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

by Aristophanes

  EUELPIDES. This notion of an immolated gnat delights me! And now let the great Zeus thunder!

  EPOPS. But how will mankind recognize us as gods and not as jays? Us, who have wings and fly?

  PISTHETAERUS. You talk rubbish! Hermes is a god and has wings and flies, and so do many other gods. First of all, Victory flies with golden wings, Eros is undoubtedly winged too, and Iris is compared by Homer to a timorous dove. If men in their blindness do not recognize you as gods and continue to worship the dwellers in Olympus, then a cloud of sparrows greedy for corn must descend upon their fields and eat up all their seeds; we shall see then if Demeter will mete them out any wheat.

  EUELPIDES. By Zeus, she’ll take good care she does not, and you will see her inventing a thousand excuses.

  PISTHETAERUS. The crows too will prove your divinity to them by pecking out the eyes of their flocks and of their draught-oxen; and then let Apollo cure them, since he is a physician and is paid for the purpose.

  EUELPIDES. Oh! don’t do that! Wait first until I have sold my two young bullocks.

  PISTHETAERUS. If on the other hand they recognize that you are God, the principle of life, that you are Earth, Saturn, Posidon, they shall be loaded with benefits.

  EPOPS Name me one of these then.

  PISTHETAERUS. Firstly, the locusts shall not eat up their vine-blossoms; a legion of owls and kestrels will devour them. Moreover, the gnats and the gall-bugs shall no longer ravage the figs; a flock of thrushes shall swallow the whole host down to the very last.

  EPOPS. And how shall we give wealth to mankind? This is their strongest passion.

  PISTHETAERUS. When they consult the omens, you will point them to the richest mines, you will reveal the paying ventures to the diviner, and not another shipwreck will happen or sailor perish.

  EPOPS. No more shall perish? How is that?

  PISTHETAERUS. When the auguries are examined before starting on a voyage, some bird will not fail to say, “Don’t start! there will be a storm,” or else, “Go! you will make a most profitable venture.”

  EUELPIDES. I shall buy a trading-vessel and go to sea. I will not stay with you.

  PISTHETAERUS. You will discover treasures to them, which were buried in former times, for you know them. Do not all men say, “None know where my treasure lies, unless perchance it be some bird.”

  EUELPIDES. I shall sell my boat and buy a spade to unearth the vessels.

  EPOPS. And how are we to give them health, which belongs to the gods?

  PISTHETAERUS. If they are happy, is not that the chief thing towards health? The miserable man is never well.

  EPOPS. Old Age also dwells in Olympus. How will they get at it? Must they die in early youth?

  PISTHETAERUS. Why, the birds, by Zeus, will add three hundred years to their life.

  EPOPS. From whom will they take them?

  PISTHETAERUS. From whom? Why, from themselves. Don’t you know the cawing crow lives five times as long as a man?

  EUELPIDES. Ah! ah! these are far better kings for us than Zeus!

  PISTHETAERUS. Far better, are they not? And firstly, we shall not have to build them temples of hewn stone, closed with gates of gold; they will dwell amongst the bushes and in the thickets of green oak; the most venerated of birds will have no other temple than the foliage of the olive tree; we shall not go to Delphi or to Ammon to sacrifice; but standing erect in the midst of arbutus and wild olives and holding forth our hands filled with wheat and barley, we shall pray them to admit us to a share of the blessings they enjoy and shall at once obtain them for a few grains of wheat.

  CHORUS. Old man, whom I detested, you are now to me the dearest of all; never shall I, if I can help it, fail to follow your advice. Inspirited by your words, I threaten my rivals the gods, and I swear that if you march in alliance with me against the gods and are faithful to our just, loyal and sacred bond, we shall soon have shattered their sceptre. ’Tis our part to undertake the toil, ’tis yours to advise.

  EPOPS. By Zeus! ’tis no longer the time to delay and loiter like Nicias; let us act as promptly as possible…. In the first place, come, enter my nest built of brushwood and blades of straw, and tell me your names.

  PISTHETAERUS. That is soon done; my name is Pisthetaerus.

  EPOPS. And his?

  PISTHETAERUS. 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, 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 Procné, 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.

  EPOPS. Let it be as you desire. Come forth, Procné, show yourself to these strangers.

  PISTHETAERUS. Oh! great Zeus! what a beautiful little bird! what a dainty form! what brilliant plumage!

  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.

  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, lead off our anapaests.

  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 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, b
eing 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. 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, and Orestes 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. 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? 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. I pour forth sacred strains from my golden throat in honour of the god Pan, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx, from the top of the thickly leaved ash, and my voice mingles with the mighty choirs who extol Cybelé on the mountain tops, 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.” 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 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! 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.

  PISTHETAERUS. Halloa! What’s this? By Zeus! I never saw anything so funny in all my life.

  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.”

  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, 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?

  EPOPS. Oh! capital! truly ’tis a brilliant thought!

  EUELPIDES. Is it in Nephelococcygia that all the wealth of Theogenes and most of Aeschines’ is?

  PISTHETAERUS. No, ’tis rather the plain of Phlegra, 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?

  PISTHETAERUS. Why not choose Athené Polias?

  EUELPIDES. Oh! what a well-ordered town ’twould be to have a female deity armed from head to foot, while Clisthenes was spinning!

  PISTHETAERUS. Who then shall guard the Pelargicon?

  EPOPS. One of ourselves, a bird of Persian strain, who is everywhere proclaimed to be the bravest of all, a true chick of Ares.

  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, 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.

  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.

  PRIEST. And to Bacchus, the finch and Cybelé, the ostrich and mother of the gods and mankind.

  CHORUS. Oh! sovereign os
trich, Cybelé, the mother of Cleocritus, 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.

  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, worthy of Simonides himself.

  PISTHETAERUS. And when did you compose them? How long since?