_Hermes. Hephaestus. Prometheus._
_Her_. This, Hephaestus, is the Caucasus, to which it is our painful
duty to nail our companion. We have now to select a suitable crag, free
from snow, on which the chains will have a good hold, and the prisoner
will hang in all publicity.
_Heph_. True. It will not do to fix him too low down, or these _men_ of
his might come to their maker's assistance; nor at the top, where he
would be invisible from the earth. What do you say to a middle course?
Let him hang over this precipice, with his arms stretched across from
crag to crag.
_Her_. The very thing. Steep rocks, slightly overhanging, inaccessible
on every side; no foothold but a mere ledge, with scarcely room for the
tips of one's toes; altogether a sweet spot for a crucifixion. Now,
Prometheus, come and be nailed up; there is no time to lose.
_Prom_. Nay, hear me; Hephaestus! Hermes! I suffer injustice: have
compassion on my woes!
_Her_. In other words, disobey orders, and promptly be gibbeted in your
stead! Do you suppose there is not room on the Caucasus to peg out a
couple of us? Come, your right hand! clamp it down, Hephaestus, and in
with the nails; bring down the hammer with a will. Now the left; make
sure work of that too.—So!—The eagle will shortly be here, to trim your
liver; so ingenious an artist is entitled to every attention.
_Prom_. O Cronus, and Iapetus, and Mother Earth! Behold the sufferings
of the innocent!
_Her_. Why, as to innocence,—to begin with, there was that business of
the sacrificial meats, your manner of distributing which was most
unfair, most disingenuous: you got all the choice parts for yourself,
and put Zeus off with bones 'wrapped up in shining fat'; I remember the
passage in Hesiod; those are his very words. Then you made these human
beings; creatures of unparalleled wickedness, the women especially. And
to crown all, you stole fire, the most precious possession of the Gods,
and gave it to them. And with all this on your conscience, you protest
that you have done nothing to deserve captivity.
_Prom_. Ah, Hermes; you are as bad as Hector; you 'blame the
blameless.' For such crimes as these, I deserve a round pension, if
justice were done. And by the way, I should like, if you can spare the
time, to answer to these charges, and satisfy you of the injustice of
my sentence. You can employ your practised eloquence on behalf of Zeus,
and justify his conduct in nailing me up here at the Gates of the
Caspian, for all Scythia to behold and pity.
_Her_. There is nothing to be gained now by an appeal to another court;
it is too late. Proceed, however. We have to wait in any case till the
eagle comes to look after that liver of yours; and the time might be
worse spent than in listening to the subtleties of such a master in
impudence as yourself.
_Prom_. You begin then, Hermes. Exert all your powers of invective;
leave no stone unturned to establish the righteousness of papa's
judgements.—You, Hephaestus, shall compose the jury.
_Heph_. The jury! Not a bit of it; I am a party in this case. My
furnace has been cold, ever since you stole that fire.
_Prom_. Well, at this rate you had better divide the prosecution
between you. You conduct the case of larceny, and Hermes can handle the
man-making, and the misappropriation of meat. I shall expect a great
deal of you; you are both artists.
_Heph_. Hermes shall speak for me. The law is not in my line; my forge
takes up most of my time. But Hermes is an orator; he has made a study
of these things.
_Prom_. Well! I should never have thought that Hermes would have the
heart to reproach me with larceny; he ought to have a fellow-feeling
for me there. However, with this further responsibility on your
shoulders, there is no time to be lost, son of Maia; out with your
accusation, and have done with it.
_Her_. To deal adequately with your crimes, Prometheus, would require
many words and much preparation. It is not enough to mention the
several counts of the accusation; how, entrusted with the distribution
of meats, you defrauded the crown by retaining the choicer portions for
your own use; how you created the race of men, with absolutely no
justification for so doing; how you stole fire and conveyed it to these
same men. You seem not to realize, my friend, that, all-things
considered, Zeus has dealt very handsomely by you. Now, if you deny the
charges, I shall be compelled to establish your guilt at some length,
and to set the facts in the clearest possible light. But if you admit
the distribution of meat in the manner described, the introduction of
men, and the theft of fire,—then my case is complete, and there is no
more to be said. To expatiate further would be to talk nonsense.
_Prom_. Perhaps there has been some nonsense talked already; that
remains to be seen. But as you say your case is now complete, I will
see what I can do in the way of refutation. And first about that meat.
