Pray to the Vesta of
the birds, to the kite, who presides over the hearth, and to all the god
and goddess-birds who dwell in Olympus.
the birds, to the kite, who presides over the hearth, and to all the god
and goddess-birds who dwell in Olympus.
Aristophanes
Euelpides, of the deme of Thria.
EPOPS. Good! and good luck to you.
PISTHETAERUS. We accept the omen.
EPOPS. Come in here.
PISTHETAERUS. Very well, 'tis you who lead us and must introduce us.
EPOPS. Come then.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! my god! do come back here. Hi! tell us how we are to
follow you. You can fly, but we cannot.
EPOPS. Well, well.
PISTHETAERUS. Remember Aesop's fables. It is told there, that the fox
fared very ill, because he had made an alliance with the eagle.
EPOPS. Be at ease. You shall eat a certain root and wings will grow on
your shoulders.
PISTHETAERUS. Then let us enter. Xanthias and Manes,[244] pick up our
baggage.
CHORUS. Hi! Epops! do you hear me?
EPOPS. What's the matter?
CHORUS. Take them off to dine well and call your mate, the melodious
Procne, whose songs are worthy of the Muses; she will delight our leisure
moments.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! I conjure you, accede to their wish; for this
delightful bird will leave her rushes at the sound of your voice; for the
sake of the gods, let her come here, so that we may contemplate the
nightingale. [245]
EPOPS. Let it be as you desire. Come forth, Procne, show yourself to
these strangers.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! great Zeus! what a beautiful little bird! what a dainty
form! what brilliant plumage! [246]
EUELPIDES. Do you know how dearly I should like to split her legs for
her?
PISTHETAERUS. She is dazzling all over with gold, like a young girl. [247]
EUELPIDES. Oh! how I should like to kiss her!
PISTHETAERUS. Why, wretched man, she has two little sharp points on her
beak.
EUELPIDES. I would treat her like an egg, the shell of which we remove
before eating it; I would take off her mask and then kiss her pretty
face.
EPOPS. Let us go in.
PISTHETAERUS. Lead the way, and may success attend us.
CHORUS. Lovable golden bird, whom I cherish above all others, you, whom I
associate with all my songs, nightingale, you have come, you have come,
to show yourself to me and to charm me with your notes. Come, you, who
play spring melodies upon the harmonious flute,[248] lead off our
anapaests. [249]
Weak mortals, chained to the earth, creatures of clay as frail as the
foliage of the woods, you unfortunate race, whose life is but darkness,
as unreal as a shadow, the illusion of a dream, hearken to us, who are
immortal beings, ethereal, ever young and occupied with eternal thoughts,
for we shall teach you about all celestial matters; you shall know
thoroughly what is the nature of the birds, what the origin of the gods,
of the rivers, of Erebus, and Chaos; thanks to us, Prodicus[250] will
envy you your knowledge.
At the beginning there was only Chaos, Night, dark Erebus, and deep
Tartarus. Earth, the air and heaven had no existence. Firstly,
black-winged Night laid a germless egg in the bosom of the infinite deeps
of Erebus, and from this, after the revolution of long ages, sprang the
graceful Eros with his glittering golden wings, swift as the whirlwinds
of the tempest. He mated in deep Tartarus with dark Chaos, winged like
himself, and thus hatched forth our race, which was the first to see the
light. That of the Immortals did not exist until Eros had brought
together all the ingredients of the world, and from their marriage
Heaven, Ocean, Earth and the imperishable race of blessed gods sprang
into being. Thus our origin is very much older than that of the dwellers
in Olympus. We are the offspring of Eros; there are a thousand proofs to
show it. We have wings and we lend assistance to lovers. How many
handsome youths, who had sworn to remain insensible, have not been
vanquished by our power and have yielded themselves to their lovers when
almost at the end of their youth, being led away by the gift of a quail,
a waterfowl, a goose, or a cock. [251]
And what important services do not the birds render to mortals! First of
all, they mark the seasons for them, springtime, winter, and autumn. Does
the screaming crane migrate to Libya,--it warns the husbandman to sow,
the pilot to take his ease beside his tiller hung up in his
dwelling,[252] and Orestes[253] to weave a tunic, so that the rigorous
cold may not drive him any more to strip other folk. When the kite
reappears, he tells of the return of spring and of the period when the
fleece of the sheep must be clipped. Is the swallow in sight? All hasten
to sell their warm tunic and to buy some light clothing. We are your
Ammon, Delphi, Dodona, your Phoebus Apollo. [254] Before undertaking
anything, whether a business transaction, a marriage, or the purchase of
food, you consult the birds by reading the omens, and you give this name
of omen[255] to all signs that tell of the future. With you a word is an
omen, you call a sneeze an omen, a meeting an omen, an unknown sound an
omen, a slave or an ass an omen. [256] Is it not clear that we are a
prophetic Apollo to you? If you recognize us as gods, we shall be your
divining Muses, through us you will know the winds and the seasons,
summer, winter, and the temperate months. We shall not withdraw ourselves
to the highest clouds like Zeus, but shall be among you and shall give to
you and to your children and the children of your children, health and
wealth, long life, peace, youth, laughter, songs and feasts; in short,
you will all be so well off, that you will be weary and satiated with
enjoyment.
