The World's Greatest Books — Volume 17 — Poetry and Drama
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Title: The World's Greatest Books — Volume 17 — Poetry and Drama
Editor: Arthur Mee
J. A. Hammerton
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Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS — VOLUME 17 — POETRY AND DRAMA ***
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
THE WORLD'S
GREATEST
BOOKS
[Illustration: Decoration]
JOINT EDITORS
ARTHUR MEE
Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
J.A. HAMMERTON
Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
[Illustration: Decoration]
VOL. XVII
POETRY AND DRAMA
WM. H. WISE & CO.
_Table of Contents_
PORTRAIT OF MOLIÈRE _Frontispiece_
GOETHE (_Continued_) PAGE
Goetz von Berlichingen 1
Iphigenia in Tauris 18
GOGOL, NICOLAI
Inspector-General 30
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER
She Stoops to Conquer 39
HEINE, HEINRICH
Atta Troll 50
HOMER
Iliad 66
Odyssey 78
HORACE
Poems 91
HUGO, VICTOR
Hernani 110
Marion de Lorme 123
Ruy Blas 134
The King Amuses Himself 146
The Legend of the Alps 159
IBSEN, HENRIK
Master Builder 171
Pillars of Society 186
JONSON, BEN
Every Man in His Humour 195
JUVENAL
Satires 207
KLOPSTOCK, FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB
Messiah 217
LESSING, GOTTHOLD EPHRAIM
Nathan the Wise 226
LONGFELLOW
Evangeline 241
Hiawatha 250
LUCRETIUS
On the Nature of Things 261
MACPHERSON, JAMES
Ossian 272
MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER
Dr. Faustus 282
MARTIAL
Epigrams, Epitaphs, and Poems 295
MASSINGER, PHILIP
New Way to Pay Old Debts 305
MILTON
Paradise Lost 319
Paradise Regained 342
Samson Agonistes 349
MOLIÈRE
The Doctor in Spite of Himself 362
(MOLIÈRE: _Continued in Vol. XVIII_)
* * * * *
A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at
the end of Volume XX.
_Poetry and Drama_
GOETHE
_(Continued)_
Goetz von Berlichingen[A]
_Persons in the Drama_
THE EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN THE BISHOP OF BAMBERG
GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN FRANZ LERSE
ADELBERT VON WEISLINGEN ELIZABETH, _wife to Goetz_
FRANZ VON SICKINGEN MARIE, _his sister_
HANS VON SELBITZ ADELHEID VON WALLDORF
FRANZ, _page to Weislingen_ IMPERIAL COUNCILLOR
GEORGE, _page to Goetz_ USHER
FAUD
MAX STUMPF, SIEVERS, METZLER, LINK, KOHL,
_Leaders of the rebel peasants_
ACT I
SCENE I.--_Forest; a poor hut in the background_. GOETZ _and_
GEORGE.
GOETZ: Where can my men be? Up and down I have to walk, lest sleep
should overcome me. Five days and nights already in ambush. But when
I get thee, Weislingen, I shall make up for it! You priests may send
round your obliging Weislingen to decry me--I am awake. You escaped
me, bishop! So your dear Weislingen may pay the piper. George! George!
(_Enter_ GEORGE.) Tell Hans to get ready. My scouts may be back any
moment. And give me some more wine!
GEORGE: Hark! I hear some horses galloping--two--it must be your
men!
GOETZ: My horse, quick! Tell Hans to arm!
[_Enter_ FAUD, _who reports to_ GOETZ _that_ WEISLINGEN _is
approaching. Exit_ GOETZ _and his men_.
GEORGE: Oh, St. George! Make me strong and brave! And give me spear,
armour, and horse! [_Exit._
SCENE II.--_Hall at Jaxthausen_. ELIZABETH _and_ MARIE.
MARIE: If I had a husband who always exposed himself to danger, I
should die the first year.
ELIZABETH: Thank God, I am made of harder stuff! God grant that my
boy may take after his father, and not become a treacherous hypocrite,
like Weislingen.
MARIE: You are very bitter against him. Yet report speaks well of
him. Your own husband loved him, when they were pages together to the
margrave.
[_The gay tune of a wind-instrument is heard_.
ELIZABETH: There he returns with his spoil! I must get the meal
ready. Here, take the cellar keys and let them have of the best wine!
They have deserved it.
[_Exeunt. Enter_ GOETZ, WEISLINGEN, _and men-at-arms._
* * * * *
GOETZ (_taking off his helmet and sword_): Unstrap my cuirass and
give me my doublet! Weislingen, you've given us hard work! Be of good
cheer. Where are your clothes? I could lend you some of mine--a neat,
clean suit, which I wore at the wedding of my gracious lord the Count
Palatine, when your bishop got so vexed with me, because I made him
shake hands with me, unknown, after having taken two of his ships a
fortnight before on the Main.
WEISLINGEN: I beg you to leave me alone.
GOETZ: Why? Pray, be cheerful. You are in my power, and I shall not
abuse it. You know my knight's duty is sacred to me. And now I must go
to see my wife. [_Exit._
WEISLINGEN: Oh, that it were all a dream! In Berlichingen's power--and
he, the old true-hearted Goetz! Back again in the hall, where we played
as boys, where I loved him with all my heart! How strangely past and
present seem to intermingle here.
[_Enter_ GOETZ, _and a man with jug and goblet_.
GOETZ: Let us drink, until the meal is ready. Come, you are at home.
It is a long time since we last shared a bottle. (_Raising his goblet_)
A gay heart!
WEISLINGEN: Those times are past.
GOETZ: Heaven forbid! Though merrier days we may not find. If you had
only followed me to Brabant, instead of taking to that miserable life
at court! Are you not as free and nobly born as anyone in Germany?
Independent, subject only to the emperor? And you submit to vassals,
who poison the emperor's ear against me! They want to get rid of me.
And you, Weislingen, are their tool!
WEISLINGEN: Berlichingen!
GOETZ: No more of it! I hate explanations. They only lead to
deceiving one or the other, or both.
[_They stand apart, their backs turned to each other.
Enter_ MARIE.
MARIE (_to_ WEISLINGEN): I come to greet and to invite you in
my sister's name. What is it? Why are you silent both? You are host
and guest. Be guided by a woman's voice.
GOETZ: You remind me of my duty.
WEISLINGEN: Who could resist so heavenly a hint?
MARIE: Draw near each other, be reconciled! (_The men shake hands_.)
The union of brave men is the most ardent wish of all good women.
ACT II
SCENE I.--_A room at Jaxthausen_. Marie _and_ Weislingen.
MARIE: You say you love me. I willingly believe it, and hope to be
happy with you and to make you happy.
WEISLINGEN: Blessed be your brother and the day he rode out to
capture me! [_Enter_ Goetz.
GOETZ: Your page is back. Whatever his news, Adelbert, you are
free! All I ask is your word that you will not aid and abet my
enemies.
WEISLINGEN: I take your hand. And may I at the same time take
the hand of this noblest of all women?
GOETZ: May I say "yes" for you, Marie? You need not blush--your
eyes have answered clearly. Well, then, Weislingen, take her hand,
and I say Amen, friend and brother! I must call my wife. Elizabeth!
(_Enter_ ELIZABETH.) Join your hand in theirs and say "God bless
you!" They are a pair. Adelbert is going back to Bamberg to detach
himself openly from the bishop, and then to his estates to settle
his affairs. And now we'll leave him undisturbed to hear his boy's
report.
[_Exit with_ Marie _and_ Elizabeth.
WEISLINGEN: Such bliss for one so unworthy!
[_Enter_ Franz.
FRANZ: God save you, noble sir! I bring you greetings from
everybody in Bamberg--from the bishop down to the jester. How they
are distressed at your mishap! I am to tell you to be patient--they
will think the more impatiently of your deliverance; for they cannot
spare you.
WEISLINGEN: They will have to. I'll return, but not to stay long.
FRANZ: Not to stay? My lord, if you but knew what I know! If you
had but seen her--the angel in the shape of woman, who makes Bamberg
a forecourt of heaven--Adelheid von Walldorf!
WEISLINGEN: I have heard much of her beauty. Is her husband at
court?
FRANZ: She has been widowed for four months, and is at Bamberg for
amusement. If she looks upon you, it is as though you were basking in
spring sunshine.
WEISLINGEN: Her charms would be lost on me. I am betrothed. Marie
will be the happiness of my life. And now pack up. First to Bamberg,
and then to my castle. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_A forest. Some Nuremberg merchants, who, attacked on their
way to the Frankfurt Fair by_ Goetz _and his men, have
escaped, leaving their goods in the hands of the knights.
The page_ George _has, however, recaptured two of the
merchants as_ Goetz _and his men enter_.
GOETZ: Search the forest! Let none escape!
GEORGE (_stepping forward_): I've done some preparatory work. Here
they are.
GOETZ: Welcome, good lad! Keep them well guarded! (_Exit his men
with the merchants_.) And now, what news of Weislingen?
GEORGE: Bad news! He looked confused when I said to him, "A few
words from your Berlichingen." He tried to put me off with empty words,
but when I pressed him he said he was under no obligation to you, and
would have nothing to do with you.
GOETZ: Enough! I shall not forget this infamous treachery. Whoever
gets into my power shall feel it. (_Exit_ GEORGE.) I'll revel in their
agony, deride their fear. And how, Goetz, are you thus changed? Should
other people's faults and vices make you renounce your chivalry, and
abandon yourself to vulgar cruelty? I'll drag him back in chains, if
I can't get him any other way. And there's an end of it, Goetz; think
of your duty!
[_Enter_ GEORGE _with a casket_.
GEORGE: Now let your joke be ended, they are frightened enough. One
of them, a handsome young man, gave me this casket, and said, "Take
this as ransom! The jewels I meant to take to my betrothed. Take them,
and let me escape."
GOETZ (_examining the jewels_): This time, Marie, I shall not be
tempted to bring it to you as a birthday gift. Even in your misfortune
you would rejoice in the happiness of others. Take it, George. Give
it back to the lad. Let him take it to his bride, with greeting from
Goetz! And let all the prisoners free at sunset.
ACT III
SCENE I.--_Pleasure-garden at Augsburg. The_ EMPEROR, _the_ BISHOP OF
BAMBERG, WEISLINGEN, _the_ LADY ADELHEID, COURTIERS.
EMPEROR: I am tired of these merchants with their eternal
complaints! Every shopkeeper wants help, and no one will stir against
the common enemy of the empire and of Christianity.
WEISLINGEN: Who would be active abroad while he is threatened at
home?
BISHOP: If we could only remove that proud Sickingen and
Berlichingen, the others would soon fall asunder.
EMPEROR: Brave, noble men at heart, who must be spared and used
against the Turks.
WEISLINGEN: The consequences may be dangerous. Better to capture
them and leave them quietly upon their knightly parole in their
castles.
EMPEROR: If they then abide by the law, they might again be
honourably and usefully employed. I shall open the session of the Diet
to-morrow with this proposal.
WEISLINGEN: A clamour of joyful assent will spare your majesty the
end of the speech.
[_Exit_ EMPEROR, BISHOP, _and_ COURTIERS.
WEISLINGEN: And so you mean to go--to leave the festive scenes for
which you longed with all your heart, to leave a friend to whom you
are indispensable, to delay our union?
ADELHEID: The gayer, the freer shall I return to you.
WEISLINGEN: Will you be content if we proceed against Berlichingen?
ADELHEID: You deserve a kiss! My uncle, Von Wanzenau, must be
captain!
WEISLINGEN: Impossible! An incompetent old dreamer!
ADELHEID: Let the fiery Werdenhagen, his sister's stepson, go with
him.
WEISLINGEN: He is thoughtless and foolhardy, and will not improve
matters.
ADELHEID: We have to think of our relatives. For love of me, you
must do it! And I want some exemptions for the convent of St. Emmerau;
you can work the chancellor. Then the cup-bearer's post is vacant at
the Hessian Court, and the high stewardship of the Palatinate. I want
them for our friends Braimau and Mirsing.
WEISLINGEN: How shall I remember it all?
ADELHEID: I shall train a starling to repeat the names to you, and
to add, "Please, please." (_Exit_ WEISLINGEN. _To_ FRANZ, _whom she
stops as he crosses to follow his master_): Franz, could you get me
a starling, or would you yourself be my starling? You would learn
more rapidly.
FRANZ: If you would teach me. Try. Take me with you.
ADELHEID: No, you must serve me here. Have you a good memory?
FRANZ: For your words. I remember every syllable you spoke to me
that first day at Bamberg.
ADELHEID: Now, listen, Franz. I shall tell you the names which I
want you to repeat to your master, always adding, "Please, please."
FRANZ (_seizing her hand passionately_): Please, please!
ADELHEID (_stepping back_): Hands are not wanted. You must lose
such bad manners. But you must not be so upset at a little rebuke.
One punishes the children one loves.
FRANZ: You love me, then?
ADELHEID: I might love you as a child, but you are getting too tall
and violent. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_Hall at Jaxthausen_. SICKINGEN _and_ GOETZ.
GOETZ: So you want to marry a jilted woman?
SICKINGEN: To be deceived by him is an honour for you both. I want
a mistress for my castles and gardens. In the field, at court, I want
to stand alone.
[_Enter_ SELBITZ.
SELBITZ: Bad news! The emperor has put you under the ban, and has
sent troops to seize you.
GOETZ: Sickingen, you hear. Take back your offer, and leave me!
SICKINGEN: I shall not turn from you in trouble. No better wooing
than in time of war and danger.
GOETZ: On one condition. You must publicly detach yourself from me.
The emperor loves and esteems you, and your intercession may save me
in the hour of need.
SICKINGEN: But I can secretly send you twenty horsemen.
GOETZ: That offer I accept. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.--_A hill with a view over a fertile country_. GEORGE _and_
GOETZ'S _men cross the stage, chasing the imperial troops.
Then_ SELBITZ _is carried on, wounded, accompanied by_
FAUD.
SELBITZ: Let me rest here!--and back to your master; back to Goetz!
FAUD: Let me stay with you. I am no good below; they have hammered
my old bones till I can scarcely move. (_Exit soldiers._) Here from
the wall I can watch the fight.
SELBITZ: What do you see?
FAUD: Your horsemen are turning tail. I can see Goetz's three black
feathers in the midst of the turmoil. Woe, he has fallen! And George's
blue plume has disappeared! Sickingen's horsemen in flight! Ha! I see
Goetz again! And George! Victory! Victory! They are routed! Goetz is
after them--he has seized their flag! The fugitives are coming here!
Oh! what will they do with you?
SELBITZ: Come down and draw! My sword is ready. I'll make it hot for
them, even sitting or lying down!
[_Enter imperial troops_. SELBITZ _and_ FAUD _defend themselves until_
LERSE _comes to their rescue, attacking the soldiers furiously,
killing some and putting the rest to flight. Enter_ GOETZ, GEORGE,
_a troop of armed men._
SELBITZ: Good luck, Goetz! Victory! Victory! How did you fare?
GOETZ: To George and Lerse I owe my life; I was off my horse when
they came to the rescue. I have their flag and a few prisoners.
SELBITZ: Lerse saved me, too. See what work he has done here!
GOETZ: Good luck, Lerse! And God bless my George's first brave deed!
Now back to the castle, and let us gather our scattered men.
ACT IV
SCENE I.--_Jaxthausen. A small room_. MARIE _and_ SICKINGEN.
SICKINGEN: You may smile, but I felt the desire to possess you when
you first looked upon me with your blue eyes, when you were with your
mother at the Diet of Speier. I have long been separated from you; but
that wish remained, with the memory of that glance.
[_Enter_ GOETZ.
SICKINGEN: Good luck!
MARIE: Welcome, a thousand times!
GOETZ: Now quickly to the chapel! I've thought it all out, and time
presses.
SCENE II.--_Large hall; in the background a door, leading to the
chapel_. LERSE _and men-at-arms. Enter_ GOETZ _from
chapel_.
GOETZ: How now, Lerse? The men had better be distributed over the
walls. Let them take any breastplates, helmets, and arms they may want.
Are the gates well manned?
LERSE: Yes, sir.
GOETZ: Sickingen will leave us at once. You will lead him through
the lower gate, along the water, and across the ford. Then look around
you, and come back.
[_Enter_ SICKINGEN, MARIE, ELIZABETH, _from chapel_.
_Drums in distance announce the enemy's approach_.
GOETZ: May God bless you and send you merry, happy days!
ELIZABETH: And may He let your children be like you!
SICKINGEN: I thank you, and I thank you, Marie, who will lead me to
happiness.
GOETZ: A pleasant journey! Lerse will show you the way.
MARIE: That is not what we meant. We shall not leave you.
GOETZ: You must, sister! (_To_ SICKINGEN) You understand? Talk to
Marie; she is your wife. Take her to safety, and then think of me.
[_Exeunt_ LERSE, SICKINGEN _and_ MARIE. _Enter_ GEORGE.
GEORGE: They approach from all sides. I saw their pikes glitter from
the tower.
GOETZ: Have the gate barricaded with beams and stones.
[_Exit_ GEORGE. _A trumpeter is dimly heard from the distance,
requesting_ GOETZ _to surrender unconditionally_. GOETZ
_refuses angrily, and slams the window. Enter_ LERSE.
LERSE: There is plenty of powder, but bullets are scarce.
GOETZ: Look round for lead! Meanwhile, we must make the crossbows
do. [_Distant shooting is heard at intervals. Exit_ GOETZ _with
crossbow_.
LERSE (_breaking a window and detaching the lead from the glass_):
This lead has rested long enough; now it may fly for a change.
[_Enter_ GOETZ.
GOETZ: They have ceased firing, and offer a truce with all sorts of
signs and white rags. They will probably ask me to surrender on
knightly parole.
LERSE: I'll go and see. 'Tis best to know their mind.
[_Goes out and returns shortly_.
LERSE: Liberty! Liberty! Here are the conditions. You may withdraw
with arms, horses, and armour, leaving all provisions behind. Your
property will be carefully guarded. I am to remain.
GOETZ: Come, take the best arms with you, and leave the others here!
Come, Elizabeth! Through this very gate I led you as a young bride.
Who knows when we shall return?
[_Exeunt_ GOETZ _and_ ELIZABETH, _followed by_ GEORGE.
_While the men are choosing arms and preparing_,
LERSE, _who has heard shouting and firing without,
looks through the window_.
LERSE: God! They are murdering our master! He is off his horse!
Help him!
FAUD: George is still fighting. Let's go! If they die, I don't want
to live! [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.--_Night; anteroom in_ ADELHEID'S _castle_. WEISLINGEN,
FRANZ, ADELHEID, _with a retinue of masked and costumed
revellers_.
WEISLINGEN: May I, in these moments of lightheartedness, speak to
you of serious matters? Goetz is probably by this time in our hands.
The peasants' revolt is growing in violence; and the League has given
me the command against them. We shall start before long. I shall take
you to my castle in Franconia, where you will be safe, and not too far
from me.
ADELHEID: We shall consider that. I may be useful to you here.
WEISLINGEN: We have not much time, for we break up to-morrow!
ADELHEID (_after a pause_): Very well, then; carnival to-night, and
war to-morrow!
WEISLINGEN: You are fond of change. A pleasant night to you!
[_Exit._
ADELHEID: I understand. You would remove me from the court, where
Charles, our emperor's great successor, is the object of all hope? You
will not change my plans. Franz!
FRANZ (_entering_): Gracious lady!
ADELHEID: Watch all the masks, and find out for me the archduke's
disguise! You look sad?
FRANZ: It is your will that I should languish unto death.
ADELHEID _(apart)_: I pity him. (_To_ FRANZ) You are true and
loving; I shall not forget you!
SCENE IV.--_Heilbronn Town Hall_. IMPERIAL COUNCILLOR _and_
MAGISTRATES, USHERS, GOETZ.
COUNCILLOR: You know how you fell into our hands, and are a prisoner
at discretion?
GOETZ: What will you give me to forget it?
COUNCILLOR: You gave your knightly parole to appear and humbly to
await his majesty's pleasure?
GOETZ: Well, here I am, and await it!
COUNCILLOR: His majesty's mercy releases you from the ban and all
punishment, provided you subscribe to all the articles which shall be
read unto you.
GOETZ: I am his majesty's faithful servant. But, before you proceed,
where are my men; what is their fate?
COUNCILLOR: That is no business of yours. Secretary, read the
articles! _(Reads)_: I, Goetz von Berlichingen, having lately risen
in rebellion against the emperor------
GOETZ: 'Tis false! I am no rebel! I refuse to listen any further!
COUNCILLOR: And yet we have strict orders to persuade you by fair
means, or to throw you into prison.
GOETZ: To prison? Me? That cannot be the emperor's order! To promise
me permission to ward myself on parole, and then again to break your
treaty.
COUNCILLOR: We owe no faith to robbers.
GOETZ: If you were not the representative of my respected sovereign,
you should swallow that word, or choke upon it!
[COUNCILLOR _makes a sign, and a bell is rung. Enter
citizens with halberds and swords_.
COUNCILLOR: You will not listen--seize him!
[_They rush upon him. He strikes one down, and snatches
a sword from another. They stand aloof_.
GOETZ: Come on! I should like to become acquainted with the bravest
among you.
[_A trumpet is heard without. Enter_ USHER.
