University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Grecian Camp before Troy. The Greek Commanders assembled in Council, i. e., Agamemnon, Menelaus, Achilles, Diomed, Nestor, Patroclus, Ulysses, Ajax.
Aga.
Chieftains of Greece, the objects of this meeting
Are too proverbial to demand repeating.
When Greek meets Greek we all know what 'tis for,
In proof of which here comes the tug of war.

A galley enters, containing Chryses, rowed by Attendants, with gifts, &c. He leaps ashore in an excited manner.
Chrys.
I want my child.

Ajax.
You want your head punch'd, rather.

Aga.
Who are you, friend?

Chrys.
An injured father.

Ajax.
Then, if you've sons as bounceable as you,
Send them but here, and they'll get injured too.

Aga.
Ajax, oblige me.
Stranger, you complain.

Ajax.
Does he, by Jove?

Aga.
May I request again?

Chrys.
Where is my child?

Aga.
Who is your child?

Chrys.
Chryseis.

Aga.
Our servant-girl.
How do I know where she is?
Occupied in her kitchen, I presume,
Practising social science after Broom,
Or learning tasks of neatness and propriety
Out of the pail of civilised society.

Chrys.
May not her aged father see her?

Aga.
Well,
Had that connection rung the area bell,
Or left the business he has come about
Till the young person's usual Sunday out,
He might have gain'd his wish; but, as it is, he
Wants pulling down a peg or two. The girl is busy,
And can't be spared: we've company to dine.
Besides, in large establishments like mine,
The serving maids no followers receive.

Chrys.
Then, if you've no objection, sir, she'll leave.

Aga.
Leave!

Chrys.
Yes; I'll take her home this very morning.

Aga.
Gammon! She hasn't even given warning;
Or if she had, with her I wouldn't part.
The girl's a perfect treasure—active, smart
(A prettier-spoken wench has not existence),
And keeps the baker at a proper distance.

Chrys.
We miss her dreadfully at home.

Aga.
No doubt.

Chrys.
Her aged mother—

Aga.
Knows, of course, she's out
At service, and provided for by us.
You've heard our alternative—no more fuss;
And if another plaint our soul enrages,
We'll stop the insult from your daughter's wages.

Chrys.
What, then, Chryseis is?

Aga.
A slave, and ours!

Chrys.
My child a base Greek's slave—

Ajax
[wrathfully].
O Hiram Powers!
I must attend this case; the patient's worse.

[Agamemnon holds him back.
Chrys.
[stifling his rage].
Bright Phœbus, are these people worth a curse?
I think they are, and mean to give them one.
Child of Latona! everybody's sun!
Upon these beauteous bays and lovely creeks,
And these extremely ugly coves, the Greeks,
Let fall your heaviest beams; of all their heads
Stave the flat roofs in, and melt all the leads.
Give it them hot, for stealing your priest's daughter.
Keep them perpetually in boiling water,
With lots of toast for nothing (they can find tea).
Ask your friend Mercury to stand at ninety
On the thermometer. To help the crisis,
Bid all the gods assist, excepting Isis.
Let Mars, turn'd tailor, send, by Neptune's boats,
Some nice hot clothing, such as scarlet coats,
With leathern stocks incapable of crease,
And helmets weighing half a ton apiece.
Then prompt the fiery Hector, with his lot,
To come and strike their iron while it's hot.
Like hornets cursed, with fire and brimstone storm them.
Phœbus, Apollo, in two brief words, WARM THEM!

[Rushes out frantically L. Greeks look as if it had suddenly turned very hot. They fan themselves, &c.
Achilles rises. He has been concealed from the rest hitherto. Comes forward, fanning himself with pocket-handkerchief. Patroclus comes forward, also exactly imitating the gestures of Achilles, whom he copies, in a feeble manner, upon all occasions.
N.B.—Achilles is magnificently dressed in the style of a Greek guardsman. Patroclus is a little vulgar gent.
Achilles.
I rise to say I think—
[Seeing Patroclus imitating.
[Annoyed].
Patroclus, don't.

Patro.
[abjectly].
What? Think?

Achilles.
No; imitate me.

Patro.
[crestfallen].
Then I won't.
[Retires a little, watching Achilles with hopeless admiration.
[Aside.]
Oh, if I only could! There's trousers! My!

Achilles.
Since my opinion you solicit, why,
The meeting I submissively inform
That it's extremely hot.

[Fans himself.
Patro.
[imitating].
Extremely warm!

Achilles
[turning on him angrily].
Patroclus! cease this plagiarism employing:
It may be flattering—its d---d annoying.
I can't invent a collar or a trouser,
But this man watches me like any mouser,
To pounce on my ideah. Confound the fellah!
My last creation—the thin silk umbrella—
He vulgarised by a most coarse translation,
And on the very day of publication.
Two things I'm safe against—the pigmy frisker!—
He can't well copy me in height or whisker.
[Fans himself.]
By Jove, if this goes on I shall expire.