Though, upon my word, I blush for Zeus when I name it: to think that he
should be so touchy about trifles, as to send off a God of my quality
to crucifixion, just because he found a little bit of bone in his
share! Does he forget the services I have rendered him? And does he
think what it is that he is so angry about, and how childish it is to
show temper about a little thing like that? What if he did miss getting
the better share? Why, Hermes, these tricks that are played over the
wine-cups are not worth thinking twice about. A joke, perhaps, is
carried a little too far, in the warmth of the feast; still, it is a
joke, and resentment should be left behind in the dregs of the bowl. I
have no patience with your long memories; this nursing of grievances,
this raking up of last night's squabbles, is unworthy of a king, let
alone a king of Gods. Once take away from our feasts the little
elegancies of quip and crank and wile, and what is left? Muzziness;
repletion; silence;—cheerful accompaniments these to the wine-bowl! For
my part, I never supposed that Zeus would give the matter a thought the
next morning; much less that he would make such a stir about it, and
think himself so mightily injured; my little manoeuvre with the meat
was merely a playful experiment, to see which he would choose. It might
have been worse. Instead of giving him the inferior half, I might have
defrauded him of the whole. And what if I had? Would that have been a
case for putting heaven and earth in commotion, for deep designs of
chain and cross and Caucasus, dispatchings of eagles, rendings of
livers? These things tell a sad tale, do they not, of the puny soul,
the little mind, the touchy temper of the aggrieved party? How would he
take the loss of a whole ox, who storms to such purpose over a few
pounds of meat? How much more reasonable is the conduct of mortals,
though one would have expected them to be more irritable than Gods! A
mortal would never want his cook crucified for dipping a finger into
the stew-pan, or filching a mouthful from the roast; they overlook
these things. At the worst their resentment is satisfied with a box on
the ears or a rap on the head. I find no precedent among them for
crucifixion in such cases. So much for the affair of the meat; there is
little credit to be got in the refutation of such a charge, and still
less in the bringing of it.
I am next to speak of my creation of mankind. And here the terms of
your accusation are ambiguous. I have to choose between two distinct
possibilities. Do you maintain that I had no right to create men at
all, that I ought to have left the senseless clay alone? Or do you only
complain of the form in which I designed them? However, I shall have
something to say on both points. I shall first endeavour to show that
no harm has accrued to the Gods from my bringing mankind into
existence; and shall then proceed to the positive advantages and
improvements which have resulted to them from the peopling of the
earth. The question as to the harm done by my innovation is best
answered by an appeal to the past, to those days when the race of
heaven-born Gods stood alone, and earth was a hideous shapeless mass, a
tangle of rude vegetation. The Gods had no altars then, nor temples
(for who should raise them?), no images of wood or stone, such as now
abound in every corner of the earth, and are honoured with all
observance. It was to me that the idea occurred—amid my ceaseless
meditations on the common welfare, on the aggrandizement of the Gods
and the promotion of order and beauty in the universe—of setting all to
rights with a handful of clay; of creating living things, and moulding
them after our own likeness. I saw what was lacking to our godhead:
some counterpart, some foil wherein to set off its blessedness. And
that counterpart must be mortal; but in all else exquisitely contrived,
perfect in intelligence, keen to appreciate our superiority. Thereupon,
I moulded my material,
With water mingling clay,
and created man, calling in Athene to aid me in the task. And this is
my rank offence against the Gods. Destructive work,—to reduce inanimate
clay to life and motion! The Gods, it seems, are Gods no longer, now
that there are mortal creatures on the earth. To judge at least by
Zeus's indignation, one would suppose that the Gods suffered some loss
of prestige from the creation of mankind; unless it is that he is
afraid of another revolt, of their waging war with heaven, like the
Giants.
That the cause of the Gods suffered nothing at my hands is evident;
show me the slightest instance to the contrary, and I will say no more;
I have but my deserts. But for the positive benefits I have conferred,
use the evidence of your eyes. The earth, no longer barren and
untilled, is decked with cities and farms and the fruits of
cultivation; the sea has its ships, the islands their inhabitants.
Everywhere are altars and temples, everywhere festivals and sacrifices:
Zeus with his presence fills their gatherings,
He fills their streets.
Had I created mankind for my own private convenience, it might perhaps
have denoted a grasping spirit: but I made them common property; they
are at the service of every God of you. Nay more: temples of Zeus, and
Apollo, and Hera, temples of Hermes, are everywhere to be seen; but who
ever saw a temple of Prometheus? You may judge from this, how far I
have sacrificed the common cause to my private ambition.
