|
The Birds: Part III
The Birds: Part III
Chorus (singing). 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, lead off your anapaests. (The
Chorus turns and faces the audience.)
Leader of the Chorus. 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, even Prodicus will envy you
your knowledge.
At the beginning there was only Chaos, Night, dark Erebus, and deep
Tartarus. Earth, air, and heaven had no existence. First, blackwinged Night
laid a germless egg in the bosom of the infinite deeps of Erebus, and from
this, after the revolution of long ages, sprang 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, 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 far older than that of the dwellers on 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 opened their thighs because of our power and
have yielded themselves to their lovers when almost at the end of their youth,
led away by the gift of a quail, a waterfowl, a goose, or a cock!
And what important services do not the birds render to mortals? First of
all, they mark the seasons for them, springtime, winter, and autumn. The
screaming crane migrates to Libya - it warns the husbandman to sow, the pilot
to take his ease beside his tiller hung up in his dwelling, and Orestes to
weave a tunic so that the rigorous cold may not drive him any more to strip
other men. 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 tunics and to buy light clothing. We are
your Ammon, Delphi, Dodona, your Phoebus Apollo. 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 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. Is it not clear that we are a prophetic Apollo to you?
(More and more rapidly from here on) 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 to 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 cloyed with enjoyment.
First Semi-Chorus (singing). O rustic Muse of such varied note,
tiotiotiotiotiotinx, I sing with you in the groves and on the mountain tops,
tiotiotiotinx. I poured forth sacred strains from my golden throat in honor
of the god Pan, tiotiotiotinx, from the top of the thickly leaved ash, and
my voice mingles with the mighty choirs who extol Cybele on the mountain tops,
totototototototototinx. `Tis to our concerts that Phrynichus comes to pillage
like a bee the ambrosia of his songs, the sweetness of which so charms the
ear, tiotiotiotinx.
Leader of First Semi-Chorus. If there is 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 honorable among us birds.
For instance, among you it`s a crime to beat your father, but with us it`s an
estimable deed: its considered fine to run straight at your father and hit
him, saying, `Come, up with your spur if you want to fight.` The runaway
slave, whom you brand, is only a spotted francolin with us. Are you Phrygian,
like Spintharus? Among us you would be the Phrygian bird, the goldfinch, of
the race of Philemon. Are you a slave and a Carian like Execestides? Among us
you can create yourself forefathers; you can always find relations. Does the
son of Pisia 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.
Second Semi-Chorus. So the swans on the banks of the Hebrus,
tiotiotiotiotiotinx, mingle their voices to serenade Apollo, tiotiotiotinx,
flapping their wings the while, tiotiotiotinx; their notes reach beyond the
clouds of heaven; they startle the various tribes of the beasts; a windless
sky calms the waves, totototototototototinx, all Olympus resounds, and
astonishment seizes its rulers; the Olympian Graces and Muses cry aloud the
strain, tiotiotiotinx.
Leader of Second Semi-Chorus. There is nothing more useful nor more
pleasant than to have wings. To begin with, just let us imagine a spectator
dying with hunger and 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, needing to relieve himself, would not have to
spill it out on his cloak, but could fly off, satisfy his requirements, break
wind a few times, and return. If one of you, it matters not who, had
adulterous intent and saw the husband of his mistress sitting in the Senate,
he might stretch his wings, fly to her, lay her, and resume his place. Is it
not the most priceless gift of all, to be winged? Look at Diitrephes! 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: he`s now the
finest gilt cock of his tribe.
(Pisthetaerus and Euelpides return; they now have wings.)
Pisthetaerus. Hello! What`s this? By God, I never saw anything so
funny in all my life.
Euelpides. What are you laughing at?
Pisthetaerus. Your little wings. D`you know what you look like?
Like a goose painted by some dauber.
Euelpides. And you look like a close-shaven blackbird.
Pisthetaerus. We ourselves asked for this transformation, and, as
Aeschylus puts it, `These are no borrowed feathers, but truly our own.`
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.
Leader of the Chorus. 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, even though I had nothing but bands of rushes.
