on her, and I'll have you up before the court. That is my last word, Demipho."

The old gentleman now proceeded to ask his friends what they thought about the matter. The first thought thatwhat had been done in Demipho's absence might be considered null and void; the second that a legal decisiononce given could not be invalidated; the third suggested that the matter should be postponed. Demipho was nowiser than before, and resolved to refer the matter to his brother, who was hourly expected to return.

Meanwhile Phædria's love affair had gone wrong. The music-girl's owner had received a good offer for her, anddeclared that he should accept it. "You," he said, brutally, to the young man, "are all tears and no money. Ihave found some one who is all money and no tears. You must give way to your better." Nothing could persuadehim. "Pay the money to-morrow, or she'll be sold," was his last word as he turned away. Phædria was in despair;without the girl, he felt life was not worth living. The only scrap of comfort he got was that Geta declaredthat, by hook or by crook, he would get the money for him.

While this was going on, Chremes had returned from Lemnos. It must be here explained that, some years before,he had contracted a secret marriage inthat place, and had had a daughter born to him. His brother knew all about it, and it had been arranged betweenthe two that Antipho should marry his unknown cousin. Chremes had intended to bring the girl home on thepresent occasion, but found that she and her mother had disappeared. They had gone to Athens, so he heard fromtheir neighbours, to look for him. This was disturbing news, and it was met by the equally unwelcomeintelligence which Demipho had to communicate, that the intended bridegroom had made another match.

While they were considering what should be done, Geta approached. He had been talking, he said, with Phormio,and that ingenious adventurer had devised a scheme which would get rid of the difficulty and at the same timebe of advantage to himself. "I long wanted "—this was the substance of Phormio's words, as the slave reportedthem—"to marry the daughter of my old friend. I saw how unsuitable it would be that a penniless girl shouldenter a wealthy house such as your master's. But to tell you the truth, I wanted a wife who would bring mesomething to set me free from sundry difficulties. I have my eye upon a girl who would suit me; but if Demiphowill make it worth my while, I will throw her over and marry Phanium. I have mortgaged a little property that Ihave for fifty pounds."

At this point Demipho broke in impatiently:

"Well, I don't mind so much. I will give him the fifty pounds."

Geta went on with his report: "Then I have a house mortgaged for so much more."

Dem. "That is too much."

Chremes. "Hush! He may look to me for this fifty."

Geta continued: "My wife must have a maid. I shall want a little more furniture. Then the marriageexpenses will be something. Suppose we say fifty pounds more."

Dem. "The scoundrel! Let him do his worst!"

Chr. "Do be quiet. If only Antipho marries the girl that you and I mean for him, it will be well. I'llpay this fifty, too. Happily I have some money of my wife's in hand. I'll tell her that you wanted it."

Unluckily Antipho had overheard the dialogue, and was furious at the thought that he was to be robbed of hiswife. No sooner had the old gentleman disappeared than he rushed at Geta, and struck him. The slave had nolittle difficulty in pacifying him. "It's only a scheme for getting the old men's money," he said. "Themarriage will never come off; of that you may rest assured." With this assurance Antipho had to be content.

While this was going on a mutual recognition had taken place. Phanium's nurse, Sophrona, had heard of Demipho'sindignation at his son's marriage with her charge, and was terribly alarmed at the prospectof trouble that seemed in store for the young bride. Her only hope was in finding the missing father. At thismoment she heard her own name softly called. It was Chremes. "Look at me," he said.

Sophrona. "Is that Stilpho?"

Chr. "No."

Soph. "You deny it?"

Chr. "Come away; never call me by that name again."

Soph. "What? are you not what you always said you were?"

Chr. "Hush!"

Soph. "Why do you look at that door? What are you afraid of?"

Chr. "I have an angry wife inside there. I called myself Stilpho over at Lemnos, lest the affair shouldreach her ears."

Soph. "And so that's the reason why we could never find you."

Chr. "Where are they?"

Soph. "Your daughter is alive. Her mother died a little time ago."

Chr. "That is a bad job."

Soph. "What was I to do? I had nothing; nobody knew me; I married your daughter to the young man who ismaster of the house there."

Chr. "What? to Antipho?"

Soph. "Yes—his name is Antipho."

Chr. "Has the fellow two wives, then?"

Soph. "No; certainly not."

Chr. "What about the other—the cousin, then?"

Soph. "Why, it's the same person. That is your daughter Phanium."

Chr. "Heaven be thanked! That's exactly what I wanted, and it has all come to pass without my doinganything."

Demipho had by this time paid the money agreed upon to Phormio. The arrangement only half pleased him. "Weencourage these fellows to be scoundrels by our easiness," he said. Still, he could only hope the best. Thenext thing he had to do was to persuade Chremes's wife Nausistrata to undertake the unpleasant task of breakingthe thing to Antipho's young wife. She had already helped him more than once, and this would be another act ofkindness.

"You are very welcome," replied Nausistrata; "I only wish I could have done more, but my husband is a very poorman of business. He does not manage things as my father did. He used to get nearly five hundred pounds out ofthe property, and that when prices were much lower than they are now."

