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RHESUS
THE ATHENIAN DRAMA
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[Illustration]
THE
RHESUS
OF
EURIPIDES
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE
WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY
GILBERT MURRAY
LL.D., D. Litt., F.B.A.
REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
LONDON
GEORGE ALLEN & COMPANY, LTD.
44 & 45 RATHBONE PLACE
1913
[All rights reserved]
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
INTRODUCTION
This short play needs rather a long introduction. It has had the bad
fortune to become a literary problem, and almost all its few readers are
so much occupied with the question whether it can be the work of
Euripides--and if not his, whose?--that they seldom allow themselves to
take it on its merits as a stirring and adventurous piece, not
particularly profound or subtle, but always full of movement and life
and possessing at least one or two scenes of great and penetrating
beauty.
The outlines of the _Rhesus_ Question are these.--The _Rhesus_ appears
in the MSS. of Euripides; we know from the Athenian Didascaliae, or
Records of Performances, that Euripides wrote a play of the name; some
passages in it are quoted by early Alexandrian writers as from "the
_Rhesus_ of Euripides;" no passage is quoted under any other name. This
seems about as strong as external evidence need be. Yet the ancient
introduction to the play mentions that "some think the play spurious,"
and expresses the odd opinion that "it suggests rather the Sophoclean
style." Further, it tells us that, besides the present opening scene,
there were extant two different prologues, one of which was "quite prosy
and perhaps concocted by the actors." This seems to show that the
Alexandrian scholars who tried for the first time to collect the
complete works of Euripides, some two centuries after his death, found
this play current as "Euripides' _Rhesus_," but that it was credited
with three different openings and that its style was felt to be somehow
peculiar.
The peculiarity of style is incontestable. It does not to our judgment
suggest Sophocles. It suggests a young man imitating Aeschylus, and it
has a great number of Euripidean expressions. Hermann, who collected
what he took to be "imitations" of early poets in the _Rhesus_, noted
only 25 of Sophocles, 38 of Aeschylus, and 84 of Euripides.
Is it, then, the work of a somewhat imitative fourth-century poet,
naturally influenced by his great forerunners? Hardly: because, with a
few exceptions, the verse and diction of the _Rhesus_, are markedly
early in character, the verse severe and smooth, the diction direct and
rather grandiose, the choral lyrics strictly relevant. In Euripides'
later years Drama was moving rapidly away from all these things and, as
far as we can judge, continued so moving after his death. If the
_Rhesus_ is a post-classical play it can hardly be honest fourth-century
work: it must be deliberately archaistic, a product of the Alexandrian
spirit if not actually of the Alexandrian age. This is what Hermann
believed. But unfortunately it is not a bit more like our fragments of
Alexandrian tragedy than it is like the _Medea_; and, further, if it is
an Alexandrian pseudo-classic tragedy, how did it succeed in deceiving
the Alexandrian critics, detectives specially trained for this kind of
work?
* * * * *
Let us try quite a different hypothesis, and begin by accepting the
external evidence as true. The famous critic, Crates, of the second
century B.C., happens to mention--in excuse of what he took to be a slip
in the poet's astronomy--that the _Rhesus_ of Euripides was a youthful
work. Now the earliest dated tragedy of Euripides that we possess is the
_Alcestis_, B.C. 438, written when he was about forty-six. His style may
well have been considerably different fifteen or twenty years earlier,
and must certainly have been much under the influence of Aeschylus. So
far, so good. Then what of the other difficulties, the three different
opening scenes and the few passages of late phrasing or technique? One
obvious explanation suits both. The three different openings pretty
clearly imply that the play was reproduced more than once after the
poet's death and adapted by the producer for each occasion. This
happened to many plays of Euripides, and in one case we even know the
name of the producer; he was Euripides the Younger, son of the poet.
Among other things we have reason to believe that he wrote some parts of
the _Iphigenia in Aulis_. And in this connexion we can hardly help
noticing that the _Iphigenia in Aulis_, like the _Rhesus_ and like no
other Greek tragedy, has two alternative openings, one a dull prologue
and one a lyrical scene in anapaests under the stars. The general style
of the two plays is utterly different; the _Iphigenia_ is most typically
late Euripidean; but one would not be surprised to learn that they had
both passed at some time through the same revising hand.
This hypothesis seems to work well. But one difficulty remains.
We have so far gone on the supposition that Euripides at twenty-five or
thirty perhaps wrote very differently from Euripides at forty-six, and
that the manner we call Euripidean is only the manner of his later life.
There is nothing improbable in this suggestion, but have we any
evidence? Yes, a very little, and unfortunately it does not say what we
want. We have some fragments--twenty lines altogether--preserved from
the _Peliades_, with which Euripides won his first victory in the year
455, seventeen years before the _Alcestis_, and as far as they go they
are just in his ordinary manner--a good deal more so, in fact, than much
of the _Alcestis_ is. Let us face this difficulty.
The ordinary style of Euripides is full, flexible, lucid, antithetic,
studiously simple in vocabulary and charged with philosophic reflection.
If we look in his extant remains for any trace of a style, like that of
the _Rhesus_, which is comparatively terse, rich, romantic, not
shrinking from rare words and strong colour and generally untinged by
philosophy, we shall find the nearest approach to it in the _Cyclops_.
Next to the _Cyclops_ I am not sure what play would come, but the
_Alcestis_ would not be far off. It has especially several Epic forms
which cannot be paralleled in tragedy. Now the conjunction of these two
plays with the _Rhesus_ is significant. The three seem to be three
earliest of the extant plays; they are also--if we count the
_Heraclidae_ as mutilated--the three shortest. But, what is more
important, the _Cyclops_ is not a tragedy but a satyr-play, and the
_Alcestis_ is a tragedy of a special sort, written to take the place of
a satyr-play. It is a tragedy with some half grotesque figures and a
fantastic atmosphere.
