The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frogs, by Aristophanes This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Frogs Author: Aristophanes Editor: Charles W. Eliot Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7998] This file was first posted on June 10, 2003 Last updated: May 7, 2013 Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FROGS *** Text file produced by Ted Garvin, Marvin A. Hodges, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team HTML file produced by David Widger THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES By Aristophanes The Harvard Classics Edited By Charles W Eliot Lld Nine Greek Dramas By Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides And Aristophanes Translations By E D A Morshead E H Plumptre Gilbert Murray And B B Rogers With Introductions And Notes VOLUME 8 CONTENTS INTRODUCTORY NOTE DRAMATIS PERSONÆ INTRODUCTORY NOTE Aristophanes, the greatest of comic writers in Greek and in the opinion of many, in any language, is the only one of the Attic comedians any of whose works has survived in complete form He was born in Athens about the middle of the fifth century B C, and had his first comedy produced when he was so young that his name was withheld on account of his youth. He is credited with over forty plays, eleven of which survive, along with the names and fragments of some twenty-six others. His satire deal with political, religious, and literary topics, and with all its humor and fancy is evidently the outcome of profound conviction and a genuine patriotism. The Attic comedy was produced at the festivals of Dionysus, which were marked by great license, and to this, rather than to the individual taste of the poet, must be ascribed the undoubted coarseness of many of the jests. Aristophanes seems, indeed, to have been regarded by his contemporaries as a man of noble character. He died shortly after the production of his "Plutus," in 388 B. C. "The Frogs" was produced the year after the death of Euripides, and laments the decay of Greek tragedy which Aristophanes attributed to that writer. It is an admirable example of the brilliance of his style, and of that mingling of wit and poetry with rollicking humor and keen satirical point which is his chief characteristic. Here, as elsewhere, he stands for tradition against innovation of all kinds, whether in politics, religion, or art. The hostility to Euripides displayed here and in several other plays, like his attacks on Socrates, is a result of this attitude of conservatism. The present play is notable also as a piece of elaborate if not over-serious literary criticism from the pen of a great poet. THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES DRAMATIS PERSONÆ THE GOD DIONYSUS XANTHIAS, his slave AESCHYLUS EURIPIDES HERACLES PLUTO CHARON AEACUS, house porter to Pluto A CORPSE A MAIDSERVANT OF PERSEPHONE A LANDLADY IN HADES PLATHANE, her servant A CHORUS OF FROGS A CHORUS OF INITIATED PERSONS Attendants at a Funeral; Women worshipping Iacchus; Servants of Pluto, &c. XANTHIAS Shall I crack any of those old jokes, master, At which the audience never fail to laugh? DIONYSUS. Aye, what you will, except I'm getting crushed: Fight shy of that: I'm sick of that already. XAN. Nothing else smart? DIO. Aye, save my shoulder's aching. XAN. Come now, that comical joke? DIO. With all my heart. Only be careful not to shift your pole, And— XAN. What? DIO. And vow that you've a bellyache. XAN. May I not say I'm overburdened so That if none ease me, I must ease myself? DIO. For mercy's sake, not till I'm going to vomit. XAN. What! must I bear these burdens, and not make One of the jokes Ameipsias and Lycis And Phrynichus, in every play they write, Put in the mouths of all their burden-bearers? DIO. Don't make them; no! I tell you when I see Their plays, and hear those jokes, I come away More than a twelvemonth older than I went. XAN. O thrice unlucky neck of mine, which now Is getting crushed, yet must not crack its joke! DIO. Now is not this fine pampered insolence When I myself, Dionysus, son of—Pipkin, Toil on afoot, and let this fellow ride, Taking no trouble, and no burden bearing? XAN. What, don't I bear? DIO. How can you when you're riding? XAN. Why, I bear these. DIO. How? XAN. Most unwillingly. DIO. Does not the donkey bear the load you're bearing? XAN. Not what I bear myself: by Zeus, not he. DIO. How can you bear, when you are borne yourself? XAN. Don't know: but anyhow my shoulder's aching. DIO. Then since you say the donkey helps you not, You lift him up and carry him in turn. XAN. O hang it all! why didn't