Pisthetaerus. Well, then, what name do 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 Cloudcuckooland?
Leader of the Chorus. Oh excellent! A brilliant thought!
Euelpides. Is it in Cloudcuckooland you`ll find all the wealth of
Theogenes and most of Aeschines`?
Pisthetaerus. No, that`s the plain of Phlegra, where the gods withered
the pride of the sons of the Earth with their shafts.
Leader of the Chorus. Oh what a splendid city! But what god shall be
its patron? for whom shall we weave the peplos?
Euelpides. Why not choose Athene Polias?
Pisthetaerus. Oh what a well-ordered town it would be to have a female
deity armed from head to foot, while Cleisthenes was spinning?
Leader of the Chorus. Who then shall guard the Pelargicon?
Pisthetaerus. A bird.
Leader of the Chorus. One of us? What kind of bird?
Pisthetaerus. A bird of Persian strain, acknowledged everywhere the
bravest of all, a true chick of Ares.
Euelpides. Oh noble chick!
Pisthetaerus. Because he is a god well suited to live on the rocks. 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 if you like, post sentinels, keep the fire smouldering beneath the
ashes, go round the walls bell in hand, and go to sleep up there yourself;
then send two heralds, one to the gods above, the other to mankind on earth,
and come back here.
Euelpides. As for yourself, remain here, and the plague take you for a
troublesome fellow! (He departs.)
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 (singing). 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
honor of the god, and let Chaeris accompany our voices.
Pisthetaerus (to the flute-player). Enough! But, by Heracles! What is
this? Great gods! I`ve seen many prodigious things, but I never saw a muzzled
raven. (The Priest arrives.) Priest, it`s high time! Sacrifice to the new
gods.
Priest. I begin. But where is the man with the basket? Pray to Hestia
of the birds, to the kite, who presides over the hearth, and to all the god
and goddess-birds who dwell on Olympus...
Pisthetaerus. O Hawk, sacred Guardian of Sunium, O god of the storks!
Priest. ... to the swan of Delos, to Leto the mother of the quails, and
to Artemis the goldfinch...
Pisthetaerus. It`s no longer Artemis Colaenis, but Artemis the goldfinch.
Priest. ... to Sabazius the finch, and Cybele the ostrich and mother of
the gods and mankind...
Pisthetaerus. O sovereign ostrich Cybele, mother of Cleocritus!
Priest. ... for health and safety for the Cloudcuckoolanders as well as
for the dwellers in Chios...
Pisthetaerus. The dwellers in Chios! Ah! I am delighted that they should
be thus mentioned on all occasions.
Priest. ... to the bird heroes, to the sons of heroes, to the porphyrion,
the pelican, the spoonbill, the redbreast, the grouse, the peacock, the horned
owl, the teal, the bittern, the heron, the stormy petrel, the figpecker, 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? Off
with you, you and your fillets and all; I shall complete the sacrifice by
myself. (The Priest departs.)
Chorus (singing). 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 nothing whatever but
horn and hair.
Pisthetaerus. Let us address our sacrifices and our prayers to the winged
gods. (A Poet enters.)
Poet. O Muse, celebrate happy Cloudcuckooland in your hymns!
Pisthetaerus. What have we here? Where did you come from? Who are you?
Poet. I am he whose language is sweeter than honey - a 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 assiduous slaves of the
Muses, according to Homer.
Pisthetaerus. Yes, your little cloak is quite holy, too, through zeal!
But, poet, what ill wind drove you here?
Poet. I have composed verses in honor of your Cloudcuckooland: a host
of splendid dithyrambs and parthenia worthy of Simonides himself.
Pisthetaerus. And when did you compose them? How long since?
Poet. Oh! `tis long, ay, very long that I have sung in honor of this
city.
Pisthetaerus. But I am celebrating its foundation with this sacrifice; I
have only just named it, as we do little babies.
Poet. `E`en as the chargers fly with the speed of the wind, so does the
voice of the Muses take its flight. O thou noble founder of the town of Aetna,
thou, whose name recalls the holy sacrifices, make us such gift as thy
generous heart shall suggest.` (He puts out his hand.)