USHER: Franz von Sickingen is without and sends word that having
heard how faith has been broken with his brother-in-law, he insists
upon justice, or within an hour he will fire the four quarters of the
town, and abandon it to be sacked by his men.
GOETZ: Brave friend!
COUNCILLOR: You had best dissuade your brother-in-law from his
rebellious intention. He will only become the companion of your fall!
Meanwhile, we will consider how we can best uphold the emperor's
authority.
[_Exeunt all but_ GOETZ. _Enter_ SICKINGEN.
GOETZ: That was help from heaven. I asked nothing but knightly ward
upon my parole.
SICKINGEN: They have shamefully abused the imperial authority. I
know the emperor, and have some influence with him. I shall want your
fist in an enterprise I am preparing. Meanwhile, they will let you and
your men return to your castle upon the promise not to move beyond
its confines. And the emperor will soon call you. Now back to the
wigs! They have had time enough to talk; let's save them the trouble!
ACT V
SCENE I.--_Forest_. GOETZ _and_ GEORGE.
GOETZ: No further! Another step and I should have broken my oath.
What is that dust beyond? And that wild mob moving towards us?
LERSE (_entering_): The rebel peasants. Back to the castle! They
have dealt horribly with the noblest men!
GOETZ: On my own soil I shall not try to evade the rabble.
[_Enter_ STUMPF, KOHL, SIEVERS, _and armed peasants_.
STUMPF: We come to ask you, brave Goetz, to be our captain.
GOETZ: What! Me? To break my oath? Stumpf, I thought you were a
friend! Even if I were free, and you wanted to carry on as you did at
Weinsberg, raving and burning, and murdering, I'd rather be killed
than be your captain!
STUMPF: If we had a leader of authority, such things would not
happen. The princes and all Germany would thank you.
SIEVERS: You must be our captain, or you will have to defend your
own skin. We give you two hours to consider it.
GOETZ: Why consider? I can decide now as well as later. Will you
desist from your misdeeds, and act like decent folk who know what
they want? Then I shall help you with your claims, and be your captain
for four weeks. Now, come! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_Landscape, with village and castle in distance_. GOETZ
_and_ GEORGE.
GEORGE: I beseech you, leave this infamous mob of robbers and
incendiaries.
GOETZ: We have done some good and saved many a convent, many a life.
GEORGE: Oh, sir, I beg you to leave them at once, before they drag
you away with them as prisoner, instead of following you as captain!
(_Flames are seen rising from the distant village_.) See there! A new
crime!
GOETZ: That is Miltenberg. Quick, George! Prevent the burning of the
castle. I'll have nothing further to do with the scoundrels.
GEORGE: I shall save Miltenberg, or you will not see me again.
[_Exit._
GOETZ: Everybody blames me for the mischief, and nobody gives me
credit for having prevented so much evil. Would I were thousands of
miles away!
[_Enter_ SIEVERS, LINK, METZLER, _peasants_.
LINK: Rouse yourself, captain; the enemy is near and in great force!
GOETZ: Who burnt Miltenberg?
METZLER: If you want to make a fuss, we'll soon teach you!
GOETZ: You threaten? Scoundrel! [_He knocks him down with a blow of
his fist_.
KOHL: You are mad! The enemy is coming, and you quarrel.
[_Tumult, battle, and rout of the peasants. Then the
stage gradually fills with gypsies_. GOETZ _returns
wounded, is recognised by the gypsies, who bandage
him, help him on to his horse, and ask him to lead
them. Soldiers enter and level their halberds at_
GOETZ.
SCENE III.--ADELHEID'S _room. Night_. ADELHEID. FRANZ.
FRANZ: Oh, let me stay yet a little while--here, where I live.
Without is death!
ADELHEID: Already you hesitate? Then give me back the phial. You
played the hero, but you are only a boy; A man who wooes a noble woman
stakes his life, honour, virtue, happiness! Boy, leave me!
FRANZ: No, you are mine. And if I get your freedom I get my own.
With a firm hand I shall pour the poison into my master's cup.
Farewell.
[_He embraces her and hurries away_.
SCENE IV.--_Rustic garden_. MARIE _sleeping in an arbour._ LERSE.
LERSE: Gracious lady, awake! We must away. Goetz captured as a rebel
and thrown into a dungeon! His age! His wounds!
MARIE: We must hurry to Weislingen. Only dire necessity can drive
me to this step. Saving my brother's life I go to death. I shall kneel
to him, weep before him.
[_Exit._
SCENE V.--WEISLINGEN'S _hall_.
WEISLINGEN: A wretched fever has dried my very marrow. No rest for
me, day or night! Goetz haunts my very dreams. He is a prisoner, and
yet I tremble before him. (_Enter_ MARIE.) Oh, heaven! Marie's spirit,
to tell me of her death!
MARIE: Weislingen, I am no spirit. I have come to beg of you my
brother's life.
WEISLINGEN: Marie! You, angel of heaven, bring with you the tortures
of hell. The breath of death is upon me, and you come to throw me into
despair!
MARIE: My brother is ill in prison. His wounds--his age----
WEISLINGEN: Enough. Franz! (_Enter_ FRANZ _in great excitement_.)
The papers there! (FRANZ _hands him a sealed packet_.) Here is your
brother's death-warrant; and thus I tear it. He lives. Do not weep,
Franz; there's hope for the living.
FRANZ: You cannot, you must die! Poison from your wife. [_Rushes
to the window, and throws himself out into the river_.
WEISLINGEN: Woe to me! Poison from my wife! Franz seduced by the
infamous woman! I am dying; and in my agony throb the tortures of hell.
MARIE (_kneeling):_ Merciful God, have pity on him!
SCENE VI.--_A small garden outside the prison_, GOETZ, ELIZABETH,
LERSE, _and prison-keeper_.
GOETZ: Almighty God! How lovely is it beneath Thy heaven! Farewell,
my children! My roots are cut away, my strength totters to the grave.
Let me see George once more, and sun myself in his look. You turn
away and weep? He is dead! Then die, Goetz! How did he die? Alas!
they took him among the incendiaries, and he has been executed?
ELIZABETH: No, he was slain at Miltenberg, fighting like a lion.
GOETZ: God be praised! Now release my soul! My poor wife! I leave
you in a wicked world. Lerse, forsake her not! Blessings upon Marie
and her husband. Selbitz is dead, and the good emperor, and my George.
Give me some water! Heavenly air! Freedom!
[_He dies_.
ELIZABETH: Freedom is only above--with thee; the world is a prison.
LERSE: Noble man! Woe to this age that rejected thee! Woe to the
future that shall misjudge thee!
FOOTNOTES:
[A] The story of "Goetz von Berlichingen" was founded on
the life of a German soldier of fortune who flourished between 1480
and 1562. The possibilities of his biography inspired Goethe (Vol.
IV, p. 253) with the idea of doing for Germany what Shakespeare had
done for mediæval England. In a few weeks he had turned the life into
a series of vivid dramatic pictures, which so engrossed him that he
"forgot Homer, Shakespeare, and everything." For the next two years
the manuscript lay untouched. In 1773 he made a careful revision and
published it anonymously under the title of "Goetz von Berlichingen of
the Iron Hand"; it is in this form we possess the work now. At a still
later period, in 1804, Goethe prepared another version of the play
for the stage. The subject-matter of "Goetz" is purely revolutionary.
Goetz, the hero himself, is a champion of a good cause--the cause
of freedom and self-reliance. He is the embodiment of sturdy German
virtues, the Empire and the Church playing the unenviable role of
intrigue and oppression. As a stage play, "Goetz" is ill-constructed,
but otherwise it stands a veritable literary triumph, and a worthy
predecessor to "Faust." This epitome has been prepared from the German
text.
Iphigenia in Tauris[B]
_Persons in the Drama_
IPHIGENIA ORESTES
THOAS, _King of Tauris_
PYLADES ARKAS
_The scene throughout is laid in a grove before_ DIANA'S _temple in
Tauris_.
ACT I
IPHIGENIA _and_ THOAS.
THOAS: To-day I come within this sacred fane,
Which I have often entered to implore
And thank the gods for conquest. In my breast
I bear an old and fondly-cherish'd wish,
To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger:
I hope, a blessing to myself and realm,
To lead thee to my dwelling as my bride.
IPHIGENIA: Too great thine offer, king, to one unknown,
Who on this shore sought only what thou gavest,
Safety and peace.
THOAS: Thus still to shroud thyself
From me, as from the lowest, in the veil
Of mystery which wrapp'd thy coming here,
Would in no country be deem'd just or right.
IPHIGENIA: If I conceal'd, O king, my name, my race,
It was embarrassment, and not mistrust.
For didst thou know who stands before thee now,
Strange horror would possess thy mighty heart,
And, far from wishing me to share thy throne,
Thou wouldst more likely banish me forthwith.
THOAS: Whate'er respecting thee the gods decree,
Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoy'd
The privilege the pious stranger claims,
To me hath fail'd no blessing sent from heaven.
End then thy silence, priestess!
IPHIGENIA: I issue from the Titan's race.
THOAS: From that same Tantalus, whom Jove himself
Drew to his council and his social board?
IPHIGENIA: His crime was human, and their doom severe;
Alas, and his whole race must bear their hate.
His son, Pelops, obtained his second wife
Through treachery and murder. And Hebe's sons,
Thyestes and Atreus, envious of the love
That Pelops bore his first-born, murdered him.
The mother, held as murderess by the sire,
In terror did destroy herself. The sons,
After the death of Pelops, shared the rule
O'er Mycenæ, till Atreus from the realm
Thyestes drove. Oh, spare me to relate
The deeds of horror, vengeance, cruel infamy
That ended in a feast where Atreus made
His brother eat the flesh of his own boys.
THOAS: But tell me by what miracle thou sprangest
From race so savage.
IPHIGENIA: Atreus' eldest son
Was Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire;
My mother Clytemnestra, who then bore
To him Electra, and to fill his cup
Of bliss, Orestes. But misfortunes new
Befel our ancient house, when to avenge
The fairest woman's wrongs the kings of Greece
Round Ilion's walls encamp'd, led by my sire.
In Aulis vainly for a favouring gale
They waited; for, enrag'd against their chief,
Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd,
Through Chalcas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.
They lured me to the altar, and this head
There to the goddess doomed. She was appeased,
And shrouded me in a protecting cloud.
Here I awakened from the dream of death,
Diana's priestess, I who speak with thee.
THOAS: I yield no higher honour or regard
To the king's daughter than the maid unknown;
Once more my first proposal I repeat.
IPHIGENIA: Hath not the goddess who protected me
Alone a right to my devoted head?
THOAS: Not many words are needed to refuse,
The _no_ alone is heard by the refused.
IPHIGENIA: I have to thee my inmost heart reveal'd.
My father, mother, and my long-lost home
With yearning soul I pine to see.
THOAS: Then go!
And to the voice of reason close thine ear.
Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still
Of the great goddess who selected thee.
From olden time no stranger near'd our shore
But fell a victim at her sacred shrine;
But thou, with kind affection didst enthral
Me so that wholly I forgot my duty;
And I did not hear my people's murmurs.
Now they cry aloud. No longer now
Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd.
Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore
We found conceal'd, and whose arrival here
Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power.
With them thy goddess may once more resume
Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites!
I send them here--thy duty not unknown.
[_Exit._
IPHIGENIA: O goddess! Keep my hands from blood!
ACT II
ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.
ORESTES: When I implor'd Apollo to remove
The grisly band of Furies from my side,
He promised aid and safety in the fane
Of his lov'd sister, who o'er Tauris rules.
Thus the prophetic word fulfils itself,
That with my life shall terminate my woe.
Thee only, friend, thee am I loath to take,
The guiltless partner of my crime and curse,
To yonder cheerless shore!
PYLADES: Think not of death!
But mark if not the gods perchance present
Means and fit moment for a joyful flight.
The gods avenge not on the son the deeds
Done by their father.
ORESTES: It is their decree
Which doth destroy us.
PYLADES: From our guards I learn
A strange and god-like woman holds in check
The execution of the bloody law.
ORESTES: The monarch's savage will decrees our death;
A woman cannot save when he condemns.
PYLADES: She comes: leave us alone. I dare not tell
At once our names, nor unreserv'd confide
Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile.
[_Exit_ ORESTES. _Enter_ IPHIGENIA.
IPHIGENIA: Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing
Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.
[_She unbinds his chains_.
The gods avert the doom that threatens you!
PYLADES: Delicious music! Dearly welcome tones
Of our own language in a foreign land!
We are from Crete, Adrastus' sons; and I
Am Cephalus; my eldest brother, he,
Laodamas. Between us stood a youth
Whom, when our sire died (having return'd
From Troy, enrich'd with loot), in contest fierce
My brother slew! 'Tis thus the Furies now
For kindred-murder dog his restless steps.
But to this savage shore the Delphian god
Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope. My tale is told.
IPHIGENIA: Troy fallen! Dear stranger, oh, say!
PYLADES: The stately town
Now lies in ruins. Many a hero's grave
Will oft our thoughts recall to Ilion's shore.
There lies Achilles and his noble friend;
Nor Palamedes, nor Ajax, e'er again
The daylight of their native land beheld.
Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd
Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand,
And not like Agamemnon, who, ensnared,
Fell murdered on the day of his return
By Clytemnestra, with Ægisthus' aid.
IPHIGENIA: Base passion prompted then this deed of
shame?
PYLADES: And feelings, cherish'd long of deep revenge.
For such a dreadful deed, that if on earth
Aught could exculpate murder, it were this.
The monarch, for the welfare of the Greeks,
Her eldest daughter doomed. Within her heart
This planted such abhorrence that forthwith
She to Ægisthus hath resigned herself,
And round her husband flung the web of death.
IPHIGENIA (_veiling herself_): It is enough! Thou wilt again
behold me.
ACT III
IPHIGENIA _and_ ORESTES.
IPHIGENIA: Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds
In token of a still severer doom.
For the incensed king, should I refuse
Compliance with the rites himself enjoin'd,
Will choose another virgin from my train
As my successor. Then, alas! with nought,
pave ardent wishes, can I succour you.
But tell me now, when Agamemnon fell,
Orestes--did he share his sire's fate?
Say, was he saved? And is he still alive?
And lives Electra, too?
ORESTES: They both survive.
Half of the horror only hast thou heard.
Electra, on the day when fell her sire,
Her brother from impending doom conceal'd;
Him Strophius, his father's relative,
Received with kindest care, and rear'd him up,
With his own son, named Pylades, who soon
Around the stranger twin'd love's fairest bonds.
The longing to revenge the monarch's death
Took them to Mycenæ, and by her son
Was Clytemnestra slain.
IPHIGENIA: Immortal powers!
O tell me of the poor unfortunate!
Speak of Orestes!
ORESTES: Him the Furies chase.
They glare around him with their hollow eyes,
Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens
They stir themselves, and from the corners creep
Their comrades, dire remorse and pallid fear;
Before them fumes a mist of Acheron.
I am Orestes! and this guilty head
Is stooping to the tomb and covets death;
It will be welcome now in any shape.
[ORESTES _retires_. IPHIGENIA _prays to the gods, and_
ORESTES _returns_.
ORESTES: Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly
Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?
IPHIGENIA: Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she--Iphigenia!
ORESTES: Hence, away, begone!
Leave me! Like Heracles, a death of shame,
Unworthy wretch, locked in myself, I'll die!
IPHIGENIA: Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear
One quiet word from thee! Dispel my doubts,
Make sure the bliss I have implored so long.
Orestes! O my brother!
ORESTES: There's pity in thy look! oh, gaze not so--
'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought
An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,
And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierced.
The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,
And make an outlet for its boiling streams.
[_He sinks exhausted. Enter_ PYLADES.
PYLADES: Dost thou not know me, and this sacred grove,
And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?
Attend! Each moment is of priceless worth,
And our return hangs on a slender thread.
The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail,
Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.
Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.
ACT IV
IPHIGENIA _alone_.
IPHIGENIA: They hasten to the sea, where in a bay
Their comrades in the vessel lie concealed,
Waiting a signal. Me they have supplied
With artful answers should the monarch send
To urge the sacrifice. Detested falsehood!
[_Enter_ ARKAS.
ARKAS: Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice!
Impatiently the king and people wait.
IPHIGENIA: The gods have not decreed that it should be.
The elder of these men of kindred-murder
Bears guilt. The dread Erinnys here within
Have seized upon their prey, polluting thus
The sanctuary. I hasten now to bathe
The goddess' image in the sea, and there
With solemn rites its purity restore.
ARKAS: This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce.
[_Exit_ ARKAS. Enter PYLADES.
PYLADES: Thy brother is restor'd! The fire of youth
With growing glory shines upon his brow.
Let us then hasten; guide me to the fane.
I can unaided on my shoulder bear
The goddess' image; how I long to feel
The precious burden! Hast thou to the king
Announced the prudent message as agreed?
IPHIGENIA: The royal messenger arrived, and I,
According to thy counsel, fram'd my speech.
PYLADES: Danger again doth hover o'er our heads.
Alas! Why hast thou failed to shroud thyself
Within the veil of sacerdotal rights?
IPHIGENIA: I never have employed them as a veil.
PYLADES: Pure soul! Thy scruples will alike destroy
Thyself and us. Come, let us be firm.
Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves.
IPHIGENIA: It is an honest scruple, which forbids
That I should cunningly deceive the king,
And plunder him who was my second father.
PYLADES: Him dost thou fly, who would have slain thy brother.
If we should perish, bitter self-reproach,
Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion;
Necessity commands. The rest thou knowest. [_Exit._
IPHIGENIA: I must obey him, for I see my friends
Beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate
Doth with increasing anguish move my heart
To steal the image, sacred and rever'd,
Confided to my care, and him deceive
To whom I owe my life and destiny!
Let not abhorrence spring within my heart!
ACT V
THOAS _alone_.
THOAS: Fierce anger rages in my riven breast,
First against her whom I esteem'd so pure;
Then 'gainst myself, whose foolish lenity
Hath fashion'd her for treason. Vain my hope
To bind her to me. Now that I oppose
Her wish, she seeks to gain her ends by fraud.
[_Enter_ IPHIGENIA.
Wherefore delay the sacrifice; inform me!
IPHIGENIA: The goddess for reflection grants thee time.
THOAS: To thee this time seems also opportune.
IPHIGENIA: Are we not bound to render the distress'd
The gracious kindness from the gods received?
Thou know'st we are, and yet wilt thou compel me?
THOAS: Obey thine office, not the king.
IPHIGENIA: Oh, couldst thou see the struggle of my soul,
Courageously toward the first attack
Of an unhappy doom which threatens me;
Must I implore a miracle from heaven?
THOAS: Extravagant thy interest in the fate
Of these two strangers. Tell me who they are.
IPHIGENIA: They are--they seem, at least--I think them Greeks.
THOAS: Thy countrymen; no doubt they have renewed
The pleasing picture of return.
IPHIGENIA (_after a pause_): Attend,
O king, and honour truth in me. A plot
Deceitfully and secretly is laid
Touching the captives thou dost ask in vain.
They have escaped. The eldest is Orestes,
Whom madness seized, my brother; Pylades,
His early friend and confidant, the other.
From Delphi, Phoebus sent them to this shore,
To steal away the image of Diana,
And to him bear back the sister thither.
And for this, deliverance promised he
The Fury-haunted son.
THOAS: The traitors have contrived a cunning web,
And cast it round thee, who, secluded long,
Giv'st willing credence to thine own desire.
IPHIGENIA: No, no! I'd pledge my life these men are true;
And shouldst thou find them otherwise, O king,
Then let them perish both, and cast me forth.
[_Enter_ ORESTES, _armed_.
ORESTES (_addressing his followers_): Redouble your
exertions! Hold them back!
And keep a passage open to the ship!
(_To_ IPHIGENIA) We are betray'd; brief time remains
for flight! [_He perceives the king_.
THOAS: None in my presence with impunity
His naked weapon wears!
IPHIGENIA: Do not profane
Diana's sanctuary with rage and blood.
In him revere the king, my second father!
ORESTES: Will he permit our peaceable return?
IPHIGENIA: Thy gleaming sword forbids me to reply.
[_Enter_ PYLADES, _followed by_ ARKAS,
_with drawn swords_
PYLADES: Do not delay, our friends are putting forth
Their final strength!
ARKAS: They yield; their ship is ours!
THOAS: Let none annoy the foe while we confer.
[ARKAS _retires_.
THOAS: Now, answer me; how dost thou prove thyself
The priestess' brother, Agamemnon's son?
IPHIGENIA: See here, the mark on his right hand impress'd
As of three stars, which on his natal day
Were by the priest declar'd to indicate
Some dreadful deed therewith to be perform'd!
THOAS: E'en though thy words had banish'd every doubt,
Still must our arms decide. I see no peace;
Their purpose, as thou didst thyself confess,
Was to deprive me of Diana's image!
ORESTES: The image shall not be the cause of strife!
We now perceive the error which the god
Threw o'er our minds. His counsel I implor'd;
He answer'd, "Back to Greece the sister bring,
Who in the Tauris sanctuary abides."
To Phoebus' sister we applied the words,
And she referred to thee.
IPHIGENIA: Oh, let thy heart
Be moved by what an honest tongue has spoken.
Look on us, king; an opportunity
For such a noble deed not oft occurs!
THOAS: Then go!
IPHIGENIA: Not so, my king! I cannot part
Without thy blessing, or in anger from thee.
