Now, if on for ten years more weeping and weaving, and after all be forced to marry one of her suitors. ever, Pallas Athenè befriend me." The stage is cleared, and the Chorus sing appropriate but not cheerful stanzas, with reference to present circumstances: "The Cyclops Ætnean is cruel and bold, To rise from the earth. He roasts the men before they are cold, Ulysses re-enters; he has been surveying the Cyclopian larder and kitchen, and is as terrified by the sight of their contents as Fatima was when she rushed out of Bluebeard's chamber of horrors. He has seen Polyphemus providing for his own comforts. He kindles a huge fire, 66 Casting on the broad hearth He spreads upon the ground a couch of pine-leaves : he milks his cows, "And fills a bowl Three cubits wide and four in depth, as much As would contain three amphora, and bound it He puts on the fire a pot to boil, and makes red-hot the points of sundry spits, and, when all is ready, he seizes two of the Ithacans, "And killed them in a measured kind of manner; For he flung one against the brazen rivets Of the huge caldron, and caught the other By the foot's tendon, and knocked out his brains One he boiled, the other he roasted, while Ulysses, Stood near the Cyclops, ministering to him." But while waiting at table, a happy thought presents itself to Ulysses. "If I can but make him drunk enough, then I can deal with him." He plies him well with Maronian wine at dinner; but Polyphemus is as yet "na that fou" to fall into the trap. He is still sober enough to remember that his brother-giants may relish a cheerful glass no less than himself. They inhabit a village on Ætna not far off, and he will go and invite them to share his Bacchic drink. The Chorus advise Ulysses to walk with him, and pitch him over a precipice, as he is somewhat unsteady on his legs. "That will never do," responds the sagacious Ithacan. "I have a far more subtle device. I will appeal to his appetite: tell him how unwise it were to summon partners for his revelry. Why not prolong his pleasure by keeping this particular Maronian for his own sole use?" The Cyclops presently returns, singing— "Ha ha! I am full of wine, With the young feast oversated; To my brothers on the mountains, Who shall share the wine's sweet fountains. He is diverted from his purpose by Ulysses; and for once Silenus acts a friendly part to him by asking his master, "What need have you of pot-companions? stay at home." Indeed the advice proceeds from a design to filch some of the wine himself—an impossibility if the cask is borne off to the village, where there will be so many eyes-single ones indeed-upon him. So it is agreed that the giant-brothers be kept in the dark, and quaff their bowls of milk, while Polyphemus drinks deep potations of Maron alone. The Greek stranger has now so ingratiated himself with his savage host, that the latter condescends to ask his name, and to promise to eat him last, in token of his gratitude for his drink and good counsel. "My name," says Ulysses, "is Nobody." With this information the Sicilian Caliban is content; and with the exception that Silenus teases him by putting the flagon out of his reach, with the above-mentioned felonious intent, all goes merry as a marriage - bell. Ulysses, now again cup-bearer, plies him so well, that the "poor monster sees visions "The throne of Jove, And the clear congregation of the Gods" and in the end drops off into slumber profound as Christopher Sly's. Now comes the dramatic retribution. The trunk of an olive-tree has been sharpened to a point, is heated in the fire, and thrust by Ulysses and his surviving companions into the eye of the insensible giant. The Chorus, indeed, had promised to lend a hand in this operation, for they are anxious to be off in quest of their liege-lord Bacchus. But their courage fails them at the proper moment- -some have sprained ankles, others have dust in their eyes, others weakness of spine. All they can or will do-and this service is truly operatic in its kind-is to sing a cheerful and encouraging accompaniment to the boring-out of the eye : "Hasten and thrust, Burn and blind The Etnean hind; Scoop and draw, But beware lest he claw Your limbs near his maw." The last scene of the "Cyclops" has to the reader an appearance of being either imperfectly preserved or originally hurried over. It may be that, not having the action before us, we miss some connecting dumbshow. In the Odyssey the escape of Ulysses and his crew is effected with much difficulty, and great risk to their chief in this satyric play they get out of the cave quickly as well as safely, though its owner says that "Standing at the outlet, He'll bar the way and catch them as they pass :" but either they creep under his huge legs, like so many Gullivers in Brobdingnag, or he is a very inefficient doorkeeper-drink and pain seemingly having rendered him as incapable of hearing as of sight. Indeed Polyphemus, blind and despairing, is the only sufferer in this flight of the Ithacans. In striking at them he beats the air, or cracks his skull against the rocky wall. The Chorus taunt and misguide him. "Are these villains on my right hand?" "No, on your left," whereupon he dashes at vacancy, and cries, "O woe on woe, I have broken my head!" "Did you fall into the fire when drunk?" ask the mocking Chorus, who had been witnesses of the whole transaction. ""Twas Nobody destroyed me." "Then no one is to blame." "I tell you, varlets as you are, Nobody blinded me." "Then you are not blind." "Where is that accursed Nobody?" "Nowhere, Cyclops." But at last the secret comes out. "Detested wretch, where are you?" roars the baffled monster. wretch replies : "Far from you, The I keep with care this body of Ulysses. |