by Mary Shelley
Sweet Prophetess of Summer, coming forth
From the slant shadow of the wintry earth,
In thy car drawn by snowy-breasted swallows!
Another kiss, & then again farewel!
Winter in losing thee has lost its all,
And will be doubly bare, & hoar, & drear,
Its bleak winds whistling o’er the cold pinched ground
Which neither flower or grass will decorate.
And as my tears fall first, so shall the trees
Shed their changed leaves upon your six months tomb:
The clouded air will hide from Phoebus’ eye
The dreadful change your absence operates.
Thus has black Pluto changed the reign of Jove,
He seizes half the Earth when he takes thee.
THE END
MIDAS
Midas is often viewed as the companion drama to Proserpine, with Shelley writing the tale and Percy Shelley contributing two lyric poems once again. Midas was written in 1820 but unlike Proserpine Shelley was entirely unsuccessful in managing to get the play published in any children’s magazines during the 1830’s. The drama was never published in her lifetime and it was not until Koszul’s 1922 edition that the play saw the light of day. Ultimately Koszul was more interested in Percy Shelley’s poems that Mary Shelley’s drama, an interest which was continued by many scholars throughout much of the 20th century until feminists began to focus on more than Frankenstein when considering Shelley’s literary output. The issue of gender is raised by the very nature of the drama’s composition; lyric poetry was the domain of male artists while the everyday dramas were associated with female writers. The husband and wife duo divide the labour along these traditional lines, but Mary Shelley simultaneously offers a critique of certain masculine drives and values.
Midas is a contrast to Proserpine as it concentrates on a male dominated world of egoism and competition and not the communal, sharing solidarity between women. The drama begins with a contest between Apollo and Pan over who is the best musician and Tmolus is appointed as the judge. Apollo is granted victory, but this is contested by Pan, who asks that King Midas adjudicate instead, leading Apollo to seek revenge upon the mortal King. Apollo is associated with the masculine qualities of science ‘all medicine is mine’, reason ‘wisdom...and power divine’ and metaphysics: ‘I am the eye with which the Universe/Beholds itself and knows it is divine’; in contrast Pan possesses feminine attributes such as an affiliation with nature ‘From the forests and highlands/We come, we come’ and affection. Midas’s one wish serves to demonstrate the noxious consequences of a desire for abundant wealth and riches which Shelley considered to be particularly masculine attributes as they function as a symbol of acquisition and power. Shelley was interested in retelling these Greek myths and challenging the often male dominated and not infrequent misogynist slants of the narratives. This glorification of the masculine and demonization of the feminine was especially prominent in interpretations of the myths by authors such as Chaucer who cast women in an unfavourable light.
The first edition’s title page
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ACT I.
ACT II
‘The Contest between Apollo and Pan’ by Hendrick de Clerck, 1620
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Immortals.
Apollo.
Bacchus.
Pan.
Silenus.
Tmolus, God of a Hill.
Fauns, &c.
Mortals.
Midas, King of Phrygia.
Zopyrion, his Prime-Minister.
Asphalion, Lacon, Courtiers.
Courtiers, Attendants, Priests, &c.
Scene, Phrygia.
ACT I.
Scene; a rural spot; on one side, a bare Hill, on the other an Ilex wood; a stream with reeds on its banks.
The Curtain rises and discovers Tmolus seated on a throne of turf, on his right hand Apollo with his lyre, attended by the Muses; on the left, Pan, fauns, &c.
Enter Midas and Zopyrion.
Midas. The Hours have oped the palace of the dawn
And through the Eastern gates of Heaven, Aurora
Comes charioted on light, her wind-swift steeds,
Winged with roseate clouds, strain up the steep.
She loosely holds the reins, her golden hair,
Its strings outspread by the sweet morning breeze[,]
Blinds the pale stars. Our rural tasks begin;
The young lambs bleat pent up within the fold,
The herds low in their stalls, & the blithe cock
Halloos most loudly to his distant mates.
But who are these we see? these are not men,
Divine of form & sple[n]didly arrayed,
They sit in solemn conclave. Is that Pan,
Our Country God, surrounded by his Fauns?
And who is he whose crown of gold & harp
Are attributes of high Apollo?
Zopyr. Best
Your majesty retire; we may offend.
Midas. Aye, and at the base thought the coward blood
Deserts your trembling lips; but follow me.
