Delphi Complete Works of Aristophanes (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics) (37 page)

A PARRICIDE. Oh! might I but become an eagle, who soars in the skies! Oh! might I fly above the azure waves of the barren sea!

PISTHETAERUS. Ha! ’twould seem the news was true; I hear someone coming who talks of wings.

PARRICIDE. Nothing is more charming than to fly; I burn with desire to live under the same laws as the birds; I am bird-mad and fly towards you, for I want to live with you and to obey your laws.

PISTHETAERUS. Which laws? The birds have many laws.

PARRICIDE. All of them; but the one that pleases me most is, that among the birds it is considered a fine thing to peck and strangle one’s father.

PISTHETAERUS. Aye, by Zeus! according to us, he who dares to strike his father, while still a chick, is a brave fellow.

PARRICIDE. And therefore I want to dwell here, for I want to strangle my father and inherit his wealth.

PISTHETAERUS. But we have also an ancient law written in the code of the storks, which runs thus, “When the stork father has reared his young and has taught them to fly, the young must in their turn support the father.”

PARRICIDE. ’Tis hardly worth while coming all this distance to be compelled to keep my father!

PISTHETAERUS. No, no, young friend, since you have come to us with such willingness, I am going to give you these black wings, as though you were an orphan bird; furthermore, some good advice, that I received myself in infancy. Don’t strike your father, but take these wings in one hand and these spurs in the other; imagine you have a cock’s crest on your head and go and mount guard and fight; live on your pay and respect your father’s life. You’re a gallant fellow! Very well, then! Fly to Thrace and fight.

PARRICIDE. By Bacchus! ’Tis well spoken; I will follow your counsel.

PISTHETAERUS. ’Tis acting wisely, by Zeus.

CINESIAS. “On my light pinions I soar off to Olympus; in its capricious flight my Muse flutters along the thousand paths of poetry in turn …”

PISTHETAERUS. This is a fellow will need a whole shipload of wings.

CINESIAS. … it is seeking fresh outlet.”

PISTHETAERUS. Welcome, Cinesias, you lime-wood man! Why have you come here a-twisting your game leg in circles?

CINESIAS. “I want to become a bird, a tuneful nightingale.”

PISTHETAERUS. Enough of that sort of ditty. Tell me what you want.

CINESIAS. Give me wings and I will fly into the topmost airs to gather fresh songs in the clouds, in the midst of the vapours and the fleecy snow.

PISTHETAERUS. Gather songs in the clouds?

CINESIAS. ’Tis on them the whole of our latter-day art depends. The most brilliant dithyrambs are those that flap their wings in void space and are clothed in mist and dense obscurity. To appreciate this, just listen.

PISTHETAERUS. Oh! no, no, no!

CINESIAS. By Hermes! but indeed you shall. “I shall travel through thine ethereal empire like a winged bird, who cleaveth space with his long neck….”

PISTHETAERUS. Stop! easy all, I say!

CINESIAS. … as I soar over the seas, carried by the breath of the winds …

PISTHETAERUS. By Zeus! but I’ll cut your breath short.

CINESIAS. … now rushing along the tracks of Notus, now nearing Boreas across the infinite wastes of the ether.”
(Pisthetaerus beats him.)
Ah! old man, that’s a pretty and clever idea truly!

PISTHETAERUS. What! are you not delighted to be cleaving the air?

CINESIAS. To treat a dithyrambic poet, for whom the tribes dispute with each other, in this style!

PISTHETAERUS. Will you stay with us and form a chorus of winged birds as slender as Leotrophides for the Cecropid tribe?

CINESIAS. You are making game of me, ’tis clear; but know that I shall never leave you in peace if I do not have wings wherewith to traverse the air.

AN INFORMER. What are these birds with downy feathers, who look so pitiable to me? Tell me, oh swallow with the long dappled wings.

PISTHETAERUS. Oh! but ’tis a perfect invasion that threatens us. Here comes another of them, humming along.

INFORMER. Swallow with the long dappled wings, once more I summon you.

PISTHETAERUS. It’s his cloak I believe he’s addressing; ‘faith, it stands in great need of the swallows’ return.

INFORMER. Where is he who gives out wings to all comers?

PISTHETAERUS. ’Tis I, but you must tell me for what purpose you want them.

INFORMER. Ask no questions. I want wings, and wings I must have.

PISTHETAERUS. Do you want to fly straight to Pellené?

INFORMER. I? Why, I am an accuser of the islands, an informer …

PISTHETAERUS. A fine trade, truly!