This is no place for a close analysis of the diction of the various
works of Euripides; but taking one rough test, just for what it is
worth, we may try to count the number of words in each play which are
not found elsewhere in Euripides. The _Medea_, a central sort of play,
has in its 1419 lines 103 such words. The _Alcestis_, with 1163 lines,
has 122; the _Rhesus_, with less than 1000 lines, has 177; the
_Cyclops_, with only 701 lines, has actually 220. This calculation is
doubtless slightly inexact: in any case it is worth very little until it
is carefully analysed. But on the whole it accords with my general
impression that the _Rhesus_ in its variation from the Euripidean norm
goes further than the _Alcestis_, and not so far as the _Cyclops_, and
goes in very much the same direction. I feel in the _Rhesus_ a good deal
of that curious atmosphere, not exactly comic, but wild and extravagant,
which the Greeks felt to be suited to the Satyr horde; the atmosphere
normally breathed by the one-eyed Giant of the cavern on volcanic Aetna,
or the drunken and garlanded Heracles who wrestles with Death and cracks
his ribs for him at midnight among the tombs. The whole scene and
setting of the _Rhesus_; the man-wolf crawling away into the darkness
and his two enemies presently crawling in out of the same darkness with
his bloody spoils; the divine Thracian king with his round targe that
shines by night and his horses whiter than the snow; the panic of the
watch, the vaunting of the doomed chieftain, the goddess disguised as
another goddess, the thrilling half-farcical scene where the spy
Odysseus is actually caught and befools his captors: these things are
not of course comic, like some incidents in the _Cyclops_. They belong
to tragedy; but they are near the outside limit of the tragic
convention, and would perhaps be most at home in a pro-satyric tragedy
like the _Alcestis_.
In the upshot I see no adequate reason for rejecting the external
evidence which makes this play a work of Euripides, if we suppose it to
be an early pro-satyric play which was produced again after the poet's
death by Euripides the Younger or some contemporary. Most scholars,
however, prefer to think it simply an archaistic work of the fourth
century.
On this theory the Alexandrians when looking for the _Rhesus_ of
Euripides found an anonymous play called _Rhesus_ and accepted it for
what it was worth. The Prologues mentioned in the argument would perhaps
belong to other plays of the same name; one, no doubt, to the real play
of Euripides. The rich and severe style may, for all we know--for direct
evidence fails us--be the natural mark of some reactionary archaistic
school about the time of Plato or Aristotle. The same date might well be
indicated by the great interest our play takes in the Iliad, and by its
almost "Alexandrian" use of the gods as ornamental machinery. I cannot
call such a theory improbable; but it really amounts to rejecting the
external evidence in order to place the _Rhesus_ in a period of tragic
style of which we happen to know nothing. It is certainly not confirmed
by the scanty fragments we possess of Theodectes or Chairemon.
And, if one is to venture into more speculative and subjective
arguments, I find it rather hard to think of any lyric poet except
Euripides who could have written the Adrasteia chorus or the lines about
the Nightingale in the Watchers' Song; of any playwright except
Euripides who would have ended a play of gallant martial adventure with
the vision of a solitary mother clasping her dead son. There are many
other passages, too, like the mysterious sobbing in the dark that
heralds the entry of the wounded Thracian, and the final passing out of
the army to its certain defeat, which seem to me more like undeveloped
genius than common imitative mediocrity. If a nameless fourth-century
poet wrote this play, I think we should have heard more of him.
* * * * *
The story of the play is taken straight from the Doloneia, an Epic
rhapsody which now takes its place as the Tenth Book of the Iliad, but
was very likely independent in the time of Euripides (_Rise of the Greek
Epic_, p. 313 f.). The play seems in one or two points to follow a more
archaic model than the version in our Homer. (See notes on l. 150 and l.
175.)
In Rhesus himself--the name is said to be the Thracian form of
_rex_[1]--we seem to have the traditional divine king of the Thracian
tribes about Pangaion, seen through the eyes of Greek romance. He is the
son of the greatest of Rivers and the Muse of the Mountain: she is
simply "The Muse," otherwise nameless, and we are lost if we try to bind
her down to the identity of any Greek goddess. Like many Thracian heroes
Rhesus has a dash of the Sun-god in him, the burning targe, the white
horses and the splendour. Like them he is a boaster and a deep drinker,
a child of battle and of song. Like other divine kings he dies in his
youth and strength, and keeps watch over his people from some "feasting
presence, full of light," where he lies among the buried silver-veins of
Pangaion. If the uttermost need comes, doubtless he will wake again.
When the Athenians began making their dangerous settlements on the coast
of Thrace--ten thousand settlers were massacred by Rhesus's people about
465 B.C.: Amphipolis not fully established till 437--they found the
legend of Rhesus in the air, and eventually they thought it prudent to
send for his hallowed bones from the Troad, where they were supposed to
be buried, and give them a tomb in the Athenian colony. Possibly that
pacified him. And his legend in the mouth of the poets seemed perhaps
like the story of his own mountaineers, multitudes of strong men, stormy
and chivalrous, terrible in onset, who somehow in the end melted away
before the skill and persistent courage of a civilised Greek city.
[Footnote 1: Perdrizet, _Cultes et Mythes de Pangee_, p. 17.]
RHESUS
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
HECTOR, _Prince of Ilion and General of the Trojan Armies_.
AENEAS, _a Trojan Prince_.
DOLON, _a Trojan_.
PARIS, _also called_ ALEXANDER, _brother of Hector_.
RHESUS, _King of Thrace, son of the River Str[^y]mon and the Muse
of the Mountains_.
A THRACIAN, _the King's charioteer_.
ODYSSEUS, _a Greek chieftain, famous for craft and daring_.
DIOMEDES, _a Greek chieftain, famous for valour_.
A SHEPHERD.
The Goddess ATHENA.
The MUSE OF THE MOUNTAINS.
