The Birds | Page 8

him dreadful.
PISTHETAERUS Who will explain the matter to them?
EPOPS You must yourself. Before I came they were quite ignorant, but
since I have lived with them I have taught them to speak.
PISTHETAERUS But how can they be gathered together?
EPOPS Easily. I will hasten down to the coppice to waken my dear
Procne![1] as soon as they hear our voices, they will come to us hot
wing.
f[1] As already stated, according to the legend accepted by
Aristophanes, it was Procne who was turned into the nightengale.
PISTHETAERUS My dear bird, lose no time, I beg. Fly at once into
the coppice and awaken Procne.
EPOPS Chase off drowsy sleep, dear companion. Let the sacred hymn
gush from thy divine throat in melodious strains; roll forth in soft
cadence your refreshing melodies to bewail the fate of Itys,[1] which
has been the cause of so many tears to us both. Your pure notes rise
through the thick leaves of the yew-tree right up to the throne of Zeus,
where Phoebus listens to you, Phoebus with his golden hair. And his
ivory lyre responds to your plaintive accents; he gathers the choir of the
gods and from their immortal lips rushes a sacred chant of blessed
voices. (THE FLUTE IS PLAYED BEHIND THE SCENE.)
f[1] The son of Tereus and Procne.

PISTHETAERUS Oh! by Zeus! what a throat that little bird possesses.
He has filled the whole coppice with honey-sweet melody!
EUELPIDES Hush!
PISTHETAERUS What's the matter?
EUELPIDES Will you keep silence?
PISTHETAERUS What for?
EUELPIDES Epops is going to sing again.
EPOPS (IN THE COPPICE) Epopoi poi popoi, epopoi, popoi, here,
here, quick, quick, quick, my comrades in the air; all you who pillage
the fertile lands of the husbandmen, the numberless tribes who gather
and devour the barley seeds, the swift flying race who sing so sweetly.
And you whose gentle twitter resounds through the fields with the little
cry of tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio, tio; and you who hop about the
branches of the ivy in the gardens; the mountain birds, who feed on the
wild olive berries or the arbutus, hurry to come at my call, trioto, trioto,
totobrix; you also, who snap up the sharp-stinging gnats in the marshy
vales, and you who dwell in the fine plain of Marathon, all damp with
dew, and you, the francolin with speckled wings; you too, the halcyons,
who flit over the swelling waves of the sea, come hither to hear the
tidings; let all the tribes of long-necked birds assemble here; know that
a clever old man has come to us, bringing an entirely new idea and
proposing great reforms. Let all come to the debate here, here, here,
here. Torotorotorotorotix, kikkobau, kikkobau, torotorotorotorolililix.
PISTHETAERUS Can you see any bird?
EUELPIDES By Phoebus, no! and yet I am straining my eyesight to
scan the sky.
PISTHETAERUS 'Twas really not worth Epops' while to go and bury
himself in the thicket like a plover when a-hatching.
PHOENICOPTERUS Torotina, torotina.
PISTHETAERUS Hold, friend, here is another bird.
EUELPIDES I' faith, yes, 'tis a bird, but of what kind? Isn't it a
peacock?
PISTHETAERUS Epops will tell us. What is this bird?
EPOPS 'Tis not one of those you are used to seeing; 'tis a bird from the
marshes.
PISTHETAERUS Oh! oh! but he is very handsome with his wings as
crimson as flame.

EPOPS Undoubtedly; indeed he is called flamingo.[1]
f[1] An African bird, that comes to the southern countries of Europe, to
Greece, Italy, and Spain; it is even seen in Provence.
EUELPIDES Hi! I say! You!
PISTHETAERUS What are you shouting for?
EUELPIDES Why, here's another bird.
PISTHETAERUS Aye, indeed; 'tis a foreign bird too. What is this bird
from beyond the mountains with a look as solemn as it is stupid?
EPOPS He is called the Mede.[1]
f[1] Aristophanes amusingly mixes up real birds with people and
individuals, whom he represents in the form of birds; he is personifying
the Medians here.
PISTHETAERUS The Mede! But, by Heracles, how, if a Mede, has he
flown here without a camel?
EUELPIDES Here's another bird with a crest.
PISTHETAERUS Ah! that's curious. I say, Epops, you are not the only
one of your kind then?
EPOPS This bird is the son of Philocles, who is the son of Epops;[1] so
that, you see, I am his grandfather; just as one might say, Hipponicus,[2]
the son of Callias, who is the son of Hipponicus.
f[1] Philocles, a tragic poet, had written a tragedy on Tereus, which was
simply a plagiarism of the play of the same name by Sophocles.
Philocles is the son of Epops, because he got his inspiration from
Sophocles' Tereus, and at the same time is father to Epops, since he
himself produced