INFORMER. … a hatcher of lawsuits. Hence I have great need of wings to prowl round the cities and drag them before justice.

PISTHETAERUS. Would you do this better if you had wings?

INFORMER. No, but I should no longer fear the pirates; I should return with the cranes, loaded with a supply of lawsuits by way of ballast.

PISTHETAERUS. So it seems, despite all your youthful vigour, you make it your trade to denounce strangers?

INFORMER. Well, and why not? I don’t know how to dig.

PISTHETAERUS. But, by Zeus! there are honest ways of gaining a living at your age without all this infamous trickery.

INFORMER. My friend, I am asking you for wings, not for words.

PISTHETAERUS. ’Tis just my words that give you wings.

INFORMER. And how can you give a man wings with your words?

PISTHETAERUS. ’Tis thus that all first start.

INFORMER. All?

PISTHETAERUS. Have you not often heard the father say to young men in the barbers’ shops, “It’s astonishing how Diitrephes’ advice has made my son fly to horse-riding.”— “Mine,” says another, “has flown towards tragic poetry on the wings of his imagination.”

INFORMER. So that words give wings?

PISTHETAERUS. Undoubtedly; words give wings to the mind and make a man soar to heaven. Thus I hope that my wise words will give you wings to fly to some less degrading trade.

INFORMER. But I do not want to.

PISTHETAERUS. What do you reckon on doing then?

INFORMER. I won’t belie my breeding; from generation to generation we have lived by informing. Quick, therefore, give me quickly some light, swift hawk or kestrel wings, so that I may summon the islanders, sustain the accusation here, and haste back there again on flying pinions.

PISTHETAERUS. I see. In this way the stranger will be condemned even before he appears.

INFORMER. That’s just it.

PISTHETAERUS. And while he is on his way here by sea, you will be flying to the islands to despoil him of his property.

INFORMER. You’ve hit it, precisely; I must whirl hither and thither like a perfect humming-top.

PISTHETAERUS. I catch the idea. Wait, i’ faith, I’ve got some fine
Corcyraean wings. How do you like them?

INFORMER. Oh! woe is me! Why, ’tis a whip!

PISTHETAERUS. No, no; these are the wings, I tell you, that set the top a-spinning.

INFORMER. Oh! oh! oh!

PISTHETAERUS. Take your flight, clear off, you miserable cur, or you will soon see what comes of quibbling and lying. Come, let us gather up our wings and withdraw.

CHORUS. In my ethereal nights I have seen many things new and strange and wondrous beyond belief. There is a tree called Cleonymus belonging to an unknown species; it has no heart, is good for nothing and is as tall as it is cowardly. In springtime it shoots forth calumnies instead of buds and in autumn it strews the ground with bucklers in place of leaves.

Far away in the regions of darkness, where no ray of light ever enters, there is a country, where men sit at the table of the heroes and dwell with them always — save always in the evening. Should any mortal meet the hero Orestes at night, he would soon be stripped and covered with blows from head to foot.

PROMETHEUS. Ah! by the gods! if only Zeus does not espy me! Where is
Pisthetaerus?

PISTHETAERUS. Ha! what is this? A masked man!

PROMETHEUS. Can you see any god behind me?

PISTHETAERUS. No, none. But who are you, pray?

PROMETHEUS. What’s the time, please?

PISTHETAERUS. The time? Why, it’s past noon. Who are you?

PROMETHEUS. Is it the fall of day? Is it no later than that?

PISTHETAERUS. Oh! ‘pon my word! but you grow tiresome!

PROMETHEUS. What is Zeus doing? Is he dispersing the clouds or gathering them?

PISTHETAERUS. Take care, lest I lose all patience.

PROMETHEUS. Come, I will raise my mask.

PISTHETAERUS. Ah! my dear Prometheus!

PROMETHEUS. Stop! stop! speak lower!

PISTHETAERUS. Why, what’s the matter, Prometheus?

PROMETHEUS. H’sh, h’sh! Don’t call me by my name; you will be my ruin, if Zeus should see me here. But, if you want me to tell you how things are going in heaven, take this umbrella and shield me, so that the gods don’t see me.

PISTHETAERUS. I can recognize Prometheus in this cunning trick. Come, quick then, and fear nothing; speak on.

PROMETHEUS. Then listen.

PISTHETAERUS. I am listening, proceed!

PROMETHEUS. It’s all over with Zeus.

PISTHETAERUS. Ah! and since when, pray?