THOAS (_extending his hand_): Fare thee well!
FOOTNOTES:
[B] Goethe's fascinating and noble drama, "Iphigenia in
Tauris," was first written in prose, and recast into verse in 1786.
Inspired partly by his feelings towards Frau von Stein, whom Goethe
"credited with knowing every trait of his being," and partly by the
"Iphigenia in Tauris" of Euripides, the play is totally different from
anything that had as yet come from his pen. Although it lacks some of
the pomp and circumstance of the best Greek tragedy, it is written with
great dignity in the strictest classical form, admirably suggesting
the best in French classical drama. The prominent motive of the piece
is the struggle between truth and falsehood. "It is," one critic has
remarked, "a poetic drama of the soul." On its production at Weimar,
the German public received it indifferently.
GOGOL[C]
The Inspector-General
_Persons in the Play_
ANTON ANTONOVITCH, _governor of a small town_
ANNA ANDREYEVNA, _his wife_
MARYA, _their daughter_
LUKA, _director of schools_
KHELSTAKOV, _a St. Petersburg official_
OSIP, _his servant-man_
BOBCHINSKI _and_ DOBCHINSKI, _independent gentlemen_
A JUDGE, A CHARITY COMMISSIONER, A POSTMASTER
POLICE SUPERINTENDENT and CONSTABLES
A WAITER AT THE INN
ACT I
SCENE.--_A room in the_ GOVERNOR'S _house. The_ GOVERNOR, _a coarse
and ill-educated official, and several functionaries of the
town_.
GOVERNOR (_addressing the functionaries_): I have bad news. An
inspector-general is coming from St. Petersburg. You must see that
your various departments are set in order. The hospital must be tidied
up and the patients must be provided with nice white night-caps. The
school-teachers must coach up the scholars in their subjects.
[_Enter_ BOBCHINSKI _and_ DOBCHINSKI _breathlessly_.
BOBCHINSKI: What an extraordinary incident!
DOBCHINSKI: A startling announcement!
ALL: What is it? What is it?
BOBCHINSKI: I will tell you correctly. After you had received the
letter from St. Petersburg, I ran out to tell the postmaster what it
had announced. On the way Dobchinski pressed me to go into the inn
for refreshment. Into the restaurant came an elegant young man with a
fashionable aspect. The landlord told us he was an official on his way
from Petersburg to Saratov, and that he is acting strangely, for he has
been here more than a fortnight, and pays for nothing.
GOVERNOR: Good lord! Surely it cannot be he! Been here a fortnight?
May heaven help us. You, sirs, get all your departments in proper trim.
In the meantime I will take a stroll round the town, and satisfy myself
that travellers are treated with due respect.
The governor orders the police to see that the street leading to the
inn is well swept. He threatens to punish severely any of the
townspeople who shall dare to bring complaints of any kind to the
visiting official.
ACT II
SCENE.--_A small room in the inn_. OSIP _lying on his master's bed_.
OSIP: Devil take it! I am famishing. It is two months since we left
St. Petersburg. This master of mine has squandered all his money on the
way, and here we are penniless. The old man sends his son money, but
he goes on the racket with it till all is spent, and then he has to
pawn his clothes almost to the last rag. And now this landlord declares
he will let us have nothing more to eat unless we pay in advance. Ah,
there's the knock.
[_He gets off the bed_. KHELSTAKOV _enters_.
KHELSTAKOV: Go down and ask for something to eat.
OSIP: No. The landlord will not let us have it. He says we are
swindlers, and he threatens to have you put in prison.
KHELSTAKOV: Go to the devil! Call the landlord. (OSIP _goes_.) How
fearfully hungry I am. And I was cheated at cards and cleaned right out
at Penza by that infantry captain. What a miserable little town this
is. They give no credit at the provision shops.
[_Enter_ WAITER.
WAITER: The landlord asks what you want.
KHELSTAKOV: Please bring my dinner at once. I must be busy directly
I have dined.
The waiter replies that the landlord refuses to supply anything more,
and seems likely to complain to the governor. But presently dinner is
brought in. To Khlestakov's great consternation Osip announces that
the governor has come and is asking for him.
KHELSTAKOV: What? The landlord has reported me! I'll put on an
aristocratic air, and ask him how he dares----
Governor, entering in trepidation and saluting humbly, astonishes him
by profuse offers of hospitality and entertainment, though when at
first mention is made of taking him to other quarters, the guest in
horror ejaculates that he supposes the gaol is meant, and he asks what
right the governor has to hint at such a thing.
KHELSTAKOV (_indignantly_): How dare you? I--I--I am a government
official at St. Petersburg. I--I--I----
GOVERNOR (_aside_): Good heavens, what a rage he is in! He knows
everything. Those confounded merchants have told him all.
Banging the table, Khlestakov declares he will _not_ go to the
gaol, but will complain to the Minister of the Interior; and the
governor, trembling and terrified, pleads that he has a wife and
little children, and begs that he may not be ruined. The ridiculous
misunderstanding on both sides grows more confused every minute. The
governor pours forth the most abject apologies; declares that if the
people accuse him of oppression and extortion, and even of flogging
women, they are a slandering mob.
KHELSTAKOV: What have I to do with your enemies or the women you have
flogged? Don't attempt to flog me. Now, look here, I will pay this
landlord's account, but just now I have not the money. That is why I am
staying here.
GOVERNOR (_aside_): Sly rogue, trying to mystify me! (_Aloud_) If you
really are short of money, I am ready to serve you at once.
The visitor says that he will in that case borrow 200 roubles, and the
money is readily handed over; in fact, the governor quietly slips in
200 extra roubles. The governor, convinced that the inspector-general
is simply determined to keep up his _incognito_, resolves to act
accordingly, and to tell falsehoods appropriate for mutual deception.
He invites the guest to visit Various institutions, and a round is
made.
ACT III
SCENE.--_A room in the_ GOVERNOR'S _house_. GOVERNOR, KHELSTAKOV, _and
other functionaries_.
KHELSTAKOV: Fine establishments! In other towns they showed me
nothing.
GOVERNOR: In other towns I venture to say that the officials
think most about their own profit; here we only aim at winning the
approbation of the government.
KHELSTAKOV: That lunch was very good! The fish was delicious! Where
was it that we lunched? Was it not at the hospital? I saw the beds,
but there were not many patients. Have the sick recovered?
GOVERNOR: Yes. Since I became governor they all get well like flies,
not so much by doctoring as by honesty and regularity. Thank God,
everything goes satisfactorily here! Another governor would undoubtedly
look after his own advantage; but, believe me, when I lie down to
sleep, my prayer is, "O Thou my Lord, may the government perceive my
zeal and be satisfied." So I have an easy conscience.
KHELSTAKOV: Are there any clubs here where a game at cards could be
had?
GOVERNOR: God forbid! Here such a thing as a card-club is never heard
of. I am disgusted at the sight of a card, and never dealt one in my
life. Once to amuse the children I built a house of cards, and had
accursed dreams all night.
LUKA (_aside_): But the villain cheated me yesterday out of a hundred
roubles!
Introduced to the governor's wife and daughter, Khlestakov addresses
them in the manner of a gallant from the metropolis, and chatters
boastfully of his influence, his position, and his connections.
His house is the first in St. Petersburg. Meantime, the various
functionaries meet in the house of the governor to concert measures
for propitiating this great courtier. They resolve to present him with
a substantial token of regard. With great trepidation they wait on him.
JUDGE (_entering very nervously_): I have the honour to present
myself. I have been judge here since 1816, and have been decorated
with the Vladimir of the Fourth Class.
KHELSTAKOV: What have you there in your hand?
JUDGE (_in bewilderment drops banknotes on the floor_): Nothing.
KHELSTAKOV: How nothing? I see some money has been dropped.
JUDGE (_trembling and aside_): O heaven, I am already before the
tribunal, and they have brought the cart to take me into exile.
Khlestakov picks up the notes, and asks that the money may be lent
him, as he has spent all his cash on the journey. He promises to
return it as soon as he reaches home, but the judge protests that the
honour of lending it is enough, and he begs that there shall be no
injunction against him.
Next to present himself is the postmaster, in full uniform, sword in
hand. After a little conversation with this functionary, Khlestakov
thinks he may just as well borrow of him also, and he forthwith
mentions that a singular thing has happened to him, for he has lost
all his money on the way, and would be glad to be obliged with the
loan of three hundred roubles. It is instantly counted out with
alacrity, and the postmaster hastily retires. Also, in a very nervous
state, Luka, the School Director, the Charity Commissioner, Bobchinski
and Dobchinski, come to pay their homage, and Khlestakov borrows
easily from each in turn.
KHELSTAKOV _(alone):_ There are many officials here; it seems to me,
however, that they take me for a government functionary. What fools! I
must write about it all to Tryapitchkin at Petersburg; he will write
sketches of it in the papers. Here, Osip, bring me paper and ink! I
will just see how much money I have got. Oh, more than a thousand!
While he is writing a letter Osip interrupts him with earnest
assurances that it will be prudent to depart speedily from the town;
for people have been mistaking him for somebody else, and awkward
complications may ensue. It is really time to go. There are splendid
horses here, and these can be secured for the journey. Khlestakov
consents, tells Osip to take the letter to the post, and to obtain
good posthorses. Suddenly some merchants present themselves with
petitions, bringing with them gifts of sugar-loaves and wine. They
pour forth bitter complaints against the governor. They accuse him
of constant and outrageous extortion. They beg Khlestakov to secure
his deposition from office. When they offer the sugar-loaves and the
wine, Khlestakov protests that he cannot accept bribes, but if they
would offer him a loan of three hundred roubles that would be another
matter. They do so and go out.
[_Enter_ MARYA _nervously_.
MARYA: Ach!
KHELSTAKOV: Why are you so frightened?
MARYA: No; I am not frightened. I thought mamma might be here. I am
disturbing you in your important business.
KHELSTAKOV: But your eyes are more attractive than important
business.
MARYA: You are talking in St. Petersburg style.
KHELSTAKOV: May I venture to be so happy as to offer you a chair?
But no; you should be offered a throne, not a chair! I offer you my
love, which ever since your first glance----
MARYA: Love! I do not understand love!
He kisses her on the shoulder, and, when she rises angrily to go,
falls on his knees. At that moment her mother enters. With a show of
indignation she orders Marya away.
KHELSTAKOV (_kneeling at her feet_): Madame, you see I burn with
love.
ANNA ANDREYEVNA: But permit me, I do not quite comprehend you. If I
am not mistaken, you were making a proposal to my daughter?
KHELSTAKOV: No; I am in love with you.
ANNA ANDREYEVNA: But I am married!
KHELSTAKOV: That is nothing. Let us flee under the canopy of heaven.
I crave your hand!
Marya enters, and seeing Khlestakov on his knees, shrieks. The mother
scolds her for her bad manners, and declares that he was, after
all, asking for the daughter's hand. Then enters the governor. He
breathlessly begins to bewail the base, lying conduct of the merchants
who have been slandering him, and swears he is innocent of oppressing
anybody.
To his profound amazement, Anna informs her husband that the great man
has honoured them by asking for their daughter's hand. On recovering
from his amazement, he sees the couple kissing, and gives them his
blessing. Osip enters at this juncture to say the horses are ready,
and Khlestakov informs the governor that he is only off to visit for a
day a rich uncle. He will quickly return. He presently rides off after
affectionate farewell expressions on both sides.
ACT IV
SCENE.--_As before. The_ GOVERNOR, ANNA ANDREYEVNA, _and_ MARYA. _A
police-officer enters_.
GOVERNOR (_addressing the policeman_): Ivan Karpovitch, summon the
merchants here, brother. Complaining of me, indeed! Cursed lot of Jews!
Little turtle doves! Ascertain who brought petitions; and take care to
let them know how heaven has honoured the governor. His daughter is
going to marry a man without an equal in the world; who can achieve
everything, everything, everything. Let everybody know! Shout it out to
everybody! Ring the bells! Devil take it; now that at length I triumph,
triumph I will!
The police-officer retires. The governor and Anna indulge in roseate
prospects of their coming prosperity. Of course they will not stay
in these mean surroundings, but will remove to St. Petersburg.
Suddenly the merchants enter. The governor receives them with the
utmost indignation, assails them with a shower of vituperation. They
abjectly entreat pardon. They promise to make amends by sending very
handsome presents, and they are enjoined not to forget to do so. The
wedding gifts are to be worthy of the occasion. The merchants retire
crestfallen, and callers stream in with profuse congratulations. Anna,
with studied haughtiness, makes them fully understand that the family
will now be far above them all. All the people secretly express to
each other their hatred and contempt for the governor and his family.
POSTMASTER (_breathlessly entering with an open letter in his hand_):
An astonishing fact, gentlemen! The official which we took for an
inspector-general is not one! I have discovered this from a letter
which he wrote and which I saw was addressed "Post Office Street."
So, as I said to myself that he had been reporting to the authorities
something he had found wrong in the postal department, I felt a
supernatural impulse constraining me to open the letter.
GOVERNOR: You dared to open the letter of so powerful a personage?
POSTMASTER: That is just the joke; that he is neither powerful nor
a personage. I will read the letter. (_Reads_) "I hasten to inform
you, my dear Tryapitchkin, of my experiences. I was cleared out of
everything on the way by an infantry captain, so that an innkeeper
wanted to put me in prison; when, owing to my Petersburg appearance
and dress, the whole town suddenly took me for the governor-general.
So now I am living with the governor, enjoy myself, and flirt with his
wife and daughter. These people all lend me as much money as ever I
please. The governor is as stupid as a grey gelding. The postmaster is
a tippler. The charity commissioner is a pig in a skull-cap."
GOVERNOR: I am crushed--crushed--completely crushed. Catch him!
POSTMASTER: How can we catch him? I, as if purposely, specially
ordered for him the very best post-carriage and three horses.
GOVERNOR: What an old fool I am! I have been thirty years in the
service; not a tradesman nor contractor could cheat me; rogues upon
rogues have I outwitted; three governors-general have I deceived!
ANNA ANDREYEVNA: But this cannot be, Antosha. He is engaged to
Mashenka.
GOVERNOR (_enraged_): Engaged! Rubbish! Look, look; all the world,
all Christendom, all of you look how the governor is fooled! Fool,
fool; old driveller that I am! (_Shakes his fist at himself_) Ah, you
fat-nose! Taking a rag for a man of rank! And now he is jingling his
bells along the road. Who first said he was an inspector-general?
Answer!
[_All point to_ BOBCHINSKI _and_ DOBCHINSKI, _who fall to
accusing each other. A gendarme enters_.
GENDARME: The inspector-general sent by imperial command has
arrived, and requires you to attend him immediately. He awaits you at
the inn.
[_Thunderstruck at this announcement, the whole group
remained as if petrified, and the curtain falls_.
FOOTNOTES:
[C] Nicolai Vasilieyitch Gogol is famous not only as the
prince of Russian humorists, but as the real founder of both the
modern drama and the novel in Russian literature. He was born on
March 31, 1809, in the province of Poltava, in South, or "Little,"
Russia, and died at Moscow on March 3, 1852. His life was replete
with romantic episodes. After a short career on the stage, in St.
Petersburg, followed by the tenure of a minor Government office, he
returned to the South, and at once found his true vocation and achieved
a wide popularity by a collection of stories and sketches of Cossack
life, entitled "Evenings at a Farm House," which appeared in 1830.
Other "Cossack Tales" rapidly followed, including the famous "Taras
Bulba"; in recognition of which, and of his project for writing a
history of Russia in the Middle Ages, he was rewarded with a chair of
history at St. Petersburg. This he held but for a short time, however.
Turning his attention to comedy, Gogol now produced the drama "The
Inspector-General" ("Revizor") in 1836, the play achieving a tremendous
success on the stage in the spring of the same year, whilst in 1842 his
novel entitled "Dead Souls" embodied the fruits of the same idea in
fiction. The play is intended to bring a scathing indictment against
the corruptions and abuses of officialism and administration. The
following epitome has been prepared from the original Russian.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH[D]
She Stoops to Conquer
_Persons in the Play_
MR. HARDCASTLE MARLOW
TONY LUMPKIN KATE HARDCASTLE
HASTINGS SIR CHARLES MARLOW
MRS. HARDCASTLE CONSTANCE NEVILLE
SERVANTS
ACT I
SCENE I.--MR. HARDCASTLE'S _house_. MR. _and_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, I hate such old-fashioned
trumpery.
HARDCASTLE: And I love it; old friends, old times, old manners, old
books, old wine, and I believe you'll own I've been pretty fond of an
old wife.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: Oh, you're for ever at your old wife. I'm not so old
as you'd make me. I was twenty when my son Tony was born, and he's not
come to years of discretion yet.
HARDCASTLE: Nor ever will, I dare answer; you've taught him finely.
Alehouse and stable are his only schools.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: Poor boy, anyone can see he's consumptive.
[TONY _is heard hallooing_.
HARDCASTLE: Oh, very consumptive!
[TONY _crosses, and_ MRS. HARDCASTLE _follows him out. Enter_
KATE HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE: Blessings on my pretty innocence! What a quantity of
superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl!
KATE: But in the evening I am to wear my housewife's dress to please
you; you know our agreement, sir.
HARDCASTLE: By the bye, I shall have to try your obedience this very
evening. In fact, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen
to be your husband, this very day; and my old friend his father, Sir
Charles Marlow, soon after him. I shall not control your choice, but I
am told that he is of an excellent understanding.
KATE: Is he?
HARDCASTLE: Very generous.
KATE: I believe I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE: Young and brave.
KATE: I'm sure I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE: And very handsome.
KATE: Say no more; he's mine.
HARDCASTLE: And, to crown all, he's one of the most reserved and
bashful young fellows in the world.
KATE: That word has undone all the rest, still I think I'll have him.
(_Exit_ HARDCASTLE.) Reserved and sheepish. Can't he be cured? (_Enter_
MISS NEVILLE.) I'm glad you came, my dear. I am threatened with a
lover, the son of Sir Charles Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE: The most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer;
and such a character. Among ladies of reputation the modestest man
alive, but with others----
MISS HARDCASTLE: And has my mother been courting you for my brother
Tony, as usual? I could almost love him for hating you so.
MISS NEVILLE: It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure
would wish to see me married to anyone but himself. [_Exeunt_.
SCENE II.--_An alehouse_. TONY LUMPKIN _carousing with the village
riff-raff_. MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS _arrive, and inquire the
way to_ MR. HARDCASTLE'S _house_. TONY _tells them they
cannot possibly reach the house that night, but directs them
to it as an inn_.
TONY: The old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the
whole county. But the landlord is rich and just going to leave off
business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, and will be for giving
you his company. Ecod, he'll persuade you that his mother was an
alderman, and his aunt a justice of the peace. I'll just step myself,
and show you a piece of the way.
[_Exeunt._
ACT II
SCENE.--_The hall of_ HARDCASTLE'S _house_. MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS
_have just arrived at the supposed inn, and the supposed
innkeeper is paying hospitable attention to their belongings.
Enter_ MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS.
HASTINGS: Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique, but
creditable.
MARLOW: The usual fate of a large mansion. Having just ruined the
master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as
an inn.
HASTINGS: Good and bad, you have lived pretty much among them; and
yet, with all your experience you have never acquired any show of
assurance. How shall you behave to the lady you have come down to visit?
MARLOW: As I behave to all other ladies. A barmaid, or a milliner--but
to me a modest woman dressed out in her finery is the most tremendous
object in creation. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but
I'll be hanged if a modest man can counterfeit impudence. I shall bow
very low, answer yes and no, and I don't think I shall venture to look
her in the face. The fact is, I have really come down to forward your
affair, not mine. Miss Neville loves you, the family don't know you, as
my friend you are sure of a reception, and----Here comes mine host to
interrupt us.
[_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE: Heartily welcome once more, gentlemen; which is Mr.
Marlow? Sir, you are heartily welcome.
MARLOW: He has got our names from the servants already.
[MARLOW _and_ HASTINGS _converse together, ostentatiously
ignoring_ HARDCASTLE'S _attempts to join in
with a story of Marlborough at the siege of Denain_.
MARLOW: My good friend, a glass of that punch would help us to carry
on the siege.
HARDCASTLE: Punch sir! (_Aside_) This is the most unaccountable kind
of modesty I ever met with. Well, here, Mr. Marlow, here's to our better
acquaintance.
MARLOW: A very impudent fellow, but a character; I'll humour him.
Sir, my service to you. (_They drink_.) Well, now, what have you in the
house for supper?
HARDCASTLE: For supper! (_Aside_) Was ever such a request to a man in
his own house!
MARLOW: Yes, sir; supper. I begin to feel an appetite.
HARDCASTLE: Sure, such a brazen dog----Sir, I believe the bill of fare
is drawn out; you shall see it. (_The menu is produced and discussed in
scathing terms. Then_ MARLOW _insists on seeing himself that the beds
are properly aired_.) Well, sir, I will attend you. This may be modern
modesty, but I never saw anything so like old-fashioned impudence.
[_Exeunt_ HARDCASTLE _and_ MARLOW.
HASTINGS: This fellow's civilities begin to grow troublesome.
(_Enter_ MISS NEVILLE.) Miss Neville, by all that's happy!
MISS NEVILLE: My dear Hastings!
HASTINGS: But how could I have hoped to meet my dearest Constance
at an inn?