Oh, rustic Muse of such varied note, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, I sing with
you in the groves and on the mountain tops, tio, tio, tio, tio,
tiotinx. [257] I pour forth sacred strains from my golden throat in honour
of the god Pan,[258] tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, from the top of the thickly
leaved ash, and my voice mingles with the mighty choirs who extol Cybele
on the mountain tops,[259] tototototototototinx. 'Tis to our concerts
that Phrynicus comes to pillage like a bee the ambrosia of his songs, the
sweetness of which so charms the ear, tio, tio, tio, tio, tinx.
If there be one of you spectators who wishes to spend the rest of his
life quietly among the birds, let him come to us. All that is disgraceful
and forbidden by law on earth is on the contrary honourable among us, the
birds. For instance, among you 'tis a crime to beat your father, but with
us 'tis an estimable deed; it's considered fine to run straight at your
father and hit him, saying, "Come, lift your spur if you want to
fight. "[260] The runaway slave, whom you brand, is only a spotted
francolin with us. [261] Are you Phrygian like Spintharus? [262] Among us
you would be the Phrygian bird, the goldfinch, of the race of
Philemon. [263] Are you a slave and a Carian like Execestides? Among us
you can create yourself forefathers;[264] you can always find relations.
Does the son of Pisias want to betray the gates of the city to the foe?
Let him become a partridge, the fitting offspring of his father; among us
there is no shame in escaping as cleverly as a partridge.
So the swans on the banks of the Hebrus, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
mingle their voices to serenade Apollo, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
flapping their wings the while, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx; their notes
reach beyond the clouds of heaven; all the dwellers in the forests stand
still with astonishment and delight; a calm rests upon the waters, and
the Graces and the choirs in Olympus catch up the strain, tio, tio, tio,
tio, tiotinx.
There is nothing more useful nor more pleasant than to have wings. To
begin with, just let us suppose a spectator to be dying with hunger and
to be weary of the choruses of the tragic poets; if he were winged, he
would fly off, go home to dine and come back with his stomach filled.
Some Patroclides in urgent need would not have to soil his cloak, but
could fly off, satisfy his requirements, and, having recovered his
breath, return. If one of you, it matters not who, had adulterous
relations and saw the husband of his mistress in the seats of the
senators, he might stretch his wings, fly thither, and, having appeased
his craving, resume his place. Is it not the most priceless gift of all,
to be winged? Look at Diitrephes! [265] His wings were only wicker-work
ones, and yet he got himself chosen Phylarch and then Hipparch; from
being nobody, he has risen to be famous; 'tis now the finest gilded cock
of his tribe. [266]
PISTHETAERUS. Halloa! What's this? By Zeus! I never saw anything so funny
in all my life. [267]
EUELPIDES. What makes you laugh?
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis your bits of wings. D'you know what you look like?
Like a goose painted by some dauber-fellow.
EUELPIDES. And you look like a close-shaven blackbird.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis ourselves asked for this transformation, and, as
Aeschylus has it, "These are no borrowed feathers, but truly our
own. "[268]
EPOPS. Come now, what must be done?
PISTHETAERUS. First give our city a great and famous name, then sacrifice
to the gods.
EUELPIDES. I think so too.
EPOPS. Let's see. What shall our city be called?
PISTHETAERUS. Will you have a high-sounding Laconian name? Shall we call
it Sparta?
EUELPIDES. What! call my town Sparta? Why, I would not use esparto for my
bed,[269] even though I had nothing but bands of rushes.
PISTHETAERUS. Well then, what name can you suggest?
EUELPIDES. Some name borrowed from the clouds, from these lofty regions
in which we dwell--in short, some well-known name.
PISTHETAERUS. Do you like Nephelococcygia? [270]
EPOPS. Oh! capital! truly 'tis a brilliant thought!