Pisthetaerus. He will drive us silly if we don`t get rid of him with some
present. (To the Priest`s acolyte) Here, you with a fur as well as a tunic,
take it off and give it to this clever poet. Come, take this fur: you look as
if you were 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! Impossible to get rid of him!
Poet. `Straton wanders among the Scythian nomads, but has no linen
garment. He is sad to be wearing only an animal`s pelt and no tunic.` Do you
get what I mean?
Pisthetaerus. I understand you want me to offer you a tunic. (To the
acolyte) Here, you, take off yours; we must help the poet.... Come, you,
take it and get out.
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!` (He
departs.)
Pisthetaerus. What are you chanting us about frosts? Thanks to the tunic,
you`re safe from them. Ah, by God! I could not have believed this cursed
fellow could have learnt the way to our city so soon. (To a slave) Come, take
the lustral water and circle the altar. Let all keep silence! (An
Oracle-Monger enters.)
Oracle-Monger. Let not the goat be sacrificed.
Pisthetaerus. Who are you?
Oracle-Monger. Who am I? A prophet.
Pisthetaerus. Get out!
Oracle-Monger. Wretched man, insult not sacred things. For there is an
oracle of Bacis which exactly applies to Cloudcuckooland.
Pisthetaerus. Why did you not reveal it to me before I founded my city?
Oracle-Monger. The divine spirit was against it.
Pisthetaerus. Well, I suppose there`s nothing to do but hear the terms
of the oracle.
Oracle-Monger. `But when the wolves and the white crows shall dwell
together between Corinth and Sicyon...`
Pisthetaerus. But how do the Corinthians concern me?
Oracle-Monger. It is the regions of the upper air that Bacis indicates
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. Does it say sandals there?
Oracle-Monger. Look in the book. `And besides this, a goblet of wine and
a good share of the entrails of the victim.`
Pisthetaerus. Of the entrails - does it say that?
Oracle-Monger. Look in the book. `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. Does it say all that?
Oracle-Monger. Look in the book.
Pisthetaerus. This oracle in no 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.`
Oracle-Monger. You are drivelling.
Pisthetaerus. Look in the book. `And don`t spare him, were he an eagle
from out of the clouds, were he Lampon himself or the great Diopithes.`
Oracle-Monger. Does it say that?
Pisthetaerus. Look in the book, and go hang yourself!
Oracle-Monger. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! (He departs.)
Pisthetaerus. Take your prophecies elsewhere! (Enter Meton, with
surveying instruments.)
Meton. I have come to you...
Pisthetaerus (interrupting). Another pest! What have you come for? 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.
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 a word.
Meton. With the straight ruler I set to work to inscribe a square within
this circle; in its centre will be the market-place, into which all the
straight streets will lead, converging to this centre like a star, which,
although only orbicular, sends forth its ray in a straight line from all
sides.
Pisthetaerus. A regular Thales! Meton...
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?
Pisthetaerus. It`s the same here as in Sparta. Strangers are driven away,
and blows rain down as thick as hail.
Meton. Is there sedition in your city?
Pisthetaerus. No, certainly not.
Meton. What`s wrong then?
Pisthetaerus. We are agreed to sweep all quacks and impostors far
from our borders.
Meton. Then I`ll be going.
Pisthetaerus. I`m afraid it`s too late. The thunder growls already. (He
beats him.)
Meton. Oh dear! Oh dear!
Pisthetaerus. I warned you. Now, off with you, and do your surveying
somewhere else. (Meton takes to his heels. He is no sooner gone than an
Inspector arrives.)
Inspector. Where are the Proxeni?
Pisthetaerus. Who is this Sardanapalus?
Inspector. I have been appointed by lot to come to Cloudcuckooland as
inspector.
Pisthetaerus. An inspector! And who sends you here, you rascal!
Inspector. A decree of Teleas.
Pisthetaerus. Will you just pocket your salary, do nothing, and get out?