MISS NEVILLE: An inn! You mistake. My aunt, my guardian, lives here.
How could you think this house an inn?
HASTINGS: My friend, Mr. Marlow, and I were directed hither by a
young fellow----
MISS NEVILLE: One of my hopeful cousin's tricks.
HASTINGS: We must keep up the deception with Marlow; else he will
fly.
Hastings has planned to elope with Miss Neville; she wishes first to
get into her own hands her jewelry, which is in Mrs. Hardcastle's
possession. As they complete their plot Marlow enters.
HASTINGS: My dear Marlow, the most fortunate event! Let me present
Miss Constance Neville. She and Miss Hardcastle have just alighted to
take fresh horses. Miss Hardcastle will be here directly. Isn't it
fortunate?
MARLOW: Oh, yes; very fortunate, a most joyful encounter; but
our dresses, George! To-morrow will be every bit as convenient. Let it
be to-morrow.
HASTINGS: Pshaw, man! Courage, courage! It is but the first plunge.
[_Enter_ KATE _as from a walk_. HASTINGS _introduces them_.
KATE (_after a pause_): I am glad of your safe arrival, sir. I am
told you had some accidents by the way.
MARLOW: A few, madam. Yes, we had some. Yes, a good many. But should
be sorry, madam--I mean glad--of any accidents that are so agreeably
concluded. George, sure you won't go?
HASTINGS: You don't consider, man, that we are to manage a little
_tête-à-tête_ of our own.
[_Exeunt_ HASTINGS _and_ MISS NEVILLE.
MARLOW: I am afraid, madam, I--hem--grow tiresome.
KATE: Not at all, sir; there is nothing I like so much as grave
consideration. You were going to observe----
MARLOW: I was about to observe, madam--I was--I protest, I forgot----
KATE: Something about hypocrisy--this age of hypocrisy.
MARLOW: Ah, yes. In this age of hypocrisy there are few who--a--a----
But I see Miss Neville expects us; shall I----
KATE: I'll follow you. If I could teach him a little confidence!
[_Exeunt_.
Mrs. Hardcastle, Miss Neville, Hastings and Tony enter. In pursuance
of their plot, Constance engages Tony in a determined flirtation, to
his extreme disgust, while Hastings wins the heart of Mrs. Hardcastle
by extravagant flatteries. On the pretext of bringing the "dear,
sweet, pretty, provoking, undutiful boy" to a better mind, Hastings
gets rid of the ladies, and then offers to take Miss Neville off
Tony's hands. Tony joyfully engages to help the elopement, and procure
Miss Neville's jewels.
ACT III
SCENE.--_As before. Enter_ TONY _with a casket_.
TONY: Ecod, I've got 'em. Cousin Con's necklaces, bobs and all. My
mother shan't cheat the poor souls out of their fortin. Here's (_enter_
HASTINGS) your sweetheart's jewels. If I hadn't a key to every drawer
in my mother's bureau---- Never you mind me. Zounds, here she comes.
Keep 'em. Morrice! Prance!
[_Exit_ HASTINGS. _Enter_ MISS NEVILLE, _and_ MRS. HARDCASTLE,
_who refuses to let her ward have her jewels_.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: They are missing, I assure you. My son knows they
are missing, and not to be found.
TONY: I can bear witness to that. I'll take my oath on't.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: In the meantime you can use my garnets. [_Exit._
MISS NEVILLE: I detest garnets.
TONY: Don't be a fool! If she gives 'em you, take what you can get.
I've stolen your jewels out of the bureau. She's found it out, ecod,
by the noise. Fly to your spark, and he'll tell you all about it.
Vanish!
[_Exit_ MISS NEVILLE.
Kate has reported Marlow's bashfulness to Hardcastle, who has told
another tale. She has since learnt Marlow's blunder, and that he has
taken her in her "housewife's dress" for the barmaid. She has resolved
to test him in this character. She enters at the same time as Marlow,
who is studying his notebook.
KATE: Did you call, sir?
MARLOW (_not looking up_): No, child.
KATE: Perhaps it was the other gentleman?
MARLOW: No, no, child, I tell you! (_Looking up_.) That is--yes, I
think I did call. I vow, child, you're vastly handsome.
KATE: Oh, la, sir, you'll make me ashamed!
MARLOW: Suppose I should call for a taste of the nectar of your lips?
KATE: Nectar? Nectar? We keep no French wines. (_He tries to kiss
her_.) Pray keep your distance. I'm sure you didn't treat Miss
Hardcastle so. Are you a favourite among the ladies?
MARLOW: Yes, my dear. At the ladies' club up in town they call me
their Agreeable Rattle. Do you ever work, child?
KATE: Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a quilt in the house but
bears witness to that.
MARLOW: You must show me your embroidery.
[_As he seizes her hand_, HARDCASTLE _enters. Exit_ MARLOW.
KATE _persuades her father to give her an hour to clear_
MARLOW'S _character_.
ACT IV
SCENE.--_As before_. HASTINGS _has passed over the jewels to_ MARLOW'S
_care. The unconscious_ MARLOW _has told him that the servant
by his order has placed them in charge of the landlady. Enter_
HARDCASTLE, _solus_.
HARDCASTLE: My house is turned topsy-turvy. His servants are drunk
already. For his father's sake, I'll be calm. (_Enter_ MARLOW.) Mr.
Marlow, sir, the conduct of your servants is insufferable. Their manner
of drinking is setting a very bad example.
MARLOW: I protest, my good friend, that's no fault of mine. They had
my positive orders to drink as much as they could.
HARDCASTLE: Zounds, I shall go distracted! I'll stand it no longer!
I desire that you and your drunken pack shall leave my house directly.
MARLOW: Leave your house? I never heard such cursed impudence. Bring
me my bill.
HARDCASTLE: Nor I, confound me if ever I did!
MARLOW: My bill, I say.
HARDCASTLE: Young man, young man, from your father's letter I
expected a well-bred, modest visitor, not a coxcomb and a bully. But he
will be down here presently, and shall hear more of it. [_Exit._
MARLOW: How's this? Surely I have not mistaken the house? Everything
looks like an inn. The barmaid, too. (_Enter_ KATE.) A word with you,
child. Who are you?
KATE: A poor relation, sir, who looks after the guests.
MARLOW: That is, you're the barmaid of this inn.
KATE: Inn? Oh, la! What brought that into your head? Old Mr.
Hardcastle's house an inn!
MARLOW: Mr. Hardcastle's house? Mr. Hardcastle's? So all's out. I
shall be laughed at over the whole town. To mistake this house of all
others--and my father's old friend. What must he think of me! And may I
be hanged, my dear, but I mistook you for the barmaid. I mistook--but
it's all over. This house I no more show my face in. By heaven,
she weeps! But the difference of our birth, fortune, education--an
honorable connection would be impossible, and I would never harbour a
thought of any other. Farewell. [_Exit_.
KATE: He shall not go, if I have power to detain him. I will
undeceive my father, and he shall laugh him out of his resolution.
[_Exit_.
The second couple are about to take flight without the jewels, by
Tony's help, when he receives a note from Hastings, which--not knowing
its source--he hands to his mother to decipher. She resolves to carry
Miss Neville off forthwith, to place her in charge of her old Aunt
Pedigree, in the coach prepared for the elopement. Tony being ordered
to attend them on horseback, hits on an expedient which he does not
reveal, but contents himself with bidding Hastings meet him two hours
hence in the garden. The party start on their journey.
ACT V
SCENE I.--SIR CHARLES MARLOW _has arrived, and the two elders have been
making merry over the blunder; both are now eager for the
marriage. But they are mystified by_ MARLOW'S _assertion that
he is indifferent to_ MISS HARDCASTLE, _and his assertion is
corroborated by what_ HARDCASTLE _saw_.
SCENE II.--_The back of the garden. Enter_ TONY, _booted and spurred,
meeting_ HASTINGS.
TONY: Ecod, five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such
bad driving.
HASTINGS: But where are your fellow-passengers? Where have you left
the ladies?
TONY: Why, where I found 'em! Led 'em astray, man. There's not a pond
or a slough within five miles of the place but they can tell the taste
of; and finished with the horsepond at the back of the garden. Mother's
confoundedly frightened, and thinks herself forty miles off. So now, if
your own horses be ready, you can whip off with my cousin, and no one
to budge an inch after you.
HASTINGS: My dear friend, how can I be grateful.
[_Exit_.
TONY: Here she comes--got up from the pond.
[_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: Oh, Tony, I'm killed--shook--battered to death!
That last jolt has done for me. Whereabouts are we?
TONY: Crackskull Common by my guess, forty miles from home. Don't be
afraid. Is that a man galloping behind us? Don't be afraid.
MRS. HARDCASTLE: Oh, there's a man coming! We are undone!
TONY (_aside_): Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky! Hide yourself,
and keep close; if I cough it will mean danger.
[_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE: I am sure I heard voices. What, Tony? Are you back
already? (TONY _laughs_.)
MRS. HARDCASTLE (_running forward_): Oh, lud; he'll murder my poor
boy! Here, good gentleman, whet your rage on me. Take my money, take
my life, good Mr. Highwayman, but spare my child.
HARDCASTLE: Sure, Dorothy, you have lost your wits? This is one of
your tricks, you graceless rogue. Don't you remember me, and the
mulberry-tree, and the horsepond?
MRS. HARDCASTLE: I shall remember it as long as I live. And this is
your doing--you----
TONY: Ecod, mother, all the parish says you've spoilt me, so you may
take the fruits on't. [_Exeunt_.
Miss Neville thinks better of the elopement, and resolves to appeal
to Mr. Hardcastle's influence with his wife. This improved plan is
carried to a successful issue, with great satisfaction to Tony Lumpkin.
SCENE III.--_The hall_. SIR CHARLES MARLOW _and_ HARDCASTLE _witness,
from concealment, the formal proposal of_ MARLOW _to make
the supposed "poor relation" his wife. They break in_.
SIR CHARLES: Charles, Charles, how thou hast deceived me! Is this
your indifference?
HARDCASTLE: Your cold contempt? Your formal interview? What have you
to say?
MARLOW: That I'm all amazement. What does it mean?
HARDCASTLE: It means that you say and unsay things at pleasure; that
you can address a lady in private and deny it in public; that you have
one story for us and another for my daughter.
MARLOW: Daughter? This lady your daughter? Oh, the devil! Oh--!
KATE: In which of your characters may we address you? The faltering
gentleman who looks on the ground and hates hypocrisy, or the bold,
forward Agreeable Rattle of the ladies' club?
MARLOW: Zounds, this is worse than death! I must be gone.
HARDCASTLE: But you shall not! I see it was all a mistake. She'll
forgive you; we'll all forgive you. Courage, man! And if she makes as
good a wife as she has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent
your bargain. So now to supper. To-morrow we shall gather all the poor
of this parish about us; the mistakes of the night shall be crowned
with a merry morning.
FOOTNOTES:
[D] The Life of Goldsmith, by John Forster, may be found in
Volume IX of the WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS (see also Vol. IV, p. 275).
"The Mistakes of a Night, or She Stoops to Conquer," appeared at Covent
Garden, in March, 1773. So convinced was George Colman that the public
would endure nothing but sentiment, that he could hardly be induced to
accept the play, and was extremely nervous about its success, almost
until the fall of the curtain on the first night. Nevertheless, its
success was immediate and decisive, and it became established as a
stock piece. The play loses nothing by the suppression of sentimental
passages between Hastings and Miss Neville, without which Colman
would certainly have declined it altogether. Apart from the main
argument--the wooing of Kate Hardcastle--the plot turns on the points
that Tony Lumpkin is the son of Mrs. Hardcastle by her first marriage,
and that Constance Neville is her niece and ward, not her husband's.
HEINRICH HEINE[E]
Atta Troll
_A Summer Night's Dream_
I
In the valley lies attractive Cauterets. The shining houses
Gay with balconies, and on them
Stand fair ladies loudly laughing.
Laughing as they look beneath them
On the brightly swarming market,
Where are dancing bear and she-bear
To the droning of the bagpipes.
Atta Troll and his good lady,
Whom the people call black Mumma,
Are the dancers; the Biscayans
Shout aloud in admiration.
Atta Troll, who once paraded
Like a mighty lord of deserts,
Free upon the mountain summit,
Dances in the vale to rabble!
Both the music and the laughter
Quickly cease, and shrieking loudly,
From the market fly the people,
And the ladies they are fainting.
Yes, the slavish chain that bound him
Suddenly hath rent asunder
Atta Troll. And, wildly springing,
Up the rocks he nimbly clambers.
In the empty market standing,
All alone are left black Mumma
And the keeper. Wild with fury
On the ground his hat he dashes.
On the wretched poor black Mumma
Falls this much-enraged one's fury
Doubly down at last; he beats her,
Then he calls her Queen Christina.
II
In the vale of Ronceval
Not far off from Roland's cleft,
And by savage fir-trees hidden,
Lies the cave of Atta Troll.
In the bosom of his family,
There he rests from all his hardships.
Tender meeting! All his young ones
Found he in the well-loved cavern:
Well-licked, lady-like young bears,
Blonde their hair, like parson's daughters;
Brown the boys, the youngest only
With the single ear is black.
Gladly now relates the old one
What he's in the world experienced,
Of the overwhelming plaudits
Reaped by his great skill in dancing.
Overcome by self-laudation,
Now he calls on deeds to witness
That he is no wretched boaster,
That he's really great at dancing.
III
In the caverns with his offspring,
Sick at heart, upon his back lies
Atta Troll; in meditation
Licks his paws, and, licking, growls:
"Mumma, Mumma, pearl of blackness,
Whom I fished from out life's ocean,
Is it thus that in life's ocean
I am forced again to lose thee!
"Might I only once more sniffle
That sweet odour, the peculiar,
Of my black, my darling Mumma,
Fragrant as the scent of roses!
"But, alas! my Mumma pineth
In the fetters of those rascals,
Who, the name of Men assuming,
Call themselves Creation's lords.
"Mankind, are ye any better
Than we others, just because ye
Boiled and baked devour your victuals?
In a raw state we eat ours.
"Children," grumbles Atta Troll,
"Children, we must seize the future!
If each bear but thought as I do,
We should soon subdue the tyrants.
"Let the boar but form alliance
With the horse, the elephant
Coil his trunk with love fraternal
Round the valiant bullock's horn;
"Bear and wolf of every colour,
Goat and monkey; even hares, too,
Let them work awhile together,
And the victory cannot fail us.
"Equal rights for all God's creatures,
Be our fundamental maxim;
Absolutely no distinction
In belief, or skin, or smell.
"Strict equality! Ev'ry jackass
Competent for highest office;
On the other hand, the lion
Trotting with the corn to grind."
IV
Many an honest, virtuous burgher
Lives on earth in evil odour,
Whilst your princely people reek of
Lavender and ambergris.
Therefore do not make wry faces,
Gentle reader, if the cave of
Atta Troll should not remind you
Of the spices of Arabia.
Tarry with me in the steamy
Confines in the dismal odour,
Where the hero to his youngest
Speaks as if from out a cloud:
"Ever shun men's ways of thinking!
Not a creature that is decent
Can be found among these creatures.
Even Germans, once much better,
"In primeval times our cousins,
These alike are now degen'rate:
Traitors to their creed and godless,
Now they preach e'en atheism!
"Only be no atheist,
Like a non-bear who respects not
His great Maker--Yes, a Maker
Hath this universe created.
"Yonder in the starred pavilion,
On the golden throne of power,
World-controlling and majestic,
Sits a giant Polar bear.
"At his feet are sitting gentle
Sainted bears, who in their life-time
Uncomplaining suffered; in their
Paws the palm of martyrdom.
"Shall I ever, drunk with heaven,
Yonder in the starred pavilion,
With the Glory, with the palm-branch,
Dance before the throne of God?"
V
Figures twain, morose and baleful,
And on all-fours slowly creeping,
Break themselves a gloomy passage
Through the underwood at midnight.
That is Atta Troll, the father,
And his son, young Master One-Ear.
"This old stone"--growls Atta Troll--
"Is the altar, where the Druids
"In the days of superstition
Human sacrifices butchered.
Oh, the overwhelming horror!
Shedding blood to honour God!
"Now indeed far more enlightened
Are these men--they only murder
Now from selfishness and grasping.
Each one plunders for himself!
"Nature never yet created
Owners, no--for void of pockets,
Not a pocket in our fur coats,
We were born, the whole of us.
"Only man, that smooth-skinned being,
Could in borrowed wool, so artful,
Dress himself, or could, so artful,
Thus provide himself with pockets.
"Be the mortal foe of all such
Fierce oppressors, reconcileless,
To the end of thy existence--
Swear it, swear it here, my son!"
And the youngest swore as once did
Hannibal. The moon illumined
With her yellow light the Blood-stone,
And the pair of misanthropes.
VI
I was early one fine morning
With Lascaro setting forward
On the bear-hunt. And at mid-day
We arrived at Pont-d'Espagne.
Evening shades were dark'ning round us
When we reached the wretched hostel,
Where the Ollea-Podrida
Steamed up from the dirty soup-dish.
Corresponding to the kitchen
Was the bed. It swarmed with insects,
Just as if it had been peppered!--
Bugs are man's most mortal foe.
What a raving with these poets,
E'en the tame ones! Why, they never
Cease to sing and say, that Nature
Is the Maker's mighty temple.
Well, so be it, charming people!
But confess that in this temple
All the stairs are slightly awkward.
Miserably bad the stairs!
Close beside me strides Lascaro,
Pale and long, just like a taper;
Never speaking, never smiling,
He, the dead son of a witch.
Yes, 'tis said, he is a dead one,
Long defunct, although his mother,
Old Uraka, by enchantments
Keeps him living to appearance.
In the little fishing cottage,
On the Lac-de-Gobe we met with
Shelter and some trout for dinner;
And they tasted quite delicious.
If the stuff I drank was really
Wine, at this same Lac-de-Gobe,
I know not. I think in Brunswick
They would simply call it swipes.
VII
From the sunny golden background
Smile the violet mountain peaks,
On the ridge there clings a village,
Like a boldly ventured birds'-nest.
Having climbed there, 'twas apparent
That the old ones wing had taken,
And behind were tarrying only
All the young brood, not yet fledged.
Nearly all that day I lingered
With the children, and we chatted
Quite familiar. They were curious
Who I was, what I was doing?
"Germany, dear friends"--so said I--
"Is the land where I was born;
Bears live there in any number,
And I took to hunting bears.
"There I drew the skin for many
Over very bearish ears;
And between them I was sometimes
Roughly by their bear claws handled.
"But with merely unlicked blockheads
Every day to be contending
In my well-loved home, at last I
Found to be too much for me.
"So at last have journeyed hither,
Seeking out some better sport;
I intend to try my prowess
On the mighty Atta Troll."
VIII
Like a narrow street the valley,
And its name is Spectre Hollow;
Rugged crags rise up abruptly
Either side of giddy heights.
On a dizzy, steep projection,
Peeping downwards, like a watch-tower,
Stands Uraka's daring cottage;
Thither I Lascaro followed.
With his mother he took counsel,
Using secret signs as language,
How might Atta Troll be tempted,
How he might be put to death.
For right well had we his traces
Followed up. And now no longer
Dare escape be thought of. Numbered
Are thy days, O Atta Troll!
What Uraka as her lawful
Business followed, that was honest;
For she dealt in mountain simples
And she also sold stuffed birds.
Full of all these natural wonders
Was the hut. The smell was dreadful
Of the henbane, cuckoo-flowers,
Dandelion and deadmen's fingers.
Vultures, too, a large collection,
Carefully arranged on all sides,
With the wings at full extended
And the most enormous beaks.
Was't the odour of the foolish
Plants which stupefied my senses?
Strange sensations crept about me
At the sight of all these birds.
IX
Argonauts without a ship,
Who on foot the mountain traverse,
And instead of golden fleeces
Only look to win a bear-skin
Ah, we are but sorry devils!
Heroes of a modern pattern,
And there's not a classic poet
Would in song immortalise us!
And for all that we have suffered
Mighty hardships! What a shower
Overtook us on the summit,
And no tree and no _fiacre_!
Tired to death, and out of humour,
Like two well-drenched poodles, once more,
Very late at night, we clambered
To the witch's hut above.
Shivering, and with teeth a-chatter,
Near the hearth I stood awhile;
Then, as though the warmth o'ercame me,
Sank at last upon the straw.
How the roaring of the chimney
Terrified me. Like the moaning
Of poor, wretched, dried-up souls--
Quite familiar seemed the voices.
Sleep completely overcame me
In the end, and then in place of
Waking phantasm, rose before me
Quite a wholesome, firm-set dream.
And I dreamed the little cottage
Suddenly became a ballroom.
Carried up aloft on pillars
And by chandeliers illumined.
Then invisible musicians
Struck up from "Robert le Diable"
That ungodly dance of nuns;
I was walking all alone there.
But at last the portals open
Of themselves, and then come marching,
Measured footsteps, slow and solemn,
Most extraordinary guests.
Nothing now but bears and spectres,
Walking upright, every he-bear
On the arm a ghost conducted,
Muffled in a long white shroud.
Sometimes in the dance's bustle,
Tore a bear the burial garment
Off the head of his companion;
Lo! a death's-head came to view.