EUELPIDES. Is it in Nephelococcygia that all the wealth of Theogenes[271]
and most of Aeschines'[272] is?
PISTHETAERUS. No, 'tis rather the plain of Phlegra,[273] where the gods
withered the pride of the sons of the Earth with their shafts.
EUELPIDES. Oh! what a splendid city! But what god shall be its patron?
for whom shall we weave the peplus? [274]
PISTHETAERUS. Why not choose Athene Polias? [275]
EUELPIDES. Oh! what a well-ordered town 'twould be to have a female deity
armed from head to foot, while Clisthenes[276] was spinning!
PISTHETAERUS. Who then shall guard the Pelargicon? [277]
EPOPS. One of ourselves, a bird of Persian strain, who is everywhere
proclaimed to be the bravest of all, a true chick of Ares. [278]
EUELPIDES. Oh! noble chick! what a well-chosen god for a rocky home!
PISTHETAERUS. Come! into the air with you to help the workers, who are
building the wall; carry up rubble, strip yourself to mix the mortar,
take up the hod, tumble down the ladder, an you like, post sentinels,
keep the fire smouldering beneath the ashes, go round the walls, bell in
hand,[279] and go to sleep up there yourself; then despatch two heralds,
one to the gods above, the other to mankind on earth and come back here.
EUELPIDES. As for yourself, remain here, and may the plague take you for
a troublesome fellow!
PISTHETAERUS. Go, friend, go where I send you, for without you my orders
cannot be obeyed. For myself, I want to sacrifice to the new god, and I
am going to summon the priest who must preside at the ceremony. Slaves!
slaves! bring forward the basket and the lustral water.
CHORUS. I do as you do, and I wish as you wish, and I implore you to
address powerful and solemn prayers to the gods, and in addition to
immolate a sheep as a token of our gratitude. Let us sing the Pythian
chant in honour of the god, and let Chaeris accompany our voices.
PISTHETAERUS (_to the flute-player_). Enough! but, by Heracles! what is
this? Great gods! I have seen many prodigious things, but I never saw a
muzzled raven. [280]
EPOPS. Priest! 'tis high time! Sacrifice to the new gods.
PRIEST. I begin, but where is he with the basket?
Pray to the Vesta of
the birds, to the kite, who presides over the hearth, and to all the god
and goddess-birds who dwell in Olympus.
CHORUS. Oh! Hawk, the sacred guardian of Sunium, oh, god of the storks!
PRIEST. Pray to the swan of Delos, to Latona the mother of the quails,
and to Artemis, the goldfinch.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis no longer Artemis Colaenis, but Artemis the
goldfinch. [281]
PRIEST. And to Bacchus, the finch and Cybele, the ostrich and mother of
the gods and mankind.
CHORUS. Oh! sovereign ostrich, Cybele, the mother of Cleocritus,[282]
grant health and safety to the Nephelococcygians as well as to the
dwellers in Chios. . . .
PISTHETAERUS. The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted they should be
thus mentioned on all occasions. [283]
CHORUS. . . . to the heroes, the birds, to the sons of heroes, to the
porphyrion, the pelican, the spoon-bill, the redbreast, the grouse, the
peacock, the horned-owl, the teal, the bittern, the heron, the stormy
petrel, the fig-pecker, the titmouse. . . .
PISTHETAERUS. Stop! stop! you drive me crazy with your endless list. Why,
wretch, to what sacred feast are you inviting the vultures and the
sea-eagles? Don't you see that a single kite could easily carry off the
lot at once? Begone, you and your fillets and all; I shall know how to
complete the sacrifice by myself.
PRIEST. It is imperative that I sing another sacred chant for the rite of
the lustral water, and that I invoke the immortals, or at least one of
them, provided always that you have some suitable food to offer him; from
what I see here, in the shape of gifts, there is naught whatever but horn
and hair.
PISTHETAERUS. Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged
gods.
A POET. Oh, Muse! celebrate happy Nephelococcygia in your hymns.
PISTHETAERUS. What have we here? Where do you come from, tell me? Who are
you?
POET. I am he whose language is sweeter than honey, the zealous slave of
the Muses, as Homer has it.
PISTHETAERUS. You a slave! and yet you wear your hair long?
POET. No, but the fact is all we poets are the assiduous slaves of the
Muses according to Homer.
PISTHETAERUS. In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal!
But, poet, what ill wind drove you here?
POET. I have composed verses in honour of your Nephelococcygia, a host of
splendid dithyrambs and parthenians,[284] worthy of Simonides himself.
PISTHETAERUS. And when did you compose them? How long since?