And further. Consider, Hermes: can any good thing whatsoever, be it
gift of Nature or work of our hands, give the full measure of enjoyment
to its possessor, when there is none to see, none to admire? You see
whither my question tends? But for mankind, the glories of the universe
must have been without a witness; and there was little satisfaction to
be derived from a wealth which was doomed to excite no envy in others.
We should have lacked a standard for comparison; and should never have
known the extent of our happiness, while all were as happy as
ourselves. The great is not great, till it is compared with the small.
Yet instead of honouring me for my political insight, you crucify me;
such are the wages of wisdom!
Ah, but (you will say) there is so much wickedness among them;
adultery, war, incest, parricide. Well, I fancy these are not unknown
among ourselves? And I am sure no one would think that a reason for
saying that Uranus and Ge made a mistake in creating us. Or again, you
will complain that we have so much trouble in looking after them. At
that rate, a shepherd ought to object to the possession of a flock,
because he has to look after it. Besides, a certain show of occupation
is rather gratifying than otherwise; the responsibility is not
unwelcome,—it helps to pass the time. What should we do, if we had not
mankind to think of? There would be nothing to live for; we should sit
about drinking nectar and gorging ourselves with ambrosia. But what
fairly takes away my breath is, your assurance in finding fault with my
_women_ in particular, when all the time you are in love with them: our
bulls and satyrs and swans are never tired of making descents upon the
Earth; women, they find, are good enough to be made the mothers of
Gods!
Yes, yes (you will say), it was quite right that men should be created,
but they should not have been made in our likeness. And what better
model could I have taken than this, whose perfection I knew? Was I to
make them brute beasts without understanding? Had they been other than
they are, how should they have paid you due honour and sacrifice? When
the hecatombs are getting ready, you think nothing of a journey to the
ends of the earth to see the 'blameless Ethiopians'; and my reward for
procuring you these advantages is—crucifixion! But on this subject I
have said enough.
And now, with your permission, I will approach the subject of that
stolen fire, of which we hear so much. I have a question to ask, which
I beg you will answer frankly. Has there been one spark less fire in
Heaven, since men shared it with us? Of course not. It is the nature of
fire, that it does not become less by being imparted to others. A fire
is not put out by kindling another from it. No, this is sheer envy: you
cannot bear that men should have a share of this necessary, though you
have suffered no harm thereby. For shame! Gods should be beneficent,
'givers of good'; they should be above all envy. Had I taken away fire
altogether, and left not a spark behind, it would have been no great
loss. You have no use for it. You are never cold; you need no
artificial light; nor is ambrosia improved by boiling. To man, on the
other hand, fire is indispensable for many purposes, particularly for
those of sacrifice; how else are they to fill their streets with the
savour of burnt-offerings, and the fumes of frankincense? how else to
burn fat thigh-pieces upon your altars? I observe that you take a
particular pleasure in the steam arising therefrom, and think no feast
more delicious than the smell of roast meat, as it mounts heavenwards
In eddying clouds of smoke.
Your present complaint, you see, is sadly at variance with this taste.
I wonder you do not forbid the Sun to shine on mankind. He too is of
fire, and fire of a purer and diviner quality. Has anything been said
to _him_ about his lavish expenditure of your property?
And now I have done. If there is any flaw in my defence, it is for you
two to refute me. I shall answer your objections in due course.
_Her_. Nay, you are too hard for us, Prometheus; we will not attempt a
sophist of your mettle. Well for you that Zeus is not within earshot,
or you would have had a round dozen of hungry vultures to reckon with,
for certain; in clearing your own character, you have grievously
mishandled his. But one thing puzzles me: you are a prophet; you ought
to have foreseen your sentence.
_Prom_. All this I knew, and more than this; for I shall be released;
nay, even now the day is not far off when one of your blood shall come
from Thebes, and shoot this eagle with which you threaten me [Footnote:
See _Prometheus_ in Notes.].
_Her_. With all my heart! I shall be delighted to see you free again,
and feasting in our midst; but not, my friend, not carving for us!
_Prom_. You may take my word for it; I shall be with you again. I have
the wherewithal to pay abundantly for my ransom.
_Her_. Oh, indeed? Come, tell us all about it.
_Prom_. You know Thetis—But no; the secret is best kept. Ransom and
reward depend upon it.
_Her_. Well, you know best. Now, Hephaestus, we must be going; see,
here comes the eagle.—Bear a brave heart, Prometheus; and all speed to
your Theban archer, who is to set a term to this creature's activity.