But at last sounds forth a joyous
Crashing of the horns and cymbals;
And the kettle-drums they thunder,
And there came the galopade.
This I did not dream the end of--
For a most ill-mannered bruin
Trod upon my favourite corn,
So that, shrieking out, I woke.
X
In the cavern, with his offspring,
Atta Troll lies, and he slumbers
With the snoring of the righteous;
But at last he wakes up yawning.
"Children!"--sighs he, whilst are trickling
Tears from those large eyes unbidden--
"Children! Finished is my earthly
Pilgrimage, and we must part.
"Just at mid-day whilst I slumbered
Came a dream, which has its meaning.
Then my spirit sweetly tasted
Omens of my coming death.
"On the world and fate reflecting,
Yawning I had fallen asleep,
When I dreamed that I was lying
Underneath a lofty tree.
"From the tree's o'erspreading branches
Dribbled down transparent honey.
Joyous blinking, up above me
Seven little bears I noticed.
"Tender, graceful little creatures,
Rosy coloured were their fur coats,
As they clambered; from their shoulders
Just like silk two wings were sprouting.
"And with soft and supernatural
Flute-like voices they were singing!
While thus singing, icy coldness
Crept throughout my skin, and flame-like
"From my skin my soul departed;
Soared in brightness up to heaven."
Thus in tender words and falt'ring
Grunted Atta Troll. His ears then
Pricked themselves and strangely worked,
And from his repose he started,
Trembling, and with rapture bellowing,
"Children, do ye hear those sounds?
"Is it not the voice melodious
Of your mother? Oh, I know it,
'Tis the growling of my Mumma!
Mumma! Yes, my own black Mumma!"
Atta Troll, whilst these words utt'ring,
Like a madman headlong bounded
From the cavern to destruction!
Ah! he rushed upon his doom!
In the vale of Ronceval,
On the very spot where whilom
Charlemagne's peerless nephew
Gasped away his fleeting spirit,
There fell also Atta Troll,
Fell through treason, like the other,
Whom the traitor, knighthood's Judas,
Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.
XI
Four gigantic men in triumph
Brought along the slaughtered Bear.
Upright sat he in an armchair,
Like a patient at the hot-wells.
That same day soon after skinning
Atta Troll, they up to auction
Put the skin. For just a hundred
Francs a furrier purchased it.
Elegantly then he trimmed it,
And he edged it round with scarlet,
And again he sold it quickly
Just for double what it cost.
So, at last, third hand possessed it--
Julietta, and at Paris
It reposes in her chamber,
Serving as a bed-side carpet.
What of Mumma? Ah, the Mumma
Is a poor weak woman! Frailty
Is her name! Alas, the women
Are as so much porcelain frail.
When the hand of Fate had parted
Mumma from her noble husband,
Neither did she die of sorrow,
Nor succumb to melancholy.
And at last a fixed appointment,
And for life a safe provision,
Far away she found at Paris
In the famed Jardin des Plantes.
Sunday last as I was walking
In the gardens with Julietta,
By the railing round the bear-pit--
Gracious Heavens! What saw we there!
'Twas a powerful desert bear
From Siberia, snow-white coated,
Playing there an over-tender,
Amorous game with some black she-bear.
And, by Jupiter! 'twas Mumma!
'Twas the wife of Atta Troll!
I remember her distinctly
By the moist eye's tender glances.
XII
Where in heaven, Master Louis,
Have you all this crazy nonsense
Scraped together? Such the question
Of the Cardinal of Este,
After having read the poem
Of Rolando's frenzied doings,
Which Ariosto with submission
To his Eminence dedicated.
Yes, Varnhagen, worthy friend,
Yes, I see the same words nearly
On thy lips this moment hanging
With the same sarcastic smile.
"Sounds this not like youthful visions,
Which I once dreamt with Chamisso
And Brentano and Fouqué,
On those deep-blue moonlight evenings?"
Yes, my friend, it is the echo
Of those long-forgotten dream-days;
Only that a modern trilling
Mingles with the ancient cadence.
Other seasons, other songsters!
Other songsters, other ditties!
What a cackling, as of geese, which
Once preserved the Capitol!
Other seasons, other songsters!
Other songsters, other ditties!
I might take a pleasure also
In them had I other ears!
FOOTNOTES:
[E] Heinrich Heine was born on December 13, 1797, at
Düsseldorf, the son of Jewish parents. After quitting school he was
sent to Frankfort to the banking establishment of an uncle, but a
commercial career failed to appeal to him, and in 1819 he entered the
University of Bonn, with a view of studying for law. His thoughts,
however, were given to poetry; and 1822 saw the publication of his
first volume of poems. Up to this time he was largely dependent upon
the generosity of his uncle. Thus, in order to fulfil his obligations,
he entered the University of Göttingen, where he obtained his degree of
law, having previously qualified himself for practice by renouncing the
Jewish faith for Christianity. A voluminous prose-writer, a wonderful
satirist, and an ardent politician, Heine's present-day fame rests
largely on his poetry, and especially the wonderful lyrical pieces.
"Atta Troll" (1846), which has been described as the "Swan-song of
Romanticism," was written in the hey-day of his activities, and
admirably conveys something of the temper and genius of its many-sided
author. Heine died on February 17. 1856.
HOMER[F]
The Iliad
_I.--Of the Wrath of Achilles; and of Hector_
Achilles' baneful wrath resound, O goddess, that impos'd
Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls loos'd.
From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave
That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave;
To all which Jove's will gave effect; from whom strife first begun
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis' god-like son.
To appease Phoebus, Agamemnon restored the captive daughter of the
sun-god's priest, allotted to him for spoil; but took Briseis from
Achilles to replace her. Achilles vowed to render no more aid to the
Greeks, telling his mother, the sea-nymph Thetis, what had befallen,
calling on Jove to aid his vengeance.
So Peleus' son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ship sate,
Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate
That make men honour'd, never trod the fierce embattled field,
But kept close, and his lov'd heart pined, what fight and cries
could yield,
Thirsting at all parts to the host.
To satisfy Thetis, Jupiter sent a false dream to Agamemnon, the king
of men, persuading him that Troy should now fall to his attack.
Beguiled by the dream, Agamemnon set forth in battle array the whole
Greek host, save that Achilles and his followers were absent. And the
whole host of Troy came forth to meet them. Then Menelaus challenged
Paris to single combat; for the twain were the cause of the war,
seeing that Paris had stolen away Helen, the wife of Menelaus. Truce
was struck while the combat should take place. Paris hurled his
javelin, but did not pierce his foe's shield; Menelaus, having called
on Jove,
Shook and threw his lance; which struck through Paris' shield,
And with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield,
His coat of mail, his breast; yet he prevented sable death.
This taint he followed with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath,
Which lifting high, he struck his helm full where the plume did stand,
On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand ...
"Lo, now my lance hath missed his end, my sword in shivers flew,
And he 'scapes all." With this again he rushed upon his guest,
And caught him by the horse-hair plume that dangled on his crest,
With thought to drag him to the Greeks; which he had surely done,
And so, besides the victory, had wondrous glory won.
But Cyprian Venus brake the string; and so the victor's palm
Was, for so full a man at arms, only an empty helm.
That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends,
Who scrambled and took it up with shouts. Again then he intends
To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain,
With shaken jav'lin; when the queen that lovers love, again
Attended and now ravish'd him from that encounter quite,
With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she, a goddess, might.
She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known
Till in his chamber fresh and sweet she gently set him down.
Thereupon the truce was treacherously broken by Pandarus, who, incited
by Minerva, wounded Menelaus with an arrow; and the armies closed with
each other. Great deeds were done by Diomedes on the Greek side. But
Hector had gone back to Troy to rouse Paris; on the walls his wife
Andromache saw him.
She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand,
Her son borne in his nurse's arms; when, like a heavenly sign
Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine.
Hector, though grief bereft his speech, yet smiled upon his joy.
Andromache cried out, mix'd hands, and to the strength of Troy
Thus wept forth her affection: "O noblest in desire!
Thy mind inflamed with other's good will set thyself on fire.
Nor pitiest thou my son, nor wife, that must thy widow be
If now thou issue; all the field will only run on thee."
"Nay," answered he; "but in this fire must Hector's trial shine;
Here must his country, father, friends, be made in him divine.
Yet such a stormy day shall come (in mind and soul I know),
When sacred Troy shall shed her towers for tears of overthrow;
When Priam, all his birth and power, shall in those tears be drown'd.
But neither Troy's posterity so much my soul doth wound,
Priam nor Hecuba herself, nor all my brother's woes,
(Who, though so many, and so good must all be food for foes),
As thy sad state; when some rude Greek shall lead thee weeping hence,
These free days clouded, and a night of captive violence
Loading thy temples, out of which thine eyes must never see,
But spin the Greek wives webs of task, and their fetch-water be."
This said, he reached to take his son; who of his arms afraid,
And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid,
Nodded so horribly, he cling'd back to his nurse and cried.
Laughter affected his great sire, who doff'd and laid aside
His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about its light;
Then took and kiss'd his loving son. "Afflict me not, dear wife,
With these vain griefs. He doth not live that can disjoin my life
And this firm bosom, but my fate; and fate whose wings can fly?
Noble, ignoble, fate controls. Once born, the best must die."
II.--_Of the Battle by the Ships_
After this, Hector fought with Ajax, and neither had the better. And
after that the Greeks set a rampart and a ditch about their ships.
Also, Agamemnon would have bidden the Greeks depart altogether, but
Diomedes withstood him. And in the fighting that followed, Agamemnon
showed himself the best man among the Greeks, seeing that neither
Achilles nor Diomedes joined the fray; and the Trojans had the better,
driving the Greeks back to the rampart, and bursting through, so that
they were like to have burnt the Greek ships where they lay, led on by
Hector. To and fro swayed the tide of battle; for while Jove slept,
Neptune and Juno gave force and courage to the Greeks, and the Trojans
were borne back; Hector being sore hurt with a stone cast by Ajax. But
Jove, awaking, restored Hector's strength, sending Apollo to him. Then
Apollo and Hector led
The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood. A fervent clamour spread
The air on both sides as they joined. Out flew the shafts and darts,
Some falling short, but other some found butts in breasts and hearts.
As long as Phoebus held but out his horrid shield, so long
The darts flew raging either way, and death grew both ways strong.
But when the Greeks had seen his face, and who it was that shook
The bristled targe, known by his voice, then all their strength forsook
Their nerves and minds. And then look how a goodly herd of neat,
Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close, and dreadless at their meat,
In some black midnight, suddenly, and not a keeper near,
A brace of horrid bears rush in, and then fly here and there.
The poor affrighted flocks or herds, so every way dispersed
The heartless Grecians, so the Sun their headlong chase reversed
To headlong flight, and that day rais'd with all grace Hector's head.
... When Hector saw his sister's son lie slaughtered in the sand,
He called to all his friends, and prayed they would not in that strait
Forsake his nephew, but maintain about his corse the fight,
And save it from the spoil of Greece.
The archery of Teucer, brother of Ajax, was dealing destruction among
the Trojans, when Jove broke the bow-string; and thereafter the god
stirred
With such addition of his spirit the spirit Hector bore
To burn the fleet, that of itself was hot enough before.
But now he fared like Mars himself, so brandishing his lance
As through the deep shades of a wood a raging fire should glance,
Held up to all eyes by a hill; about his lips a foam
Stood, as when th' ocean is enraged; his eyes were overcome
With fervour, and resembled flames, set off by his dark brows,
And from his temples his bright helm abhorred lightnings throws.
He, girt in fire borne for the fleet, still rushed at every troop,
And fell upon it like a wave, high raised, that then doth stoop
Out from the clouds, grows as it stoops with storms, then down doth
come And cuff a ship, when all her sides are hid in brackish foam,
Strong gales still raging in her sails, her sailors' minds dismay'd,
Death being but little from their lives; so Jovelike Hector fray'd
And plied the Greeks, who knew not what would chance, for all their
guards. And as the baneful king of beasts, leapt in to oxen herds Fed
in the meadows of a fen exceeding great, the beasts In number infinite,
'mongst whom (their herdsmen wanting breasts To fight with lions for
the price of a black ox's life) He here and there jumps first and last,
in his bloodthirsty strife; Chased and assaulted, and at length down in
the midst goes one, And all the rest 'sperst through the fen; so now
all Greece was gone.
On the Grecian side Ajax
Stalked here and there, and in his hand a huge great bead-hook held,
Twelve cubits long, and full of iron. And then again there grew
A bitter conflict at the fleet. You would have said none drew
A weary breath, nor ever did, they laid so freshly on.
It seemed that even Ajax would be overborne. But Patroclus, the loved
friend of Achilles, saw this destruction coming upon the Greeks, and
he earnestly besought Achilles, if he would not be moved to sally
forth to the rescue himself, to suffer him to go out against the
Trojans, bearing the arms of Achilles and leading his Myrmidons into
the fray. Which leave Achilles granted him.
FOOTNOTES:
[F] Of the personality of Homer, the maker of the "Iliad" and
the "Odyssey," those great epic poems which were the common heritage
of all Greeks, we have no knowledge. Tradition pictures him as blind
and old. Seven cities claimed to be his birthplace. Probably he lived
in the ninth century B.C., since the particular stages of social life
which he portrays probably belong to that era. Beyond this, all is
conjecture. The poems were not written down till a later date, when
their authorship was already a matter of tradition; and when what
we may call the canon of the text of the epics was laid down in the
sixth century B.C., it may be readily supposed that they were not in
the exact form which the master-poet himself had given them. Hence
the ingenuity of the modern commentator has endeavoured to resolve
Homer into an indefinite number of ballad-mongers, whose ballads were
edited into their existing unity. On the whole, this view may be called
Teutonic. Of the "Iliad," it suffices to say that it relates events
immediately preceding the fall of Troy, at the close of the tenth year
of the siege undertaken by the Greeks on account of the abduction of
Helen from Menelaus by Paris. Of Chapman's translation we shall speak
in the introduction to the "Odyssey."
_III_.--_Of Patroclus, and the Rousing of Achilles_
Bearing the armour of Achilles, save the spear which none other could
wield, Patroclus sped forth, leading the Myrmidons.
And when ye see upon a mountain bred
A den of wolves about whose hearts unmeasured strengths are fed,
New come from currie of a stag, their jaws all blood-besmeared,
And when from some black-water fount they all together herd,
There having plentifully lapped with thin and thrust-out tongues
The top and clearest of the spring, go, belching from their lungs
The clottered gore, look dreadfully, and entertain no dread,
Their bellies gaunt, all taken up with being so rawly fed;
Then say that such in strength and look, were great Achilles' men
Now ordered for the dreadful fight.
The Trojans, taking Patroclus for Achilles, were now driven before
him and the other Grecian chiefs. Patroclus slew Sarpedon, king of
Lycia, and the fight raged furiously about the corse. The Trojans
fled, Patroclus pursued. At last Phoebus Apollo smote his armour from
him; Euphorbus thrust him through from behind, and Hector slew him.
Ajax and Menelaus came to rescue Patroclus' body; Hector fled, but
had already stripped off the armour of Achilles, which he now put on
in place of his own. Again the battle waxed furious about the dead
Patroclus until Menelaus and Meriones bore the corpse while the two
Ajaces stood guard.
Now, when the ill news was brought to Achilles, he fell into a great
passion of grief; which lamentation Thetis, his mother, heard from
the sea-deeps; and came to him, bidding him not go forth to the war
till she had brought him new armour from Vulcan. Nevertheless, at the
bidding of Iris, he arose:
And forth the wall he stepped and stood, and sent abroad his voice;
Which Pallas far-off echoed, who did betwixt them noise
Shrill tumult to a topless height. His brazen voice once heard, The
minds of all were startled, so they yielded. Thrice he spake, And
thrice, in heat of all the charge, the Trojans started back.
In this wise was the dead Patroclus brought back to Achilles. But
Thetis went to Vulcan and besought him, and he wrought new armour for
Achilles--a shield most marvellous, and a cuirass and helmet--which
she bore to her son. And the wrath of Achilles against Agamemnon was
assuaged; and they two were reconciled at a gathering of the chiefs.
And when by the counsel of Ulysses they had all well broken their
fast, the Greeks went forth to the battle, Achilles leading. Now, in
this contest, by Jove's decree, all the Olympian gods were suffered to
take part.
And thus the bless'd gods both sides urged; they all stood in the
midst
And brake contention to their hosts. And over all their heads
The gods' king in abhorred claps his thunder rattled out.
Beneath them, Neptune tossed the earth; the mountains round about
Bowed with affright and shook their heads, Jove's hill the earthquake
felt,
Steep Ida trembling at her roots, and all her fountains spilt,
With crannied brows; the infernal king, that all things frays, was
fray'd
When this black battle of the gods was joining. Thus array'd
'Gainst Neptune Phoebus with winged shafts, 'gainst Mars the blue-eyed
maid,
'Gainst Juno Phoebe, whose white hands bore stinging darts of gold,
Her side armed with a sheaf of shafts, and (by the birth two-fold
Of bright Latona) sister-twin to him that shoots so far. Against
Latona, Hermes stood, grave guard in peace and war Of human beings.
Against the god whose empire is on fire, The wat'ry godhead, that
great flood, to show whose pow'r entire In spoil as th' other, all his
streams on lurking whirlpits trod, Xanthus by gods, by men Scamander
called. Thus god 'gainst god Entered the field.
_IV_.--_Of Achilles and Hector_
Now Achilles fell upon the Trojan host, slaying one after another of
their mighty men; but Æneas and Hector the gods shielded from him.
Twelve he took captive, to sacrifice at the funeral of Patroclus. And
he would have stormed into Troy itself but that Phoebus deceived him,
and all the Trojans fled within the walls save Hector. But when he saw
Achilles coming, cold fear shook Hector from his stand.
No more stay now, all posts we've left, he fled in fear the hand
Of that Fear-Master, who, hawk-like, air's swiftest passenger,
That holds a timorous dove in chase, and with command doth bear
His fiery onset, the dove hastes, the hawk comes whizzing on.
This way and that he turns and winds and cuffs the pigeon:
So urged Achilles Hector's flight.
They ran thrice about the walls, until Hector, beguiled by Athene in
the form of his brother Deiphobus, stayed to fight Achilles. Having
cast his lance in vain,
Then forth his sword flew, sharp and broad, and bore a deadly weight,
With which he rushed in. And look how an eagle from her height
Stoops to the rapture of a lamb, or cuffs a timorous hare;
So fell in Hector; and at him Achilles.
Achilles smote Hector through with his javelin, and thus death closed
his eyes. Then, in his wrath for the death of Patroclus, Achilles
bound the dead Hector by his feet to his chariot,
And scourged on his horse that freely flew;
A whirlwind made of startled dust drave with them as they drew,
With which were all his black-brown curls knotted in heaps and fill'd.
Which piteous sight was seen from the walls by Priam and Hecuba; but
Andromache did not know that Hector had stayed without, until the
clamour flew
Up to her turret; then she shook; her work fell from her hand,
And up she started, called her maids; she needs must understand
That ominous outcry. "Come," said she; then fury-like she went,
Two women, as she willed, at hand, and made her quick ascent
Up to the tower and press of men, her spirit in uproar. Round
She cast her greedy eye, and saw her Hector slain, and bound
T'Achilles' chariot, manlessly dragged to the Grecian fleet.
Black night struck through her, under her trance took away her feet.
Thus all Troy mourned; but Achilles dragged the slain Hector to the
slain Patroclus, and did despite to his body in his wrath; and made
ready to hold high obsequies for his friend. And on the morrow
They raised a huge pile, and to arms went every Myrmidon,
Charged by Achilles; chariots and horse were harnessed,
Fighters and charioteers got up, and they the sad march led,
A cloud of infinite foot behind. In midst of all was borne
Patroclus' person by his peers.
Fit feastings were held, and games with rich prizes, racings and
wrestlings, wherein the might of Ajax could not overcome the skill
of Ulysses, nor his skill the might of Ajax. Then Thetis by the will
of the gods bade Achilles cease from his wrath against Hector; and
suffer the Trojans to redeem his body for a ransom. And Iris came to
Priam where the old king sate: the princesses his seed, the princesses
his sons' fair wives, all mourning by. She bade him offer ransom
to Achilles; and then, guided by Hermes, Priam came to the tent of
Achilles, bearing rich gifts, and he kneeled before him, clasping his
knees, and besought him, saying:
"Pity an old man like thy sire, different in only this,
That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries
That never man did, my cursed lips enforced to kiss that hand
That slew my children." At his feet he laid his reverend head.
Achilles' thoughts now with his sire, now with his friend were fed.
Moved by compassion, and by the message which Thetis had brought
him, Achilles accepted the ransom, and suffered Priam to bear away
the body, granting a twelve days' truce. And Troy mourned for him,
Andromache lamenting and Hecuba, his mother. And on this wise spake
Helen herself.
"O Hector, all my brothers more were not so loved of me
As thy most virtues. Not my lord I held so dear as thee,
That brought me hither; before which I would I had been brought
To ruin; for what breeds that wish, which is the mischief wrought
By my access, yet never found one harsh taunt, one word's ill
From thy sweet carriage. Twenty years do now their circles fill
Since my arrival; all which time thou didst not only bear
Thyself without check, but all else that my lord's brothers were.