POET. Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honour of this
city.
PISTHETAERUS. But I am only celebrating its foundation with this
sacrifice;[285] I have only just named it, as is done with little babies.
POET. "Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does the
voice of the Muses take its flight. Oh! thou noble founder of the town of
Aetna,[286] thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices,[287] make us
such gift as thy generous heart shall suggest. "
PISTHETAERUS. He will drive us silly if we do not get rid of him by some
present. Here! you, who have a fur as well as your tunic, take it off and
give it to this clever poet. Come, take this fur; you look to me to be
shivering with cold.
POET. My Muse will gladly accept this gift; but engrave these verses of
Pindar's on your mind.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! what a pest! 'Tis impossible then to be rid of him.
POET. "Straton wanders among the Scythian nomads, but has no linen
garment. He is sad at only wearing an animal's pelt and no tunic. " Do you
conceive my bent?
PISTHETAERUS. I understand that you want me to offer you a tunic. Hi! you
(_to Euelpides_), take off yours; we must help the poet. . . . Come, you,
take it and begone.
POET. I am going, and these are the verses that I address to this city:
"Phoebus of the golden throne, celebrate this shivery, freezing city; I
have travelled through fruitful and snow-covered plains. Tralala!
Tralala! "[288]
PISTHETAERUS. What are you chanting us about frosts? Thanks to the tunic,
you no longer fear them. Ah! by Zeus! I could not have believed this
cursed fellow could so soon have learnt the way to our city. Come,
priest, take the lustral water and circle the altar.
PRIEST. Let all keep silence!
A PROPHET. Let not the goat be sacrificed. [289]
PISTHETAERUS. Who are you?
PROPHET. Who am I? A prophet.
PISTHETAERUS. Get you gone.
PROPHET. Wretched man, insult not sacred things. For there is an oracle
of Bacis, which exactly applies to Nephelococcygia.
PISTHETAERUS. Why did you not reveal it to me before I founded my city?
PROPHET. The divine spirit was against it.
PISTHETAERUS. Well, 'tis best to know the terms of the oracle.
PROPHET. "But when the wolves and the white crows shall dwell together
between Corinth and Sicyon. . . . "[290]
PISTHETAERUS. But how do the Corinthians concern me?
PROPHET. 'Tis the regions of the air that Bacis indicated in this manner.
"They must first sacrifice a white-fleeced goat to Pandora, and give the
prophet, who first reveals my words, a good cloak and new sandals. "
PISTHETAERUS. Are the sandals there?
PROPHET.
Read. "And besides this a goblet of wine and a good share of the entrails
of the victim. "
PISTHETAERUS. Of the entrails--is it so written?
PROPHET. Read. "If you do as I command, divine youth, you shall be an
eagle among the clouds; if not, you shall be neither turtle-dove, nor
eagle, nor woodpecker. "
PISTHETAERUS. Is all that there?
PROPHET. Read.
PISTHETAERUS. This oracle in no sort of way resembles the one Apollo
dictated to me: "If an impostor comes without invitation to annoy you
during the sacrifice and to demand a share of the victim, apply a stout
stick to his ribs. "
PROPHET. You are drivelling.
PISTHETAERUS. "And don't spare him, were he an eagle from out of the
clouds, were it Lampon himself[291] or the great Diopithes. "[292]
PROPHET. Is all that there?
PISTHETAERUS. Here, read it yourself, and go and hang yourself.
PROPHET. Oh! unfortunate wretch that I am.
PISTHETAERUS. Away with you, and take your prophecies elsewhere.
METON. [293] I have come to you.
PISTHETAERUS. Yet another pest. What have you come to do? What's your
plan? What's the purpose of your journey? Why these splendid buskins?
METON. I want to survey the plains of the air for you and to parcel them
into lots.
PISTHETAERUS. In the name of the gods, who are you?
METON. Who am I? Meton, known throughout Greece and at Colonus. [294]
PISTHETAERUS. What are these things?
METON. Tools for measuring the air. In truth, the spaces in the air have
precisely the form of a furnace. With this bent ruler I draw a line from
top to bottom; from one of its points I describe a circle with the
compass. Do you understand?
PISTHETAERUS. Not the very least.
METON. With the straight ruler I set to work to inscribe a square within
this circle; in its centre will be the marketplace, into which all the
straight streets will lead, converging to this centre like a star, which,
although only orbicular, sends forth its rays in a straight line from all
sides.
PISTHETAERUS. Meton, you new Thales. . . . [295]
METON. What d'you want with me?
PISTHETAERUS. I want to give you a proof of my friendship. Use your legs.