Oh Gods! for such your bearing is, & sure
No mortal ever yet possessed the gold
That glitters on your silken robes; may one,
Who, though a king, can boast of no descent
More noble than Deucalion’s stone-formed men[,]
May I demand the cause for which you deign
To print upon this worthless Phrygian earth
The vestige of your gold-inwoven sandals,
Or why that old white-headed man sits there
Upon that grassy throne, & looks as he
Were stationed umpire to some weighty cause[?]
Tmolus. God Pan with his blithe pipe which the Fauns love
Has challenged Phoebus of the golden lyre[,]
Saying his Syrinx can give sweeter notes
Than the stringed instrument Apollo boasts.
I judge between the parties. Welcome, King,
I am old Tmolus, God of that bare Hill,
You may remain and hear th’ Immortals sing.
Mid. [aside] My judgement is made up before I hear;
Pan is my guardian God, old-horned Pan,
The Phrygian’s God who watches o’er our flocks;
No harmony can equal his blithe pipe.
(Shelley.)
Apollo (sings).
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,
Curtained with star-enwoven tapestries,
From the broad moonlight of the sky,
Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes
Waken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn,
Tells them that dreams & that the moon is gone.
Then I arise, and climbing Heaven’s blue dome,
I walk over the mountains & the waves,
Leaving my robe upon the Ocean foam, —
My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves
Are filled with my bright presence & the air
Leaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.
The sunbeams are my shafts with which I kill
Deceit, that loves the night & fears the day;
All men who do, or even imagine ill
Fly me, and from the glory of my ray
Good minds and open actions take new might
Until diminished by the reign of night.
I feed the clouds, the rainbows & the flowers
With their etherial colours; the moon’s globe
And the pure stars in their eternal bowers
Are cinctured with my power as with a robe;
Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine
Are portions of one power, which is mine.
I stand at noon upon the peak of heaven,
Then with unwilling steps I wander down
Into the clouds of the Atlantic even —
For grief tha
t I depart they weep & frown [;]
What look is more delightful than the smile
With which I soothe them from the western isle [?]
I am the eye with which the Universe
Beholds itself & knows it is divine.
All harmony of instrument or verse,
All prophecy, all medecine is mine;
All light of art or nature; — to my song
Victory and praise, in its own right, belong.
(Shelley.)
Pan (sings).
From the forests and highlands
We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands
W[h]ere loud waves are dumb,
Listening my sweet pipings;
The wind in the reeds & the rushes,
The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle bushes[,]
The cicale above in the lime[,]
And the lizards below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was
Listening my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion’s shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni, & Sylvans, & Fauns
And the nymphs of the woods & the waves
To the edge of the moist river-lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves[,]
And all that did then attend & follow
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo!
With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the daedal Earth —
And of heaven — & the giant wars —
And Love, & death, [&] birth,
And then I changed my pipings,
Singing how down the vale of Menalus,
I pursued a maiden & clasped a reed,
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!
It breaks in our bosom & then we bleed!
All wept, as I think both ye now would
If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.
Tmol. Phoebus, the palm is thine. The Fauns may dance
To the blithe tune of ever merry Pan;
But wisdom, beauty, & the power divine
Of highest poesy lives within thy strain.
Named by the Gods the King of melody,
Receive from my weak hands a second crown.
Pan. Old Grey-beard, you say false! you think by this
To win Apollo with his sultry beams
To thaw your snowy head, & to renew
The worn out soil of your bare, ugly hill.
I do appeal to Phrygian Midas here;
Let him decide, he is no partial judge.
Mid. Immortal Pan, to my poor, mortal ears
Your sprightly song in melody outweighs
His drowsy tune; he put me fast asleep,
As my prime minister, Zopyrion, knows;
But your gay notes awoke me, & to you,
If I were Tmolus, would I give the prize.
Apol. And who art thou who dar’st among the Gods
Mingle thy mortal voice? Insensate fool!
Does not the doom of Marsyas fill with dread
Thy impious soul? or would’st thou also be
Another victim to my justest wrath?
But fear no more; — thy punishment shall be
But as a symbol of thy blunted sense.
Have asses’ ears! and thus to the whole world
Wear thou the marks of what thou art,
Let Pan himself blush at such a judge.
(Exeunt all except Midas & Zopyrion.)
Mid. What said he? is it true, Zopyrion?
Yet if it be; you must not look on me,
But shut your eyes, nor dare behold my shame.
