CHOR. I grieve for thy state, O Cadmus; but your child has the punishment of your daughter, deserved indeed, but grievous to you.
AG. O father, for you see how I am changed ...
BAC ... changing, you shall become a dragon, and your wife becoming a beast, shall receive in exchange the form of a serpent, Harmonia, the daughter of Mars, whom you had, being a mortal. And as the oracle of Jove says, you shall drive with your wife a chariot of heifers, ruling over barbarians; and with an innumerable army you shall sack many cities; and when they plunder the temple of Apollo, they shall have a miserable return, but Mars shall defend you and Harmonia, and shall settle your life in the islands of the blessed. I say this, I, Bacchus, not born of a mortal father, but of Jove; and if ye had known how to be wise when ye would not, ye would have been happy, having the son of Jupiter for your ally.
CAD. Bacchus, we beseech thee, we have erred.
BAC. Ye have learned it too late; but when it behooved you, you knew it not.
CAD. I knew it, but you press on us too severely.
BAC. [Ay,] for I, being a God, was insulted by you.
CAD. It is not right for Gods to resemble mortals in anger.
BAC. My father, Jove, long ago decreed this.
AG. Alas! a miserable banishment is the decree [for us,] old man.
BAC. Why do ye then delay what must needs be?
CAD. O child, into what terrible evil have we come; both you wretched and your * * * * sisters, and I miserable, shall go, an aged sojourner, to foreigners. Still it is foretold that I shall bring into Greece a motley barbarian army, and leading their spears, I, a dragon, shall lead the daughter of Mars, Harmonia, my wife, having the fierce nature of a dragon, to the altars and tombs of the Greeks. Nor shall I, wretched, rest from ills, nor even sailing over the Acheron below shall I be at rest.
AG. O, my father! and I being deprived of you shall be banished.
CAD. Why do you embrace me with your hands, O unhappy child, as a white swan does its exhausted parent?
AG. For whither can I turn, cast out from my country?
CAD. I know not, my child; your father is a poor ally.
AG. Farewell, O house! farewell, O ancestral city! I leave you in misfortune a fugitive from my chamber.
CAD. Go then, my child, to the land of Aristæus * * * *.
AG. I bemoan thee, O father!
CAD. And I thee, my child; and I lament your sisters.
AG. Terribly indeed has king Bacchus brought this misery upon thy house.
BAC. [Ay,] for I have suffered terrible things from ye, having a name unhonored in Thebes.
AG. Farewell, my father.
CAD. And you farewell, O miserable daughter; yet you can not easily arrive at this.
AG. Lead me, O guides, where I may take my miserable sisters as the companions of my flight; and may I go where neither accursed Cithæron may see me, nor I may see Cithæron with my eyes, and where there is no memory of the thyrsus hallowed, but they may be a care to other Bacchæ.
CHOR. There are many forms of divine things; and the Gods bring to pass many in an unexpected manner: both what has been expected has not been accomplished, and God has found out a means for doing things unthought of. So, too, has this event turned out.
THE BIRDS by Aristophanes
Anonymous translation for the Athenian Society, London, 1912
This famous comedy was first performed in 414 BC at the City Dionysia, where it won second prize. Unlike Aristophanes’ other early plays, The Birds includes no direct mention of the Peloponnesian War and there are few references to Athenian politics, though it was staged not long after the commencement of the Sicilian Expedition, an ambitious military campaign that had greatly increased Athenian commitment to the war effort. It is the longest of Aristophanes’ surviving plays, providing a humorous fantasy, celebrated for its remarkable depiction of birds and imaginative songs.
The play begins with two middle-aged men stumbling across a hillside wilderness, guided by a pet crow and a pet jackdaw. One of them advises the audience that they are fed up with life in Athens, where people do nothing all day but argue over laws, and they are looking for Tereus, a king who was once metamorphosed into the Hoopoe, as they feel he might help them find a better life somewhere else. Just then a very large and fearsome bird emerges from a camouflaged bower, demanding to know what they are up to and accusing them of being bird-catchers. The bird is in fact the Hoopoe’s servant and the men convince him to fetch his master.