METON. Why, what have I to fear?
EPOPS. Good! and good luck to you.
PISTHETAERUS. We accept the omen.
EPOPS. Come in here.
PISTHETAERUS. Very well, 'tis you who lead us and must introduce us.
EPOPS. Come then.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! my god! do come back here. Hi! tell us how we are to
follow you. You can fly, but we cannot.
EPOPS. Well, well.
PISTHETAERUS. Remember Aesop's fables. It is told there, that the fox
fared very ill, because he had made an alliance with the eagle.
EPOPS. Be at ease. You shall eat a certain root and wings will grow on
your shoulders.
PISTHETAERUS. Then let us enter. Xanthias and Manes,[244] pick up our
baggage.
CHORUS. Hi! Epops! do you hear me?
EPOPS. What's the matter?
CHORUS. Take them off to dine well and call your mate, the melodious
Procne, whose songs are worthy of the Muses; she will delight our leisure
moments.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! I conjure you, accede to their wish; for this
delightful bird will leave her rushes at the sound of your voice; for the
sake of the gods, let her come here, so that we may contemplate the
nightingale. [245]
EPOPS. Let it be as you desire. Come forth, Procne, show yourself to
these strangers.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! great Zeus! what a beautiful little bird! what a dainty
form! what brilliant plumage! [246]
EUELPIDES. Do you know how dearly I should like to split her legs for
her?
PISTHETAERUS. She is dazzling all over with gold, like a young girl. [247]
EUELPIDES. Oh! how I should like to kiss her!
PISTHETAERUS. Why, wretched man, she has two little sharp points on her
beak.
EUELPIDES. I would treat her like an egg, the shell of which we remove
before eating it; I would take off her mask and then kiss her pretty
face.
EPOPS. Let us go in.
PISTHETAERUS. Lead the way, and may success attend us.
CHORUS. Lovable golden bird, whom I cherish above all others, you, whom I
associate with all my songs, nightingale, you have come, you have come,
to show yourself to me and to charm me with your notes. Come, you, who
play spring melodies upon the harmonious flute,[248] lead off our
anapaests. [249]
Weak mortals, chained to the earth, creatures of clay as frail as the
foliage of the woods, you unfortunate race, whose life is but darkness,
as unreal as a shadow, the illusion of a dream, hearken to us, who are
immortal beings, ethereal, ever young and occupied with eternal thoughts,
for we shall teach you about all celestial matters; you shall know
thoroughly what is the nature of the birds, what the origin of the gods,
of the rivers, of Erebus, and Chaos; thanks to us, Prodicus[250] will
envy you your knowledge.
At the beginning there was only Chaos, Night, dark Erebus, and deep
Tartarus. Earth, the air and heaven had no existence. Firstly,
black-winged Night laid a germless egg in the bosom of the infinite deeps
of Erebus, and from this, after the revolution of long ages, sprang the
graceful Eros with his glittering golden wings, swift as the whirlwinds
of the tempest. He mated in deep Tartarus with dark Chaos, winged like
himself, and thus hatched forth our race, which was the first to see the
light. That of the Immortals did not exist until Eros had brought
together all the ingredients of the world, and from their marriage
Heaven, Ocean, Earth and the imperishable race of blessed gods sprang
into being. Thus our origin is very much older than that of the dwellers
in Olympus. We are the offspring of Eros; there are a thousand proofs to
show it. We have wings and we lend assistance to lovers. How many
handsome youths, who had sworn to remain insensible, have not been
vanquished by our power and have yielded themselves to their lovers when
almost at the end of their youth, being led away by the gift of a quail,
a waterfowl, a goose, or a cock. [251]
And what important services do not the birds render to mortals! First of
all, they mark the seasons for them, springtime, winter, and autumn. Does
the screaming crane migrate to Libya,--it warns the husbandman to sow,
the pilot to take his ease beside his tiller hung up in his
dwelling,[252] and Orestes[253] to weave a tunic, so that the rigorous
cold may not drive him any more to strip other folk. When the kite
reappears, he tells of the return of spring and of the period when the
fleece of the sheep must be clipped. Is the swallow in sight? All hasten
to sell their warm tunic and to buy some light clothing. We are your
Ammon, Delphi, Dodona, your Phoebus Apollo. [254] Before undertaking
anything, whether a business transaction, a marriage, or the purchase of
food, you consult the birds by reading the omens, and you give this name
of omen[255] to all signs that tell of the future. With you a word is an
omen, you call a sneeze an omen, a meeting an omen, an unknown sound an
omen, a slave or an ass an omen. [256] Is it not clear that we are a
prophetic Apollo to you? If you recognize us as gods, we shall be your
divining Muses, through us you will know the winds and the seasons,
summer, winter, and the temperate months. We shall not withdraw ourselves
to the highest clouds like Zeus, but shall be among you and shall give to
you and to your children and the children of your children, health and
wealth, long life, peace, youth, laughter, songs and feasts; in short,
you will all be so well off, that you will be weary and satiated with
enjoyment.