Their sisters' lords, sisters themselves, the queen, my mother-in-law
(The king being never but most mild) when thy man's spirit saw
Sour and reproachful, it would still reprove their bitterness
With sweet words and thy gentle soul."
So the body of Hector was laid upon the fire, and was burnt; and his
ashes were gathered into an urn of gold and laid in a grave.
The Odyssey[G]
_I_.--_How Ulysses Came to Phæacia, and of Nausicaa_
Years had passed since the fall of Troy, yet alone Ulysses came not
to his home in Ithaca. Therefore many suitors came to woo his wife
Penelope, devouring his substance with riotous living, sorely grieving
her heart, and that of her young son, Telemachus. But Ulysses the
nymph Calypso had held for seven years an unwilling guest in the
island of Ogygia. And now the gods were minded to bring home the man--
That wandered wondrous far, when he the town
Of sacred Troy had sacked and shivered down;
The cities of a world of nations
With all their manners, minds, and fashions
He was and knew; at sea felt many woes,
Much care sustained to save from overthrows
Himself and friends in their retreat for home;
But so their fates he could not overcome.
Then came Pallas Athene to Telemachus, and bade him take ship that he
might get tidings of his sire. And he spake words of reproach to the
company of suitors. To whom
Antinous only in this sort replied:
"High-spoken, and of spirit unpacified,
How have you shamed us in this speech of yours!
Will you brand us for an offence not ours?
Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause.
Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws,
Since first she mocked the peers Achaian;
All she made hope, and promised every man."
The suitors suffered Telemachus to depart, though they repented after;
and he came with Athene, in disguise of Mentor, to Nestor at Pylos,
and thence to Menelaus at Sparta, who told him how he had laid hold on
Proteus, the seer, and learnt from him first of the slaying of his own
brother Agamemnon; and, secondly, concerning Ulysses,
Laertes' son; whom I beheld
In nymph Calypso's palace, who compell'd
His stay with her, and since he could not see
His country earth, he mourned incessantly.
Laden with rich gifts, Telemachus set out on his return home, while
the suitors sought to way-lay him. And, meantime. Calypso, warned
by Hermes, let Ulysses depart from Ogygia on a raft. Which, being
overwhelmed by storms, he yet made shore on the isle of Phæacia;
where, finding shelter, he fell asleep. But Pallas visited the
Princess Nausicaa in a dream.
Straight rose the lovely morn, that up did raise
Fair-veiled Nausicaa, whose dream her praise
To admiration took.
She went with her maidens, with raiment for cleansing, to the river,
where, having washed the garments,
They bathed themselves, and all with glittering oil
Smoothed their white skins, refreshing then their toil
With pleasant dinner. Then Nausicaa,
With other virgins did at stool-ball play,
Their shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by.
Nausicaa, with wrists of ivory,
The liking stroke struck, singing first a song,
As custom ordered, and, amidst the throng,
Nausicaa, whom never husband tamed,
Above them all in all the beauties flamed.
The queen now for the upstroke, struck the ball
Quite wide off th' other maids, and made it fall
Amidst the whirlpools. At which, out-shrieked all,
And with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake;
Who, hearing maidish voices, from the brake
Put hasty head out; and his sight did press
The eyes of soft-haired virgins ... Horrid was
His rough appearance to them; the hard pass
He had at sea stuck by him. All in flight
The virgins scattered, frighted with this sight.
All but Nausicaa fled; but she stood fast;
Pallas had put a boldness in her breast,
And in her fair limbs tender fear compress'd.
And still she stood him, as resolved to know
What man he was, or out of what should grow
His strange repair to them. Then thus spake he;
"Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee,
Are you of mortal or the deified race?
If of the gods that th' ample heavens embrace,
I can resemble you to none alive
So near as Cynthia, chaste-born birth of Jove.
If sprung of humans that inhabit earth,
Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth;
But most blest he that hath the gift to engage
Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage."
He prayed her then for some garment, and that she would show him the
town. Then she, calling her maidens, they brought for him food and oil
and raiment, and went apart while he should cleanse and array himself.
And Pallas wrought in him a grace full great
From head to shoulders, and as sure did seat
His goodly presence. As he sat apart,
Nausicaa's eyes struck wonder through her heart;
He showed to her till now not worth the note;
But now he seemed as he had godhead got.
Then, fearing the gossip of the market-place, she bade him follow
afoot with her maidens, giving him directions how he should find her
father's palace, which entering,
"Address suit to my mother, that her mean
May make the day of your redition seen.
For if she once be won to wish you well,
Your hope may instantly your passport seal,
And thenceforth sure abide to see your friends,
Fair house, and all to which your heart contends."
Nausicaa and her maidens went forward, Ulysses following after a time;
whom Pallas met, and told him of the King Alcinous and the Queen
Arete. Then he, being wrapped in a cloud which she had set about him,
entered unmarked; and, the cloud vanishing, embraced the knees of
Arete in supplication, as one distressed by many labours. And they all
received him graciously. Now, as they sat at meat, a bard sang of the
fall of Troy; and Alcinous, the king, marked how Ulysses wept at the
tale; and then Ulysses told them who he was, and of his adventures, on
this wise.
_II_.--_Ulysses Tells of his Wanderings_
After many wanderings, we came to the isle of the Cyclops, and I, with
twelve of my men, to his cave. He coming home bespake us.
"Ho! guests! What are ye? Whence sail ye these seas?
Traffic or rove ye, and, like thieves, oppress
Poor strange adventurers, exposing so
Your souls to danger, and your lives to woe?"
"Reverence the gods, thou greatest of all that live,
We suppliants are." "O thou fool," answered he,
"To come so far, and to importune me
With any god's fear or observed love!
We Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove
Nor other blest ones; we are better far.
To Jove himself dare I bid open war."
The Cyclop devoured two sailors, and slept. I slew him not sleeping--
For there we all had perished, since it past
Our powers to lift aside a log so vast
As barred all our escape.
At morn, he drove forth the flocks, but barred the entry again, having
devoured two more of my comrades. But we made ready a great stake for
thrusting out his one eye. And when he came home at night, driving in
all his sheep,
Two of my soldiers more
At once he snatched up, and to supper went.
Then dared I words to him, and did present
A bowl of wine with these words: "Cyclop! take
A bowl of wine." "Thy name, that I may make
A hospitable gift; for this rich wine
Fell from the river, that is more divine,
Of nectar and ambrosia." "Cyclop, see,
My name is No-Man." Cruel answered he.
"No-Man! I'll eat thee last of all thy friends."
He slept; we took the spar, made keen before,
And plunged it in his eye. Then did he roar
In claps like thunder.
Other Cyclops gathered, to inquire who had harmed him; but he--
"by craft, not might,
No-Man hath given me death." They then said right,
"If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone,
That which is done to thee by Jove is done."
Then groaning up and down, he groping tried
To find the stone, which found, he put aside,
But in the door sat, feeling if he could,
As the sheep issued, on some man lay hold.
But we, ranging the sheep three abreast, were borne out under their
bellies, and drove them in haste down to our ship; and having put out,
I cried aloud:
"Cyclop! if any ask thee who imposed
Th' unsightly blemish that thine eye enclosed,
Say that Ulysses, old Laertes' son,
Whose seat is Ithaca, who hath won
Surname of city-razer, bored it out."
At this he brayed so loud that round about
He drove affrighted echoes through the air
In burning fury; and the top he tare
From off a huge rock, and so right a throw
Made at our ship that just before the prow
It overflew and fell, missed mast and all
Exceeding little; but about the fall
So fierce a wave it raised that back it bore
Our ship, so far it almost touched the shore.
So we escaped; but the Cyclop stirred up against us the wrath of his
father Neptune. Thereafter we came to the caves of Æolus, lord of the
winds, and then to the land of the giants called Laestrygones, whence
there escaped but one ship of all our company.
Then to the isle of Ææa we attained,
Where fair-haired, dreadful, eloquent Circe reigned.
Then I sent a company, led by Eurylochus, to search the land.
These in a dale did Circe's house descry;
Before her gates hill-wolves and lions lie;
Which, with her virtuous drugs, so tame she made
That wolf nor lion would no man invade
With any violence, but all arose,
Their huge, long tails wagged, and in fawns would close,
As loving dogs. Amaz'd they stay'd at gate,
And heard within the goddess elevate
A voice divine, as at her web she wrought,
Subtle and glorious and past earthly thought.
She called them in, but Eurylochus, abiding without, saw her feast
them, and then turn them with her wand into swine. From him hearing
these things I hastened thither. But Hermes met me, and gave me of the
herb Moly, to be a protection against her spells, and wise counsel
withal. So when she had feasted me she touched me with her wand.
I drew my sword, and charged her, as I meant
To take her life. When out she cried, and bent
Beneath my sword her knees, embracing mine,
And full of tears, said, "Who, of what high line
Art thou? Deep-souled Ulysses must thou be."
Then I, "O Circe, I indeed am he.
Dissolve the charms my friends' forced forms enchain,
And show me here those honoured friends like men."
Now she restored them, and knowing the will of the gods, made good
cheer for us all, so that we abode with her for one year. Nor might
we depart thence till I had made journey to the abode of Hades to get
speech of Tiresias the Seer. Whereby I saw made shades of famous folk,
past recounting. Thence returning, Circe suffered us to be gone; with
warning of perils before us, and of how we should avoid them.
First to the Sirens. Whoso hears the call
Of any Siren, he will so despise
Both wife and children, for their sorceries,
That never home turns his affection's stream,
Nor they take joy in him nor he in them.
Next monstrous Scylla. Six long necks look out
Of her rank shoulders; every neck doth let
A ghastly head out; every head, three set,
Thick thrust together, of abhorred teeth,
And every tooth stuck with a sable death;
Charybdis, too, whose horrid throat did draw
The brackish sea up. These we saw
And escaped only in part. Then came they to the island where are
fed the Oxen of the Sun; and because his comrades would slay them,
destruction came upon them, and Ulysses alone came alive to the isle
of Calypso.
_III_.--_How Ulysses Came Back to Ithaca_
Now, when Ulysses had made an end, it pleased Alcinous and all the
Phæacians that they should speed him home with many rich gifts. So
they set him in a ship, and bore him to Ithaca, and laid him on
the shore, yet sleeping, with all the goodly gifts about him, and
departed. But he, waking, wist not where he was till Pallas came
to him. Who counselled him how he should deal with the Wooers, and
disguised him as a man ancient and worn.
Then Ulysses sought and found the faithful swine-herd Eumæus, who made
him welcome, not knowing who he was, and told him of the ill-doing of
the suitors. But Pallas went and brought back Telemachus from Sparata,
evading the Wooers' ambush.
Out rushed amazed Eumæus, and let go
The cup to earth, that he had laboured so,
Cleansed for the neat wine, did the prince surprise,
Kissed his fair forehead, both his lovely eyes,
And wept for joy. Then entering, from his seat
His father rose to him; who would not let
The old man remove, but drew him back, and prest
With earnest terms his sitting, saying, "Guest,
Take here your seat again."
Eumæus departing, Pallas restored Ulysses to his own likeness, and he
made himself known to Telemachus, and instructed him.
"Go them for home, and troop up with the Wooers,
Thy will with theirs joined, power with their rude powers;
And after shall the herdsmen guide to town
My steps, my person wholly overgrown
With all appearance of a poor old swain,
Heavy and wretched. If their high disdain
Of my vile presence made them my desert
Affect with contumelies, let thy loved heart
Beat in fixed confines of thy bosom still,
And see me suffer, patient of their ill.
But when I give the sign, all th' arms that are
Aloft thy roof in some near room prepare--
Two swords, two darts, two shields, left for us twain.
But let none know Ulysses near again."
But when air's rosy birth, the morn, arose,
Telemachus did for the turn dispose
His early steps; went on with spritely pace,
And to the Wooers studied little grace ...
And now the king and herdsman from the field
Drew nigh the town; when in the yard there lay
A dog called Argus, which, before his way
Assumed for Ilion, Ulysses bred,
Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead,
As being too young, but, growing to his grace,
Young men made choice of him for every chase,
Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts;
But, his king gone, and he, now past his parts,
Lay all abjectly on the stable's store
Before the ox-stall, and mules' stable-door,
To keep the clothes cast from the peasants' hands
While they laid compass on Ulysses' lands,
The dog, with ticks (unlook'd to) overgrown.
But by this dog no sooner seen but known
Was wise Ulysses; who now enter'd there.
Up went his dog's laid ears, coming near,
Up he himself rose, fawned, and wagged his stern,
Couch'd close his ears, and lay so; nor discern
Could ever more his dear-loved lord again.
Ulysses saw it, nor had power t'abstain From
shedding tears; but (far-off seeing his swain)
His grief dissembled.... Then they entered in
And left poor Argus dead; his lord's first sight
Since that time twenty years bereft his sight.
Telemachus welcomed the wayworn suppliant; the feasting Wooers, too,
sent him portions of meat, save Antinous, who
Rapt up a stool, with which he smit
The king's right shoulder, 'twixt his neck and it.
He stood him like a rock. Antinous' dart
Stirred not Ulysses, who in his great heart
Deep ills projected.
The very Wooers were wroth. Which clamour Penelope hearing, she sent
for Eumæus, and bade him summon the stranger to her; but he would
not come till evening, by reason of the suitors, from whom he had
discourteous treatment.
Now Ulysses coming to Penelope, did not discover himself, but told
her made-up tales of his doings; as, how he had seen Ulysses, and of
a robe he had worn which Penelope knew for one she had given him; so
that she gave credence to his words. Then she bade call the ancient
nurse Euryclea, that she might wash the stranger's feet. But by a scar
he came to be discovered by the aged dame. Her he charged with silence
and to let no ear in all the court more know his being there. As for
Penelope, she told him of her intent to promise herself to the man who
could wield Ulysses' bow, knowing well that none had the strength and
skill.
_IV.--Of the Doom of the Suitors_
On the morrow came Penelope to the Wooers, bearing the bow of her lord.
Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:
"Hear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take
To do me sorrow, and my house invade
To eat and drink, as if 'twere only made
To serve your rapines, striving who shall frame
Me for his wife. And since 'tis made a game,
I here propose divine Ulysses' bow
For that great master-piece, to which ye row.
He that can draw it with least show to strive,
And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,
Him will I follow, and this house forego."
Whereat the herd Eumæus wept for woe.
Then Telemachus set up the axe-heads, and himself made vain essay, the
more to tempt the Wooers. And while they after him strove all vainly,
Ulysses went out and bespake Eumæus and another herd, Philoetius.
"I am your lord; through many a sufferance tried
Arrived now here, whom twenty years have held
Forth from my home. Of all the company
Now serving here besides, not one but you
Mine ear hath witnessed willing to bestow
Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.
The curious Wooers will by no means give
The offer of the bow and arrow leave
To come at me; spite then their pride, do thou,
My good Eumæus, bring both shaft and bow
To my hands' proof; and charge the maids before
That instantly they shut the door.
Do thou, Philoetius, keep their closure fast."
Then Ulysses claiming to make trial of the bow, the Wooers would have
denied him; but Penelope would not; whereas Telemachus made a vow that
it was for himself and none other to decide, and the guest should make
trial. But he, handling it while they mocked, with ease
Drew the bow round. Then twanged he up the string,
That as a swallow in the air doth sing,
So sharp the string sung when he gave it touch,
Once having bent and drawn it. Which so much
Amazed the Wooers, that their colours went
And came most grievously. And then Jove rent
The air with thunder; which at heart did cheer
The now-enough-sustaining traveller.
Then through the axes at the first hole flew
The steel-charged arrow. Straightway to him drew
His son in complete arms....
"Now for us
There rests another mark more hard to hit,
And such as never man before hath smit;
Whose full point likewise my hands shall assay,
And try if Phoebus will give me his day."
He said, and off his bitter arrow thrust
Right at Antinous, that struck him just
As he was lifting up the bowl, to show
That 'twixt the cup and lip much ill may grow.
Then the rest cried out upon him with threats, while they made vain
search for weapons in the hall.
He, frowning, said, "Dogs, see in me the man
Ye all held dead at Troy. My house it is
That thus ye spoil, and thus your luxuries
Fill with my women's rapes; in which ye woo
The wife of one that lives, and no thought show
Of man's fit fear, or gods', your present fame,
Or any fair sense of your future name;
And, therefore, present and eternal death
Shall end your base life."
Then the Wooers made at Ulysses and Telemachus, who smote down first
Eurymachus and then Amphinomus. But a way to the armoury having
been left, the Wooers got arms by aid of a traitor; whom Eumæus and
Philoetius smote, and then came to Ulysses and his son. Moreover,
Pallas also came to their help; so that the Wooers, being routed--
Ulysses and his son the flyers chased
As when, with crooked beaks and seres, a cast
Of hill-bred eagles, cast off at some game,
That yet their strengths keep, but, put up, in flame
The eagle stoops; from which, along the field
The poor fowls make wing this and that way yield
Their hard-flown pinions, then the clouds assay
For 'scape or shelter, their forlorn dismay
All spirit exhaling, all wings strength to carry
Their bodies forth, and, truss'd up, to the quarry
Their falconers ride in, and rejoice to see
Their hawks perform a flight so fervently;
So in their flight Ulysses with his heir
Did stoop and cuff the Wooers, that the air
Broke in vast sighs, whose heads they shot and cleft,
The pavement boiling with the souls they reft.
Now all the Wooers were slain, and they of the household that were
their accomplices; and the chamber was purified.
Then first did tears ensue
Her rapt assurance; when she ran and spread
Her arms about his neck, kiss'd oft his head.
He wept for joy, t'enjoy a wife so fit
For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit.
But as for the Wooers, Hermes gathered the souls of them together,
and, as bats gibbering in a cavern rise, so came they forth gibbering
and went down to the House of Hades.
FOOTNOTES:
[G] Of the "Odyssey" it may be said with certainty that its
composition was later than that of the "Iliad," but it cannot be
affirmed that both poems were not composed within the life-time of one
man. It may be claimed that the best criticism declines to reject the
identity of authorship of the poet of the "Iliad" and the poet of the
"Odyssey," while admitting the probability that the work of other poets
was incorporated in his. We have given our readers the translation by
George Chapman, Shakespeare's contemporary, with which may be compared
the fine modern prose translation by Professor Butcher and Mr. Andrew
Lang. On the other hand, Alexander Pope's verse rendering has nothing
Homeric about it. It may be regretted that Chapman did not in the
"Odyssey" retain the swinging metre which he used in the "Iliad." The
poem relates the adventures of Odysseus (latinised into Ulysses) on his
homeward voyages, after the fall of Troy.
HORACE[H]
Poems
_Satires_
HUMAN DISCONTENT
Whence is it, sir, that none contented lives
With the fair lot which prudent reason gives,
Or chance presents, yet all with envy view
The schemes that others variously pursue?
Broken with toils, with ponderous arms oppressed,
The soldier thinks the merchant solely blest.
In opposite extreme, when tempests rise,
"War is a better choice," the merchant cries.
When early clients thunder at his gate,
Te barrister applauds the rustic's fate;
While, by _sub-poenas_ dragged from home, the clown
Thinks the supremely happy dwell in town!
Not to be tedious, mark the moral aim
Of these examples. Should some god proclaim,
"Your prayers are heard: you, soldier, to your seas;
You, lawyer, take that envied rustic's ease,--
Each to his several part--What! Ha! not move
Even to the bliss you wished!" And shall not Jove,
With cheeks inflamed and angry brow, forswear
A weak indulgence to their future prayer?
AVARICE
Some, self-deceived, who think their lust of gold
Is but a love of fame, this maxim hold,
"No fortune is enough, since others rate
Our worth proportioned to a large estate."
Say, for their cure what arts would you employ?
Let them be wretched, and their choice enjoy.
Would you the real use of riches know?
Bread, herbs, and wine are all they can bestow.
Or add, what nature's deepest wants supplies;
These and no more thy mass of money buys.
But with continual watching almost dead,
Housebreaking thieves, and midnight fires to dread,
Or the suspected slave's untimely flight
With the dear pelf--if this be thy delight,
Be it my fate, so heaven in bounty please,
Still to be poor of blessings such as these!
A PARAGON OF INCONSISTENCY
Nothing was of a piece in the whole man:
Sometimes he like a frightened coward ran,
Whose foes are at his heels; now soft and slow
He moved, like folks who in procession go.
Now with two hundred slaves he crowds his train;
Now walks with ten. In high and haughty strain,
At morn, of kings and governors he prates;
At night, "A frugal table, O ye Fates,
A little shell the sacred salt to hold,
And clothes, though coarse, to keep from me the cold."
Yet give this wight, so frugally content,
A thousand pounds, 'tis every penny spent
Within the week! He drank the night away
Till rising dawn, then snored out all the day.
Sure, such a various creature ne'er was known.
But have you, sir, no vices of your own?
ON JUDGING FRIENDS
A kindly friend, who balances my good
And bad together, as in truth he should,
If haply my good qualities prevail,
Inclines indulgent to the sinking scale:
For like indulgence let his friendship plead,
His merits be with equal measure weighed;
For he who hopes his wen shall not offend
Should overlook the pimples of his friend.
ON LOYALTY TO ABSENT FRIENDS
He who, malignant, tears an absent friend,
Or fails, when others blame him, to defend,
Who trivial bursts of laughter strives to raise
And courts for witty cynicism praise,
Who can, what he has never seen, reveal,
And friendship's secrets knows not to conceal--
Romans beware--that man is black of soul.