Inspector. Indeed I will. I am urgently needed at Athens to attend the
Assembly; for I am charged with the interests of Pharnaces.
Pisthetaerus. Take it then, and get on your way. Here`s your salary. (He
beats him.)
Inspector. What does this mean?
Pisthetaerus. This is the assembly where you have to defend Pharnaces.
Inspector. You shall testify that they dared to strike me, the inspector.
Pisthetaerus. Are you not going to get out with your urns? Imagine it,
they send us inspectors before we have so much as paid sacrifice to the gods.
(The Inspector goes into hiding. A Dealer in Decrees arrives, reading.)
Dealer. `If any Cloudcuckoolander does wrong to any Athenian...`
Pisthetaerus. What`s the trouble now? What book is that?
Dealer. I am a dealer in decrees, and I have come here to sell you the
newest laws.
Pisthetaerus. Which?
Dealer. `The Cloudcuckoolanders shall adopt the same weights, measures
and decrees as the Olophyxians.`
Pisthetaerus. And you shall soon be imitating the Ototyxians. (He beats
him.)
Dealer. Ow! what are you doing?
Pisthetaerus. Now will you get out of here with your decrees? For I am
going to let you see some severe ones. (The Dealer in Decrees departs; the
Inspector comes out of hiding.)
Inspector. I summon Pisthetaerus for outrage in the month of Munychion.
Pisthetaerus. Ha, my friend! are you still here? (The Dealer in Decrees
also returns.)
Dealer. "Should anyone drive away the magistrates and not receive them,
according to the decree duly posted...`
Pisthetaerus. What, rascal! You back too? (He rushes at him.)
Inspector. Woe to you! I`ll have you fined ten thousand drachmae.
Pisthetaerus. And I`ll smash your urns.
Inspector. Do you recall that evening when you crapped on the column
where the decrees are posted?
Pisthetaerus. Here! here! Let him be seized. (The Inspector runs off.)
Why, don`t you want to stay any longer? - But let`s get indoors as quick as
possible: we will sacrifice the goat inside.
First Semi-Chorus (singing). Henceforth it is to me that mortals must
address their sacrifices and their prayers. Nothing escapes my sight or my
might. My glance embraces the universe. I preserve the fruit in the flower
by destroying the thousand kinds of voracious insects the soil produces,
which attack the trees and feed on the germ when it has scarcely formed in the
calyx. I destroy those who ravage the balmy terrace gardens like a deadly
plague; all these gnawing crawling creatures perish beneath the lash of my
wing.
Leader of First Semi-Chorus. I hear it proclaimed everywhere: `A talent
for him who shall kill Diagoras of Melos, and a talent for him who destroys
one of the dead tyrants.` We likewise wish to make our proclamation: `A talent
to him among you who shall kill Philocrates, the Struthian; four, if he brings
him to us alive. For this Philocrates skewers finches together and sells them
at the rate of a penny for seven. He tortures thrushes by blowing them out so
that they may look bigger, sticks their own feathers into the nostrils of
blackbirds, and collects pigeons, which he shuts up and forces, fastened in
a net, to decoy others.` That is what we want to proclaim. And if anyone is
keeping birds shut up in his yard, let him hasten to let them loose; those who
disobey shall be seized by the birds, and we shall put them in chains, so that
in their turn they may decoy other men.
Second Semi-Chorus (singing). Happy indeed is the race of winged birds
who need no cloak in winter! Neither do I fear the relentless rays of the
fiery dog-days, when the sivine grasshopper, intoxicated with the sunlight
as noon is burning the ground, breaks out into shrill melody. My home is
beneath the foliage in the flowery meadows. I winter in deep caverns, where
I frolic with the mountain nymphs, while in spring I despoil the gardens of
the Graces and gather the white virgin berry on the myrtle bushes.
