CHAPTER XI. THE BIRDS OF ARISTOPHANES. Greek OFTEN during our present labours have we been assailed with Ancient complaints of the heaviness of ancient lore. The intervals Comedy. which separate the nations of antiquity from ourselves are not overlooked and annihilated, save in the minds of the gifted and few. Genius alone can hold commerce with genius and rolling ocean, or intevening ages, form to such commerce no barrier. But the majority of our readers are not men of genius. The very names of these Greeks frighten them. They imagine them musty old fellows with long beards, and longer faces philosophers, lawgivers, and the like. Little know they what laughters, loud and long, have shaken those venerable cloak-enveloped sides: little do they imagine how the staid and severe Athenian audience haw-hawed' (as Sam Slick would say) right out' for hours together at the neverequalled drolleries of their comic poets. As in every other department of classic literature, so here especially the ravages of Time must be deplored. A few plays of Aristophanes, himself but one of a fine constellation of wits, are all that his hand has spared, except a few fragments scattered up and down in miscellaneous quotation. The play with which we have headed this chapter, is perhaps the chef d'œuvre of Aristophanes. For drollery of conception, beauty of language, variety of interest, it stands unrivalled in the Comedy of any age. In presenting such a play to the English reader, much indulgence must be allowed us. Many of the witticisms, adapted to the circumstances of the times, and founded nes. Aristopha The Birds, Argument. frequently on local puns, will carry no force with them, when rendered into another language and placed before men of another age. It is only by an imaginary and unnatural state of mind that the scholar can fully partake of the exquisite relish of Attic humour; and such an effort we cannot expect the common reader to make, even when in possession of the necessary information. We shall therefore take great liberties with our author: our object being to please rather than to inform ; and to entice rather than weary. Two Athenians, (with hard names, which we will drop) sick of the bustle and wrangling of their native city, have set out on an expedition in search of an easy life. Their journey is a strange one. They are going to the birds of the Air! A raven and a jackdaw are their guides. They are advancing upwards, among the rocks and trees. Here we go up, up, up, is the order of the day. Gravity, in both senses of the word, is to them as nothing. They are 'righte merry fellows.' Still up they clamber. 'I have no nails left on my fingers,' says one, with following this brute of a jackdaw.' Where in the world are we?' says the other. 'Och dare, och dare,' cries the first, its we that have been cheated! that spalpeen at th' gameshop sould us yon brace o' brutes to shew us th' way to the king o' the birds, and they're o' no use at all at all-ther's a farthen gone for the jackdaw, and three for the raven. Look at the fool of a bird pointing right on. It isn't I that's going down over them cliffs to plase you, my jewel!' 2nd Athenian. 1st Athenian. 1st Athenian. 2nd Athenian. No: she says nought but croak, croak, as before. And we two, citizens by birth, have fled On both our feet, not out of disrespect To the old place, but to avoid the squabbles Of law courts and the like,—and ta'en this journey, A dish of fish,-I run and fetch it him: : If he would have bean broth, I run and bruise them. 1st Athenian. Well then, my Runner, call your master to us. Runner. He is asleep, just having had his luncheon, Some myrtleberries and a gnat or two. 1st Athenian. Cannot you wake him? Runner. He'll be mighty sulky: [Exit. Still, if you wish it, I will go and wake him. 2nd Athenian. Bad luck go with ye! I'm half dead with fear. 1st Athenian. Woe's me, my jackdaw's taken fright, and fled. 2nd Athenian. You coward-'twas your fright that let him go. 1st Athenian. Ha! and your raven, you've let him go too! 2nd Athenian. Not I. Hoopooe. Open the forest branches-give me way. 1st Athenian. Hoopooe. May all the gods who dwell above, Kind gentlemen, I pray you mock me not: I know, my wings In winter time, and have new plumes in spring. But who are you? 1st Athenian. We? mortals. Hoopooe. On what errand Are ye come hither? 1st Athenian. Wishing to speak with thee. Why, in the first place, You have been once a man, as we are now : Some nice soft place to live in, in whose comforts Hoopooe. Seek you a larger town than your own Athens? 1st Athenian. No, not a larger-one that suits us better. Hoopooe. Oh ho! you want an aristocracy! 1st Athenian. Pah! I abhor the very mention of it. Hoopooe. What kind of city then are ye in search of? 1st Athenian. One where there is no more serious business Than to receive one's neighbour in the morning And hear him say: 'up and prepare yourselves, You and your children: I have a wedding toward.' Hoopooe. Just such a city lies upon the shore Of the Red Sea. 1st Athenian. One nuisance then at least will be removed. Hoopooe. And then our food is buckwheat in the gardens, The myrtleberry, poppyseed, and spearmint. 1st Athenian. Your life is a perpetual marriage feast. 2nd Athenian. Ha! a thought strikes me: be advised by me; I have a scheme shall bring you wealth and power. Hoopooe. What is it? 2nd Athenian. Why, this :-ye now are flying 2 E |