HORACE'S DEBT TO HIS FATHER
If some few trivial faults deform my soul
(Like a fair face, when spotted with a mole),
If none with avarice justly brand my fame,
With sordidness, or deeds too vile to name;
If pure and innocent; if dear (forgive
These little praises) to my friends I live,
My father was the cause, who, though maintained
By a lean farm but poorly, yet disdained
The country schoolmaster, to whose low care
The mighty captain sent his high-born heir,
With satchel, copy-book, and pelf to pay
The wretched teacher on the appointed day.
To Rome by this bold father was I brought,
To learn those arts which well-born youths are taught,
So dressed, and so attended, you would swear
I was some wealthy lord's expensive heir.
Himself my guardian, of unblemished truth,
Among my tutors would attend my youth,
And thus preserved my chastity of mind--
That prime of virtue in its highest kind.
HORACE'S HABITS IN THE CITY
Alone I saunter, as by fancy led,
I cheapen herbs, or ask the price of bread,
I watch while fortune-tellers fate reveal,
Then homeward hasten to my frugal meal,
Herbs, pulse, and pancakes (each a separate plate),
While three domestics at my supper wait.
A bowl on a white marble table stands,
Two goblets, and a ewer to wash my hands,
And hallowed cup of true Campanian clay
My pure libation to the gods to pay.
I then retire to rest, nor anxious fear
Before dread Marsyas early to appear.
I lie till ten; then take a walk, or choose
A book, perhaps, or trifle with the muse.
For cheerful exercise and manly toil
Anoint my body with the pliant oil--
Yet not with such as Natta's, when he vamps
His filthy limbs and robs the public lamps.
But when the sun pours down his fiercer fire,
And bids me from the toilsome sport retire,
I haste to bathe, and in a temperate mood
Regale my craving appetite with food
(Enough to nourish nature for a day);
Then trifle my domestic hours away.
Such is the life from bad ambition free;
Such comfort has one humble born like me:
With which I feel myself more truly blest,
Than if my sires the quæstor's power possessed.
FOOTNOTES:
[H] Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus), who was born near Venusia,
in Apulia, in 65 B.C., and died in 8 B.C., was a southern Italian.
When twenty, Horace was a student of philosophy at Athens. A period
of poverty-stricken Bohemianism followed his return to Rome, till
acquaintance with Virgil opened a path into the circle of Mæcenas and
of the emperor. His literary career falls into three divisions--that
of his "Epodes" and "Satires," down to 30 B.C.; that of his lyrics,
down to 23 B.C., when the first three books of the "Odes" appeared;
and that of the reflective and literary "Epistles," which include
the famous "Art of Poetry," and, with sundry official odes, belong
to his later years. Horatian "satire," it should be observed, does
not imply ferocious personal onslaughts, but a miscellany containing
good-humoured ridicule of types, and lively sketches of character and
incident. So varied a performance as satirist, lyrist, moralist and
critic, coupled with his vivid interest in mankind, help to account for
the appeal which Horace has made to all epochs, countries, and ranks.
Of the translations of Horace here given, some are by Prof. Wight Duff,
and have been specially made for this selection, whilst a few are by
Milton, Dryden, Cowper, and Francis.
_Horace and the Bore_
SCENE.--_Rome, on the Sacred Way. The poet is walking down the street,
composing some trifle, in a brown study, when a person, known
to him only by name, rushes up and seises his hand_.
BORE (_effusively_): How d'ye do, my dear fellow?
HORACE (_politely_): Nicely at present. I'm at your service, sir.
(HORACE _walks on, and as the_ BORE _keeps following, tries to choke
him off_.) You don't want anything, do you?
BORE: You must make my acquaintance, I'm a savant.
HORACE: Then I'll think the more of you. (HORACE, _anxious to get
away, walks fast one minute, halts the next, whispers something to his
attendant slave, and is bathed in perspiration all over. Then, quietly
to himself_) Lucky Bolanus, with your hot temper!
BORE (_whose chatter on things in general, and about the streets of
Rome in particular, has been received with dead silence_): You're
frightfully keen to be off. I've noticed it all along. But it's no
good. I'm going to stick to you right through. I'll escort you from
here to your destination.
HORACE (_deprecatingly_): No need for you to make such a detour.
(_Inventing fibs as he goes along_) There's someone I want to look
up--a person you don't know, on the other side of the river--yes, far
away--he's confined to bed--near Cæsar's Park.
BORE: Oh, I've nothing to do, and I don't dislike exercise. I'll
follow you right there. (HORACE _is as crestfallen as a sulky donkey
when an extra heavy load is dumped upon its back. The_ BORE
_continues_) If I know myself, you'll not value Viscus more highly
as a friend, or Varius either; for who can write verses faster, and
more of them, than I can? Who's a greater master of deportment? As
for my singing, it's enough to make even Hermogenes jealous!
HORACE (_seizing the chance of interrupting_): Have you a mother--any
relatives to whom your health is of moment?
BORE: Not one left. I've laid them all to rest.
HORACE: Lucky people! Now I'm the sole survivor. Do for _me_! The
melancholy fate draws near which a fortune-telling Sabellian crone once
prophesied in my boyhood: "This lad neither dread poison nor hostile
sword shall take off, nor pleurisy, nor cough, nor crippling gout. A
chatterbox will one day be his death!"
BORE (_realising that, as it is the hour for opening the law course,
he must answer to his recognisances, or lose a suit to which he is a
party_): Oblige me with your assistance in court for a little.
HORACE: Deuce take me if I've strength to hang about so long, or know
any law. Besides, I'm hurrying, you know where.
BORE: I'm in a fix what to do--whether to give you up or my case.
HORACE: Me, please.
BORE: Shan't! (_Starts ahead of_ HORACE, _who, beaten at every point,
has to follow. The other opens conversation again_.) On what footing do
you and Mæcenas stand?
HORACE (_haughtily_): He has a select circle, and thoroughly sound
judgment.
BORE (_unimpressed_): Ah! No one ever made a smarter use of his
chances. You'd have a powerful supporter, a capable understudy, if
you'd agree to introduce your humble servant. Deuce take me if you
wouldn't clear everybody out of your way.
HORACE (_disgusted_): We don't live on the terms _you_ fancy. No
establishment is more honest than his, or more foreign to such
intrigues. It does me no harm, I tell you, because this one has more
money or learning than I. Everybody has his own place.
BORE: A tall story--hardly believable.
HORACE: A fact, nevertheless.
BORE: You fire my anxiety all the more to be one of his intimate
friends.
HORACE (_sarcastically_): You've only got to wish. Such are _your_
qualities, you'll carry him by storm.
BORE (_on whom the irony is lost_): I'll not fail myself. I'll bribe
his slaves. If I find the door shut in my face I'll not give up. I'll
watch for lucky moments. I'll meet him at street corners. I'll see him
home. Life grants man nothing without hard work.
[_Enter_ FUSCUS, _a friend of_ HORACE. _Knowing the_
BORE'S _ways, he reads the situation_. HORACE
_furtively tugs at_ FUSCUS'S _gown, pinches him,
nods and winks to_ FUSCUS _to rescue him_. FUSCUS
_smiles, and with a mischievous fondness for a joke,
pretends he does not understand_.
HORACE (_angry with_ Fuscus): Of course, you _did_ say you wanted to
talk over something with me in private.
FUSCUS: Ah, yes, I remember; but I'll tell you at a more convenient
season. (_Inventing an excuse with mock solemnity_.) To-day is the
"Thirtieth Sabbath." You wouldn't affront the circumcised Jews, would
you?
HORACE: I have no scruples.
FUSCUS: But _I_ have. I'm a slightly weaker brother--one, of many.
Pardon, I'll talk about it another time.
[_Exit, leaving_ HORACE _like a victim under the knife_.
HORACE (_to himself_): To think this day should have dawned so
black for me!
[_Suddenly enter the_ PLAINTIFF _in the suit against the_
BORE.
PLAINTIFF (_loudly to the_ BORE): Where are you off to, you
scoundrel? (_To_ HORACE) May I call you as a witness to his contempt
of court?
[HORACE _lets his ear be touched, according to legal form.
The_ BORE _is hauled away to court, he and the_ PLAINTIFF
_bawling at each other. The arrest attracts a large
crowd_.
HORACE (_quietly disappearing_): What an escape! Thank Apollo!
_The Art of Poetry_
UNITY AND SIMPLICITY ARE REQUISITE
Suppose a painter to a human head
Should join a horse's neck, and wildly spread
The various plumage of the feather'd kind
O'er limbs of different beasts, absurdly joined.
Or if he gave to view of beauteous maid
Above the waist with every charm arrayed,
But ending, fish-like, in a mermaid tail,
Could you to laugh at such a picture fail?
Such is the book that, like a sick man's dreams,
Varies all shapes, and mixes all extremes.
"Painters and poets our indulgence claim,
Their daring equal, and their art the same."
I own the indulgence, such I give and take;
But not through nature's sacred rules to break.
Your opening promises some grand design,
And purple patches with broad lustre shine
Sewed on the poem; here in laboured strain
A sacred grove, or fair Diana's fane
Rises to view; there through delightful meads
A murmuring stream its winding water leads.
Why will you thus a mighty vase intend,
If in a worthless bowl your labours end?
Then learn this wandering humour to control,
And keep one equal tenour through the whole.
THE FALSEHOOD OF EXTREMES IN STYLE
But oft our greatest errors take their rise
From our best views. I strive to be concise,
And prove obscure. My strength, or passion, flees,
When I would write with elegance and ease.
Aiming at greatness, some to fustian soar:
Some, bent on safety, creep along the shore.
Thus injudicious, while one fault we shun,
Into its opposite extreme we run.
CHOICE OF THEME
Examine well, ye writers, weigh with care,
What suits your genius, what your strength can bear;
For when a well-proportioned theme you choose,
Nor words, nor method shall their aid refuse.
WORDS OLD AND NEW
The author of a promised work must be
Subtle and careful in word-harmony.
To choose and to reject. You merit praise
If by deft linking of known words a phrase
Strikes one as new. Should unfamiliar theme
Need fresh-invented terms, proper will seem
Diction unknown of old. This licence used
With fair discretion never is refused.
As when the forest, with the bending year,
First sheds the leaves, which earliest appear,
So an old race of words maturely dies,
And some, new born, in youth and vigour rise.
Many shall rise which now forgotten lie;
Others, in present credit, soon shall die,
If custom will, whose arbitrary sway
Words and the forms of language must obey.
WORDS MUST SUIT CHARACTER
'Tis not enough, ye writers, that ye charm
With pretty elegance; a play should warm
With soft concernment--should possess the soul,
And, as it wills, the listeners control.
With those who laugh, our social joy appears;
With those who mourn, we sympathise in tears;
If you would have me weep, begin the strain,
Then I shall feel your sorrow, feel your pain;
But if your heroes act not what they say,
I sleep or laugh the lifeless scene away.
ON LITERARY BORROWING
If you would make a common theme your own,
Dwell not on incidents already known;
Nor word for word translate with painful care,
Nor be confined in such a narrow sphere.
ON BEGINNING A HEROIC POEM
Begin your work with modest grace and plain,
Not in the cyclic bard's bombastic strain:
"I chant the glorious war and Priam's fate----"
How will the boaster keep this ranting rate?
The mountains laboured with prodigious throes,
And lo! a mouse ridiculous arose.
Far better Homer, who tries naught in vain,
Opens his poem in a humbler strain:
"Muse, tell the many who after Troy subdued,
Manners and towns of various nations viewed."
Right to the great event he speeds his course,
And bears his readers, with impetuous force,
Into the midst of things, while every line
Opens by just degrees his whole design.
ACTION AND NARRATION IN PLAYS
The business of the drama must appear
In action or description. What we hear,
With slower passion to the heart proceeds
Than when an audience views the very deeds.
But let not such upon the stage be brought
Which better should behind the scenes be wrought;
Nor force the unwilling audience to behold
What may with vivid elegance be told.
Let not Medea with unnatural rage
Murder her little children on the stage.
GOOD SENSE A WELL-SPRING OF POETRY
Good sense, the fountain of the muse's art,
Let the strong page of Socrates impart;
For if the mind with clear conceptions glow,
The willing words in just expressions flow.
The poet who with nice discernment knows
What to his country and his friends he owes;
How various nature warms the human breast,
To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest;
What the high duties of our judges are,
Of senator or general sent to war;
He surely knows, with nice self-judging art,
The strokes peculiar to each different part.
Keep nature's great original in view,
And thence the living images pursue.
For when the sentiments and manners please,
And all the characters are wrought with ease,
Your play, though weak in beauty, force, and art,
More strongly shall delight, and warm the heart,
Than where a lifeless pomp of verse appears,
And with sonorous trifles charms our ears.
PERFECTION CANNOT BE EXPECTED
Where beauties in a poem faults outshine,
I am not angry if a casual line
(That with some trivial blot unequal flows)
A careless hand or human frailty shows.
Then shall I angrily see no excuse
If honest Homer slumber o'er his muse?
Yet surely sometimes an indulgent sleep
O'er works of length allowably may creep!
A HIGH STANDARD MUST BE EXACTED
In certain subjects, Piso, be assured,
Tame mediocrity may be endured.
But god, and man, and booksellers deny
A poet's right to mediocrity!
ARE POETS BORN OR MADE?
'Tis long disputed whether poems claim
From art or nature their best right to fame;
But art, if un-enriched by nature's vein,
And a rude genius of uncultured strain,
Are useless both: they must be fast combined
And mutual succour in each other find.
_Odes_
A DEDICATION
Mæcenas, sprung from regal line,
Bulwark and dearest glory mine!
Some love to stir Olympic dust
With glowing chariot-wheels which just
Avoid the goal, and win a prize
Fit for the rulers of the skies.
One joys in triple civic fame
Conferred by fickle Rome's acclaim;
Another likes from Libya's plain
To store his private barns with grain;
A third who, with unceasing toil,
Hoes cheerful the paternal soil,
No promised wealth of Attalus
Shall tempt to venture timorous
Sailing in Cyprian bark to brave
The terrors of Myrtoan wave.
Others in tented fields rejoice,
Trumpets and answering clarion-voice.
Be mine the ivy, fair reward,
Which blissful crowns the immortal bard;
Be mine amid the breezy grove,
In sacred solitude to rove--
To see the nymphs and satyrs bound,
Light dancing in the mazy round,
While all the tuneful muses join
Their various harmony divine.
Count me but in the lyric choir--
My crest shall to the stars aspire.
TO PYRRHA
What slender youth bedewed with liquid odours
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds, and storms
Unwonted shall admire!
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant, always amiable
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they
To whom thou untried seem'st fair. Me, in my vowed
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung
My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of sea.
WINTER CHEER
Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow,
The streams congealed, forget to flow?
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile
Of fuel on the hearth;
Broach the best cask and make old winter smile
With seasonable mirth.
This be our part--let Heaven dispose the rest;
If Jove commands, the winds shall sleep
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.
E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may:
When to-morrow's passed away,
We at least shall have to say,
We have lived another day;
Your auburn locks will soon be silvered o'er,
Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.
"GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY"
Secure those golden early joys,
That youth unsoured with sorrow bears,
Ere withering time the taste destroys
With sickness and unwieldy years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest,
This is the time to be possessed;
The best is but in season best.
The appointed tryst of promised bliss,
The pleasing whisper in the dark,
The half-unwilling willing kiss,
The laugh that guides thee to the mark,
When the kind nymph would coyness feign,
And hides but to be found again--
These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.
GOD AND EMPEROR
Saturnian Jove, parent and guardian god
Of human kind, to thee the Fates award
The care of Cæsar's reign; to thine alone
Inferior, let his empire rise.
Whether the Parthian's formidable power
Or Indians or the Seres of the East,
With humbled pride beneath his triumph fall,
Wide o'er a willing world shall he
Contented rule, and to thy throne shall bend
Submissive. Thou in thy tremendous car
Shalt shake Olympus' head, and at our groves
Polluted hurl thy dreadful bolts.
THE STRENGTH OF INNOCENCE
The man of life, unstained and free from craft,
Ne'er needs, my Fuscus, Moorish darts to throw;
He needs no quiver filled with venomed shaft,
Nor e'er a bow.
Whether he fare thro' Afric's boiling shoals,
Or o'er the Caucasus inhospitable,
Or where the great Hydaspes river rolls,
Renowned in fable.
Once in a Sabine forest as I strayed
Beyond my boundary, by fancy charmed,
Singing my Lalage, a wolf, afraid,
Shunned me unarmed.
The broad oak-woods of hardy Daunia,
Rear no such monster mid their fiercest scions,
Nor Juba's arid Mauretania,
The nurse of lions.
Set me where, in the heart of frozen plains,
No tree is freshened by a summer wind,
A quarter of the globe enthralled by rains,
And Jove unkind;
Or set me 'neath the chariot of the Sun,
Where, overnear his fires, no homes may be;
I'll love, for her sweet smile and voice, but one--
My Lalage.
TRANQUILLITY
Should fortune frown, live thou serene;
Nor let thy spirit rise too high,
Though kinder grown she change the scene;
Bethink thee, Delius, thou must die.
Whether thy slow days mournful pass,
Or swiftly joyous fleet away,
While thou reclining on the grass
Dost bless with wine the festal day.
Where poplar white and giant pine
Ward off the inhospitable beam;
Where their luxuriant branches twine,
Where bickers down its course the stream,
Here bid them perfumes bring, and wine,
And the fair rose's short-lived flower,
While youth and fortune and the twine
Spun by the Sisters, grant an hour.
We all must tread the path of Fate,
And ever shakes the fateful urn,
Whose lot embarks us, soon or late,
On Charon's boat--beyond return.
TO A FAIR DECEIVER
Did any punishment attend
Thy former perjuries,
I should believe a second time,
Thy charming flatteries:
Did but one wrinkle mark thy face
Or hadst thou lost one single grace.
No sooner hast thou, with false vows,
Provoked the powers above,
But thou art fairer than before,
And we are more in love.
Thus Heaven and Earth seem to declare
They pardon falsehood in the fair.
The nymphs, and cruel Cupid too,
Sharpening his pointed dart
On an old home besmeared with blood,
Forbear thy perjured heart.
Fresh youth grows up to wear thy chains,
And the old slave no freedom gains.
THE GOLDEN MEAN
The man who follows Wisdom's voice,
And makes the Golden Mean his choice,
Nor plunged in squalid gloomy cells
Midst hoary desolation dwells;
Nor to allure the envious eye
Rears a proud palace to the sky;
The man whose steadfast soul can bear
Fortune indulgent or severe,
Hopes when she frowns, and when she smiles
With cautious fear eludes her wiles.
TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA
Bandusia's Well, that crystal dost outshine,
Worthy art thou of festal wine and wreath!
An offered kid to-morrow shall be thine,
Whose swelling brows his earliest horns unsheath.
And mark him for the feats of love and strife.
In vain: for this same youngling from the fold
Of playful goats shall with his crimson life
Incarnadine thy waters fresh and cold.
The blazing Dog-star's unrelenting hour
Can touch thee not: to roaming herd or bulls
O'erwrought by plough, thou giv'st a shady bower,
Thou shalt be one of Earth's renowned pools!
For I shall sing thy grotto ilex-crowned,
Whence fall thy waters of the babbling sound.
TO THE GOD FAUNUS
O Faun-god, wooer of each nymph that flees,
Come, cross my land! Across those sunny leas,
Tread thou benign, and all my flock's increase
Bless ere thou go.
In each full year a tender kid be slain,
If Venus' mate, the bowl, be charged amain
With wine, and incense thick the altar stain
Of long ago.
The herds disport upon the grassy ground,
When in thy name December's Nones come round;
Idling on meads the thorpe, with steers unbound,
Its joys doth show.
Amid emboldened lambs the wolf roams free;
The forest sheds its leafage wild for thee;
And thrice the delver stamps his foot in glee
On earth, his foe.
AN ENVOI
Now have I reared memorial to last
More durable than brass, and to o'ertop
The pile of royal pyramids. No waste
Of rain or ravening Boreas hath power
To ruin it, nor lapse of time to come
In the innumerable round of years.
I shall not wholly die; great part of me
Shall 'scape the Funeral Goddess. Evermore
Fresh shall my honours grow, while pontiffs still
Do climb the Capitol with silent maid.
It shall be told where brawls the Aufidus
In fury, and where Daunus poor in streams
Once reigned o'er rural tribes, it shall be told
That Horace rose from lowliness to fame
And first adapted to Italian strains
The Æolian lay. Assume the eminence,
My own Melpomene, which merit won,
And deign to wreath my hair in Delphic bays.
VICTOR HUGO[I]
Hernani
_Persons in the Drama_
HERNANI A MOUNTAINEER
CHARLES V. OF SPAIN A PAGE
DON RICARDO SOLDIERS
DON RUY GOMEZ CONSPIRATORS
DOÑA SOL RETAINERS
Date of action, 1519.
ACT I
SCENE--KING CHARLES _and some of his noblemen are creeping into the
courtyard of the palace of_ DON RUY GOMEZ DE SILVA _at Saragossa.
It is midnight, and the palace is dark, save for a dim light
coming from a balcony window_.
THE KING: Here will I wait till Doña Sol comes down.
Guard every entrance. And if Hernani
Attempts to fight you need not kill the man.