I fight at sea? You should have smarted bitterly for this. DIO. Get down, you rascal; I've been trudging on Till now I've reached the portal, where I'm going First to turn in. Boy! Boy! I say there, Boy! HERACLES. Who banged the door? How like a prancing Centaur He drove against it! Mercy o' me, what's this? DIO. Boy. XAN. Yes. DIO. Did you observe? XAN. What? DIO. How alarmed He is. XAN. Aye truly, lest you've lost your wits. HER. O by Demeter, I can't choose but laugh. Biting my lips won't stop me. Ha! ha! ha! DIO. Pray you, come hither, I have need of you. HER. I vow I can't help laughing, I can't help it. A lion's hide upon a yellow silk, a club and buskin! What's it all about? Where were you going? DIO. I was serving lately aboard the—Cleisthenes. HER. And fought? DIO. And sank more than a dozen of the enemy's ships. HER. You two? DIO. We two. HER. And then I awoke, and lo! DIO. There as, on deck, I'm reading to myself The Andromeda, a sudden pang of longing Shoots through my heart, you can't conceive how keenly. HER. How big a pang. DIO. A small one, Molon's size. HER. Caused by a woman? DIO. No. HER. A boy? DIO. No, no. HER. A man? DIO. Ah! ah! HER. Was it for Cleisthenes? DIO. Don't mock me, brother; on my life I am In a bad way: such fierce desire consumes me. HER. Aye, little brother? how? DIO. I can't describe it. But yet I'll tell you in a riddling way. Have you e'er felt a sudden lust for soup? HER. Soup! Zeus-a-mercy, yes, ten thousand times. DIO. Is the thing clear, or must I speak again? HER. Not of the soup: I'm clear about the soup. DIO. Well, just that sort of pang devours my heart For lost Euripides. HER. A dead man too. DIO. And no one shall persuade me not to go after the man. HER. Do you mean below, to Hades? DIO. And lower still, if there's a lower still. HER. What on earth for? DIO. I want a genuine poet, "For some are not, and those that are, are bad." HER. What! does not Iophon live? DIO. Well, he's the sole Good thing remaining, if even he is good. For even of that I'm not exactly certain. HER. If go you must, there's Sophocles—he comes Before Euripides—why not take him? DIO. Not till I've tried if Iophon's coin rings true When he's alone, apart from Sophocles. Besides, Euripides the crafty rogue, Will find a thousand shifts to get away, But he was easy here, is easy there. HER. But Agathon, where is he? DIO. He has gone and left us, A genial poet, by his friends much missed. HER. Gone where? DIO. To join the blessed in their banquets. HER. But what of Xenocles? DIO. O he be hanged! HER. Pythangelus? XAN. But never a word of me, Not though my shoulder's chafed so terribly. HER. But have you not a shoal of little songsters, Tragedians by the myriad, who can chatter A furlong faster than Euripides? DIO. Those be mere vintage-leavings, jabberers, choirs Of swallow-broods, degraders of their art, Who get one chorus, and are seen no more, The Muses' love once gained. But O my friend, Search where you will, you'll never find a true Creative genius, uttering startling things. HER. Creative? how do you mean? DIO. I mean a man Who'll dare some novel venturesome conceit, Air, Zeus's chamber, or Time's foot, or this, 'Twas not my mind that swore: my tongue committed A little perjury on its own account. HER. You like that style? DIO. Like it? I dote upon it. HER. I vow it's ribald nonsense, and you know it. DIO. "Rule not my mind": you've got a house to mind. HER. Really and truly though 'tis paltry stuff. DIO. Teach me to dine! XAN. But never a word of me. DIO. But tell me truly—'twas for this I came Dressed up to mimic you—what friends received And entertained you when you went below To bring back Cerberus, in case I need them. And tell me too the havens, fountains, shops, Roads, resting-places, stews, refreshment rooms, Towns, lodgings, hostesses, with whom were found The fewest bugs. XAN. But never a word of me. HER. You are really game to go? DIO. O drop that, can't you? And tell me this: of all the roads you know Which is the quickest way to get to Hades? I want one not too warm, nor yet too cold. HER. Which shall I tell you first? which shall it be? There's one by rope and bench: you launch away And—hang yourself. DIO. No thank you: that's too stifling. HER. Then there's a track, a short and beaten cut. By pestle and mortar. DIO. Hemlock, do you mean? HER. Just so. DIO. No, that's too deathly cold a way; You have hardly started ere your shins get numbed. HER. Well, would you like a steep and swift descent? DIO. Aye, that's the style: my walking powers are small. HER. Go down to the Cerameicus. DIO. And do what? HER. Climb