Moments later Tereus himself appears, who is happy to discuss their plight and one of the men has a brilliant idea: the birds should stop flying about mindlessly and instead should build themselves a great city in the sky, since this would not only allow them to enslave men, it would also enable them to blockade the Olympian gods in the same way that the Athenians had recently starved the island of Melos into submission. The Hoopoe likes the idea and he agrees to help implement it, provided of course that the two Athenians can first convince all the other birds. He calls to his wife, the Nightingale, and bids her to begin her celestial music. The notes of an unseen flute swell through the theatre and meanwhile the Hoopoe provides the lyrics, summoning the birds of the world from their different habitats — birds of the fields, mountain birds and birds of the trees, birds of the waterways, marshes and seas. These soon begin to appear and each of them is identified by name on arrival. Four of them dance together while the rest form into a Chorus. In time, the birds are completely won over and urge the Athenians to lead them in their war against the usurping gods. They then set about building their city-in-the-sky, which they decide to call Νεφελοκοκκυγία – Cloudcuckooland – the original source of this famous expression.
An Attic vase depicting a scene from this famous play
This play was taken from our Complete Works edition:
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE BIRDS
ARGUMENT
A Willamette University Theatre production of The Birds in 1986
INTRODUCTION
The Birds’ differs markedly from all the other Comedies of Aristophanes which have come down to us in subject and general conception. It is just an extravaganza pure and simple — a graceful, whimsical theme chosen expressly for the sake of the opportunities it afforded of bright, amusing dialogue, pleasing lyrical interludes, and charming displays of brilliant stage effects and pretty dresses. Unlike other plays of the same Author, there is here apparently no serious political motif underlying the surface burlesque and buffoonery.
Some critics, it is true, profess to find in it a reference to the unfortunate Sicilian Expedition, then in progress, and a prophecy of its failure and the political downfall of Alcibiades. But as a matter of fact, the whole thing seems rather an attempt on the dramatist’s part to relieve the overwrought minds of his fellow-citizens, anxious and discouraged at the unsatisfactory reports from before Syracuse, by a work conceived in a lighter vein than usual and mainly unconnected with contemporary realities.
The play was produced in the year 414 B.C., just when success or failure in Sicily hung in the balance, though already the outlook was gloomy, and many circumstances pointed to impending disaster. Moreover, the public conscience was still shocked and perturbed over the mysterious affair of the mutilation of the Hermae, which had occurred immediately before the sailing of the fleet, and strongly suspicious of Alcibiades’ participation in the outrage. In spite of the inherent charm of the subject, the splendid outbursts of lyrical poetry in some of the choruses and the beauty of the scenery and costumes, ‘The Birds’ failed to win the first prize. This was acclaimed to a play of Aristophanes’ rival, Amipsias, the title of which, ‘The Comastae,’ or ‘Revellers,’ “seems to imply that the chief interest was derived from direct allusions to the outrage above mentioned and to the individuals suspected to have been engaged in it.”
For this reason, which militated against its immediate suc
cess, viz. the absence of direct allusion to contemporary politics — there are, of course, incidental references here and there to topics and personages of the day — the play appeals perhaps more than any other of our Author’s productions to the modern reader. Sparkling wit, whimsical fancy, poetic charm, are of all ages, and can be appreciated as readily by ourselves as by an Athenian audience of two thousand years ago, though, of course, much is inevitably lost “without the important adjuncts of music, scenery, dresses and what we may call ‘spectacle’ generally, which we know in this instance to have been on the most magnificent scale.”
“The plot is this. Euelpides and Pisthetaerus, two old Athenians, disgusted with the litigiousness, wrangling and sycophancy of their countrymen, resolve upon quitting Attica. Having heard of the fame of Epops (the hoopoe), sometime called Tereus, and now King of the Birds, they determine, under the direction of a raven and a jackdaw, to seek from him and his subject birds a city free from all care and strife.” Arrived at the Palace of Epops, they knock, and Trochilus (the wren), in a state of great flutter, as he mistakes them for fowlers, opens the door and informs them that his Majesty is asleep. When he awakes, the strangers appear before him, and after listening to a long and eloquent harangue on the superior attractions of a residence among the birds, they propose a notable scheme of their own to further enhance its advantages and definitely secure the sovereignty of the universe now exercised by the gods of Olympus.