Brigand although he is, he shall go free,
If I can win his lady.
DON RICARDO: Shoot the hawk
If you would keep the dove. The mountaineer
Is a most desperate outlaw.
THE KING: Let him live.
If I were not so passionately in love
With Doña Sol I would help Hernani
To rescue her from her old guardian.
To think that Don Ruy Gomez should have kept
So beautiful a girl a prisoner,
And tried to marry her! Had Hernani
Eloped with her before I fell in love
I would have praised his courage.
[_The balcony window opens, and as the noblemen retire_,
DOÑA SOL _comes down_.
DOÑA SOL: Hernani!
THE KING (_holding her_): Sweet Doña Sol.
DOÑA SOL: Oh, where is Hernani?
THE KING: I am the king, King Charles. I worship you,
And I will make you happy.
DOÑA SOL: Hernani!
Help! Help me, Hernani! [_She tries to escape_.
THE KING: I am your king!
I love you, Doña Sol. Come, you shall be
A duchess.
DOÑA SOL: No.
THE KING: Princess.
DOÑA SOL: No.
THE KING: Queen of Spain!
Yes; I will marry you if you will come.
DOÑA SOL: I cannot; I love Hernani.
THE KING: That brigand is not worthy of you. A throne
Is waiting. If you will not come with me,
My men must carry you away by force.
[_While he is talking_ HERNANI _appears_.
HERNANI: King Charles, you are a coward and a cur!
DOÑA SOL (_clasping him_): Save me!
HERNANI: I will, my love.
THE KING: Where are my men?
HERNANI: In my hands. I have sixty followers
Waiting out there. And now a word with you.
Your father killed my father; you have stolen
My lands and titles from me; and I vowed
To kill you.
THE KING: Titles? Lands? Who are you, then?
HERNANI: But meeting Doña Sol, I lost all thought
Of vengeance. Now I come to rescue her,
And find you in my path again--a wretch
Using his strength against a helpless girl.
Quick! Draw your sword, and prove you are a man!
THE KING: I am your king. I shall not fight with you.
Strike if you want to murder me.
HERNANI: You think
I hold with the divinity of kings?
Now, will you fight?
[_Striking him with the flat of his sword_.
THE KING: I will not. Murder me,
You bandit, as you murder every man
That you desire to rob! Cross swords with you?
A common thief? No; get to your trade.
Creep round; assassinate me from behind!
[KING CHARLES _fixes his fierce, hawk-like eyes on the
young brigand._ HERNANI _recoils, lowers his sword;
then, moved beyond himself by the strength of character
displayed by_ THE KING, _he breaks his blade on the
pavement._
HERNANI: Be off, then.
THE KING: Very well, sir. I shall set
A price upon your head, and hound you down.
HERNANI: I cannot kill you now, with Doña Sol
Looking at us. But I will keep my vow
When next we meet.
THE KING: Never shall you obtain
Mercy, respite, or pardon at my hands.
[_He departs._
DOÑA SOL: Now let us fly.
HERNANI: No; I must go alone.
It means death! Did you see King Charles's face?
It means death. Oh, my love, my sweet, true love!
You would have shared with me the wild, rough life
I lead up in the mountains: the green couch
Beneath the trees, the water from the brook.
But now I shall be hunted down and killed.
You must not come. Good-bye.
DOÑA SOL: Oh, Hernani!
Will you leave me like this?
HERNANI: No, I will stay!
Fold your arms closely round me, love, and rest
Your dear head on my shoulder. Let us talk
In whispers, as we used to, when I came
At night beneath your window. Do you still
Remember our first meeting?
[_There is a clash of bells._
DOÑA SOL: Hernani,
It is the tocsin!
HERNANI: No; our wedding-bells.
[_Shouts are heard. Lights appear in all the windows.
The noise of the bells grows louder. A mountaineer
runs in, with his sword drawn._
THE MOUNTAINEER: The streets are filled with soldiers.
DOÑA SOL: Save yourself!
Here is a side gate.
THE CROWD (_out in the street_): Bring the brigand out!
HERNANI: One kiss, then, and farewell.
DOÑA SOL (_embracing him_): It is our first.
HERNANI: And it may be our last. Farewell, my love!
ACT II
SCENE--DON RUY GOMEZ, _an old, grey-haired, but superb-looking man, is
standing in the hall of his castle in the Aragon mountains._
DON RUY GOMEZ: Only an hour, and then she is my wife!
I have been jealous and unjust, and used
Some violence. But now she is my bride
She shall know how a man can love.
[_A_ PAGE _enters._
PAGE: My lord,
There is a pilgrim at the gate, who craves
For shelter.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Let him in. On this glad day
Give friend or stranger welcome. Is there news
Of Hernani?
PAGE: King Charles has routed him
And killed him, so they say.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Thank Heaven for that!
My cup of happiness is full. Run, boy!
Bid Doña Sol put on her wedding-gown,
And as you go admit my pilgrim guest.
[_The_ PAGE _retires._
Would I could let the whole world see my joy!
[HERNANI _enters, disguised as a pilgrim._
HERNANI: To you, my lord, all peace and happiness!
DON RUY GOMEZ: And peace and happiness to you, my guest!
Where are you bound for?
HERNANI: For Our Lady's shrine.
[DOÑA SOL _enters, arrayed in a wedding-dress._
DON RUY GOMEZ: Here is the lady at whose shrine I pray.
My dearest bride! Where is your coronet?
You have forgotten it, and all the gems
I gave you as a wedding gift.
HERNANI (_in a wild, loud voice_): What man
Wishes to gain ten thousand golden crowns?
This is the price set upon Hernani.
[_Everyone is amazed. Tearing off his pilgrim robe, he
shows himself in the dress of a mountaineer._
I am Hernani.
DOÑA SOL: Ah! he is not dead!
HERNANI: Ten thousand crowns for me!
DON RUY GOMEZ: The sum is great.
I am not sure of all my men.
HERNANI: Which one
Will sell me to King Charles? Will you? Will you?
[_The retainers move away from him._ DOÑA SOL _makes
an imploring gesture; she is speechless with fear._
DON RUY GOMEZ: My friend, you are my guest, and I will slay
The man that dare lay hands on you. I come
Of noble race. And were you Hernani
Or Satan, I would keep the sacred law
Of hospitality. My honour is
A thing I prize above all else on earth,
And King Charles shall not stain it while I live!
Come, men, and arm, and close the castle gate.
[_He goes out, followed by all his retainers._ DOÑA SOL
_remains, her face white with anguish._ HERNANI
_glares at her_.
HERNANI: So he has bought you, this old wealthy man!
Bought you outright!
Oh, God, how false and vain
All women are!
DOÑA SOL: When I refused the throne
Offered me by King Charles, was I then false?
Is this an ornament vain women wear
Upon their wedding day?
[_She takes a dagger from her bosom._
Oh, Hernani,
They told me you were killed! I have been dressed
For marriage, but against the bridal night
I kept this dagger.
HERNANI: Slay me with it, love!
I am unworthy of you! Blind and mad
Was I to doubt the sweetest, bravest soul
That ever walked in beauty on this earth.
DOÑA SOL (_clasping him in her arms_): My hero and my lover,
and my lord,
Love me, and love me always!
HERNANI: Unto death.
[_As he embraces her,_ DON RUY GOMEZ _enters._
DON RUY GOMEZ: Judas!
HERNANI: Yes. Draw your sword and take my life.
But spare your bride, for she is innocent.
I came to carry her away, but she
Refused to follow me.
DOÑA SOL: It is not true.
I love him. Slay us both, or pardon us!
DON RUY GOMEZ: You love him, Doña Sol? Then he must die.
[_There is a sound of trumpets outside. A_ PAGE _enters._
THE PAGE: His Majesty King Charles is at the gate,
With all his army.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Open to the king!
DOÑA SOL: Nothing can save him now!
[DON RUY GOMEZ _presses a spring in the wall, and a
door opens into a hiding-place._
DON RUY GOMEZ (_to_ HERNANI): Here you are safe.
HERNANI: Surrender me! I am a prisoner now,
And not a guest.
[_He enters the hiding-place._ DON RUY GOMEZ _closes it._
THE PAGE: His Majesty, the King!
[KING CHARLES _enters, followed by his soldiers._ DOÑA
SOL _covers herself hastily in her bridal veil._
THE KING (_to the soldiers_): Seize all the keys, and guard the gates!
(_To_ DON RUY GOMEZ) My lord,
I hear that you are sheltering my foe,
The brigand Hernani.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Sire, that is true.
THE KING: I want his head--or yours.
DON RUY GOMEZ: He is my guest.
I come of men who are not used to sell
The head of any guest, even to their king.
THE KING: Why, man, he is your rival! You resolved
To help me hunt him down. You gave your word.
DON RUY GOMEZ: But now he is my guest.
THE KING: He shall be found,
Though every stone in all your castle walls
Fall ere I find him.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Raze my castle, then;
I cannot play the traitor.
THE KING: Well, two heads
Are better, some men say, than one. My lord,
I must have yours as well as Hernani's.
Arrest this man!
[_As the soldiers come forward_, DOÑA SOL _throws up her
veil and strides up hastily to_ KING CHARLES.
DOÑA SOL: You are a wicked and cruel king!
THE KING: What? Doña Sol? (_In a whisper_)
It is my love for you
That stirs in me this passion. You alone
Can calm it. (To DON RUY GOMEZ)
Until you deliver up
Hernani, I shall keep your lovely ward
As hostage.
DOÑA SOL (_taking the dagger, and hiding it again in
her bosom_): It will save him! I must go!
[_She goes up to_ KING CHARLES _and he leads her out._
DON RUY GOMEZ _runs to the wall to press the
spring._ DOÑA SOL _turns as she passes through the
door, and stops him by a wild glance. He waits,
with heaving breast, till the hall is empty, and then
lets_ HERNANI _out._
DON RUY GOMEZ: The king is gone. Here are two swords. Now fight.
HERNANI: No! You have saved me! No. I cannot fight.
My life belongs to you. But ere I die
Let me see Doña Sol.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Did you not hear
What happened? Till I give you up, King Charles
Holds her as hostage.
HERNANI: Fool! He loves her.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Quick!
Call up my men! To horse! Pursue the king!
HERNANI: Leave it to me. I will avenge us both.
My way is best--a dagger in the dark.
Let us go forth on foot and track him down.
DON RUY GOMEZ: And when your rival dies?
HERNANI (_taking a horn from his belt_): Then claim your debt!
My life belongs to you. At any time
You wish to take it, sound upon this horn,
And I will kill myself.
DON RUY GOMEZ: Your hand on it!
ACT III
SCENE--CHARLES OF SPAIN, _who has just been elected Emperor of the
Holy Roman Empire, is kneeling by the tomb of Charlemagne in the
underground vault at Aix-la-Chapelle._
CHARLES: O mighty architect of Christendom,
Inspire me now to carry on thy work!
Ah, let me with the lightning of thy sword
Smite the rebellious people down, and make
Their kings my footstool! Warrior of God!
Give me the power to subjugate and weld
The warring races in a hierarchy
Of Christian government throughout the world!
[_The tramp of many feet is heard._
Here my assassins come! Oh, let me creep,
Thou mighty spirit, into thy great tomb!
Counsel me from thy ashes; speak to me;
Instruct me how to rule with a strong hand,
And punish these wild men as they deserve!
[_He hides in the tomb: the_ CONSPIRATORS _enter._
THEIR LEADER: Since Charles of Spain aims at a tyranny,
We, whom he threatens with his power, must use
The only weapon of defence still left--
Assassination! Here, before the tomb
Of Charlemagne, let us decide by lot
On whom the noble task shall fall to strike
The tyrant down.
[_The_ CONSPIRATORS _write their names on pieces of
parchment, and throw them into an urn. They kneel
down in silent prayer. Then their leader draws one
of the names._
THE CONSPIRATORS: Who is it?
THEIR LEADER: Hernani.
HERNANI: I have won! I hold thee now at last!
DON RUY GOMEZ: No, I must strike the blow! Take back your life,
Take Doña Sol, but let me strike the blow!
[_He offers_ HERNANI _the horn._
HERNANI: No! I have more than you have to avenge.
THEIR LEADER: Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, you shall strike
The second blow if the first fail. And now
Let us all swear to strike and die in turn,
Until Charles falls.
THE CONSPIRATORS: We swear!
CHARLES (_coming out of the tomb_): You are dead men.
[_The great vault is lighted up by torches, and a band of
soldiers who have been hiding behind the pillars
surround the_ CONSPIRATORS.
CHARLES (_to a soldier_): Bring in the lady. (_To_ HERNANI)
What is your true name?
HERNANI: I will reveal it now that I must die.
Don Juan of Aragon, Duke of Segorbe,
Duke of Cardona, Marquis of Monroy,
Count Albatera, and Viscount of Gor,
And lord of scores of towns and villages
Whose names I have forgotten. You, no doubt,
Remember all of them, Charles of Castile,
For they belong to you now.
[_The soldier returns with_ DOÑA SOL. _She throws herself
at the emperor's feet_.
DOÑA SOL: Pardon him!
CHARLES: Rise, Duchess of Segorbe and Cardona.
Marquise of Monroy--and your other names, Don Juan?
HERNANI: Who is speaking thus--the king?
CHARLES: No. It is the emperor. He is a man
Different from the king (_turning to the astonished_ CONSPIRATORS);
and he will win
Your loyalty, my friends, and your good aid,
If God in His great mercy will but guide
His erring feet along the pathway trod
By Charlemagne. Don Juan of Aragon,
Forgive me, and receive now from my hands
A wife full worthy of you, Doña Sol.
[_The two lovers kneel at his feet. Taking from his neck
the Golden Fleece, he puts it on_ HERNANI.
THE SPECTATORS: Long live the emperor.
DON RUY GOMEZ: I have the horn.
ACT IV
SCENE--_A terrace by the palace of Aragon. It is midnight, and the
guests are departing from the marriage feast of_ HERNANI
_and_ DOÑA SOL.
DOÑA SOL: At last, my husband, we are left alone.
How glad I am the feast and noise is done--
Are over.
HERNANI: I, too, am weary of the loud, wild joy.
Happiness is a deep and quiet thing,
As deep and grave and quiet as true love.
DOÑA SOL: Yes, happiness and love are like a strain
Of calm and lovely music. Hernani,
Listen! (_The sound of a mountain horn floats on the air._)
It is some mountaineer that plays
Upon your silver horn. [HERNANI _staggers back._
HERNANI: The tiger comes!
The old, grey tiger! Look! In the shadows there!
DOÑA SOL: What is it frightens you?
[_The horn sounds again._
HERNANI: He wants my blood! I cannot!
[DON RUY GOMEZ _enters, playing on the horn like a madman._
DON RUY GOMEZ: So you have not kept your word.
"My life belongs to you. At any time
You wish to take it, sound upon this horn
And I will kill myself." You are forsworn!
HERNANI: I have no weapon on me.
DON RUY GOMEZ (_offering a dagger and a phial_):
Which of these
Do you prefer?
HERNANI: The poison.
DOÑA SOL: Are you mad?
HERNANI: He saved my life at Aragon. I gave
My word of honour I would kill myself
When he desired.
[_He raises the phial to his lips, but his wife wrests it
from him._
DOÑA SOL (_to her guardian_): Why do you desire
To kill my husband?
DON RUY GOMEZ: I have sworn no man
Shall marry you but me. I keep my oath!
[_With a wild gesture_ DOÑA SOL _drinks half of the
poison, and hands_ HERNANI _the rest._
DOÑA SOL: You are two cruel men. Drink, Hernani,
And let us go to sleep!
HERNANI (_emptying the phial_): Kiss me, my sweet.
It is our bridal night.
DOÑA SOL (_falling beside him on the ground_): Fold me, my love,
Close in your arms. [_They die._
DON RUY GOMEZ: Oh, I am a lost soul!
[_He kills himself._
FOOTNOTES:
[I] Victor Hugo (see Vol. V, p. 122) occupies an anomalous
position among the great dramatists of the world. He is really a poet
with a splendid lyrical inspiration; but he combines this in his plays
with an acquired but effective talent for stage-craft. "Hernani" is the
most famous play in the European literature of the nineteenth century.
This is partly due to the fact that it was the first great romantic
drama given on the French stage. When it was produced, on February 25,
1830, there was a fierce battle in the theatre between the followers
of the new movement and the adherents of the classic school of French
playwriting. Little of the play itself was heard on the first night.
The voices of the players were drowned in a storm of denunciations
from the classicists, and counter-cheers from the romanticists. The
admirers of Victor Hugo won. "Hernani" is certainly the most romantic
of romantic dramas. The plot is striking, and full of swift and
astonishing changes, but the characters are not always true to life.
Nevertheless, "Hernani" is a fine, interesting, poetic melodrama, with
a rather weak last act. The gloomy scene with which it closes lacks
the inevitability of true tragedy. Had the play ended happily it would
undoubtedly have retained its popularity.
Marion de Lorme[J]
_Persons in the Drama_
MARION DE LORME
DIDIER
LOUIS XIII.
THE MARQUIS DE SAVERNY
THE MARQUIS DE NANGIS
THE COMTE DE GASSE
BRICHANTEAU
L'ANGELY, _the King's Jester_
ROCHEBARON LAFFEMAS
TOWN CRIER HEADSMAN TWO WORKMEN
SOLDIERS, OFFICIALS, _and a crowd of people_
ACT I
SCENE--_A street in Blois in 1638. Some officers are sitting in the
twilight outside a tavern, chatting, smoking, and drinking. They
rise up to welcome the_ COMTE DE GASSE.
BRICHANTEAU: You come to Blois to join the regiment?
We all condole with you. What is the news
From Paris?
GASSE: The duel has come in again. Richelieu
Is furious.
ROCHEBARON: That's no news. We duel here,
To pass the time away.
GASSE: But have you heard
Of the incredible, mysterious flight
Of Marion de Lorme?
BRICHANTEAU: We have some news,
Gasse, for you. Marion is here.
GASSE: At Blois? You jest! The Queen of Beauty? Marion
In a place like this?
BRICHANTEAU: Saverny was attacked
Last night by footpads. They were killing him,
When a man beat them off, and took our friend
Into a house.
GASSE: But Marion de Lorme?
BRICHANTEAU: It was her house. Saverny's rescuer
Was the young man with whom she is in love.
ROCHEBARON: What is the man like?
BRICHANTEAU: Ask Saverny that.
THE TOWN CRIER (_arriving with a crowd_):
"Ordinance. Louis, by the grace of God,
King of France and Navarre, unto all men,
To whom these presents come, greeting! We will,
Ordain, and rule, henceforward, that all men,
Nobles or commoners, who break the law
By duelling, whether one survive or two,
Shall be hanged by the neck till they are dead.
Such is our good pleasure."
GASSE: Hang us like thieves.
[_Two officers of the town fix the edict to the wall, and
the_ CRIER _and the crowd depart._ SAVERNY _enters.
The street grows dark._
SAVERNY: Fair Marion de Lorme has left her house.
I cannot find her.
GASSE: What was the man like?
SAVERNY: I do not know. On entering the house
I recognised sweet Marion, and began
To speak to her. Before I could turn round
And thank the man to whom I owed my life,
He knocked the candle over. I withdrew,
Seeing I was not wanted. All I know
Is that his name is Didier.
ROCHEBARON: It smacks
Of vulgar origin. To think a man
With such a name should carry Marion off--
Marion, the queen of beauty and of love!
SAVERNY: There may be men with greater names, but none
With greater hearts. To leap from Marion's arms,
And fight with footpads for a stranger's life!
The thing's heroic! I owe Didier
A debt that I would pay, if need there was,
With all my blood. I wish he were my friend!
[L'ANGELY, _the King's jester--a mournful-looking
creature--comes and sits with the officers. He is
followed by a tall, pale, handsome young man. It
is_ DIDIER.
DIDIER: The Marquis of Saverny! So the fop
Called himself. Oh, the easy, impudent air
With which he spoke to Marie! And I saved
The creature's life. If I meet him again----
GASSE: Saverny!
DIDIER: Here's my man.
GASSE: Have you observed
The edict against duelling, on pain
Of hanging?
SAVERNY: Hanging? Hang a gentleman?
You jest! That is a punishment for serfs.
BRICHANTEAU: Well, read the edict underneath the lamp.
SAVERNY (_annoyed at_ DIDIER _for staring at him_):
Go, read it for me, pale face!
DIDIER: I?
SAVERNY: Yes, you.
DIDIER (_rising_): It is an ordinance that punishes
By gibbeting all squabbling noblemen.
Having done all you wanted, may I claim
A slight reward? Will you now fight with me?
SAVERNY: Certainly. Where?
DIDIER: Here. Who will lend a sword?
L'ANGELY: For this wild folly, take a fool's sword, friend,
And in exchange, bequeath to me, for luck,
The bit of rope that hangs you.
DIDIER (_taking his sword_): Now, marquis!
SAVERNY: Sir, at your service.
DIDIER: Guard!
[_As their swords clash,_ MARION DE LORME _appears._
MARION (_seeing_ DIDIER _fighting_): Stop! Help! Help! Help!
[_In answer to her cries the town guard arrive._
THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Down with your swords! What! Duelling beneath
The edict of the king! You are dead men.
[DIDIER _and_ SAVERNY _are disarmed and led away._
MARION: What has he done?
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