to the tower's top pinnacle— DIO. And then? HER. Observe the torch-race started, and when all The multitude is shouting Let them go, Let yourself go. DIO. Go whither? HER. To the ground. DIO. O that would break my brain's two envelopes. I'll not try that HER. Which will you try? DIO. The way you went yourself. HER. A parlous voyage that, For first you'll come to an enormous lake Of fathomless depth. DIO. And how am I to cross? HER. An ancient mariner will row you over In a wee boat, so big. The fare's two obols. DIO. Fie! The power two obols have, the whole world through! How came they thither? HER. Theseus took them down. And next you'll see great snakes and savage monsters In tens of thousands. DIO. You needn't try to scare me, I'm going to go. HER. Then weltering seas of filth And ever-rippling dung: and plunged therein, Whoso has wronged the stranger here on earth, Or robbed his boylove of the promised pay, Or swinged his mother, or profanely smitten His father's cheek, or sworn an oath forsworn, Or copied out a speech of Morsimus. DIO. There too, perdie, should he be plunged, whoe'er Has danced the sword-dance of Cinesias. HER. And next the breath of flutes will float around you, And glorious sunshine, such as ours, you'll see, And myrtle groves, and happy bands who clap Their hands in triumph, men and women too. DIO. And who are they? HER. The happy mystic bands. XAN. And I'm the donkey in the mystery show. But I'll not stand it, not one instant longer. HER. Who'll tell you everything you want to know. You'll find them dwelling close beside the road You are going to travel, just at Pluto's gate. And fare thee well, my brother. DIO. And to you Good cheer. (To Xan.) Now sirrah, pick you up the traps. XAN. Before I've put them down? DIO. And quickly too. XAN. No, prithee, no; but hire a body, one They're carrying out, on purpose for the trip. DIO. If I can't find one? XAN. Then I'll take them. DIO. Good. And see! they are carrying out a body now. Hallo! you there, you deadman, are you willing To carry down our little traps to Hades? CORPSE. What are they? DIO. These. CORP. Two drachmas for the job? DIO. Nay, that's too much. CORP. Out of the pathway, you! DIO. Beshrew thee, stop: may-be we'll strike a bargain. CORP. Pay me two drachmas, or it's no use talking. DIO. One and a half. CORP. I'd liefer live again! XAN. How absolute the knave is! He be hanged! I'll go myself. DIO. You're the right sort, my man. Now to the ferry. CHARON. Yoh, up! lay her to. XAN. Whatever's that? DIO. Why, that's the lake, by Zeus, Whereof he spake, and yon's the ferry-boat. XAN. Poseidon, yes, and that old fellow's Charon. DIO. Charon! O welcome, Charon! welcome, Charon. CHAR. Who's for the Rest from every pain and ill? Who's for the Lethe's plain? the Donkey-shearings? Who's for Cerberia? Taenarum? or the Ravens? DIO. I. CHAR. Hurry in. DIO. But where are you going really? In truth to the Ravens? CHAR. Aye, for your behoof. Step in. DIO. (To Xan.) Now, lad. CHAR. A slave? I take no slave, Unless he has fought for his bodyrights at sea. XAN. I couldn't go. I'd got the eye-disease. CHAR. Then fetch a circuit round about the lake. XAN. Where must I wait? CHAR. Beside the Withering stone, Hard by the Rest. DIO. You understand? XAN. Too well. O, what ill omen crost me as I started! CHAR. (To DIO.) Sit to the oar. (Calling.) Who else for the boat? Be quick. (To DIO.) Hi! what are you doing? DIO. What am I doing? Sitting On to the oar. You told me to, yourself. CHAR. Now sit you there, you little Potgut. DIO. So? CHAR. Now stretch your arms full length before you. DIO. So? CHAR. Come, don't keep fooling; plant your feet, and now Pull with a will. DIO. Why, how am I to pull? I'm not an oarsman, seaman, Salaminian. I can't! CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once, You'll hear the loveliest timing songs. DIO. What from? CHAR. Frog-swans, most wonderful. DIO. Then give the word. CHAR. Heave ahoy! heave ahoy!! FROGS. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax! Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax! We children of the fountain and the lake Let us wake Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out, Our symphony of clear-voiced song. The song we used to love in the Marshland up above, In praise of DIOnysus to produce, Of Nysaean DIOnysus, son of Zeus, When the revel-tipsy throng, all crapulous and gay, To our precinct reeled along on the holy Pitcher day. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. O, dear! O dear! now I declare I've got a bump upon my rump. FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. But you, perchance, don't care. FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. Hang you, and your ko-axing too! There's nothing but ko-ax with you. FR. That is right, Mr. Busybody, right! For the Muses of the lyre love us well; And hornfoot Pan who plays on the pipe his jocund lays; And Apollo, Harper bright, in our Chorus takes delight For the strong reed's sake which I grow within my lake To be girdled in his lyre's deep shell. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. My hands are blistered very sore; My stern below is sweltering so, 'Twill soon, I know, upturn and roar Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. O tuneful race, O pray give o'er, O sing no more. FR. Ah, no! ah, no! Loud and louder our chant must flow. Sing if ever ye sang of yore, When in sunny and glorious days Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing On we swept, in the joy of singing Myriad-divine roundelays. Or when fleeing the storm, we went Down to the depths, and our choral song Wildly raised to a loud and long Bubble-bursting accompaniment. FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. This timing song I take from you. FR. That's a dreadful thing to do. DIO. Much more dreadful, if I row Till I burst myself, I trow. FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. Go, hang yourselves; for what care I? FR. All the same we'll shout and cry, Stretching all our throats with song, Shouting, crying, all day long. FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. DIO. In this you'll never, never win. FR. This you shall not beat us in. DIO. No, nor ye prevail o'er me. Never! never! I'll my song Shout, if need be, all day long, Until I've learned to master your ko-ax. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax. I thought I'd put a stop to your ko-ax. CHAR. Stop! Easy! Take the oar and push her to now pay your fare and go. DIO. Here 'tis: two obols. Xanthias! where's Xanthias? Is it Xanthias there? XAN. Hoi, hoi! DIO. Come hither. XAN. Glad to meet you, master. DIO. What have you there? XAN. Nothing but filth and darkness. DIO. But tell me, did you see the parricides And perjured folk he mentioned? XAN. Didn't you? DIO. Poseidon, yes. Why look! (pointing to the audience) I see them now. What's the next step? XAN. We'd best be moving on. This is the spot where Heracles declared Those savage monsters dwell. DIO. O hang the fellow. That's all his bluff: he thought to scare me off, The jealous dog, knowing my plucky ways. There's no such swaggerer lives as Heracles. Why, I'd like nothing better than to achieve Some bold adventure, worthy of our trip. XAN. I know you would. Hallo! I hear a noise. DIO. Where? what? XAN. Behind us, there. DIO. Get you behind. XAN. No, it's in front. DIO. Get you in front directly. XAN. And now I see the most ferocious monster. DIO. O, what's it like? XAN. Like everything by turns. Now it's a bull: now it's a mule: and now The loveliest girl. DIO. O, where? I'll go and meet her. XAN. It's ceased to be a girl: it's a dog now. DIO. It is Empusa! XAN. Well, its face is all Ablaze with fire. DIO. Has it a copper leg? XAN. A copper leg, yes, one; and one of cow dung. DIO. O, whither shall I flee? XAN. O, whither I? DIO. My priest, protect me, and we'll sup together. XAN. King Heracles, we're done for. DIO. O, forbear, Good fellow, call me anything but that. XAN. Well then, Dionysus. DIO. O, that's worse again. XAN. (To the Spectre.) Aye, go thy way. O master, here, come here. DIO. O, what's up now? XAN. Take courage; all's serene. And, like Hegelochus, we now may say "Out of the storm there comes a new fine wether." Empusa's gone. DIO. Swear it. XAN. By Zeus she is. DIO. Swear it again. XAN. By Zeus. DIO. Again XAN. By Zeus. O dear, O dear, how pale I grew to see her, But he, from fright has yellowed me all over. DIO. Ah me, whence fall these evils on my head? Who is the god to blame for my destruction? Air, Zeus's chamber, or the Foot of Time? (A flute is played behind the scenes.) DIO. Hist! XAN. What's the matter. DIO. Didn't you hear it? XAN. What? DIO. The breath of flutes. XAN. Aye, and a whiff of torches Breathed o'er me too; a very mystic whiff. DIO. Then crouch we down, and mark what's going on. CHORUS. (In the distance.) O Iacchus! O Iacchus! O Iacchus! XAN. I have it, master: 'tis those blessed Mystics, Of whom he told us, sporting hereabouts. They sing the Iacchus which Diagoras made. DIO. I think so too: we had better both keep quiet And so find out exactly what it is. (The calling forth of Iacchus.) CHOR. O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temple