by Aristophanes
What’s the matter? . . . Are you overpowered
by the speed with which the city walls have risen?
PEISETAIRUS: I should jolly well think so. It’s almost beyond reason . . . but here comes a messenger with news and sprinting like the billyo.
[SECOND MESSENGER hurtles in.]
SECOND MESSENGER: Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn it!
PEISETAIRUS: What’s wrong?
SECOND MESSENGER: Lots. One of the gods, the former Zeus gods, has just flown clean through the gates into our territory, ducking the sentry daws.
PEISETAIRUS: What, unchecked? What cheek! Which of the
gods?
SECOND MESSENGER: We don’t know. He had wings. That’s all we
know.
PEISETAIRUS: Wasn’t he pursued by the border patrol immediately?
SECOND MESSENGER: Sir, we did so:
dispatched a mounted squadron of thirty thousand archer hawks,
every bird bristling with talon and claw—
kestrel, buzzard, eagle, owl, and vulture. . . . The whole sky rocks
with the beating of wings
as the hunt thickens for the intruding deity.
He’s not far off. In fact, he’s near.
[Exit SECOND MESSENGER.]
PEISETAIRUS: Oughtn’t we to have arrows and slings? Attention, troops, and hear: the time has come to pelt with shot and sling. . . . Boys, bring me a catapult.
[XANTHIAS and MANDORUS run out with an assembly of weapons.]
STROPHE
CHORUS: The battle is joined, the battle is on Between us and the gods; all fall in And guard the air that Erebus545 spawned—The cloud-hugging air—and block the door To stop any god from dodging past you here.
LEADER: Attention, everyone everywhere! The beat of the wings of a god is near.
[IRIS appears suspended in flight. Her name means “rainbow”; she is dressed in flimsy streamers of all its colors.]
PEISETAIRUS: You up there! Where-where-where D’you think you’re flying? Stop right there. Hold, halt, stop, say who you are, Coming from where? And why coming here?
IRIS: I come from the gods, the gods of Olympia.
PEISETAIRUS: And what’s your name? Paralus or Salaminia?546
IRIS: Iris the Fleet.
PEISETAIRUS: What, cruising or on heat?547
IRIS: Meaning what?
PEISETAIRUS: Will one of you triple-testicled cockerels
just grab her and bang her?
IRIS: Grab me? And commit a nasty?
PEISETAIRUS: Well, something to make you sorry.
IRIS: I find this quite extraordinary.
PEISETAIRUS: What gate did you go through, tart?
IRIS: I haven’t an inkling of what gate.
PEISETAIRUS: Hark at Miss Innocent! Did you make up to the jackdaw guardsmen?
IRIS: Excuse me?
PEISETAIRUS: Did the stalwart storks stamp your passport?
IRIS: How dare you?
PEISETAIRUS: What? You wouldn’t let them?
IRIS: Are you insane?
PEISETAIRUS: And no Captain Cock entered your visa?
IRIS: Listen, mister, nobody entered anything of mine.
PEISETAIRUS: And you just flew in here from outer space unaware
it was someone else’s city through someone else’s air?
IRIS: Pray, where can the gods fly if not through the air?
PEISETAIRUS: Don’t ask me! Only not through here.
You’re already breaking the law and you ought to know the score:
that if you get what you deserve you’ll be deader
than the most Iris-idescent of Irises.
IRIS: Can’t be: I’m undie-able.
PEISETAIRUS: You’ll die, nonetheless. Meanwhile, what’s not viable
is that though you gods are supposed to be in charge of things
you still continue in your disgraceful ways,
turning a blind eye to the fact that now there are those
over you who have to be obeyed.
So let me come to the point:
where are you off to with those wings?
IRIS: Idiot! Idiot!
Dare not to trigger the wrath of heaven,
or Holy Justice will dig you out
root and branch with the spade of Zeus
and a furnace of devouring fire will overwhelm your palace
with a battery of thunderbolts.
PEISETAIRUS: Will you just listen and stop blabbing!
I’m not some Lydian or Phrygian dolt
you’re trying to scare with a bogeyman.
Just take note of this: if Zeus
gets on my nerves anymore I’ll just set his godly housing
and the halls of Amphion548 alight
with my flame-throwing eagles and
launch into the sky a squadron six hundred strong,
and more, of pink flamingos in panther skins.
Remember how upset he was
by a single pink flamingo. And as to you, miss,
if I have any more lip from you, his myrmidon, Iris,
I’ll simply spread those pretty legs apart and screw,
yes, screw you till you’re quite aghast
that old as I am, this ancient bark can boast
of staying erect and ramming three times running.
IRIS: To hell with you, sir, and your dirty tongue!
PEISETAIRUS: Off with you, scoot, scram, get along!
IRIS: I swear my father’s not going to take this lying down.
PEISETAIRUS: God almighty, can’t you just flit and turn tail!
Go and set fire to the loins of some younger male.
[IRIS flies off.]