Ah! here they are! two long, smooth asses[‘] ears!
They stick upright! Ah, I am sick with shame!
Zopyr. I cannot tell your Majesty my grief,
Or how my soul’s oppressed with the sad change
That has, alas! befallen your royal ears.
Mid. A truce to your fine speeches now, Zopyrion;
To you it appertains to find some mode
Of hiding my sad chance, if not you die.
Zopyr. Great King, alas! my thoughts are dull & slow[;]
Pardon my folly, might they not be cut,
Rounded off handsomely, like human ears [?]
Mid. (feeling his ears)
They’re long & thick; I fear ‘twould give me pain;
And then if vengeful Phoebus should command
Another pair to grow — that will not do.
Zopyr. You wear a little crown of carved gold,
Which just appears to tell you are a king;
If that were large and had a cowl of silk,
Studded with gems, which none would dare gainsay,
Then might you —
Mid. Now you have it! friend,
I will reward you with some princely gift.
But, hark! Zopyrion, not a word of this;
If to a single soul you tell my shame
You die. I’ll to the palace the back way
And manufacture my new diadem,
The which all other kings shall imitate
As if they also had my asses[‘] ears.
(Exit.)
Zopyr. (watching Midas off)
He cannot hear me now, and I may laugh!
I should have burst had he staid longer here.
Two long, smooth asses’ ears that stick upright;
Oh, that Apollo had but made him bray!
I’ll to the palace; there I’ll laugh my fill
With — hold! What were the last words that Midas said?
I may not speak — not to my friends disclose
The strangest tale? ha! ha! and when I laugh
I must not tell the cause? none know the truth?
None know King Midas has — but who comes here?
It is Asphalion: he knows not this change;
I must look grave & sad; for now a smile
If Midas knows it may prove capital.
Yet when I think of those — oh! I shall die,
In either way, by silence or by speech.
Enter Asphalion.
Asphal. Know you, Zopyrion? —
Zopyr. What[!] you know it too?
Then I may laugh; — oh, what relief is this!
How does he look, the courtiers gathering round?
Does he hang down his head, & his ears too?
Oh, I shall die! (laughs.)
Asph. He is a queer old dog,
Yet not so laughable. ‘Tis true, he’s drunk,
And sings and reels under the broad, green leaves,
And hanging clusters of his crown of grapes. —
Zopyr. A crown of grapes! but can that hide his ears[?]
Asph. His ears! — Oh, no! they stick upright between.
When Midas saw him —
Zopyr. Whom then do you mean?
Did you not say —
Asph. I spoke of old Silenus;
Who having missed his way in these wild woods,
And lost his tipsey company — was found
Sucking the juicy clusters of the vines
That sprung where’er he trod: — and reeling on
Some shepherds found him in yon ilex wood.
They brought him to the king, who honouring him
For Bacchus’ sake, has gladly welcomed him,
And will conduct him with solemnity
To the disconsolate Fauns from whom he’s strayed.
But have you seen the new-fashioned diadem
That Midas wears? —
Zopyr. Ha! he has got it on! —
Know you the secret cause why with such care
He hides his royal head? you have not seen —
Asph. Seen
what?
Zopyr. Ah! then, no matter: — (turns away agitated.)
I dare not sneak or stay[;]
If I remain I shall discover all.
Asp. I see the king has trusted to your care
Some great state secret which you fain would hide.
I am your friend, trust my fidelity,
If you’re in doubt I’ll be your counsellor.
Zopyr. (with great importance.)
Secret, Asphalion! How came you to know?
If my great master (which I do not say)
Should think me a fit friend in whom to pour
The weighty secrets of his royal heart,
Shall I betray his trust? It is not so; —
I am a poor despised slave. — No more!
Join we the festal band which will conduct
Silenus to his woods again?
Asph. My friend,
Wherefore mistrust a faithful heart? Confide
The whole to me; — I will be still as death.
Zopyr. As death! you know not what you say; farewell[!]
A little will I commune with my soul,
And then I’ll join you at the palace-gate.
Asph. Will you then tell me? —
Zopyr. Cease to vex, my friend,
Your soul and mine with false suspicion, (aside) Oh!
I am choked! I’d give full ten years of my life
To tell, to laugh — & yet I dare not speak.
Asph. Zopyrion, remember that you hurt
The trusting bosom of a faithful friend
By your unjust concealment.
(Exit.)
Zopyr. Oh, he’s gone!