"Five hundred pounds!" said Demipho.

"Yes," said Nausistrata, "I only wish that I had been born a man. I would show them."

As she spoke she saw Chremes, who was, of course, greatly excited by the identification of his missing daughterwith the orphan girl whom Antipho had married.

"Have you paid the money?" he asked his brother.

Dem. "Yes, I have."

Chr. "I wish that you had not. Ah! there is Nausistrata."

Dem. "But why not?"

Chr. "It's all right."

Dem. "How about the girl?"

Chr. "She can't be sent away. The young people love each other too much."

Dem. "But what does that matter to us?"

Chr. "Very much. She is a relative, after all. There was a mistake about the father's name."

Dem. "What? she did not know her own father?"

Chr. "Oh! she knew it."

Dem. "Then why did she say something else?"

Chr. "Don't you understand? You are ruining me."

Nausistrata. "What is it all about?"

Dem. "I am sure I don't know."

Chr. "If you must know, as I am alive, she has no nearer relatives than you and me."

Dem. "Good heavens! Let us go and see her. We all ought to know whether this is true or not."

Chr. "Stop! stop!"

Dem. "Well, what is to be done about our friend's daughter?"

Chr. "All right."

Dem. "We are to drop her?"

Chr. "Yes."

Dem. "And the other girl is to stop?"

Chr. "Certainly."

Naus. "I think that would be best, for she seemed a very ladylike young person, when I saw her."

So saying, Nausistrata disappeared into the house. Chremes made sure that the door was shut, and then turningto his brother, exclaimed: "It is an interposition of Providence; Antipho's wife is my daughter Phanium."

Geta had contrived to overhear what had been going on, and was not long in telling the news to Antipho. Theonly difficulty that remained, concerned the money that the two old men had paid to Phormio as a considerationfor marrying the girl whom, before they knew who she really was, they had been so anxious to get rid of.Phormio, true to his character, took the bull by the horns. He called at Demipho's house, and inquired for themaster.

Dem. (coming from behind). "Ah, Phormio! we were just on our way to you."

Phor. "I dare say on the same business that brought me here. Well, gentlemen, I am a poor man, but Ihave always kept my promises. I came to say that I am quite ready to marry."

Dem. "Well, to tell the truth, we have thought it over again. It might have been done before thegirl was married to Antipho, but it would hardly do to turn her out. Just what you said yourself, youremember."

Phor. "This is pretty treatment, gentlemen."

Dem. "How so?"

Phor. "Because now I have lost the other girl. How can I go back after I have jilted her?"

Dem. "The truth is that my son won't give up the girl. To cut it short, I want you to pay back themoney."

Phor. "If you are ready to hand over to me the wife you promised me, very good; I will marry her.Failing that, I keep her dowry. It is only fair, because I gave up for her another girl who had just as much."

Dem. "Pay me the money, you scoundrel!"

Phor. "Give me the wife."

Dem. "Come along to the magistrates."

Phor. "Now, if you are going to be troublesome, I have something to say. I know a lady whose husband—"

Chr. "How!"

Phor. "Had another wife at Lemnos."

Chr. "I am undone!"

Phor. "And had a daughter by her."

Chr. "For heaven's sake, don't say anything about it."

Phor. "Oh! you are the man, are you?"

After some more angry parleyings, the two oldmen caught hold of Phormio, and tried to drag him away; Phormio, on the other hand, struggled to get to thedoor of Chremes's house. Finding that the two were too strong for him, he shouted out, "Nausistrata!" at thetop of his voice. "Stop the villain's mouth!" cried Chremes. "I can't," said Demipho, "he's too strong."—"Nausistrata!" shouted Phormio again, and Nausistrata appeared. "Who calls me?" she asked, "and what is allthis disturbance about?" Phormio told the story, Chremes cowering in abject fear. Demipho's intercession andher husband's misery, along with the reflection that what was done could not be undone, did something tomitigate Nausistrata's wrath; but before she had brought herself to forgive the culprit, Phormio thought itwell to secure himself and his young friend Phædria. "Nausistrata," he said, "I got one hundred and fiftypounds from your husband by a trick, and gave them to your son. He spent them in buying a wife."

Chr. "What do you say? Buying a wife?"

Naus. "Pray why not? If an old man has two wives, may not a young one have one?"

Dem. "He will do what you like."

Naus. "Well, I sha'n't forgive him, till I hear what my son has to say. He shall decide. And you, sir,what is your name?"

Phor. "My name is Phormio; a friend of your family, madam, and a particular ally of your son Phædria."

Naus. "Phormio, rely on my doing hereafter all I can for you."

Phor. "I am greatly obliged to you, madam."

Naus. "The obligation is with us, sir."

Phor. "Would you do something that would please me and make your husband's eyes smart?"

Naus. "Certainly."

Phor. "Then ask me to dinner to-day."

Naus. "I shall be happy to see you, sir."

Dem. "Let us all go in."

Chr. "But where is Phædria, who is to be my judge?"

Phor. "He'll be here before long, I warrant."