ANTISTROPHE
CHORUS: We’ve prevented the gods who stem from Zeus From ever having further use
Of a path through our city. And never more
Shall mortal man on the slaughtering floor
Send to the gods the scent of its savory juice.
PEISETAIRUS: I’m worried that the messenger we sent to the world of
men
won’t ever come back again.
[FIRST HERALD alights dressed as a bird and holding a golden crown.]
FIRST HERALD: O Peisetairus! O most blessed one! O most wise!
O most renowned! O most wise! O most sleek!
O most three-times blessed! O most . . . for God’s sake stop me!
PEISETAIRUS: Your message is?
FIRST HERALD: From all the people unanimously: to acknowledge
your wisdom
and reward you with this crown of gold.
PEISETAIRUS: I accept it but I can’t think
why the people want to honor me.
FIRST HERALD: Great founder of the most glorious kingdom,
are you not aware of your esteem among mankind,
and how innumerable are those who love this land?
Everybody doted on the Spartans before you built this state:
had long hair, never washed, went hungry,
copied Socrates—waved walking sticks about.
But now they’ve done a U-turn.
All got bird mania and are having fun
imitating birds in everything. This, for one:
hardly are they out of bed when they fly off in a flock
just like us birds to scrabble for a writ;
then they swarm into the record office to peck
at codes. They’re so besotted with birds
that several of them even take bird names.
For instance, a game-legged salesman becomes
Partridge, and Menippus549 gets called Swallow;
Opumtius550 is the one-eyed crow,
Pilocles, 551 the Lark, Theogenes,552 a goose,
Lycurgus,553 a crane, Syracosius,554 jay, Chaerephon, bat,
Meidias555, quail—a punch-drunk quail
in a quail fight where he’s come off worse. . . . In fact,
they’re all so ornithologically fanat
ical
that a swallow has to be in all their songs,
or a duck, or a goose, or a dove: anything with feathers or wings.
So that’s how matters stand on the ground,
and one thing’s for sure:
more than ten thousand of those earthlings
will be arriving here
and clamoring for claws and wings,
so you’d better get ready for wings and things.
[Exit FIRST HERALD.]
PEISETAIRUS: All right, this is no time for standing around.
[to XANTHIAS]
Off with you immediately
and fill all the panniers and baskets with wings.
And you, Manes,
carry them out here to me.
I shall welcome our visitors as they appear.
[XANTHIAS and MANDORUS go inside to collect everything needed for the new bird arrivals. While the strophe is being sung, MANDORUS comes out, loaded with wings.]
STROPHE
CHORUS: Very soon it’ll be said by human beings What a wonderfully ordered city this is.
PEISETAIRUS: If only our luck will last!
CHORUS: The world is inflamed with love of our city.
PEISETAIRUS: [to MANES] Get a move on and get those things.
CHORUS: Don’t leave anything out
That makes a colonist needy:
Wisdom, Passion, the Graces divine,
And the shining face of Tranquillity:
That very kindhearted deity.
PEISETAIRUS: [to MANDORUS] What a terrible slow coach you are! Can’t you hurry it up?
ANTISTROPHE
CHORUS: Get a move on with those wings over there. Tell him again to bring the baskets out.
PEISETAIRUS: I’ll give him a biff—like this!
CHORUS: He’s desperately slow, as bad as an ass.
PEISETAIRUS: Manes is such a hopeless flop.
CHORUS: First make perfectly sure
All the wings are sorted out:
Musical here, oracular there;
Nautical, too, and take care
To measure up your man for his wings.
PEISETAIRUS: By the kestrels, I swear you are
The very slowest of things!
[MANDORUS runs into the house as the FATHER BEATER arrives.]
FATHER BEATER: [singing gaily]556
Oh to be an eagle and fly high
Over the glaucous greeny sea
With only the watery wastes in view.
PEISETAIRUS: Here comes an eagle-singing youth: What the herald announced, it seems, is true.
FATHER BEATER: Hurrah for the art and fun of flight!
I’m mad about birds, so give me wings:
I’ll abide with you. I love your laws.
PEISETAIRUS: Which laws, my lad? The birds have a lot.
FATHER BEATER: All of them, especially the one
In which the birds opine that it’s all right
To peck and throttle your own pop.
PEISETAIRUS: Yes, we think it a manly thing
to beat up a father when you’re only a fledgling.
FATHER BEATER: And that’s precisely why I want to join
you here:
to strangle my father and be his heir.
PEISETAIRUS: Yes, but we birds have an ancient law
inscribed on the storks’ tablets of stone,
which says that when the father stork has reared
his storklings to full storklinghood,
they then must look after him in turn.
FATHER BEATER: A sodding waste of time it’s been
coming here only to hear: feed your old man.
PEISETAIRUS: Never mind, my lad,
your motives in coming here were good,
so I’ll fix you up with a pair of wings
and treat you as my birdly foundling.
But let me give you some advice, young man,
and repeat what I was given when a lad.
Don’t beat your dad.
Accept these wings, this spur, this cockscomb crest instead.
Then enlist, defend your country, earn your bread,
and let your father go his way.