The birds are summoned to meet in general council. They come flying up from all quarters of the heavens, and after a brief misunderstanding, during which they come near tearing the two human envoys to pieces, they listen to the exposition of the latters’ plan. This is nothing less than the building of a new city, to be called Nephelococcygia, or ‘Cloud-cuckoo-town,’ between earth and heaven, to be garrisoned and guarded by the birds in such a way as to intercept all communication of the gods with their worshippers on earth. All steam of sacrifice will be prevented from rising to Olympus, and the Immortals will very soon be starved into an acceptance of any terms proposed.
The new Utopia is duly constructed, and the daring plan to secure the sovereignty is in a fair way to succeed. Meantime various quacks and charlatans, each with a special scheme for improving things, arrive from earth, and are one after the other exposed and dismissed. Presently arrives Prometheus, who informs Epops of the desperate straits to which the gods are by this time reduced, and advises him to push his claims and demand the hand of Basileia (Dominion), the handmaid of Zeus. Next an embassy from the Olympians appears on the scene, consisting of Heracles, Posidon and a god from the savage regions of the Triballians. After some disputation, it is agreed that all reasonable demands of the birds are to be granted, while Pisthetaerus is to have Basileia as his bride. The comedy winds up with the epithalamium in honour of the nuptials.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
EUELPIDES.
PISTHETAERUS.
EPOPS (the Hoopoe).
TROCHILUS, Servant to Epops.
PHOENICOPTERUS.
HERALDS.
A PRIEST.
A POET.
A PROPHET.
METON, a Geometrician.
A COMMISSIONER.
A DEALER IN DECREES.
IRIS.
A PARRICIDE.
CINESIAS, a Dithyrambic Bard.
AN INFORMER.
PROMETHEUS.
POSIDON.
TRIBALLUS.
HERACLES.
SERVANT of PISTHETAERUS.
MESSENGERS.
CHORUS OF BIRDS.
SCENE: A wild, desolate tract of open country; broken rocks and brushwood occupy the centre of the stage.
THE BIRDS
EUELPIDES (to his jay). Do you think I should walk straight for yon tree?
PISTHETAERUS (to his crow). Cursed beast, what are you croaking to me?… to retrace my steps?
EUELPIDES. Why, you wretch, we are wandering at random, we are exerting ourselves only to return to the same spot; ’tis labour lost.
PISTHETAERUS. To think that I should trust to this crow, which has made me cover more than a thousand furlongs!
EUELPIDES. And I to this jay, who has torn every nail from my fingers!
PISTHETAERUS. If only I knew where we were. . . .
EUELPIDES. Could you find your country again from here?
PISTHETAERUS. No, I feel quite sure I could not, any more than could
Execestides find his.
EUELPIDES. Oh dear! oh dear!
PISTHETAERUS. Aye, aye, my friend, ’tis indeed the road of “oh dears” we are following.
EUELPIDES. That Philocrates, the bird-seller, played us a scurvy trick, when he pretended these two guides could help us to find Tereus, the Epops, who is a bird, without being born of one. He has indeed sold us this jay, a true son of Tharelides, for an obolus, and this crow for three, but what can they do? Why, nothing whatever but bite and scratch! — What’s the matter with you then, that you keep opening your beak? Do you want us to fling ourselves headlong down these rocks? There is no road that way.
PISTHETAERUS. Not even the vestige of a track in any direction.
EUELPIDES. And what does the crow say about the road to follow?
PISTHETAERUS. By Zeus, it no longer croaks the same thing it did.
EUELPIDES. And which way does it tell us to go now?
PISTHETAERUS. It says that, by dint of gnawing, it will devour my fingers.