CHORUS _of Trojan Guards with their_ LEADER.
_Some_ THRACIANS _with their_ CAPTAIN, _Attendants, &c._
_The date and authorship of the play are unknown; it probably
belongs to the Fifth Century B.C., and is attributed to Euripides._
RHESUS
_It is a cloudy but moonlight night on the plain before Troy. [vv. 1-10]
The Trojans and their allies have won a decisive victory and
are camping on the open field close to the Greek outposts.
The scene is in front of a rude tent or hut that has been set
up for_ HECTOR, _the Trojan leader. A watch-fire burns low in
front. Far off at the back can be seen rows of watch-fires in
the Greek camp. The road to Troy is in front to the left; the
road to Mount Ida leads far away to the right._
_All is silence; then a noise outside. Enter tumultuously a band
of Trojan Pickets._
VARIOUS VOICES.
(_The dash -- in these passages indicates a new speaker._)
On to the Prince's quarters!--Ho!
Who is awake? What man-at-arms,
Or squire or groom?--Let Hector know
New rumour of alarms
From sentinels who stand at mark
The four long watches of the dark,
While others sleep.--Uplift thine head,
O Hector! On thine elbow rise,
Unhood the eagle of thine eyes,
Up from thy leaf-strewn bed!--
Lord Hector!
HECTOR (_coming out from the tent_). [vv. 11-28]
Who goes there? Who cries?
A friend? The watchword! . . . By what right
Do men come prowling in the night
Across my quarters? Come! Speak out.
LEADER.
A picket, Lord.
HECTOR.
In such a rout?
LEADER.
Be not afraid, Lord.
HECTOR.
I am not.
Is there an ambush? No? Then what,
In God's name, brings you from your post
With no clear tale to speak,
To spread this turmoil through a host
That lies in harness--do ye all
Know nothing?--out against the wall
And gateways of the Greek?
CHORUS (_various voices confusedly_). [_Strophe._
To arms! To arms, Lord Hector!--Send
First where the allied armies lie,
Bid them draw sword and make an end
Of sleep.--Let someone fly
And get the horses' armour on!--
Who goes with me to Panthooes' son?--
Who's for Sarpedon and the Lycians?--None [vv. 29-54]
Hath seen the priest go by?--
Ho, Captain of the Runners, ho!--
Ho, Trojans of the horned bow!
String, string! For need is nigh.
HECTOR.
Ha, silence there! . . .
First words of fear,
Then comfort. All an empty swell!
It seems the lash of trembling Pan
Hath caught you. Speak, if speak ye can.
What tidings? Not a word is clear
Of the whole tale ye tell.
[_The turmoil subsides, the_ LEADER _comes forward_.
LEADER. [_Antistr._
Great beacons in the Argive line
Have burned, my chief, through half the night.
The shipyard timbers seemed to shine.
Then, clear against the light,
Toward Agamemnon's tent the whole
Army in tumult seemed to roll,
As stirred by some strange voice, shoal after shoal.
A night of such discord
Was never seen. And we, in dread
What such things boded, turned and sped
Hither; dost blame us, Lord?
HECTOR (_after a moment of thought_).
No! Welcome, friend, with all thy tale of fear!
It shows they mean to fly: they mean to clear
Decks in the dark and so delude my sight . . . [vv. 55-78]
I like that beacon-burning in the night.
O Zeus above, who checked my conquering way,
Who baulked the hungry lion of his prey
Or ever I could sweep my country clear
Of these despoilers, dost thou hate my spear?
Had but the sun's bright arrows failed me not,
I ne'er had rested till the ships were hot
With fire, and through the tents upon the plain
This bloody hand had passed and passed again!
Myself, I longed to try the battle-cast
By night, and use God's vantage to the last,
But sage and prophet, learned in the way
Of seercraft, bade me wait for dawn of day,
And then--leave no Greek living in the land.
They wait not, they, for what my prophets planned
So sagely. In the dark a runaway
Beats a pursuer.
Through our whole array
Send runners! Bid them shake off sleep and wait
Ready with shield and spear. 'Tis not too late
To catch them as they climb on board, and slash
Their crouching shoulders till the gangways splash
With blood, or teach them, fettered leg and arm,
To dig the stiff clods of some Trojan farm.
LEADER.
My Prince, thy words run fast. Nor thou nor I
Have knowledge yet that the Greeks mean to fly.
HECTOR.
What makes them light their beacons? Tell me, what?
LEADER. [vv. 79-90]
God knows! And, for my part, I like it not.
HECTOR.
What, feared? Thou wouldst be feared of everything!
LEADER.
They never lit such light before, O King.
HECTOR.
They never fled, man, in such wild dismay.
LEADER (_yielding_).
'Twas all thy work.--Judge thou, and we obey.
HECTOR.
My word is simple. Arm and face the foe.
[_A sound of marching without._
LEADER.
Who comes? Aeneas, and in haste, as though
Fraught with some sudden tiding of the night.
_Enter_ AENEAS.
AENEAS.
Hector, what means it? Watchers in affright
Who gather shouting at thy doors, and then
Hold midnight council, shaking all our men?
HECTOR.
To arms, Aeneas! Arm from head to heel!
AENEAS. [vv. 91-109]
What is it? Tidings? Doth the Argive steal
Some march, some ambush in the day's eclipse?
HECTOR.
'Tis flight, man! They are marching to the ships.
AENEAS.
How know'st thou?--Have we proof that it is flight?
HECTOR.
They are burning beacon-fires the livelong night.
They never mean to wait till dawn. Behind
That screen of light they are climbing in the blind
Dark to their ships--unmooring from our coast.
AENEAS (_looking toward the distant fires:
after a pause_).
God guide them!--Why then do you arm the host?
HECTOR.
I mean to lame them in their climbing, I
And my good spear, and break them as they fly.
Black shame it were, and folly worse than shame,
To let these spoilers go the road they came
Unpunished, when God gives them to us here.