And since you’re itching for a fight,
fly off and have one at the Thracian front.557
FATHER BEATER: Holy Dionysus, that sounds good! On that advice, I’ll take you up.
PEISETAIRUS: The smartest thing you can do, by God!
[FATHER BEATER leaves as CINESIAS arrives.]558
CINESIAS: [chanting] Up to Olympus I soar on wings that are featherlight,559 Trailing a pathway of song this way and that.
PEISETAIRUS: This fellow’s going to need a shipful of wings.
CINESIAS: With body and spirit heroic, seeking the road to new songs.
PEISETAIRUS: Well, well, welcome, sinewy Cinesias.
What’s all this pirouetting on bandy legs?
CINESIAS: I want to become a bird: the limpid nightingale.
PEISETAIRUS: Cut the warbling and tell me what the fuck you’re saying.
CINESIAS: I want you to give me wings
to fly on high and grab from the clouds
new and original themes driven by snow and winds.
PEISETAIRUS: You think you can grab musical themes from the
clouds?
CINESIAS: Yes, they are the very secret of our art:
the dithyrambs are jeweled with airy jets of wingèd light and murk.
Listen to this and you’ll have no doubt.
PEISETAIRUS: I’d rather not.
CINESIAS: By Heracles, you must. Here is an air, the epitome of flight. The wingèd image of flying Through the sky, and the racing Of long-neckèd birds through the welkin.
PEISETAIRUS: Cool it! Cool it!
CINESIAS: Oh to burst with a rise Into the winds and the skies.
PEISETAIRUS: Holy shit! I’ll wind you with a wing.
[He seizes an oversize pair of wings and chases CINESIAS.]
CINESIAS: [ducking and singing]
Following first a southerly course,
Then swerving my carcass due north
And plowing a furrow through the portals of sky . . .
[stops to admire the line]
My word, old fellow, that bit was witty and slick.
PEISETAIRUS: [whacking him with a wing]
So you want to be winged, do you? Smack!
CINESIAS: Is that the way to treat a great composer
of choral cycles, the acknowledged master,
for whom the various tribes of Athens vie?560
PEISETAIRUS: Well, then, would you prefer to stay right here
and train a flying chorus of the Cecrops tribe561
in Leotrophides’‡ poxy style?
CINESIAS: Go ahead, make fun of me, but be sure I’m not budging till I get my wings and soar.
[CINESIAS leaves in high dudgeon as an INFORMER enters wearing a moth-eaten coat.]
INFORMER: [singing] Who are these birds rigged in special attire Lacking wings and things, O striped swallow, pray tell.562
PEISETAIRUS: This is no paltry nuisance now to appear:
another nuisance-warbling pill.
INFORMER: Let me address you again: O striped—
PEISETAIRUS: One swallow doesn’t make a summer
and this ragged lad will need a flock.
INFORMER: Who’s giving wings away to visitors?
PEISETAIRUS: Right here. So what do you require?
INFORMER: Wings, man, wings. Don’t ask me twice.563
PEISETAIRUS: Is it that you mean to fly to Pellene for a cloak?564
INFORMER: God, no! I issue writs and work the islands. I’m a
snooper.
PEISETAIRUS: A noble career!
INFORMER: Yes, I’m a legal spy. That is why I need wings to cruise among the isles issuing writs.
PEISETAIRUS: And you think that wings would be an asset?
INFORMER: No, that’s not it.
I want to b
e bandit-proof and able to zoom home
with the migrating cranes ballasted with lawsuits in my crop.565
PEISETAIRUS: What a profession for a well set-up lad,
spying on non-Athenians for a living!
INFORMER: What else can I do? I don’t know how to use a spade.
PEISETAIRUS: There must be heaps of ways
for a strapping youth like you to earn a living.
INFORMER: Look, mister, I don’t want a lecture. I want a wing.
PEISETAIRUS: Listen: my words can wing you wherever you choose.
INFORMER: Wings from words? You can’t do that.
PEISETAIRUS: Words, you see, give everything flight.
INFORMER: What, everything?
PEISETAIRUS: Haven’t you heard fathers at barbers say things like
“It’s awful the way Diitrephes566 sets my boy all aflutter
with horse talk” or to hear someone say
“My son’s gone loopy over the theater”?
INFORMER: Words do seem to have wings, I guess.
PEISETAIRUS: Yes, Words can raise the mind to higher things,
just as I’d like to lift you to a higher sphere
and transport you with high-flying words to change your career.
INFORMER: That’s not what I desire.
PEISETAIRUS: So what’ll you do?
INFORMER: Not disgrace my family—that’s for sure.
Way back to my grandfather, snooping’s been our career.
So come on now,
just fix me up with the lightest, fastest wings—
a kestrel’s or a kite’s—so I can pin a few subpoenas on people,
win a claim, and fly back home again.
PEISETAIRUS: I see, you want to get an alien on the run,
dish out a writ before he knows it,
and finish him off before he can appear.
INFORMER: You’ve got it, man!