Leader of Second Semi-Chorus. I want now to speak to the judges about the
prize they are going to award. If they are favorable to us, we will load them
with benefits far greater than those Paris received. First, the owls of
Laureum, which every judge desires above all things, shall never be wanting to
you; you shall see them homing with you, building their nests in your
money-bags, and laying coins. Besides, you shall be housed like the gods, for
we will erect gables over your dwellings. If you hold some public post and
want to do a little pilfering, we will give you the sharp claws of a hawk. If
you dine in town, we will provide you with stomachs as capacious as a bird`s
crop. But if your award is against us, don`t fail to have metal covers
fashioned for yourselves, like those they place over statues; else, look out!
for the day you wear a white tunic, all the birds will soil it with their
droppings.
Pisthetaerus. Birds! The sacrifice is propitious. But I see no messenger
coming from the wall to tell us what is happening. Ah, here comes one running
himself out of breath as though he were in the Olympic stadium.
Messenger (running back and forth). Where, where, where is he? Where,
where, where is he? Where, where, where is he? Where is Pisthetaerus, our
leader?
Pisthetaerus. Here I am.
Messenger. The wall is finished.
Pisthetaerus. That`s good news.
Messenger. It`s a most beautiful, a most magnificent work of art. The
wall is so broad that Proxenides the Braggartian and Theogenes could pass each
other in their chariots, even if they were drawn by steeds as big as the
Trojan horse.
Pisthetaerus. That`s fine!
Messenger. Its length is one hundred stadia; I measured it myself.
Pisthetaerus. A decent length, by Poseidon! And who built such a wall?
Messenger. Birds - birds only. They had neither Egyptian brickmaker, nor
stonemason, nor carpenter: the birds did it all themselves; I could hardly
believe my eyes. Thirty thousand cranes came from Libya with a supply of
stones for the foundations. The water-rails chiselled them with their beaks.
Ten thousand storks were busy making bricks; plovers and other waterfowl
carried water into the air.
Pisthetaerus. And who carried the mortar?
Messenger. Herons, in hods.
Pisthetaerus. But how could they put the mortar into the hods?
Messenger. Oh, it was a really clever invention: the geese used their
feet like spades; they sunk them into the pile of mortar and then emptied them
into the hods.
Pisthetaerus. Ah, to what use cannot feet be put!
Messenger. You should have seen how eagerly the ducks carried bricks. And
finally, the swallows came flying to the work, beaks full of mortar and
trowels on their backs, just the way little children are carried.
Pisthetaerus. Who would want paid servants after this? But tell me, who
did the woodwork?
Messenger. Birds, again, and clever carpenters too, the pelicans: for
they squared up the gates with their beaks in such a fashion that one would
have thought they were using axes; the noise was just like a dockyard. Now
the whole wall is tight everywhere, securely bolted and well guarded; it is
patrolled, bell in hand; the sentinel stand everywhere and bacons burn on the
towers. But I must run off to clean myself; the rest is your business (he
departs.)
Leader of the Chorus (To Pisthetaerus). Well, what do you say to that?
Are you not astonished at the wall`s being finished so quickly?
Pisthetaerus. By the gods, yes, and with good reason. It`s really
incredible. But here comes another messenger from the wall to bring us some
further news. What a fighting look he has! (Second Messenger rushes in.)
Second Messenger. Alas! alas! alas! alas! alas! alas!
Pisthetaerus. Did you speak?
Second Messenger. A horrible outrage has occurred! A god sent by Zeus has
passed through our gates and has penetrated the realms of the air without the
knowledge of the jays, who are on guard in the daytime.
Pisthetaerus. A terrible and criminal deed! What god was it?
Second Messenger. We don`t know that. All we know is that he has wings.
Pisthetaerus. Why weren`t the police sent after him at once?
Second Messenger. We have sent thirty thousand hawks of the legion of
Mounted Archers. All the hook-clawed birds are moving against him: the
kestrel, the buzzard, the vulture, the great-horned owl; they cleave the air
so that it resounds with the flapping of their wings. They are looking
everywhere for the god, who cannot be far away; as a matter of fact, he is
coming from over there.
Pisthetaerus. To arms, all, with slings and bows! This way, all our
soldiers; shoot and strike! Some one give me a sling!
|