AENEAS.
Brother, I would thy wit were like thy spear!
But Nature wills not one man should be wise
In all things; each must seek his separate prize.
And thine is battle pure. There comes this word
Of beacons, on the touch thy soul is stirred: [vv. 110-136]
"They fly! Out horse and chariots!"--Out withal
Past stake and trench, while night hangs like a pall!
Say, when we cross that coiling depth of dyke,
We find the foe not fled, but turned to strike;
One check there, and all hope of good return
Is gone. How can our men, returning, learn
The tricks of the palisade? The chariots how
Keep to the bridges on the trenches' brow,
Save with jammed wheels and broken axles? Aye,
And say thou conquer: other wars yet lie
Before thee. Peleus' son, for all his ire,
Will never let thee touch the ships with fire
Or pounce on his Greek lambs. The man will bide
No wrong and standeth on a tower of pride.
Nay, brother, let the army, head on shield,
Sleep off its long day's labour in the field:
Then, send a spy; find someone who will dare
Creep to yon Argive camp. Then, if 'tis clear
They mean flight, on and smite them as they fly.
Else, if the beacons hide some strategy,
The spy will read it out, and we can call
A council.--Thus speak I, my general.
CHORUS. [_Strophe._
'Tis good! 'Tis wisdom! Prince, give heed
And change the word thy passion gave.
No soldier loveth, in his need,
The glory of a chief too brave.
A spy is best: a spy, to learn
For what strange work those beacons burn
All night beside the guarded wave.
HECTOR. [vv. 137-157]
Ye all so wish it?--Well, ye conquer me.
(_To_ AENEAS) Go thou and calm the allies. There will be
Some stir among them, hearing of these high
And midnight councils.--I will seek the spy
To send to the Greek camp. If there we learn
Of some plot hatching, on the man's return
I straight will call thee and share counsels. So.
But wait attentive. If he says they go
Shipward and plan to escape, one trumpet call
Shall warn thee, and I wait no more, but fall
On camp and hulls, or ever dawn can rise.
AENEAS.
Aye, haste and send him. Now thy plans are wise,
And when need comes I am with thee, sword by sword.
[_Exit_ AENEAS.
HECTOR (_turning to the Guards and other soldiers_).
Ye gathered Trojans, sharers of my word,
Who dares to creep through the Greek lines alone?
Who will so help his fatherland?
Doth none
Offer? Must I do everything, one hand
Alone, to save our allies and our land?
[_A lean dark man pushes forward from the back._
DOLON.
I, Prince!--I offer for our City's sake
To go disguised to the Greek ships, to make
Their counsels mine, and here bring word to thee.
If that be thy full service, I agree.
HECTOR. [vv. 158-171]
Dolon the Wolf! A wise wolf and a true!
Thy father's house was praised when first I knew
Troy: this shall raise it twofold in our eyes.
DOLON.
'Tis wise to do good work, but also wise
To pay the worker. Aye, and fair reward
Makes twofold pleasure, though the work be hard.
HECTOR.
So be it: an honest rule. Do thou lay down
What guerdon likes thee best--short of my crown.
DOLON.
I care not for thy crowned and care-fraught life.
HECTOR.
Wouldst have a daughter of the King to wife?
DOLON.
I seek no mate that might look down on me.
HECTOR.
Good gold is ready, if that tempteth thee.
DOLON.
We live at ease and have no care for gold.
HECTOR.
Well, Troy hath other treasures manifold.
DOLON. [vv. 172-183]
Pay me not now, but when the Greeks are ta'en.
HECTOR.
The Greeks! . . . Choose any save the Atridae twain.
DOLON.
Kill both, an it please thee. I make prayer for none.
HECTOR.
Thou wilt not ask for Ajax, Ileus' son?
DOLON.
A princely hand is skilless at the plough.
HECTOR.
'Tis ransom, then? . . . What prisoner cravest thou?
DOLON.
I said before, of gold we have our fill.
HECTOR.
For spoils and armour . . . thou shalt choose at will.
DOLON.
Nail them for trophies on some temple wall.
HECTOR.
What seeks the man? What prize more rich than all?
DOLON.
Achilles' horses! [_Murmurs of surprise._
Yes, I need a great
Prize. I am dicing for my life with Fate.
HECTOR. [vv. 184-203]
'Fore God, I am thy rival, if thy love
Lies there. Undying was the breed thereof,
And these shall never die, who bear to war
Great Peleus' son, swift gleaming like a star.
Poseidon, rider of the wild sea-drift,
Tamed them, men say, and gave them for his gift
To Peleus.--None the less, since I have stirred
Hopes, I will baulk them not. I pledge my word,
Achilles' steeds, a rare prize, shall be thine.
DOLON.
I thank thee.--'Tis indeed a prize more fine
Than all in Troy.--Grudge me not that; there be
Guerdons abundant for a Prince like thee.
[_Exit_ HECTOR.
CHORUS. [_Antistr._
O peril strange, O fearful prize!
Yet win it and thy life hath wings:
A deed of glory in men's eyes,
And greatness, to be wooed of kings.
If God but hearken to the right,
Thou drinkest to the full this night
The cup of man's imaginings.
DOLON.
[_He stands waiting a moment looking out into the dark._
There lies the way.--But first I must go find
At home some body-shelter to my mind;
Then, forward to the ships of Argolis!
LEADER. [vv. 204-223]
What other raiment wilt thou need than this?
DOLON.
A garb for work, for night; a thieving guise.
LEADER.
'Tis good to learn the wisdoms of the wise.
What will thy wrapping be?
DOLON.
A grey wolf's hide
Shall wrap my body close on either side;
My head shall be the mask of gleaming teeth,
My arms fit in the forepaws, like a sheath,
My thighs in the hinder parts. No Greek shall tell
'Tis not a wolf that walks, half visible,
On four feet by the trenches and around
The ship-screen. When it comes to empty ground
It stands on two.--That is the plan, my friend!