Oh, rustic Muse of such varied note, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, I sing with
you in the groves and on the mountain tops, tio, tio, tio, tio,
tiotinx. [257] I pour forth sacred strains from my golden throat in honour
of the god Pan,[258] tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, from the top of the thickly
leaved ash, and my voice mingles with the mighty choirs who extol Cybele
on the mountain tops,[259] tototototototototinx. 'Tis to our concerts
that Phrynicus comes to pillage like a bee the ambrosia of his songs, the
sweetness of which so charms the ear, tio, tio, tio, tio, tinx.
If there be one of you spectators who wishes to spend the rest of his
life quietly among the birds, let him come to us. All that is disgraceful
and forbidden by law on earth is on the contrary honourable among us, the
birds. For instance, among you 'tis a crime to beat your father, but with
us 'tis an estimable deed; it's considered fine to run straight at your
father and hit him, saying, "Come, lift your spur if you want to
fight. "[260] The runaway slave, whom you brand, is only a spotted
francolin with us. [261] Are you Phrygian like Spintharus? [262] Among us
you would be the Phrygian bird, the goldfinch, of the race of
Philemon. [263] Are you a slave and a Carian like Execestides? Among us
you can create yourself forefathers;[264] you can always find relations.
Does the son of Pisias want to betray the gates of the city to the foe?
Let him become a partridge, the fitting offspring of his father; among us
there is no shame in escaping as cleverly as a partridge.
So the swans on the banks of the Hebrus, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
mingle their voices to serenade Apollo, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
flapping their wings the while, tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx; their notes
reach beyond the clouds of heaven; all the dwellers in the forests stand
still with astonishment and delight; a calm rests upon the waters, and
the Graces and the choirs in Olympus catch up the strain, tio, tio, tio,
tio, tiotinx.
There is nothing more useful nor more pleasant than to have wings. To
begin with, just let us suppose a spectator to be dying with hunger and
to be weary of the choruses of the tragic poets; if he were winged, he
would fly off, go home to dine and come back with his stomach filled.
Some Patroclides in urgent need would not have to soil his cloak, but
could fly off, satisfy his requirements, and, having recovered his
breath, return. If one of you, it matters not who, had adulterous
relations and saw the husband of his mistress in the seats of the
senators, he might stretch his wings, fly thither, and, having appeased
his craving, resume his place. Is it not the most priceless gift of all,
to be winged? Look at Diitrephes! [265] His wings were only wicker-work
ones, and yet he got himself chosen Phylarch and then Hipparch; from
being nobody, he has risen to be famous; 'tis now the finest gilded cock
of his tribe. [266]
PISTHETAERUS. Halloa! What's this? By Zeus! I never saw anything so funny
in all my life. [267]
EUELPIDES. What makes you laugh?
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis your bits of wings. D'you know what you look like?
Like a goose painted by some dauber-fellow.
EUELPIDES. And you look like a close-shaven blackbird.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis ourselves asked for this transformation, and, as
Aeschylus has it, "These are no borrowed feathers, but truly our
own. "[268]
EPOPS. Come now, what must be done?
PISTHETAERUS. First give our city a great and famous name, then sacrifice
to the gods.
EUELPIDES. I think so too.
EPOPS. Let's see. What shall our city be called?
PISTHETAERUS. Will you have a high-sounding Laconian name? Shall we call
it Sparta?
EUELPIDES. What! call my town Sparta? Why, I would not use esparto for my
bed,[269] even though I had nothing but bands of rushes.
PISTHETAERUS. Well then, what name can you suggest?
EUELPIDES. Some name borrowed from the clouds, from these lofty regions
in which we dwell--in short, some well-known name.
PISTHETAERUS. Do you like Nephelococcygia? [270]
EPOPS. Oh! capital! truly 'tis a brilliant thought!
EUELPIDES. Is it in Nephelococcygia that all the wealth of Theogenes[271]
and most of Aeschines'[272] is?
PISTHETAERUS. No, 'tis rather the plain of Phlegra,[273] where the gods
withered the pride of the sons of the Earth with their shafts.