Aga.
I'm melting.

Mene.
I'm half roasted.

Dio.
I'm on fire.

SONG—Hot Codlings.
Dio.
I'm a military man, and have service seen a lot,
But was never under fire half so hot, hot, hot.

Aga.
Though in Phrygia I feel, if the heat doesn't cease,
I shall speedily die in a state of native Grease.

Ach.
If the weather doesn't change I shall cut war's cares,
And go home upon— [Spoken.]
Eh? [Looks round.]


Dio.
[Spoken].
Sick leave?

Aga.
[Spoken].
Half-pay?

Mene.
[Spoken].
Exchange?

Nestor.
[Spoken].
I have it—upon “Urgent private affairs.”

Omnes.
Tol, ol, &c. &c.

Enter Teucer, terrified, but languid.
Teucer.
Horror! the dogs of war, Ponto and Toby,
Have fallen victims to the hydrophoby.

Aga.
What proof have ye?

Teucer.
This—they refuse to drink
Scamander's waters.

Aga.
In that case I think,
From certain perfumes that assail my nose,
Those dogs are not so mad as you suppose.

Dio.
The river, too! Another foeman grim!

Ajax.
Oh, he be smoked! I'll soon walk into him.

[Makes sign as of tucking up his trousers, and runs to R., where he meets a Greek with a black face, who enters.
Ajax.
The devil damn the black! I won't be chaff'd.

Greek.
It isn't my fault; I've been photograph'd.
[Sensation of horror.
Phœbus has sent, our energies to damp,
A plague of photographers in the camp.
[General horror.
They swarm like flies from sugar casks exuded,
And black your face for twopence, frame included;
And if you don't exterminate them fast,
To this complexion you must come at last.

Enter Talthybius, fanning himself.
Tal.
Chieftains, we've caught a spy.

Aga.
Who cares, you fool?

Tal.
You'd like to see him—he's so nice and cool.

Aga.
Cool! Show him in at once. Jove, what a treat!

Mene.
Those Trojans go to win in any heat
If fiery Hector urges them to action.

Tal.
This person seems a Tartar by extraction.

Dio.
Tartar! How so?

Tal.
They tried to bring him on:
He wouldn't come. The best thing to be done,
They thought, in that case—not to let it fret them,
But come without him.

Aga.
Well?

Tal.
He wouldn't let them.

Ajax.
I see I'm wanted.

[Exit R.
Aga.
How was it they found him?

Tal.
Writing on horseback calmly. Though around him
Showers of arrows, darts, and stones were blinding,
He kept on taking notes, and never minding.
Though by death menaced, he would not look solemn:
He said his capture would make half a column.
Though swords were at his throat, as red as poppy,
He laugh'd and said, 'twould all come in as copy.

Dio.
What could he mean?

Achilles.
Man must be mad!

Patro.
[imitating Achilles' manner].
A hass!

Achilles
[turning round with a lordly gesture of anger].
Patroclus!

Patro.
[shrinks away, looking at Achilles.]
Oh, mong deu! kill air, kil grace!

[Sighs.
Re-enter Ajax, dragging in Homer. The latter is splendidly dressed; his tunic, helmet, &c., stuck all over with arrows, which he picks out and throws away during his early speeches. He has a telescope slung to his back, and carries an open note-book and pencil.
Ajax.
Just step this way—

Homer
[freeing himself].
Hands off, unless your crimes
You'd have reported to the latest Times.
Aggy, how do?

Mene.
Surely a maniac this is.

Stranger.
Is that you, Menelaus? How's the missis?

Achilles.
I say, remember where you show your face.

Stranger.
Take care, Achilles; I know your weak place.

[Points to his heel.
Dio.
[drawing sword].
Cut the slave down!

[A rush at him.
Stranger
[coolly].
Think twice. Before you sup
You'll all be trembling lest I cut you up.
Your fames are in my hands, premium or zero,
Whether each ranks a humbug or a hero.

Aga.
What are you, fellow?

Stranger.
A descriptive bard,
Clever at battle-pieces. There's my card.

[Gives card to Agamemnon, who looks at it, and appears at first astonished, then amazed and incredulous.
Aga.
[laughing].
Surely this title must be a misnomer.
You don't mean seriously to say you're Homer?

[At the mention of Homer's name all take off their caps, and assume a sudden air of deference.
Homer.
And if I said it seriously, why doubt me?
Because I laugh, and have my eyes about me;
Wear a whole coat, and what's-their-names complete;
And look as if I had enough to eat?
Methinks I understand the sort of thing.
You fain would see a bard, most noble king:
A sightless beggar, tottering and weak,
With limbs decrepit, and furrowed cheek
(His pow'r might make him dangerous otherwise);
Blind, for you might not like to see his eyes;
Of dismal countenance, morose, and tearful,
Knowing you've not done much to make him cheerful;
Hungry, that famine may from speech prevent him.
Thus would you have court painters represent him;
And so, no doubt, the world will picture me,
The plump, gay, jolly gentleman you see.
SONG.

