and when Balaustion has chanted forth that strophe, there falls a long silence, on this night of losing a friend.
Aristophanes breaks it musingly. "'Our best friend'—who has been the best friend to Athens, Euripides or I?" And he answers that it is himself, for he has done what he knew he could do, and thus has charmed "the Violet-Crowned"; while Euripides had challenged failure, and had failed. Euripides, he cries, remembering an instance, has been like Thamyris of Thrace, who was blinded by the Muses for daring to contend with them in song; he, Aristophanes, "stands heart-whole, no Thamyris!" He seizes the psalterion—Balaustion must let him use it for once—and sings the song, from Sophocles, of Thamyris marching to his doom.
He gives some verses,[117:1] then breaks off in laughter, having, as he says, "sung content back to himself," since he is not Thamyris, but Aristophanes. . . . They shall both be pleased with his next play; it shall be serious, "no word more of the old fun," for "death defends," and moreover, Balaustion has delivered her admonition so soundly! Thus he departs, in all friendliness:
"Farewell, brave couple! Next year, welcome me!"
It is "next year," and Balaustion and Euthukles are fleeing across the water to Rhodes from Athens. This year has seen the death of Sophocles; and the greatest of all the Aristophanic triumphs in the Frogs. It was all him, Balaustion says:
"There blazed the glory, there shot black the shame"
—it showed every facet of his genius, and in it Bacchos himself was "duly dragged through the mire," and Euripides, after all the promises, was more vilely treated than ever before.
"So, Aristophanes obtained the prize,
And so Athenai felt she had a friend
Far better than her 'best friend,' lost last year."
But then, what happened? The great battle of Ægos Potamos was fought and lost, and Athens fell into the hands of the Spartans. The conqueror's first words were, "Down with the Piræus! Peace needs no bulwarks." At first the stupefied Athenians had been ready to obey—but when the next decree came forth, "No more democratic government; we shall appoint your oligarchs!" the dreamers were stung awake by horror; they started up a-stare, their hands refused their office.