LEADER.
Now Maian Hermes guide thee to thy end
And home safe! Well he loves all counterfeit . . .
Good work is there; may good luck go with it!
DOLON (_to himself gazing out toward the Greek camp_).
There, and then back! . . . And on this belt shall bleed
Odysseus' head--or why not Diomede?--
To prove my truth. Ere dawn can touch the land
I shall be here, and blood upon my hand.
[_Exit_ DOLON.
CHORUS. [vv. 224-255]
Thymbraean, Delian, Birth divine,
That walkest Lycia's inmost shrine,
Come, strong to guard, to guide, to follow,
Come, bow in hand and girt with night,
To help thy Dardans as of old,
When stone by stone thy music rolled--
O conquering Strength, O Sire Apollo!--
Young Ilion into towers of light.
Grant that he reach the shipyard, creep
Keen-eyed through all that host asleep,
Then back to home and hearth, yet living,
Where now his father prays alone:
Yea, grant that, when the Greeks are slain,
Our wolf shall mount with scourge and rein
Those coursers of the sea-god's giving,
Whom Peleus drove in days foregone.
* * * * *
Alone in those Greek ships to stake
His life, for home and country's sake:
'Tis wondrous! Few be hearts so true
When seas across the bulwark break,
And sunlight sickens o'er the crew.
Ah, Phrygia still hath hearts of rock!
The Phrygian spear flies fast and far!
Where shall ye find the fool to mock
Our works in war?
Whom will he stab a-sleeping, whom,
The quick grey wolf, the crawling doom?
Grant that he slay the Spartan! Nay,
Or Agamemnon's head and plume [vv. 256-272]
To Helen bear at dawn of day!
A lightsome dawn to hear her wail
Her brother sworn, her King who came
To Ilion with his thousand sail,
And swords, and flame!
[_As the song ends_ DOLON _reappears, in the disguise of a wolf. The
Guards gather round him, bidding him godspeed as he crawls off in
the dark towards the Greek camp. Meantime from the direction of
Mount Ida has entered a_ SHEPHERD _who goes to_ HECTOR's _door and
calls. The Guards seeing him return to their places._
SHEPHERD.
Ho, Master!
[_Enter_ HECTOR _from tent_.
I would it ofttimes were my luck to share
As goodly news with thee as now I bear.
HECTOR.
What dulness hangs about these shepherds! Block,
Com'st thou to us with tidings of thy flock
Here in the field in arms? Who wants thee here?
Thou know'st my house; thou know'st my father's.
There
Tell all about thy lucky lambs.--Now go.
SHEPHERD.
Dull wits, we shepherds! Aye, 'twas alway so.
Yet still, there is some good news to be told.
HECTOR. [vv. 273-288]
A truce there to thy gossip of the fold!
Our dealings are of war, of sword and spear.
[_He turns to go._
SHEPHERD.
Aye; so were mine. That is what brought me here.
[HECTOR's _manner changes_.
A chief comes yonder, leading a great band
Of spears, with help to thee and all the land.
HECTOR.
From whence? How do his name and lineage run?
SHEPHERD.
He comes from Thrace, the River Strymon's son.
HECTOR.
Rhesus! Not Rhesus, here on Trojan soil?
SHEPHERD.
Thou hast guessed. That eases me of half my toil.
HECTOR.
What makes he there towards Ida? All astray
Thus from the plain and the broad waggon-way!
SHEPHERD.
I know not rightly, though one well may guess.
'Tis hard to land at night, with such a press
Of spears, on a strange coast, where rumours tell
Of foes through all the plain-land. We that dwell
On Ida, in the rock, Troy's ancient root
And hearth-stone, were well frighted, through the mute [vv. 289-316]
And wolfish thickets thus to hear him break.
A great and rushing noise those Thracians make,
Marching. We, all astonied, ran to drive
Our sheep to the upmost heights. 'Twas some Argive,
We thought, who came to sweep the mountain clear
And waste thy folds; till suddenly our ear
Caught at their speech, and knew 'twas nothing Greek.
Then all our terror fled. I ran to seek
Some scout or pioneer who led the van
And called in Thracian: "Ho, what child of man
Doth lead you? From what nation do ye bring
This host with aid to Ilion and her king?"
He told me what I sought, and there I stood
Watching; and saw one gleaming like a God,
Tall in the darkness on a Thracian car.
A plate of red gold mated, like a bar,
His coursers' necks, white, white as fallen snow.
A carven targe, with golden shapes aglow,
Hung o'er his back. Before each courser's head
A Gorgon, to the frontlet riveted,
With bells set round--like stories that they tell
Of Pallas' shield--made music terrible.
The numbers of that host no pen could write
Nor reckon; 'tis a multitudinous sight,
Long lines of horsemen, lines of targeteers,
Archers abundant; and behind them veers
A wavering horde, light-armed, in Thracian weed.
A friend is come to Ilion in her need
'Gainst whom no Argive, let him fly or stand,
Shall aught avail nor 'scape his conquering hand.
LEADER. [vv. 317-331]
Lo, when the Gods breathe gently o'er a town,
All runs to good, as water-streams run down.
HECTOR (_bitterly_).
Aye, when my spear hath fortune, when God sends
His favour, I shall find abundant friends.
I need them not; who never came of yore
To help us, when we rolled to death before
The war-swell, and the wind had ripped our sail.
Then Rhesus taught us Trojans what avail
His words are.--He comes early to the feast;
Where was he when the hunters met the beast?
Where, when we sank beneath the Argive spear?
LEADER.
Well may'st thou mock and blame thy friend. Yet here
He comes with help for Troy. Accept him thou.
HECTOR.
We are enough, who have held the wall till now.
LEADER.
Master, dost think already that our foe
Is ta'en?
HECTOR.
I do. To-morrow's light will show.