Ulys.
[interrupts him in alarm].
Hang it, mon, dinna let on!

Homer.

[Exit.
Dio.
He left me out. Must I be in the ruck?

Ajax.
He didn't mention me—he hadn't pluck.

Achilles
[rises: business of Patroclus doing the same, and being snubbed by a look].
After an oracle of such authority
Of course our chairman bows to the majority,
And yields the captive whom the foe demands.

Ajax.
[squaring at Agamemnon].
If not, we'll settle it by show of hands.

Voices.
Chair! Order! Spoke! Be quiet!

Ajax
[subdued: hustled to his place].
Well, I'll try.
[Aside, looking at his clenched fist.
Just wait till I can catch the speaker's eye!

Aga.
Prince [aside, looking at Achilles]
, that puppy's laughing in his sleeve.
The crown foregoes its claim—our slave shall leave.

Achilles
[laughs].
Ha! ha!

Aga.
May I—to waive our slight disparity
Of station—ask the cause of that hilarity?

Achilles.
I was just thinking how you'd do without
Chryseis in your bad attacks of gout.

Aga.
Gout!

[He draws his sword, and is about to rush on Achilles. Diomed and Menelaus hold him back.
Achilles.
No one else, you say, can make your sago.

[Agamemnon struggles to get at him. Achilles stands twirling his moustache carelessly.
Ulys.
[to Achilles].
Apologise for “gout.”

Achilles
[laughing].
Well, then, lumbago.

Aga.
[newly incensed: held back].
Release me!

Ajax.
Peace, Atrides, I implore you.
Rather than see a row, I'll lick him for you.

Aga.
Get out!

Achilles.
Don't stop him.

[Nestor rises from his seat; all bow respectfully to him; Agamemnon lowers his sword; Achilles, about to draw, desists.
Nestor.
Gentlemen and kings,
I recollect a quantity of things;
But the renown which gilds my life's December
Grows from things good and bad I don't remember.
So when your acts are tinged with base or shabby taints,
You just consult the oldest of inhabitants.
SONG.
[Ulysses and Diomed lead him back to his seat.

Aga.
[aside].
Gentlemen, I need not say I feel
Extremely anxious for the public weal,
Which I'm convinced Achilles was but joking
When, inconsid'rately, he put his spoke in.
I yield Chryseis, but on this condition:
As I'm the leader of this expedition,
And as the common cause requires that I
Should find my coffee hot, my slippers dry,
After each battle, for such parlour small work
I'll take, instead, Achilles' maid of all work,
Brisëis—

Achilles
[horrified].
What?

Aga.
I rather think she'll suit;
At any rate, I'll try her.

Achilles.
Here's a brute!
Thou monster mixed of—

[Draws sword, and is about to rush on Agamemnon, when, realising Flaxman's picture, Minerva rises (trap) at his elbow, and arrests the blow.
Min.
Treat it as a joke.

Achilles.
Surely that was the voice of Wisdom spoke.

Min.
'Tis Wisdom's self, unseen by all save you.
Make fun of everything this evening through:
Treat all that happens in facetious fashion.

Achilles.
At least allow me to get in a passion.

Min.
Do that, of course: how else can Homer sing
Achilles' wrath to Greece the direful spring?
Et cætera and so forth.

[Exit R.
Patro.
[at the wing R., imitating the threatening gestures of Achilles].
Yes, learn, fierce Argives, though from fears exempt—

[Achilles returns, and seizes him by the nape of the neck.
Achilles.
Patroclus, don't bring me into contempt.

Ulys.
I seldom speak, lest they should find me out;
But, from these princes' quarrel, I've no doubt
I shall gain keudos—that's a braw Greek word,
Aiblins as weel pronounced as e'er 'twas heard.
Achilles' rage withdraws him from the nation—
That will assist my new bit speculation.
Ye may na ken the scheme my wit to try hath on:
I've built a slick horse—ca'd it the Leviathan.
It's varra large, well fetlock'd, brawly waunchit.
[Pauses.]
We've found it rather difficult to launch it.
Hech! dinna fash yourselves, we'll move it yet.
But then there'll be the passengers to get;
And, till then, where to gang to? I'll employ
That monster steed to run 'twixt here and Troy—
A deed to fire the bards of Greece and Rome
Unborn; which, having done, I'll jist—

Min.
[coming forward, and seizing him by the wrist].
Go home!

Ulys.
[falling on his knees before her].
Dinna say that!

Min.
'Tis Jove's decree, ne'er doubt it.

Ulys.
Weel, then, I'll just take pretty long about it.

[Duet, with Highland fling to take them off.