EUELPIDES. What misfortune is ours! we strain every nerve to get to the birds, do everything we can to that end, and we cannot find our way! Yes, spectators, our madness is quite different to that of Sacas. He is not a citizen, and would fain be one at any cost; we, on the contrary, born of an honourable tribe and family and living in the midst of our fellow-citizens, we have fled from our country as hard as ever we could go. ’Tis not that we hate it; we recognize it to be great and rich, likewise that everyone has the right to ruin himself; but the crickets only chirrup among the fig-trees for a month or two, whereas the Athenians spend their whole lives in chanting forth judgments from their law courts. That is why we started off with a basket, a stew-pot and some myrtle boughs and have come to seek a quiet country in which to settle. We are going to Tereus, the Epops, to learn from him, whether, in his aerial flights, he has noticed some town of this kind.
PISTHETAERUS. Here! look!
EUELPIDES. What’s the matter?
PISTHETAERUS. Why, the crow has been pointing me to something up there for some time now.
EUELPIDES. And the jay is also opening its beak and craning its neck to show me I know not what. Clearly, there are some birds about here. We shall soon know, if we kick up a noise to start them.
PISTHETAERUS. Do you know what to do? Knock your leg against this rock.
EUELPIDES. And you your head to double the noise.
PISTHETAERUS. Well then use a stone instead; take one and hammer with it.
EUELPIDES. Good idea! Ho there, within! Slave! slave!
PISTHETAERUS. What’s that, friend! You say, “slave,” to summon Epops!
’Twould be much better to shout, “Epops, Epops!”
EUELPIDES. Well then, Epops! Must I knock again? Epops!
TROCHILUS. Who’s there? Who calls my master?
EUELPIDES. Apollo the Deliverer! what an enormous beak!
TROCHILUS. Good god! they are bird-catchers.
EUELPIDES. The mere sight of him petrifies me with terror. What a horrible monster!
TROCHILUS. Woe to you!
EUELPIDES. But we are not men.
TROCHILUS. What are you, then?
EUELPIDES. I am the Fearling, an African bird.
TROCHILUS. You talk nonsense.
EUELPIDES. Well, then, just ask it of my feet.
TROCHILUS. And this other one, what bird is it?
PISTHETAERUS. I? I am a Cackling, from the land of the pheasants.
EUELPIDES. But you yourself, in the name of the gods! what animal are you?
/>
TROCHILUS. Why, I am a slave-bird.
EUELPIDES. Why, have you been conquered by a cock?
TROCHILUS. No, but when my master was turned into a peewit, he begged me to become a bird too, to follow and to serve him.
EUELPIDES. Does a bird need a servant, then?
TROCHILUS. ’Tis no doubt because he was a man. At times he wants to eat a dish of loach from Phalerum; I seize my dish and fly to fetch him some. Again he wants some pea-soup; I seize a ladle and a pot and run to get it.
EUELPIDES. This is, then, truly a running-bird. Come, Trochilus, do us the kindness to call your master.
TROCHILUS. Why, he has just fallen asleep after a feed of myrtle-berries and a few grubs.
EUELPIDES. Never mind; wake him up.
TROCHILUS. I am certain he will be angry. However, I will wake him to please you.
PISTHETAERUS. You cursed brute! why, I am almost dead with terror!
EUELPIDES. Oh! my god! ’twas sheer fear that made me lose my jay.
PISTHETAERUS. Ah! you great coward! were you so frightened that you let go your jay?
EUELPIDES. And did you not lose your crow, when you fell sprawling on the ground? Pray tell me that.
PISTHETAERUS. No, no.
EUELPIDES. Where is it, then?
PISTHETAERUS. It has flown away.
EUELPIDES. Then you did not let it go! Oh! you brave fellow!
EPOPS. Open the forest, that I may go out!
EUELPIDES. By Heracles! what a creature! what plumage! What means this triple crest?
EPOPS. Who wants me?
EUELPIDES. The twelve great gods have used you ill, meseems.
EPOPS. Are you chaffing me about my feathers? I have been a man, strangers.
EUELPIDES. ’Tis not you we are jeering at.
EPOPS. At what, then?
EUELPIDES. Why, ’tis your beak that looks so odd to us.
EPOPS. This is how Sophocles outrages me in his tragedies. Know, I once was Tereus.
Masters of the Theatre Page 10