LEADER. [vv. 332-345]
Have care. Fate often flings a backward cast.
HECTOR.
I hate the help that comes when need is past . . .
Howbeit, once come, I bid him welcome here
As guest--not war-friend; guest to share our cheer.
The thanks are lost, he might have won from us.
LEADER.
My general, to reject an ally thus
Must needs make hatred.
SHEPHERD.
The mere sight of those
I saw would sure cast fear upon our foes.
HECTOR (_yielding reluctantly, with a laugh_).
Ah, well; thy words are prudent; and (_To_ SHEPHERD) thine eyes
See glorious things. With all these panoplies
Of gold that filled our Shepherd's heart with joy,
Bid Rhesus welcome, as war-friend to Troy.
[_Exit_ SHEPHERD; HECTOR _returns to his tent, amid the joy of the
soldiers_.
CHORUS.
Now Adrasteia be near and guard
Our lips from sin, lest the end be hard!
But he cometh, he cometh, the Child of the River!
The pride of my heart it shall roll unbarred.
We craved thy coming; yea, need was strong [vv. 346-378]
In the Hall of thy lovers, O child of Song;
Thy mother the Muse and her fair-bridged River
They held thee from us so long, so long!
By Strymon's torrent alone she sang,
And Strymon shivered and coiled and sprang;
And her arms went wide to the wild sweet water,
And the love of the River around her rang.
We hail thee, Fruit of the River's seed,
Young Zeus of the Dawn, on thy starry steed!
O ancient City, O Ida's daughter,
Is God the Deliverer found indeed?
And men shall tell of thee, Ilion mine,
Once more a-harping at day's decline,
'Mid laughing of lovers and lays and dances
And challenge on challenge of circling wine?
When the Greek is smitten that day shall be,
And fled to Argolis over the sea:
O mighty of hand, O leader of lances,
Smite him, and heaven be good to thee!
Thou Rider golden and swift and sheer,
Achilles falters: appear! appear!
The car like flame where the red shield leapeth,
The fell white steeds and the burning spear!
No Greek shall boast he hath seen thy face
And danced again in the dancing place;
And the land shall laugh for the sheaves she reapeth,
Of spoilers dead by a sword from Thrace.
_Enter_ RHESUS _in dazzling white armour, followed by his_ [vv. 379-395]
CHARIOTEER _and Attendants. The_ CHARIOTEER _carries
his golden shield. The_ CHORUS _break into a shout of
"All Hail!"_
LEADER.
All hail, great King! A whelp indeed
Is born in Thracia's lion fold,
Whose leap shall make strong cities bleed.
Behold his body girt with gold,
And hark the pride of bells along
The frontlet of that targe's hold.
CHORUS.
A God, O Troy, a God and more!
'Tis Ares' self, this issue strong
Of Strymon and the Muse of song,
Whose breath is fragrant on thy shore!
_Re-enter_ HECTOR.
RHESUS.
Lord Hector, Prince of Ilion, noble son
Of noble sires, all hail! Long years have run
Since last we greeted, and 'tis joy this day
To see thy fortunes firm and thine array
Camped at the foe's gate. Here am I to tame
That foe for thee, and wrap his ships in flame.
HECTOR.
Thou child of Music and the Thracian flood,
Strymonian Rhesus, truth is alway good
In Hector's eyes. I wear no double heart.
Long, long ago thou shouldst have borne thy part [vv. 396-421]
In Ilion's labours, not have left us here,
For all thy help, to sink beneath the spear.
Why didst thou--not for lack of need made plain!--
Not come, not send, not think of us again?
What grave ambassadors prayed not before
Thy throne, what herald knelt not at thy door?
What pride of gifts did Troy not send to thee?
And thou, a lord of Barbary even as we,
Thou, brother of our blood, like one at sup
Who quaffs his fill and flings away the cup,
Hast flung to the Greeks my city! Yet, long since,
'Twas I that found thee but a little prince
And made thee mighty, I and this right hand;
When round Pangaion and the Paion's land,
Front against front, I burst upon the brood
Of Thrace and broke their targes, and subdued
Their power to thine. The grace whereof, not small,
Thou hast spurned, and when thy kinsmen, drowning, call,
Comest too late. Thou! Others there have been
These long years, not by nature of our kin . . .
Some under yon rough barrows thou canst see
Lie buried; they were true to Troy and me;
And others, yet here in the shielded line
Or mid the chariots, parching in the shine
Of noonday, starving in the winds that bite
Through Ilion's winter, still endure and fight
On at my side. 'Twas not their way, to lie
On a soft couch and, while the cups go by,
Pledge my good health, like thee, in Thracian wine.
I speak as a free man. With thee and thine
Hector is wroth, and tells thee to thy face.
RHESUS. [vv. 422-448]
Thy way is mine, friend. Straight I run my race
In word and deed, and bear no double tongue.
I tell thee, more than thine my heart was wrung,
Yea, angered past all durance, thus to stay
Back from thy battles. 'Twas a folk that lay
Hard on my borders, Scythians of the north;
Just when my host for Troy had started forth,
They fell upon our homes. I had reached the coast
Of the Friendless Sea and purposed to have crossed
My Thracians there. We turned; and all that plain
Is trampled in a mire of Scythian slain
Ploughed by our spears, and blood of Thrace withal
Not stinted. This it was that drowned thy call
For help and held me back from Ilion's need.
I broke their power; the princes of their breed
I took to hostage, made their elders swear
To bring my house due tribute, year by year,
Then, never lagging, crossed the Pontus mouth,
Marched by long stages through Bithynia south
And here am come . . . not drunken with the feast,
As thou wouldst have me be, not lulled to rest
In golden chambers. In this harness hard
I have borne my nights of winter storm that starred
The Euxine into ice and scared the strong
Paionians.