PROMETHEUS. Since you founded this city in the air. There is not a man who now sacrifices to the gods; the smoke of the victims no longer reaches us. Not the smallest offering comes! We fast as though it were the festival of Demeter. The barbarian gods, who are dying of hunger, are bawling like Illyrians and threaten to make an armed descent upon Zeus, if he does not open markets where joints of the victims are sold.

PISTHETAERUS. What! there are other gods besides you, barbarian gods who dwell above Olympus?

PROMETHEUS. If there were no barbarian gods, who would be the patron of
Execestides?

PISTHETAERUS. And what is the name of these gods?

PROMETHEUS. Their name? Why, the Triballi.

PISTHETAERUS. Ah, indeed! ’tis from that no doubt that we derive the word ‘tribulation.’

PROMETHEUS. Most likely. But one thing I can tell you for certain, namely, that Zeus and the celestial Triballi are going to send deputies here to sue for peace. Now don’t you treat, unless Zeus restores the sceptre to the birds and gives you Basileia in marriage.

PISTHETAERUS. Who is this Basileia?

PROMETHEUS. A very fine young damsel, who makes the lightning for Zeus; all things come from her, wisdom, good laws, virtue, the fleet, calumnies, the public paymaster and the triobolus.

PISTHETAERUS. Ah! then she is a sort of general manageress to the god.

PROMETHEUS. Yes, precisely. If he gives you her for your wife, yours will be the almighty power. That is what I have come to tell you; for you know my constant and habitual goodwill towards men.

PISTHETAERUS. Oh, yes! ’tis thanks to you that we roast our meat.

PROMETHEUS. I hate the gods, as you know.

PISTHETAERUS. Aye, by Zeus, you have always detested them.

PROMETHEUS. Towards them I am a veritable Timon; but I must return in all haste, so give me the umbrella; if Zeus should see me from up there, he would think I was escorting one of the Canephori.

PISTHETAERUS. Wait, take this stool as well.

CHORUS. Near by the land of the Sciapodes there is a marsh, from the borders whereof the odious Socrates evokes the souls of men. Pisander came one day to see his soul, which he had left there when still alive. He offered a little victim, a camel, slit his throat and, following the example of Ulysses, stepped one pace backwards. Then that bat of a Chaerephon came up from hell to drink the camel’s blood.

POSIDON. This is the city of Nephelococcygia, Cloud-cuckoo-town, whither we come as ambassadors.
(To Triballus.)
Hi! what are you up to? you are throwing your cloak over the left shoulder. Come, fling it quick over the right! And why, pray, does it draggle this fashion? Have you ulcers to hide like Laespodias? Oh! democracy! whither, oh! whither are you leading us? Is it possible that the gods have chosen such an envoy?

TRIBALLUS. Leave me alone.

POSIDON. Ugh! the cursed savage! you are by far the most barbarous of all the gods. — Tell me, Heracles, what are we going to do?

HERACLES. I have already told you that I want to strangle the fellow who has dared to block us in.

POSIDON. But, my friend, we are envoys of peace.

HERACLES. All the more reason why I wish to strangle him.

PISTHETAERUS. Hand me the cheese-grater; bring me the silphium for sauce; pass me the cheese and watch the coals.

HERACLES. Mortal! we who greet you are three gods.

PISTHETAERUS. Wait a bit till I have prepared my silphium pickle.

HERACLES. What are these meats?

PISTHETAERUS. These are birds that have been punished with death for attacking the people’s friends.

HERACLES. And you are seasoning them before answering us?

PISTHETAERUS. Ah! Heracles! welcome, welcome! What’s the matter?

HERACLES. The gods have sent us here as ambassadors to treat for peace.

A SERVANT. There’s no more oil in the flask.

PISTHETAERUS. And yet the birds must be thoroughly basted with it.

HERACLES. We have no interest to serve in fighting you; as for you, be friends and we promise that you shall always have rain-water in your pools and the warmest of warm weather. So far as these points go we are armed with plenary authority.

PISTHETAERUS. We have never been the aggressors, and even now we are as well disposed for peace as yourselves, provided you agree to one equitable condition, namely, that Zeus yield his sceptre to the birds. If only this is agreed to, I invite the ambassadors to dinner.

HERACLES. That’s good enough for me. I vote for peace.

POSIDON. You wretch! you are nothing but a fool and a glutton. Do you want to dethrone your own father?

PISTHETAERUS. What an error! Why, the gods will be much more powerful if the birds govern the earth. At present the mortals are hidden beneath the clouds, escape your observation, and commit perjury in your name; but if you had the birds for your allies, and a man, after having sworn by the crow and Zeus, should fail to keep his oath, the crow would dive down upon him unawares and pluck out his eye.