EUELPIDES. Oh! what a splendid city! But what god shall be its patron?
for whom shall we weave the peplus? [274]
PISTHETAERUS. Why not choose Athene Polias? [275]
EUELPIDES. Oh! what a well-ordered town 'twould be to have a female deity
armed from head to foot, while Clisthenes[276] was spinning!
PISTHETAERUS. Who then shall guard the Pelargicon? [277]
EPOPS. One of ourselves, a bird of Persian strain, who is everywhere
proclaimed to be the bravest of all, a true chick of Ares. [278]
EUELPIDES. Oh! noble chick! what a well-chosen god for a rocky home!
PISTHETAERUS. Come! into the air with you to help the workers, who are
building the wall; carry up rubble, strip yourself to mix the mortar,
take up the hod, tumble down the ladder, an you like, post sentinels,
keep the fire smouldering beneath the ashes, go round the walls, bell in
hand,[279] and go to sleep up there yourself; then despatch two heralds,
one to the gods above, the other to mankind on earth and come back here.
EUELPIDES. As for yourself, remain here, and may the plague take you for
a troublesome fellow!
PISTHETAERUS. Go, friend, go where I send you, for without you my orders
cannot be obeyed. For myself, I want to sacrifice to the new god, and I
am going to summon the priest who must preside at the ceremony. Slaves!
slaves! bring forward the basket and the lustral water.
CHORUS. I do as you do, and I wish as you wish, and I implore you to
address powerful and solemn prayers to the gods, and in addition to
immolate a sheep as a token of our gratitude. Let us sing the Pythian
chant in honour of the god, and let Chaeris accompany our voices.
PISTHETAERUS (_to the flute-player_). Enough! but, by Heracles! what is
this? Great gods! I have seen many prodigious things, but I never saw a
muzzled raven. [280]
EPOPS. Priest! 'tis high time! Sacrifice to the new gods.
PRIEST. I begin, but where is he with the basket?
Pray to the Vesta of
the birds, to the kite, who presides over the hearth, and to all the god
and goddess-birds who dwell in Olympus.
CHORUS. Oh! Hawk, the sacred guardian of Sunium, oh, god of the storks!
PRIEST. Pray to the swan of Delos, to Latona the mother of the quails,
and to Artemis, the goldfinch.
PISTHETAERUS. 'Tis no longer Artemis Colaenis, but Artemis the
goldfinch. [281]
PRIEST. And to Bacchus, the finch and Cybele, the ostrich and mother of
the gods and mankind.
CHORUS. Oh! sovereign ostrich, Cybele, the mother of Cleocritus,[282]
grant health and safety to the Nephelococcygians as well as to the
dwellers in Chios. . . .
PISTHETAERUS. The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted they should be
thus mentioned on all occasions. [283]
CHORUS. . . . to the heroes, the birds, to the sons of heroes, to the
porphyrion, the pelican, the spoon-bill, the redbreast, the grouse, the
peacock, the horned-owl, the teal, the bittern, the heron, the stormy
petrel, the fig-pecker, the titmouse. . . .
PISTHETAERUS. Stop! stop! you drive me crazy with your endless list. Why,
wretch, to what sacred feast are you inviting the vultures and the
sea-eagles? Don't you see that a single kite could easily carry off the
lot at once? Begone, you and your fillets and all; I shall know how to
complete the sacrifice by myself.
PRIEST. It is imperative that I sing another sacred chant for the rite of
the lustral water, and that I invoke the immortals, or at least one of
them, provided always that you have some suitable food to offer him; from
what I see here, in the shape of gifts, there is naught whatever but horn
and hair.
PISTHETAERUS. Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged
gods.
A POET. Oh, Muse! celebrate happy Nephelococcygia in your hymns.
PISTHETAERUS. What have we here? Where do you come from, tell me? Who are
you?
POET. I am he whose language is sweeter than honey, the zealous slave of
the Muses, as Homer has it.
PISTHETAERUS. You a slave! and yet you wear your hair long?
POET. No, but the fact is all we poets are the assiduous slaves of the
Muses according to Homer.
PISTHETAERUS. In truth your little cloak is quite holy too through zeal!
But, poet, what ill wind drove you here?
POET. I have composed verses in honour of your Nephelococcygia, a host of
splendid dithyrambs and parthenians,[284] worthy of Simonides himself.
PISTHETAERUS. And when did you compose them? How long since?
POET. Oh! 'tis long, aye, very long, that I have sung in honour of this
city.
PISTHETAERUS. But I am only celebrating its foundation with this
sacrifice;[285] I have only just named it, as is done with little babies.