Long I have been, but not too long
To save thee yet. Friend, this is the tenth year
Thou labourest on unceasing, with no clear
Vantage; day creeps by day, and Ares throws
The same red dice for thee and for thy foes.
Now, hear my vow. Before one day's eclipse
I swear to break their wall, to burn their ships
And slay their princes. On the second day [vv. 449-473]
I leave this soil and take my homeward way,
Thy pains relieved. No Trojan of the land
Need move, nor turn the buckler in his hand.
Alone my late-comers will turn the tide
And smite your Greeks, for all their bitter pride.
CHORUS.
[_The Trojan soldiers, who have been listening with delight, here break
out in irrepressible applause._
All hail!
Sweet words and faithful heart!
Only may Zeus avert
From those proud lips the Wrath that none may bear!
Never a galleon bore,
Now, nor in days of yore,
Prince like to thee, so valiant and so fair.
How shall Achilles, how
Shall Ajax bear him now,
Or face thy lance? May I but stand that day
Watching to see him reel
Broken beneath thy steel,
And once in blood his many murders pay!
RHESUS.
Yea, more atonement thou shalt take from me
For this slow help.--May Adrasteia see
My heart and pardon!--When we two have set
Troy free from these who compass her with hate,
Soon as the Gods have had their first-fruits, I
With thee will sail--so help me Zeus on high!--
And sack all Hellas with the sword, till these
Doers of deeds shall know what suffering is.
HECTOR. [vv. 474-491]
By heaven, could I once see this peril rolled
Past us, and live in Ilion as of old,
Untrembling, I would thank my gods! To seek
Argos and sack the cities of the Greek--
'Twere not such light work as thou fanciest.
RHESUS.
These Greeks that face thee, are they not their best?
HECTOR.
We seek not better. These do all we need.
RHESUS.
When these are beaten, then, we have done the deed.
HECTOR.
Lose not thy path watching a distant view.
RHESUS.
Thou seem'st content to suffer, not to do?
HECTOR.
I have a kingdom large by mine own right. . . .
What station will best please thee in this fight
To ground the targe and stablish thine array?
Right, left, or midmost in the allies? Say.
RHESUS.
'Twould please me best to fight these Greeks alone.
Yet, if 'twould irk thine honour not to have thrown
One firebrand on the ships with me, why, then
Set us to face Achilles and his men.
HECTOR. [vv. 492-509]
Achilles? Nay, his spear ye cannot meet.
RHESUS.
How so? Fame said he sailed here with the fleet.
HECTOR.
He sailed, and he is here. But some despite
'Gainst the great King now keeps him from the fight.
RHESUS.
Who next to him hath honour in their host?
HECTOR.
Next, to my seeming, Ajax hath the most,
Or Diomede.--But Odysseus is a tough
And subtle fox, and brave; aye, brave enough.
No man of them hath harmed us more than he.
He climbed here to Athena's sanctuary
One night, and stole her image clean away
To the Argive ships. Yes, and another day,
Guised as a wandering priest, in rags, he came
And walked straight through the Gates, made loud acclaim
Of curses on the Greek, spied out alone
All that he sought in Ilion, and was gone--
Gone, and the watch and helpers of the Gate
Dead! And in every ambush they have set
By the old Altar, close to Troy, we know
He sits--a murderous reptile of a foe!
RHESUS. [vv. 510-529]
No brave man seeks so dastardly to harm
His battle-foes; he meets them arm to arm.
This Greek of thine, this sitter like a thief
In ambush, I will make of him my chief
Care. I will take him living, drive a straight
Stake through him, and so star him at the Gate
To feed your wide-winged vultures. 'Tis the death
Most meet for a lewd thief, who pillageth
God's sanctuary, or so we hold in Thrace.
HECTOR (_making no answer_).
Seek first some sleep. There still remains a space
Of darkness.--I will show the spot that best
May suit you, somewhat sundered from the rest.
Should need arise, the password of the night
Is Phoebus: see your Thracians have it right.
[_Turning to the Guards before he goes._
Advance beyond your stations, men, at some
Distance, and stay on watch till Dolon come
With word of the Argives' counsel. If his vow
Prosper, he should be nearing us by now.
[_Exeunt_ HECTOR _and_ RHESUS _and Attendants. The Guards, who
have been below, come forward sleepily from the camp fire,
and sit watching by_ HECTOR's _tent_.
CHORUS.
Say, whose is the watch? Who exchanges
With us? The first planets to rise
Are setting; the Pleiades seven [vv. 530-545]
Move low on the margin of heaven,
And the Eagle is risen and ranges
The mid-vault of the skies.
ANOTHER.
No sleeping yet! Up from your couches
And watch on, the sluggards ye are!
The moon-maiden's lamp is yet burning.
THIRD GUARD.
Oh, the morning is near us, the morning!
Even now his fore-runner approaches,
Yon dim-shining star.
DIVERS GUARDS (_talking_).
Who drew the first night-watch?
ANOTHER.
'Twas one
Koroibos, called the Mygdon's Son.
THE GUARD.
And after?
THE OTHER.
The Mount Taurus men
Had second watch: from them again
The Mysians took it. We came then.
A GUARD.
'Tis surely time. Who will go tell
The fifth watch? 'Tis the Lycians' spell
By now; 'twas thus the portions fell.
ANOTHER. [vv. 546-561]
Nay, hearken! Again she is crying
Where death-laden Simois falls,
Of the face of dead Itys that stunned her,
Of grief grown to music and wonder:
Most changeful and old and undying
The nightingale calls.
ANOTHER.
And on Ida the shepherds are waking
Their flocks for the upland. I hear
The skirl of a pipe very distant.
ANOTHER.
And sleep, it falls slow and insistent.
'Tis perilous sweet when the breaking
Of dawn is so near.
DIVERS GUARDS (_talking_).
Why have we still no word nor sign
Of that scout in the Argive line?
ANOTHER.
I know not; he is long delayed.
ANOTHER.
