"'I am much obliged by the preference,' replied the comic author, yawning with all his might; 'it is rather unlucky though, that you did not choose a better time. I went to bed extremely late,—can hardly keep my eyes unclosed,—and I will not answer for hearing all the verses you have to read to me, without tumbling to sleep again.' 'Oh! I will answer for that myself,' interrupted the tragic poet. 'Were you dead, the scene that I have just composed would recall you to life again. In my writings, there are none of your namby-pamby sentiments,—none of your common-place expressions, sustained alone by rhyme: masculine thoughts, and easy versification, move the heart and strike upon the mind. I am none of those wretched poetasters, whose pitiable creations glide upon the stage like shadows, and like them depart;—which go to Utica to amuse the Africans. My compositions, worthy to be consecrated with my statue in the library of Apollo Palatinus, draw crowds after thirty representations. But come,' added this modest poet, 'you shall hear the verses of which I wish to offer you the first incense.
"'This is my tragedy, The Death of Patroclus. Scene the first, Brisëis and the other captives of Achilles appear. They tear their hair and beat their breasts, to express the grief with which they are filled by the death of Patroclus. Unable even to support themselves, utterly prostrated by despair, they fall upon the stage. This, you will say, is a little daring; but that is exactly what I aim at. Let the small fry who swim in the waters of Helicon keep within the narrow bounds of imitation, without daring to o'erleap them; it is well, there is prudence in their timidity: but for me, I love invention; and I hold that, to move and overcome your spectators, you must present to their minds images which they could never have expected.
"'The captives, then, are lying on the earth. Phoenix, governor of Achilles, is with them. He assists them to rise, one after another; and, having placed them on their feet, he commences the argument of the drama in these lines:—
Hector shall fall; and Troy itself be spread
In ruins, to avenge Patroclus dead.
Proud Agamemnon, Camelus the grave,
Nestor the wise, and Eumelus the brave,
Leontes, skilled to hurl the spear along,
Smooth-tongued Ulysses, Diomed the strong,
Arm with Achilles. Lo! that hero drives
Tow'rds Ilium's gates—appalling Ilium's wives—
His steeds immortal, urged across the plain
So swift, the eye toils after them with pain.
But still he cries: Dear Xanthus, Balius, fly!
And when around ten thousand corses lie,
When pallid Trojans scamper off like fillies,
Regain your camp, but not without Achilles.
Xanthus replies, bowing his head: You may
Be sure, Achilles, we'll your will obey;
But, while our pace with your impatience strives,
Know that to you the fatal hour arrives—
The ox-eyed Juno thus the steed enlightening,—
And now the car moves with a speed quite frightening.
The Greeks, beholding, utter cries of joy,
So loud, they shake the very walls of Troy.
Achilles, armed by Vulcan for the war,
Appears more brilliant than the morning star;
Or like the sun, when, in its bright career,
It bursts on earth, dispelling night and fear;
Or brilliant as the fires on mountains lighted,
To guide poor swains, bewilder'd or benighted.[8]
Priam va perdre Hector et sa superbe ville;
Les Grecs veulent venger le compagnon d'Achille,
Le fier Agamemnon, le divin Camélus,
Nestor, pareil aux dieux, le vaillant Eumélus,
Léonte, de la pique adroit à l'exercice,
Le nerveux Diomède, et l'éloquent Ulysse.
Achille s'y prépare, et déjà ce héros
Pousse vers Ilium ses immortels chevaux;
Pour arriver plus tôt où sa fureur l'entraîne,
Quoique l'oeil qui les voit ne les suive qu'à peine,
Il leur dit: Chers Xanthus, Balius, avancez;
Et lorsque vous serez du carnage lassés,
Quand les Troyens fuyant rentreront dans leur ville,
Regagnez notre camp, mais non pas sans Achille.
Xanthus baisse la tête, et répond par ces mots:
Achille, vous serez content de vos chevaux,
Ils vont aller au gré de votre impatience;
Mais de votre trépas l'instant fatal s'avance.
Junon aux yeux de boeuf ainsi le fait parler,
Et d'Achille aussitôt le char semble voler.
Les Grecs, en le voynt, de mille cris de joie
Soudain font retentir le rivage de Troie.
Ce prince, revêtu des armes de Vulcain,
Paraît plus éclatant que l'astre du matin,
Ou tel que le soleil, commençant sa carrière,
S'élève pour donner au monde la lumière;
Ou brillant comme un feu que les villageois font
Pendant l'obscure nuit sur le sommet du mont.
"'I stop,' continued the tragic poet, 'to let you breathe a moment; for if I were to recite to you the whole of my scene at once, the beauty of my versification, and the great number of brilliant passages and sublime ideas that it contains, would smother you to a certainty. But remark the aptness of this comparison,—
Or brilliant as the fires on mountains lighted,
To guide poor swains bewilder'd or benighted.