dwelling, O Iacchus! O Iacchus! Come to tread this verdant level, Come to dance in mystic revel, Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles, Come with wild and saucy paces Mingling in our joyous dance, Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces When the mystic choirs advance. XAN. Holy and sacred queen, Demeter's daughter, O, what a jolly whiff of pork breathed o'er me! DIO. Hist! and perchance you'll get some tripe yourself. (The welcome to Iacchus.) CHOR. Come, arise, from sleep awaking, come the fiery torches shaking, O Iacchus! O Iacchus! Morning Star that shinest nightly. Lo, the mead is blazing brightly, Age forgets its years and sadness, Aged knees curvet for gladness, Lift thy flashing torches o'er us, Marshal all thy blameless train, Lead, O lead the way before us; lead the lovely youthful Chorus To the marshy flowery plain. (The warning-off of the profane.) All evil thoughts and profane be still: far hence, far hence from our choirs depart, Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of heart; Who ne'er has the noble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the Muses high; Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus's words supply; Who vulgar coarse buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they make; Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to slake, But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to reap; Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on the stormy deep; Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, ships away Forbidden stores from Aegina's shores, to Epidaurus across the Bay Transmitting oarpads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five per cents; The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy's armaments; The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate's wayside shrine; The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feast, would, with heart malign, Keep nibbling away the Comedians' pay;—to these I utter my warning cry, I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that they draw not nigh To the sacred dance of the Mystic choir. But YE, my comrades, awake the song, The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast belong. (The start of the procession.) Advance, true hearts, advance! On to the gladsome bowers, On to the sward, with flowers Embosomed bright! March on with jest, and jeer, and dance, Full well ye've supped to-night. (The processional hymn to Persephone.) March, chanting loud your lays, Your hearts and voices raising, The Saviour goddess praising Who vows she'll still Our city save to endless days, Whate'er Thorycion's will. Break off the measure, and change the time; and now with chanting and hymns adorn Demeter, goddess mighty and high, the harvest-queen, the giver of corn. (The processional hymn to Demeter.) O Lady, over our rites presiding, Preserve and succour thy choral throng, And grant us all, in thy help confiding, To dance and revel the whole day long; AND MUCH in earnest, and much in jest, Worthy thy feast, may we speak therein. And when we have bantered and laughed our best, The victor's wreath be it ours to win. Call we now the youthful god, call him hither without delay, Him who travels amongst his chorus, dancing along on the Sacred Way. (The processional hymn to Iacchus.) O, come with the joy of thy festival song, O, come to the goddess, O, mix with our throng Untired, though the journey be never so long. O Lord of the frolic and dance, Iacchus, beside me advance! For fun, and for cheapness, our dress thou hast rent, Through thee we may dance to the top of our bent, Reviling, and jeering, and none will resent. O Lord of the frolic and dance, Iacchus, beside me advance! A sweet pretty girl I observed in the show, Her robe had been torn in the scuffle, and lo, There peeped through the tatters a bosom of snow. O Lord of the frolic and dance, Iacchus, beside me advance! DIO. Wouldn't I like to follow on, and try A little sport and dancing? XAN. Wouldn't I? (The banter at the bridge of Cephisus.) CHOR. Shall we all a merry joke At Archedemus poke, Who has not cut his guildsmen yet, though seven years old; Yet up among the dead He is demagogue and head, And contrives the topmost place of the rascaldom to hold? And Cleisthenes, they say, Is among the tombs all day, Bewailing for his lover with a lamentable whine. And Callias, I'm told, Has become a sailor bold, And casts a lion's hide o'er his members feminine. DIO. Can any of you tell Where Pluto here may dwell, For we, sirs, are two strangers who were never here before?