God send he trip not on the blade
Of some Greek in an ambuscade!
ANOTHER.
It may be. I am half afraid.
LEADER. [vv. 562-572]
Our time is past! Up, men, and tell
The fifth watch. 'Tis the Lycians' spell
Now, as the portions fairly fell.
[_The Guards pass out to waken the Lycians. The stage is empty
and dark except for the firelight, when a whisper is heard
at the back. Presently enter_ ODYSSEUS _and_ DIOMEDE _in
dull leather armour_, DIOMEDE _carrying at his belt_ DOLON's
_wolf-skin and mask_.
ODYSSEUS.
Diomede, hist!--A little sound of arms
Clanking. . . or am I full of void alarms?
DIOMEDE.
No. 'Tis some horse tied to the chariot rail
That clanks his chain.--My heart began to fail
A moment, till I heard the horse's champ.
[_They steal on further, keeping in the shadow._
ODYSSEUS.
Mind--in that shade--the watchers of the camp.
DIOMEDE.
I keep in shadow, but I am staring hard.
ODYSSEUS.
Thou know'st the watchword, if we stir some guard?
DIOMEDE. [vv. 573-584]
Phoebus. 'Twas the last sign that Dolon gave.
[_They creep forward in silence to the entrance of_ HECTOR's
_tent_.
ODYSSEUS.
Now, forward!
[_They dash into the tent, swords drawn; then return._
God! All empty as the grave!
DIOMEDE.
Yet Dolon told us Hector's couch was made
Just here. For none but him I drew this blade.
ODYSSEUS.
What means it? To some ambush is he gone?
DIOMEDE.
Maybe, to work some craft on us at dawn.
ODYSSEUS.
He is hot with courage when he is winning, hot.
DIOMEDE.
What must we do, Odysseus?--He was not
Laid where we thought him, and our hopes are lost.
ODYSSEUS.
Back to our own ship-rampart at all cost!
The God who gave him victory saves him still.
We cannot force Fortune against her will.
DIOMEDE. [vv. 585-598]
Could we not find Aeneas? Or the bed
Of Paris the accurst, and have his head?
ODYSSEUS.
Go by night searching through these lines of men
For chiefs to kill? 'Twere death and death again.
DIOMEDE.
But to go empty back--what shame 'twill be!--
And not one blow struck home at the enemy!
ODYSSEUS.
How not one blow? Did we not baulk and kill
Dolon, their spy, and bear his tokens still?
Dost think the whole camp should be thine to quell?
[DIOMEDE _takes_ DOLON's _wolf-mask off his belt and hangs
it in_ HECTOR's _tent, then turns_.
DIOMEDE.
Good. Now for home! And may the end be well!
[_As they turn there appears at the back a luminous and
gigantic shape, the Goddess_ ATHENA.
ATHENA.
What make ye, from these sleepers thus to part
Desponding and with sorrow-wounded heart
If Hector be not granted you to slay
Nor Paris? Little know ye what great stay
Of help is found for Troy. This very night [vv. 599-623]
Rhesus is come; who, if he see the light
Of morning, not Achilles nor the rack
Of Ajax' spear hath power to hold him back,
Ere wall and gate be shattered and inside
Your camp a spear-swept causeway builded wide
To where beached galleys flame above the dead.
Him slay, and all is won. Let Hector's head
Sleep where it lies and draw unvexed breath;
Another's work, not thine, is Hector's death.
ODYSSEUS.
Most high Athena, well I know the sound
Of that immortal voice. 'Tis ever found
My helper in great perils.--Where doth lie
Rhesus, mid all this host of Barbary?
ATHENA.
Full near he lies, not mingled with the host
Of Troy, but here beyond the lines--a post
Of quiet till the dawn, that Hector found.
And near him, by his Thracian chariot bound,
Two snow-white coursers gleam against the wan
Moon, like the white wing of a river swan.
Their master slain, take these to thine own hearth,
A wondrous spoil; there hides not upon earth
A chariot-team of war so swift and fair.
ODYSSEUS.
Say, Diomede, wilt make the men thy share,
Or catch the steeds and leave the fight to me?
DIOMEDE. [vv. 624-638]
I take the killing, thou the stablery:
It needs keen wit and a neat hand. The post
A man should take is where he helpeth most.
ATHENA.
Behold, 'tis Paris, hasting there toward
This tent. Methinks he knoweth from the guard
Some noise of prowling Argives hither blown.
DIOMEDE.
Comes he alone or with his guards?
ATHENA.
Alone;
Toward Hector's quarters, as I deem, he plies
His message. He hath heard some tale of spies.
DIOMEDE.
Then he shall be the first dead Trojan!
ATHENA.
No;
Beyond the ordained end thou canst not go.
Fate hath not willed that Paris by thy deed
Shall die; it is another who must bleed
To-night. Therefore be swift!
[_Exeunt_ ODYSSEUS _and_ DIOMEDE.
For me, my guise
Shall melt and change in Alexander's eyes,
Yea, till he dream 'tis Cypris, his delight
And help in need, that meets him in the night,
And soft shall be my words to him I hate. [vv. 639-658]
So speak I; but on whom my spell is set
He hears not, sees not, though so near I stand.
[_She becomes invisible where she stands._
_Enter_ PARIS.
PARIS.
Ho, Hector! Brother! General of the land!
Sleepest thou still? We need thy waking sight.
Our guards have marked some prowler of the night,
We know not if a mere thief or a spy.
[ATHENA _becomes visible again, but seems changed
and her voice softer_.
ATHENA.
Have comfort thou! Doth not the Cyprian's eye
Mark all thy peril and keep watch above
Thy battles? How shall I forget the love
I owe thee, and thy faithful offices?
To crown this day and all its victories,
Lo, I have guided here to Troy a strong
Helper, the scion of the Muse of song
And Strymon's flood, the crowned stream of Thrace.
PARIS (_standing like one in a dream_).