POET. "Just as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does the
voice of the Muses take its flight. Oh! thou noble founder of the town of
Aetna,[286] thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices,[287] make us
such gift as thy generous heart shall suggest. "
PISTHETAERUS. He will drive us silly if we do not get rid of him by some
present. Here! you, who have a fur as well as your tunic, take it off and
give it to this clever poet. Come, take this fur; you look to me to be
shivering with cold.
POET. My Muse will gladly accept this gift; but engrave these verses of
Pindar's on your mind.
PISTHETAERUS. Oh! what a pest! 'Tis impossible then to be rid of him.
POET. "Straton wanders among the Scythian nomads, but has no linen
garment. He is sad at only wearing an animal's pelt and no tunic. " Do you
conceive my bent?
PISTHETAERUS. I understand that you want me to offer you a tunic. Hi! you
(_to Euelpides_), take off yours; we must help the poet. . . . Come, you,
take it and begone.
POET. I am going, and these are the verses that I address to this city:
"Phoebus of the golden throne, celebrate this shivery, freezing city; I
have travelled through fruitful and snow-covered plains. Tralala!
Tralala! "[288]
PISTHETAERUS. What are you chanting us about frosts? Thanks to the tunic,
you no longer fear them. Ah! by Zeus! I could not have believed this
cursed fellow could so soon have learnt the way to our city. Come,
priest, take the lustral water and circle the altar.
PRIEST. Let all keep silence!
A PROPHET. Let not the goat be sacrificed. [289]
PISTHETAERUS. Who are you?
PROPHET. Who am I? A prophet.
PISTHETAERUS. Get you gone.
PROPHET. Wretched man, insult not sacred things. For there is an oracle
of Bacis, which exactly applies to Nephelococcygia.
PISTHETAERUS. Why did you not reveal it to me before I founded my city?
PROPHET. The divine spirit was against it.
PISTHETAERUS. Well, 'tis best to know the terms of the oracle.
PROPHET. "But when the wolves and the white crows shall dwell together
between Corinth and Sicyon. . . . "[290]
PISTHETAERUS. But how do the Corinthians concern me?
PROPHET. 'Tis the regions of the air that Bacis indicated in this manner.
"They must first sacrifice a white-fleeced goat to Pandora, and give the
prophet, who first reveals my words, a good cloak and new sandals. "
PISTHETAERUS. Are the sandals there?
PROPHET.
Read. "And besides this a goblet of wine and a good share of the entrails
of the victim. "
PISTHETAERUS. Of the entrails--is it so written?
PROPHET. Read. "If you do as I command, divine youth, you shall be an
eagle among the clouds; if not, you shall be neither turtle-dove, nor
eagle, nor woodpecker. "
PISTHETAERUS. Is all that there?
PROPHET. Read.
PISTHETAERUS. This oracle in no sort of way resembles the one Apollo
dictated to me: "If an impostor comes without invitation to annoy you
during the sacrifice and to demand a share of the victim, apply a stout
stick to his ribs. "
PROPHET. You are drivelling.
PISTHETAERUS. "And don't spare him, were he an eagle from out of the
clouds, were it Lampon himself[291] or the great Diopithes. "[292]
PROPHET. Is all that there?
PISTHETAERUS. Here, read it yourself, and go and hang yourself.
PROPHET. Oh! unfortunate wretch that I am.
PISTHETAERUS. Away with you, and take your prophecies elsewhere.
METON. [293] I have come to you.
PISTHETAERUS. Yet another pest. What have you come to do? What's your
plan? What's the purpose of your journey? Why these splendid buskins?
METON. I want to survey the plains of the air for you and to parcel them
into lots.
PISTHETAERUS. In the name of the gods, who are you?
METON. Who am I? Meton, known throughout Greece and at Colonus. [294]
PISTHETAERUS. What are these things?
METON. Tools for measuring the air. In truth, the spaces in the air have
precisely the form of a furnace. With this bent ruler I draw a line from
top to bottom; from one of its points I describe a circle with the
compass. Do you understand?
PISTHETAERUS. Not the very least.
METON. With the straight ruler I set to work to inscribe a square within
this circle; in its centre will be the marketplace, into which all the
straight streets will lead, converging to this centre like a star, which,
although only orbicular, sends forth its rays in a straight line from all
sides.
PISTHETAERUS. Meton, you new Thales. . . . [295]
METON. What d'you want with me?
PISTHETAERUS. I want to give you a proof of my friendship. Use your legs.
METON. Why, what have I to fear?
