HERACLES. He says, "Right willingly."

POSIDON. If that be the opinion of both of you, why, I consent too.

HERACLES. Very well! we accord the sceptre.

PISTHETAERUS. Ah! I was nearly forgetting another condition. I will leave

Heré to Zeus, but only if the young Basileia is given me in marriage.

POSIDON. Then you don't want peace. Let us withdraw.

PISTHETAERUS. It matters mighty little to me. Cook, look to the gravy.

HERACLES. What an odd fellow this Posidon is! Where are you off to? Are

we going to war about a woman?

POSIDON. What else is there to do?

HERACLES. What else? Why, conclude peace.

POSIDON. Oh! the ninny! do you always want to be fooled? Why, you are

seeking your own downfall. If Zeus were to die, after having yielded them

the sovereignty, you would be ruined, for you are the heir of all the

wealth he will leave behind.

PISTHETAERUS. Oh! by the gods! how he is cajoling you. Step aside, that I

may have a word with you. Your uncle is getting the better of you, my

poor friend.[369] The law will not allow you an obolus of the paternal

property, for you are a bastard and not a legitimate child.

HERACLES. I a bastard! What's that you tell me?

PISTHETAERUS. Why, certainly; are you not born of a stranger woman?[370]

Besides, is not Athené recognized as Zeus' sole heiress? And no daughter

would be that, if she had a legitimate brother.

HERACLES. But what if my father wished to give me his property on his

death-bed, even though I be a bastard?

PISTHETAERUS. The law forbids it, and this same Posidon would be the

first to lay claim to his wealth, in virtue of being his legitimate

brother. Listen; thus runs Solon's law: "A bastard shall not inherit, if

there are legitimate children; and if there are no legitimate children,

the property shall pass to the nearest kin."

HERACLES. And I get nothing whatever of the paternal property?

PISTHETAERUS. Absolutely nothing. But tell me, has your father had you

entered on the registers of his phratria?[371]

HERACLES. No, and I have long been surprised at the omission.

PISTHETAERUS. What ails you, that you should shake your fist at heaven?

Do you want to fight it? Why, be on my side, I will make you a king and

will feed you on bird's milk and honey.

HERACLES. Your further condition seems fair to me. I cede you the young

damsel.

POSIDON. But I, I vote against this opinion.

PISTHETAERUS. Then all depends on the Triballian. (_To the Triballian._)

What do you say?

TRIBALLUS. Big bird give daughter pretty and queen.

HERACLES. You say that you give her?

POSIDON. Why no, he does not say anything of the sort, that he gives her;

else I cannot understand any better than the swallows.

PISTHETAERUS. Exactly so. Does he not say she must be given to the

swallows?

POSIDON. Very well! you two arrange the matter; make peace, since you

wish it so; I'll hold my tongue.

HERACLES. We are of a mind to grant you all that you ask. But come up

there with us to receive Basileia and the celestial bounty.

PISTHETAERUS. Here are birds already cut up, and very suitable for a

nuptial feast.

HERACLES. You go and, if you like, I will stay here to roast them.

PISTHETAERUS. You to roast them! you are too much the glutton; come along

with us.

HERACLES. Ah! how well I would have treated myself!

PISTHETAERUS. Let some bring me a beautiful and magnificent tunic for the

wedding.

CHORUS.[372] At Phanae,[373] near the Clepsydra,[374] there dwells a

people who have neither faith nor law, the Englottogastors,[375] who

reap, sow, pluck the vines and the figs[376] with their tongues; they

belong to a barbaric race, and among them the Philippi and the

Gorgiases[377] are to be found; 'tis these Englottogastorian Phillippi

who introduced the custom all over Attica of cutting out the tongue

separately at sacrifices.[378]

A MESSENGER. Oh, you, whose unbounded happiness I cannot express in

words, thrice happy race of airy birds, receive your king in your

fortunate dwellings. More brilliant than the brightest star that illumes

the earth, he is approaching his glittering golden palace; the sun itself

does not shine with more dazzling glory. He is entering with his bride at

his side[379] whose beauty no human tongue can express; in his hand he

brandishes the lightning, the winged shaft of Zeus; perfumes of

unspeakable sweetness pervade the ethereal realms. 'Tis a glorious

spectacle to see the clouds of incense wafting in light whirlwinds before

the breath of the Zephyr! But here he is himself. Divine Muse! let thy

sacred lips begin with songs of happy omen.

CHORUS. Fall back! to the right! to the left! advance![380] Fly around

this happy mortal, whom Fortune loads with her blessings. Oh! oh! what

grace! what beauty! Oh, marriage so auspicious for our city! All honour

to this man! 'tis through him that the birds are called to such glorious

destinies. Let your nuptial hymns, your nuptial songs, greet him and his

Basileia! 'Twas in the midst of such festivities that the Fates formerly

united Olympian Here to the King who governs the gods from the summit of

his inaccessible throne. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus! Rosy Eros with the

golden wings held the reins and guided the chariot; 'twas he, who

presided over the union of Zeus and the fortunate Heré. Oh! Hymen! oh!

Hymenaeus!

PISTHETAERUS. I am delighted with your songs, I applaud your verses. Now

celebrate the thunder that shakes the earth, the flaming lightning of

Zeus and the terrible flashing thunderbolt.

CHORUS. Oh, thou golden flash of the lightning! oh, ye divine shafts of

flame, that Zeus has hitherto shot forth! Oh, ye rolling thunders, that

bring down the rain! 'Tis by the order of our king that ye shall now

stagger the earth! Oh, Hymen! 'tis through thee that he commands the

universe and that he makes Basileia, whom he has robbed from Zeus, take

her seat at his side. Oh! Hymen! oh! Hymenaeus!

PISTHETAERUS. Let all the winged tribes of our fellow-citizens follow the

bridal couple to the palace of Zeus[381] and to the nuptial couch!

Stretch forth your hands, my dear wife! Take hold of me by my wings and

let us dance; I am going to lift you up and carry you through the air.

CHORUS. Oh, joy! Io Paean! Tralala! victory is thine, oh, thou greatest

of the gods!

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The Eleven Comedies, Volume 2 · 第 78 / 214 题