But, after all, what shall they do?—“Die at once,” says the despondent Nicias—“drink bull’s blood, like Themistocles.” “Drink a cup of good wine, rather,” says his jovial comrade. And he sends Nicias to purloin some, while their hated taskmaster is asleep. Warming his wits under its influence, Demosthenes is inspired with new counsels. The oracles which this Paphlagonian keeps by him, and by means of which he strengthens his influence over their master, must be got hold of. And Nicias—the weaker spirit—is again sent by his comrade upon the perilous service of stealing them from their owner’s possession while he is still snoring.[10] He succeeds in his errand, and Demosthenes (who has paid great attention to the wine-jar meanwhile) takes the scrolls from his hands and proceeds to unroll and read them, his comrade watching him with a face of superstitious eagerness. The oracles contain a prophetic history of Athens under its successive demagogues. First there should rise to power a hemp-seller, secondly a cattle-jobber, thirdly a dealer in hides—this Paphlagonian, who now holds rule in Demus’s household. But he is to fall before a greater that is to come—one who plies a marvellous trade. Nicias is all impatience to know who and what this saviour of society is to be. Demosthenes, in a mysterious whisper, tells him the coming man is—a Black-pudding-seller!
“Black-pudding-seller! marvellous, indeed!
Great Neptune, what an art!—but where to find him?”
Why, most opportunely, here he comes! He is seen mounting the steps which are supposed to lead from the city, with his tray of wares suspended from his neck. The two slaves make a rush for him, salute him with the profoundest reverence, take his tray off carefully, and bid him fall down and thank the gods for his good fortune.
“Black-P.-Seller. Hallo! what is it?
Demosth. O thrice blest of mortals!
Who art nought to-day, but shall be first to-morrow!
Hail, Chief that shall be of our glorious Athens!
B.-P.-S. Prithee, good friend, let me go wash my tripes,
And sell my sausages—you make a fool of me.
Dem. Tripes, quotha! tripes? Ha-ha!—Look yonder, man—(pointing to the audience.)
You see these close-packed ranks of heads?
B.-P.-S. I see.
Dem. Of all these men you shall be sovereign chief,
Of the Forum, and the Harbours, and the Courts,
Shall trample on the Senate, flout the generals,
Bind, chain, imprison, play what pranks you will.
B.-P.-S. What,—I?
Dem. Yes—you. But you’ve not yet seen all;
Here—mount upon your dresser there—look out!
(Black-Pudding-Seller gets upon the dresser, from
which he is supposed to see all the dependencies
of Athens, and looks stupidly round him.)
You see the islands all in a circle round you?
B.-P.-S. I see.
Dem. What, all the sea-ports, and the shipping?
B.-P.-S. I see, I tell ye.
Dem. Then, what luck is yours!
But cast your right eye now towards Caria—there—
And fix your left on Carthage,—both at once.
B.-P.-S. Be blest if I shan’t squint—if that’s good luck.”
The Black-pudding-man is modest, and doubts his own qualifications for all this preferment. Demosthenes assures him that he is the very man that is wanted. “A rascal—bred in the forum,—and with plenty of brass;” what could they wish for more? Still, the other fears he is “not strong enough for the place.” Demosthenes begins to be alarmed: modesty is a very bad symptom in a candidate for preferment; he is afraid, after all, that the man has some hidden good qualities which will disqualify him for high office. Possibly, he suggests, there is some gentle blood in the family? No, the other assures him: all his ancestors have been born blackguards like himself, so far as he knows. But he has had no education—he can but barely spell. The only objection, Demosthenes declares, is that he has learnt even so much as that.
“The only harm is, you can spell at all;
Our leaders of the people are no longer
Your men of education and good fame;
We choose the illiterate and the blackguards, always.”
Demosthenes proceeds to tell him of a prophecy, found amongst the stolen scrolls, in which, after the enigmatical fashion of such literature, it is foretold that the great tanner-eagle shall be overcome by the cunning serpent that drinks blood. The tanner-eagle is plainly none other than this Paphlagonian hide-seller; and as to his antagonist, what can be plainer? It is the resemblance of Macedon to Monmouth. “A serpent is long, and so is a black-pudding; and both drink blood.” So Demosthenes crowns the new-found hero with a garland, and they proceed to finish the flagon of wine to the health of the conqueror in the strife that is to come. Nor will allies be wanting:—
“Our Knights—good men and true, a thousand strong,—
Who hate the wretch, shall back you in this contest;
And every citizen of name and fame,
And each kind critic in this goodly audience,
And I myself, and the just gods besides.
Nay, never fear; you shall not see his features;
For very cowardice, the mask-makers
Flatly refused to mould them. Ne’ertheless,
He will be known,—our friends have ready wits.”
At this moment the dreaded personage comes out from the house in a fury. The Black-pudding-man takes to flight at once, leaving his stock-in-trade behind him, but is hauled back by Demosthenes, who loudly summons the “Knights” to come to the rescue,—and with the usual rhythmical movement, and rapid chant, the Chorus of Knights sweep up through the orchestra.
“Close around him and confound him, the confounder of us all!
Pelt him, pummel him, and maul him,—rummage, ransack, overhaul him!
Overbear him, and out-bawl him; bear him down, and bring him under!
Bellow like a burst of thunder—robber, harpy, sink of plunder!
Rogue and villain! rogue and cheat! rogue and villain! I repeat.
Oftener than I can repeat it has the rogue and villain cheated.
Close upon him left and right—spit upon him, spurn and smite;
Spit upon him as you see: spurn and spit at him, like me.”—(F.)